Bucky can't really make himself appreciate the private gym. He now remembers the one he went to when he lived in Brooklyn and recognizes that this one is way fancier but… It just seems too sterile. It reminds him more of HYDRA's labs than their gymnasiums. Those he remembers too, the place where he was taken to be trained and to train others. This one and HYDRA's are radically different.

Nonetheless, he sits on a bench and he exercises because it's what's expected of him. At some point, though, he just sits and watches Steve run. Bucky declined when Steve asked if he wanted to use one of the treadmills; he doesn't feel like running, especially if it won't take him anywhere.

He observes Steve's concentrated expression and tries to find the man from the movie he and the other soldiers watched during the war. It's difficult, especially now that Steve's face is covered in stubble and his features look sharper and hardened by life. But he's there—some of that man is there. Bucky doesn't remember the whole film but the man he watched looked fairly different from the one he has before him, even smaller.

Bucky leans forward on his knees, counting the differences—maybe it's because Steve's shoulders are square, his spine straight and his head high. Steve is sprinting now and he looks in deep concentration. Bucky gets to his feet and hesitates for a moment. He doesn't feel comfortable leaving the gym without anyone's consent, neither leaving Steve's side.

Bucky takes a look at the large room, the shiny machines, the wide windows… He takes a step back from them. The world behind those windows… Right now, Bucky doesn't want to have anything to do with it, he wouldn't know how to cope. His breath is already picking up just by thinking about all that is waiting for him out of these walls.

There isn't much to do here if one refuses to exercise so Bucky's attention returns to Steve. He's properly sweating now and his respiration is accelerated. It looks like he's trying to escape something and Bucky almost tells him that much.

Bucky is hovering near the treadmills when Steve stops running and dries his sweat with a towel. He stops on his feet when he sees Bucky, as if he had forgotten he was here.

"Hey, Buck."

Bucky knows he made things awkward for the two of them, could see it all over Steve's face, but he felt it was what he needed to do. He can't be in a room alone, he feels like he needs someone's approval every time he wants to do something, he fucking needs someone to hold him while he sleeps. In all three cases that someone is Steve. Bucky isn't stupid, he knows that behavior isn't practical if he expects to recover his autonomy. Also, it can't be pleasant to be responsible for a person you barely know, one that attacked you and your friends, that put one of them in a hospital bed.

All in all, it's humiliating to remember all the things Steve has agreed to do for Bucky because he wasn't able to do them himself or… Or just wanted someone to help him.

It's strange to think that person is the same guy he watched in a black and white movie, decades ago, shooting a fake gun and killing fake Nazis. Bucky had detested the man at the time, knowing he was safe and playing make-believe while Bucky was risking his life along with his brothers in arms. He also remembers his other thoughts regarding the blond man in the movie, thoughts he couldn't share with his fellow soldiers and just another reason why he decided that some distancing was needed.

Bucky tries to redirect his brain to a safer path when his heart jumps inside his chest. "You ready to go?"

Steve looks taken aback by Bucky's blunt words but agrees with a nod. "I only have to take my clothes from the locker room; it'll be just a moment."

Bucky waits for him outside and doesn't look at Steve when he comes back and they enter the elevator. He feels Steve's eyes on him. Steve opens his mouth a couple of times, probably wanting to ask Bucky what crawled up his ass, but he's too polite and in the end he doesn't say anything.

"You want to try eating something that isn't only shakes?" Steve asks when they reach his apartment. Bucky stops in his tracks and frowns at him.

"I can't eat solid food."

"Yeah, I know," Steve hurries to say, taking a step closer, one hand reaching in Bucky's direction but he seems to think better and his arm falls to his side. "But eventually you will have to start eating real food." Bucky still doesn't understand. "I read about it, how to reintroduce yourself to solid foods."

Bucky doesn't know what to say and can just stare at Steve. He's been taking care of his injuries, he's bathed him, a fully grown man; he has even accepted to sleep in the same bed as Bucky. And now he says he's been looking for a way Bucky can go back to eating normal food. He doesn't know what to make of that information—of Steve. So he stares.

"You want, right?" Steve continues once he sees Bucky won't speak. "I mean, the shakes are okay but they aren't really gourmet. They don't taste like real chocolate." He attempts a smile and Bucky feels out of place, again.

Steve walks to the kitchen and Bucky finds himself following, once again caught in Steve's orbit. "I read that you have to start small and slow. You have the serum so it will probably take you less than other people to return to normal food, but I don't want to risk it."

