"Come on, man, hold up your end…for god sake's you've got a freakin'metal arm, lift it UP." Sam was beyond frustrated with Barnes and he was done with not showing it. He was done with Steve's "rules of engagement" when it came to Barnes.

"No yelling at him."

"No making fun of him."

"No betting with Natasha about him."

"No baiting him."

"No cheating in games on him."

Steve had zero sense of humor when it came to Barnes. Half the fun of being a team was breaking in the new guy and Barnes was it. Not to mention he was an excellent target. He had even less of a sense of humor than Steve and he got frustrated way too easily to ignore. He was the perfect target for good-natured jokes. Sam felt it was his official job to lighten them up; but right now, nothing was funny about drywall hanging.

'Barnes, come on, help me out here…I'm a mere mortal man, you're a super soldier, you can lift the damn drywall better than this….put some brawn into it!" Sam was groaning as he struggled to hold the drywall in place and nail it as it kept slipping down, then to one side, then fell over.

Bucky for his part was holding it up, maybe not exactly where it needed to go or where it was helpful to Sam but he was indeed holding it up. He impassively stared at Sam as the tirade wore on. He was there to help, as instructed by Steve;

"Go help Sam fix the hole in the wall that you made."

Bucky countered flatly, "Well technically YOU made the hole in the wall…not me."

Steve furrowed his brows "I made the hole in the wall? Yeah…when you THREW me into it. So YES technically I made it but YOU propelled me. So YOU get to help fix it and the only reason you're not fixing it by yourself is that it would look like a 1940's Brooklyn tenement afterwards."

Bucky sulked briefly then went to help Sam fix the hole that "Both of us made."

"This making amends stuff is bullshit" he mumbled to himself.

"I break stuff, Steve, remember?" "I don't fix stuff." He groused over his shoulder as he dragged himself off to help Sam.

"Well just consider this voc rehab." Steve shot back without even looking up from repairing an end table casualty of Bucky's break-down.

Eventually the drywall was nailed in place and ready to be painted. Sam was covered in sweat and dust. Not to mention a good deal of blood from the exacto knife slip-ups when Barnes dropped the drywall, a couple of times; and he couldn't feel his left thumb from the 5 times he whacked it with the hammer…thanks to Barnes's profound lack of skill in home repair.

Sam collapsed on the sofa in the basement to watch Steve work his right arm with the weights. The serum certainly helped with the healing but he still had some work to do to get it back to form.

"Done already?" Steve huffed out as he did strengthening curls.

"Already? " Sam repeated with surprise…"we started 6 hours ago, that was a 90 minute job…it took us 6 hours…thanks to Mr Fix-it."

"Sam, remember…no making fun of him. He's trying."

"I'll say he's trying…he's trying my patience." Sam's thumb was throbbing, it was hard to feel sympathy when Bucky was still in one piece and probably could have driven the nails in place with his fist never mind using a hammer. "Hmmm, I should've thought of that…" Sam mused to himself.

"Look, he really feels bad about everything. The damage to the house, my wrist, and the stress he's caused you and Nat." Steve paused in his work out to defend Bucky. "Just give him some time."

"Yeah…I know he feels bad, he comes to my room at night and goes on about how he's sorry and how he wants to do better. We bond talking about his existential angst."

Steve stopped and stared at Sam. "What? He comes to your room at night?" He felt a stab of jealousy. Bucky hadn't come to Steve's room since the night of the food poisoning and even then it was by default when Natasha put him there. The last time they had slept in the same bed was the night in medical when Steve had vowed it would be the "last time."

"Why would he go to your room and not mine?" Steve wondered out loud. He was really feeling jealous and a bit betrayed when Sam woke him up.

"Ah, Steve, I'm joking…he doesn't come to my room…are you serious? He doesn't even speak to me. You realize that don't you? He's said all of 6 words to me in the last 2 weeks and three of those words were fuck." Sam was shaking his head at how gullible Steve remained.

"And…I think he actually has a negative word count with Natasha." Sam laughed.

"What's a negative word count?" Steve was clueless.

"Yeah, not only does he not speak to her, he practically runs out of the room when she shows up so we've decided to score that as a negative 10 on the word count game."

"You two are still making bets about him….I knew it." Steve was miffed.

