He dreamt of falling. Wind rushing past his face, Steve's hand nearly touching his fingers. Heart stopping terror as the wind and snow covered mountain rushed past his falling body, he waited for the moment of impact that would tear him apart. Night after night would start with that fall. He could hear his own voice screaming; heard Steve's desperate call of "Bucky."

Then the dead came to move through his dreams. Cold hands, hollow eyes, screams of agony and voices begging for mercy. Faceless at first, but with each passing night, the dead took form. Faces started to match places; times; missions. Nothing chronological, always jumbled, wavering in and out like watching scenes through billowing smoke.

Bucky tried to sleep; on the floor of his room, on the sofa, under the tactical table; exhausted dozing that would end in a gasping strangled cry, covered in sweat and terror. The night in Steve's bed kept the ghosts at bay for a moment but the hum of anxiety that thrilled through him from lying close to Steve wouldn't allow him to ask again.

Once Steve had settled down for the night, he would begin to roam the house; touch the doorknobs, once, twice, three times. Lock….unlock…lock each bolt and door. Repeat three times each lock. Any obsessive check only bought him a few minutes of freedom from his head. His anxiety would ebb and flow like waves, never ceasing to move, always full of power and potential to crash down upon him and ultimately wash him away.

Every hour of darkness, without sleep, brought the dead from his dreams to his waking state. They began as faceless but as the night wore on they became familiar; men, women, the innocent and the guilty; all staring, reaching, speaking. Muffled words that became clearer with the passing of time.

Why did you do this to me?

I didn't deserve to die.

I never hurt you. Please don't hurt me.

Please let me go, I won't say anything. How dare you. Stand down soldier.

Mission report. You're the perfect weapon. No eye contact! Soldier! Please save me.

Please let my children go.

Bucky realized the voices of the dead sounded a lot like the Voice in his head that told him how useless he was; drove home his guilt and shame; told him how he deserved to die; to be punished.

"They're not real, not real, not real." He mumbled to himself as he padded barefoot from door to window. "Three plus three." He touched the window lock and ran his hand through his soiled hair. "Six then six again." He tapped the bathroom doorknob before moving towards the front door; but something caught his eye in the living room. He cautiously raised his head to focus on a shadowed figure. He blinked hard, trying to get exhausted eyes to focus in the darkened room. Fear rushed through him. "How could anyone get in here? I just checked everything…." He shook his head to clear the hair from his vision, as his eyes adjusted to bring the figure into focus.

Bucky was staring at Howard Stark.

Cold, dark eyes locked on him; no words or gestures. Only the hard stare of a dead man. "No. This can't be real….you're dead" He heard his stammering voice whisper "I killed you."

Howard's mouth opened and closed but Bucky couldn't hear any words. "Ok….maybe I am crazy….this is so fucked up. I know you're not there….. I think you're not there." An uncontrolled shudder ran through his body; he rubbed at his eyes until the pressure blurred his vision; he abruptly turned for the kitchen.

He steadied his hands on the kitchen island and fought down the nausea gripping his belly.

"Damn Barnes, settle down…..you're starting to see things."

"Water, I need water." He fumbled with a glass and turned on the tap. "I'm dehydrated..that's it, I need water." He gulped it down, head tilted back, eyes closed; the coolness washed through him; relaxing tense muscles; he let his guard down. "Just calm down, idiot." He allowed himself a heavy sigh "You're the fucking Winter Soldier….why are you shaking at shadows." He rasped out a short laugh and leaned forward on the sink when movement to his right caught his self chiding and brought it to a halt.

Within an arms reach here in Steve's kitchen was Maria Stark.

Bucky sucked in a ragged breath as his terrified eyes locked with Maria's icy glare. The sound of a glass breaking didn't diminish the terror that was filling him. "This isn't happening." He whispered as he tried to turn away but the woman's stare rooted him in place. A sob shook his body when Maria slowly raised her hand towards him.

"Move, Barnes, come on, move your feet." But his muscles failed to respond; they were powerless in the face of his victim's wrath.

"You….you're not real…this can't be real….I'm dreaming." Maria's finger was pointing at him, moving forward now; inevitably advancing to mark him when one foot slid backwards. A shock of pain rattled him from the trance; he glanced down at a bloody print, when he looked up; Maria was gone.

