So I'm super bored waiting for this place to call me about a possible second interview for a job I want. So here. Have another chapter. I'm thinking of starting a schedule, but I don't want to give expectations I can't meet, so tentative schedule will be new chapters every Sunday, Tuesday/Wednesday, and Friday. We'll see how that goes for now.

Comments/Questions/Concerns/Life stories/How ya been etc – please review!

Chapter 19

Steve spent the next few minutes giving Peggy a very, very short abridged version of how Bucky had come to be sitting in her room. Bucky filled in the parts even Steve wasn't sure of. It was a tense few minutes as they filled her in on everything. The experiments, the fall, the Russians, being the Winter Soldier, everything. Bucky knew her—knew she knew Howard Stark—and hoped Steve wouldn't bring up specifics in his horrifying past.

"Steve, can you be a dear and go get me something to snack on?" Peggy asked when they finished.

Steve stood and smiled, understanding. "Sure. I'll be back." He left the room, closing the door softly.

"Steve has changed," Peggy finally spoke after a few seconds of silence. She was playing with the rim of the plastic cup in her hands.

"You have no idea," Bucky grumbled. "I may not remember everything, but I'm starting to remember enough."

"Listen," Peggy urged, looking at him now. "I knew Steve before the procedure—he was completely different."

Bucky frowned slightly, unsure of what she meant. "I mean, I know that much—he looks completely different."

But Peggy shook her head quickly. "No, Sergeant Barnes. The day Steve changed, really changed, was the day you fell from that train." Bucky took a slow breath and looked away. "I found him in a destroyed bar bitching he couldn't get drunk to numb the pain of losing his best friend."

Bucky let out a breath of air, corners of his lips turning upwards at her bluntness. He didn't know how to respond to that. But it so incredibly Steve. "I wish I'd been there."

"We all wished that," she murmured. "Whatever happened to you—whatever Hydra did—you are more than that."

"I've killed a lot of people."

"Rubbish," Peggy scoffed. "So have I."

"A lot of innocent lives."

"It's called war, James." Peggy shook her head. "No killing of innocent life can be justified. Millions of men and women these days must live with this. You are not alone. You will never be alone." She smiled sadly. "You have Steve."

XXX

Steve returned shortly after and they left Peggy to rest.

"She has memory problems?" Bucky asked softly as they walked down the street away from the building.

"Not like you. She has Alzheimer's disease." They turned a corner and Steve stepped into the street to hail a cab. "She has problems with her memory sometimes. Sometimes we'll be in the middle of talking and she'll look at me like it's the first time she's seen me in 70 years. It's hard for her sometimes."

They were silent the rest of the way back to Steve's apartment. It was getting dark out, the sun finally able to be obscured by the buildings. Steve led Bucky up the flights of stairs to a room Bucky didn't know. He could have sworn Steve's apartment was on the street side of the building.

Steve dropped his bag in a room, then returned to where Bucky was waiting in the kitchen.

"So what now?" Bucky's tone had taken on an almost defeated one—a sad, bitter note.

"Well," Steve started, glancing around his kitchen. "I was thinking I'd make something to eat, let you get settled in a bit—"

Bucky shook his head. "I mean what are we going to do about Hydra?"

Steve turned serious—a seriousness Bucky had associated with war. "We hunt them down. We take them out. One base at a time."

"We tried that," Bucky noted bitterly. "Remember? What has changed in 70 years that could be to our advantage this time around?"

Steve smirked. "We have technology—and with it, friends who are experts at using it."

"We'll see."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Steve asked lightly, pulling out a kettle.

"People could die," Bucky suggested flatly.

"More people could die if we don't take out Hydra. We just have to compromise where we can, and when we can't, don't."

Bucky lifted an eyebrow and dropped into a stool at the kitchen island. "Peggy tell you that one?"

Steve smiled and leaned against the counter. "You know," he started softly, "you're really starting to feel like the Bucky I remember."

"I don't remember everything—there are a lot of missing pieces. I can feel it. But I remember enough, I think." Bucky took the mug of tea Steve slid across the counter top. "It's only been a few days since the surgery, but I feel like me. Clara helped the most, though."

"Well, it's good you're feeling like yourself, that you're remembering."

Bucky gave him a dry look. "I don't just remember the good, Steve."

"Bucky, what you did all those years, that wasn't you. They made you."

"I know," he stated, taking a sip of tea. "I still did it."

Steve sighed. "It'll take time, Buck." He turned and rinsed his own cup in the sink. "Didn't you say Clara was coming back to DC?"

"Yeah." Bucky could feel himself closing off. The past few days he'd found himself opening up more and more to Steve, feeling more like Bucky, but he knew he had still done some horrifying things. As he remembered both the good and bad, he was having trouble coping with how his life had turned out. He missed Connie. His friends. He didn't like how…different everything had become.

"Maybe you could stop by and see her one day."

"I'm not going to bother her anymore."

"Whatever you want, Buck," Steve sighed. "What do you want for dinner?"

Bucky pressed his lips together in thought. "You know that soup your ma used to make?"

Steve smiled down at the floor. "It might not taste the same." Bucky just shrugged. "Alright. You're room is down the hall to the left. It's got its own bathroom if you want to shower. It'll be a little while."

Wordlessly, Bucky left the room to go shower, grateful to finally be alone with his thoughts. He dropped his own bag into the bed in the center of the room. The room itself was plain and mostly unfurnished. It had the bed and a single nightstand off to the side near the door.

He sat down slowly, pulling out the stack of Connie's diaries that Clara had loaned him, along with a journal of his own that Clara had given him as she was leaving.

"I figured you could write down whatever you want—thoughts, memories, feelings—whatever you need. It might help you to take notes at the very least. Sort out your thoughts," Clara told him, pushing the black faux leather book into his hands. "I wrote my cell number on the inside cover. If you ever need me, I can be reached there. Day or night."

Bucky just stared at her. They were standing at the entrance to Stark Tower. Pepper had called for a car for Clara to take to the airport where one of Stark's private jets was waiting to fly her back to DC.

"Bucky, I mean it," she insisted. He still said nothing. Clara sighed, watching a cab pull up. She hesitated in front of Bucky, hands fluttering in front of her. Instinct was to hug him, but logic told her not to. Second thought was to shake his hand, but she felt that was too formal. She settled for laying her hand on his arm, rightfully catching his attention. "Bucky."

"I heard you," he murmured. "Thank you. For everything."

Clara changed her mind then, against every piece of psychological training she had gone though in her head saying this was a bad idea, she reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a quick hug. "Anytime, Bucky," she smiled. "Like I said. Call me if you ever need me."

And like that, she climbed into the taxi and was gone.