Author's Note: I don't have a way to write in Cyrillic, so I'll use italics to denote when Russian is spoken. Those italics will be within quotes, while direct thoughts will be in italics but not inside quotes. There is one word that I wrote out with English characters.

Marvel Cinematic Universe
The Path Not Taken
By Gabrielle Lawson

Chapter Six

"I need more notebooks," Bucky stated. He quickly flipped his current book open, and Sam caught a glimpse of a written page and a blank one. Then he tucked the book between the couch cushions.

Sam hadn't counted well but he thought given Bucky eight when he and Steve had moved into his house. A lot less trees would have to die if he switched to digital. "If you type them into the computer, you'll never run out of space. Here, you could probably just talk to the computer and it would record your words."

Bucky glanced at the computer with a frown. "Not secure. I want a lockbox."

The computers here were way more secure than just about anywhere else. Still, Bucky didn't need to hide his memories away. He needed to share them, to talk about them. Sam felt they were plateauing. Bucky had made incredible progress in remembering-eight notebooks attested to that. And he was a lot better about expressing opinions, making choices, having likes and dislikes. He carried himself more like a person and less like a killing machine. But Sam felt he was still hiding his real feelings. And he only shared easy memories. Usually ones with Steve in them or occasionally his own family. Nat and Bucky talked somewhat openly about the torture and brainwashing, which was great. But that didn't mean he was processing it. And what about the stuff after the torture and brainwashing? He was credited with two dozen assassinations, but that would have been the high profile targets. There were likely support people around them: assistants, security personal and such. Then there were witnesses and bystanders who'd be killed as well. The Bucky Barnes he'd read about would have been very disturbed by those bodies. Was the man in front of him?

"It's great that you're writing your memories down. It's great that you remember so much. But to really get back to being the Bucky you remember, you need share some of the memories, not lock them away."

"I share them with Steve."

Sam nodded. "Yes, you do. The ones he remembers. What about the ones he's not in?"

"Natasha-"

"And I know she talks with you about the really awful things Hydra did to you." Sam knew where was going so he redirected. "Does it make you feel better about it?"

Bucky looked away. Sam thought it was actually really great the way Bucky stopped to assess his feelings. He stayed patient.

"She helps me understand how and why."

How and why. "Okay. That maybe makes it a little easier. Do you have nightmares about it? Maybe even when you're awake?"

Bucky's right hand started to tremble lightly. It was something Sam remembered from the video and the machine. Bucky must have realized it as he balled his hand into a fist. But he wouldn't look up. "It hurt."

"Mm-hmm," Sam agreed. "I can't even imagine how much everything hurt you then. But I know those things can still hurt you now when you remember them. The more we share those painful memories with someone who understands, who cares, the less they will hurt us. You could maybe let Steve read one your books then talk about it with him."

Bucky shook his head.

"No to Steve? No to reading? No to discussing? Which no?"

"All of them."

Great. "Okay, let's take them one at a time. Why no to Steve?" Sam asked. "He knows you; he cares for you like a brother. He understands you more than anyone else."

"He doesn't."

That was unexpected. "Why would you think that?"

"He understands Bucky."

Oh boy. "You're Bucky."

Bucky was looking toward the computer, or rather, not at Sam. But Sam thought he looked sad. "Partly."

Sometimes, Bucky could say one word and convey a Marianas Trench of depth. The accelerated courses in psychology and Cognitive Behavior Therapy were helping, but Sam still felt very much out of his depth at times like these. "Steve's Bucky?" he guessed and hoped he was right.

"School, bullies, art, boxing, sisters, mother, father, Howlies."

The easier memories. "What happens when you try to talk to Steve about Zola, or the lab, the fall, the arm, the machine?"

Bucky glanced back. "Natasha."

Because she gets it where Steve can't. And Steve is a die-hard optimist. "Does it upset Steve?"

"But that's over now and I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Oh, Sam was going to have to expand his services to Steve. "Okay, Steve maybe isn't the right one. Yet. Give him time. He can grow. What about me? I work with vets who've seen terrible things, done terrible things, and have had terrible things done to them. I'm a few classes away from being a certified therapist. I've seen you when you were literally terrifying and I'm still here. Whatever you tell me won't be as shocking or terrifying as ripping my steering wheel through my windshield. So try me."

Bucky bit his bottom lip as he thought. That was probably a good sign. He didn't flat out refuse.

