A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Anyway, hope people like the latest chapter. Leave a review and let me know what you think of it.


Ari was gone by that evening and Bucky spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, thinking about what would come in the following days. He couldn't help but alternate through periods of intense anxiety, guilt, and anger. He went from I wasn't wrong to do what I did! to Why the hell did I say those things? to What will she say when we next meet? in a matter of minutes—and the torturous cycle repeated for most of the night. He fell into an uneasy sleep in the earliest hours of the morning but even sleep didn't bring relief, because he found himself locked in one of his night terrors: he was stalking a dark and dangerous man on a dark street, he was attacking the man, pounding his fist repeatedly into the man's face, feeling the facial bones crunch and shatter, pounding on the man with all his might, beating him near to death—only to pull away and realize in utter horror that he'd been attacking Ari. She lay there, head half caved in, face a bloody mess, barely able to speak, and she stared at him and he swore he heard her whisper, "What are you doing? You can't keep doing this."

He woke with a silent scream trapped in his throat, heavy gasps making his chest rise and fall, eyes darting wildly to his shaking hands, looking for remnants of Ari's dried blood and bone on them.

The next day, he tried to set reasonable expectations for himself. He and Ari had never fought like this before—in his memory, anyway—and it would only be normal for her to give him the cold shoulder or to be distant. His heart sank at the thought but he didn't know what he could do about it. Apologize to her? A part of him wanted to…especially for his cruel words…but a part of him still didn't regret what he'd done. Those men had deserved to hurt for the things they'd said. Ari was too naïve sometimes. The world couldn't be dealt with only goodness and light; this was reality, not the fantasy bubble that Ari sometimes seemed to live in.

However, to his immense shock, Ari didn't react as planned (Go figure, he thought in retrospect. Why did I ever expect Ari to react normally?). He'd gone over to Steve's place, unsure of what to do with himself since he couldn't text Ari, and had been wasting some time talking about nothing in particular—when the doorbell rang and suddenly Steve was letting Ari in. Bucky stiffened, anticipating either some sort of verbal showdown or an obvious cold shoulder (and in front of Steve as well; just his luck)—but to his surprise, Ari showed absolutely no sign that she was in any way affected from their fight. In fact, it almost seemed like she didn't remember their fight had happened. Bucky could only stutter out a stilted, confused response when she gave them both a cheery hello and then he sat there, staring as Steve chatted with Ari, wondering what the hell was going on. He couldn't help but doubt his sanity a bit as Ari interacted easily with him, her face and posture relaxed. The night before felt like a dream, like it had happened weeks ago…or that it had never happened at all. Was it all some sort of…hyper-realistic day terror?

And yet, deep down, he knew yesterday had been real. It hadn't been a day terror. He had woken up with rusty blood stains on his knuckles—not Ari's blood, as his nightmare had suggested, but someone's blood…the blood of the men he'd attacked. And it definitely had been yesterday—he knew his head was a messed up place but it wasn't that messed up. He could still days apart.

The only thing he could do was chalk it up to another instance of Ari's astonishing—and insane—ability to shake things off and let things go. This ability of hers had always made him uneasy, since day one, because he'd always wondered: how much was she really bottling up, hiding away deep down? Did she let people get away with things she shouldn't have because of her tendency to let things go? Didn't it hurt her own self-preservation, to let things go so easily? She'd let Alex bully her for years. It made him feel angry on her behalf and then it made him feel angry at her, angry that she didn't stick up for herself, for her feelings, for her indignations more. But this anger always led to confusion, him wondering if he was taking out his own inability to seemingly let things go out on her. Perhaps he was jealous of her ability to move past things with such apparent ease.

Regardless of why she did it or what it did to her, he never ceased to be a little startled by it. It was always jarring to him. And this was probably the most extreme case he'd witnessed so far—to the point where he actually started to feel concerned about her. Was it really normal for people to let things go this easily? Was she not in tune with her own feelings, not emotionally healthy? He really was no expert on emotional health—since he felt like a deranged mess half the time—but he thought that she seemed okay. It was hard to tell, because he got the feeling she held back a lot, but outwardly she seemed fine. So was she just detached? Did she literally just…not care about things? Remembering the shock and anger on her vivid, intense little face from yesterday night, he had the funny feeling this wasn't the case either.

