Chapter 10

The tools clacked in the tray next to him as she arranged them in the order of use. Or in this case, the invasion of all the tiny little nerves in his arm. He stared straight up at the ceiling, refusing to look anywhere else, as he worked on calming his breath. He tried to forget that there was a strap pressing against his forearm and abdomen and the two straps that crossed over his shins. They were precautionary measures. Vanessa and Marcy had worried that while he was under he may fall into another one of his nightmarish flashbacks and react while still being under. Or worse, wake himself up—both were probable. The dose of anesthesia that they'd need to give him was nauseating. Being slightly superhuman meant inhuman doses of anything. Which was fine with him, just not when it meant he'd be unconscious.

A soft touch on his arm brought his mind out of the welling anxieties. He pulled his gaze from the ceiling and looked into her hazel eyes.

She smiled at him gently. "This is gonna be done before you know it. You won't be under long, I've got nimble fingers and steady hands." She wiggled her fingers at him, a sweet and encouraging smile on her lips.

But he could only muster a slight twitch of his lips and a nod in response. She immediately squeezed his hand, the pressure of it calming to him. There had been a lot between them the past two days since their confessions and shared kiss on the trail and most of it had yet to be resolved. But once the surgery was finished, things would start moving fast. He really had no idea where the two of them stood but he knew he cared for her deeply and that her safety was of utmost importance to him. But right now, he felt completely useless and defenseless, strapped to this chair.

"Does it remind you of when—?'

"Yes." It would always remind him of HYDRA.

She sucked in a breath. "Should we be doing this? I don't know what to do if…"

"Do you still have a lethal dose of that serum you gave me...when we first met?" The memory almost brought a smile to his lips. The woman who had guts to come up behind him and press a gun between his shoulder blades.

But Vanessa was not smiling. "I do. But I don't want to use that on you. I'd rather save it for an actual enemy."

He smirked. "Glad I'm not the enemy anymore. I wouldn't want to mess with you."

Her frown wouldn't budge. "James, this isn't funny. The truth is I haven't performed a surgery like this for awhile and there are so many things that could go wrong."

She looked at him nervously but he kept his expression calm. "Vanessa, I was sent here because you were the next best thing for me. Clint vouched for your work and your own files speak volumes. If anyone is going to do this, it's you—there is no one else."

She bit her lip, a sure sign that she was caving in. "I can save your arm but I can't save you from this," She let her hand brush gently over his forehead. "I know this setting can stimulate a trigger for your flashbacks. I don't know what you see, but..." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a smooth, flat stone and she placed it into his palm. "I noticed you have a little twitch when you get anxious. Your thumb moves over your fingers, like this?" She demonstrated the circular movement and he recognized it immediately. He used to have a stone that he would brush over to calm himself when he was the Soldier—he only did it when he was completely alone. It had been a technique that had grounded him for a long time. But for her to even notice….he had no words and was feeling a little choked up—much to his dismay. He nodded and closed his fist over the stone.

"Thank you. This will help...a lot."

She offered him a small smile back. "Good."

The garage door swung open and Marcy entered, dressed in a pair of light blue scrubs. She was carrying a small tray of needles—the anesthesia. She raised her eyebrows at him strapped into the chair. He knew what she was thinking; would the straps actually hold? Even he didn't know the answer to that.

"Are we ready to get started?" She looked to Vanessa. Vanessa looked to him.

He sucked in a breath and nodded, squeezing the stone in his palm. "I'm ready."

The last thing he saw before going under was Vanessa counting back from 10, her lips moving but no sound coming through. Everything blurred in his vision but he focused on those hazel eyes, clinging to that vision like it was his last hope. As his eyelids finally drooped shut he repeated to himself, "She'll be there when you wake up, she'll be there when you wake up….."

"I'll be here when you wake up."

His cruel lips turned into a smug smile as he towered over James—no he was Bucky now. Without warning, the Nazi doctor jammed a needle into his bicep and Bucky screamed. The needle pierced into the flesh of his left arm and within moments he passed out whimpering.

This time he was in his own body. He wasn't observing as a third person—if only he could be so lucky. Those flashbacks were more bearable. But now he felt every needle, stitch, cut or bruise and the sweat that dampened his back. He was back in 1943, a captive of the war. Brought to a compound to be experimented on, as HYDRA hoped to create their own version of the Captain America serum. Only, they were a lot more invasive with their techniques.

He woke up in a cold sweat, panting for breath in the unbearably humid room. The air was heavy and sickly—it carried the scent of death and he was sure that some of the others beside him were long dead. He moved his head side to side, anticipating the doctor's promise that he would be there when Bucky woke up. His arms pulled against his restraints in his panic, but they barely budged. They were so tight they were cutting into his wrists and leaving blisters where the skin had been worn away. The only relief in this dark pit was that the doctor was nowhere in sight.

He slowed his breath and tried closing his eyes. His body was so beaten and tired that it begged for sleep but when he closed his eyes, it was only minutes before he'd wake up again, drenched in sweat. It was better to keep your eyes open as long as possible and let them shut when you couldn't keep them open any longer.

