A/N: So I do plan to continue this but updates will likely be rare for a while as I need to get time to write. My apologies.

Also, kind of figure I want this to be a little light and fluffy compared to some of the darker recovery fics if you didn't notice. Thank you so much for the support in favouriting and following. If you are enjoying it so far I do suggest following just so you don't miss any updates since they may be at any moment - sorry!

- Emma

Getting James to open up about himself was an experience akin to pulling teeth. Not that I have or ever would partake in such a chore but I imagine the process to be similar. Well, not physically. But still.

It took an hour of silence for the guy to actually start talking and even then he only said as little as he could get away with. We told him everything that we already knew about The Winter Soldier and he filled in a couple of blanks but majorly refused to talk about it all much. In fact, when mom brought up the people that The Winter Soldier had supposedly killed, James almost bolted. His eyes flickered side to side quickly and I could feel the air around him grow thick with his unease right before he stood and started for the door.

He had only stopped when mom had slipped in front of him and put both hands out in front of her in a placating gesture.

"Look, we just want to help you. We don't care who Hydra killed or what they wanted. I shouldn't have asked. Okay? I get that. But if you are going to stay here with us I wanted to cover as many bases as possible, lay all of our cards on the table so that all of us are at ease as much as we can be. I don't think you're going to try to kill us in our sleep and I'm certain that Zara isn't worried about that either." Mom lowered her hands as James seemed to relax marginally.

"You can have a clean slate here if you want; we're pretty open people. We won't hold anything you may or may not have done in the past against you. That's done. It's over," I added.

Mom smiled at me and returned her attention to James who was looking down at the floor, various emotions swirling around him.

"That said," she began in a more forceful tone. I raised an eyebrow questioningly as I felt her resolve harden. She waited until he met her eyes before continuing, "You will be held accountable for the choices that you make while here. If you choose to hurt us, if you choose to break something, if you even think about choosing to drink milk straight from the carton then we will have serious problems."

I grinned at James' confusion and leaned in. "It's a real pet-peeve of hers. Just don't do it."

Mom shook her head in exasperation and I turned my grin on her.

A few hours later and she had chased us both off to bed, stating that James probably needed a good night's sleep in a real bed while she knew I'd be up for another few hours online and she herself was exhausted. She'd called into work for a few days off but I assumed (correctly, might I add) that she would probably still be awake at 7am the next morning.

. . .

Personally, my Saturday morning began at far too early and far too abruptly with a 7:22 am wake-up alarm consisting of the most potent sense of fear I'd ever picked up on. I was out of my bed and sprinting down the hall almost instantly when I recognized the emotion and source, heart pounding in tune with my bare feet on the carpeted staircase as I heard my mom shouting out James' name and my breath caught as I slid to a stop outside the open living room door.

My mom was the first thing I saw. On the floor beside an overturned oak coffee table, leaning back on her hands with her knees folded under herself as she pushed herself up into a crouched position. I was kneeling beside her immediately. One glance revealed she wasn't hurt in any way, just shocked. The fear was emanating from James. Mom was calling out to him quietly and talking nonsense that fell on deaf ears.

Despite her attempts, I wouldn't let mom pull me backward as I dodged her hands and proceeded to tip-toe towards the figure stood rocking against the wall in the corner by the fireplace. I approached him slowly, with my hands out in front of me, palms up.

I shook mom's hand off my shoulder and sent a surge of calm in her direction, feeling her reluctant acceptance reflecting back as I continued to approach James.

"James?" No answer. His hands were clasped over his ears and he was muttering something under his breath as he continued to rock back into the wall, almost hitting his head on the wall. "Come on, Bucky, you're starting to scare us."

No answer again. I sighed and glanced around quickly, looking for some kind of inspiration – some way to help like my instincts were screaming at me to - before falling back on a lesson an old teacher once taught me.

Sometimes, there is nothing that you can do.

"James? Bucky? I know you're scared, okay? I know that but I promise you that nothing bad is going to happen. Right, mom?"

I looked back and saw her nod from where she stood behind me. "Of course."

"See?" I smiled at him, even though his eyes were closed tightly. I sent a small surge of my determination and calm towards him.

He relaxed minutely against the wall. His slow rocking ceased.

"We're going to stay here with you if that's okay. If you want us to. Do you want us to?" He didn't respond. I glanced at my mom. She nodded. "Right. Well, we're going to stay and if you want us to leave the room you can tell us and we will. But for now, we'll stay. We can talk later."

I stepped back and wrapped myself in my mom's waiting arms, knowing that her eyes rested sorrowfully on the frightened man in the corner of our living room just as mine did. James seemed to be calming gradually on his own so I didn't want to break the spell that had descended on the room with words. I sent a surge of confusion to mom and the regretful response from her was almost palpable even in the midst of our guest's ever-burning fear.

I wrapped my arms around her tighter and hid my face in her shoulder, sending assurance and no judgment her way before blocking out my connection to both of them and closing my eyes. I was tired.

Being an empath is tough sometimes.

. . .

I woke up on the couch over an hour later with the beige throw blanket draped over me. The coffee table had been righted and sat proudly in the center of the room again, though the ornament that usually sat on top was missing.

The smell of coffee and pancakes fully awoke me from my drowsy state as I fumbled to pull the throw off me and stumbled into the kitchen. James was at 'his' spot – where he sat the night previously - at the kitchen island while mom was just turning towards me with a steaming purple mug filled with coffee in each hand.

Just as I hummed in pleasure and reached out for the closest one she ducked out of my reach and moved around the island to hand one to James.

"Mother!"

She didn't even look up at me but spoke with an innocent tone and a smirk on her face as she took a seat and opened up her newspaper. "Yes, darling Zara?"

"Coffee!"

"Yes. James and I are drinking coffee. Would you like some?"

