Hello there! Sorry about the long wait, this chapter was giving me some trouble. But, here it is! And hopefully updates will come more frequently but, unfortunately, I can't make any promises. Thank you for everyone who has stuck by my story! Your reviews and fav/follows are so encouraging! Thank you!

This chapter follows Broken Pieces chapter 11. I recommend reading Aulizia's story not only because it is amazing (it's one of the best fan fictions I've ever read) but it also gives some background to Bucky that you only see glimpses of in my story. I write from Steve and Charlie's POV so some of Bucky and Amy's moments are shared here, so go read Broken Pieces! Anyways, I hope you like this chapter and please tell me what you think! :D

Steve barely got any sleep, but this time it was for a more positive reason. Thoughts of Bucky and how near he was and the hope that had ignited wouldn't allow for sleep. This was his best friend. The one person who had stuck by him when he was sick and helpless, was with him at his mother's funeral, was with him in every back alley fight. This was Bucky. Steve talked with Charlie for a while but eventually let her go so she could sleep. He spent the rest of the night pacing or drawing or trying to sleep. Sarge would follow him and growl when he moved too fast. The cat was grumpy but he helped Steve a lot. He liked to think he was helping Sarge too but, well – you can't really know with cats.

At 8:37am his phone rang. Steve didn't recognize the number but he knew. He knew it was Bucky. He took a deep breath and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey." Steve stopped breathing. It was him. It was –

"Bucky," he breathed. There was silence on the other line. No response. And then –

"I need your help."

"Okay," Steve replied immediately. "Why don't we meet at Arlington National Cemetery?"

"Okay."

"Meet me on McClellan Dr. after the first walking pathway. I'll see you there."

There was a click on the other line as Bucky hung up the phone. It took Steve a moment to breathe again. Sarge rubbed against his leg, grumbling.

He was going to meet Bucky. After so long, he was finally gaining back a piece of his past. A piece of himself. Steve called Sam next.

"So psycho-killer did call?"

"Yes, and stop calling him that."

"I will when he earns a new title. Where are we meeting him?"

"Me, it's just going to be me," Steve corrected.

"Steve-"

"Look, I know you should go with me but this-I gotta do this alone. I don't know where he's at right now and I'm the least likely to die if he does attack me. He's my best friend, Sam. I gotta do this alone." Sam sighed heavily through the phone. Steve had made the decision the moment he'd heard Bucky's voice.

"Fine. But I'm checking on you in three days to make sure you're still alive," Sam negotiated.

"Thank you, Sam."

"Don't thank me yet. Good luck, Cap." Steve hit the end call button and let out another breath he'd been holding. This was it. This was what he'd been searching and waiting for. Steve looked around his apartment, making sure he had everything that he might need. There were extra pillows and blankets in the corner. He didn't know where Bucky would feel comfortable sleeping. There was another chair in his kitchen. Steve's shield had been moved to his room instead of the front door. Minimize initial threats. He'd prepared. He'd been preparing since he got off the phone with Charlie. Speaking of which, Steve brought out his phone and typed a hurried message:

What's an easy meal to make?

Steve took one last look around the apartment and grabbed his helmet and keys. His motorcycle roared to life beneath him as he made his way to the cemetery. What would Bucky say? What did he look like? How much memory had he recovered? Questions circled Steve's brain, unable to slow as he got closer and closer. It took him 25 minutes to reach Arlington and get waved through security. He hadn't expected the amount of people that would be at the cemetery, but luckily, the road he'd chosen was out of sight. A car was already waiting when he arrived. Steve took a deep breath and took off his helmet, stepping off his bike. Here we go, Steve thought. Lord, give me strength.

A few moments passed and Steve squinted, trying to see through the tinted glass. He couldn't help being curious. That was the other thing he'd thought about during the night. Amy and Bucky. Steve could see what it looked like but he was curious to know just how far, how deep their relationship went. All his thoughts stopped as Bucky got out of the car.

He walked towards Steve with sure, confident steps. Although…his eyes scanned the surrounding area and his shoulders were tense, ready for a fight.

"Expecting a welcoming party?" the quip fell easily from Steve's lips. Gosh, he'd forgotten how good it felt to banter with him. With Bucky.

"I wouldn't blame you," Bucky replied. They stared at each other. Bucky had stubble on his face and his hair nearly reached his shoulders. It did look clean, as did the clothes he was wearing. Steve would have to thank Amy again.

"I thought you were dead." He couldn't help speaking, saying what was really on his mind. Had never been able to with his best friend.

"I thought you were smaller." Steve laughed, short and sudden, and jammed his hands into his pockets. That didn't rip through his heart like a knife. Not at all.

