"Soul-bonding is very special," his mother had said. "You can only do it once in your life so if you do it, make sure it's with someone special."

"But what if they don't choose me back?" Steve had asked, thinking about his scrawny body and the way girls didn't look at him.

"You would be tied to them forever," his mother said gently. "That's why it's so important you make sure they're the one. Because they don't have to choose you too. And for some people, that's more than enough. To just simply be tied to one person."

"It should be special shouldn't it, like what you and Dad had?"

Sarah smiled tiredly. "Yes. But it doesn't always happen that way, for everyone." She ruffled Steve's hair affectionately. "Just make sure you're prepared, when you choose someone."

Steve laughed. "I will, Ma."

Of course, three days later, Steve made his choice. Considering his history of relationships, he probably should have known it wouldn't be reciprocated.

Steve woke, groaning with a pain that wasn't his. It was always there, a distant ache in his left arm that didn't truly belong to him. He ran his hand across his face, kicking his sweat-soaked sheets aside. The nightmares, again. He never could remember what they were about or even if they were his to begin with. He got up, pulling the sheets off his bed and shoving them into his washer. Outside, the sky was lit with pale lavender, readying itself for dawn. Steve stumbled into the kitchen, turning the coffee pot on before making his way to his bathroom. He showered quickly, washing the sweat from his body and chasing the residual pain away with a quick massage. The pain used to be worse, years ago. He'd actually gone in to see a physical therapist about what he could do to ease the pain, make it into something manageable. More than once, he'd wondered what exactly his bonded had or hadn't done to bring the pain back. It seemed to be happening a lot more recently.

The nightmares were infrequent but they were definitely haunting. He wasn't sure if they were his own or his bonded's. He supposed that they both had equal things in their past to contribute to the fear that would wake Steve from a heavy sleep. He thought it might have been worth it, in another world, with another person. In that world, he would be eased by the nightmares because he would be able to tell that he was relieving his partner from them instead. And in that world, in that place, where he and his lover were so closely connected, it wouldn't be as painful. Because he never knew if he was providing any relief to his bound partner. There was no two way street of communication. It was all Steve receiving and receiving. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he forged the connection between him and James Barnes. But he thought, for one single stupid moment, that if no one ever loved him at all, at least he could save someone else's life. Back then, he'd still been five foot two and barely one hundred pounds sopping wet. He was nineteen and he'd never been on a date with anyone. He thought, that at the very least, he'd be doing some good for someone else. It wasn't like you could blame someone for saving your life. Turns out, you could. And James had made that abundantly clear.

Soul-bonding was done by choice and it could only be done if the people making the bond had good intentions. That's all that was required. Men or women who wanted to control or possess their partner by having a deeper understanding, who professed that they wanted that understanding to help them, but inside had more insidious purposes, found that they not form a lasting soul-bond. There were sex workers who loitered in hospitals, waivers signed, and would willingly sell their soul-bonds to save other people's lives. Provided, that the person being saved had the necessary paperwork signed. When Steve saved James, he had done so with the sole intent of saving James' life and with the hope of maybe having a friendship afterwards. He didn't believe it would be possible for James to love him, but there had been a small spark of that very hope hiding with the rest of it. And it wasn't illegal to soul-bond someone who was dying, or unconscious, provided that person did not verbally reject it.

Steve had heard of claims of soul-bonding being possible between multiple people but most experts refuted it and the claimants always disappeared. According to the claims he had read, the sharing of multiple soul-bonds had been between several people fully in love with each other. They'd talked at length about how they'd spent years dating, trying to forge the bond but to no avail until one day, it just happened between all the people involved. It sounded like something more akin to soulmates because it had been a little involuntary, they had not been able to choose each other despite how badly they tried. Their soul-bonds had just failed. Cases of failed soul-bonds occurred when someone was already married, already bonded or when one of the parties lacked good intentions. That was the only explanation anyone could give when soul-bonds didn't take with the intended person. In the last few years, Steve'd gotten particularly interested in researching and learning what he could about soul-bonds. He knew though, that his bond with James, regardless of how poorly things between them were, was still permanent.

