A/N: So here we are! The sequel to Heading Home. I couldn't help but come back to these characters. I missed them. Some things to note about this story:

Where Heading Home was very action- and Bucky-oriented, I think you'll find that The Second Trial is going to have a lot more focus on different relationships between different people. It'll have a lot of action, of course, but more personal stuff than Heading Home did. Also, though the POV will mainly by Bucky's (as it was in Heading Home), I'm going to probably throw in some other peoples' POVs as well.

Regarding plot…I'll call it slightly AU. Because I only have vague details from Age of Ultron to work off of and Guardians of the Galaxy is not out yet. So I'm going to be mixing up things I've looked up from the existing MCU, the coming movies, slight elements from the Marvel comics, slight elements from Agents of SHIELD (though I'll be changing some stuff from the show) and then I'll be making up some of it on my own as well. So expect to see some nods to the MCU and Marvel comics but don't expect the story to follow 100% canon.

For the sake of this story, the Winter Soldier never trained Natasha in the Red Room.

For anyone who wants to read this story…it's probably best that you start by reading my story Heading Home. Otherwise you might be pretty confused!

Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and make no profit off of anything. Only my original characters belong to me.

ONE YEAR LATER.

"Sergeant, duck!" The shout came from behind him and Bucky immediately jackknifed in half backwards, bending his back in such a quirk and jerky way that any ordinary human would have snapped their spine had they tried to do so. It was just as well that he did it because a nanosecond later a knife whizzed through the air where his throat had been and slammed into the wooden wall behind him so hard it actually quivered. He sprung up just in time to see Agent Lewinski—who was moving a bit clumsily, his sharp eyes noted—tackle the man who had thrown the knife and begin beating the hell out of him. He could see that Agent Lewinski was moving a little more slowly than usual, for some reason, so he called, "I got this, Lewinski." She leaped off the man, Bucky pulled out his gun, and shot the man in the head. The man crumpled, dark blood spreading across the swaying floors of the small boat. Bucky didn't even flinch. This man was worthless—he'd helped plan an attack that had gotten several schoolchildren killed. Bucky made a strict no tolerance policy for people who harmed children.

Bucky took out his flashlight—special issued by SHIELD—and, taking care not to shine it in the direction of the other pirate ship behind him, he flashed it into the distance, flickering it on and off a few times in rapid succession. This was the signal for the others. Lewinski dropped to her knees and then crawled over to the side of the boat, leaning against it, panting heavily. A steady stream of blood poured down the side of her stark-white face and Bucky frowned, wondering how long it would take for her to get here.

Not long, apparently. She—and two other agents—quickly shimmied up the side of the boat, taking care to stay very silent. She knelt by Lewinski and he heard her say, "Lay still," as she began to clean up Lewinski's head wound. All around them were fallen French pirates; Lewinski and Bucky had made short work of them. The other two agents began to wrap the documents Bucky had retrieved in air-tight, waterproof plastic bags. Bucky looked behind him at the other pirate ship laying dormant in the distance. It was far away enough that they hadn't noticed the slight commotion going on on their sister ship—but Bucky knew that they could be here in minutes if they had to.

The two agents finished wrapped up the documents, saluted Bucky, and then made their way over to the other side of the rocking boat. As they went, one of the agents stumbled across a thick wire and yanked on it with his foot. All the lights on the boat they were on suddenly fused out and Bucky heard the agent mutter, "Shit!" before he and the other man silently dove overboard.

Bucky heard faint yells from behind him so he turned and squinted across the dark night, not daring to turn his flashlight on. The men on the other boat had seen that the lights on this boat had gone out and they had gotten suspicious, it seemed. He could hear them yelling and see silhouettes waving their arms at this boat in strange motions and he cursed. They had pre-planned signals up their sleeves. He couldn't wave back and hope they'd think he was a pirate because he didn't know what the return signal was.

