A/N: One more chapter after this :) Thanks for all the feedback!

14. Take This Away; It Was Just a Mistake

Steve felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Bucky was looking out the window, eyes burning with emotion, jaw set in defiance. His friend's whole body was tense, refusing to allow Steve to let him off the hook for the destruction he'd caused as the soldier. He wouldn't look at him. Steve thought, unhappily, of other times when Bucky had stubbornly refused to listen. It wasn't so different this time. His body language was the same. Steve drew in a breath deeply; his chest hurt.

"It was a war. We all killed people," he said quietly. Bucky's eyes met his briefly, then he returned his gaze outside.

"Not like this," Bucky said flatly.

Steve sighed. He didn't want to, but he turned away from his friend and returned to the kitchen. He didn't want their dinner to burn. And maybe eating would improve Bucky's mood. Pot roast had always been Bucky's favorite before, when they could get it. Steve ate a lot of protein these days; he supposed Bucky did, too. If he ate at all. He plated the meal and sat down at the bar, putting the other plate next to him. He glanced at Bucky, who hadn't moved. He started eating anyway.

The chair next to him scraped back and Bucky reluctantly dropped into it. He ate in a way that showed how hungry he had been. Steve smiled at his plate, not turning to look at his friend. It was nice to see that Bucky was still in there; he'd never let food go to waste. Not that there was much opportunity for that to happen when they were kids. They used everything they had for as long as they could. People didn't do that anymore.

"Why'd you come back?" Steve asked suddenly.

Bucky froze, tense for a moment, then put his fork down and turned to face him. "When?"

"Today."

He looked away. "What else would I do?" he mumbled.

"You can't tell me you don't have the capability of going on the run and not being found." No response. Bucky didn't even shift his weight. "Of surviving out there where you don't have to remember things or deal with your past," Steve continued, watching him carefully.

"Surviving?" Bucky turned slowly to look at him, his face blank.

"Yeah."

"That's what I've been doing for seventy years. I wish I didn't. I wish I hadn't survived the fall. Then I'd be safely dead at the bottom of a cliff," he replied without emotion, eyes focusing on what was left of his dinner.

"Bucky…" His jaw was set, he refused to acknowledge Steve. He decided to try a different tactic to reach his friend. "I know you don't want to talk about what happened after, but your file wasn't as informative as I'd have liked it to be," Steve began gently.

"My file?" Bucky interrupted, still motionless and tense.

"Yeah, I have your file. The Winter Soldier file," he said, taken aback. "I didn't tell you?"

"Where is it?"

Steve got to his feet, slightly alarmed by the intensity of Bucky's stare. "In my room. I'll go get it." He walked down the hall, listening to see if Bucky would follow him. There wasn't a sound. He couldn't be sure he was still in the kitchen. He had no doubt his friend could move silently if he wanted to. The file was in his desk drawer. He was a little surprised he hadn't mentioned it earlier. Of course, he hadn't been sure that it would be beneficial for Bucky to read it. He stood over his desk, hesitating, staring down into the drawer.

"Steve." He glanced up, unsurprised to find Bucky standing in the doorway, looking ghostly with the light behind him. Steve picked up the file and held it out. Bucky took it in his metal hand, and turned away abruptly. He watched him walk down the hallway to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair. He tried to remember exactly what was contained and predict how Bucky might react to its contents. He pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Sam. You still in town?" he asked when the call was answered, dropping heavily onto the couch.

"Yeah, man, what's up?"

"I uh, I think it would be good for you to come by," he said quietly, still watching Bucky's door.

"What happened?"

"I gave him his file."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Steve grimaced, then got to his feet to pace. "Why?" Sam asked finally.

"He said he wished he was 'safely dead' at the bottom of the ravine. I was trying to get him to talk about what happened to him after that, to help him," he explained, running a hand through his hair.

"And you mentioned that you had a file about it. What's he doing now?"

"I don't know. He went in his room. I figure he's reading it."

"How much detail does it go into?"

Steve sighed impatiently. "Quite a bit, especially toward the beginning. The missions become more like lists as time goes on, but it describes what they did to him pretty thoroughly."

"Do you think he'll be more affected by that or by what he's done?"