But being awake was its own nightmare. At first he'd tried to think of hope, that someone would come to rescue them or better, they'd get themselves out of here. But as he watched his regiment quickly dwindle in numbers, his hope went with them. Their screams and cries for their loved ones haunted him. They were going to die here if someone didn't come soon. It made him wonder why he was still alive—all of the soldiers here had as much grit as he did. And yet he was the only survivor again and again through all of the experiments. A cruel joke—deemed worthy enough to live, but living only to suffer.

"Is anyone alive?"

The voice croaked from somewhere off to his right. He was so exhausted that it hadn't startled him. Often the survivors would mumble to themselves or whisper prayers to God to save them. He decided a conversation would be better than waiting for death in silence.

"I am." He choked back, as a coughing fit rattled his lungs.

His new friend waited until the coughing died down. "What's your name?"

"Bucky Barnes. You?"

"Drew Wallace. Barnes, huh? You're part of the 107th regiment, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm from the 91st…..We were supposed to be backup for you guys, the day you were captured. We came too late and didn't leave fast enough."

"You didn't know what you were walking into. We had no idea either." Bucky thought is was interesting how talkative the young soldier was. They must have not experimented on him much.

"What do you miss the most?"

The question caught him completely off guard. It seemed like thinking about all the things he missed would only be painful and yet his mind yearned to go there, to dream just a little.

"I miss the sun for one thing. I could bake in sunshine until I burned to a crisp—anything would be better than this damp hell-hole. And damn, I could go for a nice cold beer, right about now."

Drew chuckled. "Aw, I miss the bar and those silly girls you could twirl around all night. I miss dancing, and I was a terrible dancer."

Bucky couldn't believe the laugh coming from his lungs. It had been so long since he'd laughed. "If you twirled 'em fast enough, you could kiss them before they had a chance to find their balance."

Drew scoffed. "That actually work?"

Bucky grinned to himself. "You said yourself they were silly girls. I could get away with it most days."

Drew let out a short laugh but the desolation and hopelessness of their situation began to creep back in the form of silence.

"You think we'll ever get out of here?"

Bucky stared into the darkness, taking a deep breath. "If we ever do, I'm buying you a drink and getting you the prettiest girl in the room to dance with."

Drew didn't laugh this time. "I'll take you up on that." He said quietly.

The door to the lab flew open and startled them both—but Bucky made no sound, reacting quickly and pretending to pass out on the table. He knew the lights would be flicked on and if he slowed his breathing just enough, they'd leave him alone...or so he hoped. He forced himself not to twitch as the lights came up.

"This one." He heard the officers make their way to a body and he fought the urge to tense up. But the steps stopped short of him to his right and Bucky went cold—they must have stopped at Drew.

"Patient 94, still breathing—"

"Does he have signs of the rash?"

Bucky's mind raced. 94 patients? How many more had been experimented on and had died in the process? He heard Drew cry out as they rolled him over examining him for signs of "the rash."

"Here, Sir. Spots, on his lower back."

The doctor tutted. "Useless." There was a silence and Bucky didn't dare breath.

Then he heard the sickening crack.

He wanted to bolt up and destroy them all, breaking all of their necks or putting a bullet in each of their heads. He grit his teeth so hard it felt like his jaw bone would crack—just like Drew's skull had. There would be no cold beer in bars as hot as Hades or silly girls to twirl around and snatch kisses from. Only the unworthy deaths of honorable soldiers.

"What about that one? It doesn't look like he's stirred yet. Dead?"

A pause as they looked over to him—he could feel their eyes boring into his side. The doctor's boots clicked on the floor and it seemed like an eternity before they reached him. Suddenly, cold fingers pressed against Bucky's throat and checked for a pulse. A gasp stayed stuck in his windpipe and he didn't swallow it.

"He's alive, " The doctor declared.

"Any rash?"

Fingers roughly prodded his side and back, looking for lumps, but Bucky already knew they would find nothing.

"He's clean—the serum took?" They sounded hopeful.

The doctor chuckled, a low and menacing sound. "The first part took. No reason to get eager yet. When he awakes, send him to the upstairs lab. I want to have a closer look at him."

"Yes, Sir."

"You're dismissed." Their boots clacked off and the doctor's footsteps followed closely behind them. After a moment, waiting to make sure they were gone, he released a shaky breath, angry tears rolling down his cheeks as he mourned for Drew. He balled his fists and bit back an angry howl—he did not want them coming back, he'd kill them if he laid eyes on them.

"Very good, Sergeant Barnes. Use your anger." The heavy German accent made his blood boil. He knew that voice. He'd heard it long ago, but where…?

He furiously pulled against his restraints trying to get a look at the man when the fluorescent light hanging above him flickered on and revealed the toad before him, his tiny frames gleaming with the reflection of light as they rested over his beady eyes.

"You," Bucky growled through gritted teeth.

