Never worry, child; everything's all right
It may take a while to see the good life
I'm right here with you
Always true

...

I can't wait to let you know me
I'm sure you have so much to show me
As we're walking side by side
This is our bloodline lullaby

- "Bloodline Lullaby" by Otherwise

Bucky needed to do something. He couldn't spend another day drowning in regrets. No amount of staring at those graves would bring back the ones they couldn't save.

Besides, he could hear the monster growling at the edges of his consciousness. And he knew that if he stayed still for too long, it would find him again.

Maybe that was a selfish motivation. He should want to do something productive simply because it would help someone else, right? But he'd always been a coward, so it was his fear driving him to action now.

Sam had mentioned something the night before about Natasha starting the arduous process of combing through Hydra's files. Definitely not a one-man job. Seemed as good a place to start as any.

Because he'd gone to bed so early, Bucky was up before the sun—and, more importantly, before Steve. His gut twisted guiltily as he eased out of bed and glanced down at the lump of blankets that was Steve. Remembering the thread of concerned texts he hadn't responded to the day before, Bucky almost reached out to wake him up and tell him where he was going.

But Steve would want to talk. And he'd look at him...and he'd see the thoughts Bucky was trying so hard not to think. Besides, Steve needed his sleep. He had a son to take care of, after all.

So Bucky slipped out of the room without saying anything. Maybe he'd text Steve later.

He made himself a sandwich, just so he wouldn't have to lie if someone scolded him about eating something. He knew that Steve would tell him it wasn't enough, and Sam would probably try to force-feed him all the leftovers in the fridge. But they weren't here now. And he wasn't hungry anyway.

Munching on the sandwich, Bucky wandered through the dark, empty building. Most of the others were probably fast asleep in their rooms right now. Where would Natasha be working through the files? He still wasn't quite used to all the technology in this place...

He walked down to the living room on the second floor, not really expecting to find anything there, but to his surprise he found a light on in a small conference room next to it. Through the glass wall, he spotted Natasha curled up in a chair at the table, wearing an oversized flannel shirt and clutching a mug of something with wisps of steam rising from it. Her gaze was fixed on a small computer screen that could slide under the tabletop when not in use. There were also larger screens mounted on the wall, but they were turned off.

"There's more coffee in the pot if you want some," she suddenly said.

Bucky forced himself not to recoil into the shadows. She hadn't looked up from the screen, but apparently she'd noticed him lurking in the doorway. He glanced over to the kitchen area, right next to the table where they'd first heard about Project Legacy. Instead of files projected in the air and pages of scribbled notes, the only thing on the table now was a coffee pot and a tray of mugs.

After pouring himself a cup of coffee (which took several minutes, since he had to dig around to find the sugar), Bucky returned to the smaller room where Natasha sat. She'd already unfolded another screen next to her and set it up for him, as if she'd instantly known why he was there.

Slowly, he sank into the chair in front of the screen, eyeing her uncertainly. "Were you expecting me or something?"

Natasha looked over at him, the bluish light from the screen reflected in her eyes. "Figured it'd be you or Steve. But I guess he's got his hands full right now."

Bucky took a sip of coffee so he wouldn't have to reply. After the silence stretched out a little too long, he asked, "So how are you tackling this?"

With a sigh, Natasha ran her fingers through her hair. "For now, I'm just trying to sort them by topic. Not reading them thoroughly or anything. Clint was helping me some yesterday, but it'll take ages to make sense of everything. Especially since we'll probably have to translate a lot of it. And we've still got all those files from two years ago too. Tony took care of the decryption, but we haven't taken the time to look through all of them thoroughly..."

Bucky glanced at her, taking in the way she bit her lip. She almost looked guilty. Because maybe if they'd combed through the files earlier, they would have found out about all of this before it was too late...

With a mental shake, Bucky tore himself away from such thoughts. Regrets would help no one. "I can start reading through the files you've already sorted," he said. "I know Russian."

"Okay." Natasha's fingers flew over the keys, and the guilty expression dissolved as she focused on the task at hand. "I think I found some of Jake's medical records a while ago; you can start there..."

Bucky followed Natasha's directions as he navigated the unfamiliar technology. He tried to focus only on the practical aspects of what he was doing. He tried to pretend he was researching people who were completely unrelated to him. It was the only thing that kept him going.

