Their walks lead the two of them deep into the woods, eventually dropping them out by a lake. It was clear, and placid, offering a sense of serenity even to the turmoil in Bucky's mind. Very few words were exchanged after the earlier incident, but neither of them minded. It was enough just to be out in the open air, out of the house, out of his cell. It was quite late into the afternoon by the time the two of them finally made their way back to the house.

As they stepped up to the front door, Steve couldn't help but smirk to himself. They had probably given Fury's men quite a turn, and then to have walked out that far beyond the perimeter? There would have been panicking for sure.

Steve glanced over to Bucky as the former assassin slid his flip-flops off by the door. "Want to help me prep dinner?" He asked, and Bucky glanced up at him, jerking a tiny nod of his head. Steve nodded in return, a small, apologetic smile forming on his lips. "I didn't realize how long we were out, it's almost four; you must be starving." He said as they walked into the kitchen.

Bucky pinched his lips together, following after him. "I've gone longer." He said simply, and Steve instantly felt a stab of guilt and pity. Of course he had. Steve didn't know the details about what Hydra had done to his friend, but those few words betrayed more than enough. Hunger must be an awful feeling for Bucky.

"I'm sorry Buck." He said quietly, dropping his gaze. Bucky didn't respond. 'Its okay' seemed hardly adequate anyways. "Listen, Bucky," Steve said suddenly, looking up to meet the dark haired man's steely, impassive gaze. "If you ever need to…" He hesitated a moment, "If you ever think it would help to talk about it…about what happened…I'm here." Bucky was already shaking his head but Steve continued none the less. "I know you're not ready for it now. I understand that. I just wanted you to know that I'm here to help you…I want to help you, however I can…" He said, reaching out to place his hand on his shoulder. He moved slowly so he didn't startle him, giving Bucky a chance to respond, and move back if he wanted to. Bucky looked wary, and almost fearful as Steve reached out to him, but he didn't pull back.

Steve felt Bucky flinch as he rested his hand, gently, on his shoulder. Then, after a moment of tension he seemed to relax a bit, his gaze still fixed warily on Steve's hand, watching for any threatening movements.

Steve wanted to soak in the sorely missed contact for as long as he could, but Bucky was still obviously uncomfortable with the touch, as so he pulled back. Steve let his hand fall to his side, and then dropped his gaze with a tired smile. "Let's get started okay?" He asked, walking over to the freezer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A long time went into making dinner. Not because the pork chops needed to thaw or the onions wouldn't soften up, but because Steve so often got lost recounting stories. He had to choose his stories carefully, as Bucky didn't always handle stories about his own misremembered past very well. So instead he told him about himself, about the time he got in a fight with a guy twice his size because he had refused to stop mocking a passing woman, about the miserably thin old dog he found on his porch, and how different he looked after four months of food and proper care. He told Bucky about the time he got pneumonia when he was five and the doctors were certain he would die. Bucky had a part in so many of these stories and memories. He had backed Steve up when he had lain on the pavement, bloody and bruised from a fight he couldn't have hoped to win. He had help scrub that poor old dog's coat clean, and brought him some of his food in addition to Steve's because they couldn't afford dog food. He had lain beside him in his hard, narrow bed when he was so sick that Bucky warmth was the only thing that kept him alive. He was always there; woven throughout all of Steve's stories, but Bucky wasn't ready to hear it yet.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The pork chops turned out marvelously; seared to perfection and topped with a creamy sauce and softened carrots and onions. Bucky stared down at his plate, his fork in one hand. The carrots and onions had posed no problem to him, but the meat was going to be a little more challenging. He stared enviously at how easy it was for Steve to cut his meat with two functional hands.

Steve glanced up, the question of how he was enjoying dinner forming on his lips when he caught sight of Bucky's uncut meat. The worded died in his throat. It occurred to him just how embarrassed Bucky must feel. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter, but cutting his own meat with only one arm was all but impossible.

"Here," Steve murmured absently, knowing that the best thing would be to make as little a deal of it as possible. He reached across the table, pulling Bucky's plate over to him and beginning to cut up the pork chop.

Bucky watched, his face flushing slightly. He felt like an invalid. "I miss my arm…" He mumbled, glaring down at his fork.

Steve paused a moment, passing the plate back across to him. "I'm going to talk to Fury about that." He said simply, and Bucky looked up sharply.

"What?" He asked sharply, his steely gaze searching Steve for any trace of falsehood.

Steve glanced up to meet Bucky's searching stare. "I'm going to talk to Fury about getting your arm back. I know it must not be easy managing without it." He said, his tone gentle, and understanding of Bucky's skepticism.

"But-" Bucky started hesitantly, before stopping, going silent for a long moment. He continued slowly. "My arm…it's a weapon."

"It's also a tool." Steve interjected, "Not to mention a part of your body."

"It's a weapon Steve." Bucky said flatly, having none of Steve's arguments. "And why the hell would Fury let you arm me with a weapon? Why would you even want me armed?" He said, his confusion making him feel irritable and angry as it often did.

Steve let his companion's question hang in the air. He knew he had to answer it carefully. Bucky hated to not understand, and when something confused him he tended to lash out. That was the last thing Steve wanted. He drew in an uncertain breath. "Because I don't think you'll hurt me Bucky." He said, knowing that it was a dangerous direction to take, but he had to risk it.

Bucky's face remained impassive, but his brain was scrambling trying to figure out how to handle that statement. Everything that had been beaten, and ripped, and torn into his tortured mind was screaming at him to prove Steve wrong right now; but then there was the part of him that Steve had begun to heal. There was a part, still deeply buried that remembered Steve, that loved him, there was a part of him that would never want to hurt Steve.

"You shouldn't say that." Bucky said quietly, his teeth clenched together as he battled his conflicting emotions.

"I didn't say you couldn't Buck." Steve said softly, "I said I didn't think you would."

Bucky froze, his retort dying in his throat. He was quite for some time. "I don't…want to hurt you…" He said, his voice just above a whisper, his food forgotten in front of him.

Steve nodded, measuring his next words. "I know," He responded softly. "I know you don't want to Bucky, but you've got to believe me when I tell you that you're the only one in control of that now." He said earnestly. "No one can make any decisions for you now, not me, not Fury…not Hydra…" The words hung in the air, and Steve knew they had the possibility to hurt or heal Bucky.

He could see the pain behind his old friend's eyes; he could see the flash of anguish, the shadows of the memories that haunted him.

"Bucky," He murmured softly, "I know you can fight this…"

The former assassin's expression twisted with indecision and he lowered his head. A soft groan slipped past his lips as he tried to reign in the torment in his mind. His fork slipped from his numb fingers, clattering to the floor as he pushed himself up, face still hidden.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, standing slowly, and moving around the side of the table, gently touching his back.

Bucky yanked away, but this time didn't turn back towards Steve to ward him off. His body language was confused, not aggressive "Don't" He warned, his shoulder hunched, and Steve pulled away. After a moment Bucky took a trembling breath, straightening his back. "I've…lost my appetite…I'm going to rest…" He rasped, and walked towards the hall, and disappearing around the corner.