Adrenalin fueled heat coursed through his body. "Ok I can handle hurt, give it out, take it...but this? Ghosts? Seeing things? What the hell is this?" He'd never been trained for this. It was all Bucky in the aftermath.

There was one certainty: he wanted to feel safe and the only safe place was with Steve. He tore through the house; straight to Steve's room. "No looking for them; just look down, no eye contact; just get there." He slid to a stop next to the bed. The sprawled shadow of Steve was faintly visible, his breathing slow and deep. Bucky struggled to quiet his panic; he didn't want to wake him. "How the hell do I explain being terrified of a ghost." Self doubt nagged at his thoughts but the ghosts were waiting just beyond the bedroom door. He remembered an old game they played when they slept together as kids "Match you breath for breath, Stevie." The soldier curled down to the floor by the bed and played their childhood game.

"You think you're safe here? He can't protect you from the dead. They have forever to wait for you. All the time in the world to wait to destroy you. The dead will win this fight soldier."

5am comes early and dark. Steve woke from the fitful dozing that masqueraded as sleep these nights and rolled over to put feet to the floor. Only he found something soft there that felt a lot like a body. He wasn't too alarmed given the past few days of Bucky wrangling. He pulled his feet back to bed and looked down to find him curled into a tight ball so close to the bed that his head was nearly under it. Steve sighed "What the..?"

"Bucky."

"Bucky…you ok?"

"Hey buddy….that's not looking real comfortable."

Steve crouched nearby not touching him, and not within reach of his metal arm. He kept his voice calm and reassuring despite seeing the dried blood on the floor and Bucky's feet. Steve was hoping he'd wake easily but reality was, he was slipping away from Steve's hands again he'd have to be ready for anything.

Bucky woke suddenly and jerked his head up, rapping it into the bed frame.

"Ouch." Steve said it for him. "You ok, Buck?"

"No. Yes. I'm fine. Where…what…I'm ok. Just couldn't sleep so I laid down here." "Sorry." He scrambled to his feet but lost his balance with the sudden movement. He stumbled backwards to sit on the bed as Steve stood and reached out to steady him. He flinched away.

"God, Buck, you look like hell." He ran his eyes over him. The dark sweats were soiled, his hair ragged and greasy. His face was thin, darkness under his eyes; his normally well defined body was looking leaner, not in a healthy way.

"You're not sleeping at all. Worse than that, you're not eating, not taking care of yourself." Steve tried to offer his view gently. "We need to talk about this. You can't keep this up." Steve ran his hand through his hair and sat next to Bucky on the bed. What he was thinking was 'WE can't keep going like this." But he didn't want to put that guilt trip on Bucky on top of the guilt he was already feeling.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

"No, Buck…I know you're sorry but that isn't enough now. We need to talk and make some decisions here. You're exhausted….more than exhausted…you're confused and not talking to me, you just stare at nothing….I don't know what to do half the time." Steve let his frustration flair briefly then tucked it away.

"Talk about what? I don't sleep much. I slept for the better part of 70 years, maybe I don't need to sleep so much anymore, maybe it's that damn serum they gave me, or maybe they did this on purpose to me, so I'd be a better weapon…." His words trailed off but there was that sudden burst of intense anger again.

Bucky stood up to leave; he started past Steve who tugged at his arm as he passed, trying to keep him from avoiding another conversation. Bucky swung around hard with his left fist straight for Steve's head. He was ready and blocked effectively enough to throw him off balance; they scuffled together until they fell against the far wall without any more punches being thrown. Neither of them really wanted this to happen.

Steve leaned hard into him, pinning him with his body as he struggled to pull away. He let his head rest against Bucky's neck; he felt his ragged breathing as their skirmish subsided. Steve knew he could get away easily if he wanted, but right now maybe what they both needed was this closeness; the physical contact that they wouldn't allow one another except under the pretense of a scuffle. Steve ached to have his friend close. He was adamant "It wasn't sexual." But he was only fooling himself. He would acknowledge the desire to hold onto him, to protect him, to put all the broken pieces back together. Then maybe they could consider the sexual part of this….but not right now. If Bucky was even interested which of course he wasn't…Steve was positive. "I am so pathetic." Steve thought to himself. "I just turned this horribly sad moment with him into a sexual fantasy. I'm going to burn in hell."

"What happened to your feet." Steve let go of the bear-hug and just kept his hands pressed to Bucky's chest. He could feel his heart beating erratically and was that a tremor running through his body?