"You're sure you'll be okay?" Steve asked for the ninety-billionth time.

"Yes," Sam reassured him. Again. "I know how to handle kids, Cap. I earned my stripes with my sister's kids, remember?"

"Yeah...but Jake, he's...well...different."

Sam glanced over Steve's shoulder at Jake, who eyed them over his cup of apple juice at the kitchen island. Okay, so he was watching them like a hawk, even though their hushed conversation was out of earshot. He wasn't fidgeting or screaming or running around like a crazy person, which was usually what breakfasts at Sarah's house seemed to consist of.

But he was still just a kid.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said, patting Steve on the shoulder. "Go run your errands, and I promise you'll get him back without a scratch."

"Okay..." Steve said reluctantly. "And...I guess you can ask Bucky for help too."

If I see him, Sam thought. Instead of voicing the worries nagging at the back of his mind, he just smiled and nodded.

Steve stepped back into the kitchen, approaching Jake. Instantly, his whole face softened from a tense expression of worry into an encouraging smile. "Hey, Jake, I'm going to be gone for a while today. I'm leaving Uncle Sam in charge, okay? I want you to be a good boy and do what he says. Can you do that for me?"

Jake's eyes glanced furtively between the two of them, then he quickly nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Atta boy." Steve straightened up, murmured a farewell to Sam, and then he was gone.

Sam looked down at Jake, who stared up at him with enormous blue eyes. He looked so small and timid, like a bedraggled kitten. Just as adorable, too. Kid, you could get away with murder.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands to break the silence. "Looks like it's just you and me today, kiddo. Whatcha wanna do first?" Jake looked a little alarmed to be asked such a thing, so Sam picked an activity from the list of possibilities he'd been compiling in his head since Steve had asked him to babysit. "You play basketball at all?"

"No, sir," Jake said in a tiny voice.

"Okay, first of all," Sam said, holding up a finger. "I only answer to 'Sam' or 'Uncle Sam.' Got that?"

Jake hastily nodded. "Yes, s...Sam."

Sam grinned. "Good! And second of all...you've never played basketball? You mean you haven't lived! Come on, let's go shoot some hoops!"

The Avengers' basketball court was actually pretty nice, though it didn't seem to get much use. Too much saving the world going on instead, apparently. Sam hadn't had the occasion to try it out yet, but this seemed like the perfect excuse. He led Jake outside to the court and found the closet where they kept the balls. It was a bit nippy outside, but they'd work up a sweat before too long.

"All right, let's see what you got!" Sam handed a nice, new basketball to Jake.

Jake looked at the orange sphere in his hands with a confused frown. "Uncle Sam?" he asked. "Is...Is this a...weapon?"

Sam laughed. "No, silly, it's a ball! A basketball!"

Jake peered up at him with a bewildered expression. "But you said we were going to shoot hoops..."

Sam laughed. "Nah, not that kind of shooting! Here, I'll show you."

He demonstrated how to bounce the ball, then showed Jake where the baskets were. His first shot bounced off the rim, and Sam had to chase after the ball. "I'm a bit outta practice," he admitted, dribbling the ball back over to Jake. "Here—catch!"

He gently tossed the ball underhand to Jake. To his slight surprise, the boy caught it easily, rather than fumbling and dropping it like many four-year-olds probably would. "Wanna give it a try?" he asked, pointing to the basket.

Jake's throw went wide, but the ball flew much farther than Sam had expected it to, considering how far they stood from the basket. But then, he was Steve's son. That meant he was ten times stronger than he looked. "Nice shot!" he called, running to retrieve the ball again. "Here, come closer so it's a bit easier."

Jake's next shot bounced off the backboard. Sam retrieved the ball, watching the way the boy's brows knitted with intense concentration as he stared up at the hoop. The set of his jaw, the fierce line of his eyebrows...it looked just like Steve. Especially when Steve was sizing up a formidable opponent. Sam could almost see Jake throwing a miniature shield.

Instead, he threw the basketball again. This time, it dropped neatly through the net.

Sam let out a whoop that made Jake jump, abruptly turning back into the timid little boy he'd been before. "Oh, sorry!" Sam laughed, grabbing the ball again. "That was awesome, kiddo! The next Michael Jordan in the making! All right, gimme five!"