He turned back to the young woman kneeling by Lewinski on the ground. "Ari, we have to go," he ordered, standing over her. "The ones on the other boat are going to come here any minute now, and I can't—"He had been about to say And I can't stop them on my own but he stopped lest he offend her. He wasn't insinuating that she was weak. After a year of training in the field and in the gyms and weaponry mastering, Ari was pretty good in combat situations. She was definitely better than the average human woman. But nothing she did changed the fact that she was very slender and didn't have much muscle mass and she still had a long ways to go, regarding building skill. Bucky could still disarm and pin her down in his sleep, if he wanted to (though, of course, measuring her skill against a super-soldier's wasn't exactly fair, since he could disarm and pin down even the most experienced and skilled agents such as Romanoff, Barton, and May).

"Wait," said Ari urgently. "I'm not done with Lewinski—" She had hastily cleaned and stitched up the head wound but one look at Lewinski and Bucky knew it was a lost cause. Her skin had taken on an ashen-gray pallor, her eyes were glittering and unfocused, a sheen of sweat covered her face, and she was taking deep rattling breaths that seemed like it was hurting her deeply to even breathe. She wasn't going to survive this trip.

"Ari, we have to go now—"

"I don't understand," Ari muttered in frustration. "Why would just a head wound do this—?" She ripped open Agent Lewinski's vest and stifled a gasp as she saw the gunshot in her stomach, blood and guts oozing out. Lewinski had buttoned up her vest tightly to keep her insides from falling out, so she could keep fighting. Who knew how long she had slowly been leaking blood like this? "Why didn't you tell me about this wound?" Ari hissed, her face pale. "Ashley!"

Bucky looked behind him and stifled a groan. The other pirate ship was now gliding towards them. The other crew would be here in a matter of minutes. He looked down at Agent Ashley Lewinski, who was looking back at him, though she was having trouble focusing. Her mouth trembled but she gave him one resolute nod that said she knew what he needed to do now and she gave him permission to do so.

"At ease, Agent Lewinski," he said. "You've been of great service to me and to your country." This was going to be painful—Lewinski had been a part of his team for some months now—but it had to be done. And Bucky was always willing to do the dirty work to get the deed done. He pulled out his pistol and shot Lewinski in the heart. A clean, neat shot that gave her instant death with minimal pain. His pistol had a silencer on it so the approaching pirates wouldn't hear them. He grabbed Ari around the waist, yanked her up, and silently dove overboard, neatly slicing through the icy, inky water. Ari knew what protocol to follow in this scenario but he knew he'd be able to move more quickly, so he fumbled around for a few seconds to hook himself onto Ari and then they were both off, swimming to the rendezvous point. She was swimming as fast as he could, but he was much faster, so it was more like he was pulling her along. They swam for fifteen minutes, coming up every few minutes for air. Holding their breath underwater for long periods of time was something every SHIELD agent was taught right away. It came in very handy. They had picked a good night to come on this mission; there was no moonlight and the night was dark and windy, so the pirates would never see or hear them. All they'd find was the body of a dead SHIELD agent and their stolen documents missing. They'd know what had happened, of course, but what could they do about it?

Finally they pulled up to their rendezvous point, which was just a floating buoy in the middle of the sea. The other agents were gone; they'd already been picked up and taken away back to their main boat. He and Ari would have to wait until the next rotation came by to retrieve them. It was inconvenient—he would have preferred to be immediately airlifted by helicopter—but SHIELD wasn't exactly high-powered these days, and it had to make do with whatever it got. Ari clung to the buoy, soaking wet and shivering from the cold, her dark hair plastered to her face, and angrily whispered, "You didn't have to kill her! We could have brought her back, Soldier."

He gripped the back of her wet head and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Listen to me," he whispered, his tone hard. "You need to stop being so soft or you're going to get yourself killed. You're in the field now, Ari. There was nothing we could have done for Lewinski. If you'd stayed, the pirates would have found you and either held you hostage or murdered you—and they'd have a bit of their own fun with you before either of those things." A boat full of criminal men and a young female agent—it didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen next. This was a concern that Ari would always face that he didn't have to worry about and the unfairness of it burned at him. His stomach clenched at the thought of the pirates hurting her that way and he shook her shoulder slightly. "Do you understand?" he whispered, searching her blue eyes for any sign that she did. He had to make her understand, otherwise she'd get herself seriously injured one of these days. She was a good agent but her heart and her head didn't always cooperate. Add that to her natural stubbornness and it was a recipe for disaster.