"Hmm, yes it is me. Dr. Zola. I am surprised you remember me. It was really your friend I was familiar with." The doctor had been present for Steve's transformation and was responsible for delivering information on the serum to HYDRA and probably much more that Bucky didn't know about..

"Oh, I didn't have to meet you to know what you are."

"A traitor, yes, I've heard the insult before. But some would say I am loyal to the higher, and far greater power of the world, HY-"

"And yet you could never get the serum quite right, could you? All of these innocent bodies are proof of that. A higher power that has to copycat it's designs to achieve anything. Hardly any originality in that, don't you think?"

Dr. Zola thin, pasty lips spread into a wide smile. "Your loyalty is navie and pathetic. Stark is a genius but still needs the hands of others to perform his work. It is his own ignorance and self-interest that blocked him from seeing the true operation. He handed each piece of his puzzles to us without a second thought because he believed everyone worshipped him. We do not worship a man but salute to a higher cause and thought. And your Captain cannot overcome that. He may cut off one head, but—"

"—Two more will take its place. I've heard the HYDRA orientation bullshit before, thanks."

"So be it. But I am not concerned with your opinion, only your use. I find it interesting the serum took to your body. How fascinating would it be to have you used against your own friend, Steve Rogers?"

Bucky's stomach knotted. "If the serum somehow miraculously works, that doesn't mean you can control my will."

"Are you so sure about that, Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky didn't actually know what HYDRA was capable of but he wasn't going to die or be used believing they had the upper hand. Luckily, he didn't have to respond to this eyesore because alarms were sounded. Dr. Zola's beady eyes flickered to the door.

"We will have to continue this conversation later. I look forward to seeing the progression of our serum in your veins—and the possibilities it presents in the future. Welcome to HYDRA."

"Kiss my ass," He grumbled under his breath as Zola buzzed himself out of the room. Two soldiers entered upon his exit and smirked at him.

"Time for your transfer," they announced.

"What's the rush?" Bucky eyed them and noticed one of them kept clenching their fist. He was clearly nervous, so Bucky decided to taunt him. "You worried about something? Shouldn't be...I mean you're HYDRA, the greatest power in the world—"

He should have seen the other soldier's hand swiping across, but he noticed too late. The palm connected with his cheek and the sound resounded off the walls. The blow left spots in his vision and his cheek burning. He may have been asking for that one. The one who slapped him, leaned in close, his hot breath washing over Bucky.

"I said, it's time for your transfer. There will be no questions." He adjusted his glove. "And one more thing."

Bucky had to have one more dig at the man. "What might that be, der Schweinehund?"

The soldier's jaw twitched at the insult but he did not respond to Bucky's disappointment. "They've asked us to use a sedative when moving you, which I considered. Until now," He grinned. "I believe we'll try another method."

As the fist came into Bucky's peripheral, he remembered thinking, no matter what they did to him, he'd never lose his will. He'd fight for justice, he'd fight to live and for the lives lost and he'd see Steve again—as friends, not enemies.

The memory morphed then, and it felt like his brain was fast forwarding, only stopping for a few seconds at critical moments. He watched the sped up version of Steve and his regiment attacking the compound and rescuing the soldiers there. Steve found him isolated in a room, barely functional and helped him walk out. He remembered thinking it couldn't be possible, that Steve had actually come, that anyone had come for them at all. Fast forward. The place was up in flames, completely obliterated and he watched, hoping Dr. Zola had been burned to a crisp in the process. But he also mourned for the men that would never get a proper burial, their remains a part of the wreckage and ashes. Steve had stood beside him and while they said nothing, he knew he was thinking the same thing. It wasn't right. But war wasn't right and it certainly wasn't fair.

His memories finally stopped their frantic race forward and they stopped on a moment where he sat by himself next to a campfire, chewing mindlessly on a piece of jerky, his face void of all emotion. He heard the brush being rustled behind him and Steve appeared a moment later, hunkering down next to him.

"I don't know if you want any, but I snuck Duggar's flask away from him. Thought you might need a drink." He held out the flask and Bucky took it gratefully.

"Thanks….you're not wrong."

A silence spanned between them as they watched the fire rise and cackle and Bucky would take a couple swigs from the flask. He knew Steve had questions, but he'd never press. The rest of the boys hollered and yelled behind them, celebrating their win. But Bucky just didn't feel like celebrating quite yet. He knew he needed to talk about what had happened within the compound.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I was scared this time." His chest tightened. " I really thought...that I might…" He swallowed hard, the fear rising up again and seizing his heartbeat.

"That you'd die in that place." Steve finished for him.

"Yeah," he answered quietly.

Steve sucked in a breath and released it. "Well, I wasn't going to let that happen. Truthfully, I've been taking every mission I could in hopes of finding you. I wasn't going to give up, Buck."

The thought was comforting. He couldn't have asked for a more loyal friend than Steve. God, he used to be such a scrawny kid…. He snorted, just thinking about it.

"What's so funny?"

"Since when do you get to do all the saving, huh?"