He held out his hand, but Jake just looked at it, clutching at the front of his shirt as if hoping it would swallow him alive. In a voice as small as a mouse, he said, "Five...what?"

"Oh—you slap it." Sam grinned as Jake looked dubiously at his hand. "Go ahead, slap my hand."

Jake timidly tapped Sam's palm with his, then whipped his arm back as if afraid it would be ripped off.

"High five!" Sam crowed. "See, you do high fives when you're congratulating someone. Like, 'Yeah, you made a basket! High five!'" He held out his hand again, nodding vigorously until Jake tapped his hand again, a little harder this time.

"Okay, now it's Uncle Sam's turn!" Sam aimed more carefully, and this time the ball went through the hoop. "Two points!" Sam cheered, then pivoted to Jake. "Gimme five!"

Jake did as he was told, watching Sam with utter confusion. Sam just laughed harder than ever. Yeah, he could work with this. He'd pulled Winter out of his shell, after all. He had a good track record with Hydra victims who wouldn't know a joke if it hit them in the face.

As Sam trotted over to retrieve the ball once more, he grinned to himself. Operation Get Jake to Crack a Smile: Commence!

Steve breathed a sigh of relief as he walked up the steps to the front door of the Avengers headquarters. It had been a long day, full of repeated explanations of the rather unprecedented situation he'd found himself in. He'd had to employ what Bucky used to call his 'Captain America voice' several times. Yes, he was sure he was the father. No, he didn't have a birth certificate, because his son had been born halfway around the world to a girl he'd never met in a secret Hydra base in Siberia.

But in the end, he'd gotten the date fixed to appear before a judge and make everything official. On his way back, Steve had stopped at a toy store and grabbed a few things for Jake. Most likely, Jake would just look at him with his usual confused frown, but Steve didn't care.

As he strode across the atrium, Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and saw to his surprise that it was Tony. What was the time difference again? It had to be pretty early in the morning in Siberia...

"Tony?"

"Hey, Cap." Tony's voice was gravely, weighed down with exhaustion. "So...I've got some good news and some bad news."

Steve's feet slowed to a halt. "What is it?"

"Okay, good news is...I think we've got this in the bag. Should be home soon!"

Steve frowned at the false cheer in his voice. "And the bad news?"

"Uh, I kinda...called in some favors, you know, to get some extra manpower, and...well, the CIA's involved now."

Something felt ominous about that. "The CIA?"

"Yeah..." Tony said reluctantly. "And once they heard that we'd found a bunch of Hydra files, well...they're confiscating them. Guess it counts as an issue of 'national security' or whatever."

Steve supposed that made sense, but he knew what this meant. "We're not getting a chance to look through them, are we?" he sighed.

"Not till they're done with them, and who knows when that'll be." The line fuzzed with a sigh from the other end. "Sorry, Cap."

Steve shook his head. "It's done. Nothing we can do about it now."

Tony's voice lowered, as if he were trying to keep anyone else from hearing. "I may have conveniently neglected to mention that we also got digital files. I mean, they'll probably come poking around eventually, but...we might have a bit more time with those."

"Right," Steve said. "Thanks for letting me know."

"You bet."

Once he hung up again, Steve slowly resumed his journey to the top floor. This news was disappointing—he'd been hoping to dig into those old files and get some answers on what Hydra had been doing, particularly with regard to the Winter Soldiers and Project Legacy. Now complete strangers would be picking through those files, potentially uncovering detailed information about Bucky...about Jake...about his family.

A government agency might discover things about his son long before he ever had a chance to learn them for himself. That felt wrong.

Steve found himself standing outside the door to his and Bucky's rooms. With a sigh, he pushed his worries aside. For now, he had more pressing matters to consider. Hitching a smile onto his face, he opened the door.

"...and so the Dum Dum actually does it!" Sam was saying. "And then the Kit Kat says to the Tic Tac, 'There's a sucker born every minute.'"

Steve opened his mouth to call out a greeting, and it stayed open as he registered what he was looking at. Sam and Jake both lay on the floor of the common room, on either side of the coffee table. Sam lay on his back with his hands comfortably tucked under his head, apparently at his ease. Jake, on the other hand, lay face-first on the carpet, not wearing his shirt. His arms were locked tightly against his sides, and he warily glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, Steve found his voice. "Um...what's going on?"

