A/N: My brain would not let this idea go, so here, have this canon divergent fix-it fic.

Warnings for: AU after Bucky's "death" in CA:TFA, some language throughout, canon typical violence (including the endangerment of children), canon compliant brainwashing/torture/manipulation (nothing explicit), PTSD, angst with a side of optimism.

Title comes from "Gun" by Chvrches.

"Oh, blast it to hell," Peggy mutters under her breath, forcing all her energy into vigorously scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot on the soapy plate in her hands. Washing dishes has always been among her least favorite household chores (truthfully, she's never found any of them to be anything more than necessary evils, but she has a mighty distaste for this task in particular.) However, she and Steve have a tradition in their household - Steve does most of the cooking (which is fortunate given that Peggy lacks quite a bit of natural talent in that area) and Peggy cleans up afterwards. And so, she must bear washing the dishes (although she doesn't have to be cheery about it.)

Through the doorway to the living room, Peggy sees Steve perk up - blast his hearing, too, Peggy thinks affectionately - and give her a curious look. "Everything alright?" he asks.

"Yes, dear," she says, sort of sincerely.

Steve grins, and replies, "Good, because you're interrupting story time."

"Yeah," Christine says, her blonde head coming into view as she leans around her father to look at Peggy. She presses her tiny finger to her lips and makes a shushing sound.

"Oh, terribly sorry," Peggy says, smiling. She watches for a moment longer as Steve goes back to reading, his voice animated and dynamic as if he's doing anything other than reading Dick and Jane to his daughter for the umpteenth time. Every now and then, Christine will chime in, growing more and more excited with each word she recognizes. Jay does little but drool on Steve's shirt and babble; at ten months old, he has no interest in Dick or in Jane, but Steve's voice and the pictures entertain him well enough.

Peggy finishes with the dishes about five minutes later. She's wiping down the damp counter when she notices something - the vague, uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Anyone else would have brushed it off, but Peggy has lived through a war. She lives a life where being discreet can make or break you, where one wrong move or slip of the tongue can blow an entire operation. Her entire job centers around paying attention to what the hell is going on around her, so of course she notices.

She looks up as calmly as she can, still wiping the counter with a nice, even back-and-forth motion. To the average observer, she looks like a normal wife and mother, cleaning up the mess left over from dinner. However, she doesn't know if she's dealing with just the average observer, or even if there's actually an observer at all - but still, she keeps looking, her gaze roving every inch of space visible through the kitchen window.

Metal glinting in the light of the sinking sun catches her eye, and her gaze drifts up to the roof of the apartment building across the street. It's too far away for her to make out many details, but she sees a man's broad shoulders and dark head over the brick barrier on top of the building. A second later he's too low to be seen, and Peggy squints, leaning towards the window -

As soon as she realizes she's looking at the barrel of a gun, instincts ingrained in her from years of living under wartime conditions kick in immediately. "Steve," she says, her voice brooking no argument as she slowly eases away from the window, careful to keep this potential gunman from realizing he's been spotted. "Take the children and get down."

Steve is undoubtedly confused, but the combination of her tone, his experiences in the war, and his own good sense have him unquestioningly gathering Jay and Christine to his chest. "What - ?" he begins, but he doesn't get the chance to finish the question, because Peggy steps away from the window only half a second before it shatters. A shard of glass finds itself a home in the flesh of her upper arm, but she'll take that any day over a bullet to the chest. She hits the floor a second later, moving to cover her head as someone opens fire on the house, the sound of machine gun fire and glass shattering sending her mind straight back to the war for a split second.

Peggy watches with her head low to the ground as Steve curls around the children and, thanks to his superhuman agility, rolls up and over the back of the couch as quick as a blink, landing on his back on the floor behind it. He shifts so that his back is to the gunfire, protectively engulfing the children with his much larger frame. Peggy can hear Christine screaming and Jay crying, both of them no doubt terrified out of their minds, but as long as they're crying, they're alive, and Peggy can handle anything that comes with the tears.

It feels like a lifetime before the shooting finally stops. Peggy waits for at least ten seconds after the last round is fired, her arms still protectively covering her head, and then finally she sits upright and looks around at the wreckage of her kitchen. In the other room, Steve is already standing, his expression fierce and deadly calm - he is no longer Steve Rogers, who'd been reading to his children moments earlier, but instead Captain America, ready to catch the enemy. Something about that shift steadies Peggy, and she stands and meets him halfway.

He passes both of the children to her, and she awkwardly juggles them both. Jay clings to her neck with a vise-like strength entirely uncommon for babies his age (courtesy of his father's genes, of course) and Peggy holds the still sobbing Christine on her hip. "Are you alright?" she asks Steve briskly. She appears to be the only one to have been injured, which is incredibly lucky given the circumstances.

He nods sharply, already moving towards the door. His shield is hidden in one of the cabinets - it's rather ridiculous, as storage goes, but it needs to be somewhere out of sight where he can grab it on his way out the door. If Peggy didn't have the children to think about, she'd insist on going with him, but Steve has the best chance of catching the gunman, especially since the bastard already has a head start. In this situation, Peggy's got to stay behind, no matter how much the idea irks her. "Be careful," she tells him, raising her voice to be heard over the kids. She trusts his ability to take care of himself implicitly, but this is an unusual situation - they've never dealt with someone tracking them down like this and making an attempt on their lives, and the ordeal might not even be close to being over with.

"Where did you see him?" Steve asks.

"Across the street, on the roof," Peggy says briskly. "Do try to keep him alive."

Steve is gone without another word, leaving Peggy to hold down the fort in their shot-out mess of an apartment. Their flat takes up the entire floor, so hopefully no civilians have been injured or killed - that makes Peggy's next task considerably easier. Peggy's got to call in the cavalry and get out of here, because there's no way in hell she's sticking around in case the would-be assassin decides to come handle the job in a more personal manner - at least, not with Jay and Christine in her care. If her children were anywhere else but here, she'd gladly sit and wait for the bastard to show up with a cup of tea in one hand and her pistol in the other.