Steve dried off, pulling on clean sweat pants and one of the white fitted t-shirts Peggy loved to tease him about. He grabbed the newspaper and read through the political commentary, drinking his coffee. By the time he'd finished reading, his coffee was done and it was time for him to head to Glenmore Stadium. Steve only lived a couple blocks from it. Peggy was early of course, already stretching and getting ready for their morning run.

"Morning Steve," she greeted, bending over to stretch her calves.

"Morning," he greeted, copying her moves.

He'd met Peggy two years ago during his interview for Stark Industries. She'd been undercover at the time, as one of Stark's assistants. Steve had eventually gotten the job and while it wasn't as artistic as he would have liked, it kept food on the table and his mother's medical bills paid. But Stark's latest interest in developing prosthesis had left them in close proximity more than once, arguing over schematics and design flaws. Steve was an artist, not an engineer and Tony was an engineer, not an artist. It made for some challenging discussions. But Stark wanted all the output he could get and sometimes the recipients wanted more artistic or stylish designs. It was Steve's job to prepare for those demands and to illustrate manuals on how to take care of the prosthetic. Stark's job on the other hand was to take Steve's designs and make them work, which apparently proved to be quite difficult if not impossible at times.

It left him with plenty of time to get to know Peggy though, so it was worth it. Most of the time at least. These days, he and Tony had an arrangement to avoid each other as much as possible. Tony would have J.A.R.V.I.S. email back the designs that weren't working with a layman's explanation of why it didn't work; Steve would correct and make adjustments as needed and email it back. The less face-to-face interaction, the better it was for them. He still missed having Peggy around the office though. She had been a welcome distraction and a great supporter of his designs. It was easy to get discouraged when Stark could easily send Steve's design concepts back eight times in a row. J.A.R.V.I.S. made it easier, a quicker access of double checking for flaws Tony would have to spend hours poring over.

Steve ended up not going out with his friends, Sam and all the other guys, instead holing himself inside his house and spending all his free time working on designs. His work was important, for a good cause, certainly. But he had been close to burning out. The thing was, he just wanted his projects to be perfect. People were depending on him and this was work only he could do. And if he could learn and understand more about the bio-mechanics involved, it would make working with Tony easier. When he wasn't working on his projects, he started trying to learn what he could about the engineering that Tony talked about. And then Peggy started knocking on his door every morning at six o'clock. She made him run for an hour and a half every morning, whether he worked or not. And he hadn't even realized how stressed he had been until one day he wasn't. Also, there was the added benefit of exercise on top of the many medications he was taking. (His medication could only do so much for his physique, the rest was up to him to work out and develop the muscle mass). She never explained why she had started doing it, but he put together the answers himself. He took some time off from the designs and went out with Sam and the guys every weekend. And then, he started looking them over and found that his art block was gone. He hadn't even realized he'd run into one.

"How's work been?" Steve asked.

"The usual," she answered, raising her arms above her head. "Thompson's still determined to keep me as a desk agent." She snorted indelicately. "Sousa's been taking me into the field with him."

"Thompson must love that."

Peggy grinned. "He hasn't even realized it yet."

Steve chuckled. Thompson was her overworked sexist boss who thought Peggy should just be serving coffee and running the fax machine for them. He didn't sound like the smartest guy. "Well so long as you get some field time." Her last boss had seen her for the competent woman she was and sent her into the field, undercover as Stark's assistant.

"How's it been at SI?"

"We've got a new client," Steve admitted. "Another one of Stark's recipients and his family told us that for as much as he hates his prosthetic; he wants something that will serve as a weapon."

"That's different."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Stark's taking the lead on this one. I'm not sure what I can contribute exactly."

"You'll come up with something," Peggy said reassuringly. "You always do."

