He's home. He's in the kitchen. His mom is cooking and he knows his dad is at work. His mom is crying but he's too little and he doesn't understand why. At least he knows that giving her a hug always makes her smile. He gets down from his chair with that thought in mind but the moment his feet touch the floor he's taller and bent over a book with his sister. Becca has tears rolling down her cheeks but he knows that what she's feeling isn't sadness but frustration. He tells his dad to explain the math problem to Becca; maybe she'll finally understand it. George explains to Becca why their car is doing that awful noise while the two siblings pay close attention, sun high on the sky and moon bright when he kisses Dot goodnight in front of her door. He promises to see her soon and turns when a bullet shoots too close. The sound is deafening, so much that for a second he isn't sure he possesses another sense apart from his hearing. He screams Dum Dum's name and the next second he's reciting his own name and rank, one time and another and another and…
He hears a man's voice in the distance but he can't make out the words.
He's lying on his back on the grass, Becca on his left. She's sleeping and drooling and he wishes he could film it and show it to her later. Becca wakes up and asks where his arm is but he can't answer because the wind is howling at the docks and he hasn't finished his shift—he shouldn't get distracted but Dot came to visit. He can sneak out for ten minutes. She cleans the lipstick off his lips with a thumb but he still tastes copper on his tongue. Dot is saying something but the bombs are too loud. He asks her where are Dum Dum and the others. She laughs and says that he better call her this time.
His head is pounding and he hears the male voice again. It seems to come from a different room—if he could only get up from the table but the straps are too tight. The man repeats the same thing once again but he can't make out the words. If they would only stop shooting for a goddamn second!
Bucky.
His arm is missing. This isn't home. He's certain that no one else is left but him. And maybe not even him; he shed that skin decades ago and he's doing it once again and no one can know what the outcome will be.
Bucky sits and reads. He isn't holding the book but the person who he's leaning against is. He can't make out the words on the page but it doesn't really matter because he isn't in a hurry.
Bucky's eyes flutter open and he immediately knows that more than one hour has passed since he fell asleep. He considers kicking Steve for it but the annoyance leaves space to something different—not that Bucky knows what it is, though.
He thinks this is the first time he sees Steve's face devoid of any worry or apprehension. Bucky wonders if the serum keeps his skin from staying creased with the lines of concern he's constantly bearing. Also, Bucky takes a moment to assimilate the fact that he's slept the day and part of the night away.
He stares a minute longer at Steve's face in the dark but there's an itch under his skin and he doesn't feel like lying down. He doesn't want to wake Steve and he wants to spend some hours on his own so he's careful when untangling their legs and getting out of bed. It feels chilly not having Steve wrapped around him and for a second he considers crawling back under the covers.
Steve turns on his back, a line forming between his brows and Bucky pauses until it smooths. Steve mumbles something under his breath when Bucky returns to the room after using the bathroom and something else comes out of the man's lips when Bucky heads out again, turning back to his side.
Soundlessly, Bucky walks the length of the apartment without entering Steve's bedroom, the space feeling off-limits. He goes to the kitchen and inspects cabinets and drawers without having a goal in mind—without his goal being to make sure there aren't any microphones and additional cameras to the ones needed for the A.I. He looks at the utensils without thinking which ones can be used as a weapon and how. He inspects the cleaning products without thinking of ways to mix them to create explosives or which ones he can use to poison the food in the refrigerator.
Well, he tries really hard not to think about these things.
Next, he goes to the bookshelves and reads every one of the titles, sometimes taking a book out from its slot and reading the synopsis on the back. He makes a mental list of the ones he would like to read and the ones he should read if he wants to catch up on history. (Bucky feels queasy at the notion of so many books of lost history, of years he's spent in cryostasis—unused and purposeless. And the time he's spent fulfilling orders, always in a limbo where time didn't exist for him.)
He ignores the television because he doesn't know how to operate it and because he doesn't want Steve to wake up. (Bucky feels queasy just thinking how many things he can find about the future—the present through the television alone.)
He ends in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and looks down at the street. He tips to the side and has to lean on the glass when sudden vertigo overtakes him. He slides to the floor and cross-legged Bucky rests his warm forehead against the cold glass. The dizziness starts fading when the first rays of sunlight are emerging on the horizon. Bucky looks at the dots on the streets, New York alive even so early. At least that hasn't changed.
He doesn't wonder about people's lives or where they're going. If that little girl crying is going to school or if her father works as a lawyer. He doesn't think of different ways to eliminate the man in the suit that's just turning a corner or the old lady that's taking too long to cross the street. He does wonder if the woman buying her second hot dog from the street vendor is HYDRA—or the vendor herself.
The woman disappears after a while and Bucky proceeds to survey a different person that could be a HYDRA agent. The sun has risen already and Bucky's eyes feel dry but he can't stop watching the people close to the Tower.
"J.A.R.V.I.S." Bucky would like to know if his voice has always sounded so grating, like sand grinding on a rock.
"Yes, Mr. Barnes?" the A.I. answers immediately in a low volume.
"How secure are your systems?"