"Oh, hey Cap!" Sam said, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "We're just hanging out here on the floor for a bit. Long day, you know. Gotta kick back and relax."

He held out a hand, and Steve hauled him to his feet, raising an eyebrow.

"Here, let me help you with that," Sam said, grabbing one of Steve's shopping bags and nodding meaningfully towards Jake's room.

Steve followed him, confused. As soon as they stepped into the bedroom, Sam pushed the door to and dropped the bag onto the bed. "Thank God," he hissed, dramatically leaning against the wall as if he'd been running a marathon instead of lying on the floor.

"What's going on?" Steve asked under his breath.

"I was trying to teach Jake how to play Go Fish," Sam whispered. "But then when I pointed out that one of his cards was hearts instead of diamonds, so it didn't match the set, he just...took off his shirt and threw himself on the ground! And I couldn't get him to get up, and anytime I tried to get near him, he'd just start shaking, like he was terrified..." He gave Steve a remorseful look. "So I figured I'd just play it cool and try to get him to calm down."

"Did he say anything?" Steve asked, though he was pretty sure he knew already.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, like...'waiting for my punishment' or something."

"'Ready to receive my correction'?" Steve muttered, remembering Jake's overreaction the day before.

"That's it. I tried to tell him it wasn't a problem; he just made a mistake. But...I don't think he believed me. I mean...he knows you're really in charge."

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew it would take more than one explanation to convince Jake that he wouldn't get a beating for every little slip-up. In the end, it was probably his actions that would do the convincing, rather than anything he said. "Thanks, Sam. I can take it from here."

"Okay," Sam said, returning to normal volume as he opened the door again. "I'll poke around in the fridge and see what we've got for supper."

Jake was as rigid as a board when Steve approached him. His chest expanded and contracted in tiny, quick gasps as Steve slowly knelt beside him. Steve's heart felt heavy as he wondered if there would ever be a time that he could approach his own son without scaring him half to death.

"Hey, Jake," he murmured gently, trying to ignore the way the boy flinched. "You have fun with Uncle Sam today?"

Jake didn't answer. Steve glanced over at the playing cards strewn across the coffee table. What had Hydra done to this poor boy, that he would think something as unimportant as a card game would warrant punishment?

No, no, don't think about that. Don't get angry. That's what Jake is expecting. You have to be different.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to expel the anger at the same time. "You know, I feel bad when I make mistakes too," he said once he thought he could keep his voice steady. "That's only natural. But you know what? Everybody makes mistakes sometimes. That's just one of the things we have to deal with, as human beings."

Steve wanted nothing more in that moment than to pick Jake up and hold him close. Instead, he said, "I'm going to touch your hand now, if that's okay. Just touch it. I'm not going to hurt you. If you don't like it, you can pull your hand back."

Ever so gently, ever so lightly, Steve laid his fingers on Jake's tight fist. It felt so inadequate, but he could also see the shallow, fearful way Jake was breathing. He knew he couldn't push it much further than this for now.

"Uncle Sam told me what happened," he said, "and I want to explain something to you. You might not believe me yet, and that's okay. But no matter what you do, I am not going to hurt you. I don't care how many mistakes you make. I don't care if you make the same mistakes over and over. I don't care if you never get it right. All I care about is you. Not what you can do."

He stroked his thumb lightly over the back of Jake's hand, wondering if anything he'd said made sense. "Mistakes are just opportunities to learn, Jake. All I want is to help you learn, help you move forward. So I'm not going to punish you just because you didn't know any better."

Jake didn't move, but he wasn't shivering anymore. Hopefully, he was at least listening, even if he didn't understand.

"Come on," he said, reaching for Jake's discarded shirt. "Sit up and put your shirt on again. I want you to come see the toys I got for you!"

After a moment's hesitation, Jake pushed himself upright. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, his eyes darting away from Steve's face.

"And...you don't have to call me 'sir,'" Steve couldn't resist saying. "It'll be easier if you just call me Steve. Or...you could call me...Dad...if you want."

Jake pulled the shirt over his head and looked up. Steve looked deep into eyes that mirrored his own, and his heart skipped a beat.