Her first move is to put Christine down - she cries even harder and clings to Peggy's skirt, but Peggy needs a free hand. She fetches her gun quickly and holsters it, grabs her badge from the kitchen counter (where she'd tossed it aside after coming home from work), and then goes to the phone and dials as quickly as the rotary phone will allow. She doesn't even give the person on the other end of the line a chance to do more than address her. "This is Agent Rogers," she says, her tone allowing no interruption whatsoever. "We have a situation. An unidentified shooter has just made an attempt on Captain America's life, my life, and my children's lives." It's safe to say that Steve is probably the target - he's the face of S.H.I.E.L.D, after all, and America's golden boy on top of that - but Peggy outranks everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D save Howard and Colonel Phillips, so it's quite possible she could be the actual target, too. Nevertheless, by opening fire on their home, the gunman has put four people in danger, and that offense calls for an even more speedy response.

Peggy gives the agent on the other end the address and orders him to get field agents on the move immediately. Even if Steve catches and subdues the gunman on his own, which he very well might, someone's going to have to do damage and crowd control. Peggy can already hear footsteps and voices in the hallway outside the apartment - much too loud for an assassin, which means her downstairs neighbors have deemed it safe to come upstairs and look around. Peggy hangs up the phone without another word and gathers Christine in her arms again before she can walk over any broken glass, and then hurries out the front door. She pushes past her neighbors without sparing a response for any of their frantic questions. They follow her downstairs and out of the building, which is rather fortunate because now they're out of harm's way on the off chance that the shooter decides to open fire on the building again.

The first thing she sees when she steps out of the building is chaos - people are milling about in the street, yelling back and forth and making all sorts of fuss; the smartest of the lot are lurking in the alleyways, ready to run for cover if necessary, and Peggy quickly joins them. Steve is nowhere in sight, and neither is the gunman, although Peggy couldn't recognize him if he was standing right in front of her unless he did something to make himself suspicious. She feels altogether rather useless, and focuses on calming her children until finally, she hears the blessed sound of police sirens in the distance.

The noise startles Jay, who'd only just begun to quiet down, and he starts to wail again. "Shh, love, it's alright," Peggy coos automatically, pressing her lips to his dark hair as she peers around the corner and looks up the street. The police are arriving in droves, which is to be expected with an attempted massacre in America's center of government. Peggy is relieved to see sleek black cars pull up only moments after the arrival of the distinctive police cars - her people are here.

Peggy makes her way to the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D car, and is quickly ushered into the backseat by a nervous looking junior agent. The driver raises his eyebrows at her in the rear view mirror, and Peggy says authoritatively, "We're not leaving just yet." Not without Steve, at the very least - and not without dealing with some of this mess.

The agent in the driver's seat heeds to her authority, and then asks, "Is everyone alright? You're bleeding, ma'am."

Peggy had completely forgotten - she glances down at her arm, and is startled to see that her sleeve is stained scarlet with blood. Shock and adrenaline had kept her from hurting, but the reminder of the wound makes her feel dizzy and nauseous. She looks away. "I'll need bandaging. But I'll be alright."

"Mother," Christine says plaintively, her voice hoarse from crying so hard. "Mama, where's Daddy?"

"He's around," Peggy says. She'd rather not bother coming up with a lie to tell her daughter, and telling her the truth - even a simplified version of it - will only upset and confuse her. "He'll be back soon, darling."

Christine sniffles. "I want my daddy," she announces, before burying her face in her hands. That sets Jay off yet again, and for the next several minutes Peggy has to deal with their fresh tears while also handling the larger situation at hand. Fortunately, no agent or police officer dares to comment on the state of her children or question her authority - fortunately for them, of course.

Colonel Phillips shows up a few minutes later, and Peggy can't help but be relieved that the weight of this entire mess no longer rests on her already overburdened shoulders. "Carter," he says, perhaps by way of greeting. She's been Agent Rogers for years now, but Phillips still calls her by her maiden name - perhaps to save himself the trouble of ever having to clarify exactly which Rogers he's yelling at. "Why aren't you already on your way to a secure location?"

Peggy flinches slightly - there's a medic sitting next to her, stitching up her arm, and it hurts like hell. To make matters even more complicated, she's got Jay in the other arm and Christine pressed against her side. "I will be, as soon as Steve -,"

"Present and accounted for," Steve says, appearing quite suddenly and trailing a cloud of what looks like concrete dust. Christine lets out a shriek of 'daddy' and bolts from the car before Peggy can grab her (not that Peggy has a free hand to catch her with) - luckily, Steve is quicker, and lifts Christine into his arms.

Steve kisses both of Christine's tear-stained cheeks, and says, "I'm here. You're alright, sweetheart."

"This is very touching," Phillips says dryly, "but do us all a favor and get in the car, Rogers. You're making it a bit easy for a possible sniper." His tone doesn't leave room for argument, and Steve squeezes into the backseat of the car with Peggy. Once the medic gets out, there's a bit more space for all four of them to fit. Colonel Phillips orders the driver to get them to HQ on the double, and just like that, they're speeding off and leaving their violated home behind.

Everything's a bit calmer at HQ, although the agents who have been left behind to hold down the fort certainly stare when Peggy and Steve come through, bedraggled and clutching one frightened child each. Christine and Jay have never been here before, and while Jay silently observes the environment around them, Christine refuses to let go of Steve's neck and keeps whispering, "Where are we? What's going on? Is somebody gonna get us, Daddy?"

"No, Christie," he tells her, but his voice is just a bit grim. "We're going to be alright."

Howard appears moments after they make it safely to Peggy's office. "Is everybody okay?" is his first question, followed immediately by, "So, where is the son of a bitch?"