All in all, Bucky was extremely confused—and had no idea how to bring it up with her. Truth be told, a part of him didn't even want to bring it up with her. It would probably only dredge up bad feelings and there was nothing more he wanted than his friendship with Ari to stay good. She was one of the only good things in his life. So, with extreme guilt (because he knew he really should address it with her) and confusion, he began replying back to her—hesitantly at first, gauging her reaction, and then more normally as he realized she really did seem alright. He was still extremely confused on the inside but decided he had to pull an Ari and probably just let it go; agonizing over it wouldn't do him any good. Perhaps…perhaps Ari regretted what she'd said last night (even though he felt he'd said the more shameful, horrible thing). Maybe she'd just been feeling extremely emotional and now was trying to pretend it had never happened.

He just didn't know.

The confusion lingered but his mind was soon taken off of the matter when Ari revealed why she'd come over: Natasha had made contact with her.

"She and Agent Barton have found something," she explained. "They're heading home today."

"Why didn't she contact me?" Steve asked. "Or Bucky?"

"Why would she contact me?" Bucky asked shortly. "Romanoff doesn't exactly love me."

"You'd be surprised by Natasha's capability to love," Steve said somewhat mysteriously. Bucky stared at him, eyebrows raised, but Steve merely sipped his coffee in a dignified manner and refused to elaborate.

Okay then…

Bucky looked up at Ari, who was looking at something on her phone. He opened his mouth to ask her something—and then shut it. It felt like something was blocking his throat. He couldn't shake the awkwardness and weird feelings that were swirling around inside of him, the feeling that he was somehow extremely out of his depth. He'd never felt this way around Ari before and this threw him off even more.

Come on. You can do this. Stop being such a coward.

"When…when are Romanoff and Barton arriving?" he asked. His voice sounded hoarse and tentative, even to his own ears. Then he held his breath as he waited for Ari to respond. Now he would see if something was truly wrong between them—

Ari looked up, met his gaze steadily, and said, "I'm not exactly sure. She sounded like she was in a hurry, to be honest. She just told me to go wait at Steve's place, so I assume they can't be too far away." Her tone was easy, her posture relaxed, her face peaceful. She didn't look angry or upset at all. She showed no hint of holding a grudge against him.

He relaxed, released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been tensely holding. Maybe…maybe things were okay. After all, fights between friends were normal, weren't they?

All friends had them. In fact, it was probably weird to never have fights with your friends; it probably meant you were holding things in and bottling things up.

None of them had any idea when Natasha and Clint were arriving. Steve tried calling them once but no one picked up. When it came to Natasha, this wasn't new. She wasn't the easiest person to get a hold of; as Ari said (usually with a note of reverence in her voice), you didn't find the Widow—the Widow found you. However, Clint Barton was pretty good about being reachable, according to Steve, so if he wasn't picking up…perhaps they'd had to go dark temporarily.

"They'll be fine," Steve said, running a hand through his blond hair. "They're the most capable people I know."

"So why do you look so worried?" Ari teased. "Feeling protective over your Avenger buddies?"

Steve smiled at her. "Maybe. You know, it's funny…" His voice trailed off.

"What is?" Ari prompted.

"How much I care about them," he said. He looked almost surprised by it. "It sounds funny, but—if you'd seen how we were in the beginning… Like Bruce once said: we were a ticking time bomb. None of us got along. We weren't so much a team as we were a collective mess. I didn't trust or like Stark at all. I was extremely cautious around Bruce. Thor made me uncomfortable. I didn't understand who Natasha was. I guess Barton was the only one I was okay with—and even him I was cautious around, because he belonged with SHIELD and I didn't trust SHIELD. We fought together but surprisingly, even after we fought in the New York together, we didn't immediately become buddies or anything. In fact, I didn't see some of them for months after. But…I guess…over time…we've all become friends. Even Stark," he added wryly. "I guess it has something to do with—shared experiences. We all have the title of Avenger. We all have those expectations on us. It only makes sense that we'd eventually sort of…bond over it—but it's still surprising, to see how far we've come."