Steve smiled at her gratefully. Peggy's endless confidence in his abilities was just one of the reasons why he loved her so much. Not for the first time, he wondered how different his life would be if he had left himself with the choice of being bonded to someone else. Someone like Peggy. Peggy was one of the few people who knew the truth about his mark. Back when they'd started hanging out more often outside of work, he'd spent months agonizing over whether to ask her out or not. In the end, she'd asked him out. And he wasn't willing to lie about what he'd done, about his bonded, so when Peggy asked, he had told her. Peggy wanted that life for herself though, to be able to bond with someone and have them bond with her. Steve wished her the best of luck and they'd parted on amicable terms, settling into a friendship he never thought he could have.

Running was easy, at least. He didn't have to think when he was running. Peggy was always up for a challenge but she never complained about Steve's lagging pace. Dr. Erskine's medication was only good for so much -he'd started gaining muscle mass and the worst effects of his asthma were disappearing but it would take time. Dr. Erskine suspected it would take at least two or three more years for his asthma to dissipate completely. Steve couldn't complain about it either; any improvement in his health was welcome, no matter how slow or frustrating to attain. At first, he'd kept up with the rigorous demands of his training regime which involved him gaining thirty pounds of muscle in a month. It was awful. His lungs and stamina were both pretty weak though. And as soon as she learned that Steve was struggling, she took it upon herself to make him work to improve it. He was so grateful to Peggy.

"Are you ready for tonight's event?" Peggy asked, flashing him a grin.

Steve made a face and shook his head. He hated Stark's charity galas. As an employee he was expected to attend -and tonight the pressure was really going to be on because it was for war veterans. And many of those attending would be recipients whose prosthesis he had helped design or soon to be recipients if Stark had it his way. He appreciated the causes but Tony always found a reason to call Steve onto the stage to give a speech and on the few occasions Steve had managed to escape them, he'd still had to wait around and meet people and shake hands. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to do, but Steve hated having to stand and be hailed like he was some kind of a hero. These guys, these women, who served their country and lost friend or limb, they were the real heroes. Steve was just doing his part to help repay them. Maybe Tony saw it a bit differently, but the guy had seen a taste of war before. Steve hadn't.

"Never. I'd much rather not go," Steve huffed.

"You're changing their lives so much, Steve. They just want to thank you."

"Tony's the one who does the hard stuff. I just draw pictures."

"Steven," Peggy said sharply. "What have I said before? Don't talk about yourself that way. You do more than draw a few pictures and you know it."

Steve huffed out a breath. "Sorry." Old habits were hard to break, and it was even harder to get over his perception of himself. Because inside, he didn't feel any different than that scrawny teenager no one had wanted.

"Good," Peggy said primly. "Now, after we finish our jog, do you want to go to Artemis' Art Shop?"

Artemis' Art Shop of Wonders was one of Steve's favorite places to go to. It was always full of inspiration and he could always count on finding new art supplies there. It was a hipster's dream to hang out so it was usually full and bustling. The shop was a conjoined art shop with a little café that seemed to cater to all the hipsters in New York. But he could never say no to going there and Peggy knew it.

Steve huffed out a breath and pushed himself harder. "Yeah, of course."

The run was what he needed. It calmed his nerves and settled him down. He'd done plenty of Stark Industries galas before and this one wouldn't be any different. He had some ideas he wanted to talk to the recipient about, ways to further weaponize it by including a hidden knife that would be replaceable. Their recipient was a field combatant after all and Peggy was always talking about how hard it was to keep a good knife on her. By keeping one in the prosthetic, just a small concealed blade, it could be invaluable if the veteran got tied up or if he was held against his will. People wouldn't be likely to remove his arm as it would still look perfectly human so if he could keep his shirt on at least, it would prove useful, Steve was sure.