Steve gives Howard a disapproving look and glances at Christine, who's been known to go around repeating things she's picked up from her Uncle Howard, and Howard amends, "Sorry. The bastard."

Before Steve can get a chance to protest again, Peggy says, "We're not sure, but we've got agents on it." Steve obviously hadn't been able to apprehend him - he'd quietly told Peggy in the car that the guy was freakishly strong and equipped with some sort of metal arm, and had thrown him through the wall of another apartment building (which explains the concrete dust covering his shoulders and back.) By the time Steve had gotten back on his feet, the assassin had disappeared around the corner, and although Steve had run up and down at least ten blocks, he'd been unable to find the slippery bastard. Hopefully the field agents will have better luck, but with every moment that passes, the chances of catching the gunman tonight dwindle even further.

"Well, it's not like we don't have plenty of resources at our disposal," Howard says, rather cavalierly. "We'll catch him, just you wait. And until he's caught, you all are staying with me. No ifs, ands, or buts."

It's not a perfect arrangement - Howard doesn't exactly lead a life that makes a suitable environment for young children - but it's better than a random safe house. Howard's got top-notch technology at his house, after all, and some of the nation's best security. Plus, his mansion is close enough to the city to make commuting relatively easy - Peggy suspects that she and Steve are going to be spending quite a bit of time on the clock over the next few days.

She turns out to be right on that one. The next few days are nothing but a blur of writing reports, reading reports, answering questions, asking questions - the work seems never-ending. They still haven't caught the gunman after three days, and he's left behind no clues as to where he's gone. The only thing they have to go on is what Steve remembers of his face, which he'd glimpsed briefly when he'd yanked the man's mask off in their brief scuffle. That had been only seconds before he'd been flung through a wall, so even that isn't a foolproof lead. Steve seems incredibly preoccupied with something - probably his failure to apprehend the assassin - but it doesn't interfere with their search to find the would-be killer, and that's what counts. At least, that's what counts to everyone except Peggy.

She can take it no longer when she returns to her office late one night with two fresh cups of coffee to find Steve poring over the composite sketch - he's done little else for the past hour but stare at it. By scouring every dusty record and cold case file, they've finally come up with a name to tentatively match the face - the Winter Soldier. An assassin with no name, and no face until now - and therefore a very, very good assassin. Still, a code name is something to go on, and they need anything they can get. Steve does not seem as happy as he should be about the development.

"What's wrong?" she asks, sitting his mug down in front of him. Steve doesn't need the caffeine to keep going late into the night the way Peggy does, but it's a soothing thing nonetheless. "Is the sketch not right? You're staring holes through it."

"No," he says, rather hollowly. "It's fine."

Peggy eyes him for a moment, and then says, "Oh, bloody hell, Steve. Just sketch him yourself. You're an artist." She'd been rather surprised when Steve had elected to describe the man to a sketch artist rather than do it himself - he'd almost seemed to balk at the idea, and that was quite unlike her husband.

He looks up at her for a second, and something about her calm expression seems to sway him. He reaches for a notepad on her desk and pulls a pen out of the breast pocket of his shirt. She watches as, with a heavy sigh, he begins to sketch.

Watching Steve draw is one of her favorite activities, but in this context, it's a lot less fun and a lot more tense. Nevertheless, Peggy watches over his shoulder, sipping her coffee quietly, as the face begins to take shape. Despite his earlier hesitation, Steve draws quickly, efficiently - as if he's going on much more than the memory of a brief glimpse of a shadowy face.

When he's finished, he lowers the pen and doesn't say anything. He simply waits while Peggy riddles it out.

"Is that . . ." she begins, staring at the face and tilting her head as if the change in angle will tell her something different. "Steve, that's -,"

"Bucky," he says, at the same time she says, "Sergeant Barnes."

There's a beat of silence before Peggy says, "Well, I'd like to think it's not like me to state the obvious but - he's dead."

"I know," Steve says. "Am I losing my mind, Peggy?"

The question is a serious one - he looks up at her with quiet desperation written on every inch of his face, his blue eyes wide with worry and confusion and an old loss. Peggy's heart aches for him, although she's not entirely sure what the answer to his question is. She reaches out with her free hand and cups his cheek. "Is that really who you saw?" she asks softly. "Bucky?"

"I'd know him anywhere," Steve says softly. "I know it's nuts, Peggy, but I've been thinking and - they experimented on him when the 107th was captured. Zola, the HYDRA scientists. Maybe . . . maybe something worked."

Peggy takes some time to mull that over. "Perhaps," she says, hesitantly. She's still half-sure that this can all be chalked up to a trick of the light, an uncanny resemblance . . . but at the same time, she trusts her husband's judgment more than anything. She's conflicted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you saw him fall hundreds of feet, Steve. Even you would have quite a bit of difficulty surviving that."

"I know," Steve says, his voice low. Grim. "Which means someone must have done something - unholy to keep him alive."

Peggy honestly isn't sure what to believe anymore. Barnes is dead; that's what his official file says, and that's what logic and reason dictate. So if Steve's right and Barnes is somehow alive, that means that HYDRA, or a derivative of it, could still be out there, functional and completely invisible - unless the Winter Soldier is working for someone they know absolutely nothing about, which is even worse. But despite the almost unbelievable nature of it all, Steve seems to be growing more and more certain by the moment, his jaw setting and his brow furrowing the way it always does when he's figuring something out. Peggy isn't sure what to say, and before she gets the chance to figure it out, the phone on her desk rings.

She steps away from Steve and puts her mug down quickly before answering the phone. "Rogers," she says briskly.

"Peggy," Howard blurts, the reception crackling so loudly that Peggy has to pull the phone away from her ear to avoid being deafened. "Peggy, he's here."

"What?" she says. "Where exactly is here, Howard?" She can guess who 'he' is, although Howard really ought to work on getting to the bloody point.

