Clint was most of the way through cracking an entire tray of eggs into a giant glass mixing bowl, a large pot of noodles bubbling on the stove when the supersoldiers got to the kitchen. He glanced up when they came in. "Hey."

"Jarvis said you're cooking." Bucky, freshly showered and hair still damp, dragged himself up onto a stool at the island.

"Yeah." Clint cracked another egg. "Spaetzle mit Eier. Coulda made the noodles by hand but there were pre-made so…." He shrugged.

"I love German food." Steve sat next to Bucky.

Bucky rhythmically tapped the fingers of his left hand against the island countertop. He found the rolling pattern of metallic clicking sounds oddly soothing. "Sooo, did you and the Colonel have another fight?" He flinched when he realized what he'd said. Fucking nonfunctional memory. "I mean..." With a sigh, he looked up.

Clint was regarding him with an indulgent half smile. "I know who you mean." He shook his head as he turned back toward the enormous bowl of eggs. "Not this time."

Bucky frowned. "What then?"

Instead of answering, Clint turned the restaurant style electric mixer on, scrambling the eggs with the whisk attachment. Then he started butter melting in two large woks before he drained the noodles. Short minutes later, he had each of the two woks filled with spaetzle and still liquid eggs.

Steve got up and poured a cup of coffee for himself.

"Clint?" Bucky prodded.

The archer exhaled but didn't look up from the two pans he was tending. "Phil didn't do anything."

Steve handed Clint a mug of coffee which he accepted with a muttered, "Thanks."

Bucky went and poured himself a glass of cold orange juice before hovering at Clint's shoulder, watching him salt and lightly pepper the noodle and egg mixture in each pan and then resume stirring. "So, why're you cooking?"

"It's dinner time?"

"But you're stress cooking," Bucky pointed out.

Clint took a breath and held it for a moment before speaking. "This..." He fully released his breath. "This is more about old secrets that I've kept."

Bucky frowned. "But you and the Director have been doing really well. Mockta even said so."

"Yeah, with all this more recent stuff that Mockta made us deal with, and I was feeling really good about it. But then something old leaped up and bit me in the butt."

"I know what you mean." Steve crossed his arms and studied the floor. "Some secrets make you feel poisoned, even if you don't realize it at the time."

Puzzled, Bucky tilted his head and looked askance at Steve. "What kind of poisonous secrets could you possibly have?"

"Trips to the Village. Seeing men."

"You kind of had to keep those secrets, Steve."

"Sometimes it felt like it might kill me to keep not telling you. You were my best friend and I—I loved you. But I wasn't sure you wouldn't beat me down if I said..." The younger blond man trailed off with a shrug.

"Said—" Bucky frowned. "Said you were keeping time with guys instead of dolls?"

Steve nodded.

There was a stretch of silence and Bucky almost jumped when Clint suddenly said, "Would you have?"

"Would who have what?" Bucky said.

"D'you think you'd've beat him up?"

Bucky blinked. "I like to think I wouldn't, but...not sure I know."

"You were a boxer," Steve said.

Steve's voice triggered an image in Bucky's mind of a teenaged Steve with big blue eyes in a too small face. Wide eyed, half in shock from the thought of really hurting Steve, Bucky whirled toward him. "I'da never turned my fists on you like that."

"Not even for my own good?" Steve's words sounded bitter.

Bucky curled his right hand around Steve's arm. "I might've smacked you in the back of your head, tried to scare you, because I'd have wanted to protect you from anyone else turning their fists on you."

"A lot of bad stuff was done in the name of curing inverts, protecting society." Steve clenched his jaw.

Bucky ran his fingers over the tense muscles in Steve's cheek and neck. "You don't even know how beautiful you were, do you? Fierce, and a smartass punk with an overdeveloped sense of justice, but soft and young at the same time."

Steve's gaze was steady as he looked at Bucky. "You turned your fists on me in March."

Reeling, Bucky jerked away. "That was the Winter Solder! That wasn't"—he blinked and glanced back at Steve—"wasn't me."

The two men out of time just looked at each other.

"You're right." Two knobs on the stove made a snapping sound, one after the other, as Clint turned the burners off. "That wasn't you."

Bucky looked at Clint, nodded once, and looked down. "I didn't know who I was, I didn't know who you were, I didn't know I was working for the bad guys—didn't know the difference, just knew what I was told." He took a breath and grabbed Steve by the shoulder. "I wouldn't have beat you up," he said firmly, half to himself.

Steve studied his face a moment, then nodded.

"Food's up," Clint interjected. He went to the fridge and pulled out a big bowl of nectarines he'd sliced earlier. Steve got out dishes.

Halfway through his second bowl of spaetzle, Bucky pushed his food away. He'd only had about one nectarine's worth of slices, too. Steve and Clint both looked at him. He shrugged. "I told you I wasn't all that hungry."

"Okay, pod person," Clint said skeptically.