"Pierce," he finally said. "My last handler."

This was good. Sam waited.

"I thought he was a bit…dim."

Sam wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Dim?" He sat up straighter to collect himself. "How so?"

'He told me to kill Nick Fury. He told me the plan. The others would try to shoot him, and I would back them up or confirm the kill. My role was unclear. And mid-day. In the middle of a street.

"They trained me to work in secret, to finish a target quickly, efficiently, to disappear when it was done." He sighed. "I obeyed as I was supposed to. I blew up his car. He escaped. I was punished. I remember being mildly resentful. They said, 'Do it right this time.' I asked if I could have a sniper rifle, this time. I was punished for my insolence, but I got the rifle. I shot him and disappeared properly.

"Then I was supposed to kill Natasha and the one man who'd seen me after Fury's 'death.'" He even held up two fingers of each hand when he said 'death.' Sam was in awe and somewhat disturbed. Bucky went on. "In ten hours. That was unreasonable. And it would be daylight again."1

Sam decided to comment. "I remember how that went. I think you improvised well, considering." Sam found his right leg was starting to bounce. He stopped it.

"But Natasha explained it to me," Bucky said. "They weren't…dim. They didn't think they'd need me much longer. With Insight, I would be obsolete."

That ended on a downer. "Thank you for telling me. May I read one of your books so we can talk about it next time?"

"No."

And there's the wall. Sam tried again. "You just told that you had some professional pride in your 'work, and even though your handler seemed like an idiot at the time."

Bucky pulled the notebook from between the cushions. "These are my memories. They were taken from me. And it hurt. A lot. They are not for reading."

Sam decided to push a bit more. "Then why write them? Just because I suggested it when I bought them for you?"

"In case I forget."

That stabbed Sam right in the gut. "Bucky, you won't forget. Your brain is healing. You get to remember now. There's no machine here to take your memories away. No one here who would hurt you. Anyone else would have to know that you're here, to get through all of Stark's security and Steve. You are safe here."

Bucky didn't say anything. But his eyes gave Sam a clear message. He didn't feel safe. "I'll get you that lockbox," Sam said quietly as he stood. "I'll come back in a few days."

Sam decided he needed a pick-me-up after that session, so he opted for a piece of pie from last night's dinner. "JARVIS, is anyone on staff in the kitchen?"

"Not for another two point five hours, sir."

He let himself in and headed for the fridge only to find he wasn't the only one who was hoping for pie.

Natasha smiled at him. "How'd it go?"

Sam shook his head. "Not sure yet. Can you cut me a piece, too?"

"Sure, get the whipped cream?" She microwaved the bowls and brought them to the counter where Sam had the spoons and whipped cream. "So what're you not sure about?"

"He told me a story from his memory."

"That's progress!" she said, smiling. Then she held up her spoon. "Unless it was another childhood story and how he misses his mom."

Sam chuckled. "I'd love if he told me he misses his mom. That's another angle on his trauma: all the people and things of his life that are just gone. But no, this was pretty recent. Pierce and the Fury mission. Said he thought they were stupid for sending him out in daylight with no clear plan."

She swallowed a bite. "Oh yeah, we talked about that. It was more they were really not trying so hard anymore. They were banking on Insight."

"And their asset being obsolete, yeah. He told me." The pie was very rich and the cream smoothed it out nicely.

"So what's bothering you?"

"I never thought of him having opinions or feelings about his missions," Sam admitted. "Because of the programming, the machine. I don't think I'm ready to hear him talk about his successful missions."

"Why? Because he might have some pride in his work? That he looked forward to that 'Good job, Soldier' and a nice long sleep in the freezer?" She put a hand on his arm. "Sam, that was what he was trained and programmed to do. I was proud of my 'work'…until I wasn't."

Sam thought about that. How Bucky felt then may not be how he feels now. He'd even told him as much. He'd thought Pierce a dolt then but he knew now that Pierce just didn't care because the Winter Soldier's usefulness was almost at an end. It was like a Grande Finale that Bucky wasn't supposed to live through. Part of the goal of therapy was to look at one's feelings at the time and to process them.

He decided to let Nat in on something his classes had him thinking. "The machine took his memory. How much of personality is memory?"

She thought for a moment then smiled. "Steve told me Bucky used to be rather snarky. Guess he had to be if Steve kept getting his face bashed in by picking fights with bullies. Maybe him doubting Pierce's intelligence was just some of that Bucky-ness coming through."

