It took almost four hours, but eventually Stephen and Scott were finished. The vile containing the poison, the kill switch, and the cords connecting it to Bucky's bloodstream had been removed. It would take a couple of days before they would know for sure how successful they had been with avoiding any of the delicate systems that gave movement and feeling to Bucky's arm, but at this early stage, Scott and Stephen were happy to call the whole thing a success. Stephen insisted in bandaging Bucky's upper arm as well as his shoulder and putting his arm in a sling, something to do with his psychology, and treating the metal arm as a part of a whole, not a separate entity. Natasha vaguely understood why that this was important, but since she was running on three hours sleep and almost no food, she wasn't really in the headspace to care.

Once it was done, Bucky was unhooked from the medical equipment, albeit to Stephen's protestations, and Steve carried Bucky's limp body from the surgical room to one of the suites in the same wing of the facility as Steve and Sam's rooms. Natasha followed close behind, her body having resorted to autopilot.

"You guys ok?" Sam said, catching up with them in the hall.

"We're just getting Buck to bed, Sam," Steve said.

Sam opened the door to the room, and then went and pulled back the blankets. Steve carefully lay Bucky down. Bucky groaned, fighting to maintain consciousness.

"It's ok," Steve said, carefully arranging Bucky's body, adjusting the blankets and tucking Bucky in. "You don't have to go anywhere else now. Sleep it off, soldier. We're right here with you."

"Hey Steve?" Bucky whispered, his words slurred.

"Yeah?"

"You 'member that time I…carried you…"

"It was more than just the one time," Steve said, fiddling with the blankets, "Just returning the favour. Get some sleep."

"Mmm," Bucky closed his eyes. Steve grabbed another blanket from the cupboard and put it over Bucky, who was still struggling to maintain proper body temperature. Sam, Steve and Natasha then collapsed on the couch.

"How long have you had the room set up?" Natasha asked, looking around. The flannelette sheets on the queen size bed, woollen blankets and the stripy quilt told her that far from a five minute hack job. The bookcase with about half a dozen select books and plenty of room for more, the bedside tables, the lamps, the dresser and wardrobe. The wireless radio, the desk with writing paper and pens, the couch. Everything had been carefully hand-picked. With the afternoon sun streaming in giving the room a welcoming golden glow, Natasha didn't need to ask why Steve had done it. The room already felt like a home.

"I've been collecting the odd thing ever since we found out he was alive," Steve said, "But I started to set the room up last week when it seemed as though we were really getting close with Murdock."

"We did it, man," Sam said, not really listening to Steve and Natasha, unable to take his eye's off Bucky, despite the fact that all they could see was a mop of hair and a large pile of blankets. "We saved him."

Steve nodded. "Looks that way."

"You should get some sleep, man. You and Nat, both."

"What if I sleep on the couch?" Steve asked.

"I'm not your mom or your CO, Cap," Sam said, "Sleep wherever you want."

"I might sleep here," Steve said.

"I might get something to eat first," Natasha said, pushing herself up. "I bought bagels this morning and left them all at Matt's."

"I'll whip you up my world famous cheesy tuna macaroni," Sam offered, and stood up.

"Sounds pretty good. Steve?"

"I'll stay here. Save me some for later."

"Ok," Natasha said.

"Get some zee's, Cap."

"Will do," Steve said, already stretching out on the couch.

...

Steve groaned. The noise stirred Natasha from her nap. "Did you make that noise on purpose or by mistake?"

"Mistake," Steve said. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, the blanket that Natasha had draped over him dropping to the floor. "What time is it?"

"Nearly seven," Natasha said, sitting in the chair at Bucky's desk. Bucky continued to sleep deeply. Steve picked up the blanket and held it tightly. "Did you get much sleep?"

Steve shrugged.

"What's up?" Natasha asked.

"I keep thinking," Steve said, leaning back against the couch and looking at the ceiling.

"Well that's a change," Natasha teased.

Steve guffawed, but kept his eyes on the ceiling. "I keep thinking that I just want to go back. To a time before all this when everything was good. But then I remember, if I go all the way back, then I was sick with everything and probably had a life expectancy of about thirty-five. But I had Bucky."

"Huh," Natasha said.

Steve continued. "So, what about post-serum? I had Peg, but I didn't have Bucky. And then we found out Bucky was assumed dead, and I just," Steve stopped and collected his thoughts. "Then we rescued them. So I had Bucky and I had Peggy. Only problem was it was 1944 and it was the middle of the War, and we knew nothing about D-Day, because it wasn't our mission. Maybe, if I could, that's where I'd go back to. Is that so wrong?" Steve asked.

"What about it?" Natasha asked.

"It was the War, Nat!" Steve exclaimed, still keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Natasha wondered what Steve was really seeing. She guessed it wasn't the white painted roof. "It was the War and we were in constant danger, but if I had to go back to any time, that would be it. Because I had Bucky and I had Peggy and I had the Howling Commandos and it was win or the literal end of the world. Failure was not an option. We could not lose. And then Bucky fell and I realised then I'd already lost, and we didn't even look for him, and," Steve choked on his words.

"Hey," Natasha said, standing up. She came over to Steve, and stood over him, forcing him to look at her. "It's not wrong. But it's gone, Steve. That world is gone."

Steve blinked, forcing back tears. He relaxed his shoulders and lowered his head, looking at Bucky asleep in the bed. "In my head, it's only '49," Steve said, "It's amazing what they've done with London in five years."

"Hey," Natasha said, sitting down on the couch beside Steve, "No crying."