"I've heard that before," he said. Bucky's face twitched ever so slightly. He the phrase but something was missing. How many wires were disconnected or torn in his brain? How much was left? Enough to be recognized, Steve thought. That's more than he could've hoped really.

"What happens now?" Bucky asked.

"You want to know who you are, right?"

Bucky nodded. Again, his face twitched but instead of a scowl of confusion it was a scowl of pain. Did he want to know who he was or who he had become? Could you separate the two? Did you have to know one to understand the other? How much blood had he walked through?

"We'll take it slow," Steve suggested. "Maybe start with a haircut. You leave the army for a few years and start thinking you can dress like a bum."

The next facial twitch was the ghost of a smirk. Bucky's smirk. Images were playing on Steve's mind, begging him to shake the man in front of him until he got back his best friend. But he knew that would never work. No, Steve would be patient and help Bucky through whatever came next. That's what friends were for, right?

"I could be wrong, but I don't remember taking fashion advice from you before," Bucky said.

"No, you weren't big on listening to my advice," Steve chuckled.

"Really?" Bucky asked. He looked up, eyes flickering through unseen images. "I would have sworn it was the other way around." Steve started to smile.

"You remember that?"

"Just a feeling…"

"You should listen to it. You've got good instincts." Despite everything that told him not to, Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder. Screw all the reasons to be patient or gentle. Steve had never wanted to be treated with kid gloves when he was sick, Bucky wouldn't either. Ignoring every protest his mind threw at him, Steve pulled Bucky into a hug.

"I missed you, Bucky."

It took a few moments for Bucky to reply. He was frozen in Steve's arms, tense and unyielding. Until…

"Me too." Steve let out a breath before he let go. Bucky was wearing a melee of emotions but his eyes held Steve's. There was pain and panic but there was also the unwavering bravery of James Buchanan Barnes. Whether he knew it or not, the man Steve had grown up with, admired, and probably idolized was still there. Steve gave Bucky another clap on the shoulder and handed him a helmet.

"It's about thirty minutes until my apartment. You good?"

Bucky nodded, putting on the helmet.

The drive was silent except for the roar of his Harley. It gave Steve time to think about what happened next. Bucky was obviously tense and stiff but there were glimpses of what he had been. Steve was honestly just happy to have him here, next to him again. But it was truly dawning on him that Bucky would never be the man he once was. Yes, there were hints and glimmers of the man he used to be but time had changed him. Time had changed Steve. They were beginning a whole new relationship and Steve had no idea what to do.

He hadn't been kidding about the shave. It would be good for Bucky to clean up. Right? But maybe a razor wasn't so good right now. Would he even know how to use a razor? Gosh, what about silverware and cutlery? Should Steve take all of the forks and knives away right now? Was Bucky that dangerous? Yes. Was he that unstable? Maybe. Steve sighed heavily, leaning into a turn. There was a lot jostling around in his head. Did he treat Bucky like a trauma patient or a memory loss patient? He couldn't treat him like he used to, not fully at least. That would only lead to disappointment and confusion. So what did he do next?

Steve hadn't come to an answer by the time they reached his apartment. He pulled his bike into his spot and took off his helmet. Bucky definitely needed a shave and a haircut. His eyes scanned the surroundings once. Twice. Three times. Steve took a deep breath. Lord, guide me.

"I live on the fifth floor, room 502. There's a fire escape right outside my window and the roof is only two floors above me. There's only one elevator but it's slow and stops working periodically. You ready to go up?" Steve explained.

A curt nod was all the response he got.

Steve turned and led the way. They walked up the five flights of stairs, silently of course. The corridors and hallways were empty. Minutes passed but it felt a like hours. Steve unlocked the door and stepped through, holding the door open. Bucky hesitated, looking around. Steve waited. New surroundings meant new fears, new dangers. Bucky's jaw twitched and he stepped over the threshold. Steve closed the door behind him.

"Well, this is my apartment. Not much but it works."

"It's bigger than your last one." Steve turned to Bucky in confusion.

"Which one do you remember?" he asked. Bucky furrowed his brow.

"How many have you had?"

"Technically two. One after my mom died and one after I woke up in the 21st century. You visited me a lot after my mom died-"

"I brought you food so you wouldn't starve."

"Yeah. The other one…I'm not sure if you saw it fully-"

"I killed someone there, didn't I?" Bucky interrupted, face scrunched in concentration.

"Yeah."

An awkward silence lingered as the weight of the words settled over them. It was going to be an interesting few days.

"Look, like I said, we'll take it slow. Why don't you-"

"What was his name?" Bucky interrupted. Steve sighed, looking down.

