The pale yellow light that spilled through the open door cut through the flickering darkness enough for Steve to see Bucky standing within an arm's reach. He was a disheveled, blood-stained, shield-carrying welcomed sight even if he was staring with shock at the grainy film, muttering the name of a girl from his past. A relieved sigh nearly led to a string of drug-induced sappy words of endearment. He opted for slurred sarcasm, "Sokolov's right, you – are a disobedient, unruly child that never listens." He wagged a finger to underline his words, "I told you not to come after me."

Bucky mumbled, "Who? Oh, Mother." A metal finger tapped at his temple, "Sorry, not Mother. But hey you've got 'em on the ropes here, I can see you've got this completely under control as always. I'm just here to give you a ride home." His attempt at humor didn't defuse his rising sense of shame as he fell head-long into Mother's trap. "What is this?"

"You know what this is. Mother knows how to hurt you doesn't she Soldat? She knows how to stop you dead. Emphasis on dead."

He dragged in a ragged breath to settle the rising cold sickness as he watched the Soldier standing with the red-haired girl. A whispered, "I remember this." The bite to his cheek left the oddly comforting taste of his own blood on his tongue.

"Well this is awkward, that's you Soldat, in all of your Hydra glory. Well, maybe not all of your glory. You screwed up after all. You killed her."

"Stop. Talking. Let me think." He shook his head then pointed at the images, his distracted monologue was nearly drowned out by the audio feed, "That's me. Right? I remember. Her name was Alena. I think he - I cared about her a long time ago. Not sure? I know, it's a feeling now, warm inside - then it gets cold, freezing and sick." The shield slipped from his forearm, the echoing clang sent a shudder through his body. It only bought a few seconds of relief from his past-self spewing fluent Russian. "She died, right after this, maybe I did it? Or not. No, not me?" His gaze caught on a wavering shadow that loomed against the wall just beyond Steve. "My fault though, stupid, just stupid of me, should've known better, Mother was jealous, she hated her, hated that I looked at her."

Steve heard the subtle play of the metal arm as Bucky clenched and unclenched his fist. A split second was devoted to appreciating that he could tell what he was thinking by the nuanced shifting of the plates. The current sound of its movement led him to suck in a deep breath and lunge to grab his flesh hand. "Hey pal, enough. Stop it." His fingers skimmed across his skin, he swung again, to catch his wrist then crawled his fingers deeper across his palm until he had him in a tight grip. "Ancient history, let it go. Need you over here now."

Bucky didn't close his hand around Steve's, but the metal arm went quiet. The murmured dialogue continued, "These memories are hard, they move around a lot, you know. No, you don't know, how would you? It's dark in there, flashes of light, no colors though. Gray spots bumping into dead people."

Steve dragged on his arm, "Stop it, not your fault, come to me." The tension on the fractured leg sent a hot flush across his skin. "We're not out of this yet. Shostokov is here, looking for you." A ragged pulse throbbed under the finger pressed to his wrist, a cold sweat covered their palms. "Come on, look at me, shake it off, buddy."

Bucky's gaze never connected with Steve's, his eyes and words drawn only to the shadow-figure he thought he saw along the wall. "Nothing happened, not like he - you said. I never, we didn't, but Mother, the handlers, everyone believed it."

"Buck, damn it, look at me." Steve hauled himself back, dragging again on Bucky's arm with enough force to knock him off balance. The move sent a shock-wave of pain through his leg and a fresh roll of nausea from his gut. "Get the hell over here."

A stumble over the shield dropped Bucky hard on his knees, his metal hand skidding through a sticky pool of residue underneath Steve's leg. His flailing resistance waned as Steve's arms wrapped around him, pulling his head against his chest, holding his body tight into his own. The rhythmic throb of Steve's heart pulsed under his cheek; he relented into the embrace.

"Hey, pal. Hold on. It's Steve; I'm real. Enough ghosts. That Voice is not real. I know it's getting louder, I know you need the medications, but we've gotta focus. You hear me?" The tremor coursing through Bucky spilled into Steve's chest. He dragged his hand through his hair, "You with me, I need you to talk to me, not the Voice, are you with me?"

Bucky burrowed his arms behind him, pulling himself up to lie along his chest, willing himself to climb inside of his skin. His slow nod along the damp shirt led to eyes closed, deep breath to pull in his scent; the sweat and blood couldn't overwhelm what grounded him. "With you. Yup. Here, now, real. With you, with Steve." He sighed, "Tired, so tired, we need to go home, need the meds, need you."