I blatantly ignored James' amused observation of our interaction as I nodded vigorously in response. Mom finally looked up at me and took a sip from her own mug.

"Make your own then. We had pancakes, yours are under the heat."

I placed a hand over my heart and gave a dramatic sigh. "And here I was beginning to think you didn't love me." I took my pancakes out from the heated oven and switched it off. I left them on the island and began preparing my coffee. When I finally sat down, feeling entirely comfortable in my fluffy pajamas while sitting across from my professional-looking mother and the ex-assassin dressed in one of uncle Damien's shirts that was about two sizes too small on him.

James slid a bottle of syrup across the island without a word and I caught it with thanks just as he took his first sip of the coffee. I'll give him props for valiantly swallowing the brown liquid anyway but the look on his face alone told me James did not enjoy doing so. Immediately afterward he spat something in another language under his breath. I couldn't prevent the laugh that bubbled up as I got up and grabbed a bag of sugar and a teaspoon.

"Add some of this, make it sweet if it's too bitter for ya."

I saw mom trying to hide her own amused smile as he chucked 3 loaded spoonfuls into the drink, stirred, and tasted. We watched him contemplate the flavor for a moment before he pushed the rest of the sugar away.

Mom continued reading her paper, I ate my pancakes and James sipped his coffee while appearing to be deep in thought. After a few minutes, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes got distant and the vibes he was giving off began to be clouded by discontent.

"So, was that Russian?" Mom asked casually.

James paused for a moment, mug halfway to the island counter before replying slowly. "Yes, Russian."

"You fluent?"

James nodded.

"You ever been to Russia?"

James stalled again but this time I was the one to reply to her.

"It'd be a bit weird if he knew the language and hadn't been, wouldn't it."

"Zara,"

"Yes?"

"I speak French."

"Uh huh."

"Have I ever been to France?"

"I don't ask questions about what you did in your youth, mother."

"Zara."

I smiled innocently at her before shrugging. "Your point has been made. Sorry."

"I've been," James spoke.

"To France?" I questioned curiously.

"Russia," he answered with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh." I looked down at my now empty plate, sticky with syrup. "Well don't I feel dumb this morning."

Mom laughed airily while James huffed a breath I was willing to accept as a laugh.

"What are your plans for the day sweetheart?"

I shrugged. "Got the afternoon shift at Mack's but it starts at 2 pm so Probably just some homework. Why?"

"Oh, I was just thinking we should go shopping, get James some clothes. Maybe stop in at that new boutique in town."

James looked mildly concerned at the prospect but my brain kicked in at the word 'shopping'.

"Yes! Okay, it's like, 9 am now. Shall we leave at ten? Then we'll have plenty of time to shop and I need to get dressed and a shower and James, please also shower. You smell like a sewer." The indignant look received in return was well-worth the potential angering of a dangerous ex-assassin. The sharp 'Zara!' from mother was not.

"No offense," I added as I ran from the room.

"Zara!"

"What?"

"Dishes!"

I sighed. "So close."

. . .

"It'll be fine."

"Zara, no."

"I know what I'm doing, Mom. Relax."

"You are not going."

I groaned in annoyance and threw my head back to glare at the ceiling for a second. James had decided to heed my advice and take a shower just after me but while I was getting ready he and my mom had gotten to talking. I'm assuming the conversation was rather one-sided based on how little the man had actually spoken so far. Anyway, he had expressed certain…concerns about being seen in public, especially with other people. Apparently, Hydra is still a very big threat for him.

So, there I was, offering my mother a reasonable compromise that would allow me to fulfil my desire to shop, would assuage the majority of James' concerns, and would allow him to stop wearing Damien's old clothes. Admittedly it was funny to see him squeezed into that shirt but it just wasn't practical.

Yet, mom – for some reason – was being stubborn and unreasonable. Probably where I got it from. I know she wasn't afraid of being alone with James because she wasn't even really afraid of me being alone with James, just too cautious for her own good sometimes.

"You don't think it would be at all suspicious that a 17-year-old girl would be buying a bunch of male clothing?"

Good point. However…

"Male clothes are comfortable, besides, it's uncle Damien's birthday in two weeks so if anyone asks I'll say it's his birthday present."

"And what about the people who don't ask, hmm?"

"You heard James, he threw his Hydra tail days ago it's highly unli-"

"He thinks he threw his Hydra tail!"

"When did you become paranoid?"

"When you convinced me to let an assassin stay in our house!"

The kitchen felt incredibly quiet as our shouting ended abruptly. James' shower must have ended during our conversation at some point but he remained upstairs, his presence acknowledged in the back of my mind almost always now.

"Ex," I said softly, watching as mom's eyes softened slightly and the tension in her shoulders melted away. "Ex-assassin. You heard him last night, he doesn't do that anymore."

"Oh, sweetie, I know." Mom placed her hands on my upper arms and met my eyes. "I know, I didn't mean it like that it's just…it's my job as a mother to protect you and that just became a whole lot harder in my eyes."

"Mom, you know he wouldn't hurt us. I know you do, from the moment you saw him in the kitchen you knew that, just like I did."

"Of course I know that sweetie, it isn't James that I'm worried about."

I rocked forward slightly to wrap her up in a hug. "Hey mom? We met James yesterday. Found him in our kitchen having broken the back door and probably stolen some food yet now we've basically adopted him like you won't let me adopt Sergio s-"

"That damned cat…" she grumbled. I grinned.

"So I gotta ask: are we, like, crazy or just super nice?"

Mom smiled as she backed out of our hug. "Zara, I have never met a kinder soul than you. Now don't go overboard with the shopping trip and stay safe."

"Cool. Can I take the car?"

"You passed your test less than a month ago. No, you cannot take the car."

"Ugh. Fine."