Bucky felt a strange pang that felt almost like…jealousy. He'd never before cared that Steve was a true Avenger and he wasn't—but now, listening to Steve talk…he felt jealous. Jealous that Steve had shared experiences and history and camaraderie with these people. Jealous that Steve had moved on. Of course, Bucky would always be Steve's best friend—but Bucky was no longer Steve's only friend. He knew it was awful of him and he would never have admitted it out loud, but he'd almost come to rely on the fact that he was Steve's only friend and that Steve would never abandon him because Steve needed his friendship. But now…Steve had grown up and moved on. He'd found his place in the world and he'd found new people to share purpose with. Bucky wasn't the only person Steve had to turn to now and Bucky found himself feeling a little…well, left out of things.

Was it utterly selfish of him to secretly miss the days when Steve relied on him to be his only friend?

Wow, I'm a huge bastard, he thought mildly to himself. I'm almost amazed at how horrible I am. Someone should really test my brain. Then he realized: Oh wait, people already have done that. He let out a dry laugh to himself, earning himself confused looks from Steve and Ari, but he just smiled at them and didn't elaborate.

"Why didn't you trust SHIELD?" Ari asked curiously. "I did some looking up and I know Peggy Carter founded it, and I know…" Her cheeks went pink and she looked a little flustered. "I mean, I know you—I know you and she were…were friends…"

Steve smiled ruefully. "Yeah, we were something… Well. Anyway. I didn't trust SHIELD because I guess I've already had a problem with authority. There's something about it that I just don't trust."

"I wouldn't say it's not trusting authority," Bucky remarked, "so much as it's not giving a shit about authority. Punk's been breaking rules since as long as I can remember," he told Ari, while Steve grinned. "I swear, if there was a rule to break—Steve would break it. Always for a good reason, of course. He wasn't just some delinquent. He was an honorable delinquent." Bucky rolled his eyes. "It could almost make you sick—if it wasn't so admirable."

"You're making me sound like some sort of saint," Steve said. "You know I was the furthest thing from it."

"No, but you were a good guy," Bucky said. "Still are, in fact. You'd be surprised at how rare that is." Especially because I don't think I'm one of them.

"Soldier is right," Ari said. "Good guys are rare. You don't even have to think about it—you're just…nice. And thoughtful. And you try to do the right thing without receiving any personal gain from it. Do you know how rare that is in people? Even people who do good things these days—like charities and stuff—are often times looking for recognition and attention."

"But is that necessarily a bad thing?" Steve asked critically. "Getting recognition for doing good things? Maybe if we made being a good person famous…more people would do it."

"Fair point…but if people only start to be good because it's now the popular thing to do, is it even true goodness to begin with?" Ari asked.

"Okay—but does it even matter if it's true goodness, as long as people are being helped by it?" Steve countered.

Ari paused, her face screwed up in thought—and then she laughed. "Okay. You've got me. I'm all mixed up now. I have no idea what to say."

Only Steve and Ari could be sitting here having a casual philosophical debate about goodness and morality, Bucky thought almost incredulously.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each one of them lost in their own thoughts, and suddenly Ari started and sat up, clapping her hands together. "I can't believe I almost forgot! And I was so excited!" Without explanation, she leaped to her feet and raced from the room, leaving Steve and Bucky staring after her.

Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky and Bucky shrugged, silently saying Don't ask me, I have no idea.

She reappeared holding a black gift bag with blue tissue paper sticking out of it. "Ta da!" She thrust the bag towards Steve, her face slightly pink. "I hope you're not weirded out. They were on sale and they're normally so expensive, and I thought that you'd like them, so I just bought them."

"A gift for me?" Steve looked startled. He accepted the gift bag from Ari and yanked out the tissue paper, throwing it onto the kitchen table behind him. He pulled out a black tin with a drawing on the front and stared at it for a very long moment. Ari shifted from foot to foot, twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers, alternating between grins and looking nervous. Finally, Steve looked up at Ari and said, "You didn't have to do this, Ari. I know Prismacolors are pricey."

