He sat quietly with his eyes down, as he had been trained, but he could not control the random tremors that that rose from his chest and escaped as shudders of voiceless sound.

"We used to come to places like this, Buck, rooftops. We'd pretend they were beaches, when we couldn't go to the real ones. We'd spread out a blanket and just lay in the sun like a couple of turtles. When we wanted to see girls, we'd look over the edge and sometimes we'd see them. It wasn't quite the same, but it was pretty nice. Wow, we sure got some sunburns, though. And it got hot up there."

Steve paused, and seemed to be waiting. Orders to attempt a reply had not been issued, but he risked a nod to show that he was listening.

"Mr. Mazurski's store had a wooden porch with some shade under it," Steve rambled. "Sometimes we went there in the summer, when it was just too ridiculously hot for anywhere else. You joked once that you'd seen a snake, and watched me search all over for it. Well, until I found that real snake skin. I picked it up and threw it at you and you turned white as chalk." He chuckled. "Do you remember that, Bucky?"

He didn't. It felt good to hear Steve talk about it, but none of it came to him at all.

"It's all right if you don't remember. I can remember enough for both of us. Sometimes that's all I can do. I get up in the morning and nothing looks like it should. Nothing tastes right, clothes don't even feel right. People talk, and I don't understand half of what they say, because it's all from movies or shows or things that I haven't seen. Just having a conversation means having to do a load of homework later. But you're here and it's ok if you don't remember, because you did at one point." Steve's voice was steady and calm, but he rubbed the back of his wrist across one eye.

"Buck, you were my friend when I had no one, and stayed my friend when I suddenly had a whole lot of them. I know what they did to you…most of it. Right after the files were leaked, I read as many of them as I could stand before I had to quit and go break stuff. If you only have one percent of yourself left, that would be enough. Less, even, because James Buchanan Barnes was a good man, and I think you still are."

He didn't know whether Steve was right or not about whether he was anyone at all. Those confusing tears that did not come from pain pressed his eyelids. He held them in, because they did not come from punishment, and he didn't want to make the mistake again of letting this kind fall without being given permission.

"Ron told you I wanted to help you. I want that more than anything. I know a place in New York where we can go, where there are people who will understand. Clint and Natasha and Bruce and Tony…well, maybe not Tony so much. I dunno, it depends. I can't make you come with me, and I wouldn't if I could. But I want you to. Let me help you. Please."

He very much wanted to speak, to tell Steve what was churning inside him, but his lips moved, without forming a single sentence. Steve waited with infinite patience, and did not interrupt his efforts. "Scared, Steve," was all he managed to force out. He thumped his closed fist gently over his breastbone three times. Six times. Nine. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, too frustrated and worn to try to communicate further.

"I know. We'll figure it out, though. We always did."

Ron was wringing pink water into a mop bucket when they came back to the kitchen. The old man straightened with an anxious expression, but relaxed quickly. "Two went out, two came back. No one's dead, everyone's in one piece…I was worried there for a while."

"No, we're both fine, as fine as we get."

"Ain't that the truth?" Ron snorted.

"I want to thank you for calling in, Ron. I know it was tough going there for a while."

"I didn't get my face punched in, so there's that. I tell you, though, I about jumped out of my socks when I saw him pop up in that alley. Not too many homeless guys with high-tech metal arms running around out there. I knew something was up." He shrugged. "When I saw the news later, I was sure of it. About dropped my uppers when he turned up on my doorstep and surrendered to me."

Not HYDRA? Ron's admission stunned him. He choked out a cough that might have been an exclamation of surprise, and then pointed at Ron, feeling a slow chill.

Ron laughed. "You made a mistake, but it wasn't the one HYDRA was driving you to make. No, I'm not a HYDRA agent. There's a good reason why you assumed I was, though. They say you're never "ex-SHIELD," just "former SHIELD," and I guess it's true, even a retired old gripe like me. Fury owed me a favor after Colombia, and as soon as I saw you in the alley, I figured it was time to call it in."

Steve said, "It's a good thing you didn't call the police."

"Bah. One look at him, and I knew that would just end up in a bunch of dead cops. No, he had to be brought in, but not by force." The gruff tone dropped from his voice. "Listen to me, Bucky. That back room with the bed is still open to you, any time, if you ever need it. Just knock and I'll let you in. But I don't think you will." He turned to Steve with a wry smile. "Be sure you feed him enough. He sure does like to eat."

"He always did." Steve's smile was bright, like the dawn. "Are you ready to go, Buck?"

He scanned the room, missing something. Then he remembered, clearly and without pain. He went through the swinging door to the area away from the kitchen and followed the hallway back to the bedroom. Boney lay snoozing in the middle of the Korean blanket. The dog raised its head when it saw him, and thumped its tail. He…Bucky…wrapped his arms around the yellow dog and buried his face in the thick neck.

The End

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