Steve anxiously adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time that evening. He was stuck backstage, waiting, while Pepper Potts and the representative for Veterans Affair spoke at length about the project Stark Industries had been doing for the last several years. It had some long complex name that Steve was ashamed to admit he could never keep track of –and sometimes, it was reassuring to think Tony might not know the name either but that probably had more to do with choice than not. Tony just referred to the project he started and maintained as "Project Prosthesis."

"It is our honor to be partnered with Stark Industries in helping rehabilitate our soldiers," Jillian said brightly, holding the microphone close. "I don't have enough words to thank Mr. Stark and all the hard work that Stark Industries goes through to support our brave men and women coming back from the battlefront."

"And in recognition of the bravery of America's finest men and women," Pepper said, smiling kindly, "we are hosting this gala for you. We want to show you what we have to offer you in terms of prosthesis. We cover whatever your insurance company won't." Pepper nodded, gesturing around the room at the many platforms set up. "Shortly, we'll let you take a tour to see what we have to offer but before that, I think it's time for Tony Stark to share a few words."

Tony strode on stage. He was built for showmanship, really. He waved at the crowd and blew a kiss towards them. "I know, I'm amazing," he said, laughing.

The audience clapped respectfully. There weren't many groupies these days that showed up, or maybe it was just that with Pepper in control she put more effort into limiting groupies from showing up. Especially for an intimate ceremony like this one where Bucky Barnes was going to be honored. He'd already been nominated by Veteran's Affairs and someone in Human Resources and Public Relations had interviewed his family and comrades and approved him for an all-expense paid prosthetic. His medical insurance company had found some ass backwards excuse to deny him anything more than the most simplistic prosthetic –which, according to his family was so poorly functioning that Bucky refused to wear it most of the time. As it was the New Year, this was the time where the other lucky recipients would be chosen. Most of veterans had medical insurance that would pay so much on allowing them to get a prosthetic but if they wanted the more complex ones with fine-motor tuning –the kind of prosthetic that would allow a person to play guitar or something complex –Stark Industries would cover the rest of the cost.

"Insurance companies these days, let me tell you! They're the biggest penny pinchers of the lot." Tony shook his head. "I don't put up with their backbone. Not for me, or for you! I started this project in honor of the men and women I met in Afghanistan. Free prosthesis for you, I'll cover what your insurance won't." Tony took a deep breath. "As many of you know, once a year, I host my annual gala. And, at this event, I get to announce the lucky person who's been chosen to receive a Stark Industries paid for prosthetic." Tony grinned at the audience. "I promise this piece is going to be of the highest quality and tailored just for our special recipient. I invite Agent Phil Coulson to the stage, to name the lucky honoree, and Stark Industries' very own Steve Rogers –the one who helps design all these fantastic prosthesis!"

Steve followed the older man out to the stage, his heart pounding in his chest. Agent Coulson didn't look nervous in the least as he stepped up to the microphone, an index card in his hand. Steve stood slightly to the right, holding a box awkwardly. Inside was a more advanced prosthetic for Sergeant Barnes to wear and a rough sketch of what they wanted to make for him. He hated having to present like this, on stage, in front of a crowd of people. He much preferred meeting them in private sessions or checking in on the patient when they were making adjustments to the prosthetic. He really didn't have much to do with that process, but every so often he was invited or asked to stop by.

"The man who has been chosen tonight is someone we've heard a lot about before," Agent Coulson said. "He is a man of great bravery, strength and pride. On behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D, I am very proud to call Sergeant James Barnes to the stage."

Steve's world slowed to a stop. He hadn't heard that name in about six years. And he'd done his best to avoid thinking about James Barnes since that fateful day. He managed to plaster a smile onto his face as Coulson summarized the exploits Sergeant Barnes had gone through and the audience erupted in big whooping cheers and claps. But Steve's focus was entirely on the box in his arms and on keeping himself together. James –Bucky –Barnes walked onto the stage, looking slightly dazed and overwhelmed. Agent Coulson shook his hand and clapped him on the back, sending him down the line to Tony Stark who spoke at length about the prosthetic Steve was holding in the box. And then James was standing in front of him, staring at the box with apprehension written all over his face. Steve didn't know how he managed to keep the reassuring smile on his face as he opened the box and held it towards the man.