"Yes," she whispered with a defeated look on her face and he knew she was mourning Agent Lewinski. She hadn't even been a close friend of Ari's but he knew she hated to leave people behind. As she'd once said—she saved lives, she didn't end them. So not being able to save someone always affected her more forcefully than others.

They bobbed there in the dark, holding onto the buoy and treading water. Bucky gritted his teeth at the icy-cold numbness that was taking over his extremities. Just as he was beginning to think the wait was becoming unbearable, a small boat glided through the darkness and knocked lightly into the buoy. There were no lights on it but Bucky could see the dark shapes on board quickly pulling Ari out of the water. He was next. They dragged him above board and then he lay on the boat, soaking and shivering until someone wrapped a thick towel around him and they cut through the night silently, heading for their larger ship where the entire team waited. It was time to head back.

"Mission status, Sergeant?" an agent asked him.

"Mission accomplished," he said tiredly.

From small boat to slightly larger boat. From slightly larger boat to Range Rover waiting on land. From Range Rover to small airplane hidden in a clearing miles away. From small airplane back to the United States. All of this had to be done very quickly and as silently as possible. The entire mission was on radio silence, meaning they didn't communicate back with anyone at SHIELD headquarters at all. Bucky didn't even know what they were retrieving but then again, he didn't have level clearance to know that. All he knew was that Fury wanted these documents and he wanted them badly. And when Fury wanted something, he did everything in his power to get it.

Not only was Fury extremely tenacious, but he was absolutely ruthless sometimes. Bucky had never met someone who was so hardened and tough. They touched down on American soil and for the first time, they (or, rather, the pilot) radioed into SHIELD headquarters. "Director wants you back at headquarters," he told Bucky as they all climbed out of the small aircraft. Bucky was beyond exhausted and all he wanted to do was go home to his apartment and sleep for a day straight but he knew putting off Fury was impossible. He also knew Fury cared little for the fact that his field operatives were likely to be tired. So he nodded like the good person he supposedly now was and got into the waiting car. Ari and the two other agents who'd accompanied them on this mission slid in as well. The doors shut and they were off, driving through the night and into the wee hours of the morning. Bucky, despite being extremely tired, didn't sleep. Something about sleeping in front of other people made him feel incredibly stressed out. Instead, he watched Ari, who'd fallen asleep against the window, in a non-creepy manner he hoped. He wondered sometimes if being an agent was too much stress for her—she was looking rather paler these days—but she claimed it was exactly the opposite: that being an agent added spice to her life. He couldn't do anything but shrug and take her word for it. For him…being an agent wasn't extra seasoning in his life but merely something he did as a duty. He had specific skills and so he would utilize them in a way that was "good" to try and neutralize all the wrongs he had committed as HYDRA's puppet.

By the time dawn broke they had arrived at the SHIELD headquarters, which was a medium-sized office building. A year ago, when the news had first broken that SHIELD was, and always had been, compromised by HYDRA, it had seemed like nothing could bring the sunken intelligence agency back up from the depths. Nick Fury had worked out of a shabby rented apartment building in an even shabbier part of Washington D.C.—because he was Nick Fury and he never gave up, even if the U.S. government told him to—but all hope for SHIELD seemed lost. The breach within cost the agency its reputation, its actual physical location, and all of its funding. The world was in shockwaves, every newspaper headline shrieking about SHIELD, about HYDRA, about all the secrets and information Natasha had dumped online—many of them about her. Of course, during those first couple of manic weeks, Bucky himself had been dazed and despondent, wandering around as the Winter Soldier. It had been Ari who'd found him, treated him, brought him back from the edge, reunited him with Steve Rogers, and who'd eventually saved him. After getting his memories and files back, Bucky had made the decision alongside Ari to join SHIELD.