Steve grinned. "Since now. Now that I can whoop your butt ten times over."

Bucky took another long sip from the flask and chuckled, a relaxed smile beginning to spread across his lips. "You know, I think you're right. I'm getting older and you seem to be getting younger everyday. That damn serum of yours gives you the advantage."

Steve laughed with him. "It doesn't make me invincible, you know. I'll still grow old with you, don't you worry."

"Oh good, I thought I was going to die alone."

They both laughed and then let a comfortable silence fall between them.

'Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I saw Dr. Zola."

Steve stiffened beside him. "What did he say to you?"

Bucky shrugged. "His normal, 'Hail Hydra' bullshit. Then he told me how special I was, that the serum didn't kill me—"

"—the serum?? Bucky what did they do to you?"

He shrugged again. "Not much. Just lots of needles. Earned a couple of black eyes for this mouth of mine…"

"They experimented on you?"

Bucky waved him off. "Steve, they were just messing around, they had no idea what they were doing. Most of their attempts…." Drew's final cry rang through his mind, causing him to pause. "Failed," he finished softly.

"Do you know what they were trying to do?" Steve asked hesitantly.

Bucky shook his head. "I think they were trying to create their own version of you, which is no surprise. But they haven't gotten very far. It's one big guessing game of who will survive and I guess I just got lucky."

He could tell Steve needed a moment to digest all of it. Lucky was an understatement. Some of the men they'd rescued were in bad shape and would need further medical attention as soon as they reached camp. But beside his bruises, Bucky just felt like a tired, beat up version of himself.

"Those sick sons of bitches," Steve muttered to himself.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Careful there—you're the voice of America now, we don't want them knowing you cuss like a sailor."

Steve gave him a small smile, but he looked at him hard. "Bucky, I'm serious. Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine. Just need some rest and some regular meals and I'll be back to my normal self."

Steve nodded. "Okay. I'll trust you on that. But we're getting you checked out as soon as we're back on base."

He put his hands up in surrender. "Fine by me. But if I do that you owe me a night on the town."

"Oh, are we dancing partners now?"

Bucky chuckled. "Hell, no. But you can bring your girl, Peggy Carter."

Steve scratched his stubble sheepishly. "I don't know about that."

"I saw her picture in your compass, you can't lie to me Rogers. If you can plow through and destroy a bunch of Nazi compounds then you can ask a girl out to dance."

"Alright, alright. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't enjoy that. But who are you gonna bring?"

Bucky winked. "Don't worry about it. I'll find her when I get there."

"You always do." Steve paused for a second, a slow smile crossing his lips. Bucky knew what he was thinking, so he beat him to it.

"You think you'll settle down after this war?"

"Stop doing that."

"What? Reading your mind? Steve, I've been doing it since we were kids. You wear every emotion and thought you have."

"So what? You know, it might not be so bad living a quieter life. I miss having a home, a place to come back to."

"You have a place. It's called Brooklyn."

Steve scoffed. "That's not home anymore."

"You're kidding me. You're going to ditch me for suburbia, aren't you?"

"Look, I know you got your siblings and your Mom, but who do I have?"

Bucky looked away, feeling a little guilty for not considering his situation. "Guess we won't be seeing each other much when all of this ends, huh?"

"You know I wouldn't want that."

Bucky leaned back and looked into the night sky, mostly concealed by all of the giant pines growing around them. There were no stars to wish on tonight.

"I don't know Steve. Maybe one day I'll find a life—or a girl—where I'll want to settle but I'm just not there yet. But hey, I'll come visit you in suburbia every once in a while."

Steve held out a hand and they shook on it. Bucky handed him the flask to take a swig from and while he did, Bucky looked over at his friend and just felt a wave of gratitude. Without the guy next to him, he didn't know where he'd be.

"It's good to be back, Steve. It's good to be back."

"James."

His eyelids fluttered but wouldn't open up. He could just make out a bright light which soon became eclipsed by a silhouette.

"James!"

Her voice was more urgent this time. Her voice? Who was she?

"Can you hear me? Come on, James. I need you to wake up."

'I'm okay," He croaked.

"What did he say?"

Another woman? Their voices were so familiar...if he could just see their faces, he knew it would all come rushing back.

He felt a cool hand caress his cheek and he turned into the touch. Her touch was so gentle and her fingers were slender but strong as she held his heavy head in her hands. He forced himself to keep his eyes open long enough to look up at her. Her features came into focus and he watched her stunning hazel eyes flicker over his face anxiously. Her dark hair hung loose and draped over her shoulder. In his dazed state, he felt the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it. But when he tried to move his arm, he felt leather dig into his wrist.

No.

He couldn't still be in the compound. He'd seen Steve save him...the campfire….but why was he still tied down? The panic began to spread and he felt his body coming alive, ready to struggle.

"Woah, it's okay. It's just me, James. Vanessa. Look at me."