"No, no …of course not. Come on, lighten up, buddy." Sam chided…but he wasn't kidding…he and Nat had a robust betting ring going when it came to Barnes.

They were not about to give it up.

"By the way, where is he?" Steve asked as he returned to the methodical curls.

"I left him up there…to paint. How hard can that be?"

They looked at one another, clearly imaging how hard it might be to paint a wall; when they heard a loud thud then "Shit."

A quick trip upstairs revealed Bucky standing by the newly hung drywall, a drop cloth on the floor, (he got that part right) a large can of paint on its side on the drop cloth, paint splatter expanding out from the drop point in an impressive arc over the wall, nearby furniture and especially Bucky himself. His favorite black sweats were covered in a lovely shade of Birdseye Maple, very calming and neutral, just the way the store clerk had described it to Sam.

Bucky was staring down at the evidence of his "complete ineptitude" as he told himself; it had been a very long day in a string of very long days…hell he even had paint in his hair. Of course the paint brush in his hand was bone dry.

He startled as he heard Steve and Sam run into the living room. He really didn't want to look at, didn't want to see Steve staring at yet another mess that he had made. "Have to look at him…have to ….he'll hound me about eye contact…" so Bucky dared to look up and offer a wide-eyed "I'm sorry" look for a whole 5 seconds before he resumed staring at the ever growing puddle of paint on and around his sneakers.

Bucky saw the look on Steve's face…a stifled laugh…"Damn…the traitor."

Sam sighed and ran to get a shovel and the trash can.

Steve got his shit together before…. "Ok, no worries, Buck. It's just paint…let's get it cleaned up…we'll help" as he knelt down to turn the can upright and shore up the drop cloth.

Bucky couldn't move; didn't dare move. He was beyond tired. All he could see was that damn paint on everything; a surge of emotion roared up that made him angry, a storm inside his brain started to grow. Anger, shame, frustration...he snarled down the urge to put his fist through the newly hung drywall. He shook his head…. "Get out of my head." He murmured.

Steve heard him though and stopped cleaning to cautiously look up at him. He quietly signed for Sam to stop moving as he waited to gauge what Bucky's next move might be.

Bucky shook his head again… a faint voice floated up in there, "you're nothin' but a screw up" his eyes began to sting…."fuck that, just fuck that shit" he murmured out loud….he wasn't going to cry in front of that "Birdman."

Bucky's head quivered a third time; his shoulders tensed; he blinked hard then finally noticed Steve staring up at him.

"Bucky? Hey…you ok?" Steve asked, worry in his voice. "You, you're talking to yourself….." his voice trailed off.

"No I'm not." He growled. Then softened…"Well yeah, I am…to myself…not…like you think. Not to, someone else… nevermind…just nevermind…I'm fine." Bucky huffed, and started towards the stairs but jerked to a halt and nearly fell over when Steve yelled "SHOES OFF!"

Bucky frowned, pulled his sneakers off, clenched them to his chest and gingerly stepped towards the stairs trying to not touch anything on the way up. He was done.

Steve knew it. He wasn't going to protest or insist he help with the clean up. The self dialogue was evidence enough that Bucky had reached his limit for the day.

"He ok?" Sam asked as he shoveled paint into the trash can.

"Yeah…he gets tired, overwhelmed."

"That was some self dialogue…he been doing much of that?" Sam was worried as usual that Steve was downplaying the situation.

"Sometimes he talks out loud…like he's talking to someone. Mostly when he's tired or frustrated. But he can always talk to me. He's not disconnecting." Steve said hopefully as he wiped paint from the stair bannister.

"What's Cassie say about that?" Sam was hoping they told her.

"It's only been two weeks, Sam…not long enough for the meds to have full effect."

"So you haven't told her?"

"No. I haven't….Bucky did."

That was a curve ball that Sam didn't see coming. "He told her?"

"Yup. He calls her every three days to check in…dials it himself. He knows he's talking out loud. That's different than before…he knows its happening now, that if he hears a voice in his head it isn't a real person."

Sam kept it to himself but he was not ready to have the faith in Barnes that Steve had. He was worried. "Steve's gonna be crushed if he falls apart again."