For a few weeks after they'd joined, they hadn't actually done much of anything—simply because they couldn't. SHIELD had been…well, pathetic. There really was no other word for it, in Bucky's mind. But eventually the U.S. government had started funding them again and Bucky later learned that during those pathetic few weeks, furious negotiations had been going inside Capitol Hill about the fate of SHIELD. It was eventually decided by Congress that SHIELD would remain a branch of the U.S. security, would continue to receive funding, and would continue to engage in diplomatic relations with other nations (to the extent that other nations chose to receive them after the massive scandal, that was)…but only to a certain point. The government wouldn't allow SHIELD to become the massive hub it once was, not anytime soon at least anyway. It would have to remain a small, more privately-run operation, the way it had been for decades after it had been created. To many of the remaining SHIELD agents and new recruits who'd been used to things being expensive, fancy, and on massive-scales, the new downgrades were frustrating and many a new recruit had quit earlier on ("Shows they weren't made of the tough stuff anyway," grumbled Fury. "Bunch of pansies."). But Bucky was personally glad SHIELD had gone down in size. He didn't think he'd have felt comfortable at all working in such a huge intelligence agency with thousands of eyes on him and crowds of people to watch his every move and talk about him. This way, with SHIELD being smaller and more private…it was easier for him to breathe. Because he was still paranoid that people looked at him, talked about him, behind his back. He could see the mistrust in some peoples' eyes and he wondered if it would ever go away or not.

Ari, of course, claimed it was because he refused to change his look. "If you'd just cut your hair," she'd said, "you'd look more like the old Bucky Barnes and less like the Winter Soldier."

"What, you think I'd look better with short hair?" he'd asked.

"Not to me," she'd said. "I think you look cool with the longer hair. But the world might breathe a little easier if you cut it short. And, you know, shaved your face all smooth."

But he'd refused. He told himself his reasons for not cutting his hair had everything to do with him trying to be a new person and make his own decisions and nothing to do with the fact that Ari liked his hair longer. And shaving everyday was just annoying. As long as he didn't have a beard, he was alright.

They all slid out of the car and strode into the office building, which was situated in a corner lot in the business district. It was officially a "physician clinic center" for the books but Bucky knew the people in the area knew what it was unofficially. The U.S. government was trying to keep SHIELD low-key now but it didn't exactly help when scary-looking folk in all-black outfits strode out of the place day in and day out and nary a physician entered or left the place. They'd had some trouble with reporters and paparazzi trying to get glimpses inside the building—which had the address of 24 Pryde Parkway (or simply "24 Pryde" as they all called it)—but they'd been quickly dealt with and Bucky was sure, a grim smile on his face, that after the dressing down and threats of legal action they all received, they wouldn't be back and neither would their colleagues.

The inside of the building was clear and well-maintained though obviously less fancy and expensive than the Triskelion had been. There was beige carpeting on the floor, beige paint on the walls, navy sofas, and oak furniture. And that was the extent of it. The Triskelion was being rebuilt at breakneck speed but it certainly would not be for SHIELD use anymore. Bucky had no idea what they were going to do with it and he felt a small surge of anger at the predicament SHIELD was in. Even though he personally enjoyed the more private affair it now was, he recognized that their treatment was highly unfair. True, it was shocking that no one had caught wind of HYDRA for all these decades, and true, it was a mess of politics and legalities that SHIELD had, inadvertently, helped further HYDRA's causes…but HYDRA had been extremely careful and sneaky and no one had dreamed that SHIELD would be compromised from within so no one had ever even taken a close look at the inner workings of SHIELD. It wasn't exactly peoples' faults for not suspecting that their decades-old intelligence agency which appeared to have done so much good for world security—that it may have not been what it was. And whether they had accidentally helped further HYDRA's means, they'd still done lots of good in the world too. They'd still stopped and help curb violence, apprehend fugitives and threats, manage dangerous liaisons between enemy groups, work with nations around the globe to provide a safer and secure world… The way they were being treated now was really far too unfair and shabby. The good of SHIELD deserved better than this. Unfortunately, the world needed a scapegoat—and SHIELD was it. The ordinary citizens clamored for action (never once admitting that had they been in their positions, they'd never have seen HYDRA coming either), not even realizing the gravity of what they were demanding. Bucky didn't think the ordinary citizens were aware of how much SHIELD had kept them safe. Simply being here for a year and getting to view a few select old case files (and then just hearing "locker room gossip" about old incidents), he now knew that there were stranger things in the world than he'd ever dreamed—even stranger than a decades-old brainwashed assassin—and that SHIELD was the one to deal with these things.