"I knew you'd say that! That's why I told you they were on sale," she said. "So you wouldn't feel bad. Seriously, I love your art and I remembered you mentioned that you needed new colored pencils, and you were using an off brand before! I don't know anything about art but people online were saying that these are one of the best brands out there, so I thought—"

Steve cut her babbling off by wrapping her in a tight hug. She looked so petite wrapped in his arms that it was almost comical—but Bucky wasn't laughing. There was a funny feeling in his gut that was quickly spreading to the rest of his body: hot shame. He'd immediately assumed the gift was for him, after seeing it in Ari's hands, and had been jolted when she'd turned towards Steve. Then he'd felt a momentary flare of irritation and rejection, and then he'd felt shame. Ari could do whatever she wanted with her money and she didn't belong to Bucky. Steve was her friend and she had every right to buy him a gift. Bucky couldn't believe he'd been arrogant enough to assume the gift would be for him. True, he and Ari were closer than she and Steve were—but still. He couldn't tell what stung worse: his arrogance, her slight rejection, or the ridiculousness of him even considering her actions rejection.

"Seriously, thank you," Steve said, sitting back down and opening the tin to admire the top row of pencils. "I can't wait to use these. You're right—this is one of the best brands out there."

"So why didn't you buy it?" Ari scolded.

He shrugged. "I grew up with nothing. It's hard to get rid of penny-pinching habits, I guess."

"You need to remember a very important lesson from one of my favorite shows, Parks and Recreation: 'Treat yo self'."

"Treat yo self?" Steve repeated, looking amused.

"Clothes, treat yo self, fragrances, treat yo self, massages, treat yo self, mimosas, treat yo self, fine leather goods, treat yo self," Ari sang, clearly referencing the TV show.

"This sounds like a TV show I might need to try," Steve said.

"It's the best!" she said excitedly. "It's humorous but it's like nice humor. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of comedy always just being raunchy or mean. I know that has its place too, but I'm just not a huge fan. Parks is funny in a really good-natured way."

"I'll put it on my list."

"Just curious, is this list ever going to end?"

"Probably not."

"Gotcha. Also, I have a request."

"Shoot."

"Since I gave you your amazing new colored pencils, you have to make your next project an amazing portrait of me—"

"Done."

"Wait, I didn't finish yet. I want a portrait of me—but done like I'm an eighteenth century aristocrat. Victorian, Georgian, I don't really care about the era, but I want myself to be wearing a really nice ball gown and arm-length gloves and my hair pulled up and stuff like that. I want it to look realistic."

"Why?"

"Why not? Do I need a reason to want this?"

"I guess not," Steve said, chuckling. "It's a weird request, but—"

"You're a weird request, Steve."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's like that joke where someone says something and you respond, 'Well, you're a," and then you insert whatever they just mentioned. Like if someone says, 'This is disgusting pizza,' then you say, 'You're a disgusting pizza.'"

"Okay, is this supposed to be an insult? Because as far as insults go, this is pretty tame."

"What? Tame? Calling someone a disgusting pizza is like the most offensive thing in the universe because all pizza is pretty much good. So if you're a disgusting pizza, then wow, you must really be disgusting—"

"Okay, fine. I'll admit that one. But it's tame compared to the insults the boys would throw at each other back in the day, back in the camps."

"You mean during the war?"

"Yeah. Being freezing cold and starving can do strange things to a guy's morale, and messing with each other was the best way to keep sane. You should've heard some of the things they called each other. Actually—no, it's best that you never heard. Some things aren't fit for the ears of a lady."

"A lady?" Ari squealed. "Steve, you're so adorably old-fashioned! I went to college in the twenty-first century, in case you forgot. I didn't party myself, I was always studying, but trust me, I heard stuff. I doubt anything you guys said back then—"

"See, you think I'm 'adorably old-fashioned'—but I think you're naively modern! You guys have convinced yourselves that we were much nicer and more appropriate back then, just because we didn't have Twitters. Trust me…take a bunch of hungry, broken, freezing, and angry boys who are missing their gals, throw them into a never-ending war where they're away from civilization for a long time, and you get the filthiest jokes known to mankind."

"Tell me a few of them!"

"Not on your life."

