This was short and forced and weird and I'm sorry, but it was necessary. I needed a bridge to get me to where I wanted to be CUZ NOW SHIT IS GONNA GO DOWN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.

Lemme know how I'm doing and review!

Chapter 22

"We boiled everything," Bucky muttered, head in his chin at the kitchen island as he watched Steve flit around, hovering over several pots and pans on the stove.

"Uh huh," Steve said distractedly.

"You're cooking."

"Uh huh." Steve looked over his shoulder quickly. "Hydra teach you to be that observant?"

Bucky glared at him. "What are you making? Is it any good?" he asked hesitantly.

"Chicken Parmesan, and you'll have to decide yourself." He slid some breaded chicken breasts into a glass dish and coated it with a sauce from one of the pots on the stove. "So what did Hydra feed you?" he asked out of curiosity.

"An IV," Bucky replied bluntly, watching Steve dump some cheese on top of it all and slide the whole thing into the oven. "Where did you learn to cook?"

Steve shrugged and wiped his hands off on a dishrag hanging from a drawer. "A lot of places, I guess. Pepper taught me a bit whenever I would stay at the tower—Tony convinced her all I ate was boiled potatoes." He paused and pursed his lips in thought. "Natasha was a help. Then there are plenty of stuff online."

"Natasha?"

Steve gave Bucky a look. "She gave me some cookbooks. Let me find what I liked. Cooking is kind of easy to figure out."

Bucky grunted and pushed away from the counter when there was a knock at the door.

"You can still back out of this," Steve joked, heading to let Clara in.

Bucky said nothing but walked into his room to get his notebook. He was both dreading and excited to see Clara again. A feeling in the pit of his stomach told him something awful was preparing to unleash itself, and he didn't want her around when that happened.

"I hope it's okay I join you for dinner," she said when Bucky walked back out into the kitchen. She was sitting in his usually seat at the kitchen island, Steve standing against the counter, kettle on the stove behind him.

"It's fine," Steve pressed. He glanced down at the timer. "It's gonna be a little while before it's done, though." The kitchen was silent, Bucky staring down at his journal, Clara, watching him carefully, and Steve looking between them both, taking a few seconds too long to get it. "I'll be in my room until then." He quickly left the kitchen, a quiet click as his bedroom door closed.

Clara cleared her throat and watched the kettle steam lightly. "How have things been?" she began. "Have you been figuring out who you are?"

Bucky nodded, managing to pull away from the counter to get a mug and a tea bag down from a cabinet. "I've been feeling like…me for a while now, I guess."

"More good days than bad?"

The kettle began to whistle and he pulled it off the stove, filled the mug, and then set it in front of her. "More bad nights. Nightmares."

"Do you wake screaming?" she guessed.

"Steve says I do."

"Sugar?" she asked, dipping her bag in the hot water. "What do you have nightmares about?"

"The war. Hydra. Lots of things that would give anyone nightmares." He dug through a cabinet quickly and pulled out a bag of sugar from the back, opening a drawer quickly and handing her a clean spoon.

"You seem to know where everything is—how long have you been staying with Steve?"

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes avoiding hers. "You shouldn't be continuing to let me bother you."

"Loose plans, huh?" she chided. "Bucky I wouldn't offer to help if I didn't want to. You're not bothering me in the least. Have you been having nightmares since you got here?"

"Something or someone is going to come after me and you're going to be involved and you're going to get hurt," Bucky ranted tiredly, ignoring her and rocking on his heels, hands gripping the countertop of the island.

"No I'm not—you can't know something like that will happen." Clara furrowed her brow, slight anger in her eyes.

"It always does," he said dejectedly, finally meeting her eyes. He pressed his lips together. "It always ends in a fight."

"Oh, Bucky," she sighed. "It's just going to take time for you to trust that nothing is going to happen to me or anyone else. And even if, God forbid, something did happen, it is not your fault."

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he admitted. "I lost my family, I lost Steve, I lost my own chance at a normal life, and I lost Connie. I don't want to lose you, too."

Clara placed her hand on top of his. "I'm right here, and I'm going to help you find a way to get your chance at a normal life back." She offered a smile when his face softened. "Now, tell me, what was it like growing up with Captain America?"

Bucky laughed. "When I started to remember stuff from growing up, seeing the exhibit gets funnier and funnier," he chuckled. "I mean, he's supposed to be this big, tough, symbol of freedom right? Well, one time, he sprained an ankle putting on his underwear."

Clara choked on her tea, trying to keep her laughing quiet, but the stove began to buzz and Steve emerged from his room.

"If you thought I couldn't hear, you're wrong, and I'm about to embarrass you, Pal," Steve said calmly, clapping Bucky on the back as he passed to take the food out of the oven.

XXX

"He has a personality," Clara stated. After dinner they had all spent hours sitting in the living room talking, everything from the retelling of childhood stories to old war stories. Her eyes flicked from Bucky back to Steve. "It's very different from when we met. Less calculating and meticulous and angry. It's more…human."

"Gee, thanks," Bucky said sarcastically. He had let her go through his journal, noting just how much he had remembered in such a short period of time. She assured him it was great, and that not remembering many new things probably wasn't a bad thing—just that he wasn't encountering anything to trigger them to resurface.

"No, I mean, you feel more like an individual!" Clara defended.

"No no," Bucky held up a hand. "I understand." He looked at Steve. "Is this generation all this openly hateful?"

Steve laughed and shrugged. "You should meet the rest of the Avengers. I think you'd like Thor."

"Oh, God," Bucky muttered. "Does he really go by Thor?"

"He's a god."

Bucky furrowed his brows. "That's quite a compliment. Few of your back up dancers back in the day use to have similar feelings towards you."

"No," Clara exclaimed, laughing, "literally the man is a god."

Bucky shot Steve a look. "I really have no idea how you handle some of this shit."

Clara laughed and stood, stretching. "I do need to go. I have some early morning meetings again tomorrow."

"I'll walk you down to your apartment," Bucky muttered, pulling on his shoes.

"It's just downstairs," Clara began to argue, but hushed when she saw the look on Bucky's face. Whatever would comfort his fears. "Thank you again for dinner," she said to Steve as she collected her things. "It was amazing."

"Anytime," Steve said with a nod, watching the two leave the apartment.

Bucky and Clara walked down the stairs silently, Bucky's eyes searching out into the street.

"See," Clara started, "I told you—"

"There was a guy this morning," Bucky cut her off. "He was watching us from the trees while Steve and I were running. Steve and Sam brushed it off as a reporter…"

"But you don't think so," Clara finished, unlocking her door.

"No," Bucky shook his head. "I've had a really bad feeling ever since."

Clara dug through her purse and pulled out a familiar knife. The one he had dropped on her coffee table the very first time they met. "I've been carrying it around for protection. I've never used a gun, and if someone got too close to me it'd be useless anyways, but I can run."

A little bit of relief trickled into Bucky's mind, knowing she wasn't entirely defenseless and wasn't entirely blind to the possibility of something happening.

"Thank you."

"Just know, I'll be ok."

"The guy—"

Clara shook her head. "Just be on your toes for a little while. Good chance it could have been someone curious about Captain America—everyone knows where he does his daily routines." She rolled her eyes. "But with all that's happened, I wouldn't also blow it off. You be careful, too, ok? But don't let this get you down. Less bad days than good, okay?"

"Right." He offered a small smile, and watched her enter he apartment, waiting for the deadbolt to lock before he returned to his own.