An agent with short spiky blond hair strode up to meet them. "Director Fury is in his office," he said. "He'd like to brief with all you together and then with you individually, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky nodded and they headed upstairs to Fury's office, if it could even be called that. It looked like any other office in the building—lesser, in fact, because it was utterly devoid of any personal belongings. Bucky had now known Nick Fury for a year and he still wasn't sure if the man had a spouse, children, parents, or friends of any sort. He was a mystery. He was also laying low. He was supposed to be "dead" so he didn't go out much anymore (not that he ever had before…) and when he did, he wore outfits that weren't black and sunglasses. Ari had once told Bucky that Nick Fury didn't look like a badass anymore and this disappointed her. Ari seemed to have a slight fixation on badasses, in Bucky's opinion. He suspected it was because she knew that she'd never really look badass, no matter how badass she acted, so she focused on those who did. Like himself. Bucky wasn't going to lie—it stroked his ego sometimes when he thought about the fact that Ari thought he was a badass. A man had to have something, right?

"Well?" Fury asked shortly the minute they all stepped inside his office and shut the door behind them. He didn't waste time on societal niceties or pleasantries.

Bucky got the point as well. "Mission accomplished."

"Excellent, Sergeant." Fury held out his hand and one of the agents darted forward and handed him the wrapped documents. Bucky followed them with his eyes and wondered again what was inside them.

"Any problems?" Fury asked. His voice made it clear that he expected there were none and probably didn't want to hear about them if there had been any.

"Agent Lewinski's dead," Bucky said bluntly. He glanced over at his agents. They kept professional, composed expressions on their faces but he could see the upset and anger flickering in their eyes and in the corners of their suddenly tight mouths. Lewinski had been well liked here, a woman with strong morals and a hearty laugh.

Fury's mouth tightened into a flat line. "Lewinski was a damn good agent," he said, "and we're sorry to see her go. I trust everything will be documented within the incident report?" That was about as emotional as Fury ever got.

"It'll be on your desk tomorrow by 0700 hours, sir," said one of the agents, the woman with the short boy cut.

"Good, good," said Fury in a distracted voice, looking down at the bundle. "Well—the rest of you are dismissed. I'll see you, Kaplan, tomorrow for the mission we discussed," he said, nodding towards one of the agents, a man with short dark hair and a rather short stature. Kaplan nodded and then he, the other agent, and Ari all left the room. Once the door had shut behind them, Fury turned to Bucky and tersely asked, "So, Sergeant, did we have any incidents on this mission?"

Knowing exactly what he was referring to, Bucky winced internally but clenched his teeth as he said, "No, sir."

Fury took off his sunglasses and gave Bucky a hard stare. "Are you absolutely sure, Sergeant? I like to know what I'm sending out into the field and if I'm send a ticking time b—"

"I said no," Bucky snapped. He knew that if any other agent spoke to Fury this way, there'd be repercussions, but Bucky enjoyed what he privately referred to as "half-Cap status" meaning that he enjoyed half of the status and freedom that Captain America was afforded. Captain America wasn't a part of SHIELD and he never would be but he worked alongside them from time to time. He had the freedom to refuse to go on a mission and he couldn't be forced to do otherwise. He was also free to talk back to Fury since, technically, no one dictated him. Captain America didn't have a commanding officer and when he went on a mission, it was automatically assumed that he was the commanding officer, no matter how many superior agents were on the mission. It was the kind of luxury that could only be extended to a man who had saved the world three times now, had lived for decades, was an international heroic icon, and embodied all the best of American virtues and ideals. So when it came to Bucky…well, on one hand, he'd committed terrible crimes and couldn't exactly lord it over the others without creating resentment and anger. He wasn't some big-deal hero who could be afforded any sort of special status. And yet, on the other hand, he was without a doubt their most dangerous and qualified agent now—even more so than the legends like Romanoff, Barton, May, and Skulinowski—and everyone also knew, deep down, that he'd been horribly wronged. He hadn't willingly chosen to do any of the terrible things he'd done. So while he reported to Nick Fury and was a part of SHIELD, there seemed to be some slight leeway where he was allowed to speak up and talk back and go a bit rogue every now and then. All under Fury's watchful good eye, of course.

