"You have to sleep, Cap."

Steve blinked, turning away from the sad site in front of him, and stared down at Natasha. She looked almost as rough as he felt, with dark rings around her eyes. He was pretty sure she hadn't slept either since the Winter Soldier had been brought in.

"I slept for a long time," he told her. "Got more important things to do right now."

He turned back, staring in the observation window. His best friend, the one he thought had died over 70 years ago, was in there, strapped down to an observation table with metal bands. They'd tried regular restraints, but he tore through those quickly.

Bucky hadn't woken as quietly as he had shut down. He had already thrown several S.H.I.E.L.D agents and scientists into walls. Whatever brief moment that had allowed him to remember Steve was gone, but he hadn't returned to his Winter Soldier persona either. Right now he was a feral thing, unable to speak and lashing out at anyone who came near.

It made Steve sick to watch.

"Go home to Darcy," Natasha urged. "Take a night and forget about this."

He shook his head fiercely. "I can't. I left him once, assumed he was dead. He's my best friend. I should have gone back and looked for him."

Her hand on his arm did not bring any comfort. "Why would you have? You were in the middle of a war, Steve. Trying to stop a madman from destroying the world. Your best friend wouldn't have forgiven you if you'd stopped all that just to search for his body."

"But he didn't die!" Steve roared, fist punching down through the nearest console, sending sparks flying. "And every second since he fell, it's been like a knife inside my guts." He shook his head. "Look what happened to him. Because I left him."

"You know that's not how or why it happened. Don't do this to yourself, Steve."

He slumped forward, weight resting on his hands against the outside wall of Bucky's cell. Inside, his best friend's face was twisted in hatred and madness, snarling at those near him. The cybernetic arm was lashed down with no less than six metal restraints, and it was anyone's guess if they would hold. It was extraordinarily strong, he'd been told.

"Tell me more about him, what you know," he asked quietly.

She flinched a little. "I knew him as Yasha. He trained me."

She was very carefully not saying things, he noticed. "Trained you to do what?" Steve asked.

Natasha wilted a little bit. "To kill people. To use every weapon available to me against them. He was the best of the best of what we did."

"Did he have the arm…?"

"Yes. I never asked about it, and he never volunteered."

Still not saying things. "You loved him," Steve stated bluntly.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Love is for children. We were very close. He helped mold me into the Black Widow. We took comfort in each other, but it was not meant to last. He was my teacher, and I always deferred to him, until…something happened. He disappeared for several months. When he came back, Yasha was gone. He was the Winter Soldier. He was programmed to kill me, but I was able to incapacitate him. He was put him into cryostatis then, mostly to heal."

Steve's glance flicked down. Natasha was staring straight ahead, doing her own version of the emotionless operative. "You almost killed him," he guessed.

"I would have killed him," she corrected. "I tried to kill him. But, I could remember the time we spent together, and that compromised my effectiveness."

She sounded almost regretful that she had been unable to kill the Winter Soldier, that emotion had made her less of an effective killing machine, and Steve reflected that no matter what else, at least Bucky hadn't been raised that way.

"I'm sorry, Natasha. That you grew up that way."

She shrugged. "I don't know of any different way." She looked up at him. "The road to recovering your best friend will not be easy. The Red Room's conditioning is…very effective."

Steve swallowed hard. "But it can be done?"

"Of course."

They fell into silence, staring into the containment cell at the raging, crazed man inside. In the three days since Steve had first seen the face of his best friend, he had a little more hope. To have Bucky back…it was like regaining a part of himself that he had thought forever lost. Maybe Steve Rogers could finally feel whole once more.

In another two days, Bucky's rages passed, and he just laid on the observation table in silence. It was almost more painful to watch than the raging had been. The scientists, ringed by armed agents, released the restraints and lowered Bucky to the floor. The cell had been carefully prepared for this moment, with nothing in it that he could hurt himself or others with. After the table was cleared, it was unbolted and removed.

Steve made his first visit, hoping to gain a reaction from his best friend. He had angrily refused any guards, and entered the cell cautiously. Bucky was a silent form on the mattress in the corner.

"Bucky?" he asked softly.

There was no reaction, so he moved closer and dropped into a squat. "Bucky?"

His friend stared at the ceiling without blinking, giving no indication that he knew someone was with him. Steve sat down on the floor and just watched him. Hoping for a reaction of some type. But after another 15 minutes of no response, no reaction, Steve wilted and left the cell. It was too painful.

Natasha arrived to visit later that day. Bucky had not moved from the mattress in the corner since he'd been placed there, but when the redhead S.H.I.E.L.D agent entered his cell, he looked up at her. Steve felt a brief glimmer of hope, but his stomach plummeted toward the ground when Bucky launched himself at Natasha.

For a moment, they were almost beautiful to watch together, so fluid and lethal in their movements. Bucky knew Natasha's moves, even if his mind was chaotic right now, and he was easily able to anticipate what she was going to do in time to effectively counter it. The same held true for Natasha, who easily defended herself. It was the expression on Bucky's face that worried Steve the most. Not the emotionless mask of the Winter Soldier, or the confused look of the man who had been captured, but burgeoning rage. Steve made a hasty gesture to the security detail that was always standing by.