"What?" Bucky rasped.

"Your feet Buck, their bloody. What happened?" Steve stepped back a little further so Bucky could see his feet. "Yup, that was a tremor." Steve thought as he noted the shakiness of Bucky's hands and the hair that hung around his face.

"Oh! Oh…I dropped a glass, I think." He failed to mention that Maria Stark made him drop the glass. A minor detail. "I'm so…" he stopped short of yet another apology.

"Ok. That's fine. Let's get you cleaned up and check on that glass. Then we need to talk."

Steve herded Bucky to the downstairs bedroom that had the walk-in shower. "Come on, get those clothes off." He turned on the water, testing the temperature, and then held out the laundry basket for the deposit. Bucky wordlessly obeyed.

There were no random sexual thoughts as Steve looked at his friend's nakedness. It was hard to see. His broad shoulders were bent inward, his firm abdomen hollow, hip bones showing too much. The contour of his thighs and chest flattened. Then there were the scars, old wounds on his back and legs, the shoulder scars, vicious and telling. "How could those not hurt?" He wondered. Steve tried to not stare at them but he took inventory of each one fueling his anger at Hydra, Zola, Pierce, anyone and everyone who used and harmed this man.

"Ok, Buck, get in there….is it warm enough?" Steve was feeling overwhelmed. A feeling he was not at all familiar with. "One step at a time." He told himself as he set to the task of getting through the shower.

Bucky tried to adjust the water temperature colder, but Steve intervened. "No, let's compromise and keep a little warm water in there, buddy, it'll work better to get the grime off." He handed him the shampoo, then the soap and supervised the slow and methodical process of getting clean again, helping only where absolutely needed.

Steve considered having a good cry at some point if he could ever get Bucky settled down for a few minutes. He shook that thought off. "He needs you now, remember all those times he saved your ass as a kid. All those times you were deathly sick and he stayed by your side, he didn't run off to cry. He found ways to get your medicine, kept us going, working two jobs, seven days a week. Taking care of both of us." Steve shook off his tiredness and helped Bucky get dried off and into clean clothes. He decided to forego the talk.

"How's it going?" Sam's voice was tentative on the other end of the line.

"Good, good." Was all Steve could muster.

"Good?...Define good." He could hear Sam's skepticism. "You're still alive kind of good or we're shooting hoops and talking all night about family and football kind of good."

"Somewhere in-between." Steve lied. He had moved to the yard to answer the 20 text messages from "Birdman." Bucky was clean, fed, dressed in clean clothes, had bandaged feet and sneakers on and was now relatively safely tucked into the chaise lounge on the back deck. The sun was doing it's best to lull him into an exhausted sleep. Steve made sure he was far enough away that Bucky couldn't hear the conversation, he hoped, but could still see Steve if he looked for him.

"In-between? What does that actually mean?" Sam sighed with a little frustration.

"You said it yourself, Sam, this is going to take time. Getting settled back in the world will take time and effort. It is doing just that…taking time and effort." Steve tried to turn the tables a bit.

"Come on Steve, you're not holding up your end of this plan. I can hear how tired you are. I can hear your brain grinding through the pain."

"My end of the plan? What am I not doing here. I'm the one living with him. I cook for him, clean up after him, I herd him to bed, from room to room, I've tried to get him to talk to me, talk about our history, our future...I had to literally supervise his shower today, supervise what he eats, when he eats…." His voice trailed off as he heard his mounting desperation and realized he had just confirmed the point Sam was making.

Sam answered slowly. "Steve, we had a plan, remember. You would start out with him. We would check in three times a day, I would come over after a few days and relieve you. Then Natasha would come over. Then both of us. Slowly bringing us in to help with socialization and his tolerance. Get you some back up if things didn't go well."

Steve didn't even answer. He remembered "Project Barnes" and the hours of planning. He didn't want to believe they would actually have to implement the plan.

Sam tried again. "Listen, you haven't answered a text in days. You've declined my calls. Nat told me about the text messages."

"What text messages?" Steve couldn't remember texting either of them the past week…or was it two weeks? He wasn't keeping track of time.

"Well let's see…she forwarded them to me….I'll read a few….

..….Mail bandages…first aid kit is shitty

….. insomnia…send melatonin

….. password for internet? I forgot

….. what does Отвянь mean?

….. the arm is whirring A LOT

….. think it's broken?