"And," added Bucky as Fury watched him closely, "even if I did…I can handle it."

"Can you, Sergeant?" Fury asked in a slightly sardonic voice. Bucky didn't like the way he felt around Fury, like a rag doll who was laying on the table, cut open with his stuffing piling out. He sometimes felt like Fury had x-ray vision and could see to his core, see all of his secrets and dirty deeds, and unlike Ari, he didn't make Bucky feel comforted when he stared at him. He made him feel unworthy, like he'd made a mistake that he couldn't fix.

Well…isn't that what you did? a negative part of his mind hissed at him. He ignored it.

"Well, you're free to go then, Sergeant," said Fury. "But know that I'm keeping a close eye on you. If you can handle these episodes, you're fine. But the second it starts to seem like they're getting the better of you, I'm pulling you out of the field. And I'm not singling you out. I'd do this for any agent in the field. Understand?"

"Understood," said Bucky tonelessly.

"Then dismissed, Sergeant," said Fury. "I'll see you soon. Go home and get some rest. I suspect," he added in a distracted mutter, running his hands over the package he'd received, "that things are going to get very messy soon…"

Bucky didn't see how things could possibly get any messier—but he nodded once, turned, and left the office. He changed into black sweats in the bathroom and headed out. It was dawn and the building was quiet but he still saw agents here and there. 24 Pryde Parkway never really fully shut down for the night. Ari would have gone home by now so he didn't even bother looking for her. An agent by the door said, "Goodnight—er, good morning, Sarge," while he walked by and it took him a second before he replied, "Good morning," back. Sometimes he still wasn't used to people addressing him pleasantly. When he'd been the Winter Soldier, it had been unimaginable. But even now, as Bucky Barnes, he knew people were intimidated by him and perhaps thought wrongly of him. His longer hair, sullen expression, and cybernetic arm didn't do much to make people less wary of him. So it still wasn't as if he suddenly had thousands of friendly fans and best friends lining up around the block. He didn't really care, though, having become a much more private person than the old Bucky Barnes had been.

He had a motorcycle parked at 24 Pryde and he hopped on, strapping on his helmet and pulling on his black leather gloves and black leather jacket (surprisingly, Natasha had bought it for him. "You can't ride a motorcycle without a black leather jacket," she'd explained. "Steve does it and it hurts me inside. I can't let you do the same.") and taking off. The streets were quiet, the early morning pale golden sunrays cutting through a lavender dawn sky. The morning was slightly chilly and misty but he could hear birds chirping and it looked like it was gearing up to a peaceful summer day. It was so quiet and peaceful out that he rode slowly, keeping his engine low, enjoying the ride. Sometimes riding his motorcycle was the only part of his day he really enjoyed. With his face and hands covered, he was just another young man who was on a joyride. Sometimes women giggled at him from street corners and he didn't even feel self-conscious but rather gave them a small smile (which they obviously couldn't see) because he knew they weren't laughing at him—they were just giggling at the faceless man on the motorcycle who looked so much like the "bad boy" that women tended to adore.

He arrived at his apartment and parked the motorcycle in his assigned garage. Working for SHIELD didn't exactly pay well anymore but somehow—and Bucky just knew Steve was involved—Fury had wrangled a nicer place for him than he really deserved and the bills just got paid on their own. Bucky felt a bit like a freeloader and this annoyed him incredibly, but what else could he do? He couldn't exactly get a regular job just yet. He didn't feel quite comfortable in the world yet. Either way, he rarely bought anything other than groceries and the occasional clothes or book every now and then, so he was sure he wasn't a huge expense for SHIELD. He climbed up the stairs to his apartment and as he did, he passed Kristen, the young woman who lived across the hall from him. She worked as an accountant at a nearby bank. She was heading down the stairs with a basket of laundry and stopped and said, "Oh hey there, Bucky!" smiling.

