ONE YEAR LATER.
It had been a year since Sam and Bucky had started their runs.
Bucky had been to the malt shop. They made a decent malt and a pretty damn good chocolate milkshake. He had been to the record shop. Which he was now a regular customer at, now that he had gotten himself a record player. He also now had a small collection of records for it. Every once in a while, they would have an old beat-up copy of something he himself had listened to back before the war. Or something new from that era that caught his attention.
He always looked forward to finding something else from his past in that shop that would spur on another memory. These memories always tended to be good memories, so he welcomed them. He had also gone to a few of the Jazz clubs on a few occasions.
It was on the nights that they hosted swing nights he enjoyed himself the most. Although he still had not made it to the dance floor. The clubs were nothing like the huge dance halls from his time. Regardless, Bucky still enjoyed going from time to time.
In the last year, Sam and Bucky had been on many a mission and assignment. They were getting closer and closer to snuffing out HYDRA for good. For a while there they had been assigned to another case. They were charged with finding and stopping a group of radicals that wished to return the world back to the way it was. As it was during The Blip.
They had successfully taken care of that issue and were now back on their primary objective. It was slow but steady work. New information led to new missions and new missions led to new information. Bucky was feeling good about their progress on that front.
Bucky was also making equally good progress with his therapist, Dr. Fitzpatrick. After a while of giving the good doc the silent treatment, Fitzpatrick reminded Bucky that if he did not cooperate there would be consequences. Not just for Bucky and his personal and mental well-being, but also for his work with SHIELD.
Fitzpatrick made it a point to regularly remind Bucky that if he did not cooperate and at least try to work with him that all it would take would be one phone call. One phone call and Fitzpatrick would strip Bucky of his active status as an agent.
The mandated therapy was a condition Bucky agreed to when he signed on with SHIELD in the first place. If he did not want to fulfill his end of the bargain his status as an active agent would be void and he would no longer be permitted to go on missions.
Bucky hated even the thought of desk work. So, he complied, and reluctantly he had to admit that Dr. Fitzpatrick and himself were making enormous progress from where he had been a year ago. But Bucky still fought every step of the way, whenever he could.
His problem was that he could not bring himself to be completely open, vulnerable, and hand himself over. To be completely honest with not just himself, but with his doctor. This same situation did not end well for him previously. Fitzpatrick knew this. Bucky never had to say it, or admit to it. It was only all too evident.
Sam was incredibly relieved at the progress he could see Bucky making. He wasn't as quiet as he was before. He still didn't talk much and had a serious staring problem, but Sam could see a difference. He had also grown accustomed to it.
Sam was glad that now there was more stuff in Bucky's room other than a bed, a bedside table, and a lamp. Bucky now had a bookcase with quite a few books. Most of which had been published before 1940. But who was he to judge?
At least Bucky had made his space a little more personal and less sterile and unfeeling. Just as he himself was becoming more personal and less sterile and unfeeling.
Bucky also now had an old record player on a small table that he had found in an antique thrift store they often passed on their morning runs. There was also a small stack of records to go with it on the bottom shelf of his bookcase. Most of these records were also recorded in and around 1940.
Sam was glad to say that there was at least some more variety when it came to the records. There were some from the 20s, as well as the 30s and 40s. There was even a couple from the 50s. Bucky was expanding his musical horizon, or so it seemed.
Now if only he could get him to listen to the Trouble Man soundtrack.
Even with the fact that Steve had enjoyed it, Bucky was still more than opposed to even giving it a chance. He refused to broaden his musical horizons. One day Sam would get him to listen to it and make him confess it was good. One day.
Bucky had a love and loathe relationship with winter. For many reasons. He and Sam were currently out on an early morning run. It was bitter cold and the sun had just started to come up. The first rays of its light bathing the still frosted city. The streetlights had only just turned off.
He loved winter because of the cold. It was bracing. It made him feel more alive. He could feel the cold in his lungs with every breath. It urged him further and farther. Made him want to push himself as far as he could go. To the edge of his capabilities.
He hated it because of the memories of having his Winter Soldier training. Months out in the below-freezing cold with nothing but the bare minimum needed for survival. He hated it because of the name. It was the same as the one they had given him other than The Asset.