The moment stretched out longer and longer, as Jake solemnly gazed up at him. Weighing his options, processing what Steve had said. Finally, he spoke.

"Yes, Steve."

The moment passed, and Steve told himself he wasn't disappointed.

Bucky rubbed eyes weary from staring too long at the computer screen. It was only the second day he'd been looking at Hydra's files on Project Legacy, but he already felt like he'd had his fill. He was tired of reading cold, clinical progress reports on Subject M28122011J01.

But he was slowly piecing together a rough outline of how they had been training Jake. Hydra had kept a meticulous record of every milestone, like a stark, depressing baby book.

Crawling at six months. Potty-training begun at ten months. First words were yes, no, and Hydra. His height and weight were measured every month, and starting at twelve months, they also noted how much weight he could lift and his maximum running speed.

Responding consistently to verbal commands...correctly identified 96% of test items...behavioral anomaly rectified by Disciplinary Action Plan 7B...time to complete obstacle course...maintained position for 128 minutes...

The words and phrases swam through Bucky's mind. He wasn't surprised, exactly. He knew what Hydra was like, better than anyone. But he wasn't used to being on the other side. There were probably files about him floating around somewhere, files that documented everything they'd done to break him down and rebuild him into something else.

What they'd done to Jake was worse, though. They may not have used the Chair or the Words, but that was because they didn't need to. They hadn't broken Jake, they just hadn't let him know there was any other reality than the one they fed him.

And it was the same for Mabel, whispered a voice in the back of his mind. Mabel didn't know anything except for pain and fear, because you didn't—

Bucky hastily opened another file. This one was all about Jake's proficiency with...firearms? It seemed they were already starting to teach him how to handle guns, how to take them apart, how to put them back together again, matching weapons with their proper ammunition...

Did she even know what was happening to her? Did they bother teaching her about the process at all? Or did she think that babies just spontaneously grew inside her until—

No, no. Jake. He was reading about Jake. Not only was it bizarre to think of such a small child being able to point to every piece of a gun and rattle off its name, the times recorded for how long it took him to disassemble and reassemble the weapons was impressive by itself. Especially when he considered how small Jake's hands were, and how usually uncoordinated small children were...

Was Mabel ever considered a candidate for being a Winter Soldier herself? Were they originally going to train her to be a killer too, just like the Angel? Did they change their minds once they got their hands on Steve's DNA? Or were they always intending her to be just...a womb? A living incubator?

Bucky sat with his finger poised over the mousepad. He didn't want to look...he probably shouldn't look...it wasn't like there was anything he could do...

Bucky closed the file. Hesitated. Then he opened one of the folders Natasha was steadily filling for him. The folder was called F25091992I01.

He clicked on the first file and began to read about Mabel.

"Good night, Jake," Steve said. "I love you."

As ever, Jake just looked at him silently as Steve smiled and switched off the light, backing towards the door. The stuffed lion Steve had given him the day before sat propped up on the other pillow, cute and untouched. Jake hadn't played with it or cuddled it, but Steve supposed he shouldn't be surprised by that. Jake probably didn't even know what it was for.

After closing the door, he headed for Bucky's room, yawning. Once again, he was exhausted at the end of a long day, but he felt a little more alert than he had for the past few days. Maybe he would sit up and read for a bit to wind down. Or maybe he could draw a little; he'd been itching to start a sketch of Jake, but just hadn't had the time or energy yet.

When he stepped into the room, he was surprised to find Bucky there, just climbing into bed. "Hey," Steve said, relief washing over him. It had only been a few days, but it felt like ages since they'd actually talked. He was so busy with Jake, he hadn't found the time to even go looking for Bucky.

"Hey." Bucky's voice was weary and worn. He didn't wait for Steve, but lay down and rolled onto his side, even though the light was still on.

Steve glanced at Bucky's back as he changed into pajamas himself. Though Bucky hadn't said anything to him about it directly, Natasha had let him know that Bucky was helping her and Clint with the files from the Hydra base. That had to be taking a toll on him, spending all day buried in the records of the ones they'd failed.

What he needed was to hear about the one who had survived. Besides, Steve was bursting to share everything that Bucky had missed the past few days.

He switched off the light and slid into bed, settling down for one of their late-night conversations. It was always easier to talk about the difficult things under cover of darkness.