Whoa. Sam that thought the Winter Soldier was personality-free. But a programmed lack of empathy, fear, and remorse didn't mean his entire self was gone. "So some part of Bucky was still in there."

"Within the framework of his programming, probably. He was smart, funny, charming, and good at just about everything. He was a champion boxer, got high marks in school, saved Steve from bullies and starvation, was made a sergeant in the Army. He was leadership material. Probably some pride in all that."

War had changed him. No one mentioned Bucky as having swagger after his capture, unless Steve was around. By taking his memories, Hydra had taken most of his trauma, too.

Sam picked up both empty bowls, and Natasha returned the cream to the fridge. "Thanks for helping me process."

"No problem. It was always going to be a team effort. You wash, I'll dry?"

Sam nodded. "I don't think he feels safe here." He handed her a washed and rinsed bowl.

"Why would he ever feel safe again, Sam? He's spent seventy years being used and abused; the life he knew is gone. They took his humanity. That's a very deep cut."

Sam handed her the last of the dishes. "I've got class and a little shopping to do. See you at dinner. Thanks again for the talk."


Steve stood back in confusion with just a hint of awe. He'd seen and used treadmills before, but he usually had to jog on them. Outside, he could go his own speed and really lose himself in the run. The treadmill before him was different. It had a longer track, for one thing, and large screens to the front and sides. Steve's first questions was why.

There was a Post-It note on the touchscreen that wasn't even at the front of the machine. He picked it up. "Steve, give it a whirl and tell me what you think. Tony."

Steve shrugged and touched the screen. It first asked him to choose a backdrop. Steve chose a country road with a view of mountains. And that was it. The screen simply told him to step on and commence running.

Steve started by doing what he normally did on treadmills. He jogged. The screens around him gave him the sensation that he was out in the country. There were trees lining the road and farms on either side. In front were the Rockies. Steve remembered seeing them during his war bonds days. After a few minutes to warm up, he decided to do as Tony had said. He gave it a whirl, gradually gaining speed. The trees sped by. A horse in a pasture on the right tried to match him, staying with him nearly two minutes before peeling away. Numbers flashed on the screen as ghostly images, noting the miles as they ticked off. The scenery never duplicated itself. Instead, the road when on and on, with new things to see, like deer and elk. He even saw a bear family when the road ran over a bridge. He could even hear the water rushing below. He was impressed. He kept at it for a good thirty minutes. Twelve and a half miles. Not bad since he'd hadn't run in three weeks now.

He slowed and the track slowed with him. It stopped when he stopped. He stepped off to find Tony waiting.

"Well?"

Steve smiled. "I'm impressed. Though I do have a suggestion or two."

"Hit me?"

"I was really moving and I could see the breeze moving the leaves on the trees. But I couldn't feel that breeze."

"Okay." Tony seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I can do something with that. What's the other?"

"Another track. Maybe I can get Bucky down here to run with me." Steve didn't know if Bucky was fast like him but it stood to reason.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, we can't exactly let him run out in Central Park, huh? How's he doing anyway? Has he even left your apartment since the scan?"

Steve's smile faded. He sighed. "He's…better. Remembers more. He's always writing in his notebooks now. He'll even start conversations sometimes, remembering something we did together. He's coming out of his shell now and then." Steve really wanted to get back to him. He hadn't lied to Tony, but it seemed Bucky was troubled by his memories, too. Clint had come by with a shoebox of old photos. He and Bucky had gone through them together. They were helpful in prompting memories, but they were bittersweet when they knew everyone in the photos was dead. It was a life neither of them could get back.

"He knows everyone but Thor now, right?" Tony asked as they left the gym. "He ready for prime time yet?"

Steve guessed Tony meant the group meals. "No, but we could probably add a guest down there for a meal or even just a good visit. Nat and Sam have eaten with us. Of course, she's gone to DC to testify."

"Lucky her," he replied with a good helping of sarcasm. "Been there, done that. Senator Stern was on my ass to give up my suit to the government. Turns out he's Hydra so we dodged a bullet there, for sure."

Steve believed that. Hydra wouldn't have needed the Winter Soldier if they'd had a few of those suits. "I'll bet. Hey, you know someone who can cut hair?"

"You needing a trim?" Tony called the elevator.

