If not for his enhanced hearing, he never would have heard it.
The Winter Soldier was on his way back to the abandoned apartment he'd been squatting in— conveniently located across the street and a bit above the apartment in Brooklyn that housed Steven Grant Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America— when he passed a dark alley that… mewled pitifully. The sound had been so soft, so forlorn, that it pulled at the tattered strings of his mind and wound insistently around his fiercely-guarded heart.
It brought him up short, stopping him mid-stride and turning his head to better hear if the sound came again. After a few moments it did, indeed, and he turned on his heel to silently enter the alleyway.
Just a few steps in, he heard a tiny scrape, like a pebble over concrete, and crouched to look behind the dumpster there.
At first he didn't see anything, but then a tiny gray paw poked out from underneath, batting at the small stone again. The Soldier's mouth turned up on one side and his brow smoothed out. Squatting, he held out his flesh hand and simply waited.
After a few moments, a kitten popped its grimy head out from under the trash receptacle and placed its paw tentatively in the Soldier's palm. Evidently having deemed him safe, the rest of the cat followed and the Soldier soon had a handful of purring kitten looking up at him with big green eyes. The fur was obviously intended to be all white, but New York City alleyways were not really conducive to keeping minuscule balls of fur clean, so it currently was more of a mottled gray.
The little thing was painfully thin, the Soldier noted, striking a chord deep in his shredded memory of another too-small body, struggling just to live. Fur notwithstanding, he could see the outlines of its ribs and this brought him to his feet, cat in hand. He looked around, suddenly unsure of his destination. The place he'd been staying in had no running water or electricity, and it was nearing midnight so he doubted any veterinarian's clinics would be open.
The tiny being nestled in his palm shivered, prompting him to pull it closer to his body. He covered it with his other hand, but that was metal and did mostly nothing to hold off the cold, so he opened the zipper on his hooded sweatshirt and tucked the kitten inside. He immediately felt the small body heave a gigantic sigh, which gusted along his wrist and warmed more than his skin, and then the soft, tentative lick of a sliver-sized tongue made the Soldier's decision for him.
He swiftly made his way back to the abandoned apartment where he'd stashed his few belongings. His backpack had two large compartments and three smaller ones, so his notebooks, pens, and the paperback copy of The Hobbit he'd picked up at a shelter all went into the front compartment, and he made a nest of his three spare articles of clothing in the other, which was closer to the warmth of his back. He did everything one-handed, unwilling to disturb the peace of the kitten in his palm.
When it was all ready— the Soldier's entire life packed into one backpack— he removed the kitten from his shirt and held it in front of his face.
Two bright, green eyes met his, and he was treated to a soft, curious purr and a bat of one front paw to his thumb. He pointed his metal finger at it and rasped as sternly as his disused voice could muster, "Now, I need you to be quiet for a few minutes, okay? We're going to where we can get you some help."
As he'd spoken, the little head had cocked to one side and the pointy ears had twitched. When he'd finished, the kitten stretched forward and, without preamble, bit into his metal index finger.
Well, it tried to. It realized instantly that it had made a mistake and backed off with a look of surprised confusion on its furry face. The Soldier's lips curved upward on both sides, a rare occurrence. He admired the kitten's spunk mentally as he deposited the small body into the warm nest he'd created in the backpack and slid the zipper mostly closed.
Ten minutes later, he slid open the window to the living room of Rogers' apartment and landed silently in a crouch on the hardwood floor. The place was quiet in a way that implied sleep, not emptiness, so he allowed a few moments for his eyes to fully adjust before looking around. He'd been in here previously, had a look around a few times when Rogers was out for more than just his morning run; the space was tidy and sparsely furnished, dark shapes standing against the bare flooring in the dark. What was there was quite comfortable, both large and sturdy enough to support the size and strength of a supersoldier.
To his left, a short hallway led to the two bedrooms and bathroom, to his right lay the kitchen and dining room. He moved into the kitchen and slid the backpack off his shoulders, setting it gently on the counter and unzipping the kitten compartment.
The kitten had stayed amazingly silent and had hardly moved, snuggled deep into the Soldier's nest of clothing and safe against his back as he'd scaled the side of the building. Now, it poked its head out, looking around curiously.
The Soldier put his human hand back into the bag, palm up, and waited. After a moment, one paw pressed softly mid-palm, followed by another, and another, until he had the entire animal in his hand again. He lifted it out slowly and carefully, but he needn't have worried; a soft purr was the only reaction.
He looked around, but Rogers must keep his dish soap—
Please do not be alarmed, Sergeant Barnes, a panel on the wall just above the sink lit up, the text glowing a dull purple in the darkness. I am JARVIS, the artificial intelligence program created by Tony Stark and enabled in this apartment, as well as Avengers Tower. You will find the dish soap in the cabinet on the right-hand side beneath the sink, and suitable towels in the next set of drawers to the immediate right, third drawer down.
