It took a long time. Bucky slowly moved with more purpose and co-ordination, then started to take in his surroundings. O'Malley backed away so he couldn't see her. Steve spoke to him almost non-stop. Bucky looked unsettled, not quite scared, but he didn't seem to have any intention to attack. After what must have been the better part of an hour, he spoke.

"Where am I?"

"New York, infirmary. Friendly facility, you're safe."

Bucky nodded. He was still kind of panting. How much did he know? "What's the date?"

Steve hesitated. "What's the last date you remember?"

"December 13th, 2014." Steve sighed with relief. Bucky already had a pretty good idea how far out of time he was. That made things easier. "I knew you." He looked back at Bucky.

"What?"

"I knew you. Your name is Steven Grant Rogers. You were born July 4th, 1918." Bucky wasn't looking at him. "Your father was a soldier, your mother's name was Sarah. You used to have newspapers in your shoes. I knew you."

Steve just stared at Bucky for a moment. "You come out with that, and you call me Steven?"

Bucky moved as if to sit up, moved the stump of his metal arm and jumped. "Where's-"

"It's safe, don't worry. You can have it back. We just…" Steve tailed off. He didn't actually have the guts to say that. "If I'm Steven Grant Rogers, who are you?" Bucky started to push himself in to a sitting position. Steve caught him round the armpits, avoiding the stitches, and helped him up. O'Malley slipped out. Bucky was still frowning, as though he was thinking hard.

"The Asset." He said eventually. Steve's heart sank.

"No." Bucky looked round at him. "Wrong answer."

"Also The Soldier."

"Still no." Bucky flinched. "Are you sore?" He shook his head slightly. "Then who are you?" Bucky sat where he was, tensing more and more by the second. Steve stepped round so he was looking directly into Bucky's face. "Your name is James Buchannan Barnes, but I've never heard anyone other than your mother or mine call you James." There was no flicker of recognition. There had to be something left. "What did I call you, always?" Bucky dropped his head forwards, shoulders tensing further.

"I don't know."

"How the hell do you know my name, but not your own?"

"I don't know." Bucky pressed his head into his remaining hand. "I just… I know you."

Steve just stood for a minute. This felt horribly like an interrogation. Bucky didn't know the name Steve had been calling him by for the last hour.

He needed to calm down. As horrible as this was, he was making it worse for Bucky by being upset.

"So why didn't you kill me?" Bucky looked up at him. "You had me, you completely had me, you could have shot me, snapped my neck, just thrown me in the water, but you didn't." Bucky looked away. "Even after I fell, you could have just walked away, that would have been a kill, there was no way I was getting out of that. But you didn't. You dived in after me and pulled me out." Bucky looked scared now, as though he thought Steve might be about to stick a knife in his guts. "Bucky, you didn't just not kill me, you saved my life."

Bucky looked down again. "I knew you."

"You keep saying that. What does that mean?" There was a very long silence. "Why does it mean you wouldn't kill me?

"I don't know." Bucky said quietly. "But you never kill your handler, no matter what."

"So what? I'm your handler?"

Bucky shook his head. "Were you? Is that why I know you?"

Steve had no idea how to respond to that. Bucky was sort of right, but… no. They didn't know each other because of the Howlin' Commandos days, the Howlin' Commandos days had happened because they'd known each other, and cared about each other enough to risk everything to keep each other safe. "We knew each other way before that, but yes, sort of, I was your CO. Nobody ever called me your handler."

"But it wasn't that." Bucky said. "I was scared of you. You were a threat to me. You didn't have a weapon, but I was scared of you."

Steve frowned. "You didn't look it."

"I could have killed you and I was scared of you."

"So why didn't you?"

Bucky took a very long time to answer. "I don't know. You were my mission. I knew you."

"You knew me so you couldn't kill me?"

"I didn't want to. You wouldn't fight me and I didn't want to kill you."

Steve sighed. They were going in circles. "You don't remember any of it, do you?" Bucky looked at him sideways. "How do you remember the newspapers in my shoes but not your own name?"

"I don't know. I don't think I'm… working properly."