"Hi," Bucky said quietly. He always felt a bit awkward around Kristen. She was very friendly and open (which was probably the reason she'd figured out his name when no one else in the building even realized he existed) and he wasn't exactly sure if she'd figured out who he was or not but she never acted weird around him so he was guessing no. She was taller than Ari, slightly more curvy (though Ari was so slender, this applied to most women who weren't Ari), and had waist-length blonde hair with sun-streaks, hazel eyes, and a very wide grin. Ari was petite, pale, and hade huge blue eyes. Very different looks, really. The only thing the two women had in common was their very long hair, though Ari's hung pin straight and Kristen's waved slightly.

Bucky had no idea why he was mentally comparing them.

"Up early, eh?" she asked. "Couldn't sleep myself."

"Yeah, got…called in to work," he said a bit lamely, not really explaining why his work would require him to be up before dawn or to wear black sweats.

"Right," Kristen said after a pause. "Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you must be tired. Have a nice day!"

"You too," Bucky said, giving her a small smile and escaping up the stairs to his landing with some relief. He unlocked his door, turned to watch the top of Kristen's blonde head vanish downstairs, and then stepped into his apartment, quadruple-locking it behind him. He was still pretty paranoid that HYDRA would one day come back after him. After all, everyone knew HYDRA wasn't complexly destroyed, not at all. Gavin Hoffman had more or less admitted it to him. Bucky clenched his fists at the thought of Hoffman, his blood pressure rising, and then he leaned against his door and tried to relax, closing his eyes and deep-breathing the way Ari kept telling him to do.

Don't think—breath—about Hoffman.

Don't think—breath—about how he tortured Ari.

Or how—breath—he tried to freeze Natasha, Sam, and Steve in cryogenesis.

Or how—breath—he was trying to use you again.

Bucky's cybernetic hand clenched of its own accord. Clearly this breathing exercise wasn't working right now. He couldn't escape his own thoughts. So he ripped off his shirt and threw himself into the shower, first turning it to scalding hot and then to icy cold, hoping one or the other would shock him out of obsessing over Hoffman like a madman. It wasn't healthy. He was dead, gone. He couldn't hurt Bucky—or any of his friends—ever again.

When he was done he threw on a pair of running sweats and then stretched out on his sofa and stared up at the ceiling, his hands folded across his rock-hard stomach. He closed his eyes and sighed. He was aware that he the very caricature of a Pathetic Person right now but he really didn't know what to do with himself now that he was himself again. If he'd grown up in the mid-twentieth century like he was supposed to…he knew what he would have done. He would have returned from war as a decorated hero and would have eventually fallen in love with some girl, whether it be that gal Connie who really liked him—or some other girl. He probably wouldn't have gone back to school…he'd have probably worked at a garage and fixed up cars and motorcycles. He'd had a passion for that, the same way that Steve had had a passion for drawing and art. Bucky hadn't seen any artwork in Steve's new home. It appeared that he'd abandoned his old hobby. And he would have had a couple of kids and life would have been uneventful but it would have been right. He would have been in his element. His world. His time.

Things were different. Half the time he wanted to constantly be with Steve and Ari and cling to them to keep the aching loneliness away—and the other half of the time he wanted to shut himself up in his apartment and never interact with anyone. He sometimes went out and did things with Ari and Steve and Sam but everyone had their own lives and they couldn't hang out 24/7. He didn't make many new friends. He still had trouble trusting people and opening up to them. He didn't know what his future held now. Could he go back to school? What kind of job could he get? Was there even a place in this world for Bucky Barnes? As for a family one day…

Bucky didn't see women anymore. He remembered seeing them all the time. He'd loved women, loved their soft eyes and sweet-smelling hair and red lips. Loved the way they looked at him like he was something special. But women didn't look at him like that anymore and he was different now, anyhow. Oh, he noticed women, now that he wasn't the Winter Soldier, and he could even recognize when he saw an attractive woman. But he was never drawn to them. That want he used to feel as the old Bucky Barnes, when he saw beautiful women, that want was gone. He didn't feel it anymore. He didn't know if it was because they were strangers to him…or because of some other reason. But if there was anyone who he wouldn't have minded waking up next to every day—

