Sorry for the late chapter, but I unfortunately lost the first document I wrote. I literally felt numb inside after I realized I couldn't retrieve it. So I had to rewrite the entire thing. But here it is! Please enjoy!

Chapter 8

"On your left," Bucky pants, running slowly on the treadmill to my left.

I laugh and say, "Why are you panting? You're barely moving!"

"To many of Scott's pancakes," He says with a small smile.

"To true," I say, feeling my own breath beginning to quicken.

The gym is large, but not large enough to run around. Bucky and I have been reduced to treadmills. Because of Bucky's arm, though, he is forced to take it slow, otherwise lose his balance. I am just glad to have someone to run with.

To my delight, over the past week and a half Bucky and I have bonded. We constantly talk, sit next to each other, exercise, and eat way too many of Scott's pancakes. I was slightly surprised that we had gotten so close. Usually it can be awkward seeing and talking to someone who you've shared so many personal things with, despite it maybe being a bonding experience. It's like pouring out your soul to a stranger, and then expecting not to be embarrassed. Bucky and I usually meander around for awhile, deep in thought, then we are back to chatting.

It is so refreshing to have the weight of my past mistakes known. Despite my feeling self conscious sometimes, it feels good that it is not being kept shrouded in the dark parts of my heart. And since Bucky is one of the only ones who know, it bonds us even more. We both know each other's secrets. My concern is that once we actually reach the hard stuff, a stiff relationship will develop between us.

For now, Bucky even asks questions about my life and childhood. Thats a thing patients have never asked about: me. Bucky seems to generally care, which feels wonderful since I try to make it a habit never to talk about myself.

A warm glow fills me when I think of how Bucky and I have gotten closer; the more I get to know him, the more I realize I like him. Yet, I am concerned of him and Steve. They have been growing apart ever so slightly. I can feel a tension in the air, sometimes, when they're talking to each other. Steve and Bucky always seemed like an inseparable pair.

I have no idea why this tension is occurring until one day I hear them talking in the kitchen. Quietly slipping behind the white door frame, I get as close to the entryway as I dare. For someone who highly disapproves of eavesdropping, I seem to be making a habit of it.

"I don't like those anymore," Bucky says in a tone that indicates slight annoyance.

"Oh come on," I hear Steve say, teasingly. "You used to love these!"

"I said I don't anymore," Bucky mumbles. I can hear the screech of a stool against the sleek floors. I back away from the door, preparing to run, when Steve says, "What is it Bucky?" He seems to sense something else is amiss.

"Nothing," Bucky mumbles again.

"Buck, you can tell me anything," I hear Steve insist.

The sigh of a man who is finally asked the right question fills the air. "I'm not the same person I was, Steve." Bucky just let's it out simply. "I don't think I will ever be that man again. We have past together, and the more I talk with Ella, the more I realize that I've changed. We have both changed. There is no way to go back in time, and I don't want us to try to believe that things can go back to the way things were."

He pauses. Bucky speaks in a soft, but clear tone. "I'm not going to be the same Steve. I just want you to understand that. I owe you more than I can say, and I don't want you to feel like you still owe it to me to be my friend. But I still want you to be," Bucky finishes lamely.

Steve doesn't speak for a moment, most likely still trying to absorb Bucky's words. I can just imagine Steve grabbing Bucky's shoulder. "You are the only family I have. Through thick and thin, we have always been there for each other. I wouldn't care if you even became a robot, I would still fight for you. Still love you."

Then I feel intrusive. Dang my curiosity. I run as quietly and quickly as I can to my office. I slam the door curly behind me. It had felt like such a private moment… A sick feeling sits in the pit of my stomach: guilt. There is some relief in me that Steve and Bucky figured things out, although. It makes so much more sense now.

After Hydra took Bucky, there is no way he could stay the same. Everyone here on the compound knows Bucky only after the forties. Except for Steve. It makes me wonder as to whether having Steve on the compound was adding pressure to Bucky to be the old person he was. The man I've heard was quite the charmer.

That's absolutely ludicrous. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by my own stupidity. Steve might be the only person who can help Bucky overcome his PTSD.

I walk over to my desk and grab out my notebook, trying to pretend I didn't just overhear an ultra private conversation. A knock absorbs into the walls and I call, "Come in." Bucky opens the door and closes it gently behind him. My heart leaps for several reasons. Possibly because I feel like I just committed murder, and partially because Bucky looks incredibly handsome. His dark blue cotton shirt clings tightly to his strong arm and abs. But my eyes are instantly drawn to his crystal orbs, which are brought out by the blue, gazing at me. I quickly look away.

I go sit, and immediately my cheeks redden as the chair makes a dilapidated farting sound. Smooth. Bucky, the sauve clumsy one, does the same. The chair seems to like him, evident by the way it holds his weight firmly.

Pushing back any thoughts that would immediately point Bucky towards my sins, I ask, "So, I thought we should move on from childhood memories, onto the war." I said it slowly, as to test the waters. Bucky merely nods his head in humble acceptance.

I sigh ever so slightly. "What regiment were you in?" We'll keep this simple, working our way up. I don't want to interrupt our familiarity.