Jacket off and tie askew, a tired looking Coulson wandered into the kitchen. "That smells great, and it looks like there's enough to feed everyone in the lab."

Clint gave Coulson a little half smile. "Is that where everyone is?"

"Yeah." Coulson sighed. "I'm not really able to help at this stage. They're deep into science and biomedicine."

"So, the labrats need delivery dinner?" Clint asked.

Coulson nodded.

Clint pushed himself off his stool. "Guess I better find that rolly cart."

"That won't be necessary, Agent Barton," Jarvis interrupted coolly.

With a confused frown, Clint glanced up. "What do you mean it won't be necessary?"

"Dum-E can bring dinner to Sir and the others in the workshop when he returns."

All four men exchanged looks and Steve said, "Dum-E?" just as the robot trundled in, a sturdy tray bolted to his arm. On the tray was a single, bright pink sticky note. Clint walked around to grab the note, read it, rolled his eyes, then held it up for the others to read.

In Tony's blocky engineer's scrawl it said: SEND CAFFIENE. AND BARNES.

Bucky groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Do I gotta?"

"It's your arm they're trying to figure out what to do with," Coulson pointed out. He got up and started dishing up food to send back with Dum-E. Steve petted the bot's arm, earning a purr-like whirr from Dum-E's servo's, then went to help Coulson with food while Clint made coffee.

Bucky made a face. "Coffee with spaetzle sounds weird."

Clint shrugged. "I don't see a problem."

"And I doubt Tony cares in any case," Steve said.

Once the coffee was all dealt with, Bucky trudged out into the hall, following Dum-E.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Steve offered.

Bucky waved him off. "Me and the robot got this."

With dinner done, Steve sat at the island and doodled in the sketchbook he kept stashed in the kitchen: cartoon animals in the team's combat suits. He was working on a kitty in Natasha's catsuit when Clint shut the dishwasher and smacked Coulson on the thigh. "We should play cards."

Coulson looked up from the email app on his phone. "Okay."

"Great." Clint went to wash his hands. "Join us, Cap?"

"I think I'll pass, thanks." Steve started outlining the Iron Ferret.

"Suit yourself." Clint dried his hands on a towel, then on his pants, then he dug through the drawers for a deck of cards. "So, what're we gonna play? Not blackjack."

Coulson frowned. "Why not?"

"Your memory's too good, you count cards without even trying, and it gets too competitive and stops being fun."

"You do the same thing," Coulson countered.

"Hence why things get too competitive."

Steve closed his sketchbook around his pencil and got up. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

He went and showered, redressed, then sat on the bed in the pressure chamber room, sketchbook on his lap, doodling Dr. Moose Banner. He was partway through Labra-Thor when Buck's entrance made him look up. "Hey, Buck—you're kinda pale." Steve half stood. "You feeling okay?"

Bucky shrugged him off and shook his head. "So much poking and prodding," he muttered.

"That's gotta be stressful."

Buck nodded, stared at the curved glass wall of the barometric chamber for a second, then climbed in, controller in hand.

Steve sealed the chamber and started the pressurization cycle. "Wanna play something?"

"Wanna sleep," Bucky responded before pulling a pillow halfway over his face.

Steve pressed his lips together, turned out the lights, and climbed into bed himself. His mind churned and he was sure he just wasn't going to be able to sleep. This thing with the tracker in his arm seemed to have thrown Bucky for a loop. Not that he could blame him. Steve flipped over, then he curled up. Then he flopped onto his stomach and tried not to worry about this causing Bucky to regress. Despite his best efforts, the snarling face of the Winter Soldier floated across the back of his eyelids, followed by images of Bucky, fists raised, lashing out at him. Steve shuddered and twisted around a pillow.

He startled awake with his heart racing. Somehow he'd dozed off, or maybe even slept long but restlessly. A snatched memory of a nightmare eluded his attempts to capture it. A low moan broke into his ruminations. Steve sat up. "Buck?"

The medical cot in the chamber rattled as Bucky rolled over. He cleared his throat wheezily and snuffled wetly.

Steve frowned to himself and then got up. He held his hands out as he made his way to the barometric chamber in the dark, the faint glow of the control panel the only illumination in the windowless room. He turned the light on in the pressurized chamber to its lowest setting. "Bucky," he whispered.

"Mmm?" Bucky hummed groggily.

Steve wasn't sure if it was an answer or another moan. "Buck, are you okay?" Steve asked. He made the light in the chamber a little brighter before going over to lean against the cool glass separating him from Bucky.

Beads of sweat were scattered across the other man's temple and dampened his two-toned hair. A pained grimace crossed Bucky's face as he shifted toward Steve. A nightmare—Bucky must have had a nightmare too. Steve flattened his hand against the cool curved surface he was pressed against.

Bucky turned toward the movement and opened his eyes with a groan. He was half cross-eyed as he tried to focus on Steve. "I don't—" Bucky paused to cough. "—feel so good."