Bucky couldn't stand it any longer. The more they bantered easily, the more it felt like there was something heavy pressing down on him—on his eyes, his throat, his shoulders. Making him feel like he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move. He knew he was probably overreacting, but Ari was being so…casual with Steve—and vice versa. The two of them truly were friends and their easy, breezy camaraderie suddenly had Bucky missing the early days: the summer days right after Ari had helped Bucky recover his memories, the lighthearted days before Ari had started training as a SHIELD agent, the days before Bucky had discovered his day and night terrors, before murderous impulses had begun rising in him again. Even those days had never been effortless; he'd been a bigger mess then, fresh from HYDRA's shackles, newly reinstated with memories that still made him physically sick as they overcame his mind and drowned him. But at least back then…at least back then, he and Ari had felt effortless.

Something had changed between them recently and Bucky didn't understand how to fix it or go back, because he didn't even really understand the whole problem. He could see pieces and fragments of it—but he couldn't see what the big picture was. This wasn't new to him; HYDRA had never filled him in on the bigger picture…and he'd never really cared before, as long as he did his duty perfectly. But he didn't have nothing to lose anymore, and so his lack of ability to properly understand the problem was frustrating and frightening.

Suppose this tiny crack between them blossomed and rumbled, becoming an enormous chasm? How could he stop this? Was it even stoppable? He couldn't lose Ari—but lately, it felt like she'd been slipping away from him.

And the worst part was, he could never talk about this with Ari. It was too embarrassing. What if she gave him a strange look and said, "What are you talking about?" He couldn't really imagine her being that dismissive of him because that simply wasn't her—but his imagination was wreaking havoc upon his common sense and nerves. He would die of humiliation if he brought these thoughts up with Ari and it turned out that the problem only existed in his paranoid mind.

Because I really am a sick, paranoid man…

He abruptly got to his feet and left the room, leaving Steve and Ari staring after him. He walked to the front door and yanked it open, stepping outside onto the porch and shutting the door behind him. He stood on the porch, his arms folded, and looked around. He'd come over to Steve's place in the afternoon and now evening was falling. The sky was an azure blue and the golden streetlights seemed to twinkle against it, the spaces between tiny townhouses cloaked in quickly-deepening shadows. The night was mild and he could hear the shouts of children from somewhere a few streets over. Oh, to be young and innocent, untainted and unspoiled by the world…

But that wasn't really true, was it? People liked to pretend that children lived innocent, carefree lives because they knew deep down that children could live such difficult lives. Bucky's mind flashed back to age-old memories of him crouching near Steve as he'd collapsed from an asthma attack, his tiny heart racing in panic at not knowing how to help his best friend and knowing that Steve couldn't afford proper hospital fees.

He closed his eyes against the memories. Dwelling in the past had a sort of pleasure to it—a feeling that came with knowing that he'd had what was stolen from him returned—but it still physically hurt him at times, made him feel a little disoriented and nauseous. And there were still small gaps…tiny fuzzy spots…Ari had told him that those were normal for everyone ("No one remembers every moment of their life," she'd said) but considering his past with memory loss, he was still paranoid that he'd forgotten important moments he should remember.

His eyes still closed, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and a slight chill stole down his spine. Something was not right. His eyes snapped open but, ever the professional, he didn't stiffen or scan the area. That would tip off whoever was watching him—for there definitely was someone watching him. He didn't know how he knew this—perhaps it was his killer sixth instinct—but he just knew. There was someone somewhere near him…somewhere around…who was disturbing the peace and solitude of this street. Someone was watching him.

He was no Oscar-worthy actor but he could play his role well enough when the job depended on it. He stuck his hands in his pockets and drifted forward casually, looking up at the sky and putting a contemplative expression on his face. His eyes made the smallest of flicks left and right, quickly scanning the street in the shortest amount of time possible. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but—

There.

Right there. A few houses down, in the shadows between two townhouse compounds, he could swear that the darkness was just a tad…darker than the rest of the street. And he could swear that he'd seen a flicker of movement—the most minute of movements, so tiny that a normal human would never have been able to notice it. It could have been his mind playing tricks on him, of course, but his gut feeling told him that someone was there, just out of sight, watching him. What if it was someone from HYDRA, come to drag him back to them? Or what if it was whoever had been shutting up the people who'd posted and printed the stories about the strange deaths? He'd gut them like a fish before he allowed them to get to Steve and Ari.