"The 107th Infantry." A hint of pride is evident in Bucky's voice, and he sits up ever so slightly.

"And how was that? The camp, I mean. Was it weird being in a war zone instead of bustling Brooklyn?" I smile a little.

"I guess." Bucky shrugs his shoulders. "It's what I expected it to be. The food was terrible. The beds were uncomfortable, but my bed back at home wasn't much better."

I realize at that moment that perhaps this is part of the reason why Bucky always has a hard time sleeping. When Hydra had him, I'm sure he only had a cot to sleep on when he was out of cryo. Maybe I should talk to Steve about it. But know is the time for Bucky's session.

"Did you miss home?" The answer is obvious, but still a necessary one to ask.

"I missed Steve. All I could think as I was fighting those Nazi was how much Steve would have given to be there. It was sort of a relief that he wasn't, because I'm sure he would have died if he did." It's a relief to me when I hear the fondness in Bucky's voice.

But then a realization strikes me. What if Steve hadn't joined the army? Sure, he wouldn't have become Captain America and beaten Red Skull, so there would have been obvious negatives. When a man has been tortured as much as Bucky has, although, it can be hard to see reason. I know Bucky does, but it wouldn't surprise me if there was a hint of anger deep down. If Steve had never joined the army, Bucky would never have become the Winter Soldier.

It takes everything in me not to ask Bucky if he is angry. After a few years of Psychology, you have to train yourself to not ask some question right out, especially ones where the person themselves might not even know their feelings.

After trying for several moments to piece together an appropriate sentence, I ask cautiously, "Do you think Steve coming into the army was a good thing?"

"I didn't know he had until he rescued me from that Hydra base. And then he was huge, more capable than me." I don't sense any anger, just confusion at my question. Bucky's eyebrows are lifted a little, and I can see the perplexment in his eyes.

Apparently that wasn't the right way to phrase the question. So I try again. "Was it weird not being the leader, or at least the stronger man?" I couldn't think of any way to bring up the question, so I'm hoping one will lead to another.

"Steve was always the stronger man, at least in heart. He was meant to be a leader."

"Did you think he was a capable leader of the Howling Commandos?" I am running out of questions to bring it up, and patience.

"Sure," Bucky says. "He saved the world. He defeated Hydra and became a hero. Do you think I'm jealous of Steve?" Bucky becomes defensive, sitting up in his seat. He sounds upset.

"No! I want to understand, Bucky." Because there is no other way to say this, I decide to be honest. Bucky needs to confront his feelings. The only doubt in my mind is whether he can handle it. I just don't know, so I decide to say it gently. My arms spread open before me. "Is there no anger at Steve for leading you onto that train? If he hadn't come into the army to lead the Howling Commandos, you never would have fallen off that train, into Hydra's grips."

Bucky is completely still. He simply stares at me. Then, slowly, he stands. "I don't want to talk about this," Bucky said lowly.

Thankfully, I'm spared having to reply by Sam bursting into the room. His breath is hurried and he exclaims excitedly, "It's Stark."

Stark. Tony Stark. Oh, right. I hop up and run towards the door, and down the hall with Sam. I turn around, expecting Bucky to be racing beside me. But he's not there. The sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach grows more. Hopefully he is just startled because Stark was mentioned and not what I said to him. Perhaps I overstepped.

In an attempt to be more sensitive, as my job requires, I stop Sam. He jumps slightly as I grab his arm. "Sam, whats going on?"

"Look for yourself." I turn and see that we are right in front of the rec room doorway, which is open. Inside everyone solemnly stands, including T'Challa, around a cardboard box. Just staring at it. I'm sucked in, instantly drawn to the mystery that could be contained in this cardboard.

"What is that?" Everybody jerks around at Bucky's voice. His hand in gripped into a tight fist, and his jaw is clenched, attempting to control his emotions. T'Challa explains, "Stark called us and said he had something for you. He sent it to a post office in Romania and I had someone receive it. We scanned it and it appears to be something metal, but we do not believe it to be dangerous."

"Why didn't you tell me Tony called?" This question is directed specifically to Steve. He raises his hands in defense and says, "I wanted to make sure it was not a trick."

Bucky simply looks back at the box. He slowly moves towards it, like a deer cautiously moving through a forest. It is then that I realize there is a note atop the box. It is taped down with layers of masking tape and I stand by Bucky to read it.

For the old soldier- not you Steve. - Stark.

All of a sudden, Bucky rips the box open with all his force, an impressive feat considering his one arm. Everybody presses in, trying to see the object that sits lonely in the medium size box. "What the h*ll is that?" Scott asks.

T'Challa picks up the metal clamp. It is wide but not long, and a dark blue. After examining it for a moment, T'Challa presses something, and we all gasp. One by one, chucks of metal extend from the clamp. It slowly forms a tube, ending in small five tubes that extend like branches. A red star is on the upper side. An arm.

Nobody speaks until I say, "Why would he send an arm for Bucky?"

"It doesn't make any sense," Steve mumbles, shaking his head at the metal.

I look to Bucky. He just glares at the arm. "Are you going to wear it?"