He stilled, remembering the hand on his cheek. Vanessa. A flood of memories rushed into his brain all at once and he winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't remember crying out, but he could hear Vanessa sit up from her seat, the chair screeching across the concrete floor. Was something wrong with him? He felt fine but he knew the drugs were numbing his senses.

"Call Steve."

Steve? Steve was here? Then everything had to be okay. As time settled into it's place in his mind, he relaxed and let go of the struggle to stay awake. Before he passed out, the hand on his cheek slid down to squeeze his hand. Vanessa's soothing voice pierced through the fogginess.

"I'll see you on the other side, Barnes"

Waking up the second time took all the willpower he could muster as his eyelids felt like pure iron. This time when they flickered open they were met with a dim darkness. He glanced to his left and saw a faint light peeking through the window blinds—early morning? He looked around the room and didn't recognize it as his own in the garage. But the smell was familiar...he rolled over into his pillow and breathed in deeply, the scent of her shampoo lingering. It was her room all right, but why was he in here?

He groaned inwardly as he tried to sit up, not wanting anyone to come to his aid quite yet. He massaged his right arm with his left hand, the muscles heavy but relaxed from the drugs. He hated the way his body felt after going under. He felt sluggish and groggy and every sound was muffled making him feel exposed and vulnerable. He also felt out of place in her bed and oddly embarrassed. He'd never been in a woman's intimate space before. A bedroom to him had always been a sort of sanctuary, a place to get away from the outside world for a time. This is where Vanessa slept, had her quiet time, dressed...and undressed. A part of him wanted to stay and explore because he was curious, but it wasn't his place too. So he just sat, taking it all in, his hands clasped together in his lap.

His hands.

It felt like lightening had spurred through his spine upon the realization. He lowered his gaze slowly, afraid and excited to see it for the first time. He hadn't even felt a difference—the hand felt like his own. It may have been metal but it felt real. He was gazing upon just the skeleton, as she'd promised. It wasn't a complete arm yet, but he flexed it, watching how smoothly the joints moved and swiveled with his movements. Wires were weaved through the metal pieces, deep red and blue jumping out at him. He smiled, approving of her choices in color. He balled up his fingers and was satisfied with how they curled into a perfectly formed fist. Before, it would have hurt him. He'd squeeze his fist and feel it all the way into his back and he'd hear the sickening groans of the metal grinding against itself. But this vibranium skeleton did not groan or squeak and was as light as a feather. He knew she was keeping it light so that when the plates were placed in, the weight of it would feel balanced and equal to his other arm.

He was amazed. He'd only had the pleasure of watching her work serveral times but he wished he'd been awake to watch her this time. She was everything Clint had promised she'd be. Intelligent, savvy, hardworking. And maybe a little bit more. His heart pounded, recalling the moment he'd awoken from the surgery and had seen her face. His visions of the Nazi compound had slipped away instantly his fear drained when he'd stared up at her. Something about her made him steady—like he had a chance at controlling his fears, his past. She had her own ghosts, but they hadn't stopped her from living a full life. She was still finding purpose in her work and his arm was proof of that.

The door cracked open and James' eyes flew to meet his guest. Slowly the door swung open and the lumbering frame of Steve Rogers entered the room. James stared at him silently, in shock to see his old friend standing before him. Questions swirled in his foggy brain. When had he gotten here? Why was he here? And worse...what had gone wrong?

"Call Steve."

He had remembered Vanessa's voice saying that. Was she in danger? Steve was eyeing him cautiously his body language stiff. He was nervous, that much he could see. James threw the covers back and stood up, hurling his questions at Steve and trying to mask his fear.

"Where is she? What happened?"

Steve blocked his path to the door, his face set in that classic determined look he wore when challenged. "Sit down for a second and I'll explain to you why I'm here. Vanessa is fine. But you shouldn't be exerting yourself too much, yet."

James didn't want to sit down. He wanted to see for his own eyes, that the family was okay. "Steve, let me see them."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed, and James could tell the comment had hurt him. "Why don't you trust me?...Bucky, she called me here because she was worried about you. You haven't stopped talking in your sleep about…." He trailed off.

James swallowed hard. He knew. "...the compound," he finished for him.

Steve nodded. "She was concerned. She's experienced PTSD first hand but wasn't sure how to handle you in case things went south."

James looked at the floor, shame washing over him. She had been in danger, but the danger had been him. That's why Steve was here.

Steve seemed to sense his shift in emotions and sat down on the bed. He watched James expectantly, but was patient. Eventually, James turned and took a seat next to his old friend.

"She did an excellent job on your arm. She took a lot of care in reconstructing it...you can tell."

James said nothing. He knew Steve was trying to distract him, but he didn't have the energy to protest.

"It's a nice spot, they have out here. Real quiet….I miss having spaces like this."

"Where have you been?"

Steve sighed. "Bum-fuck nowhere like you."

They both chuckled at that and James began to feel the tension slip away from his body.

"I remembered the two of us, by the campfire after the rescue."

He watched Steve, knowing he was trying to contain the hope glimmering in his eyes. He knew James's memories were far and between. James continued, "We were dreaming about life after the war. I don't think either of us could have dreamed up this life."