"Wouldn't hurt," he replied. "But really, Bucky's ready for a change. Hydra kept his hair long."

Tony nodded and stepped in. "Yeah, I know a guy. I'll give him call."

Tony went up and Steve went down, by the stairs. He opened his door to see Bucky on the couch with the shoebox in his lap. Steve sat down beside him. Bucky was holding a photo of his whole family. Mom, dad, him and three sisters, the last one still and infant.

"I remember this," Bucky said, his voice cracking. In the photo, everyone was smiling. His mother had short hair, bobbed as was the fashion. Rebecca, too. Bucky was in a little suit like his father's. "Mary didn't want her picture taken. She tried to hide behind me."

"Your sisters looked up to you," Steve told him, remembering. "You were a great big brother. You helped your mom raise them after your father died."

"How did he die?"

"Parachuting accident," Steve told him. He was sad that Bucky hadn't remembered. "It was before we met. Think that's one thing we had in common then. Our dads were gone."

"Was I sad?" He touched the image of his father. Steve could see the resemblance.

"Probably as sad as I was when my mom died, except I didn't have anyone left like you."

Bucky's eyes were moist. "Like now?"

That stung. Peggy was alive but she'd moved past him long ago. The Howlies were gone. Bucky's family mostly gone. There were distant relatives, great nieces and second cousins, and his sister Rebecca. But she was like Peggy. She didn't remember so well. She believed her brother was dead. "Yeah, Buck. But now we have each other and Nat, Sam, and Tony. You know Clint, Rhoadie and Hill, too."

Bucky's head dropped and he put the photo back in the box.

Steve had an idea. "Why don't we take a walk today?" he tried. Bucky had only left their apartment for medical scans. "Tony built this really great treadmill. It's like you're running on a country lane toward the Rockies, and you can even run full speed." Steve laughed. "I even raced a horse. Wanna give it a try?"

"Maybe some other time." Bucky put the box on the coffee table and retreated to the bedroom.

There was a knock on the door, so Steve got up and opened it.

"Hey, Cap," Clint said. "You're needed upstairs. We got a lead on another base."

Steve sighed. "Yeah let me just.…" He pointed his thumb back toward the bedroom.

"Understood. Was he always this shy?"

"Shy?" Steve shook his head. He thought back to the Stark Expo the night before Bucky shipped out, a big smile on his face as he waved to the two girls he'd gotten for the date. "No. He was anything but."

Clint nodded and left and Steve closed the door. The bedroom light was off but Bucky couldn't have been asleep yet. "Hey, Buck. I'm going to be gone for a bit. There are still some Hydra goons out there we gotta mop up."

"Hydra? Can I come?"

Steve couldn't see him but his voice was hard. Steve could understand him wanting payback. "Sorry, Buck, we can't take the chance. Someone might know the words, then we'd lose you. I don't want to lose you. Not again."

Bucky didn't reply. But Steve had to go. He knocked once on the doorframe then left for the locker room.


Natasha knocked on the door and waited. It was early and Bucky might still have been asleep. But she didn't have to wait long.

"Hello, Natasha."

His hair had been cut. "I like your new do. I hadn't seen you for a few days so I thought maybe we could have breakfast again."

"I made pancakes." He opened the door wider. "Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast. Thought maybe Steve would be back soon. Did he make it back?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Steve is fine," she reassured him. There was quite a spread on the table. "He's eating upstairs. I'll eat his half."

"Your super power must be staying thin."

Her smile widened. "Is that a joke?"

"Was it inappropriate? Did I do it wrong?" He held out her chair for her and pushed it toward the table after she sat.

"No, it was a perfect comeback to my joke." The food smelled great. "There's no way I could eat a fourth of this. You'll have leftovers."

Bucky filled his plate with four pancakes and a salad plate with eggs, bacon and toast. Natasha did the same, with only one pancake. She tried the eggs first as they cooled fast. They were buttery, lightly salted and quite fluffy. "I didn't know you could cook."

"I helped my mother. Then it was only Steve and me. One of us had to." He poured syrup on his pancakes and started in. "Steve really only knew how to boil and even that would go wrong."

"Not to self: Steve is good at many things. Cooking is not one of them." She used her toast to soak up the butter from the eggs.

"Natasha Romanoff," he said. "You speak Russian?"

Another surprise, though not really surprising. "It's my mother tongue."

"No accent in English."