James' whole face lit up and he looked about ten years younger. "It'll really work? Like, I'll be able to use my phone with this thing?"

"Absolutely!" Tony announced, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Your last prosthetic must be really shit if it can't do that," he muttered to himself.

James didn't seem to hear him though, as he tentatively lifted out the prosthetic arm they had been building for him. It was meant to be worn every day, to appear and function like any arm would. It would more than do the job of the one he was currently wearing. James set it back in the box reverently, barely glancing in Steve's direction. He turned his attention to Tony Stark instead and Steve felt like he could breathe again.

"When can I get it attached?"

"Soon as you want," Tony said brightly. "We can make an appointment for tomorrow if you want."

"God yeah," James said, pushing his hair back from his face. "I can't stand this thing." He cast a glare in the direction of his left arm.

"I don't blame you," Tony said sympathetically, glancing at the cheap prosthetic the way only Tony could. It was a look only Tony could manage for any cheap electronic that didn't perform the way it was meant to –it was a mixed expression of disgust, offense and pity.

James seemed to remember the crowd all of a sudden because he turned back towards the audience, but most of them had dissipated already, wandering off to check out the selection of new prosthesis. Pepper had probably set it up that way, so as to not let anyone intrude on the Sergeant's moment. Steve had seen men and women cry before on learning that they were this year's recipient and soldiers were never all that keen to be seen in such an emotional state. Steve didn't blame them for it either. Being that emotional in front of a large number of people would have been a little humiliating for anyone. Even if there was nothing to be ashamed about, no one liked to be caught crying in public.

James turned back to them, smiling meaningfully. "Thank you," he said, glancing between Tony, Steve and Agent Coulson.

"No, no, no," Tony said, throwing his hands up like he could ward off the gratitude. "I've got nothing to do with this. Just my name on everything. Thank Pepper, or Steve here."

Steve stiffened. He was pretty sure he'd have to be dead and in his grave before James Barnes ever thanked him. Coulson spared them all the awkwardness of whatever encounter would have happened next if James had actually thanked Steve. Steve's not sure how he would have handled it, honestly.

"And we all owe you plenty, Bucky," Coulson said lightly. "You've done plenty for our country."

"So do you go by James or Bucky?" Tony interrupted.

"Bucky."

It wasn't like Steve knew James personally or something, but it was still like getting punched in the stomach. He didn't even know that his soul-bound went by a different name. He didn't know if "Bucky" was a nickname from childhood, or something he'd picked up when he'd been serving. It wasn't a surprise that Steve didn't know anything about James –or Bucky. He'd never had the chance to try. James had made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Steve whatsoever.

"Hey, did you see the sketch that Steve's been working on?" Tony asked, moving fully into excited engineer mode. He opened the box and pulled out the sketch, showing it to Bucky eagerly.

Bucky frowned. "It looks… interesting."

That never meant someone liked the design. "What would you rather see?" Steve found himself asking, shifting the box to get a better view of the sketch he and Tony had been working for the last three weeks. It was ready to go into production as soon as Bucky approved it.

Bucky glanced at him uneasily. "Well, the weaponized parts are all inside. Like some kind of… you look at it and you don't see that it's dangerous."

"Oh. You want it to actually look dangerous?"

"Yeah!" Bucky said, fumbling with his pockets. He huffed in irritation and let his left hand hang awkwardly as he used his right hand to dig in his pocket. "It's not great or anything, and I don't even know if it's possible, but I was thinking something more along these lines." He pulled out a folded wad of paper, unrolling it with one hand.

Steve turned to ask Tony his opinion only to find that both Tony and Agent Coulson had left, leaving him alone with Bucky.