"I don't know," he muttered anxiously.

"Okay. Well, I'll get there as soon as I can," Sam promised. "Keep an eye on him, but don't put any pressure on him. He needs to figure things out on his own a little."

"Thanks," Steve replied and hung up. He stared at the door for a few more minutes. Light filtered out from under the door, and he could see shadows moving through it as Bucky did not keep still. He was probably pacing while he read, too agitated to stay in one place. Steve shook his head violently. He didn't want to think about it. He would wait until Bucky came out, and then they could deal with however Bucky took the information.

He turned away from the door and cleaned up the kitchen. It was good to have something to do to keep himself occupied. When the kitchen was done, he cleaned the living room. But soon that, too, was clean and he had nothing to do to keep from agonizing about Bucky. He had been in that room an awfully long time. Steve looked at the clock and was surprised to find that it had only been about forty-five minutes. He looked at Bucky's door. The light was still on, but the movement seemed to have ceased. He hesitated, wondering if he should investigate or not.

After a few painful moments, he decided he had better follow Sam's advice and wait. Bucky would want to do things on his own terms. He always had. Steve settled himself down on the couch, not wanting to leave the common area and a good view of Bucky's door. He thought about when they were kids, always following Bucky and looking up to him. As they'd gotten older, he'd had the startling revelation that Bucky looked up to him. Bucky was a good student, a good athlete, and good with girls; Steve had been at a loss for why Bucky would follow him. It wasn't until they'd served with the Howling Commandos, when many men had wanted to follow him, that he'd started to understand. Peggy was the same way; she'd seen his potential when he was just a skinny kid from Brooklyn. And so had Bucky. He would never have become Captain America without the two of them.

So, when he'd woken up from the ice, he'd gone to see Peggy. He kept going, despite the pain it caused him to see her forget him. To see her recognize him again as though they hadn't seen each other in seventy years. He owed her, and he ached for someone to talk to about the past. It was so recent to him. And he'd gone to the Smithsonian, to see Bucky. He knew where his friend's gravestone was, but he'd known it was empty long before he'd discovered he wasn't dead. It was better to go see him, since they had a lot of pictures and a few videos. None of them had sound, though. He missed Bucky's easy laugh and wasn't sure, now, if he'd ever hear it again. Bucky didn't have much reason to laugh these days.

When they were kids, it was Steve who was serious and rarely laughed. It was the Depression, though, so that was pretty normal. But Bucky did. He'd been pragmatic and well-aware of what folks were going through, but he usually found something to laugh about. Steve had always appreciated that, especially when he was young and struggling with his size and poor health. Going to war had changed that aspect of Bucky some, but it was still there. He laughed less, smiled less, but did joke more. The jokes were just more serious, more necessary to relieve the strain they were all under than actually funny. Steve wondered if the change was just the war, or part of being a prisoner of Zola. The thought was upsetting and he clenched his jaw, turning to look toward the door again, checking that Bucky was safe here.

"Hey, Cap, sorry it took so long," Sam said as the elevator opened down the hall.

"It's fine," Steve replied quietly, getting to his feet.

"He hasn't come out yet?" Sam asked, looking concerned.

"No."

They exchanged a look, then walked down to Bucky's door. "Hey, James, you okay in there?" Steve asked, knocking lightly. There was no response.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to be disturbed," Sam suggested.

Steve frowned. "JARVIS? Is James still in his room?" he asked softly.

"No, sir," the computer voice replied nearby, as quietly as he'd asked the question.

Steve swore under his breath, wanting very much to punch the wall. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know, sir. He left through his window twenty-two minutes ago," JARVIS said helpfully.

"His window?" Sam asked.

Steve opened the door and quickly searched his friend's room. The file sat open on the bed, George Porter's face staring up at him. The window was open, and Steve rushed over to look out. There was no sign of Bucky, which was something of a relief. He hadn't jumped. The height was certainly enough to kill a man. Well, a normal man. Who knew if it would kill either of them. The outside of the building was scalable.

"Where could he have gone this time?" Sam interrupted his thoughts, standing beside him.

Steve glanced back at the file. "I think I know," he said resignedly. "We'd better hurry."