"Home," he replies. "I don't know how many men he's got with him, but I'm pretty sure he's killed all of my staff. I'm in the safe room, but - I need help. I'm a sitting duck here, Peggy."

"Alright, I'll have agents heading your way -," Peggy says, all business, but Howard isn't finished.

"I've got Christie with me," he says, his words running together, "but I couldn't get to Jay. I tried, I really did, but the soldier -,"

"Howard," Peggy says, cutting him off sharply. Her heart is thrumming in her chest, and there's a pounding in her ears. "What the hell are you saying?"

Howard takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is a bit steadier than before. His words knock Peggy breathless.

"He's got Jay, Peggy. I'm sorry."

The car ride to Howard's mansion is one of the quietest of Steve's life. Peggy is driving while Steve sits in the backseat, lacing up his boots as quickly as he can in the cramped space. Steve keeps looking at Peggy, hoping she'll speak or even just glance at him, but her gaze is firmly fixed on the road ahead. Steve doesn't blame her, really. He's scared, too.

He's been afraid before battles in the past. After all, fear is only natural; the body's primary goal is to survive, and fear is a function of that. But Steve has always been able to push past fear, even in seemingly impossible situations. That ability fails him now.

He can't get Bucky out of his head. Whether Peggy believes him or not, he knows who the Winter Soldier is. He'd kept it to himself for a few days, unwilling to believe it and not ready to face the thought that he might be going bananas (or worse - that he might be right), but he knows. Their eyes had met, ever so briefly, once Steve had unmasked the assassin - before the Winter Soldier had grabbed him with that cold metal arm and sent him flying. Steve knows those eyes, whether he wants to admit it or not.

He can't stop thinking about those eyes, empty and achingly familiar, staring straight into the big blue eyes of a helpless child, Steve's child -

"Steve?" Peggy says, and Steve starts. "Are you alright?"

Steve realizes he's digging his fingers so tightly into the seat that the fabric is ripping. "Fine," he says automatically, but he's not fine, because he can still hear the echo of Bucky's voice in his head - who the hell is Bucky? - and oh, God, Steve doesn't know if he can do this.

Steve meets Peggy's gaze in the rear view mirror then, and he sees something he's never seen in her eyes before - true, genuine terror. She's holding it together quite nicely, but she can't hide from him worth a damn - not now, at least, not when their baby's life is at stake. Steve's got to be strong for her - for everyone - even if he doesn't feel quite so strong. He knows his fear must be reflected in his own eyes, but nevertheless, he says, "Everything's going to be alright, Peggy."

From the angle he's currently at, Steve can see when Peggy's jaw visibly clenches. "Are you sure?" she asks tightly. "Because I'm not."

He doesn't answer - she can always tell when he's lying. She pauses, her expression hardening, before asking, "Are you ready? To do what's necessary, I mean?"

Doing what's necessary is in his job description, but things are different now. Still, he says, "Yes."

"Good," she says. "Because I don't care if it's Barnes out there or if it's the bloody Queen of England. I'll put a bullet in him myself if I have to."

Steve knows she's speaking as a mother right now, and he understands. As a father, he's terrified and angry and confused and a whole mess of other things. But as an agent, a soldier - he's got to make this work. It's fairly obvious that Bucky - the Winter Soldier, Steve amends, because this isn't his Bucky - has only taken Jay to lure Steve and Peggy into whatever trap awaits them at Howard's mansion. If the baby is still alive, then they can't just send every agent at their disposal pouring in; the resulting melee could all too easily get Jay killed. This fight needs to be small, contained - and there's only one person who can possibly outmatch the Winter Soldier in hand-to-hand combat.

Steve relays as much to Peggy, and she doesn't seem pleased by the idea. "Steve, you can't go in there without back-up," she says, as she makes a turn so sharply that Steve slides across the backseat and bangs into the rear driver's side door. "Sorry," she adds absently.

"I have to, Peggy," he argues, righting himself. "We don't know how close these quarters might be, and I'm not chancing Jay getting hit by a stray bullet." Or a falling body, or any other complication that very well might come up and have fatal results. "Besides, I'll have back-up. You'll be there." They've also got agents hot on their tail, so even if Steve can't subdue the Soldier, surely someone else can try.

"Alright," she says finally. "I'll get Christine and Howard out, as well as any of the staff that are still alive, and deal with any accomplices he might have with him." They both know that there's a high probability that the Winter Soldier isn't alone, unless he's fool enough to break into the home of Howard Stark and kidnap Captain America's son on his own. Steve highly doubts anyone is that dumb, especially not Bucky.

"Okay," Steve says. "Hold the agents until the time is right."

Peggy glances in the rear view mirror again, meeting his eyes evenly. "And how will I know when that is?"

"When everything gets quiet, I guess," Steve says.

They're at Howard's home within the next five minutes, and there's no more time for talking or thinking - only doing. Peggy and Steve relay the instructions to the first agents on the scene, and Steve prepares to go into the house. Peggy's going to give him a bit of a head start so as not to attract the attention of the Winter Soldier immediately. "Steve," she says, before he goes. She's speaking low to avoid being heard by the agents nearby, but his hearing is good enough to catch it.

"Yeah?" he says, pausing to look at her. She holds his gaze, and he doesn't see any more fear - only iron-hard strength, bravery, and determination. He loves everything about Peggy, but her fire is one of the things he loves the most, and he sees it burning in her now.

"Get our boy back," she says quietly, firmly.

"I will," he says. And I'm going to do my best to get the other boy back, too.

Rather than say anything else, he kisses Peggy quickly, in full view of everyone who might be paying attention. It's not something he'd do ordinarily, as they're both rather private people, but if he's going to walk into that house and face down his best friend in the whole world, he needs to share some of Peggy's fire. "Good luck," she whispers, once their lips part.

"You, too," he says, and then he slips away, across Howard's perfectly manicured lawn and into the darkened house.