As far as the head shaking, that was new. It was never a tic that Bucky had before the fall and apparently wasn't an issue while with Hydra at least Bucky didn't remember it. "I shake my head?" was all he had to say about it when Steve first pointed it out. It was turning out to be not a good sign generally as the team was learning.

Cassie had suggested it was partly reflex, a physical response to the internal stimuli of the voices; or it could be neurological…a permanent side effect of the horrific brain wipes over and over. Cassie had offered testing but Bucky had categorically refused to consider it. "NO more wires, probes, tests, doctors. NO MORE!" Even Cassie couldn't persuade him. "Time will tell…" is how she left it.

Steve heard the shower running about an hour later. He went upstairs and stood outside the bathroom door. There was a slow rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from the room. "What the hell is he doing?" Steve leaned his head against the door listening. "Is he hitting something?" Steve started to feel anxiety rise; although things were better, anxiety reared its ugly head pretty fast; they were all suffering from PTSD after Bucky's break down. "What is he doing…" then Steve had a disturbing thought…"he's hitting his head. Shit."

Steve knocked on the door…"Bucky, hey, coming in, buddy." The door was unlocked. There were no locked doors allowed since the food poisoning fiasco, Steve threatened everyone with "removing the doors" if they didn't agree to never locking another door in the house.

For Bucky's part…he thought Steve had lost his mind. "I'm not the only one losing it around he." He groused but ultimately agreed to the new "rule" since it took too much energy to argue.

Natasha just ignored the rules. Sam went with the flow. "I'm just a leaf in the wind" was all he said.

Steve crept into the bathroom. He could see the shadow of Bucky sitting in the tub; the shower was running…cold…he could still hear the thump, thump noises. He reached to pull back the curtain and found Bucky with his back against the wall, his bare feet propped on either side of the faucet; he was still fully dressed in the sweats, the cold water pounded down onto his chest and abdomen.

The thumping noise: Bucky had a softball sized water ball that he was tossing against the wall at his feet and catching or not catching as the water deflected its flight.

"Hey, you ok?" Steve asked as he turned off the water, ending Bucky's cold water soak.

"Yeah. 'um ok."

"Ah, you have your clothes on…" Steve remarked as he closed the lid on the toilet and took a seat.

"Yeah….they had paint on 'em. I figured you'd be mad if I put 'em in the laundry basket." He stuttered out, trying to not let Steve see him shivering.

"Well, I guess I can't fault your logic on that point."

Steve sat there for a moment letting his gaze take him in. Bucky had gained some weight, he had lost the dark circles under his eyes, his color was pale but better; his chest and thighs were filling out. He looked "Sooooo great." He thought.

Sometimes he hurt from wanting Bucky. "Damn, I just want to touch him…..Let it go" he told himself. "You're being stupidly selfish." Bucky wasn't the only one talking to himself.

Bucky kept throwing the ball and catching it every few throws. Steve vaguely noticed it was only with his right hand.

"Steve….I, I'm sorry…I keep fucking up." Bucky's voice pulled Steve from his daydreams.

"No, not true…you're better; you're not fucking up…" Steve hated to hear him talk like this.

"Come on, Steve, I'm a wreck. I cant' get out of my own way. I'm nothin' but a burden."

"Stop it. I'm not going to listen to this bullshit. You're not a burden."

"I can't even paint a wall for god sakes. Its paint on a flat surface…how difficult is that and I screwed it up."

"Buck, you're just getting back on your feet, you nearly died; you were so messed up the serum actually failed. Cassie said it would take weeks to get your body and thinking back on track. It's been all of 2 weeks, be patient with yourself."

Bucky stopped tossing the ball and frowned at Steve. "And then what: take the meds, get better, whatever the hell that is….then I do what…learn to cook, get a job at Denny's?"

He tossed the ball again harder and missed it on the bounce." I kill people Steve. I wreck stuff and never look back. That's what I do. What I've done for 70 years…you think all of a sudden I'm gonna get domesticated?"

"Yes, Buck I do. I think you can do anything you set your mind to do. It's been two weeks; you have no idea where this is going. No idea what kind of life we could make..."

Steve nearly let it slip. The "together" word.

He replayed his last sentence to himself, "No idea what kind of life we could make together." He wanted that life with Bucky.