Bucky sits on a stool, his back to the rest of the apartment and his eyes fixed on Steve while he rummages in the fridge and cabinets. When he had still been in Stark's laboratory, when he asked Steve if he could sleep alone this night, he had thought that once he came back to this floor, he would go to his room and stay there for the rest of the day.

"Here, try this." Steve places a glass before him and Bucky has to control his body so as not to startle. "It's cranberry juice." Bucky peeks at Steve's face. His hopeful expression almost makes Bucky sigh with resignation. He takes the glass and takes a sip.

"Shit." Bucky puts the glass back on the kitchen island.

"What? Is it expired?" Steve sits on Bucky's right (always on his right) and takes the cranberry juice to take a sip of his own. He raises an eyebrow in Bucky's direction, not understanding what's the matter.

"It tastes too…" He fishes for a word. "Strong."

Steve's gaze falls to the glass and his eyes widen with understanding. "Oh. Shit, of course."

"It doesn't taste bad," Bucky hurries to say when Steve's expression turns to the one that says 'I should have anticipated that outcome.' Bucky takes another sip to prove it but his face scrunches when the juice makes his taste buds feel on fire.

"We'll try with something else. Chicken soup. Yeah, that should do it—but you probably shouldn't eat the chicken." Bucky watches as Steve takes ingredients and starts to chop. He doesn't want to go to his bedroom anymore.

"Sorry, didn't ask you if you wanted."

"Hm?" Bucky opens his eyes and directs a questioning look at Steve.

"Do you want soup?" His mood looks to be edging on nervous so Bucky doesn't make him wait and nods his approval with a calm expression. "It sounds fine. Thanks."

"It's no problem." Steve seems to relax. Bucky observes him with his head on his palm. "I'll warn you that I'm not really great at this but my cooking is edible."

"I think it would be good to start with food that doesn't have a lot of flavor."

"Well…" Steve turns with a smirk. "Then I'm your guy."

Bucky snorts at that, the sound surprising him. Steve keeps smiling at him and Bucky's stomach does a flip and a second later he feels his face blanch. He has the sudden impulse to clear his throat but fights it. Steve returns his focus to his hands.

"Steve."

"Hmm?"

"How are you alive?"

Steve stops moving and Bucky's throat suddenly stops functioning as well. He watches Steve's back and waits for a reaction. His hand doesn't ball into a fist and his fight or flight response doesn't activate. He straightens on his stool and his hand falls to the kitchen island.

"You mean how I'm not ninety in the twenty-first century?" Bucky can picture Steve's smile; he stops fearing Steve may have gone through something similar to what brought Bucky to this century looking only… Huh, he's not sure how old he looks like or actually is.

"I was fighting HYDRA, actually," Steve starts saying while he stirs the vegetables. "Things didn't go as planned… but when do they?" he adds as if speaking to himself. "HYDRA was sending self-piloted planes—they had bombes Schmidt wanted to detonate in American cities." Bucky believes he can imagine more or less what happened then. Still, he wants to hear Steve tell the rest. "Somehow—lucky me—I got rid of Schmidt. Red Skull."

(the names ring a bell but nothing more)

"Still." Steve pauses. "I was on the only plane that wasn't down and someone had to redirect it."

"You didn't give your coordinates?"

"I was," Steve's voice has an absent quality to it. "I was going to give her my coordinates but…" Steve sighs lightly and lowers his head. "I don't remember it clearly but I think I hit my head on the console before I could say anything."

"Where did the plane land?"

"The Arctic." Bucky gives out a strangled laugh, voice full of incredulity. Steve turns his head over his shoulder to look at him.

"Steve," he says his name with a face that's showing astonishment at the same time as delight fights for some space. Bucky gets down from the stool and gives a step around the island. Steve has turned completely and is now looking at him with amusement.

"Steve, are you about to tell me that you crashed a plane in the North Pole and got yourself frozen?" Bucky doesn't know if to laugh or smack Steve—that's just too stupid and ridiculous to really happen. And yet Steve looks like the kind of person who would crash a plane because there was nobody else to do it or time to think of another plan.

Steve's expression doesn't betray anything but Bucky catches the red that rises in his face. "Depends if you're about to laugh or have a coronary."

"You…" Bucky doesn't know how to follow that. The moment he sees the corner of Steve's lips tick up, the hint of a smile, Bucky can't keep it in and lets out a bark of laughter, head thrown back and eyes closing.