The Soldier— Barnes… "Bucky," a small-then-huge blue-eyed man says urgently in his mind— located the items and closed the drawers silently before the screen became illuminated again.
The room Captain Rogers is in is entirely soundproof when the door is shut, as it is now, Sergeant, appeared on the screen, making Barnes frown at it, still holding the kitten. The kitten's attention was also riveted on the light-up panel, head tilting this way and that as words appeared and disappeared.
'Why are you helping me?' he asked, using American Sign Language adapted to one hand aimed at the panel— the most likely source for the interactive camera. Perhaps the Captain's bedroom was fully soundproofed and perhaps it wasn't; he wasn't willing to wake the other supersoldier just yet.
There was a momentary pause, as if the AI had to consider its next words. You have been in this apartment a total of five times now, Sergeant, watching as the Captain recovered, checking security, ensuring a fully-stocked pantry, you spent ninety minutes checking the softness of the couch, and, if I may say, another hundred and twenty in total sniffing the Captain's pillow and laundry. Barnes felt his cheeks pinken, and he began to run the water in the sink to distract himself from the truths the AI was laying out. If you intended harm to the Captain, I daresay you've gone about it in the oddest way I've ever seen.
Barnes huffed out a laugh, transferring the kitten to his metal hand without protest so he could use his real hand to test the water temperature. It was perfect, so he set about giving the kitten a bath.
As gently as possible, he soaked, soaped, scrubbed, and rinsed the little cat, who was, in fact, pure white but for the pink nose and emerald eyes. She also turned out to be female, and the calmest of kittens, silently allowing Barnes to clean her up.
When he was toweling her off, the screen lit up once more: You'll find whole milk in the refrigerator, and a small bowl in the cabinet directly above the towel drawer. I have taken the liberty of booking an appointment for our furry friend at the clinic on Sawyer street, at 9:30 with Doctor Erin. You needn't worry about payment; it's been taken care of.
Barnes was stunned into speech. "Thank you," he whispered, voice like fine-grit sandpaper over already-smooth wood.
I believe your wellbeing to be fundamental to the Captain's own happiness, Sergeant. Whether you truly remember your shared past or not, he simply wishes for your continued recovery, and to be allowed to be present in your life, in whatever capacity you choose. Barnes' heart stuttered; he'd been afraid to let Rogers find him, fearing that the Captain expected him to still be the old friend from the movies in the museum. And, sure, parts of that guy remained— fragments of memories floating unconnected through his mind— but mostly he'd just been trying to make it from day to day as the person he was now. I'd also like to point out that this is only partially speculation, as the Captain has indicated as much to Mister Wilson and the Avengers when he requested their aid in locating you.
"And… you didn't tell them where I was." He didn't phrase it as a question; it wasn't.
It was obvious you meant no harm. I do have protocols in place in the event of a hostile force; my priority is to protect Sir and the Avengers, including the Captain.
Barnes nodded, both because he could see the wisdom and because he was grateful to the AI. There was most likely an electromagnetic pulse ready to incapacitate the metal arm should he revert to his brainwashed state, the use of which he wholeheartedly approved in his current state.
Once the kitten was fed and dry, her eyes began to droop and her head nearly tipped into the bowl, which was still half-full of milk. He gently scooped her back up and went to grab his backpack.
Before he could, however, JARVIS had another message for him: You'll find a pillow and blanket in the hall closet, Sergeant. Barnes began to frown, but the AI wasn't done: It would be a shame to wake her. Sure enough, when he looked back down, he no longer held a kitten— just a little ball of fluff. He sighed softly and nodded to himself before crossing to the closet and removing the spare bedding.
He settled on the couch and covered his legs and stomach with the blanket, then deposited the kitten onto his chest. She opened her eyes and peered at him, then moved so her side rested against the side of his neck, under his chin. She rose up and rubbed the soft side of her face along his face, then leaned in and sank sharp little teeth into his nose, just for a second. Then she tucked her head and stretched out her front paws before rolling onto her back and flexing her paws along his jawline and behind his ear. Within a minute, her soft purrs vibrated against his skin, lulling him into his own deep, dreamless sleep, mouth curved up unknowingly in a soft smile.
Steve woke at his usual time, as the sun's first rays brushed across the bed. He rolled to sitting, dropping his feet to the floor and yawning. He sighed out the end of his morning stretch and thought about preparing to go for his morning run.
"Good morning, Captain," came the soft, British-accented voice of JARVIS. "I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough, JARVIS, thank you," Steve answered. He was unable to truthfully say he'd slept well, since that hadn't happened since 1945, but he appreciated the quasi-care of Stark's AI. He'd balked at first against giving the program access to his apartment, but he had to admit it gave him a certain peace of mind to know he could let up on his constant vigilance here.
"I am pleased to inform you that you have unexpected, but very welcome guests."
Two things in that sentence brought Steve up short: the "pleased" and the plural "guests". His heart began thundering in his chest. "JARVIS, is it… Is it Bucky?"