….. can you ask the techs to run diagnostics

Steve didn't recall any of those text messages. Although he did recall what the Russian phrase meant. "really, he told me to fuck off…in Russian." He mumbled.

Steve sighed and resigned himself to telling the truth, at least something close to it.

"He isn't sleeping, hasn't slept since he got here." Steve whispered, no need to confirm the rampant paranoia Bucky was already nurturing. "Sam, he doesn't eat unless I tell him to eat. I… I'm pretty sure I've heard him vomit it up. Then there are the nightmares, horrible ones, screaming every night. I don't know but sometimes I hear him talking and he's not talking to me, just talking, like someone else is in the room with him." Steve paused to take a deep breath. "If he isn't just staring at nothing, he's angry and frustrated. He took a swing at me today…" He heard Sam take in a sharp breath. "It wasn't real, Sam, it was a half hearted effort…I'm fine."

"No weapons there, right? Not that it matters…with that arm." Sam interjected.

"No, no weapons but right, with enough anger, everything is a weapon. Sam, I don't want to give up here, he deserves a better life, he deserves my support, I can't walk away, what kind of friend would I be if I gave up?"

"No one is suggesting you give up, man. You're right, he deserves better than what he's been dealt, he deserves recovery, deserves friends and a life but you can't do this alone. He's so far gone into himself he can't find his way out. He heard you before, in D.C. he heard you on the helicarrier so you know he's in there, he's fought his way back to you so far, no reason he can't keep going but, and this is a big one…..he's so lost right now he can't find his way on his own and you are not enough, not without losing yourself in the process, then you will be of no help to him at all."

"Two pathetic super-soldiers lost together in the woods out behind that farmhouse of yours." Sam tried to end it on a lighter note.

There was a long silence as Steve thought about what his friend offered. His gaze fell on Bucky, actually had never strayed far from him. The morning sun was glinting off the metal arm, curled around his chest as he lay on his side, head propped on a pillow, knees drawn up, a thin blanket over his legs. It seemed odd to Steve that Bucky was cold on such a sunny day but he gladly covered him just to offer some small gesture of comfort that would be accepted.

"So he hasn't slept in three weeks, right? And you're not sleeping either." Sam launched in again.

"Three weeks? No….what do you mean, three weeks?" Steve protested.

"Steve, you said he hasn't slept since he got there, that's three weeks…do the math."

Silence again. Steve wasn't aware it had been three weeks that they were home. He thought for sure it was a week, maybe two? Not three, no way.

"This isn't good, man. Remember, Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs….the pillars of human psychological development requires that the basic physiologic needs get met…food, water, sleep, shelter. Even super-soldiers need sleep, especially the ones with horrific torture, memory issues and PTSD."

For a second Steve thought "Who the hell is Maslow?" But then recalled the pyramid on the Project Barnes display board at Natasha's apartment. "Right…Maslow"….he thought maybe he hated the guy but now he was warming up to the theory.

Sam has been a good friend. Loyal and supportive despite his skepticism of the situation. He'd prepped Steve for the possibility that Bucky would unwind once he came out of cryo. They had talked for hours about PTSD, the nightmares, eating disorders, hallucinations, mood swings…the whole gamut of things that could surface before the healing could start. But no matter how much they had discussed the plan and prepared for this, Steve was overwhelmed by the reality of how fucked up Bucky really was right now. No…he shook his head slightly to push away the thought that Bucky was "fucked up" no…he was fucked over, bad…but remained a good man, a strong man facing nearly insurmountable odds but still standing and Steve was standing right there with him…no matter what.

Steve was only halfway listening when Sam's next statement snapped his attention back on the phone "Why don't we come over, Nat and I. We can spend the night, take turns keeping an eye on him, talk to him, let you get some rest…."

"No! No really its ok, we can get through this. I don't think he'll do well with more people here. I don't want him to know we're talking honestly." Really, he didn't want anyone to see what Bucky was going through. It was killing him to watch this descent into darkness. The first days at the house they talked and even laughed, they went running and cooked together but now he was vacant at the least, violent at the worst.

"No, Sam, really let's wait a bit longer. I just needed to talk. I promise I'll call again tonight and I will remember that pyramid guy and will ask for help. Really." He was anxious to hang up since he noticed Bucky stirring on the deck.

Steve won out. Sam conceded; no visit today.