Bucky stared at Steve, thinking "What kind of life WE can make. Ok, pal. Expand on that statement."

Steve didn't expand on his statement. Bucky was too afraid to ask for more.

"You're not a burden. End of story."

Bucky kept tossing the ball; catching it every third or fourth try.

"Steve, I'm a grown man, fully clothed, covered in paint, sitting in a tub of cold water for the third time today. How functional am I really?"

"Three times?" Steve had missed the first two episodes apparently.

"Yes. Three times." Bucky hated to admit it at all.

"Do tell?" Steve encouraged.

Bucky reluctantly offered: "I tried to make a protein shake in the blender. The lid wasn't on tight…it exploded…all over me…all over the kitchen…..the ceiling….everywhere…you were outside with Birdman."

He paused for Steve to laugh at him….then continued when that didn't happen.

"I cleaned it up before you came back in."

Steve noted absent-mindedly, "Well now I know where the 5 rolls of paper towels went to." "Oh, and his name is Sam. Sam Wilson. Not birdman." Steve corrected.

He made a mental note to add a new rule "No name calling."

"What was the third thing?" Steve had to know.

Bucky groaned…."I don't remember."

"Really? You don't remember?" Steve wasn't really buying it.

No. I don't remember…Remember…I'm the one with the fried brain history….so yeah I don't remember."

But he did remember. He was trying to work on the maps he had hidden under the white boards in the tactical room. Of course that damn Birdman had uncovered it so everyone knew about it. He had wanted it to be a surprise, wanted to show Steve he could help, that he wasn't completely useless. He was trying to piece together the information and had a whopper of an anxiety attack. Sweats, palpitations, even the damn voices came screaming back. He didn't want to take the cold shower; he knew Steve hated that coping mechanism. But he found himself in the bathroom anxiety puking and there it was, just calling his name. The shower. Cold water comfort.

Bucky kept throwing the ball, harder and harder. Kept catching it every few bounces.

'Anyway….I'm a loser and that's all I'll ever be." He added with his best 'poor me' inflection.

"STOP IT." Steve was angry as he snatched the ball mid-air before Bucky could catch it.

"That's your damn voices talking. And I don't want to talk to them or listen to them. It isn't you, I don't accept that."

Bucky was a little shocked at Steve's reaction. It didn't convince him to feel differently about himself but it was nice to hear Steve defend him against his own crappy head.

"And what is this all about?" Steve demanded as he held up the sopping wet ball.

"Nothing." Bucky looked away. He leaned his head back against the wall and debated telling Steve the truth. Steve stared at him clearly waiting for an explanation. You've been in here for an hour, soaking in cold water and bouncing this ball against the wall with your right hand. I can see your missing it; that's not like you. What's going on."

Bucky wagged his head as he murmured "Cas…Cassie gave it to me."

He always had a hard time saying her name…like it was too personal to say a woman's name. He never said Natasha's name either. Not even Romanov. It was as if women were so foreign a concept to him he couldn't even say their names.

"What the hell did they do to him?" ran through Steve's head for a moment.

He never used Birdman's name on purpose...he enjoyed being an asshole in that respect.

"I cut a tendon…" he whispered. "It's damaged and not healing right. She wants me to work on it." Bucky had lowered his head, couldn't look at Steve. He did this to himself when he cut his arm. His psychotic depression and self-harm could have huge ramifications. He couldn't hold a weapon, couldn't steady his hand. Bucky believed the only identity he had was as the Winter Soldier; he was a fighter, an assassin, a soldier and in a fit of insanity he hurt himself and may never be able to do the only thing he did well.

Not that he wanted to kill people but he had hoped to start making amends by taking down every remnant of Hydra still out there.

Slowly Steve put it together. "No wonder you've been dropping things…is that what happened with the paint? And the blender?" And about a dozen other broken items in the past two weeks.

Bucky shrugged, but never looked at Steve.

"Cassie cleared you to work out, right?"

Bucky nodded yes.

"Then we start working out together. We both have work to do so let's get started. The serum has kicked in, Buck, we can make this work. Ok?"

"He's so stupidly optimistic." Was all Bucky could think as he gestured "gimme" with his right hand to get the ball back.

Steve handed it over as he pointed out "Your toes look like prunes. I can only imagine what your ass looks like after sitting in cold water for an hour."