His hand clenches into a fist when a man in a baseball cap and sunglasses comes into view, striding in the Tower's direction.
"The Tower's security-system has been created by Mr. Stark himself with the help of Coronel Rhodes and a team hand-picked by them."
Bucky wants to ask who is this Coronel Rhodes and the names of every person involved in creating the security-systems. Then he remembers that Tony Stark has made the Artificial Intelligence he's talking to and the robot that brought him clothes some days ago, and he feels a bit less on edge.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Bucky says tentatively, "if I ask you something will you answer?"
"That depends on the question." He was already expecting a similar answer.
"Who is Tony Stark?"
The name has been nagging at the back of his mind, like a pebble inside a shoe.
"Well, that question has different answers and it also depends on who you're asking. I could say that Tony Stark is my inventor but I'm sure it will not be good enough of an answer for you."
"And you'd be right."
He shifts until his stump and temple are resting against the cold glass.
"You could google it, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. suggests. Bucky feels like he should know what that means—maybe he's been debriefed on "googling" for a mission but later on the information has been erased from his memory.
Instead of just answering, a hologram shines over the dining room's table and Bucky gets to his feet to inspect it. It's a keyboard with a hologram with the word "Google" over it spelled in different colors. There's also a rectangle under the word with what seems to be the symbol of a magnifying glass on one side and the symbol of a microphone on the other.
He types "Tony Stark" and presses enter as instructed by J.A.R.V.I.S. to search for results. The hologram changes to what seem to be "about 136,700,000 results (0,79 seconds)" and Bucky stares at the image feeling out of his depth.
"I advise you choose the first result, sir."
He nods wordlessly and taps on "Tony Stark - Wikipedia" and proceeds to start reading about Anthony Edward Stark. He tries for it not to feel like being debriefed on a new mission. It quickly stops feeling like it when the dossier includes the man's romantic history, something that isn't usually included when he learns information about his missions. He can't help but raise both eyebrows at how extensive that particular section is.
Bucky shouldn't be surprised when he finally finds what has been nagging at him. It feels like his fever breaks in just a fraction of a second, blood freezing in his veins.
Instinctively, Bucky touches the blue words that spell Howard Stark and he's redirected to a different dossier. He reads it from beginning to end and almost asks J.A.R.V.I.S. how he can change the information since some details are wrong.
"Mr. Barnes, are you feeling all right?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks so politely.
Bucky doesn't know what to answer so he only nods and gets up from the chair. The sun is bathing the large room but nothing seems to be warming up.
"I don't suppose I can exit the building."
"I'm afraid not, sir. Mr. Stark told me not to let you out without notifying him or Captain Rogers."
Bucky's head snaps up. "I can go out?"
"If Mr. Stark and the Captain approve of it and you're accompanied, I believe you can, sir."
This too feels like being treated like a child or a captive but it's still better than what he'd been expecting.
He does feel like a captive, though, because he still feels like the Winter Soldier, and Bucky is just realizing how difficult it will be to change that.
"Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he says, still in a state of amazement. He blinks at the empty room and gets to his feet.
Bucky returns to his bedroom and takes the book Steve had given to him—the windows let a moderate amount of light to enter the bedroom. He sits on the armchair and shifts his attention between the book in his lap and Steve's face twitching when sunlight hits it. He knows the book is just a diversion from the elephant in the room, the one that spans more than half a century. He indulges in the distraction that prevents his mind from spiraling.
He's on chapter 3 when Steve finally rolls to his side, back to the windows, and almost on chapter 4 when he starts contemplating the decision of sitting on the bed, near Steve. The sunlight is nice and all but it's no Steve Rogers.
Bucky has reached chapter 4 of The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy when he finally puts together enough nerve to get up from the armchair and hover unsurely near the bed. He observes Steve, body shifting slightly with every breath. Bucky steps to the side, letting the light spill over the blond man. He doesn't realize he's fallen into a daze until he hears the elevator chime and the doors open. His body goes still out of pure instinct and his hand shoots to his thigh, searching for a knife that isn't there. Bucky shakes his head and looks at his surroundings, afraid of losing time again and doing something he'll regret.
No more missions, no more targets, no more victims, Bucky reminds himself and he's starting to believe it's more than a fantasy.
The door clicks closed when he exits the room and he walks the length of the hallway.
"Eh, hey man. You look better already," Barton says from the kitchen. He shuts the fridge closed and leaves the condiments on the counter. "You don't mind, right?"
Bucky shrugs; it's not his apartment and he has the feeling Steve wouldn't tell Barton off for eating his food. He watches the other man while he eats, not sure what to do; if to leave Barton alone and go back to the bedroom or keep staring at him and… make him uncomfortable even further.
"Is Steve here?"
He's now hovering in the kitchen. "Yeah."
"He's showered already?" A tomato falls off his sandwich and Barton picks it up from the floor and returns it to his ensemble.
"No." His shakes are on the countertop where Barton is sitting and Bucky's stomach is starting to growl.
"Has he at least finished his morning run?" Bucky watches the slice of tomato that's about to fall again—the same one from before.