"Indeed, it is, Captain."
And this was why Steve was glad to have the AI— without, he might've blundered out into the apartment and scared off his visitor...s. He wondered who the second person was— Natasha? But, surely, JARVIS would've said or she'd have texted him. He checked his phone; nothing. He sat back down on the bed, thinking.
"JARVIS, is he… How is he? Does he seem okay? Happy?" Does he seem like he remembers me?
"Sergeant Barnes appears hale and hearty, Captain. He seems stable, although I cannot say how much, if any, of his memories of his previous life have returned to him at this time. He is aware of your identity and his own, and I would venture to say he feels some level of comfort here."
Steve frowned in thought. "What makes you say that?"
"I believe I should allow you to see for yourself." If JARVIS had a face, Steve imagined it would be smiling in a self-satisfied manner, judging by the tone. "If you remain quiet on your way out, Captain, I think you'll be quite pleasantly surprised."
That got his curiosity absolutely wagging its tail, so he took a few minutes to sit and compose himself. It could be anyone with Bucky out there, and Steve would accept whomever it was without complaint, so long as he could have Bucky back in his life in some fashion.
When he felt ready, he stood, squared his shoulders, silently opened the bedroom door, and stepped into the hallway. Five silent steps brought him past the corner of the living room wall and in full view of the couch, where he came to a quick stop.
Bucky was on the couch, all right, but he didn't have another person with him. Stretched out across his throat like a furry scarf was a snow-white kitten, both of them sound asleep. The kitten's paws were buried behind both of Bucky's ears, but Steve could tell by the small movements of some strands that the front paws were actively kneading Bucky's head.
It was honestly the most adorable thing he'd ever seen, and coupled with the fact that Bucky had finally found his way home, Steve's heart absolutely melted— right there on the hardwood floor of his apartment, big puddle of melted Steve-heart for anyone to step in and track all over the place. (He was self-aware enough to know that this was why his friends accused him of being dramatic, but he just couldn't bring himself to care because Bucky'd come home.) He leaned his shoulder against the wall and just… drank in the sight for several long minutes.
Eventually, the kitten stirred on Bucky's chest, uncurling to stretch out. It caught sight of Steve and sat up, perking its ears curiously at him.
"'S thinkin'a callin' her Alpine," Bucky's sleepy voice rumbled out over the room like a most welcome thunderstorm. "Onnaconna she's all white."
Steve's smile threatened to break his face, it was so wide and genuinely happy. "That's a perfect name, Buck."
"JARVIS made an appointment to get her checked out by a vet this morning. That dude's awesome to have around, y'know?"
Steve had no idea where Bucky had picked up the modernisms, but he couldn't care less at this point. "Yeah. He is."
"And we'll need a litter box, cat food, snacks, and— cat toys, Stevie. Tons of cat toys," Bucky didn't even seem to realize he'd let the nickname slip out— not to mention speaking as though him staying here with his cat was a foregone conclusion (it was)— but it hit Steve like a freight train, and he was intensely grateful that Bucky had yet to open his eyes because Steve really needed a moment to pull his face back together.
"Yeah, Buck. All of that. And whatever else you guys want." It was so hard not to just fall to his knees next to Bucky and Alpine and wrap them both up in his arms. He inched his way closer, drawn in by the comfortable tableau they made.
One crystalline eye slit open, pinning Steve where he stood a few feet from the couch. "You— You used to… draw?"
Steve's figuratively-poor heart kept alternating between constricting and trying to burst out of his chest alarmingly; he hadn't skipped so many beats since he'd been sickly and scrawny and had allowed mad scientists to pump him full of serum. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did. All the time, as a matter of fact."
The other eye finally opened and Steve was lost in the familiarity of the opalescent gaze. "Still?"
A little shot of guilt traipsed through his belly. "Ah, well. Not as much, no." As he took in the scene before him, however, he felt his fingers itch to hold a pencil for the first time in… seventy years. "Lookin' to get back into it, though." Never could keep myself from drawin' you, jerk.
"'S good t'hear." Bucky's eyes slid closed again, Alpine lay down fully, stretching out across his chest, tail batting his ear. "Go for your run, punk. We'll be here when you get back."
Steve's face felt like it was going to burst from the sheer joy trying to claw its way out of dormancy. "I'll bring coffee and breakfast, too. Anything else you need while I'm gone, just ask JARVIS."
"It would be my privilege to supply anything you or your young charge should desire, Sergeant. And might I add that I am delighted to welcome you back to Brooklyn."
"Thanks, JARVIS. 'S good to be home, buddy." Alpine chose that moment to let out a high-pitched meow in agreement.
They had a lot of things to work on: living in each other's pockets again, sharing space— with each other and a tiny kitten and relearning each other as they are now— both physically and mentally, what with Atlas-sized cases of PTSD and varying degrees of touch starvation for both of them. But there had never been anything they cowered from, much preferring to face whatever came at them as they always had, head-on.
Together.
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