Bucky actually laughed then he flashed Steve the hint of a wicked smirk, a spark in his eyes; he tilted his head coyly as he countered with "ya wanna check it out?"

Steve caught his breath. There was Bucky…His Bucky. In that smirk, in the words; in the sly way he tilted his head when he asked the question. "Oh, my" was all Steve could think….it was as if he got to see behind the curtain like in the Wizard of Oz.

Steve blushed and blurted out "No. No, it's ok. Very funny" as he jumped up awkwardly from the toilet and stumbled towards the door. "I'll get the laundry basket and dry clothes." He shot out of the bathroom wishing he had the courage to have said "Hell yeah."

Bucky was full of regret immediately. He squeezed his eyes shut and bumped his head back on the wall, "Shit." He thought "Why the hell did I just say that…spooked him." He resumed tossing the ball against the wall, harder and harder, catching it every time, until he missed and it thwacked him in the face.

Steve woke early and headed downstairs. But first he checked in Bucky's room, as he did every morning. The door was ajar; Bucky always left it partly open enough so Steve could peek in without it squeaking. It took a lot of threats to get him to not lock it, then a whole lot of persuading to leave it open even a little. Bucky's paranoia was not something the medication was going to tame any time soon…if at all. Then again he had plenty to be paranoid about.

Bucky wasn't in there. "That's odd." Steve thought but didn't worry too much. Yet.

He wandered downstairs. It was just getting light out. He could still smell the fresh paint from last night. As he walked past the newly hung drywall he paused.

It was painted. He turned slowly to stare at the Birdseye Maple wall. There were no spills, no stains, no messes. "Sam must've finished it." He thought. "Wait a minute…Sam left last night."

He started searching for Bucky in earnest now. It didn't take long to find him curled on the chaise lounge on the deck, sound asleep. Steve crept close enough to be sure he wasn't hurt and was still breathing, then he grabbed a quilt from the sofa and carefully covered him. It was barely 45 degrees out and Steve couldn't help himself, he always wanted to wrap him up to keep him warm.

Steve set about making coffee, when he saw Bucky sitting on the chaise with his feet on the deck he grabbed two mugs and headed to join him.

"Here ya go." Steve held out the oversized mug filled with hot chocolate towards Bucky's right hand. He reached with his left but Steve avoided it and pressed for him to take it with his right hand. Bucky frowned but then relented; taking the mug with his right hand.

Steve settled on the chaise next to him. The two of them on the single person lounger forced them closer. They silently bumped mugs and had the first sip of their morning ritual; it was a tiny patch of routine they had started to create for themselves.

"So you painted the wall last night…it looks good…nice work." Steve offered with all sincerity.

"Thanks."

They sat in silence awhile longer. Bucky wrapped in the quilt; Steve's thigh so close to his that he could feel his warmth; the comfort of it outweighed the anxiety it stirred.

Bucky was staring at the gold colored cord that was around his right wrist. He gently ran his metal fingers across it.

"You open the card yet?" Steve wondered. Bucky hadn't spoken about the medical team since they left. He was clearly affected by their good-byes but wouldn't talk about them.

"No." he whispered.

"Don't' you want to know about the cord?"

"Yeah. But." He bit his lip in hesitation.

"I haven't cried in 3 days. I just thought it would be good to not cry for a few more days." He hid behind the sarcasm he wrapped around his words.

"Maybe you won't cry about it. Anyway so what if you cry.' Steve was always so fucking earnest.

"Yeah, well I'm tired of crying…and puking…actually…just want to wait."

"Ok. Your choice."

Steve was more than a little curious about the cord. The young woman Alex was an enigma; strong, quiet, quirky and held her own with Bucky during their care. He scared the heck out of Steve and Sam at times during the medical stay but Alex never flinched. Even if Bucky didn't seem to remember her well, she clearly affected him, he was more than a little thrown by her kiss on the cheek; and he never removed the cord once she put it on his wrist. Even for the cold showers.

"How 'bout a work out and some breakfast." Steve squeezed Bucky's thigh and headed for the kitchen.

Bucky stared at his thigh. "Damn." Was all he could think.