"Oh, you think it's funny I spent seventy years frozen?" By his little smirk, Bucky knows Steve isn't seriously affronted. Bucky can only shove Steve and keep losing it, chest rising and body shaking. "And that they only found me because of global warming?"

Steve only looks at Bucky with wide eyes when he throws an arm over his shoulders, afraid he will fall to the floor. "Tony calls me Popsicle."

In Bucky's mind, a red, white and blue ice cream pops up and Bucky feels his legs almost fold. Steve passes a warm arm around his waist while the two shake with laughter. Bucky turns off the stove when Steve doesn't remember to do it and they lean on each other and the countertop for support.

"Jesus," Bucky struggles to say between peals of laughter, his sides hurting. "It reminds me of this guy…" He can't finish the sentence, folding over when he cracks up again. Steve's hand is on his chest when Bucky straightens, as if for extra support. "Oh God, I met this soldier in the war who told me…"

"Come on, Buck!" Steve exclaims when Bucky is unable to finish again.

There's a tear sliding down Bucky's cheek but he doesn't make an attempt to wipe it, his arm staying firmly around Steve's shoulders. He doesn't have a memory of ever feeling like this; like his chest is going to burst at any moment but it won't actually hurt. Of his stomach hurting in a way that isn't completely uncomfortable.

"He told me he'd gone to basic with this crazy guy that had jumped on a dummy grenade when he thought it was real," Bucky says when he catches his breath. "He said the madman was ninety pounds soaking wet."

Bucky tries to reach for the memory, remember more details. He recalls the face of the soldier who had told the story with wide eyes, as if he was once again witnessing the incident, still unable to fully believe it. Bucky remembers his own reaction and thoughts from then and he feels almost the same way seventy years later; a mix of bewilderment and admiration.

He looks at Steve after a minute, realizing that he's stopped laughing and the hand on his chest is gone.

"Maybe the guy was trying to protect the other people," Steve says, brows pulled together and down as Bucky struggles to read his expression.

"I mean, yeah but…" Bucky tries to explain, confused by Steve's sudden change of mood.

"The guy probably reacted on instinct." Steve hasn't pulled away and Bucky is grateful because he feels like he missed a step on a staircase. He can only blink for a few seconds, looking at Steve's face from a few inches of distance.

"I…" His eyes flash over Steve's features again, searching for an answer. His only arm isn't free and now it's making him feel defenseless. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

It only takes a fraction of a second and Steve's frown disappears and gives place to shock. The hand he has around Bucky's torso tightens its hold and the other one gestures in the air. "No! No, Buck, nothing. Shit, sorry." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I only meant—"

"I respected the guy," Bucky says, wanting to make things clear. He hadn't taken any part on the scathing comments made about the 'skinny weirdo that had covered a dummy grenade with his body.' He had retold the story to Dugan, eyes still bright with astonishment and awe, praising the man's courage.

Steve's lips part, eyes dancing over Bucky's face. "You did?"

"Yeah." Bucky doesn't understand Steve's odd reactions but doesn't know if he can ask. "Why?"

Steve takes a step back then and Bucky realizes how close they are—have been for the last minutes. He thinks about getting some distance between the both of them but it doesn't seem to bother Steve so he stays just where he is, indulging his own wants.

"How to say this," Steve mutters, chin lowering with what seems self-consciousness. Bucky can only stare at Steve's long lashes. His hand finally slips from Bucky, leaving behind a cold spot—Bucky can only follow suit. "I wasn't always like this."

Bucky stares at Steve's hands and then at what they're gesturing at—his body in general. He arches an eyebrow, expecting Steve to give more details. Steve huffs a breath before speaking again. "I used to be really skinny as a kid—not that there was a big change when I grew up. I was always sick before Dr. Erskine's serum and Howard Stark's machine turned me into… this."

They stay silent while Bucky's brain catches up with Steve's words and their real meaning.

"No," the word leaves his lips and Bucky doesn't know if he wants to laugh or… smack Steve. His eyes are wide open while he stares at Steve, who has the gall to appear sheepish.

"Steve," Bucky says, voice turned serious this time. "They shouldn't let you leave the Tower without a nanny."

Steve snorts, shoulders lowering. Bucky watches Steve when he closes his eyes, a gentle smile gracing his mouth. Steve bends to rest his arms on the countertop, still so close. "Sam… Sam thinks the same," Steve says, voice turned gentle but carrying some uncertainty. Bucky stays rooted when Steve chances a look.