Steve pushed the hair back from his face, "I know, soon, I promise, it's just we've got problems here. Listen, Shostokov, a man named Alexei Shostokov, he's here."

Bucky grew still, "Who? Shostokov?"

Steve slipped a hand under his chin, looking for eye contact, "Big guy, red all over, pissed-off, very pissed-off."

Bucky dug his hands in deeper, "I don't know. Everybody's pissed at me, except you. I think. Right? Red all over?" He squeezed himself closer between his legs.

Steve tugged at his head, trying to lift him from his chest, "Buck, come on, this is important, he's hard to miss. He said you knew him. He wants revenge."

"Knew me? Sure." He pulled his face away from Steve's insistent hands but stayed wrapped into him, "Shostokov loved her." A quick glance over his shoulder towards the looped video was pulled back when Steve caught his face. He rubbed his cheek into his palm and went with the pull. "Alexei hated me. He must be - I don't know? Ninety-nine? An old man now. How much trouble can he be? He wasn't, red back then. He needs to get in line for the revenge thing. Me first."

His attempt to drop back onto Steve's chest was thwarted when he grabbed his shoulders, "Buck, trust me, more trouble than you can imagine. Did you see him? Where is he?"

"Steve, it was dark." Bucky came close to rolling his eyes, "There was an army out there, flashing guns, smoke, stupid comm feedback from the shock, can't hear anything. That damn shield hit me in the chest; I nearly puked up my bowels. Wait. Red, big guy, yeah, sure I saw him, he's down, all good. I want to go home. Home to the house, not a fucking clinic or Wilson's back porch. Home. Our home."

His sudden pull at Steve's lower back, to lift him out of the chair, was stopped by a loud groan and the tight-lipped gasped comment, "My leg, pal, maybe we need to get that restraint off and well, go slow. It's broken."

Bucky's hand instinctively moved towards Steve's fractured leg; he held his touch when the flickering video let a brighter light fall across the protruding, bloody bone. A cold chill of recognition ran down his back. "Mother did this? She did this. I did this." His focus cleared to finally take in the sticky pool of blood and the macabre twist to Steve's lower leg. "My fault, I didn't protect you. I let her go. My fault."

The surge of anger towards the old Widow turned into a powerful self-loathing that drove him to put distance between himself and Steve. He whispered, "Let go. I need to move. I can't be here. I can't be near you; I hurt you." The struggle to get away escalated when Steve held fast, lacing his fingers into the vest. "Let me go." He pawed at Steve's hands, shoved at his chest, ducked down to slip under his arms. The twisting pull to escape made his knees skid in the blood, the slipping feeling pulled forward sickening memories of battles that took place in the blood and guts of the fallen. The knowledge that it was Steve who held him gave way to the frightening sensation of being held against his will; it threw open the floodgates to all of his underlying panic. "Get the fuck off me. Let me go."

"Not gonna happen, pal. I told you. Never letting go again, so let's just ride this shit out." Steve threw his good leg around his thigh, locked his arms behind Bucky's back and dragged his squirming, growling body as tight to himself as his own skin. The thought that any chance of a life with Bucky would be gone if he let him slip away right now pushed all of his remaining strength into the hold. "You didn't do this. She did. He did this. Stop it."

Steve's mind slammed him back in time to that train, to the burned in his memory image of Bucky falling, his arms outstretched, face covered in fear, desperately screaming his name. Their struggle in this moment was real, the jolting nauseating pain with every jerking motion was more than real, but all that filled his consciousness was Bucky falling. So he held on. This time he had him, held tight to his body, tucked in close, safe. He wasn't going to lose him, not this time. "Never losing you again." He whispered. "Never letting go."

Somewhere in behind the audio feed playing his own voice speaking Russian with more than a little skill, he heard a voice. Not The Voice but Steve's voice, saying "Never letting go." His mind added the phrase "You punk. Or is it jerk? It's both." It was enough of a hiccup in his racing thoughts to trip up his panic over Steve's broken leg. He sucked in a long, ragged breath as his body gave in to the exhaustion that he had barely kept at bay for the last few days. His struggle to escape the only hold he ever wanted to stay in ended with him sprawled across Steve's chest, holding in the sob that threatened to show itself. He pressed his ear to his heart, let his head ride the rise and fall of his breathing, the feeling of Steve's body under his weight sent a rush of blood to his groin. He pushed that distraction aside, his words stumbled against his chest, "Steve. You didn't let go."