Steve was sitting at the kitchen island reading over a report that Sam had faxed over. The whole 'lets work out together' plan rapidly went sideways so he decided to sift through the Hydra intel that Sam found in the tactical room. He hoped beating up Hydra on paper would channel his frustration with Bucky's lack of focus for disciplined exercise.

They had gone to the basement to start working on their respective right arm injuries. Steve was patiently instructing Bucky on the proper number of repetitions; right amount of weight; for how long; all the finer points of strengthening and good body mechanics. He instructed, demonstrated, shadowed and finally was forced to give up.

"Hydra didn't have a gym ya know." Bucky huffed out.

"Well how the hell did you stay fit all those years, Buck. You had to be doing something."

"Yeah, Steve; they dragged me out of the freezer, threw a gun at me, and shoved me into the streets to fight. On the job training." He shot back.

"Come on, they had to train you at some point."

Bucky sprawled on his belly on the floor mats, face to the floor as he groaned "Yes Steve. They trained me, 70 years ago, you would've loved it. Very formal, grueling actually, you'da been their star pupil."

"Come on Buck…I'm just trying to help. You want to do this right or it won't heal."

"It's ok. I'll try again later."

"Get up, come on….." Steve put a hand out to help him up. Bucky ignored him.

"Buck, get up, you can do this." He pushed at Bucky's hip with his foot.

"Let's go…get up." He rocked his hips gently back and forth.

Suddenly Bucky rolled away from him with the last push, and in a graceful, sweeping move, was on his feet facing Steve…. out of his reach.

"I'm done for now, Steve. Ok?"

Steve was surprised at how quickly and adeptly he pulled off the move. "Well that was a sweet move." He thought.

Then he caught Bucky's expression. It was the look of panic. Wide-eyed, clenched jaw, tense shoulders, but his hair looked 'great'...tousled and hanging in his face. Steve groaned internally at himself for that thought.

"Ok…no problem…..I'm sorry if this triggered something for you….I don't want to push you." Steve conceded.

Bucky bolted upstairs.

He let Steve think it was about being triggered. That his panic and abandonment of the gym was somehow related to old history with Hydra. Maybe in some weird way it was but really it was about Steve. He couldn't bear being that close to him. Steve had a short sleeve T-shirt on, wrapped tight around his chest and arms; he had some kind of thin pants on that clung to his ass. Bucky quickly became distracted. He caught himself watching how his muscles tightened and relaxed; how it felt to have Steve's hands on his skin; bracing his arm, touching him, helping him lift the weights just right; standing so close he could smell him. His brain was on fire.

He had to get out of there, he wanted to grab him, pin him to the floor and….and…..choke him. "What the fuck?"

"Choke him? Where the hell did that come from?" Panic filled his mind…that was about when he threw himself face first on the floor, trying to wrestle with his mind for control.

He hadn't had any threatening thoughts since starting the medications. Well, no threatening thoughts towards people…well towards Steve.

Birdman didn't count.

He tried to never think about the Red Head.

The final straw was the rocking on the floor. Steve's foot on his hip, rocking him back and forth on the floor. Back and forth on his cock….while thinking of Steve. It was too much to bear. Better to act like a 'crazy person' and run out of there than let him see

1. That he had a fleeting thought of hurting him and

2. His cock nearly got a little bit hard. "Wow…when has that happened lately?"

He gave some serious thought to a cold shower but opted for 5 minutes of cold water on his face and biting his nails.

Steve stared intently at the photos that Sam had printed and then transcribed into sheets of names, dates, and locations. Natasha had translated the Russian phrases and added some context. It was everything that Bucky had scribbled on the walls downstairs. As much as Steve wanted to bring Bucky in on the data mining, it wasn't a good idea. He was better but he couldn't tolerate much pressure; found it hard to focus for long and although he tried to be present, he often descended into a blank stare that gave them all spine tingling uncertainty. "More time" was the unified response when he asked Nat and Sam to weigh in.

Steve poured over the papers on the island. He only vaguely noticed that Bucky was pacing. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen, back into the kitchen. Stop and stare at Steve. Pacing again. Around the island. Behind Steve. Stare at Steve. Pace around the island. Stare at Steve from a new position.

"Buck, what's up?" Steve finally asked without looking up.

"Nothing.'" He kept pacing.