"He's the guy I sent to the hospital?" Bucky already knows but it still hurts to see Steve nod.

Steve straightens up and puts a hand on Bucky's uninjured shoulder. "Now I know it wasn't you, Bucky." Something in Bucky's expression must give away his inner turmoil because Steve gets an inch closer and looks him with serious eyes. "You didn't have a choice, Buck. It wasn't you."

Bucky doesn't look away when he answers. "But I did it."

Steve's gaze falls to the floor and Bucky can see the conflict in his face; he wants to contradict Bucky, to argue his point. "Do you want to keep me company next time I visit him?" is what Steve ends up saying.

At first, Bucky thinks he must have misheard Steve but Steve keeps looking at him with earnestness, eyes hopeful.

"You can't be serious."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Bucky tries to start a sentence a few times but his words fail him. "I don't know."

Steve's smile turns into something more genuine. "Don't worry. For now, we can just watch a movie." Bucky doesn't know what to do, what to say. Steve waits for an answer without rushing him. "I'll finish up with the soup and meanwhile you can choose a movie."

"That… sounds fine." Bucky's tone is dull if not a bit unsure but Steve's smile brightens.

Bucky stumbles to the couch, still reeling. He listens to Steve in the kitchen without paying a lot of attention to the TV at first.

"Are these movies part of your list?" Bucky asks, remembering Stark's words. He glances over the back of the couch, Steve already looking at the screen.

"Yeah. People have recommended me movies but I haven't had time to watch a lot of them. Which do you want to watch?"

"Haven't chosen yet. How do I do it?"

Steve walks to the couch wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Here." He shows Bucky the remote which he then points at the screen. "Use these buttons to choose a movie." Bucky watches Steve do it and then he's handed the remote.

"The soup has to simmer for half an hour so we can start something."

Bucky reads the titles twice but nothing rings any bells and right now it's frustrating him. A lot of his memories have returned but all of them are from decades ago or things he lived while with HYDRA agents; none of it gives him a clue about the world he's in. Also, he must have watched that movie Stark mentioned if he remembered the quote, but no memory has come to mind, no matter how much he has prodded it.

"You choose," he grumbles, returning the remote to Steve with a sullen face.

Steve takes it with a chuckle but says, "J.A.R.V.I.S., play a random movie."

A second later the screen darkens. Steve gets comfortable by Bucky's side and Bucky tries to do the same. It's difficult at first, Bucky becoming too conscious of Steve's presence. He feels like his body is just one recently healed wound, the skin too new, too sensitive. When Steve is only inches away, when he finally touches… It's like the flavors burning his taste buds, the only difference that he doesn't want to start small.

Bucky doesn't understand why he feels this way, but the tension eases up eventually and in a gradual way, as it has happened every other time.

When they see the woman with the metal arm, Bucky hears a soft 'oh' from his right. He turns and tries not to smile at Steve's guilty expression.

"Stop that," Bucky says as he smacks Steve's thigh.

"I don't know what you mean," Steve diverts, arms already crossed in front of his chest, sinking deeper into the couch. Bucky snorts and goes back to the movie when Steve stops frowning.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, Steve goes back to the kitchen—Bucky smirks, sure that it probably has something to do with the muzzled "feral" guy. The movie is paused and Bucky further relaxes against the couch. He closes his eyes, listening to Steve's movements and the smells that waft in the living room. The thick windows are muting the cars and people from the streets. In addition, the apartment is in such a high floor that there almost aren't visible buildings. For a moment Bucky feels in a bubble, detached from everything else, past or present.

Steve is humming under his breath and Bucky feels something settle inside his chest, something that's spent its entire life running, absconding.

Steve returns and informs him that the soup is almost done and they return to the movie.

Bucky is made aware of how different modern movies are from the ones he watched as a kid in his own time—the dialogues, the pacing, the acting itself, not to mention the special effects. He enjoys it, though, feels incapable of ungluing his eyes away from the screen, wondering how the hell they made the movie.

Even when that is true, Bucky wants to watch movies he remembers from when he was a kid.

"We could…" He clears his throat before continuing and catches Steve turning his head. "After this movie, we could watch another?"

"Yeah, okay."

"An older one?"

Silence follows his question but by the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Steve's face brighten when he realizes what he's actually asking. "I like that idea."