"Guess what?" Steve murmured. "I found out today that Jake can read. Can you believe that? He's only four, but he can already read all of the books I got him. And he's pretty good at it, except for when he gets to a word he doesn't know."

He waited for Bucky to say something about how the apple didn't fall far from the tree, and how Jake would have his nose in a book all the time just like Steve. But Bucky didn't say anything.

Unperturbed, Steve continued. "He's a sharp kid, that's for sure. So careful to do everything right. I mean...I know it's because they punished him if he didn't do something up to their standards. But the ability is there. The ability to be that careful, that focused. And he's so coordinated, Bucky. He's not...clumsy, you know, like little kids usually are. He poured himself some milk at supper. The jug was almost full, and he didn't spill a drop. I wonder if the supersoldier traits have something to do with it. He's strong enough to lift it...and I definitely noticed I was more coordinated, once I got used to my body after the serum, I mean. And his memory is enhanced, so I guess that probably made it easier for him to learn how to read..."

He turned his head to the darker shadow that was Bucky. "What do you think? You think it's because of the serum, or—"

Bucky sighed wearily. "Steve, I'm trying to sleep."

"Oh. Sorry."

A heavy silence fell between them. Not a sleepy silence of two men drifting off, but the tense hush that came in the wake of a slap.

The tension caught in Steve's throat and twisted his gut into a knot. The distance between him and the man who lay a mere foot away seemed to stretch and grow, till they were miles apart. He'd tried to reach out, but Bucky had rebuffed him. He wouldn't tell Steve what he was thinking, wouldn't even listen to what Steve had to say.

He felt so alone. Just getting through each day was like swimming against the current, and if he didn't have Bucky to help him along...how could he make it?

Steve rolled onto his right side, facing away from Bucky. He struggled to rein in his disappointment and think about this from Bucky's perspective instead. Bucky had apparently spent the past two days up to his ears in Hydra's records. Steve wasn't sure what he might have discovered, but it certainly wouldn't be anything cheerful. And it probably brought to mind some of his darkest memories.

Besides...Bucky was grieving the death of his daughter. Steve had to admit that it was a bit of a relief to have Jake to focus on each day. Discovering his quirks and attempting to teach him how to live a normal life freed him, for the greater part of each day, from having to think about the little graves on the hill. Eve and Grant. The children he would never be able to sit and read with. He wouldn't be able to give them a bath, or discover their talents and quirks.

He would never be able to tell them he loved them, even if their only response was a blank look of confusion.

Bucky would never be able to tell Mabel either.

Guilt pooled in his chest as he lay there, letting the silence thicken more and more with every passing minute. Yes, he had Jake to look after, and that was important. It was probably the most important thing he'd ever done in his life. But meanwhile, he'd let Bucky drift away from him. If he was swimming upstream, Bucky was probably drowning.

In this moment, he felt as distant from his best friend as he had during that awful time when Winter had been cutting himself and making no effort to stop. They could sit right next to each other, they could even be talking to each other, but none of the words seemed to get through. Steve had held back, not knowing how to help when Winter wouldn't even ask for it...and it had nearly led to his death.

Or what about that time, not long ago at all, when Bucky had run off, barefoot, into the icy night? He hadn't told Steve how stressed he was, and Steve hadn't realized how serious it had become until it was too late. Bucky's silence about the voices in his head wasn't Steve's fault, of course; how could he have known? But once again, it had only been after Bucky had seriously endangered himself that they had actually been able to talk things through.

Silence was deadly.

Steve was tired of misunderstandings and crises. He was tired of wondering what Bucky was thinking until he finally asked for help, and then only when it was almost too late. They knew better than that by now, didn't they? Even if they couldn't find the words, they didn't need to wait until they figured out what to say. Steve knew Bucky. And Bucky knew him.

Instead of letting the silence fester any longer, Steve rolled over and scooted up against Bucky's back. He wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to the back of Bucky's neck.

Bucky let out another sigh—not an impatient one, but a long one that dispelled the tension in the air. He gradually relaxed, raising a hand to grasp Steve's.

They didn't say anything. This one gesture didn't magically fix the realities they faced, and Bucky didn't suddenly open up about everything he was thinking. But their fingers laced together said simply, I need you. I'm here.

For now, that had to be enough.

Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.

- 1 Peter 4:8