It took her some time to find him - even with the comms' tracking beacon to help her, he'd still hidden himself well. Of course he had – he knew how to disappear… The pitch dark didn't help - sure he'd come back when his stomach started growling, she'd been happy to leave him to himself. Time on his own could only do him good. But when dinner came and went, and there was still no sign of him, the first pricklings of worry had set in. Nothing could hurt him, not bears or wolves or anything of the kind - even gangs of outlaws or Indians would have found him too much, but even so - he was choosing to stay out there on his own, and it wasn't healthy. So she'd belatedly set out to find him, and was now stumbling through the dark, cursing him for losing himself in uneven terrain.

She eventually located him, concealed in the twisted trunk of an ancient, weathered tree, in a little copse not far from the fort. The trees provided enough cover for her to freely use the lantern the Wakandans had given them - it gave off a glow like candlelight; not much to work with, but also not anachronistic. If anyone saw it, they'd think it was a campfire.

She turned her attention to her 'husband'. His eyes were wild, his hair even wilder. He hadn't even tried to defend himself from her - true, she'd announced her intention to find him over the comms, and made as much noise as she could force herself to while approaching him, but she'd still expected some vigilance from him. He was in a bad place. She sighed inwardly - this was what you kept Sam around for. Even Clint would be a thousand times better at this than her. He was a father; he instinctively knew how to care for people. She'd been trained for something else - looking after the broken and tormented wasn't in her skill set.

"Bucky." She spoke softly, the way one would to a spooked animal, not sure if he even knew she was there. His eyes snapped to hers, but they were unfocussed and soon slid away again. How long had he wandered like this? She should have come sooner. "Bucky, it's me. Natasha," she tried again.

"I know it's you." His voice was surprisingly strong, exasperated even. 'I might be crazy, but I'm not blind' was the clear subtext.

She eased herself in beside him. It was a risk, she couldn't hope to escape if he snapped, but human contact often helped. Having someone close could help ground him. "What happened?" She'd seen it all, of course, but he needed to let it out.

He didn't answer immediately, but before she could repeat the question, he suddenly turned to her. "We have to go back. I have to go back into stasis. I'm dangerous - I'll hurt someone."

"What about Steve?" she asked tentatively. If anyone could pull him out of this, it was Steve.

He shrugged. "Take him with us."

"Without his memories?"

"I guess."

"And Grace? And James?" He nodded at each name.

"And Jessie?" He flinched, but still nodded.

"You think they'll just come with us? Have you tried making Steve do something he doesn't want to?"

"We have to." His voice was strained, as if he was struggling to hold it together. And she'd put herself in a tiny enclosed space with him. Great move.

"Bucky, what's this about? Really?"

"Didn't you hear me? I'm dangerous. I'm out of control. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Then don't." She spoke firmly, sharply, trying to snap him out of it. He turned to her, shocked at her abrupt tone.

"It's not that simple!" His voice rose as he hissed at her. She had to tread carefully - he could tear her in half.

"Two years, Barnes." She spoke calmly, measuredly. Gently. "Two years Steve looked for you, and he couldn't find you. He tried to find you by looking at police reports, searching them for mentions of a man with a metal arm attacking people, or killing them, or rampaging, or whatever." He met her eyes very reluctantly. "And you know as well as I do that there wasn't a single one. Two years you were alone, barely knowing who you were, or where you were, or when you were, and you still didn't lose it."

"It's not-"

"Did you hurt anyone in that time?"

He hesitated, unwilling to answer, but eventually he shook his head.

"So. If you don't want to hurt anyone, then don't."

His eyes were haunted - he could hardly meet her eyes. "But after he found me…"

She shook her head impatiently. "That doesn't count. You weren't in control then."

"I still hurt people. I nearly killed you. If…"

"It's irrelevant, here and now. No-one here knows those words; if they did, they'd have used them by now. So no-one here is going to take control away from you."

He was silent for a long while; when he spoke again, it was in barely more than a whisper. "I nearly lost control, earlier. I… I shouted at Jessie. I frightened her."

"Did you really nearly lose control? Or did you snap at her because she was being annoyingly persistent, and ignoring your requests to leave you alone?" His eyes snapped back to her. "Yes, I saw," she continued. "I was listening in. And yes, she was afraid when you shouted, but that had a lot more to do with the last five years of hell she's lived through, than anything to do with you. And you didn't make a move to hurt her - didn't raise your hand, lunge towards her, nothing. You just shouted."

"I shouldn't even have done that," he said miserably.

She shrugged. "She kind of asked for it. I'm sure she'd admit that."

"But I wasn't in control," he added, agitation creeping back into his voice. "Not really. I…" He trailed off into silence.

"You were lost, overwhelmed by your memories? Gunfire, explosions, blood, fear, like you were back in the war suddenly?" He looked at her sharply. "You had a flashback, Bucky. It happens sometimes, to people who've been in traumatic situations. And it doesn't get more traumatic than a war."

He watched her closely, but said nothing. "Something, anything, the tiniest little reminder, can trigger it - and suddenly you're stuck in the middle of it again, with no way out." He nodded in agreement. "It happens to the best of us - Steve, Sam, even me." And there was an admission she didn't make often. "Maybe even Jessie." He looked haunted at that idea. "You need help. Professional help to deal with it. But you can be helped. You can learn to cope."

"I thought it was him. I thought when it happened, it was him taking over. And I couldn't stop him. I didn't know it happened to other people."

"Of course you didn't. In your time, they didn't know about it. And back then, people were encouraged to bottle things up, and not talk about them. Thousands of World War 2 veterans suffered because of that mindset. But things are different now. You don't need to suffer."

"But what if it happens again? Here?"

"You didn't do so badly at dealing with it earlier." He looked at her incredulously. "I mean it - you pulled yourself out of it pretty quickly."

"Jessie did." He spoke so softly, she almost didn't catch it. "Hearing her voice pulled me out."

"And you really think you're capable of hurting her?" He looked at her balefully - but he knew she was right. "You're safe here, Barnes. And once we get back - well, we'll deal with it. You need help, and going back into stasis won't change that. But if it's what you really want… We'll deal with it then." He nodded. "But right now, you're hungry and you're tired. So let's see what we can do about that, ok?"