He relaxes once again and concentrates on the movie.

"Wow," Steve says after a few minutes. "That's…"

"Yeah." Neither one finds a way to put into words the unbelievable image that is a guy suspended by ropes on the front part of a vehicle (Bucky's not sure that's what it is but it has wheels, so it will do), playing a guitar that shoots fire.

"This is absurd," Steve snickers but his mouth stays open and his eyes look like saucers.

"Yeah, but Furiosa's kinda amazing," Bucky comments and Steve hums his agreement.

He feels some kinship with the character. There is the metal arm, for starters, but it's her initial quietness that draws his attention, as well as her attentive eyes, the way you can tell even without seeing the bionic arm that the woman has gone through something that's hardened her, that makes her always battle-ready.

Even when Bucky can see himself reflected in that superficial calmness, one that almost lets you see everything that's bubbling under the façade if you look closely, the way he believes to be deep down is like the man in the muzzle. A restless energy driving his body, obviously mistrustful, taking the situation in hand because he fears no one else will do it right or won't stab him in the back... But he can't help himself but eventually trust.

Bucky can't know with certainty if he's always been like this, his mind blurring the edges of his perception when he concentrates too hard into the hole of a memory, threatening to drop him in one and just flicker the lights off.

But that restless energy, that's how Bucky feels inside all the time. He doesn't let it show, doesn't give his body permission to act on the savage instinct inside of him that would have him pacing like an animal in a cage, snapping at everyone that dared to come a step too close.

It's something that's been there even before Steve and the others got him away from HYDRA. He remembers being handed a gun by an agent, told his mission, and he would imagine himself—just for a fraction of a second—grabbing the guy by the throat and just squeezing. He would take down all the others with the gun he was handed, deflect the bullets shot at him with his metal arm, rapidly finish the others, and…

And then his brain would come back to his body, a throbbing sensation behind his left eye grounding him down to earth, and his heart beating in his chest, wilder than he could ever remember it being.

Bucky reminds himself that the two characters don't actually exist.

His mind goes back to the screen and Bucky's eyes get wider with every scene. Even like that, he catches Steve looking at him—he probably thinks himself stealthy, but he's just as sly as a shiny shield with a target painted on it. Bucky wonders if Steve expects him to react the same way as in Stark's lab when he got sight of the chair.

It feels like no time has passed when Steve pauses the movie again and returns to the kitchen.

"Here." Bucky takes the bowl of soup he's handed and places it on the low table in front of him. He looks at it for a few seconds and then at the spoon. "Maybe it would be better to eat in a real table."

"Yeah, you're right." Steve takes his own bowl and Bucky follows him to the kitchen island where he will be able to eat without half of the soup falling to the floor or his pants. Bucky takes the spoon to his mouth and waits for the unpleasant explosion of flavors.

"Better than the juice?" asks Steve and Bucky nods.

"It doesn't taste like nothing," Bucky clarifies, thoughtfully looking at the bowl.

"It does to me," Steve says after a snort. "But do you like it?"

"Yeah."

He eats another spoonful. It doesn't remind him of anything and he wonders if he's spent so much time not eating real food that his brain has just forgotten how it really tastes. The protein shakes had already came labeled with their flavors but Bucky feels like he wouldn't have guessed them just by taste. Steve had also told him that he didn't really like the shakes because to him they just taste like powder—said he hadn't told Stark about it because the shakes do their job which is to keep his body running.

"Try eating the carrots if you want, but try to chew a lot."

"They have a bit more flavor," Bucky comments thoughtfully after a moment.

"How does your stomach feel, though?"

Bucky concentrates on his stomach for a few seconds. "I think it's doing okay."

"Great," Steve says with a pleased smile and after that, both of them go back to their dinner. Bucky decides that he likes this kind of silence, the one that isn't expecting to be disrupted.

Steve is serving himself a second helping when he speaks again. "You know, they talked about you." His tone is controlled and when Bucky turns to look at him, Steve has his own eyes averted.

"Who?"

"Dum Dum." He sits back on his stool as Bucky finishes eating. "Gabe, too. They all knew you some way or another."

Again feels like something is expected of him, a reaction, a simple word of acknowledgment, a question…

"Dugan helped assemble a team after we returned from Austria. The Howling Commandos," Steve says with a chuckle. "We were six."

"What were the names of the other guys?" Bucky hears himself ask.

"Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, Jacques Dernier…"

"Frenchy," Bucky mutters, a few images flashing before his eyes one after another in a rapid sequence. "He hated to be called that."

"Yeah," Steve says after a snicker. Bucky knows he's being watched closely. "He said that you two didn't really know each other but you would always find an excuse to talk with him and call him that."

Bucky snorts and shakes his head, images of men in cages behind his eyelids. "Gabe was the one who did the translating." Steve hums as well as nods his head. "Who else?"

"James Falsworth and, well, Dum Dum." They stay silent but Bucky can still feel Steve observing him. It's Bucky's turn to wait him out. "Dugan said that you would've been a good addition to the team."

Bucky doesn't know how to feel about that and doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to let his brain wander to impossible scenarios where he got rescued or got himself off of that damned table and… and that scientist… God, he had forgotten about him. Arnim Zola.

Bucky shuts his eyes, hand balling on his thigh, and refuses to think, to remember. He's not opening that door. He's here. Here. He feels Steve's presence on his right, he can hear the hum of the refrigerator, he feels his stomach churning and there is a sudden pressure behind his eyes—

"Falsworth always said it would have been too many James."

His eyes open. His lungs fill with air. He's here.

"What do you need me to do, Buck?"

Bucky turns his head and sees Steve's controlled but still concerned expression, one hand half to Bucky's arm. "Just… just talk to me."

The request seems to take Steve by surprise—his eyes turn a tad larger when Bucky grabs his hand and guides it to his own shoulder, the one that's whole. "Um. Okay. I took one of the helmets from the U.S.O. girls. I think it was Aubrey's."

A startled laugh burst out of Bucky and he looks at Steve in amusement. He sees Steve's own face lighten but is then that Bucky's mind brings back the memory of how Steve's face had looked like on the bridge. Bucky had hit him one time and again, only commands filling his skull. Steve had tried to save his friend from the Winter Soldier and he—Bucky—James—the Soldier tried to kill him, complete the mission.

Right now, Bucky feels like he would rather rip his other arm off than do something like that again. Not to Steve, not to anyone.

"My mom's name was Sarah," Steve blurts and Bucky thinks it may be because Steve realized Bucky's mind was spiraling. Steve gets up, hand still on Bucky's arm. "She was a nurse." He coaxes Bucky to get up too and guides him back to the couch. "She's the real reason I'm alive today."

He's saying it like someone talking about the weather.

Bucky plops on the couch, Steve following suit, and tries to listen. "She never gave up on me. She didn't care that I was as damaged as a person could be." (Bucky wants to argue here but manages to keep his mouth shut.) "I mean, I had asthma, heart arrhythmia, stomach ulcers, anemia… And the list went on." Steve is almost smiling and Bucky, once again, doesn't know what to make of it. "But she never treated me like a burden even if I felt like one. She…"

Steve's eyes seem to get lost then and when they're back, the blue looks shinier. "She always told me to keep fighting. Didn't matter how big the problem or how nasty the bully that knocked me down, she taught me that you always gotta get back up."

They look at each other and after a long second, a little color rises to Steve's cheeks, like he's just realized that what he shared was perhaps too personal.

"Your mom sounds like an amazing lady," Bucky says, hopping his voice carries the honesty of his words.

"She was," Steve says with a soft tone, lips curling into a smile. "You wanna finish the movie?"

"That sounds great, pal."

After sending Bucky a final look he can't decipher, Steve presses play. The movie does the job of taking Bucky out of his mind for an hour and hopes it does the same for Steve.

He feels like he won't stay awake for another movie.

"If you need anything just wake me up, all right?" Steve says, hovering just outside the bedroom. Bucky nods his head but it doesn't seem to convince Steve because he adds a stern "seriously"—he catches himself and Bucky almost huffs a laugh when he sees Steve trying to relax his facial muscles.

"Got it," he says for Steve's sake.

Steve doesn't leave right away but observes the room. Bucky wants him to go or he'll ask Steve to stay.

"Have a good night, Bucky," he says eventually with a crooked smile. Bucky feels a knot in his stomach and remembers again watching that stupid Captain America movie all those years ago, surrounded by fellow soldiers either laughing their asses off or cursing the black and white film. He remembers the thoughts and the sensation that had blossomed in his stomach, similar to the one he's had all day long.

"Yeah, thanks," he forces out, stilted.