He shakes his head. "I don't want anything to do with it," Bucky mumbles. "I want to be just me."

And with that, he leaves. I understand his sentiments. Bucky had others in charge of his own being, even his arm wasn't himself. Now, the opportunity to be wholly and completely himself lays before him.

But if Bucky is not going to accept Starks arm, then he need to just get used of having one. And so far, he hasn't been doing good. It is always evident in Bucky's gait that he is used to having a heavy weight on his left side. Ripping off car doors and fighting foes with a metal weight, and now being completely, is a terrible difference. Just the other day he underestimated how heavy a glass was, and it fell to the floor, breaking into shatters.

"Wait," I say to Bucky, running into the hall. I grab his shoulder, the one without the stub of cold metal, and say, "If you're not going to take the arm, you need to practice getting used to having one."

"I am," He insisted.

"No, no you're not," I say firmly. The best way for Bucky to regain is coordination would be fighting. It uses hand eye coordination skills. Even the way Bucky moves shows evidence of his many years of combat, thus it makes sense that his fundamental movements need to be changed on that base. If Steve could help him to rewire his brain to fight with one arm, I do believe it would help the rest of his movements. It could take months, though.

Bucky sighs. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hold that thought." I go back to the rec room, where I see Steve scanning Starks note over and over. "Steve," I call him to the side of the room. "Can you and Sam maybe do some combat with Bucky? To help him with his coordination," I further elaborate.

Steve says in a whisper, looking around at his fellow Avengers, "Are you sure he is ready for that? You saw how he reacted to Tony's arm."

I am honestly not sure. It seems as if I keep upsetting Bucky. It's not like I can blame it on him, either. My job is to calibre what he can take, not him dealing with whatever I say. But my gut instinct tells me he is ready. "I think he has been avoiding it in fear. Bucky needs to push himself. If it seems to much, you can quit it."

So, Bucky, Steve, and Sam head down to the gym. As Sam and Steve wrap their wrists, Bucky meanders around the padded and slightly elevated fighting area. "Here." Steve brings a cloth and begins wrapping it around Bucky's wrist. I can tell Bucky is uncomfortable with Steve having to help him like that.

Jumping on the mat, Steve squats into a fighting position. He proffers his fists. Bucky slowly goes into a poor stance. Steve takes the first swing. Being completely caught off guard, Bucky falls back with a thump onto the ground in an attempt to avoid Steve's fists.

Steve pulls Bucky up, and regains his fighting stance. Bucky looks slightly jumbled, but tries to regain intensity. He tries to focus. This time Steve lets him take the swing, but Steve ducks the punch. Instead, he wraps his bulging arms around Bucky's waist, pushing him down to the mat. Now down on the floor, they tussle and arms and legs are tangled together in a squirming heap. I hear both of them grunting, but it ends with Bucky being pinned to the ground with his arm held behind his back.

Steve tries over and over to figure out a fighting technique for Bucky, but nothing works. He just doesn't know how to work with Bucky's disability. All the hero's Steve works with have extra: extra strength, extra technique, or extra powers. Never someone without a part of them.

The problem is, Steve is treating it as a disadvantage. If he simply believed it as a new way of fighting, or even, an advantage, I do not believe he would be so frustrated. I can tell from both Steve and Bucky's defeated faces, neither thinks creating a new technique will be an easy task.

Steve is about to call for retrying a move which they have been repeating (trying to rewire it to fit Bucky's missing limb), when Bucky mumbles, "I'm done, Steve." He leaves the room.

I see Steve watching him go. Sadness fills his features, lining the lineaments of his serious face. The disappointment of failing his friend makes his form slump.

I don't see Bucky the rest of the evening. It's only at 11:00p.m., right before I go to bed, that a crinkled note is slipped beneath my bedroom door. I see Bucky's scribbled letters webbed across the paper.

I'm not angry at Steve. I don't think I ever could be.

But what you said is partially true. The moment Steve became Red Skulls enemy, I became a target. It was no accident Zola picked me as his lab rat for his super soldier serum. He just knew that I would one day come back to fight Steve: that was an advantage he could not lose. We know that Steve would not have fought back. When he rescued me from the first Hydra base, Zola was already trying his brainwashing methods on me and injected me with a serum. The first one to work. After he saw us escaping the base, he knew he had his first successful soldier. Me. While Schmidt was Steve's enemy, Zola was mine.

I can hardly blame that on Steve. He didn't even know that they had used a serum on me. There so many pros and cons to what happen. If I hadn't had that serum when I fell from the train, I never would have survived. But I never would have fallen from that train if it wasn't for Steve. And on, and on, and on. Why place blame on Steve, when in reality it's all Hydra's fault?

I try not to think of it, as there is nothing I can do. I have already done so much damage, why place any blame on Steve for what havoc Hydra and I caused? I'll just bury it with everything else.

Bucky is going to hide it. In a desperate attempt for ascendancy, he is going to bury his pain so deep into the ground, that I'm fearful of ever bringing it out. I don't want Bucky to be in pain because of his memories, but keeping them shut up will only make it worse.

I'm really going to have to grab my shovel and dig deep.

/