He began walking down the street, still looking at the sky thoughtfully, keeping his shoulders relaxed and his pace casual. He couldn't look as if he were tensed for a fight. He cursed the fact that he didn't have any weapons on him except for a switchblade; he'd gotten complacent, thinking that Steve's house would always be safe. How easily he forgot the ways of the world and the danger that lurked around every corner…

He gripped the switchblade in his pocket, making sure not to clench his fist suspiciously. He drifted toward the gap in the houses, pacing his breathing now. He walked past the gap a few steps—and then he suddenly spun and lunged into the darkness like a striking cobra, whirling and yanking out his switchblade and springing it open in a matter of a few silent, deadly seconds. He made contact with someone and grabbed them, smashing them against the wall of the house so hard he swore it trembled slightly. He used his cybernetic arm to pin them across their chest—broad, male, covered in a suit-like material that meant he was an assassin or agent of some type—and pressed the blade to the man's neck.

Only after this preliminary threat containment was done did he notice that the man hadn't really spoken or attempted to fight back. His eyes quickly grew accustomed to the shadows and he ran them over the man, taking him in: a somewhat plain face with somewhat squinted eyes, short and bristly wheat-blond hair that sort of resembled Steve's, a black leather sleeveless outfit, and a…bow held loosely from the man's right hand. Bucky could see the top of a quiver poking up from behind the man.

The man grinned. "Hey. Nice to meet you. I'm Hawkeye."

Bucky gave him a hard stare, not speaking. He pressed the blade deeper into Hawkeye's throat—if this really was Hawkeye. Did the man really think he could hold a bow and that would be enough to convince him that this was Steve's Avenger friend?

To the man's credit, he didn't flinch in the slightest at Bucky pressing the blade deeper into his throat. He even broke flesh a little and still the man didn't flinch, merely kept grinning at Bucky. He was very well-trained, Bucky could see; human but well-trained as hell. Still—it would take more than a grinning face, a bow, and a non-offensive stance to convince him… In fact, Bucky didn't really think anything could convince him that this was truly Hawkeye. Any HYDRA agent would be able to impersonate a Avenger with ease and Bucky had never really paid attention to what the other Avengers looked like in photos (careless of him, he knew).

"That's enough, boys."

Scratch that. I guess there is something—or someone—that could convince me.

Despite the unease he often felt around Natasha Romanoff, he did know that Steve and Ari trusted her implicitly—and she had helped him get his memories back. So he trusted her too. He held the blade against the man's throat for one more second—and then he released him and took a step back, folding his arms. He couldn't see Natasha anywhere but he knew she was around. And sure enough, she suddenly appeared from around the side of the house, wearing all black—some of her clothes had rips and tears in them, and something like soot was smeared on her forehead—and smiling…though her normally-languid smile had something tired in it.

"Barnes," she said by way of greeting. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," he said gruffly. "You?"

She shrugged. "I'm alive, so I guess I can't complain."

He wondered if she ever did want to complain—and if so, what would the Widow complain about?

"I see you've met Clint Barton," she said, grinning.

"Yeah, the wedding is next month," Barton quipped.

"What were you doing lurking around here?" Bucky demanded.

"Hey, relax, man," Barton said, throwing his hands up. "Surveillance—it's what I do. I never walk into any situation without watching it first."

"He's not lying," Natasha said. "He's been known to sit on rooftops and watch the streets for hours. That's stretching even my limits."

"Yeah, Nat prefers to just sort of slink in there and work with the element of surprise—on both sides." Barton laughed.

"So, have you had your fill of checking the street out?" Natasha asked Barton and he nodded. "Then I think we can head over to Steve's. We've got stuff," she added over her shoulder to Bucky as they slipped out of the shadows and back onto the sidewalk, moving quickly lest anyone notice Natasha or Barton, who both looked a little…worse for the wear.

"What kind of stuff?" Bucky asked.

"Information kind of stuff," she said mysteriously.

Bucky gritted his teeth at her evasiveness.