"Remember to change the dressing on your shoulder." It's the second time he's said it since they finished watching the movie and Bucky assures him one more time that he will.

Steve leaves and closes the door with a soft click. Bucky waits to hear Steve's own door closing but it doesn't come. He nears his own door, tempted to put his ear to the wood, and listens; he hears Steve going around his bedroom, most probably getting ready for bed. After a few minutes, there's the rustle of sheets and blankets and finally, silence stretches. No door closed.

Bucky looks at his feet without really seeing them and focuses on his breathing, trying to rein in his brain. He grants his mind a minute to sort itself out and then he heads to the bathroom.

It can't be that hard to operate a shower, he thinks as he looks at the cabin and then the knobs. Something tells him this shower is fancier than the normal modern ones—basically like everything he's seen in this building.

Bucky strips and enters the shower. He feels like an idiot just looking at the knobs as if he's about to pilot a plane, but there are more knobs than expected. He tries one and it starts fucking raining. Bucky looks up, too surprised to react, and takes notice of the holes in the ceiling. The water is cool and Bucky attempts to turn it hot.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath when the only thing that changes is the way the water falls. He's getting annoyed and that's when he turns something and a spray of cold water hits him on the face. Bucky's response is quick and he throws himself back, shoulders hitting the shower screen. His feet slip on the wet floor and he falls down like a sack of potatoes.

"Shit," he breathes out. Bucky blinks water out of his lashes and looks at the shower in bewilderment, his hand still on the air, hoping for something to grab on to stop the fall. Bucky breathes deeply for a few seconds and then hurries to get words past his numb lips. "J.A.R.V.I.S., tell Steve not to come."

"Captain Rogers is asking if you need help."

"No." He keeps his teeth from chattering, jaw clenched tight. Bucky's muscles hadn't needed to do that today and he's just realizing it.

"He asks if you're hurt."

"I'm not."

I'm functional, is what he almost says.

There are no more questions after that and Bucky waits for his heart to calm. He doesn't know if to laugh or let himself stew in his embarrassment. Eventually, he gets to his feet, his weak legs threatening to let him fall again. Bucky doesn't get near the water at first, too many images pilling and pushing behind his eyes and he feels an unpleasant tickling sensation at the back of his skull, a feather-like touch threatening to squeeze his brain any moment. His hand isn't steady when it moves towards the knobs but it gets the job done.

Bucky leans on the wall, the cabin silent again.

"A showerhead is not a hose," Bucky says out loud, hoping against hope that maybe saying it out loud will make his stupid brain finally understand.

Mission not accomplished.

Bucky turns the knob that had turned the ceiling water on and this time he doesn't try to change the temperature. He washes quickly and efficiently, using the products already on the shelf. When he gets out of the shower, Bucky feels a weight lift from his chest.

He wraps a towel around his waist and stands in front of the clear mirror. The unpleasant tickling sensation is back when Bucky looks at his shoulder. He stands before his reflection and the minutes pass. Bucky tries to move his hand to the bandages—he knows what he has to do; he remembers how Steve took care of the injury. Bucky knows he's capable of doing it but he needs another five minutes before his limbs start obeying him again.

Bucky watches as the reflection in the mirror raises an arm and the hand takes hold of the tape and peels it off. A second later the shoulder is completely uncovered. Bucky closes his eyes and swallows past the lump in his throat. He studiously reins back his breathing, his heartbeat, and his thoughts. He thinks he's the one that takes control but the next time he opens his eyes, he's sitting on the bed.

Bucky is dressed with hair still wet over his shoulders. He gets his hand under the collar of the sweater and t-shirt he's wearing and his fingers feel his shoulder for bandages. They're there. Bucky turns his head one side and the other—he doesn't know what he's looking for but at least he makes sure he's where he should be; his bedroom in the Tower. He's alone, too.

Bucky gets up and goes back to the bathroom; it's clean, the used dressings in the bin and the antibacterial lotion in its respective cabinet. He doesn't know how much time he's lost and he dreads the answer. Bucky paces for another few minutes, feeling his body weighting him down, his mind pulling him in dangerous directions, his hand shaking…

Bucky opens his door a few inches before getting under the blankets. He closes his eyes with a shaky sigh.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., can you please increase the temperature in the room a bit?" he mumbles when he feels himself drifting away. He wasn't sure if that was something J.A.R.V.I.S. could control but it must be because he can feel the room getting warmer. He mumbles a thanks and a moment later he's out like a light.