Four hours ago, the technicians held up a syringe and said they had fixed it so the asset wouldn't need the electricity to function anymore. They said the injections could do the same thing and his body would recover so much faster. The asset couldn't remember the technicians ever explaining his maintenance to him before, but he couldn't recall their faces looking so pleased before either. They were very proud of the chemicals they put in him.

They don't look proud now, bodies broken and bloody on the floor.

They probably wouldn't be proud even if they were breathing; the injections didn't work.

Four hours ago his mind was a snowfall with a few blades of grass reaching through. Some of the snow has thawed now. He can't see the whole landscape, but there are flowers. The flowers are words and pictures and the asset understands that he is meant to wait.

He waits for a long time. He waits so long he is starting to think he's misunderstood the flowers. While he is trying to read them again, the door opens, but he is concentrating so hard he doesn't look up.

"What are you doing?" someone asks. His voice is soft, careful. The voice isn't familiar but the softness feels like home.

"Waiting," says the asset.

"What are you waiting for?" asks the someone.

"My friend." The word is strange on his tongue but the asset finds he likes the taste. "He'll find me. He always does. He's going to take me home and then I won't be a weapon anymore. I'll be like before."

"What were you before?" the someone asks.

The asset doesn't know. That's still under the snow.

"Where is your home?" the someone asks.

The asset says, "I can't remember."

"It sounds like you can't remember a lot of things," the someone says. There are footsteps and then the someone is sitting down beside him. He doesn't turn his head, busy digging through the snow in his mind. "So I'm surprised," the someone continues, voice choked, "that you remembered me."

The asset looks up and the face before him is young, too young for all the years he thinks are under the ice. It isn't quite like the pictures in his mind, the face, but there's still snow on some of the flowers. And that smile, the smile feels right.

"Steve," says the asset, and he remembers that the motion his arms make around Steve is called a hug. Steve hugs back and laughs in his ear and it's like no time has passed at all.

"Alexander," Steve says. "My name's Alexander."

The asset begins to pull away but the hands draw him back. "Alexander?" It feels foreign. But so did "friend."

"It's all right, Bucky," Alexander says. "They took so much from you, of course they'd take my name. But I can bring it back, if you want. I can give you everything back."

"Yes," Bucky says, "please. Alexander."

Alexander leads him to the chair and Bucky does not fear the hurt because his friend is with him.

Three months ago, the helicarriers fell into the Potomac.

Three months ago, the snow in the asset's mind began to melt away. The world doesn't match the images in his mind now: where he remembers flowers, there are brambles and dead branches. But it doesn't matter. The asset isn't alone anymore.

"I was wrong last time," the asset says.

His friend looks surprised as though he'd expected the asset to run. And the asset had run from him. He'd run for weeks before the snow thawed enough that he remembered having a friend.

"Bucky," his friend says. His face is not just like in the memories, far too young for all the years that have passed, and he ought to be dead. But his smile is right and so is his shield and when Bucky hears his voice it feels like home.

"I got it wrong the last time," Bucky says. He had waited for his friend once before; there had been bodies on the floor and arms around him and then the return of the pain and darkness. But last time Bucky had remembered wrong. He knows better now and this time, everything has to be all right.

"Bucky," his friend says, and he is hugging Bucky tight against him.

"Alexander."

Alexander goes stiff. "What?"

Bucky doesn't hear him; this time he got the name right and now Alexander will not be disappointed and will not have to leave him behind in the chair. "Alexander," says Bucky, and the word feels beautiful on his lips and he is glowing.

Alexander must be overcome with relief as well; he is shaking, his shield clatters to the ground, and he draws Bucky so close to him. "No, that's—he's—I'm not—it's all right," Alexander whispers, voice as choked as it was all those years ago. "It's all right, Bucky, I'll fix everything, it'll be all right."

"Yes," Bucky says, smiling, clinging just as tightly back. "Please. Alexander."

A/N: This story was partially inspired by the following Tumblr post by sabacc:

but can you imagine the young alexander pierce having a heart to heart with the winter soldier (◡‿◡✿)

asking him why he is restless, what he's holding on for (◡‿◡✿)

listening the winter soldier splutter out that there's someone coming for him, a friend, that he just has to last long enough till the friend comes (◡‿◡✿)

asking the winter soldier to tell him about the friend and watching with deep concern written on his face as the man strains his every nerve to try and piece together the odd bits of memories about the friend (◡‿◡✿)

asking the winter soldier with a broken expression whether he has forgotten him completely (◡‿◡✿)

telling him that he's the friend and he has come and that he's so very thankful for his loyalty (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

alexander pierce (ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿

The story title is a line from the film Closer.