"They taught us not to have one. We watched children's cartoons and sitcoms, repeating the lines."

He put down his knife and fork. "My handlers spoke Russian, until Pierce. I had to learn. I think I learned others."

Nat slipped back into English. "You probably did. You could ask JARVIS to give you some examples. See what you understand. Being multilingual is a good thing, even though it came through a bad experience."

"No one else here speaks a different language. No one I can talk to."

"You can talk to anyone on our team, you know. Not just the four of us. She touched his hand, the metal one, across the table. "You just have to leave this apartment once and awhile."

He picked up a piece of bacon. "I think about it sometimes."

Natasha drank some of her juice. "Good. So what keeps you from going out that door?"

"Memories, mostly."

"They coming faster?" His brain was healing.

"Was it Hydra with you? Russia?" he asked without answering.

"Not Hydra, but Russia. Indirectly. It was called the Red Room. They took little girls and made them killers." She didn't like talking about it usually. But she'd talked with him about what Hydra had done to him, so it was only fair. "We were taught gymnastics and ballet, how to seduce a man, and how to kill him with no hesitation."

"Did they take your memories?"

She shook her head. "No, they didn't need to. We were children. We didn't know any better. It's called indoctrination. I believed I was doing the right thing."

"So did I," he said. "But in other memories, before I fell, I believed I was doing the right thing fighting Hydra."

Nat kept eating to keep this conversation less stressful for him, and also for her. "Indoctrination is part of brainwashing. Works better on children than enemy POWs. Taking your memories of fighting against them made it easier for you to trust and believe in their cause."

"What made you stop trusting and believing?"

She sat back in her chair. "It wasn't one thing. It wasn't sudden. A part of me didn't like the training. I thought about it more and more. They stole little girls, infants. They trained them to kill, trained them hard. Some didn't make it to graduation." She shook her head. "They didn't just let them go. And graduation.… They took something from me. Something that matters a lot now."

His eyebrows dropped.

Only fair. "They sterilized me. All that seducing." She smiled without feeling it. "No consequences."

"That hurts you. I am sorry."

"It's okay. We talk a lot about things that hurt you. It shouldn't be a one-way street. Clint helped me get out like Steve helped you. I regret what I did before, but I try to take what they trained me for and turn it around to fight the bad guys. Being one of the good guys helps me feel better about my early life because it led me here. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but I'm grateful for where I've landed."

"I am strong and fast. I heal quickly. I can fight. But grateful? For how I got that way?" He shook his head. "I don't think I can do that."

"No, not for how we got this way," she corrected. "For the road that lead us out of it to doing something better. For the chance to make amends, to do good, to counter the bad."

"I can't. Someone might know the words."

The fight on the street came back to mind. "That would be bad. But maybe we'll figure out how to deprogram you someday. Would you want to fight for the good guys then?"

"Against Hydra, yes. Others? Space aliens? I don't know. I just want to be Bucky Barnes again."

"You are Bucky Barnes. You were always Bucky Barnes. It's just that Bucky Barnes had a lot more experiences and that always changes us. It's how we grow, for good and bad. You're growing even now. Just in a new direction." Natasha drained her juice and patted her stomach. "I'm full. Thank you for a wonderful home-cooked breakfast."

He wasn't finished eating but he stood and walked her to the door like a perfect gentleman. "Dasvidaniya, Natasha."

"See ya round, Bucky Barnes. I'll send Steve to help you finish off that spread." Natasha left him and took the elevator up to where the others were sharing a raucous meal.

"You going to join us, Nat?" Banner asked.

She patted her stomach again. "Oh, I'm quite full. Bucky made enough food to feed ten non-super soldiers. I could barely make a dent." She raised her eyebrows at Steve.

"He cooked?"

Nat smiled and nodded. "Pancakes as good as your grandma's, fluffy, buttery eggs."

Sam turned sharply to Steve. "Thought you said you boiled everything."

"Oh, that's only when Steve cooked," Natasha told him.

Most of the others now looked at Steve who pushed himself away from the table. "I admit it. I can't cook. Bucky kept me alive back then."

The others looked like they maybe wanted to leave the table, too. "Everything here has been cooked fresh," Tony said. "I pay chefs."

Steve offered Nat his seat. "Thanks."

"Maybe you should pay Bucky," Clint suggested.