"No, we couldn't." Steve glanced at him, a small smile crossing his lips. "Though you do surprise me a bit. I never imagined you becoming a domesticated man."

James scowled. "What the hell does that mean?

Steve shrugged. "I don't know if it's the Vermont air that does it for you or if it's the people...or if it's her."

He felt his face flush. Could he deny it? The first one he'd asked about had been "her" which Steve could only assume was Vanessa. He expected there to be wiggling eyebrows and a mischievous grin, but Steve was looking at him seriously.

"Is there something there, or am I imagining that?"

James laid back onto the bed, closing his eyes, his hands clasping over his stomach—still a weird feeling, having two sets of fingers to intertwine."I'm not sure there should be something. The only reason you're here is because she was afraid."

"She was concerned for you, not afraid of you, James."

It felt odd hearing Steve call him that. He'd always been "Bucky" or "Barnes," but here in little Dorset, Vermont, he was James, his given name. Even Steve had picked up on that.

"Afraid, concerned...its all the same. I don't need someone worrying about me or being afraid of me. Whatever affection is there will fade once I'm gone."

Steve only nodded but James knew he silently disagreed. James had truthfully felt guilty saying it. He'd promised Vanessa they'd talk after the surgery—there was a lot to discuss with the kiss they'd shared and the fight they'd had before that. Some days there was an intimacy between them that made her feel so familiar to him. But on all those other days, Charlie probably knew more about her than he did. If he'd just held back and hadn't said anything, hadn't kissed her even though everything in him in that moment had wanted to….

"James, I don't need to understand the relationship between you two. It's going to be complicated with lives like ours. But ducking out of here without a word wouldn't be fair to her or any of them. She's done you a huge favor. And as your friend, I'm extremely grateful for her help. You finally have a chance to recover fully and take back what's yours. But Buck—" He paused chuckling to himself, "James, as I'm learning they call you here….I haven't seen your impulsive side in awhile. I know our job for so long has required us to be calculated and focused. But an impulse to do something—to feel something—that can be good too. You back in the day...man, if you had it in your mind, you were doing it."

James smirked and Steve continued. "You had a wild side, believe it or not. And if you can remember, you weren't shy with the ladies. Now, I'm not telling you what to do...but just don't do what I did and leave a girl hanging around for a dance that never came."

Steve's expression was mirthful but his eyes gave away his regret and pain. James was solemn as well, taking in his words and promising himself he would be good to Vanessa. He sat up on the bed and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. He wasn't the consoling type but he wanted Steve to know he'd been heard.

Wanting to lighten the mood, he asked—"So what's your evaluation Captain—am I fit for duty still?"

Steve smirked, playfully pushing James off of him. "Yeah, I think it was a fluke. I really came because I wanted to see your arm."

James snickered. "That makes me feel better. You know I hate your babying."

Steve shook his head. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to contact us every once in awhile with updates—Natasha has been worried about you."

The information amused James. "The Widow is growing soft in her age."

"I'll leave out the part where you imply she's old and pass on the sentiment."

James gave him a small smile. He was beginning to miss the rest of the crew and a part of him longed to go back with Steve. But, there was still unpacking to be done here, and perhaps some healing as well.

"I have to leave today. You gonna be alright?"

"Just get outta here already."

Steve chuckled and stood up from the bed. "Right. No final requests?"

He pondered for a moment before the thought suddenly snapped into his mind.

"Yeah, actually. There's someone I want you to run a background check on…"

After finding a pair of jeans laid out for him, and puzzling about how he'd been asleep in only his underwear, Steve and himself entered into the kitchen to find Vanessa at the kitchen table. A cup of coffee was still steaming in front of her, and little Roman was cradled in her lap, half asleep. His bottom lip was puffing out as it always did when he was fighting sleep, his curls a tangled mess. Vanessa was still in her pajamas, her hair down and frizzy and her face void of makeup. When she smiled at them, it still reached her eyes, despite the dark circles running underneath them. He felt a little guilty knowing her exhaustion was a result of her worry.

"Mornin' boys. Coffee is on the counter."

Steve nodded and made himself busy fixing up his cup. But James couldn't be concerned with coffee just yet. He took a seat next to Vanessa, slowly easing himself into it, not wanting to wake Roman.

She raised a slender brow at him. "So, what do you think?" She jutted her chin at his new arm.

He really looked at it this time, with a clear head. He was still overwhelmed by her amazing work—with so little time and with incredible pressure, she had done it.

"It feels so real," He murmured.

Her eyes shone a little bit and he suspected it was tears but he wondered if it was just emotional exhaustion. But when she placed her hand over his metal one, a couple of them finally spilled over. She smiled through them and sucked in a shaky breath.

"Good. That's how it should be."

He pinned the emotion then—relief. It was done—the most stressful part was done. But it also meant he was that much closer to leaving.

"How long for his recovery?"

