The interior of the house was much like the outside; simple, clean, and comfortable. The door opened into a small front room containing only a doormat, a small bench, and a row of polished wood coat hangers. Steve had already passed through this room by the time Bucky had entered and into the kitchen. The assassin followed suspiciously, strands of his unwashed dark hair hanging in his eyes as he peered slowly into the kitchen. It was bright, and warmly lit, with a black tiled floor and a honey colored table resting in the center of the room. Tall polished counters ran all the way around the edges of the room, inset with and oven, dishwasher, sink, and refrigerator. Nothing about this looked like a prison. Steve had already seated himself at the table, absently turning a salt-shaker in his hands. But Bucky could see his eyes; he was watching him, watching his every move with a look of guarded pity.
The chair across the table was pulled out and Bucky slowly slid down into it, still perched on the edge, still poised for flight. Steve smiled faintly. Steve had expected Bucky to be like this, in fact, he had expected him to be much worse. What Steve hadn't expected was for Bucky to be the first to speak.
The assassin's words were guarded, and hesitant, like he didn't know if speaking would warrant punishment. "This is…You're home…" He ventured, not sure himself weather it was a statement or a question
"For now, it kind of is." Steve agreed, nodding his head as he glanced around the kitchen. Then he caught Bucky's gaze, seeing the look of non-comprehension on his face. His tongue flicked uncertainly between his lips as he carefully chose his next words. "I wanted Fury to release you into my custody, but he said it was too dangerous for everyone…I live in New York, Bucky, if you…" He buffered a moment before continuing, "If something were to happen…Fury was concerned that people would get hurt…" He wanted so much for Bucky to know that he didn't believe it; he wanted so much for him to understand that it was Fury's mistrust that had kept him in that cell for so long, not his! But that was more than he could put into words at the moment, so he continued quietly, feeling as though he'd fail his friend by not finding the right words. "This is a safe house…Sort of like where they move people who are in witness protection program…We're out in the middle of nowhere here, it's quite, it's safe, it's-"
"Where Fury's men can maintain a perimeter around the area so if I escape they can kill me." The dark haired assassin accused coldly, his icy gaze boring into Steve from across the table. The minute he said it he knew it was true. Steve flinched slightly as the mental image of his best friend running, defenseless, brainwashed, and terrified through the woods until Fury's men gunned him down. He closed his eyes for a moment before remembering that constant vigilance was necessary and opened them again to slowly meet the Winter Soldier's gaze.
"I tried to talk him out of it." He said quietly, "But Fury insisted that if you were going to be allowed to be here….with me…that there were certain things I had to do."
Bucky's lips tightened, his gaze hardening, but he made no response. His mind was occupied with what those 'certain things' would be. He would certainly be chained up somewhere, that was a given. The possibility of being killed if he stepped out of line was also very probable. But it didn't matter. He didn't care. Nothing could be worse then what he'd already been through.
The silence had stretch between them for several long minutes when Bucky spoke again, this time a quiet demand. "I want my arm back." He said, meeting the blond haired man's gaze. Steve's fingers turned the salt shaker absently, his expression growing weary.
"I'm sorry Buck…" He said softly. "I can't I'm not allowed."
"Than what exactly are you going to do with me here?" He spat, rising to his feet, his one hand clenching tightly at his side.
Steve rose from his chair, making a passive gesture with his hands, despite the wary look in his eyes. "It's okay…" He said in a guarded tone. "It's alright Bucky…I won't hurt you…I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you…" He stepped slowly around the table, until he was facing Bucky. It was dangerous, he knew, putting himself that close to the man who had been sent to kill him, but Steve trusted that there was still something in Bucky that wouldn't hurt him. "You're going to live here with me," He said gently, meeting his gaze. "I'm going to feed you, make sure you're rested…I'm going to help you remember…I'm going to help you heal."
For a brief, shining moment, Steve was certain that some kind of breakthrough had happened, that something he had said had struck home. But as suddenly as he had seen it, it was gone. The assassin's eyes went cold, and he took a threatening step forward, standing chest to chest with Steve. "I don't need your help." He hissed, his old training screaming for him to kill Steve where he stood. But there was something even older that redirected that rage, and Bucky shoved past him, suddenly bolting towards the door.
Steve felt a stab of panic in his gut and he wheeled around, hurtling towards the doorway after his charge. "Bucky!" He shouted, spiriting after him, clearing the door just as Bucky reached the edge of the clearing. He was going to die. A couple hundred feet into the woods, Fury's perimeter was set up and ready to kill the Winter Soldier on sight if he found his way that far, unaccompanied, into the woods.
"Bucky!" Steve yelled again, as he ran, his voice cracking with a sudden desperation. "Bucky please! They'll kill you! Please, just come back!" He pleaded, seeing the man falter to a stop about twenty feet into the woods. "They won't wait." Steve pressed. "They won't ask questions, they'll just kill you…please Bucky…"
The Winter Soldier stood among the trees, his body trembling with adrenalin and emotion. He set his jaw, feeling like he was going to explode. The was so much that he couldn't wrap his mind around, there was so much he couldn't understand and that helplessness made him feel an anger that he could barely suppress. Slowly he turned, walking back to the edge of the clearing and looked to Steve, who stood there, chest heaving, eyes desperate. Seeing him somehow soothed some of that anger, it made the confusion worse, but it stroked down the flare of panic-driven rage he felt almost constantly.
"Stop calling me Bucky…" He said softly, his eyes dropping to the ground. Like music, Steve gave a soft, relieved bark of laughter.
"Good luck with that," He grinned, knowing that he couldn't treat this situation lightly, but he couldn't help but try to joke just a little bit. It was the irrational hope that it would be little old times. He knew it couldn't be true, but he had to try. As he had feared, there was no response from the man he had known, just a tightening of his lips. He lowered his eyes in a brief moment of disappointment before looking back to him. "Come on then…it's almost dinner time…" He said, stuffing the urge to touch his shoulder.
As the two walked back to the house a command was relayed from one radio to another around the entire mountaintop that the situation was neutralized, and to lower their arms.