"Really? Nothing?"

"All good. Really." Stare at Steve some more…then pace.

"Buck, seriously…what is wrong. You're pacing and staring."

"No I'm not."

Bucky paced to a stop next to Steve. Staring.

"What's on your mind, buddy?" Steve turned to take him in.

He was dressed in those damn black sweats. Again. Steve considered burning them. Then again…it wasn't like Bucky could go shopping. "This is all my fault…I need to buy him different clothes." Steve's rambling thoughts were stopped short when Bucky tersely interrupted. "Those papers are about me aren't they?"

Steve slowly slid his hand over the papers and refocused on Bucky. "No, they're not about you. That's being a bit paranoid, right?"

"No. Its not." He stared hard at Steve's hand covering the papers. His jaw clenched.

"Ok…it's not about you, Buck." Steve said firmly. "But, it is some of the intel you wrote out on the wall."

"Sam's been working on the intel, he's been researching it, we're sorting it out so we can act on it eventually. We've just gotten started." Steve paused and took in the suspicion written on Bucky's face. "We didn't want to upset you…"

Bucky cut him off…"So you left me out? You don't trust me?"

He took a step towards Steve; fists clenched, body tensed; a little too close now; Steve tried to sit up straighter to match Bucky's posture without being a threat; he worked to get his feet beneath him just in case.

Bucky glared at him for a heartbeat or three…then…."I wouldn't trust me either."

His stance deflated, he bit his lip hard then turned to walk away.

Steve grabbed his sleeve. "Buck, we talked about it…we just don't want to overwhelm you, it isn't that we don't trust you, that I don't trust you….I do."

Bucky tugged away and without looking back mumbled "It's ok. Like I said, I wouldn't trust me either."

Steve thought about going after him but opted to let him work it out on his own. He replayed what Sam had advised…."Don't be so damned co-dependent."

"What the hell is co-dependent?" Steve had responded. In made perfect sense when Sam pointed out; "You jump to wipe his nose if he sneezes; you try to soothe every emotion he has; you cover him with a blanket if you think it's cold out; do you have any idea how many times a day you ask him 'you, ok?' Come on, man. Let him be a grown up; let him learn to process his own emotions!"

Steve reluctantly turned back to the paperwork.

Bucky hated how he felt most of the time. Depressed, angry, confused, scared, tired…the list went on and on. "Oh, right don't forget inept, stupid, dirty, a failure…..well this is productive, isn't it" he chided himself. At least he had 10 seconds of clarity to chide himself over the laundry list of negative thoughts about himself. He was sitting on the floor of his room staring at the open grate on the floor. He could hear Steve on the phone talking about the paperwork and him. Sounded like he was talking to Sa….Birdman. "Whoa, I almost used his name; maybe those meds are kicking in?"

He began bouncing the ball against the wall and catching it, every few tries.

He could hear the one-sided conversation pretty well. He tried to not listen. It really fed his "dark side" as Birdman called it when he was going on one day about "The Force" and some guy named Darth Vader. Bucky tuned him out after awhile, smirking to himself "Yeah, they think I'm crazy." But he understood about the concept of a dark side. He knew his dark side was damn powerful and he would rather let it go away.

He kept bouncing the ball and catching it.

He heard Steve say his name. "Bucky knows we're working on this."

Then 'He painted the wall last night."

"No, Sam, painting a wall doesn't mean he can handle the intel work. But it does mean he's trying."

"I know we agreed to leave him out of this part, but we should keep re-visiting that."

"He deserves to be included, Sam."

Bucky threw the ball hard against the wall and didn't bother to try and catch it. Instead he jumped up to grab the bureau and drag it loudly across the room to cover the open grate. He didn't want to hear them argue about him anymore.

Steve glanced up from the growing pile of paper on the island, coffee cup rings on some of them, to find Bucky standing in the kitchen, staring again, but he was dressed differently. Almost. He had the black sweat pants on, a dark green sweatshirt, (Steve's) a baseball cap (also Steve's) with his hair pulled back in a ponytail and gloves on.

Now Steve was the one staring.

"I'm going running." Bucky announced.

"What?" Steve was floored. "You hate running…what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong…I need to get moving. I need to do something. I'm going running."