"No." Barton lifts his head like a dog who hears a Galton's whistle. "He hasn't gone for a run."
"Then what is he doing?"
"Sleeping." He must sound and look like a caveman. Bucky tucks his hair behind his ears, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. He remembers his self from before, the young man that liked to look sharp.
Barton looks at his bare wrist and then around the apartment but he doesn't seem to find whatever he's looking for.
"J, what time is it?"
"It's eight-thirty, Mr. Barton," the A.I. dutifully answers.
"I still don't like it when you call me that," the man comments, going back to his breakfast. "But I haven't come up with any alternatives. What do you think, Barnes?"
His face seems to convey his confusion pretty well because Barton clarifies. "You have any ideas what J.A.R.V.I.S. could call me instead of Mr. Barton?"
Bucky makes a mental note to google Clint Barton when he's alone.
It's odd how different it feels being alone now in comparison to when he's on a mission. It must be the fact that there isn't a deadline on the horizon, a mark to eliminate, a weapon to carry, cameras to look out for. He takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of his body healing with no restrictions, at how he's covered in soft fabrics in contrast to the Kevlar and coarse material of his uniform. He feels clean.
Barton snaps his fingers and calls his name and Bucky comes back to the present. He remembers Barton's question but he doesn't find an answer. "Maybe… just Clint."
"Stark doesn't like it when I get too familiar with his butler." He assumes he's referring to the Artificial Intelligence.
Barton doesn't continue with the conversation, instead he gets his phone out and starts typing. Bucky swallows and gives a step forward, the kitchen island between them. "What's your codename?"
Barton has the appearance of someone who just witnessed his coffee-maker say its first word.
"I'm Hawkeye," he answers after finding his bearings.
Bucky makes an expression that he hopes conveys the sentiment of "well, there you have it."
"Oh. Oh." Barton beams and sits on the countertop. "J.A.R.V.I.S., from now on you can call me Mr. Hawkeye."
It wasn't exactly what he was going for but it doesn't really matter.
"As you wish, Mr. Hawkeye."
Barton turns his proud grin to Bucky and Bucky's first and only reaction is to give an awkward thumb-up. Perhaps his face should change expressions too but he doesn't know which would be appropriate for the occasion. Barton is easy to read but he doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeve the way Steve does.
"So you say Steve is still sleeping?" Barton returns to the topic. He's sipping coffee from a cup that Bucky's unaware of where he got and when.
Bucky nods.
"Good for him." He takes a sip. "I don't know him that well but… Okay, let's address the elephant in the room: we spent a month hunting you down," he changes topics, gesticulating with his free hand in addition to the one that's holding the coffee cup. "We obviously didn't know the real story behind your implication with HYDRA."
Bucky is ready to tell him that he understands but Barton doesn't give him a chance to get a word in edgewise. Perhaps add that if they hadn't found him, he'd still be with HYDRA, bare of his memories and unsuspecting of what is really going on. The moment HYDRA noticed he'd started suspecting something was wrong, he would have been wiped.
"What I wanted to say," he tells Bucky in a lower voice now, "is that Steve is a bit of a workaholic—at least that's how it looked like the last month we spent searching for you. Workaholic and a bit too rigorous when it comes to missions and training."
Just going by Steve's recurrent frown, Bucky can believe Barton's words. He has his memories of the times he's fought the Captain and in retrospect, he can affirm that Steve is an impressive and methodical fighter.
"So it's a good thing that he's sleeping more hours than the ones he spends training or on missions," Barton continues.
Bucky thinks it makes sense. Steve had emphasized how Bucky should sleep more hours, never mind that his enhancements permit him to spend days awake.
"Sorry for coming uninvited and with no warning, man, just wanted to ask Steve if he wanted to come to the shooting range."
Barton finishes his sandwich, rinses the plate he hadn't actually used, and leaves it in its respective cabinet. "I'll be out of your hair."
Barton doesn't wait for Bucky to do something more than wave and heads to the elevator. Bucky nears the protein shakes.
"Oh, almost forgot." He turns to face Barton. "Could you please tell Rogers that Natasha—you know, the redhead—and I'll be on a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission for the next few days? The details are confidential."
"I'll tell him."
Barton leaves in the elevator but Bucky lets a few minutes pass before making himself a shake. He listens intently after finishing, waiting to hear Steve waking up on account of all the noise. Nothing happens so he hurries to drink it up. After putting everything into its place, he returns to the bedroom.
Bucky doesn't understand why he feels exhausted, like he's returned from a mission that took days to be completed. He doesn't overthink it and gets under the blankets. Steve hasn't moved from his position, one hand under the pillow and the other resting in front of his face. Bucky presses to the warm back and waits for his hand to warm up too before he slithers it under Steve's t-shirt. The man grumbles but doesn't awake or move away—quite the contrary and suddenly Bucky is the one wrapped around Steve, their bodies perfectly aligned, icy nose buried in fair hair.
He's drifting off when he feels a hand wrap around his own and this time he sleeps without dreaming.