The sun felt good, Bucky thought. Maybe, just maybe better than cold. He wanted to rest, wanted to talk to Steve, wanted the ghosts and voices to leave him alone. He wanted to move forward. He knew how to do that, god knows. He laid there in the sun and let the memory of the "good" missions float through his head. That time he took out the Italian Mafioso's entire squad by himself. Hydra felt they were muscling in on their money sources and he was tasked with putting it to rest. Seven days of planning, endless hours on a roof waiting, rain, wind, day, night, 30 thugs armed to the teeth. He took them all down single handed despite 3 bullet wounds.

He recalled the physical exertion of fighting wave after wave of opponents in the fighting pit when Hydra used him as 'entertainment" for their investors. He started to recount all those impossible shots, even back to watching Captain America's back during the war. He was an excellent sniper, a skill he was proud of. He knew he could persevere. There were so many times he did "a good job" times they told him they were "proud of him" times he was rewarded for his obedience and work as the Hand of Hydra.

Bucky didn't think it was strange his heart ached beyond what he ever thought he could feel, that he felt life was so much better with Hydra in control. No decisions to be made beyond what weapon to use, when to take the shot; no feelings, no remorse, no emotions….most of the time. He knew pain, raw unencumbered pain that tore the screams from deep within his soul. He knew the pain of beatings, humiliation, hunger, broken bones and wounds from combat…. and punishment. He could understand if not appreciate all of that pain.

But nothing, nothing really compared to the pain of his guilt. This feeling took his breath away, it twisted its psychic knife into his chest and ripped him inside out. The more he tried to move forward the more the past grabbed at his mind and body and dragged him back down into the darkness.

"Rogers. What the hell is going on over there?" Natasha was calling now. Steve fumbled with the phone as he tried to talk to her without saying too much where Bucky could hear. "We're good here…really." Steve was on his way back into the house when she called. Bucky was still settled on the deck.

"We're on our way. No more excuses. You are out of compliance with our plan and this ends now."

"No. NO. Nat, we're ok, no visits, really, I appreciate it but …."

"Oh, well…look at that….too late….."

The doorbell rang.

"Damn it." Steve muttered as he made his way to the front door. He didn't really mean it. A feeling of relief washed over him when he saw Natasha and Sam standing on the front porch.

He opened the door. "Hey man, sorry, but let's face it, she's a force to be reckoned with when she wants something." Sam offered as they carried in bags of groceries and made their way to the kitchen.

"Steve" Natasha drawled as she planted a kiss on his cheek. "You look like hell. What's the other guy look like?"

"Ok." Steve offered with a shrug.

Natasha looked a bit wide-eyed and added. "Steve...that was a sarcastic rhetorical question."

The three friends engaged in easy conversation as they unpacked the bags; at least until Bucky walked into the kitchen. He froze in place, staring at them. The conversation stopped as they stared right back. As quickly as he arrived he was gone; out the deck doors, down the stairs and around the house. Steve in hot pursuit.

Sam and Natasha didn't follow. "Wow. He looks bad. Sam shook his head.

"They both look bad." Natasha frowned.

They heard the front door open and a shuffle of feet and someone went upstairs as Steve returned to the kitchen, looking exasperated and exhausted.

"He's a little jumpy…sorry." Steve offered as he collapsed onto the kitchen barstool.

Natasha responded with a single raised eyebrow, saying everything for both her and Sam.

"No worries, man…you remember us, right Barnes?" Offered Sam, loudly, assuming Bucky could still hear him. "We were on the same side in that airport fight… we kicked that spider kid's butt…..we're all good now, right?"

Natasha poured some ice tea for the three of them and looked at Steve while gesturing up with a questioning look….Steve nodded, so she poured a glass and brought it upstairs and left it on the side table outside of the closed bedroom door. "Left you some iced tea out here, Barnes." She said softly to the closed door. "Heading back downstairs now." As she walked away with heavy footsteps so he could hear her leave.

"Look, Steve." Sam offered as the three of them settled around the kitchen island. "Nothing changes if nothing changes. You can't keep this up and expect him to magically get better. It's time to get back on track. We need to move on to Plan B."

"Plan B? You mean counseling? Therapy? I've tried to talk to him about it. He is flat out refusing to even consider it. He just gets defensive and angry and walks away. I can't make him do that, and honestly I wouldn't try to coerce him into it." Steve sat with his arms folded on the island and his shoulders slumped. Looking more dejected than either of them had ever seen.