Steve let himself in and found Bucky still at the table eating. Steve grabbed a new plate and silverware then joined Bucky there. "Nat told me you'd cooked."

"I remembered watching my mother cook. So I did what she did."

Steve tried the pancakes. They were as good as he remembered. Mrs. Barnes had seen it as her duty in life to help Steve grow by having him over for meals when his mother was sick. He hadn't wanted to leave her but Mom had always insisted. And Mrs. Barnes would leave Bucky in charge of the meal, while she took a pot of soup to Steve's mom and fed her as they visited. Bucky always made sure there were some leftovers for his mom when she returned.

"We sort of shared moms back then, didn't we?" Steve said, savoring the sweetness of the pure maple syrup. "My mom would patch us up and tend us when we were sick. And yours took over meals when mine got sick herself."

Bucky made eye contact often as he ate. "Your mom was a nurse."

Steve smiled. "She was. Yours worked at Woolworth's. She worked evenings and mine worked days. All us kids just swapped houses until we were home at night."

"Sometimes I stayed at your house. Like now."

Steve sighed. Bucky had said it as if they were having casual conversation. But it still stung. "You did. But this isn't my place and you're not staying over. We both live here together, like after my mom died. The girls and your mom moved to Indiana, but you wanted to stay in the city. You were old enough. You'd graduated already."

"Graduated?"

"You finished school," Steve explained. "I had another semester as I had to make up my sick and missed days taking care of my mom."

"You were sick very often. Is that why you became bigger?"

Steve chuckled. "It didn't hurt, but no. I wanted to join the Army like you had. I wanted to do my part. Dr. Erskine gave me a chance and then chose me for the serum. Getting healthier was a side benefit."

Bucky buttered some toast. "You lied to me."

Steve wasn't expecting that. "I don't remember lying. When did I lie to you?"

"In the burning factory," Bucky answered. "I asked if it hurt. You said, 'A little.'"

That was such a long time ago. Bucky had only been through a small part of everything he would go through. Steve had really thought he'd saved him. He looked more like that Bucky now, with his hair cut short. It was more modern than 40s style, but, then, so was Steve's. "Bucky, I didn't want you to worry about me right then. I wanted to get you out. You were sick. Zola had done something to you. The factory was going up in flames."

"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, repeating the question he'd asked back then.

Steve put down his fork. "Yes, it did. It hurt quite a lot, but only for a few minutes. And it felt really weird to grow so fast."

Bucky looked away. "A few minutes," he repeated quietly. Then louder, "Is that another lie to save my feelings now?"

Steve shook his head. "No, it's the honest truth. I really didn't think I could have held out if it was longer." Then a dark thought hit him. "Bucky, was it longer for you?"

Bucky met his gaze again, and Steve couldn't read what he saw in his eyes. "Longer," he whispered. Then he left the table, grabbed one of his new notebooks and disappeared into the bedroom.

Steve followed him to the bedroom. Sam had told him that sometimes he needed to sit with Bucky in the darkness rather than remind him of the light. "Buck, how much longer?" he asked quietly.

Bucky stopped writing but didn't turn back to him. "I don't know. They didn't tell me and there was no clock. But they left at night. They left me."

Steve felt sick. "And it hurt? A lot?"

"More than falling. More than the machine."

Steve sat sideways behind Bucky on his bed, allowing Bucky to still write in private. "I'm sorry, Buck. I'm sorry I didn't follow you off the train. I'm sorry I gave up on you. Thought you were dead. Zola had done something. I should have thought it a possibility you'd survived. None of that would have happened if we'd found you."

"They told me you were dead. Two years in."

Steve nodded. "I crashed a plane into the Arctic. Everyone thought I was dead. I guess I did, too. I woke up seventy years later and everything had changed."

"I remember hoping you'd come for me. You didn't. We were both dead."

A tear slipped from Steve's eye and his throat hurt. Bucky, broken and alone, hoping he'd save him like he had before. He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I guess were. To each other anyway. I think part of the reason I was okay with sacrificing myself was that I'd lost you. There plane was full of bombs. It would have killed many others and crashing it meant I couldn't be with Peggy. But it still hurt that I didn't have you. Even when I had nothing, I'd had you. I'm sorry."

Bucky didn't say anything so Steve got up to let him write. He'd put away the food. He'd just passed the bedroom door when he heard Bucky's voice. "Me, too."


1Inspired by A Successful Mission by Ketita.