They both glanced at Steve who had asked the question and was leaning against the counter, cautiously taking a sip of his hot coffee. Vanessa pulled her hand away from his and cleared her throat.

"A week or two. I don't want to fiddle with putting plates on yet until I'm sure the nerves are responding correctly. It was a lot of work throughout his back." She glanced at him warily and he wondered what she was hiding. But Steve nodded like he understood. He looked between the two of them, scowling.

"Is there something I need to know? I feel fine."

"And you should." Vanessa sighed, stroking Roman's curls mindlessly. "You're on some great painkillers at the moment but once those wear off you'll start to feel what I'm talking about."

She was right, he didn't really feel a thing. His let his hand graze over his left shoulder, applying light pressure as he did—only to instantly regret it when he winced.

"Yeah...that's a little tender."

Vanessa nodded. "Minimal movement this week. We'll do some physical therapy as well, but this is one stage I can't rush. I'm going to wean you off the painkillers in a day or so. It's best to let your body experience the pain and work through it naturally. I can monitor your recovery better and decide if I'll need a second surgery—in case something didn't take the first time."

"There's no rush to have him back."

James eyed Steve, who stared right back at him over the rim of his mug. Fight me on this, I dare you.

James rolled his eyes. If it had been the other way around, there was no way in hell Steve would survive 2-3 weeks of "minimal movement" and physical therapy. But that was a fight for another day.

"I agree with Steve, there's no rush."

That seemed to surprise Vanessa until she squinted at the two of them suspiciously. "Soo...we're really okay with that? No complaints, or concerns?"

"Not yet anyway," He mumbled under his breath. Steve heard him and snorted into his mug but covered it up immediately— "Sorry, wrong tube."

She ignored them and continued on. "Right. Well...are you staying?" She directed the question at Steve, who shook his head.

"I gotta get back today. But if you ever need me, just holler."

Vanessa nodded. Steve put down his mug and popped up from the counter. James also stood up from his chair, jerking his head towards the door.

"I'll walk you out."

As they filed out, Steve gently placed a hand on Vanessa's shoulder.

"Thank you...truly."

She gave him one of those tired, sweet smiles he'd come to know in his quick time here. She didn't say anything back, just squeezed his hand for a moment before he pulled away. The tender moment confused him and made him wonder what had conspired during the time he'd been gone. He realized he was jealous of Steve's ease with her but he knew that wasn't what was going on here. He just had an understanding of her that James did not yet have.

In the driveway was a black Audi, an older model but stick, just how Steve liked it. The two of them stood beside it for a moment, neither of them saying anything. They were bad at goodbyes, always had been.

"You heard the woman. You're gonna need time."

"I know."

"Don't waste it."

He nodded. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you do?"

He sucked in a breath, contemplating James' question. "Honestly, it's pretty unique what you have here. She has grit...and I don't think she's the type that'll shy away from your past. My guess is she has some of her own skeletons. You've always had the option to leave. I guess the question is...what'll make you stay?"

James nodded, just once. He valued Steve's opinion more his own.

Without another word, Steve took his cue and opened up the driver's door and slid into his seat, starting the car up with a roar. James watched him back up and race down the driveway until there was only dust beginning to settle back over the gravel. It was time to go back in.

Vanessa was in the living room, gently bouncing Roman on her hip when he came back in. Their eyes met and she raised a slender finger to her lips, a reminder to be wary of the sleeping child in her arms.

"Did he make it off okay?" She whispered.

He nodded, coming closer. "He'll be fine. How are you?"

She shook her head, laughing quietly. "Dog-tired but Roman wasn't sleeping well last night, so I stayed up with him. Decided it was better to keep him home today."

"Where's Marcy?"

"Returning our supplies...she may have broken some hospital rules."

"She stole—?"

Vanessa cut him off, "—Borrowed. Nothing too important, don't worry. Most of the tools were my own. I just needed the painkillers and the anesthesia."

"You don't borrow those."

"Since when were you on the moral high ground?"

Her eyes sparkled up at him with laughter, despite the tiredness etched into her face. But she reassured him, "Old connections through S.H.I.E.L.D...couldn't have pulled this off otherwise."

He nodded, studying her face again. "You should get some sleep, I can take him."

His offer took her by surprise, as she blinked hard and shook her head. "No, it's okay. You're the one that needs to rest—"

"—Do you still trust me with him?"

She searched his face, the hurt clearly portrayed in her eyes. "I never stopped."

He hadn't meant to say it, but he'd felt it since the moment he'd woken up to find Steve here. He'd made her nervous...nervous enough to involve Steve.

"James, look at me." He slowly did, embarrassed by his comment. "I didn't call him here because I was scared of you. I was scared that I wouldn't be enough. I want to know how to help you, but that requires a trust that I can come through on the other side with you."

It was impossible to think about, bringing her with him into the nightmares. He couldn't see how she'd ever love him if she knew…

"I know we've opened Pandora's box here. But you can still shut it if you want. I'm a big girl, I'll get over it."