"You know, maybe he's beyond making that choice. I hate to bring this up but maybe we go straight to Plan C after all." Sam sat next to Steve and tried to keep his voice low and calm. Plan C was a really awful option. Involuntary commitment. Forcing Bucky into a locked psychiatric facility where he would be given treatment and medication against his will.

"Absolutely not." Steve was firm, his slumped posture giving way to staunch resistance. "No way. I don't care how bad he looks; I won't force him to do anything. He's already been through enough of that kind of shit."

"Steve, if he isn't safe, if he hurts you, or someone else or himself because of his mental state, he could be locked away for a long time. Add to that his history as the Winter Soldier and he stands no chance of getting out. At least if he goes in with a short term involuntary he could recover, get discharged, it would go in his favor." Sam knew this was very hard for Steve to hear, it was hard to say.

Steve's anger flaired. "How can you even suggest that after everything he's been through? Sam, I know you want to help but I don't accept that as an option." He rose from the stool and paced the kitchen. "Did you even look at him? Did you see his face, his eyes? How scared he is? How lost? You aren't hearing the screams, you aren't watching him talk to no-one, and you aren't hearing him vomit up what little food he actually gets down…." Steve stopped as he choked back his emotions.

No one said anything more for awhile. Sam just looked at his tea. Then Natasha ventured a suggestion. "Steve, why don't you get out of here for awhile. We'll stay here until you get back. Get out and clear your head. We can stay over tonight so you can sleep. I promise we'll take care of him. No sudden moves, we'll make sure he eats and has anything he needs." She put a hand on his arm and looked up at him. "I promise."

"I, I don't know Nat, I can't ask you to do that…" Steve protested weakly.

"Wait, who dreamed up "The Project Barnes Offensive" afterall? You think I don't have a vested interest in him? That both Sam and I don't have skin in this game? Sam followed you as you chased Barnes for three years all over world. He's a fugitive from the Accords because of your devotion to Barnes. I on the other hand, have personal reasons to want to see that man succeed." Steve gave her a questioning look. "We have history." Was all she would say, dismissing the conversation with a wave of her hand.

"Bucky, open the door, I need to talk to you." Steve knocked at the bedroom door and waited. He noticed the iced tea was still on the table so he picked it up. The door slowly opened as Bucky peered out.

"Hey, Buck. I wanted to let you know I need to go out for a little while." Bucky didn't open the door wide enough to let Steve in. He briefly glanced at Steve and looked away, then nodded.

"Natasha and Sam are staying downstairs if you need anything. They're going to make some lunch and will let you know when it's ready. You should try to eat something ok?'

Steve was leaning against the door frame. He was dressing in khaki's and a button down shirt. He handed Bucky the iced tea which wasn't iced anymore. "Drink this. You haven't had any fluids in hours." Bucky slowly took the glass and stared at it, then drank it down.

"There you go Soldier, let him think you're being obedient. Fool him into thinking he owns you, let him think he's your new handler."

Steve walked away. Bucky didn't protest or say anything other than the nod of acknowledgement. Steve was hoping it would all go well while he was gone. He knew where he was going. Natasha wanted him to take a break, go relax somewhere. But his plan was to interview the team of medical and psychiatric providers that T'Challa had provided. It was time to make the changes, even if he was unwilling to commit Bucky, at least he needed support for himself and help with knowing what to do next.

"Barnes? You hungry? You must be hungry...I made some Chicken Kiev. You'll love it. I promise." Natasha was sitting on the floor outside of his bedroom door. "I can leave it here but I'd rather give it to you. If I leave it on the floor the house will get ants and Steve will freak out. Can't have that." Natasha's mind drifted back to the Red Room, to the stories the girls told at night, about the Winter Soldier, about kindness and love; all things that would not be spoken during the days in the Red Room. She needed to get him to eat. Needed to connect somehow. Not for Steve. For herself and for Barnes.

"Barnes? I'll eat some of it before you do, so you can feel safe about it. You pick the bites of food. You should eat. Ok?" She waited. The knob turned and the door opened enough so she could see him, sitting on the floor just beyond the opening, back to the wall. She turned to face him and slid the dish of food between them. She cut the food and let him pick the bites she ate, then he ate after her. Wordlessly they sat together on the floor and ate Chicken Kiev until it was gone.