Steve has no idea where the Winter Soldier might be lurking, and although now would be a really convenient time for Jay to start crying, no such thing is forthcoming. Therefore, Steve has to do the old-fashioned thing, and look. He tries every room on the first floor until he reaches Howard's parlor, and finds the ornately carved mahogany door locked. That's all he needs to brace himself and ram his shoulder into the door, knocking the hinges loose so that he can step inside. It's not the discreet entry he'd hoped for, but he gets the feeling that the Winter Soldier already knows he's coming anyway.

Steve glances around the room warily, but to his surprise, the Winter Soldier hasn't even bothered to hide in a shadowy corner - he's standing in the center of the room, feet planted, head tipped down slightly and radiating deadly calm.

When Steve steps into the room fully, the Winter Soldier looks up and meets his gaze. He's mask-less, and the sight hits Steve like a freight train. It's Bucky. Bucky, achingly young and familiar - the only thing that separates him from the day he died is the longer hair and the shiny metal arm. His eyes are still as clear and blue as a summer sky, just like Steve remembers - but there's a cold, detached quality in them now. This is not the Bucky Barnes who fell from that train all those years ago - but exactly how lost is he?

Steve can't help but say, "Bucky." It springs out, unbidden, and echoes in the tense silence of the room. "Bucky, where's my son?"

He gets no reply, and frankly, he doesn't expect one. All the rumors he's heard in the past three days about the Winter Soldier say he is a ghost, a phantom in the night that is never heard until it's too late. But Jay is there, in the room, and at the sound of his father's voice he babbles softly, an incessant "da-da, da-da" that Steve has never been more relieved to hear.

Steve guesses that Jay is on the love-seat nearest to Bucky, hidden from Steve's line of sight and far too close to Bucky for comfort. Steve needs to get him away from Bucky - and if that's not possible, then he needs to get Bucky away from him. "Bucky," Steve says, hoping against hope that maybe, maybe Bucky will respond to him, "please, just -,"

The Winter Soldier's hand is lightning quick, and his gun is out and raised in less than a second. Steve barely has time to lift the shield to cover his face before gunfire rings out. Jay wails, and Steve's instinct is to run to him, but Bucky doesn't give him the chance - he practically launches himself across the room, bringing the fight to Steve.

Steve hits him with the shield, but Bucky blocks him with his metal arm, and the resulting clang of metal-on-metal is rattles both of them with the force of it. Bucky fires his handgun again and misses Steve by inches - the sound of the gunshot, so close to his head, starts a ringing in Steve's ears so loud that he can barely think straight. He adapts quickly enough, however, and the brawl continues. Steve gets the gun away from Bucky - it gets kicked away across the slick wood floor and ends up under one of the couches - but Bucky has a knife handy. However, a knife isn't going to do much good against a vibranium shield.

Bucky seems to realize this, because he renews his efforts to get the shield away from Steve. This gives Steve a chance to throw all his weight behind the shield and shove forwards mightily, sending Bucky skidding across the room. "Bucky, stop this!" he shouts. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then die," Bucky says, his voice hoarse but still so familiar. Steve's heard that voice screaming in his nightmares for years. A second later, Bucky's hand whips to his side and he pulls something out of a pocket on his vest - Steve doesn't even get a chance to see what it is, only that it's small and spherical, before Bucky throws it at him. Steve jumps out of the way just in time, and the object - an explosive, as it turns out - hits the wall behind him and goes off with a flash of flame and a boom.

Barely a second later, over the sound of Jay crying and his own panting, Steve hears another explosion somewhere else in the house. Traps, he realizes. There could be bombs all over this place, just waiting to be tripped. Steve's realization gives Bucky the chance to lunge at him again, and this time, Steve isn't quick enough for the Soldier. He slams into the floor, hard, and the shield is knocked from his grasp. They're down to wrestling on the floor, and Steve only just manages to knock the knife from Bucky's human hand before Bucky can plunge it into the side of his neck. "Bucky!" he yells, now that their faces are inches from each other.

The sheer strength of Bucky's metal arm is keeping Steve pinned to the ground, so all Steve can do is try to shake him off - however, he sees the way Bucky's expression slackens with shock, ever so slightly, at that one word. "Bucky," he tries again, and just like that, the Winter Soldier punches him in the face with the full force of that metal arm.

Dazed, Steve continues to jerk and thrash, a bit more weakly than before. "Please," he says. He can't do this, he realizes despairingly, he really can't. Even Captain America cannot fight and kill his best friend. "Stop this. Who are you working for? We can end this. Bucky -,"

"Stop calling me that," Bucky practically snarls, punching Steve again. And again.

"Don't do this," Steve says, trying to roll away and only succeeding in earning himself another punch to the jaw. Steve sees smoke in the air around Bucky's head - the explosive must have set something on fire. "You're my best friend, Bucky."

"You're my mission," the Winter Soldier says, but Bucky is there, in his eyes, and Steve only has to say one more thing before he snaps.

"Then finish it. Just don't hurt my boy."

"You shut up!" Bucky growls, half panicky and half enraged. Bucky looks up jerkily for a split second, and Steve wonders who he's talking to - Steve, who is lying bleeding beneath him, or the baby, who is still squalling at the top of his lungs nearby, or perhaps both of them. Jay, Steve thinks, even as smoke gags him and his consciousness begins to fail after Bucky punches him one more time. I have to save Jay.

"His name is Jay," Steve manages, a last ditch attempt to appeal to whatever is left of Bucky's humanity. He can barely get the next words out through the blood and smoke choking him. "As in . . . James. We named him after you, Buck . . ."

Bucky goes eerily still, but Steve can't do or say anything else before the entire world fades to black.

