It's been two months of high-risk infiltration work since Bucky's run-in with the shell and nobody's been injured since.
In retrospect, Steve supposes they should've been bracing for the other shoe to drop, but they'd fallen into a rhythm. The team was mowing down HYDRA like a well-oiled machine and they were caught up in their own success.
It's a lucky shot, and fortunately not a very good one, but it still drops Steve to his knees. Bucky finishes off the ambushing enemy sniper in the next breath, sending them careening out of the tree where they'd been hidden and tumbling gracelessly into the snow. He doesn't bother confirming the kill before taking off toward Steve, boots pounding over the frozen dirt.
Bucky doesn't miss.
Steve stares, confused, at the blood that's soaking into his uniform. For a few moments he can't understand where the growing crimson stain is coming from. It takes him a long moment to realize that it's his. His balance wavers.
He turns to Bucky, who's sprinting flat out across the snowy field between them, face as white as the ground beneath their feet, and his head spins. It's not a fatal hit, Steve's pretty sure. But that doesn't stop the spots from forming at the edges of his vision, and it certainly doesn't stop him from passing out right as Bucky reaches him.
"Fucking hell Steve!" is the last thing he hears before everything fades to black.
"-comin' around, guys!"
Steve opens his eyes to see Jim Morita standing over him. Dum Dum is standing not far behind him, trying vainly to keep Bucky from shoving past. "Rise an' shine, Cap!" Morita grins, as Bucky finally breaks away from Dugan.
"Jesus Christ, I thought you died." Bucky breathes, sinking down to his knees next to Steve's head.
"What… what hit me…?" Steve mumbles, before he remembers. Oh...Right...
He tips his head toward Bucky, trying for humor. "Word of advice: don't get shot." he grins, though it feels pretty thin, even to him. One hand reflexively skims the bandages around his midsection, but he jerks his hand away at the sting that causes. He can already feel the flesh knitting together again, but damned if it's not still tender and sore. "Hurts like a bitch."
"No shit, dummy." Bucky scruffs a hand through Steve's hair, making a mess of it; apparently out of nervous reflex. Normally he'd give Steve a smack on the arm, but he seems scared to get anywhere near the thick band of rust-stained white gauze over Steve's middle. "S'why you're supposed to avoid the bullets."
Bucky's face twists abruptly, and Steve knows that look. All good humor around them seems to evaporate inside of a breath. The others quietly move away, giving them room. They know a delicate situation when they see one.
" 'M sorry, Steve." Bucky whispers, voice sounding slightly strangled. He looks utterly devastated, thinly veiled behind a weak smile. "I didn't know they were there until-"
"S'alright." Steve interrupts, starting to sit, then quickly thinking better of it. He gingerly lowers himself back down. "I'm durable. It'll heal up in no time."
"Not the fuckin' point, Steve." Bucky mutters staring down at his hands.
"Nobody's perfect, Buck." Steve raises his eyes and tries to force Bucky to look at him. Bucky looks away, but his fingers brush Steve's shoulder. "Not even you. And hey, we're even now."
"I should'a marched your ass back to Brooklyn first thing." Bucky groans with a forced laugh. He sounds like he's only half kidding. "You suck at stayin' alive, Rogers."
"Made it this far, didn't I?" Steve smirks. He can't be sure if the shadow that flitted over Bucky's face just then was his imagination or not, but Bucky doesn't answer him for a long time.
"Yeah…" Bucky says softly. "I guess you did."
They don't bring up the incident again, but Bucky abjectly refuses to let Steve out of his sight after that. Where Steve goes, he goes. In combat, he's always covering Steve's back. He scans the trees relentlessly, and he never -never- misses a shot.
No one ever gets in a lucky hit again.