His cell phone let out a shrill ring, startling him so badly he nearly flipped himself off of the sofa. He still wasn't used to carrying this stupid, constantly-beeping device around. As the Winter Soldier, he'd merely had earpieces and radios on the rare missions that he worked with other HYDRA strike agents…and quite obviously he'd never had a device like this back in the olden days. Steve had gotten him this cell phone—the newest prototype from Stark Industries (Stark had rang when he learned that Steve was going out to buy an iPhone for Bucky and threatened that under no circumstances was Steve to ever go over to the enemy's side and buy an Apple phone over a Stark phone, otherwise he'd murder both of them in their beds)—to keep in touch but Bucky hated it. He had learned how to navigate it perfectly well, he wasn't an imbecile, but he still didn't like using it. It felt like an unnecessary waste of time. All phones really needed were a keypad and Talk and End buttons. The rest was modern garbage. He grabbed the phone and looked at the screen. An unknown number. He was ignoring it.

He had to admit, however—the phone was useful for using the Internet on the go to look up things that confused him. He was more in touch with the modern world than Steve was, in certain ways, and yet sometimes the smallest of things bewildered him, such as how banksworked these days (not that he had any credit at all).

He was just about to peruse the enormous box of books that Ari had brought him—she'd collected them from all over, every book that she thought he should read and she was forever adding to the pile (she'd even gotten recommendations from Sam, Steve, and Natasha; Natasha had suggested The Little Engine that Could and Bucky had resisted the urge to smack the woman. Ari had also tried to get Fury to recommend a book but Fury had quelled her with one scornful arched eyebrow and she had hurried from the room with burning pink cheeks)—when his phone rang again. He looked at the display. It was the same number. He debated for a moment whether it was safe to pick up—but he knew that SHIELD monitored all of his calls. If something strange happened, it could easily be traced. He pressed the Answer symbol and held the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he asked in a low voice.

"Bucky!" yelled Steve, sounding breathless. "Bucky—damn—wait just a moment—"

"Steve!" Bucky leaped to his feet, panic overtaking him. "Are you in trouble? What's wrong with your voice?"

"Bucky—I'm so sorry—" came Steve's voice again, oddly breathless and a bit short.

"Steve, talk to me!" Bucky ordered, tension knotting in his shoulders. "Now!"

"I'm okay, Bucky—sorry," said Steve, sounding a bit more normal now. "I was borrowing someone's phone to call you—and then someone's dogs got tangled around my legs and I fell over—"

Bucky pressed his cybernetic palm to his eyes. Seriously? Sometimes he wondered how Steve was still alive.

"—and then I had to apologize," said Steve, "but what I was calling for was to tell you to come over for dinner."

"Okay," Bucky said slowly, frowning in confusion. "Why the urgency?"

"Just come," Steve said and his voice sounded a bit nervous. "Okay? Oh, and don't dress terribly."

"Fine," said Bucky, wondering if he should take offense to the fact that Steve had just basically told him he dressed terribly (even though he kind of did). Steve didn't sound like he was in danger and Bucky had nothing else to do anyway, so dinner at Steve's house it was. He hung up, still feeling a bit confused, because Steve wasn't actually the best of cooks so eating food together wasn't an activity they usually did—but obviously Steve needed Bucky tonight, so Bucky meant to be a good best friend and go. He wasn't in the position to say no. He felt that he had a lot to make up to Steve, even though Steve had insisted time and time again that Bucky had absolutely nothing to make up to him and that he was just glad that Bucky was alive and well. Then again, Steve was just straightforward good that way.

Bucky hoped one day he'd be able to be the same—but he had his doubts. Even back in the 1930s, he'd been willing to do the dirty deeds that Steve Rogers would never contemplate doing. Sometimes Bucky wondered if darkness had been forced upon him…or if HYDRA had just nudged the darkness that was already in him and helped it take root and bloom. He remembered Fury's parting words earlier this morning and a shiver ran down his spine despite himself. He suddenly had the feeling that the coming days would allow him to answer his question and he wasn't sure if the answer was going to be something he ever wanted to hear.