When Steve comes around, it's by degrees. He waits a moment before opening his eyes, simply relishing the feeling of being able to breathe clean air. All he can really remember seeing is blackness, but he remembers the smoke gagging him. He can recall sounds, too - a woman's voice screaming, "Steve! Steve!" - a baby crying - someone coughing close to Steve's ear. Distantly, so faintly he doesn't know whether it's real or imagined, he thinks he remembers a cool metal hand on the nape of his neck.

Steve shakes off that thought and slowly opens his eyes. He's in a dark hospital room, hooked up to a morphine drip. They must be giving him twice the typical dose - no, probably three times as much - to keep him sort of numb, and even now he still aches. His face feels swollen and hot, and when he reaches up to gently prod at his jaw, he hisses quietly, finding it too tender to touch.

"Careful, darling," Peggy chides from her position in the chair next to his bed.

Steve glances over at her and offers her a weak smile. "Sorry," he says. He can tell he's just woken her up by the sleepy look on her face. Christine is sprawled out in Peggy's lap, sound asleep, her blonde hair fanning across her mother's chest. Steve is relieved to see that his baby girl looks completely fine - her hair could do with a combing, but she's not hurt and she's resting peacefully. Steve glances around the room, looking for Jay, but he's nowhere to be found.

Panic slams into Steve full-force, and he sits up abruptly. "Where's the baby?" he asks, staring at Peggy. "Is he - ?"

"At ease, soldier," she says quietly. "He's okay."

"Where is he?" Steve asks again, with considerably less terror in his voice.

"The children's ward," she says. "They want to observe him, make sure nothing changes overnight. He's got an oxygen mask on but other than that, he's doing well enough. He wouldn't be, if it weren't for your genes, but he's alright now."

He's so incredibly relieved to hear that Jay's going to be alright, but Peggy's last sentence still gives Steve chills. If Steve was a normal man, untouched by any sort of science or serum and unable to pass enhanced healing and resilience on to his children, Jay might be dead right now. Then again, if Steve was a normal man, Jay wouldn't have been put in danger in the first place. Steve shifts towards the edge of his bed. "I want to see him."

"Absolutely not," Peggy says, giving him a look that says she would be physically restraining him right now if it weren't for the sleeping child in her arms. Despite himself, Steve feels a rush of affection for her, his brave, strong girl. "He needs rest, and so do you. I don't like being away from him either, but we'll just have to wait."

"Tomorrow morning, then," Steve says decisively, and Peggy doesn't argue. Instead, her expression softens as she looks at him, seemingly taking stock of his appearance - he surely must look terrible. He feels terrible, and not just physically.

"You scared the hell out of me, Steve," she says, absently stroking Christine's hair with one hand.

"Sorry," he says, unsure of what else he can say to that. Peggy's not easily spooked at all, but he can still remember her screaming - Steve! Steve! - and the barely contained terror in her voice. "I remember - were you the one that found me?"

"Yes," she says. "I came looking for you, and I found you just outside the parlor. When I saw you just lying there, in all that smoke and ash, I - well, I thought the worst."

Steve frowns. "Wait. Outside the parlor?"

Peggy nods, nonplused, and then it slowly dawns on Steve. The hand on his neck, pulling him. The person coughing had to have been a man (the sound had been deep, masculine, and nothing Peggy could have produced) and that meant that it must have been - "Bucky."

Peggy still looks confused, so Steve elaborates, his voice soft with confusion and wonder. "He pulled me out. He must have. I was too far gone to make it out on my own." He saved me. Or, maybe, he spared me.

Understanding dawns on Peggy's face. "He saved the baby, too," she says quietly. "Jay was in your arms when I found you."

Steve's not sure how to feel. Part of him is happy, because surely - this must mean that the Bucky that he knows is still in there somewhere, buried beneath whatever horrors have been committed against him and whatever horrors he's committed in turn. But Steve can't be too happy, because surely Bucky is gone. Peggy would have already told him if they had the Winter Soldier in custody. He's gone, probably back to whatever organization he works for - he's fallen out of Steve's grasp yet again. The second time is somehow even crueler than the first.

He soldiers through that feeling, the old grief and the new pushed aside to be dealt with later, when there's less work to be done. If there's ever any less work to be done. "Did we take anyone alive? How many casualties for us?" he asks, his voice tight and controlled.

"No deaths on our side, except for Howard's butler and security guards," she says, "and two agents are out of the field, possibly for good. One's missing a hand and the other's legs are burned so badly that only time will tell if she can use them efficiently again. They were too close to a bomb." Peggy sounds solemn, the way any commanding officer would. Even after all this time - even after the war, when they sent boys home in boxes so, so often - it's still not easy for any of them to see an agent hurt or killed. It probably won't ever be easy. Peggy continues, "Judging by the amount of bombs that were planted, it seems like Barnes's plan was to kill you himself and then trigger the entire house to go off."

She still hasn't answered his first question, and when Steve raises an eyebrow at her, she sighs and says, "Barnes had ten or so accomplices. Perhaps more, but if so, they escaped. Every one that I laid eyes on had been shot or swallowed a cyanide capsule upon being apprehended." She sounds bitterly disappointed; for Peggy, this mission must feel like a failure in every respect except the rescue of Howard and their children. Surely she's happy about that, but Steve knows Peggy. She's never been satisfied with anything less than success.

"Cyanide capsules, huh. Sounds like HYDRA," Steve says, remembering all too clearly the time he'd been face-to-face with a HYDRA agent while he bit into that convenient little capsule. HYDRA's definitely not the only organization that utilizes poison pills, but in the years since the war, Steve's never heard of a bunch of terrorists and murderers quite so willing to die for their cause.

"It does indeed," Peggy says, rather darkly. In her lap, Christine stirs a bit, but settles back into sleep a second later as Peggy continues stroking her hair. "I suppose we may find out for sure soon enough."

