AN: 2 chapters in the same night! I was so excited about this chapter I just HAD to post it! I LOVE this chapter. So much. I really enjoyed writing the little creepy scene. A little Bucky/Mo session gone wrong.

Sam and Steve were downstairs in the kitchen; Bucky and Mo were in the living room. He was spending less and less time in his bathroom hideout, Steve noticed with triumph, although he knew he couldn't credit himself for this development; Moriah deserved all the credit, and he often found himself wishing there was some way for him to thank her properly for everything she was doing. The fact that she was even agreeing to help his best friend meant more than he could express, but that, complete with the fact that Bucky was showing subtle signs of improvement, left him feeling more indebted to her than he had felt to anyone in a long time.

He'd noticed the way Mo and Bucky interacted and it fascinated him endlessly, as did her relationship with Sam. Sam was a fairly relaxed guy to begin with, intense and serious when he needed to be. But his dynamic with Mo was something different, and he wondered about their past. He'd gathered pieces, that Sam had helped Mo much in the way that Mo was helping Bucky, and he knew that they had a history between them, linked by their traumas. He also knew that there was not now nor had there every been any romantic history between them, and watching their interactions, it was clear: their relationship was something akin to brother and sister, to friends, alight with teases and jokes, though Steve also got the sense that Sam was the only one who could make some of those jokes—about her missing leg, for instance.

He'd also caught on to the language she had developed, one only she and Bucky used and understood, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. He was at ease around her in a way that Steve hadn't expected; at ease around her in a way that he still wasn't around Steve. In fact, he was still rather tense around Steve, and when Mo had come to him and told him, again, that he was basically bad for Bucky. She'd done it kindly enough, but it had become clear, in that moment, that she was dedicated to Bucky's recovery which, admittedly, both hurt slightly and made him realize that Sam had picked the right person.

She had this way with Bucky that Bucky needed. A look here would stop him in his tracks, and glare as he might at her, she would hold her ground until she got her way. All silently, mind. She'd walk past him and give him a small smile, a way of saying good job, and though Bucky didn't smile anymore, Steve would notice a little tension leave his shoulders. And there was this look he would give her, and the two would lock eyes, and both Steve and Sam both knew it was time to leave the room because Bucky needed to be alone—which never meant alone, it meant alone with Mo.

Steve really did try not to be jealous.

Aside from all of this, though, Mo generally kept to herself and stayed out of the way. She would cook in the mornings, and Steve would help with dishes, and then she would spend some time with Bucky, often banishing Steve to another room. He did notice, though, that Mo would almost always emerge frustrated, her forehead pinched, mouth tight, and when Steve would ask she would just mumble something about time, he needs time, everything in time…

Tonight, like those other nights, Mo was sitting across from Bucky, who was on the sofa, and Sam and Steve were banished. Sometimes they tried to listen in, but Mo had gotten good at detecting them. Steve started when there was a commotion from the other room, the sound of glass breaking, and he and Sam leapt to their feet.

"Stay where you are," Mo called in a calm voice before either of them could take a step. They didn't listen, of course, but came to stand warily in the doorway. Bucky was standing, had smashed a vase; Mo stood across from him, looking up at him, and Steve was again very aware of how very small, breakable, ordinary she was. Bucky towered over her, snarl in place, and she crossed her arms.

"You done?" she asked coolly, and he clenched his metal fist between them.

"It. Is. A. Weapon," he snarled in a voice that wasn't Bucky's voice, not the Bucky he knew. "It's an abomination. The pain, the blood it has caused—"

"The arm didn't do it, Barnes," she said, her voice still deadly calm. "You did."

"I know that I did it!"

Steve had to admit that he was impressed when she didn't flinch. Beside him, Sam was like a coiled spring. The air in the room crackled with tension, and Steve leaned forward and Mo held up a hand to stop him without so much as glancing in his direction.

"It's a part of you now," Mo said, "and you need to accept it."

"I can't stand the sight of it."

"You need to get over it." At this, Bucky tilted his head and laughed a cold, chilling laugh. Mo rolled her eyes. "I'm not impressed right now, Barnes."

"You," he spit, "have no idea what you're talking about." He turned away from her.

"Do not walk away from me," she said, and he rounded on her. "Look," she went on, "I know what it's like to have a limb replaced by something else—"

"You," he snarled again, "you broken little girl," he gestured at her leg, "with your wooden leg, you have no idea." He towered over her threateningly, so close that Steve could see his heavy breaths stirring the wispy curls around her face.

"What," she taunted, "what are you going to do, Barnes?"

"I'm a monster," he said. "You don't know the things I've done. You're wasting your time."

"No one believes that."

"No?" he asked, quirking his head sharply to one side. Then, so fast that it was a blur, he had the metal hand fastened around her throat and he had lifted her into the air. Sam seemed to explode forward, but Mo flung out an arm to stop them both.

"I'm fine," she said, and she was just hanging there. "Don't touch him. He's not hurting me, just trying to scare me." Bucky was trembling, a vein pulsing in his forehead. "Isn't that right?"