"No." That's not how the myth worked or how'd they'd do things. Leaving without trying wasn't an option for them anymore. He reached out and slowly, Vanessa released Roman to him. Her eyes didn't leave his as he tucked Roman into his shoulder, cradling the boy's head into his neck. Roman's soft breath tickled his collarbone and the sweet smell of him washed over James. To finally hold the kid with two hands, to be able to clutch him gently but firmly enough to hold him in place...it felt unreal. But thanks to the woman before him, it was.

"I made a promise to him." He glanced down at Roman and smiled softly. "I won't break promises anymore. To him. To you. I said we'd try this and we will."

Vanessa's eyes were watery again but her smile pushed tears back from falling. "Okay," she whispered. She rested her head on Roman's back and he pulled her closer into an embrace which she didn't resist.

He closed his eyes, their breath mingling with his, their warmth shared. Holding them both there, it should've felt right. And for a couple fleeting moments it did. Until the flashback hit him, sudden and quick.

His veins were coursing with adrenaline as he swiftly brushed through the halls, silence the only thing in his wake. A drop of blood ran down his forehead and dripped over his eye but he ignored it—it wasn't his anyway. He was eager to return to his solitude and to take off the muzzle over his mouth that clung to him in the sweltering heat of the Middle East.

"Wait."

The Winter Soldier stopped abruptly and snapped his head to the right where the voice had croaked from. His eyes searched for a threat but the corridor was littered with bodies, most of them dead from the raid—not his handiwork. But at the end of it, a soldier lay propped against the wall, clutching his abdomen. He could see the wound was fatal, the bullet having pierced something vital with the amount of blood on him and the floor. A clear indicator he was beyond repair—he'd have minutes before his organs failed him. The man looked up at him, the panic settling in behind his eyes and his dark curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat, his breath shaky and fast. All soldiers were afraid of dying, no matter what they'd been trained for. They all wished for quick, painless deaths but this soldier would not be so lucky.

"Please," he begged. Tears ran down his checks unashamedly.

The Soldier unsheathed his knife, carefully stepping over the bodies to reach the estranged man. Perhaps he was begging for a slit to the throat, a quicker death.

"Please," He repeated again. He looked at the knife, shaking his head. "That's not that I want. I need…" He groaned and pressed hard against his wound to stop the pain.

"Spit it out," he growled.

The soldier shakily reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a small silver object. He held it in his bloody hand and offered it up to the Winter Soldier. Curious, he took it, examining it closer. It was a small rabbit, crafted out of pure silver, it's detailing intricate and delicate. The whole thing felt as light as a penny in his palm.

"What is this?"

The man chuckled and the sound sent chills down his spine in this corridor of death. His grip on the knife tightened, wanting to end the sound with a quick swipe to the throat.

"It's for my son," the man whispered. "I wasn't supposed to know….she wanted to wait," he sucked in another sharp breath. "But I had to know." His tears glistened in the dim lighting and the Winter Soldier watched him, completely mesmerized by this soldier's emotion. He didn't move as he watched the soldier's struggle to continue.

"She was right, you know. I thought it was a girl. It kicked like a donkey on fire—I thought it had to be a girl, fierce like her mother. But a boy..." His head rolled back and rested against the wall as he closed his eyes.

"I nicknamed him Thumper from Bambi, you know? Nessa...she got a kick out of that. Decided to decorate his nursery with little bunny rabbits." He laughed again, but this time, the Winter Soldier didn't mind it. He slowly crouched beside the man, watching him intently.

The man opened his eyes and stared right into his, the panic gone and acceptance in its place. "If you're going to kill me, I want to see the face of the man doing it."

The Winter Soldier stared him down for a moment. He didn't care for the emotional speech or for the child this father would never meet. But he could respect this request as a fair one. He didn't beg for his life or cry out to his loved ones. He had accepted death.

He slowly pulled the mask away from his face, watching the soldier's reaction but his face held no surprise or fear. He only nodded, knowing it would be the last face he'd see.

"Thank you."

His fist closed around the little silver rabbit and the soldier's eyes flicked down as he did so.

"I know we aren't on the same side. But if you could just—" he choked on a cough and his eyes began to glaze over as blood dribbled down from the side of his mouth. The Winter Soldier reached out and wiped it away, holding the man's head up as he took his last breaths.

"I'll give it to him."

The man searched his face for the truth and his chest rattled with one last intake of breath. The words had slipped from his mouth carelessly but once spoken, they were a promise. The man never stopped looking at the Winter Soldier, his eyes silently holding him to that promise until his breath released for the final time.

James never realized that in that moment he had also exhaled with the man, that his heart had been moved for the first time since becoming the Soldier. His hand left the man's cheek and he moved to flip over the soldier's armor to see the name embroidered on his chest.

Sergeant Harjo.

He'd forget the man's name. Even when it appeared on his wife's file 7 years later. He'd forget the unborn child and the silver rabbit.

He had forgotten it all until this very moment, with the two of them in his arms. And it shook him to his very core.

Was fate twisted, or was he meant to find them along?