Steve finally settles back down on the cot then. He doesn't like being confined to a bed like this - he never has, not even back in the days when he'd been very accustomed to it - and he's too wired to even contemplate resting, but he's not going anywhere for the moment, so he might as well relax. "This is going to be tricky," Steve says. "Really tricky." After all, how do you even begin to go about finding people who have escaped notice for this long? Who do you look for? The Winter Soldier is the obvious choice, but it's pretty apparent that he's nearly impossible to catch. Steve has already failed twice, after all.

"Don't frown so," Peggy says. "You'll get wrinkles."

Steve gives her a look, and Peggy smiles faintly to let him know she's kidding around. "It is going to be hard," she agrees. "But nothing's impossible. The very fact that Barnes is alive has proven that."

"You think we'll find him someday, Peggy?" Steve asks softly.

"Oh, I have no idea," Peggy says. "But we can certainly try."

The Winter Soldier wakes with lips parted, the very beginning of a scream rising in his throat. He quells the sound, closing his mouth and clenching his teeth, swallowing primal terror and fear almost as easily as he might swallow a pill. He has been trained extensively to keep his emotions in check, and even if he is not quite used to so much emotion, he can - and he will - keep it in check.

While he waits for his heart rate to slow, the Winter Soldier assesses the condition of the room around him. Everything is as he'd left it hours before, when he'd forced himself to rest; the hotel room is spotlessly clean, immaculate, everything in the standard place. The only thing visible that didn't come with this room is the stack of library books and newspapers on top of the small chest-of-drawers, and even that is neat and orderly. The titles of the books are visible from his reclining position on the bed - Captain America, the Living Legend. Modern-day Biochemical Engineering. Larger than Life Heroes: Captain America and the Howling Commandos.

The Winter Soldier sits up and calmly tilts his neck from side to side until his spine gives a loud crack. He's always tense after he wakes from those dreams. He'd been tense when he fell from the train, tenser still when he landed, and there had been so much pain -

He stops that thought in its tracks, gritting his teeth again and rising from the bed. The sheets are uncommonly mussed; he must have been thrashing about in his sleep. He must not have screamed, though, because if he had, he would not have woken up alone this morning. Americans always feel the need to put their noses into the affairs of others.

It takes him a second or two to remember that technically, he is an American. He is from here, even if he does not remember all of the circumstances. Or, at least, James Buchanan Barnes is from here, and several factors indicate that the Winter Soldier is actually James Buchanan Barnes.

Factors like the books on the dresser, one of which includes two grainy pictures of his face. One is a photo from a government file; the subject of the picture is calmly staring straight into the camera. The other is a still from a bit of wartime footage, and he is laughing. To be more specific, he is standing beside Captain America and they are both laughing. Sgt. Barnes and the Captain, both Brooklyn born and bred, were childhood friends, the caption beneath that picture reads. Captain America was devastated by the death of Barnes.

Another factor that points to the Soldier's hypothesis is that he can recall fragments of Barnes's life which he should not be able to remember. The sight of an old car sometimes triggers thoughts of running through the streets of a large city, dodging automobiles with a small boy at his side. He travels on crowded subways and imagines hearing someone call out - Hey, Bucky! - and his head twitches automatically toward the nonexistent noise. And in his dreams, the memories are real, fully fleshed out. Not just flashbacks and hallucinations. He dreams of stuffing soft, sweet cake into his mouth and hearing the laughter of a young man - Steve, his mind fills in. He dreams of enlisting in the American army. He dreams of falling.

There is only one person who can provide the Soldier with answers about James Barnes, and that is his (former?) target. As the books and newspapers refer to him, he is Captain America. The Winter Soldier's handlers at HYDRA had only referred to him as 'the target'. The files the Winter Soldier had obtained from a S.H.I.E.L.D base in New Jersey two months ago call him Rogers, Steven Grant. The Winter Soldier dreams of Steve. Hero. Best friend. Brother.

And so, the Winter Soldier has finally given the Americans time to catch up with him. By doing so, he has put himself at risk from HYDRA, too, but while the Americans may kill him, HYDRA will not. They will simply put him to sleep, and wake him again when the time comes. Strangely, that fate is slowly beginning to seem worse than death, but the Soldier simply must trust that S.H.I.E.L.D will find him first.

They must be after him by now. It's been almost a week since he allowed himself to be spotted - reports of a strange man with a metal arm wandering around the outskirts of New York City will be heard by S.H.I.E.L.D quickly enough, as they've been searching high and low for him for half a year now. He's listed on the registry of this hotel as B. Buchanan, and only a fool could miss that. From what he's heard - and from what he remembers - Steve Rogers is no fool.

He waits. He stays in his room, alternating between reading and staring out the window. Around mid-day, when all is quiet in the hotel and most of the tourists have left to explore the city, he notices a sleek black car pull into the lot below. It is unmarked, but both of the men who get out are wearing crisp black suits. A dark-haired woman gets out as well, dressed in a feminine variant of their clothing. Business people, perhaps, but they're walking far too quickly and purposefully for that. The time has come.

The Winter Soldier has enough time to prepare. He removes a handgun from the drawer of the bedside table and loads it, but then he holsters it. He intends to be taken alive, and drawing a gun on the first agents who enter will greatly decrease the chances of that. Still, he won't go into this weaponless. It's part of his training and it's hard to shake.

The S.H.I.E.L.D agents take plenty of time. The Winter Soldier continues to wait, standing in the corner of the room nearest the window without being in view of the window. Surely they have snipers trained on this building right now - snipers who have probably been given orders to kill him if he proves dangerous.

When the agents finally come, they do not kick down the door like he expects. In fact, it is only one agent, and he simply unlocks the door and steps inside.

"Well," Steve Rogers finally says, after a long moment of simply staring at him. "You're a hard man to find, Buck. But I guess that was the point, huh?"

Buck. Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. Is that really who he is?

"Yes," he says, finally. He doesn't elaborate.