Steve sniffed. "I keep thinking I wanna go back but there's nowhere I want to go back to. Not really. Because I know that even the time I might want ends with Bucky falling off the train, and we didn't even look…"

"Well then," Natasha said, cutting Steve off before he could start blubbering. She was not going to have Captain America cry. Not now. Not after they'd saved Bucky. "Maybe it's lucky we don't get to go back. We have to go forward. And I know some stuff still sucks, but you've got me and Sam. And Clint's on call. And I don't know who's weirder out of Wanda and Vision, but they're here. And Scott and Stephen Strange. Matt. Maria, and Fury, who sent a Snap-Chat to Maria a few hours ago of himself enjoying dinner in Naples. He's really enjoying that cruise. He actually looked like a regular guy," Natasha looked at Steve, who was biting his lip, "And, well, now you've got Bucky back, Steve. We won this round. Sure Matt took a hit, but we won."

Steve sighed. "I guess."

"Hey," Natasha said, and gave Steve's a nudge with her elbow, "Come on."

"Nat, I - I'm sorry."

"For what?" Natasha asked, "There's nothing for you to be sorry about."

"On the phone earlier, I was outta line."

Natasha shrugged. "I guess I'm sorry about that too. I shouldn't have kept the information from you."

"I know why you did it," Steve said, "And you know, I don't think it would have helped much. Huh."

"What?"

Steve forced half a smile. "I guess we just had a total communication breakdown. You had part of Bucky's file destroyed to try and protect me. I didn't debrief you and Matt properly after Sam and I found Bucky, as I didn't think we had time, and that the exact circumstances didn't matter. Matt couldn't you about what he found out from the Hydra goon, on account of the fact he had concussion and was asleep. And Bucky's hardly said anything, probably because he's been held against his will for the past seventy years and had horrible things done to him and has a few understandable trust issues."

"Yeah," Natasha said, and leant against the wall, "Sounds about right. So you wanna tell me how you found Bucky?"

Steve sighed. "Guess I might as well explain," he said, and set about telling Natasha exactly where and how they'd found Bucky. "So I suppose now we know it was those Hydra goons who beat him up. And," Steve swallowed, "Why he jammed his arm…"

Natasha furrowed her brow and waited for Steve to continue. Only Steve didn't, but understanding dawned upon Natasha all the same. Bucky knew there was poison in his arm, and that it would kill him. He had thought that if he could remove the arm, he might be able to solve the problem. Only he'd just ended up stuck, and then had been in too much of a state to tell Steve what was happening.

"With all the the super-soldier serum he was juiced up with, and God only know what else they were putting into his system over the years - Nat, there's so much we don't know. We don't know when he last ate a proper meal, or slept in a real bed, or - seventy years, Nat! I can't - I can't comprehend that…"

"Hey," Natasha said, "We got him Steve. We've done it."

Steve rested his head against Natasha. "We're a mess, Nat."

"If you think we're a mess, you should see the kitchen after Sam's cooking."

A noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sob escaped Steve.

"Don't get me wrong," Natasha said, "Sam is an excellent cook, but I swear he uses every single utensil in the kitchen."

"You left me some macaroni?"

"It's in the fridge," Natasha said.

"Good," Steve said and sighed, "I think we're in trouble, Nat."

"With Sam's cooking?"

"If only it could be that simple," Steve said. "No, it's with the stuff with Stark. It's not going to go away. It is wrong. It's against everything this country is about. It encroaches on our liberties and our rights,"

"No one but Captain America uses the word 'liberties' in everyday speech."

"It's not funny, Natasha."

"The situation isn't, no," Natasha said, "But the word 'liberties' kinda is."

Steve scowled and sat up properly.

"I know a pretty great little law firm," Natasha suggested.

"They're kids, Nat."

"They know their stuff, Steve."

Steve sighed. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," Natasha said and sighed.

"What?" Steve asked, "You heading back to Hell's Kitchen?"

Natasha nodded. "Matt'll be ok, but I - I need to end this properly."

"With Matt?"

Natasha didn't reply.

"You don't have to. There's no law that says you have to. Stay if you want. If you like him."

Natasha shrugged. "I shouldn't have let myself get so involved."

"It wasn't your fault."

Natasha smiled ruefully. "My place is here."

"It's up to you," Steve said, "But don't break it off because you feel you have to."

"No," Natasha said, "I know I have to. I mean, I've already got him shot."

"That's not on you."

"I know," Natasha said, "But," she took a deep breath, "In some other world, maybe. Some other universe where everything doesn't suck so much. Perhaps there."

"Yeah," Steve said, "I know that universe."

"We'll keep him as an ally, just Matt and I personally…"

"I got it," Steve said.

"I better go. Foggy's probably hungry and bored of babysitting Matt. Plus I left all my Widow stuff in Matt's bathroom."

"You ok to drive?"

"I've had two bowls of tuna macaroni, a coffee, and a two-hour cat-nap. I'm good."

"Alright," Steve said.

"I'll - probably stay at Matt's overnight, though. I'll tell him it's not going to work tomorrow. He's probably high on painkillers, anyway. He'll hardly know I'm there tonight. But tonight I think I'll stay."

"You don't need my permission, Nat."

"I'm not asking for it," Natasha said, standing up, "And I guess this is my weekend of penance,"

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Caring for the sick, blind, and elderly."

"Get out of here," Steve smiled.

"Call me if anything changes."

"You too."

"Will do. See ya, Cap."

"See ya, Nat."