Warm white light spilled though the curtains and onto the soft blanket covering the Winter Soldier's body. It was late, so much later than he usually slept. But once the nightmare's had finally ceased, the softness of the mattress and the warmth of his covers had lulled him into a deep sleep. He was almost peaceful. Then the doorknob clicked ever so slightly as Steve touched it from the outside and Bucky found himself yanked abruptly into consciousness. His heart raced in his chest, adrenalin pumping through his veins. For a moment he felt a stab of irrational panic. He knew one of his arms had been taken from him, locked in some safe box somewhere under furies headquarters, but he couldn't feel the other. As the door eased open, Bucky allowed himself a moment to glance back, feeling his heart-rate lowering again. His right wrist was still cuffed to the bed; it had gone numb up to his shoulder during the course of the night.

"Morning Bucky," Steve said softly, the guilt of the night before still etched on his face. "You sleep okay?"

Bucky gave him a dirty look.

Steve closed his eyes with a sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry buck, I reall-"

"Shut up." Bucky said quietly, and Steve looked up, surprised.

"What?"

"I said shut up. You've been apologizing since last night." Steve hesitated slightly, not sure how to respond to that and Bucky scoffed bitterly. "I understand having orders Rodgers." He said flatly. Steve nodded reluctantly as he walked over to him, key in hand.

"Let's get those off of you then." He said, slipping the key into the lock and hearing a delicate little click as the cuff slid off. Bucky rotated his shoulder experimentally. "Feel okay?" Steve asked.

"It's fine." Bucky responded simply. Truthfully, his entire arm prickled, and he wanted to shake it or whap it against a door or something. But Steve didn't have to know that.

"Here," Steve said, kneeling by the dresser and sidling open one of the draws. He removed a set of clothing similar to the one's he had been given yesterday and handed it up to him before standing o his feet. "There's a bathroom just down the hall and to the left. Why don't you get cleaned up and meet me in the kitchen for breakfast?"

Bucky received the clothing hesitantly, resisting the urge to shiver as he tried to move his numb and tingly limb. It was strange, being left to do something by himself. He hadn't been unguarded in months, and now he was being told to just go and do something…alone…it felt strange to be trusted.

Bucky exited his bedroom/nightly prison with the clothing in hand, still confused, but accepting his small measure of freedom none the less. It was good to get out of the clothing he had been in for the past day and an half, good to use the restroom, and to shower. His skin hadn't felt this clean in a long time. Bucky stepped out from under the warm stream of water, turned the flow off, and wrapped a towel around his hips. He reached up, mussing his hand through his dripping wet hair, the long dark strands clinging to his fingers.

There was a mirror. It was steamy from the hot air, and Bucky felt a sudden flash of curiosity. Aside from a few brief glimpses in dark windows and puddles of rain water, he had no real idea of what he looked like. Surely it couldn't hurt to look. The man stepped forward, hesitant, yet eager. He reached forward, using his hand to swipe away the moisture that clung to the reflective surface. Bucky could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest. The man staring back at him from the mirror looked weary, and broken. His damp black hair clung to his face, his eyes staring back at himself; shattered, and hopeless. The sight felt like a punch to the gut and Bucky stepped back, closing his eyes abruptly as his mind was suddenly flooded with snippets and fragments of memories he hadn't known were his. A cold apartment in Brooklyn. A military uniform. A thin, bony man with a heart the size of the Pacific Ocean. The former assassin's bare back hit the bathroom wall, his hand flying to his head with a moan of sudden distress. What was all this? He sunk to the floor, his hand gripping at his hair, another pained moan wrenching from his lips.

Steve had been passing through the hallway, on his way to change into fresh clothing for the day when he heard the loud thump of Bucky hitting the ground. His wrenched moan hung in the air.

"Bucky?" Steve asked urgently, pressing against the door. "Bucky are you alright?" He demanded. There wasn't a door in the house that locked from the inside, save for Steve bedroom. He knew he could get in, but he didn't want to startle Bucky, or do anything that might betray the small measure of trust he had built up. "Bucky!" He called, the end of the word cut off with a sharp reply from behind the door.

"Go away!" He barked, head between his knees, trying to make sense of the memories that had just assaulted his tormented mind. "It's fine, just go away, Steve!" He snapped, his teeth clenched tightly.

Steve hesitated outside the door. A tentative hope was beginning to mingle with his concern. "Alright." He said softly. "I won't be far...just yell if you need me…" He turned, walking the rest of the way to his room. He called me Steve…