Captain America steps further into the room, slowly and warily. The door is ever so slightly ajar behind him, and a janitor's set of keys dangle from the knob. The American's shield is out and ready, but he is without a mask. Protected and exposed at the same time.

There is a minute of silence while they both watch each other, each assessing the other's potential moves. The Winter Soldier can see that Rogers is grimacing, but perhaps not from physical discomfort. Still, he doesn't speak. He's making this even more difficult than it must be.

"Are you here to kill me?" the Winter Soldier finally asks. His voice is hardly more than a murmur, but Rogers still flinches.

"No," Rogers says. "No, I'm not. I'm here to talk to you."

"Then talk."

"I . . ." Rogers begins, and breaks off. He tries again. Something, an old feeling, tells the Winter Soldier that Steve doesn't speak without meaning, and he must be collecting his thoughts. "I don't know where to start."

The Winter Soldier just stares. He's waited this long; he can wait a bit longer.

"Six months ago," Rogers finally says, "you tried to kill me and my family. Why?"

"I had orders," the Winter Soldier replies simply.

"From who?"

"HYDRA."

Rogers does not look surprised to hear this - only resigned. The Winter Soldier had been right; Rogers is no fool. "Was I the target? Or was it Peg- my wife?"

"You," the Soldier responds, "but she was meant to die, too." You all were. 'Think of the strife this will cause among their ranks,' the Winter Soldier's handler had told him, before the first mission. 'The death of their most beloved hero - and his wife, an agent herself, and their children. We will kill their leaders one by one, until they are left foundering and ripe for the taking. This is your task.' But he had been thwarted that time thanks to the keen eyes of Rogers's wife.

His wife. She is less familiar than Rogers, but she too awakens memories in the Soldier. She makes him think of red, but not the red of blood which he is so familiar with - red lips, red nails, a red dress and pretty red high-heeled shoes. Dimly, he remembers thinking now that's a good-looking dame.

"Your wife," the Winter Soldier says abruptly, and it's clear that he startles Rogers. "What is her name?"

"Peggy," Steve says slowly. "You - you'd know her as Agent Carter, if you remembered her. Agent Peggy Carter."

The name is familiar, much like the other names he's read in all the books - Colonel Phillips. Dum Dum Dugan. Morita. Falsworth. Dernier. Gabe Jones. All of them awaken things in him which he cannot explain but are somehow there, a part of him, waiting in the back of his mind to be unlocked.

"Do you?" Steve continues. "Do you remember her?"

"Yes." The admission is not intentional - it simply slips out. His control on his emotions is fighting a losing battle.

"So you are in there," Steve says softly. He's lowered his shield, seemingly by accident, and is standing there, open and exposed. Trusting. So very trusting. It had nearly gotten him killed once before.

"Who am I?" the Winter Soldier finally asks. "You know me."

Steve smiles weakly, but the mirth does not make it to his eyes. "I thought I told you already, Bucky," he says. "You're my best friend."

The waters in the recesses of his mind are still murky, but those words illuminate something. He remembers, for one shining, clear moment, being in that film with Steve. Both of them had been smiling and waving for the camera, and someone had cracked a joke that is lost to him now, but they'd laughed. He remembers laughing so hard his stomach hurt, but it hurt in the best possible way.

"I don't remember a lot," the Winter Soldier says slowly. "But I remember some." I remember you.

"I can help you," Rogers says, his expression open and earnest. He steps forward, but the move is not aggressive or threatening. "I can help you remember everything if you'll just let me try. I swear, Bucky, I won't let any harm come to you and I - I just want to help you."

The Winter Soldier mulls that proposition over for a moment. He has no purpose now that he's abandoned HYDRA, but can he really leave all of that behind? That had been - and in some ways it still is - his entire world. Steve cannot wash him clean of that. But something - something deep inside him, past training and HYDRA's values and everything else - is telling him to let Steve help him. This is where you belong, the feeling inside him says. You belong with these people. The Howling Commandos. Agent Carter. Steve. They're all you got.

Rather than reply directly, as he's still trying to keep a grip on the feelings running wild inside him, the Winter Soldier asks a question that's been burning in him for six months now. "The baby," he says, and his voice comes out as a whisper quite by accident. "Is he alive?"

That baby - the namesake of James Buchanan Barnes - has been haunting his dreams, too. How bright-eyed and alert he'd been when the Winter Soldier had calmly and silently attacked the maid standing watch over him. She hadn't even been given the chance to scream before he'd pressed a rag soaked in chloroform to her mouth, and then she'd sunk limply to the floor. The baby had never once cried out during that exchange, but his face had begun to scrunch up threateningly when he'd finally caught sight of the Soldier's masked face. To keep the child quiet, the Winter Soldier had shed the mask. The baby had simply been a tool - a lure, really. And as expected, Steve had been the one to go after him. But then - things changed.

His name is Jay. As in James. We named him after you, Buck.

The baby had gone silent by the time Bucky had gone back into that smoky room to retrieve him, and those big blue eyes of his - Steve's eyes, the Winter Soldier notes, the only way the baby favors him - had been closed. Surely he - how could he possibly have - but no, Steve is nodding. "Yeah," Steve says. "He's fine. Healthy as a horse."

Relief, a foreign sensation, makes the Winter Soldier relax ever so slightly. He notices that Rogers is still steadily coming near, the way one might approach a skittish wild animal. The Soldier's instincts, born of HYDRA's training, tell him to either attack or escape. He does neither. He simply stands there, growing more rigid as Steve moves closer and closer but never making a move of his own.

"Bucky," Steve says, his voice quiet. Gentle. Familiar. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

It's almost as if he doesn't realize what he's doing, but Steve reaches out and touches Bucky's arm very lightly - not his metal arm, the arm that could easily choke Steve to death, but the flesh one. The one that feels everything. The Winter Soldier - Bucky - cannot bring himself to relax under the touch, but he doesn't flinch away from it, and that, perhaps, is a start.