A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback :)

3. Can't Undo What I've Done

Watching the television is strange. He has done it before, briefly, but it takes getting used to. He watches intently, trying to understand Steve's suggestion to pass the time before morning. He is tired, but focusing helps. It is good to keep his mind on something else for a while. It is good not to let it wander to strange and unpleasant places.

Steve is very quiet. He has been since he told him the truth. Most of his memories from before being part of HYDRA involve Steve. He is sure he had a life outside of Steve, of course, but the man is his only connection to who he was before he became a weapon. He doubts that he will ever be that person again, but it is somewhere to start. It's for the mission.

"James Buchanan Barnes, shipping out for England, first thing in the morning," he said, putting on his bravest face. No one was going to see how afraid he was.

He tears his eyes away from the screen when he hears footsteps approaching. He tenses automatically, ready to respond, and forces himself to relax. He glances at Steve, who is unmoved. Does he not notice the sound?

"Hey, Cap, I thought I'd drop by," a voice begins, stopping abruptly as the figure comes into view. He stares at him, cocking his head. The other man, from the mission. He remembers disabling his wings and kicking him off the helicarrier. He doesn't know him. He wasn't a target.

"Hey, Sam," Steve says calmly, looking up at the intruder.

"You went and found him without me?" the man, Sam?, says, almost smiling.

"He found me," Steve replies. "Sam, this is James. James, Sam."

"We've met," Sam says, making himself comfortable on the other end of Steve's couch. There is humor in his tone. He is not upset. "You broke my wing." He is teasing, perhaps.

"It's probably fixable," he replies, quietly, glancing at Steve.

"Yeah? Who do you think will fix a stolen military grade suit?"

"Tony Stark."

Sam laughs. "Yeah, I asked him. He said he'd get to it eventually," he says, rolling his eyes. Steve looks between them, relief on his face. "So, Cap, you didn't think this was news you should share with me? So I could call off the manhunt?" he asks, waving eloquently toward him.

Steve smiles. "Were you still hunting? I thought you were back at the VA."

"Hey, man, my ear was to the ground. It would have been nice to know I could stand back up," Sam replies. Steve laughs. "So, James, what have you been up to?"

He blinks, surprised to be addressed. "Trying to remember," he says.

"Yeah? How's that going for you?" The humor is not gone, but the question seems genuine, almost concerned.

He shrugs. "Not fun."

Sam nods. "I can understand that. What kinds of things do you remember?"

He cocks his head, determining if he needs to answer this man or only Steve. Steve is looking at him intently, encouragingly. He relents. "Falling from the train. Meeting Steve when we were kids. The Howling Commandos. Missions. Training. Pierce, Zola. Getting my arm." His voice grows quieter as he continues the list, and he stretches his arm out to look at it on the last one.

"Are things still coming back?"

"When I sleep."

Sam nods. "Which is why you guys are up so early and look so terrible."

"Terrible? That's how it is?" Steve asks, grinning.

"Yeah, pretty bad. I mean, you two look like death warmed over," Sam replies adamantly, shaking his head.

"That's kind of what happened," he interjects softly.

Sam laughs, looking at him in surprise. "You're right, man, I apologize. Do either of you need a blanket? Some hot cocoa, maybe?"

They laugh, and even he chuckles a little. It is an unfamiliar sensation, though he knows Bucky laughed a lot. The Winter Soldier rarely smiled, never laughed.

"How about some breakfast?" Sam asks, looking at Steve pointedly.

"We haven't eaten," Steve replies. "But I don't remember inviting you."

"I feel like you owe me breakfast, though," Sam tells him. "I mean, I gave you some breakfast and you repaid me by putting me in numerous situations where people tried to kill me. No offense," he adds, turning away from Steve, smiling at the soldier briefly. "The least you could do is feed me once in a while."

"Fine," Steve said, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. He stands and leaves the room in the direction of the kitchen. He watches his friend go, mildly uncomfortable at being left here alone with Sam.

"James," Sam says quietly, no trace of humor in his voice or on his face when he turns to look at him. "I can't imagine what this has been like for you. But I work with a lot of soldiers coming back from the war. We've lost people, we've killed people. We aren't the same. But that doesn't mean we can't cope and be who we are."

He clears his throat and he shifts his weight, leaning forward on his knees, considering. "I don't know who I am," he says matter-of-factly. To convince the man not to concern himself.

There was that look again, that pitying look. Sam hides it quickly, but he notices. It's becoming easy to spot. "You'll figure it out," he says confidently. His confidence feels genuine. "It'll take a while, it won't be easy. But you'll get there."

"How do you know?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "You have Cap pulling for you. He's a stubborn guy. And, from what I hear, so are you."

"What do you hear?" he wants to know. Very much wants to know.

The other man looks away, thinking. "When Cap found you, on that first mission, you'd been tortured and starved and they were working you guys to death. And you were just repeating your name, rank, and personnel number." He shakes his head, smiling grimly. "Man, most people couldn't handle half that before they give in."

His brow furrows as he concentrates. "I remember that," he says slowly.

"Yeah?" He nods. "Then you were one of the Howling Commandos. Those guys were badass! Just the seven of you, most of the time, taking down HYDRA bases and taking high-profile prisoners of war. It was always awesome to hear about those missions," Sam says.

"I remember some of those," he tells him.

"That's good, that's good. I'm glad that stuff's coming back. It'll help you figure out what makes you happy."

He sighs. Happy? He'd spent the last seventy years doing exactly what he was told without question. "I don't know that happiness is an option," he mutters.

"Hey, man, you'll get there. You've got plenty of folks around you to help," Sam assures him, leaning forward to meet his eye.

"I do?"

"Yeah, you know, Steve, me, Natasha, Tony. Probably the other Avengers, if they're around."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because you're a hero, man. You were Captain America's right hand man. We aren't going to stand by and let HYDRA keep that from you," Sam says vehemently.

He smiles weakly, surprised and confused by the idea. He clears his throat before he speaks again, to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, well, you may be fighting for a lost cause."

Sam looks at him intensely until he has to look away. "James. You can do whatever you want to do."

"I don't think Steve will let me," he grumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"I died for Captain America. It didn't stick."

Sam stands up, walks over, and sits next to him on the couch. He flinches away, but stays seated. "Steve told me not long after we met that he didn't know what made him happy. I think he still doesn't know. But he's working on it. We all are. It's part of life. You may have pretty far to go, farther than any of us, but that doesn't mean you should give up. As far as I know, you've never let anyone, or anything, stop you from completing a mission," he tells him sincerely. "Now, I smell bacon, so let's go see what kind of cook Steve is," he adds, his tone light as he stands. Sam offers his hand, and he takes it, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.