"My sister drew this," Bucky admitted. "We were just tossing ideas around a while back and I just," his cheeks brightened faintly, "sometimes I like to think about having a prosthetic more like this."

It was a pretty good drawing, Steve had to admit. He took the sketch carefully, examining the design and trying to find what flaws Tony would point out.

"It could be made of some kind of metal or steel?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"That's –this is more Tony's area," Steve stuttered out. "I draw out the design."

"So you drew the other one?" Bucky asked, wincing sheepishly. "I mean, your design is great and all! It just wasn't what I had in mind…."

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve admitted, admiring the sketch for another minute. He glanced over his shoulder, where Tony had been just minutes ago. No sign of the man now. He resisted the urge to sigh. "If you want I can show this to Tony and we can see if it'll work."

"I can show it to him tomorrow," Bucky said, reaching for the sketch.

Steve handed it back, feeling his stomach clench painfully. "Okay." They weren't even –Bucky hadn't even recognized him and he didn't even want Steve to help work on his arm. He had his job for more than just being able to draw well. He could deal with Tony. He understood Tony some of the time and he knew what needed to be done and drawn up. It wasn't like he was some first year student or some inexperienced prosthesis designer but Bucky sure knew how to make him feel like he was.

It was just, using metal without having any kind of covering, Steve wasn't sure how that would have to be adjusted and he knew it would require certain adjustments. Bucky's sketch was pretty clear on what exactly Bucky wanted after all. "Do you still work with S.H.I.E.L.D?" Steve asked.

Bucky scowled. "Yeah. It's not like losing an arm means I can't do missions or something."

"No I didn't –I was just wondering why you wanted a prosthesis that is visibly a weapon and acts as one too," Steve amended, glancing away from the other man.

"Yeah, it'll be a help during missions, for one," Bucky muttered. "I guess you know about S.H.I.E.L.D, see a number of us coming in?"

"Now and then," Steve agreed, thinking of the handful of agents he'd helped design prosthesis for. Not to mention Peggy and her friends. They talked a lot about how S.H.I.E.L.D. was kind of for life for most agents and loss of limb wouldn't keep them out of the field.

"Hey, you look kind of familiar," Bucky said after a moment. "Have we… met before?" There was a hesitance in his question, like he thought he already knew the answer to the question. Of course, they both knew the answer.

Steve smiled tightly. "I think we did meet, once before."

Just once was all it took. Steve wasn't sure if they were the worst ten hours of his life, but they were definitely close to being the worst ever. And he could tell by the way Bucky's eyes widened and the way he practically leapt away from Steve, that Bucky knew exactly who Steve was. It wasn't like Steve had done something so wrong, so horrible and unforgiving. He'd just… he'd just tried to help Bucky out.

"You," Bucky all but hissed.

Steve smiled awkwardly and slowly held out the box containing Bucky's new prosthetic. "Here," he said softly. He could feel the distrust and animosity burning through his connection. Bucky was entitled to his feelings. "If you… if you'd feel more comfortable not involving me in your project, I understand," Steve said, surprised at the way his voice held steady. "Just tell Tony. Your sister looks like she's a pretty good artist; she can probably fill in for my part."

He would just have to pick up some other prosthetic designs. Usually he worked exclusively with Tony because, in Tony's words, Steve wasn't a blockhead like the others. In Pepper's words, it was because he at least made sure Tony ate and drank when necessary. Bucky clutched the box with a white knuckled grip, his blue eyes wide and Steve took it as his cue to leave. Tony wasn't going to be happy –Steve was here to talk designs with people, but he'd filled his quota for dealing with people for the day. He'd more than filled it, honestly. The further away he got, the duller Bucky's emotions became.

By the time he had walked back to his apartment, it was nine o'clock at night and the gala was long over. He couldn't sense Bucky's emotions anymore. All he was left with was the floaty hollowed out feeling of not being good enough.