A/N: My intial idea for this one was a bit angstier, but I sure you won't mind that it's mostly fluffy :) The Avengers will celebrate Christmas (the last story) by the end of this week, I promise, but I'm going to watch CATWS tonight instead of writing, so it might be Thursday or Friday instead. Thanks to all of you who have reviewing, favorited, or followed!

14. How do I get these memories out of my fucking head? In which Steve and Bucky go to a baseball game and some things come up.

Bucky awoke abruptly, but not in a cold sweat as was usually the case. The memory that had been returning was not complete, and he wanted to know what happened next. It was from before the war, and those memories were harder to piece together than those of things that came after (unfortunately). He pulled himself out of bed and grabbed a shirt before heading to Steve's room. Pausing outside, he wondered what time it was. The floor was dark, but he could see sunlight streaming in through the edges of the windows that weren't covered by shades. Or whatever the proper name for the high-tech version was.

He listened carefully at the door before knocking twice. "Just a minute," Steve called, sounding out of breath.

"Sorry to interrupt," Bucky said when Steve opened the door. He'd clearly been exercising. "We have training rooms for that," he added.

Steve smiled. "I use those, too. It takes a lot of effort to look like this, you know," he explained with a smirk.

Bucky snorted. "Howard Stark's and Dr. Erskine's effort, you mean."

"You're right, I don't go to the gym, I'm just naturally like this. You should probably think about going more often before your left arm looks completely different from your right," Steve advised solemnly.

Bucky punched him, lightly, on the shoulder with his right arm. "Seems strong enough to me," he replied.

"Good to hear. Can I help you with something, or did you just come by to give me a hard time?" Steve asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Bucky shrugged. "Don't underestimate how often that pays off. But I came to ask you about something," he added, the cockiness disappearing from his voice.

"What is it?" Steve responded quietly, no longer teasing.

"I was dreaming, well, remembering. You were there. We were in this place, a stadium, I think. And there was someone announcing what was happening down below. On a field," he said slowly.

Steve's face split into a grin. "You were dreaming about baseball?"

Bucky considered this. "Yes, I think so. Did we go to any baseball games?"

"We sure did, whenever we could afford it. We'd get peanuts and cracker jacks, just like the song. It was great. Your dad used to take us before we were old enough to go ourselves," Steve explained.

"He did? I don't remember much from back then," he admitted.

"That's alright, Buck. Do you want to tell me about it while I make breakfast?"

"Sure," he replied and followed Steve to the kitchen. The memory seemed to fade the more he tried to focus on it. "Do they still play baseball?"

Steve laughed. "Of course they do. Do you want to go to a game?"

"I don't know."

"Well, think about it. It would be a fun thing to do to get out of the house," Steve said as he laid bacon out in a frying pan and it began to sizzle.

"Alright. Is it baseball season?" he wondered aloud.

"It is. JARVIS, are there any professional baseball games we can go to today?" Steve asked.

Bucky glanced up in surprise when the AI answered. He'd never get used to it. It (he?) described a location and a time that afternoon. "Let's go," he said. Maybe it would jog his memory. Most of the things that came back were either impressions of how things used to be, or specific memories. The one from that morning had seemed more like a particular event than anything else, and he wondered what had made it special.

After breakfast, Steve went downstairs to train more intensely. Bucky joined him from time to time, but was enjoying having the freedom to refuse whenever he wished. He spent the morning reading, mostly researching baseball and all the changes that had occurred since he had last been to a game. There were, unsurprisingly, quite a few.

"You ready to go, Buck? We can get lunch there, if you want," Steve suggested, standing in the doorway of Bucky's room.

"Sure," he replied and pulled on his hat and gloves before following Steve down to the ground floor. They walked to the subway, somewhere Steve had only just begun to trust Bucky with using, and waited patiently until they reached the desired stop. Bucky focused on ignoring the mass of people pressing in close to him, and keeping anyone from noticing his prosthesis. It was proving to be a challenge.

They disembarked from the vehicle with some difficulty. Bucky wondered if it was always like that, or if they were just there at a bad time. When they reached the field, there was already quite a line. Bucky didn't mind waiting in line; it was generally organized and preferable to any of the other crowds in which he might find himself. When they reached the ticket counter, Steve paid their way in and they walked around toward the entrance.

"Wow, tell me that wasn't what it cost my dad when he took us," Bucky muttered.

Steve glanced back with a grim smile. "I know, everything's so expensive these days. I think your dad could have taken all of our friends and their families for less than this."

"Are they good seats at least?"

"I think so. I guess we'll find out," Steve replied with a shrug as they reached the person who took their tickets and were directed to their seats.

"Not bad," Bucky said as they sat down.

"Yeah, it's a good view. I'll go get lunch," Steve offered.

"Thanks." Bucky took careful stock of his surroundings after Steve left; it was a habit. The field was certainly quite new, definitely not one he had been in before. Still, the setup was vaguely familiar and tugged a little at the back of his mind. When Steve returned with stadium food, they ate silently while watching the game. Bucky looked over at Steve from time to time and smiled to himself at how engaged his friend appeared to be with the events happening down on the field. He supposed he must have once felt the same way, but that sort of thing hadn't come back fully yet.

The sun moved overhead and the players on the field moved as well as he watched, impressions returning as the game progressed. The home team was losing; perhaps that was why Steve was upset. At the bottom of the ninth, they were down three runs. Player after player came forward and got on the bases until they were loaded. They just might make it, he thought. The next batter was up, and the crowd cheered. Bucky supposed he must be well-known.

The crack of the bat hitting the ball was audible even in the nosebleed seats, and the announcer was very excited as the ball flew toward one of the outfielders. The player ran to catch the ball, but dove and missed. It hit the ground and rolled passed him all the way to the wall, with him hastily getting to his feet and attempting to chase it down. While he did this, the runners rushed around the bases and made it home.

The crowd went wild. Steve jumped to his feet and yelled as well, and Bucky was surprised to find himself doing the same. They looked at each other and grinned. "Just like old times, huh, Buck?" Steve shouted over the noise.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, eyes narrowing as he concentrated.

"You don't remember? When we went to the game in May of '41. Pete Reiser hit an inside the park grand slam. It was great," Steve explained, lowering his voice as the noise decreased.

"I don't," Bucky admitted slowly, but was still frowning in thought.

Steve smiled at him and sat back down. "Might as well wait a bit," he said.

Bucky sat down next to him. They watched the crowd gather up its things to leave for a while. "I think that's what my dream was about," he muttered tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe. Is that why I remembered it specifically?"

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, turning to face him.

He shrugged. "I remember things that we did, but not specifically. Just that they happened. If I do remember a particular event, it usually means something special was involved."

Steve smiled again. "I think it was a pretty big game. And you really liked baseball."

"I think I still do," he replied with a similar smile. "When's the next game?"

Steve laughed. "I don't know, but we can certainly come."

"I can't wait."