He hated it because his arm was cold.
Bucky may have a cybernetic arm made out of vibranium, but vibranium was metal and still got cold. And when it got cold, it hurt. A hurt he had never experienced back when he still had both of his original limbs. It was a hurt he could not really describe. It was almost like they had not come up with the right combination of words that accurately portrayed the feeling.
If he tried, he would probably have to akin it to having your bones freeze. Or having ice radiating from the inside out. Either way, it was not pleasant. But over time he had gotten used to it. He never complained about it. Not ever. Not even once.
Before if he did there would have been severe consequences. Before. Which would have hurt even more. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt now.
His mind was already in the hot shower back at the apartment as they ran through the park that was the block-away mark.
The park was empty, as usual. Empty except for one person. Which Bucky found odd. It was still technically winter, just on the verge of spring. It was cold. Almost freezing cold. The sun was barely up and there was no one else out on the street yet. So why was this person standing at the concrete table off to the side of the running path?
Both him and Sam got closer. The person was standing with their back towards them. Bucky was full of questions. And sudden and unexplainable concern.
Why was this woman standing at the concrete table, leaning over it? What was the massive mess of papers that she was busy spreading out in front of her? What was she working on? Why was she here so early? And why was she not turning around at the sound of them approaching?
As Bucky and Sam passed Bucky realized that it was the same woman that was usually there when they ran by. The one from the previous seasons. He had not seen her all winter. Most likely for obvious reasons. He also got a better look at her profile as they passed.
She would have been fairly pretty having it not been for the deep scowl on her face. She did not look up or avert her eyes from the papers spread out in front of her that she was wading through. She gave absoluely no sign that she was aware of their presence.
He turned his head slightly to keep her in his sight but kept from craning his neck trying to get a better look at her and the work that she was so intently looking at and studying. He turned to face forward again before he thought he would be considered rude. He knew other people thought he had a staring problem. Which he knew to be true. He did not want to make it worse.
He did not anticipate Sam being the one to have a staring problem all the way back to their apartment building. When they arrived and were on their way up to their apartment, Bucky was starting to grow anxious under Sam's gaze. If this was how other people felt around him, he really needed to work on that particular habit.
Sam on the other hand was just wondering if he saw what he thought he saw. A spark behind the soldier's cold blue eyes. Whenever they ran, Bucky never seemed to take interest in anything. Sam knew he was observing and analyzing everything they passed, but he never turned to look at anything. He never gave anything a second glance.
Now, Bucky was full-on staring at someone. And not just any someone. A woman. A woman he himself remembered from the previous year. Sam smirked to himself as he entered his room as he recalled all of the failed dates, ones he had set up for him over a year ago with a few of his female friends. Which had earned him more than one verbal tongue lashing by the aforementioned friends who had also been subjected to said failed dates.
He had given up on the thought of setting anything up, and Bucky dating anyone, quickly after that.
But now… now he was thinking about it again and hoped that that woman would be at the tables again soon. Then he would be able to keep a closer eye on both her and him. Maybe there was still hope for Bucky yet.
He couldn't recall what she looked like. This morning he had been too intent on Bucky and his sudden and drastic, for him, change in behavior. From what he remembered from the last time he saw her, he recalled seeing her last fall. She was a brunette. Really pretty. Maybe around the age of 30.
As Sam thought of all this, he did not notice the sound of the water turning on in the bathroom. He continued to formulate what to do about this new development for the next while. A plan started forming in Sam's head as to what he would do should either of them show interest. He had been completely absorbed in his planning and scheming that he also did not notice the water turning off and the door to Bucky's room shutting.
Meanwhile, Bucky was just glad his arm wasn't cold anymore as he put on an old Robert Johnson record. An enigmatic find from the record store that he was surprised to have liked so much. He had never been much of a Blues fan. He preferred Jazz. He finished dressing and laid back on his bed and listened to the haunting lyrics and melodies. He found a sort of comfort in them that could not be explained.
Later that afternoon Bucky and Sam received messages on their phones stating that they were to report to SHIELD headquarters the next morning for a new assignment.