'Are you sure?" Steve was thrown by this new wrinkle. All kinds of horrible outcomes ran through his head. He hated this idea but didn't want to make a new rule.

"You think its safe to go out in daylight?" Steve's first try to prevent the run.

"You want me to run at night? You'll find my lifeless body in a ditch the way I'm going lately."

"Give me a minute, I'll change and go with you. It's not safe alone." Second try…go with him.

"No. You're busy and I'll be fine…..I have a metal arm, ya know." He wiggled the metal fingers at him.

"You sure it's a good idea on the medications?" Third try…appeal to his common sense.

"She, Cassie, said 'Get moving, James'." He mimicked her voice a little.

"I hate this idea…will that stop you from going?" Steve tried a direct approach.

"No."

Steve gave up. "Ok, then, ok." He got up and started hovering around Bucky, who squinted at him skeptically.

"Take a water bottle with you" Steve started tearing through the cabinets trying to find the biggest water bottle they had "….you know the medications make you dry and you'll get dehydrated so you need to take this with you and use it" he added as he filled it up and handed it to Bucky.

"You have the phone? Take the phone. Is it charged? You sure it's charged? Let me see it." Bucky dutifully displayed the phone to Steve, proving that it was charged and in his possession. "Put it in your pocket, no the other pocket."

"Why do you care about which pocket it's in?" Bucky asked incredulously.

"You have a hard time getting your metal hand in the sweat pockets, I noticed, so put it in the other pocket so you can get it quickly."

Bucky shook his head on purpose and rolled his eyes.

"Sunscreen! Oh no…we don't have any sunscreen. Shit. You need it…the medications make you super sensitive to the sun. You can't go. We need to get some…I'll put it on the list." Steve was losing it now.

Bucky started laughing. "Steve, look at me. Seriously. What part of me is not covered right now?" He stood with his arms stretched out from his sides and tilted his head to one side in a truly adorable way to demonstrate that literally nothing on him was uncovered except his chin. "I think we can forgo the sunscreen today."

Steve stopped his mothering or smothering as the case may be. And looked at Bucky.

This was going to be the first time Bucky left the house on his own in the 6 weeks since they came home. Steve thought "I'm next for the nervous break down."

Steve instructed:"Text me….repeatedly. Every 15 minutes."

"What?"

Then rapid fire instructions: "I'll worry. Text me. Never mind. I'll text you. No you text me.""Don't talk to anyone.""Which way are you going?" "How far?"

"Steve…stop it." "I'll be fine, really. Where can I go? Up the road and back down the road." Bucky smiled. "I need to do this." He wished he could reach out and pull Steve into a bear hug; but he couldn't risk it. At least he could hold onto that warm feeling when he saw how Steve was worried about him.

"Right. Ok. I'll be right here. Waiting." Steve reached out and patted Bucky's shoulder nervously.

"Buck, you look good." But what he thought was "Amazing."

Bucky smiled again as he moved to open the back door and step out into the world.

"Thanks, mom."

NMD: You ok?

No answer from JBB.

NMD: Hey…you ok?

Still no answer from JBB.

Steve was glaring at the phone perched on top of the intel papers. It had been fifteen minutes…no text messages. "Damn. I need to go after him. He's not answering."

"Five more minutes…then I go after him." He pawed through the papers but his eyes wouldn't focus.

The phone dinged.

JBB: Ok.

NMD: Good! Keep texting.

JBB: Stop it.

Fifteen minutes later…

JBB: You ok?

NMD: Waiting.

JBB: Relax.

NMD: Done yet?

JBB: No. Relax.

NMD: Where are you?

JBB: Stop it. Not getting much running in if I have to keep stopping to text you! RELAX.

Steve tried to refocus; to let go of controlling this situation. Bucky was out of the house….running of all things…and texting back. He even asked if Steve was "Ok."

"So far so good. Just let it go. Let it happen. Be a leaf in the wind." He told himself. Sam was always saying that leaf thing but it was hard to not think the other shoe was going to drop.

He went back to the papers with a bit more attention when the phone dinged.

"That was fast." Bucky had just texted 5 minutes earlier. He checked the phone.

UNKNOWN CALLER: We need to talk.

Steve's heart skipped a couple of beats. No one unknown had that number.