Steve looked up at him. "You're not kidding, Bucky."

"Bucky." He repeated. "Is that what you always called me?" Steve looked at him for a long moment. He didn't remember. He'd worked it out. Steve nodded slowly.

"But you don't remember me ever calling you that."

Bucky shook his head. "You grew."

"Most people grow, Buck."

"But you grew more. You'd stopped, you were little. I didn't see you, then I saw you again and you were big."

Steve looked at him pensively. "That was the first thing you said to me when you saw me after: 'I thought you were smaller'." Bucky tried to wet his lips with his tongue. His tongue looked really dry. "Want some water?" He nodded. There was a jug and a cup on the side. He poured Bucky some and handed it to him. He drank it in one go and held the cup out for a refill. He drank about four cups before Steve stopped him. Bucky looked back at the metal stump of his arm.

"Is that hurting you?" Bucky shook his head.

"I can't feel it." He flexed his shoulder, then looked down his other side, the one full of bullet holes, and two arrow wounds.

"Are they hurting?" Bucky nodded. "You remember how you got them?" Bucky ran a hand over them gingerly.

"Bullet wounds."

"Who shot you?"

"Men who were shouting, wearing black. I killed them." They'd suspected as much. They'd never found a survivor at a base Bucky'd cleaned out.

"If they were shooting at you, you had the right." Bucky didn't reply. He opened his mouth and shut it again, then swallowed hard, as though he was trying to get rid of a bad taste. Steve had seen Bucky drunk enough times to know what was coming. He looked around for something to give him. There was a steel bucket half full of bloody swabs. He picked it up and handed it to Bucky a second before he started retching. Bucky lurched forwards and heaved twice before anything came up. It was only water, or near enough, he couldn't have had anything else in his stomach.

Bucky coughed hard a couple of times, like he was trying to rip his insides loose. Steve knew how that felt. He'd made the whites of his eyes turn red by coughing before. Bucky shuddered and spat. "Done?" He nodded.

"Think so."

Steve put the bucket down. "Don't think I've ever seen you throw up from anything other than being blind drunk before." Bucky swallowed hard and shifted. "I guess you wouldn't remember that anyway. You often didn't the next morning." Bucky still said nothing. He looked shaky now, he was swaying slightly. "Look, lay back down. You got nothing to prove." Bucky started to lower himself, his missing arm wasn't helping. Steve took the weight of that side. Bucky twisted to look at him. It was hard to believe that this was the same man it had taken three of them and a lot of drugs to bring down a couple of hours before. He looked exhausted. "Buck, if you wanna sleep, then go to sleep. I'll stay here, you're safe." Almost immediately Bucky's eyes closed and his breathing slowed down. He didn't start moving again, he seemed to be asleep, or the drugs had taken over again. Steve released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, pulled Banner's stool round and sat down. He wasn't going anywhere.

.

It had been hours now. It was light outside. O'Malley had been in once to check Bucky's vitals and tell him that Stark had called Wilson, other than that he'd been left alone. Someone was walking up the corridor behind him. Steve looked over his shoulder. Sam came in to view.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Wild goose chases for months, I go to my sister's for five days and you catch him." Steve smiled. "Typical." Sam took a breath and held it for a moment. "How… was he?"

Steve sighed. "I don't get it. He was wild when we knocked him out, he woke up… calm I guess, but he said his name was 'the asset'." Sam grimaced. "But he… I don't know if I can say he knew who I was. He said my name was Steven Grant Rogers, he's never called me Steven, but he remembered that I wasn't always like this," he glanced down at himself "and the newspapers in my shoes, of all things." Sam breathed out heavily.

"But he knew you were friendly." Steve nodded. "Well, that's something I guess."

"I guess."

Sam looked thoughtfully at Steve. "How long have you been here?"

"What time is it?" Steve glanced at the clock. "Two, so maybe seven hours?"

"What time did you wake up?"

"Between four and five. Anyway, why?"

Sam shook his head. "Go to bed, man. You look done in."

"I don't wanna leave him."

"I'll stay. I'll radio you if he looks like waking up