"Nick Fury. He was the director of SHIELD, which is disbanded now," Steve replied.

"Because I killed him?"

"No, because HYDRA was lurking in SHIELD the entire time." Steve couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. Bucky looked at him out of the corner of his eyes and then focused on something else.

"You have a cat."

"What?" Steve looked around and only then did he remember his cat. Sarge had sauntered into the room and was now staring at Bucky as if he was an intruder.

"Right, my cat. Bucky this is Sarge. I found him by the dumpster and brought him in. He's stayed with me ever since," Steve introduced. Sarge and Bucky continued to stare at each other. Sarge gave a low growl and flick of the tail. Bucky didn't move or say anything. Eventually, Sarge walked over to Steve, clawing his pant legs and hissing for food.

"Your mom would kill you for bringing in a stray cat. She nearly did before…" Bucky trailed off. Steve smiled.

"Yeah, I tried to bring a kitten home but my mom refused to let it in the house. Plus, animals and I never got along well before."

"They made your asthma act up."

"Yeah. But now, nothing bothers me."

"Doesn't mean you're invincible," Bucky said, his tone laced with resignation. Like they'd had this conversation before. Steve smiled. It had been a while since someone had told him so bluntly that he was human.

"Are you hungry? I can make something while you look around, get comfortable with the place," Steve suggested, changing the subject. Bucky muttered something under his breath but shrugged. His stomach gave a traitorous growl. Steve chuckled and walked to the kitchen, Sarge close on his heels. He fed the cat first and then checked his phone. Charlie had replied:

Try chicken soup. Warm and comfort food. Here's a link to an easy recipe, just add pre-made chicken and chicken broth. Hope this works! :)

Steve smiled and clicked on the link. He started rummaging in his cupboards and fridge for ingredients while Sarge wound around his legs. Luckily, he had everything he needed and it shouldn't take more than a half hour to make. He turned the stove on and started cutting vegetables. The question of cutlery popped into Steve's mind again. He knew how dangerous Bucky could be but he had no idea what had happened with Amy.

Amy.

Bucky had been living with Amy for at least a couple days and she wasn't dead yet. Should Steve call her and ask what she did? No, Steve thought, thinking back to his conversation with her. He was worrying too much. Bucky didn't need ultra special attention like taking knives away. He needed to be shown that he was still human.

Steve jumped as Frank Sinatra crooned from the living room. Sarge growled at his legs and slinked away. Steve poked his head around the kitchen. Bucky was standing in front of the record player, looking at Sinatra's record cover. He was staring at it intensely and a vein pulsed on the side of his head.

"I don't remember this record…" Bucky ground out. He looked in pain.

"No, this record came out shortly after the war. It's hard to find records any earlier really. I've been trying," Steve said. Bucky set the cover down and looked through the pile of records. Steve went back to softening the vegetables and poured the water in.

"You weren't a big fan of Kitty Kallen," Bucky called. Steve's heart dropped. That was Peggy's record. He looked up and swallowed. Swallowed again.

"A friend gave that to me," Steve answered. He couldn't go into detail about it. He would eventually need to tell Bucky about Peggy, they had been friends. Just not now. Not yet. Bucky didn't question further.

After twenty minutes of silence, the soup was ready. Bucky had changed the records three times, not that Steve minded. It felt a little like it used to with big band music humming in the background.

"Soup's ready, Buck," Steve called. He set two bowls on the table with spoons and napkins. Bucky came in silently, eyes darting around before sitting down.

"Do you want water or a beer?" Bucky's brow furrowed. It was a long uncertain pause before he answered.

"Water." Steve nodded and filled two glasses. The air was tense as they began eating. Was he supposed to bring up memories or let Bucky take the lead? Steve had a few pictures but not very many. He took a sip of the soup and was surprised by the taste. It wasn't half bad. But, something was missing…had he forgotten the pepper? Should he balance their talks with old memories and nightmares? What should the next step be…

"You know," Bucky said, breaking Steve from his thoughts. "For the son of an Irish immigrant, you don't represent your culture very well. Where are the potatoes?" Steve blinked. And then laughed.

"That's what's missing! I knew something tasted off," Steve chuckled. Bucky's mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Wow, now that I think about it. I haven't had a potato dish for a long time…"

"Your mom made the best potato soup. Her name was Sarah, right?"

"Yeah and she always made dishes with potatoes. I hated colcannon-"

"Her potato salad. And she always claimed you had to like it if you were Irish," Bucky said, nodding. Steve grinned. No one knew that but Bucky. I guess we'll start with the old memories and go from there.