Barnes released her and she landed on her prosthetic, dropping to one knee. Steve helped her to her feet, but she pushed him away. "Get away," she snapped, "both of you."

"But—"

"GO AWAY."

They both stepped back and she stepped right up to Bucky, whose eyes were wild. Steve was genuinely frightened for her. Bucky turned his back on her and her hand shot out, grabbing and yanking his sleeve. Bucky rounded furiously, arm raised, and she flinched slightly, expecting a blow. Bucky gritted his teeth and cried out, veins standing out in his neck.

"Leave me alone!"

"So what's your plan, hmm?" she demanded. "Toss me around a little, prove you're a monster so you can go back to hating yourself? So you can justify it to yourself?" She laughed a cold laugh. "You're making progress; pull your head out of your ass, James." She never used his first name. "I am not afraid of you."

"Yes, you are," he said, his voice low and rough, and it was more the Winter Soldier's voice than Bucky's. He stepped right up to her and she fell back, and he walked her back up against the wall, pinning her there, his metal arm firm on her shoulder. Sam and Steve watched warily, and Steve noticed Sam was sweating. "I can see it in your eyes," he crooned, tapping the brow above her scarred eye, tracing his fingers along the scars. "I can see it—here," he said, stroking the same finger at the pulse on her neck. He leaned in, his nose touching her pulse, and she squirmed. He shoved her roughly back against the wall, and when Steve stepped forward, she cut him a look. "You're terrified," he said, and his voice had taken on a tone that chilled Steve to the bone. He lifted his face, his nose touching hers for a moment as he applied pressure, jamming his knee between hers, holding her there.

"You have no idea the things I could do to you," he said in a voice that was intimate, successfully creeping Steve out. "Oh, what I want to do to you. I'll unravel you. I'll peel the skin back from your pretty little face. You don't know what pain is. I'll make you beg." Even from here, Steve could see the glossy sheen to her eyes. Her mouth trembled, and Bucky noticed. Still, her hand held them at bay, but Steve wouldn't stay still much longer. Bucky traced a finger along her lower lip, his eyes trained on her mouth, and he licked his lips like a hungry predator. Then, his finger slid down her jaw, down her throat, over her collarbone. He nuzzled her neck and laughed when she turned her face away from him.

"Who do you think you are?" he asked her.

Steve couldn't take it anymore. "That's enough," he said, stepping forward and shoving Bucky's shoulder. Sam flanked him. "What the hell, Bucky?"

"Are you done?" Bucky asked, laughing—his eyes were so pleased, and there was a wide smirk on his face. Steve shoved him again and he laughed, then took a swing, which Steve dodged.

"Knock it off!" Mo cried, and Bucky took another swing and Steve tackled him around the middle, wrestling until he'd pinned Bucky down; it was easier now that Bucky was thinner.

"Steve—stop," Mo pleaded, but he ignored her. A glance over his shoulder showed Sam with his arm around her waist, restraining her. Bucky squirmed.

"We're trying to help you," Steve gritted and Bucky thrashed with a furious scream. "Bucky, stop!"

"Leave me alone!" Bucky was shouting, thrashing like a crazy person. Steve was genuinely frightened. He hadn't seen him like this. "I don't want your help!" He stared Steve in the eyes, Bucky's wild, the whites showing all around. "Did you ever think of that? That maybe I didn't want your help in the first place? I hate you - I didn't want to be found!"

It was like a slap in the face. Bucky had stopped struggling. Steve vaguely heard the sound of the door slam open and shut, Sam calling out for Mo, Mo shouting at him, threatening him if he followed her. There was silence. Bucky was breathing heavily, lips still drawn back, showing his teeth, and suddenly he seemed to lose it and he began to cry—it was strange, loud and frightening, a desperate, broken sound, the sound of someone who was lost.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I hate myself. I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself!" Over and over. Steve climbed off of him slowly, standing above his friend, completely at a loss. Bucky rolled over on the floor and although he didn't move, he seemed to shrink. His face was red, and for a moment Steve was absolutely terrified that his friend was lost, that maybe he'd been wrong. He looked around the room, knowing Mo was gone, finding only Sam, and was shocked by how much he wished she was here right now.

"I'll handle this," Sam said, thumping Steve's shoulder. He crouched down on one knee beside Bucky. "Go get Mo, please." Steve hesitated. Sam was obviously furious. "I'll be fine," Sam said, exasperated. "Go get her. She can't have gone far. Oh, for God's sake, just go."

Steve went, lashing out at the remaining vase on the table on his way out; it shattered against the wall.

AN: I loved this chapter because we see Bucky at his worst here—BUCKY, not the soldier, just Bucky. Review, review, review! I'm really interested in everyone's thoughts about this! I'm already working on the next chapter and hope to have it up for you soon, but reviews are excellent motivation!

Next chapter will have some Steve/Mo bonding :) And this really fun-to-write group session where Bucky and Steve sort of talk about their issues.