Barton elbowed him, making Bucky take a defensive step away in alarm. "You get used to her," Barton said in a low voice, nodding in Natasha's direction, who lead them by five feet.

"I can hear you," Natasha called.

"Ears of a witch, you know that?" Barton said and Natasha laughed, an easier laugh than Bucky had ever heard come from her. She seemed closer to this Clint Barton than she was with anyone he'd seen her with so far. He wondered if they were romantically involved. It didn't exactly look like it…but they did seem quite close…

Bucky didn't even bother knocking on Steve's door. He knew it wouldn't be locked—not so long as he had walked out of it. Steve would forever be waiting for Bucky to return and it made Bucky sometimes feel ashamed, because he felt like he didn't give Steve much in return.

"We're back," he called as he stepped into the house. He walked into the family room to find Steve and Ari on their feet, both looking a little tense and anxious. They looked confused for a moment, when it was just him, and then realization hit their faces as Natasha and Barton entered the room as well.

"Natasha!" Ari squealed, throwing herself forward—and then freezing mid-action. Clearly she wasn't sure if Natasha would be accepting of a hug. Luckily, Natasha put her out of her worry and stepped forward, hugging her.

"Good to see you, kid," she said lightly, even though she was only a few years older than Ari.

"It's been a while," Ari said. "Last time I saw you was…the day after the McGuire debriefing, right?"

"Oh, you were on that shit show of a mission?" Barton asked in surprise. "I heard about that, it was a pretty big trap." He eyed Ari carefully. "I'm a little surprised they send you into the field…"

"Why?" Bucky asked a bit aggressively.

"Well, she's not that trained," Barton said mildly.

Neither Bucky nor Ari could really argue with this so Bucky huffed silently to himself, smarting over the fact that Barton had called the mission a "shit show." It had been a shit show, of course…but Bucky still felt personally responsible for how awfully it had gone, so Barton's words stung a bit.

"So you're…Hawkeye?" Ari asked shyly, looking almost afraid to look him in the eye. Bucky didn't see what the big deal was—the man was just an archer and an agent, wasn't he? Nothing extraordinary like the Hulk fellow—but then he remembered that Ari had been a bit of an Avengers fangirl in the past.

Barton was clearly amused by her obvious star-struck behavior, but he decided not to comment on it and instead stuck out his hand for Ari to shake. She looked at in surprise for a moment and then tentatively grasped it. Barton gave a firm handshake and then dropped her hand and looked at Steve. "C'mere, big guy." He held his arms out wide.

Steve grinned and then did the quick one-second, fist-grab, chest-thump, slap-on-the-back hug that all men did. He looked at Natasha warily, as if insure whether to hug her or not, but she held her fist out and he gave her a fist bump. "Good to see you two," he said. "We were beginning to think you'd been killed."

Barton scoffed. "Killed? Me? Nah. I'm invincible, Cap."

"That's not how I remember Sri Lanka," Natasha teased.

"Sri Lanka was a fluke," Barton argued.

"What happened in Sri Lanka?" Ari asked.

"Classified," both Natasha and Barton said at the same time.

There was a semi-awkward silence and then Barton crashed his hands together, making them all start slightly. "Right! We've both just been shot at multiple times, had our helicopter shot down out of the sky, been chased across five countries in Europe, and I've had to tolerate Europe's pitiful excuse for what they consider burgers. What's a guy gotta do to get a decent meal to eat around here?"

Everyone laughed and Bucky looked up, grinning, searching to meet Ari's eyes and share a private laugh with her—and meet her eyes he most certainly did. They locked eyes and his smile instantly vanished as her eyes glittered with something hard and dangerous, a small and emotionless smile on her face, an awful emptiness to her expression. He stared at her in shock, his stomach twisting painfully, but then she looked away and was laughing with Steve about something, and the terrible moment was over. When she next looked up and met his eyes again, he almost flinched, expecting the cold look—but her eyes were normal: open, warm, friendly. Ari.

But now he knew and once he got a hold of it, he couldn't let go of the thought... Something is very, very wrong.

The room suddenly felt very cold to the former Winter Soldier.


A/N: So Hawkeye and Widow are in the house now. This is where the real drama begins…