"Nope. Although you put up a hell of a fight, I won." His grip relaxed enough to relieve the cramps that were assailing his entire body. "We gotta get out of here. I can't listen to that damn audiotape any longer. Honestly, if I ever hear you speak Russian again, I'm going to puke. Come on, get that restraint off my leg."

Bucky stared, then frowned, then stuttered, "Ah, you do know I didn't choose the in-flight movie here, right? It's pretty damn disturbing for me too. Just for the record."

"Sorry, sorry, drugs, it's the drugs." Steve tugged at his hair, pulling his head back to place his lips quickly on the top of his head.

Bucky muttered, "Forgiven," as his shaking hands pushed the tongue through the buckle, he winced with each tight gasp of air or muscle twitch from Steve. The chewed flesh in his mouth bled again with the renewed channeling of his anxiety as he gingerly raised the ankle out of the final strap to prop it on the footrest. He sighed and fell back onto his haunches while Steve panted loudly through the pain.

"I'm going to kill her." He stared at the bloody mess that was Steve's leg.

"What did you say?" The screaming pain dulled Steve's hearing.

"I said, I'm going to kill her. Right now. I know where she is. I'm going to kill her."

"Get up here." He reached a hand towards him, but Bucky didn't take it. "Get up here." He tried to catch the collar of his vest; Bucky ducked away. "Don't make me chase you. I'll still win, even with a broken leg." He lunged to grab the collar and tugged, "Get up here."

Bucky shrugged off his grip but got up to brace his knees between Steve's legs, resting on the chair seat, his hands flat on his chest, the position put their eyes level. His words were deliberate and precise, "I am going to kill her. You can't stop me. I don't care about my soul anymore. I'm damned anyway. Might as well take her out with me."

Steve's confusion turned to concern, then anger. "No. No, you will not kill her." His hands cupped Bucky's face, he pushed his hair back, "You are not damned, not in this world, not in any world." He pulled his gaze back to him when he tried to look away. "I get it, I get that you feel guilty, that you remember what happened, what you did, but I will never accept that you had any control over it. Never." He pulled him close to press a careful kiss on his forehead, "I care about your soul even if you don't."

The look of fiercely intense devotion that filled Steve's eyes sent a rush of heat through Bucky's heart. He wanted that look directed at him, all day, every day, forever. It cut through his self-hate, quieted his panic and pushed the Voice far into the background of his thoughts. He did the next logical thing in his mind. His open-mouthed kiss filled Steve's mouth with his tongue licking and probing as deep as he'd allow. Dry lips scraped together, wet by Bucky's tongue, licking, biting and tugging at his lower lip, he pushed him back into the chair and grabbed the back of his head to fill Steve with the kiss. His tremor driven body hovered over him, he nearly climbed into his lap but pulled back when he heard the hiss of pain muffled by his own hungry kiss. A knee came up to wrap around Steve's thigh, pushed by his need to press their hips as close as he could, despite the broken leg. He panted through the heat of Steve's hands as he grabbed his ass to pull him in, his fingers digging deep into the muscles. Steve's groan when his metal fingertips raked down the skin of his chest brought on a smirk that was only curtailed by his own whine as Steve drove probing fingers between his legs to brush against his balls.

"How crassly romantic. A tragic embrace before death. No words of love or devotion? Or is all about the sex?"

The Russian accented voice startled them from the deep-throat kissing, Bucky fell back and swung around to face directly towards the suspect shadow he'd seen earlier. His adrenalin fueled heart rate switched from being driven by imminent sex to the rush of facing a fight.

A heartbeat passed.

The video stopped, the room went dark.

"Shit. This is not good." Bucky gave in to his new found habit of out-loud fight commentaries now that he wasn't the Soldier. His eyes darted to the shield lying less than three feet from where he was standing.

Steve mumbled, "I thought you took care of him out there, pal?" His hand braced on Bucky's back.

Blinding white light suddenly filled the room, assailing their retinas. Steve ducked his head into his arm.

Bucky closed his eyes and slammed his foot onto the edge of the shield, his metal hand snagged the rim as it flipped through the air, he drove it onto his forearm and turned towards the shadow-man.

"I should say it is good to see you again Soldat, it is good for me but not for the two of you." The voice came from the spot where Bucky was sure his Voice had manifested.

"See Steve. I told you." His whispered, "The Voice is real," did not go unnoticed by Steve.