Several S.H.I.E.L.D agents entered the cell and shot Bucky with tasers. One probably wouldn't have been enough to put him down, but four effectively immobilized him, twitching, on the cell floor. Natasha's expression was grim as she emerged from the cell.

"That did not go well," she told Steve, smoothing her uniform. "Perhaps he holds a grudge from our last meeting before cryo?"

Steve blinked thoughtfully. "Maybe. Maybe we should try again tomorrow. Give him time to settle down."

He had already decided to not be involved in any attempts to restrain Bucky. He didn't want Bucky's shadowed mind to look at him that way. As an enforcer.

After three more disastrous attempts at visiting in the next few days, Natasha made the decision that she would not return. "I am not helping his recovery." She cocked her head to one side as she looked up at Steve. "You look terrible. Go home to Darcy."

He shook his head. "You know that I can't. I have to be here for him."

Steve was adamant about not leaving. He didn't want Bucky to be alone, even if there were walls and windows between them. He went into the cell every day, with mixed reactions from its occupant. Some days, Bucky didn't stir at all, or acknowledge his presence. One day, he cowered in the corner of his cell, arms over his head, making a keening, wounded animal noise. The worst day was the day Bucky stalked him.

Steve entered the cell, and there was a corresponding movement from its occupant, stealthily sliding a few steps backward. He was on high alert immediately, balance shifting to the balls of his feet, eyes glued to the shadowed features of his best friend. The long dark hair was hiding Bucky's face, but the movements of his body were those of a predator.

"I don't want to do this with you," Steve told him. "I'm not your enemy. I'm your best friend."

Bucky made a low sound, but it sounded like a sarcastic snort of derision. He slid a step to Steve's right, trying to circle behind him in the small space. Steve pivoted to keep him right in front, watching his movements, anticipating an attack, but it never came. Bucky couldn't gain an advantage, so there was no point to a frontal assault. Or, that's what Steve figured he was thinking.

It was exhausting, and Steve gave up after ten minutes of turning in a constant circle. He cautiously backed out of the cell, eyes never leaving the lethal form of his best friend.

"That was tense," a familiar and unwelcome voice sounded behind him when the cell door closed.

Steve closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, then turned smoothly and opened his eyes. "Stark."

The billionaire grinned cockily. "Capsicle. I'm hurt. I protected your girl, and didn't get a thank you. You didn't call, you didn't stop by, and here I find you cheating on her with a guy! Didn't know you rolled that way, Cap."

Steve hadn't had more than 30 minutes of sleep at a time in almost two weeks. "I'm not in the mood for this, Stark. Why are you here?"

Tony Stark grinned. "Got a text from Barton, said there was something here I needed to see. I'm trying to figure out why he wanted me to see you spinning in a circle in a cell with the crazy guy."

"That's not what he wanted you to see, Mr. Stark."

Tony Stark was annoying, volatile, and didn't interact well with others. Still, Steve actually felt sorry for him when the billionaire realized the depths of Fury's manipulations. His expression, that cocky mocking that was so annoying, froze and his eyes went blank. Then he smiled a hard, tight smile, and tipped his head toward Coulson.

"Agent. You look well for a dead man."

Coulson, having just entered the room, inclined his head. "Mr. Stark. I did die, but I didn't stay dead. Director Fury chose to keep that information to himself. Probably a wise decision on his part, since my survival was not guaranteed." Coulson's attention turned to Steve. "Captain. Has there been any progress?"

Steve shrugged. "He hasn't actively tried to kill me yet."

Coulson nodded. "It takes a long time to recover from the programming he's had. It's unfortunate that his reaction to Agent Romanoff has been so…volatile."

Steve nodded absently, but his attention was on Stark, who was standing still with his fists clenched. The billionaire wasn't taking Coulson's 'resurrection' very well.

"Fury still in the hospital?" he asked tightly.

Coulson's gaze was sharp. "Yes, Mr. Stark. The attack by the Winter Soldier nearly killed him."

Stark smiled that hard smile again, the one that didn't reach his eyes. "Probably a good thing. You should stop by and let Pepper know that you're alive, Agent. She cried."

Coulson flinched a little. "I will do that, Mr. Stark. I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Stark turned and didn't quite stomp out. Steve figured he'd worry about it later. Stark would get over it, eventually. Right now, Steve's priority had to be Bucky.

"It was best to get that out of the way," Coulson remarked absently. "Barton will be here shortly, Captain. He said he'd come to keep you company."

Steve's smile felt stretched a little thin. "I look forward to it. Listen, Agent Coulson, I know there have been a lot of bad feelings because we were kept in the dark about your survival, but I think everyone really is happy that you're here."

The other man's mouth quirked up in a grin. "Thank you Captain. It will take some time to repair relationships, but now that I'm 'alive' again, I'll be working on that when not working with my team."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "They seem like a good bunch."

The smaller man nodded. "They are. Good luck with this, Captain. I know it means a lot to you to get your friend back."

Steve took the opportunity to take a nap. He wasn't sleeping well, haunted by images of Bucky as the Winter Soldier, or as the broken thing he'd become. His subconscious mind could only tolerate so much before it propelled him into waking, and he jerked alert, almost falling off the chair he'd been dozing on.

"Cap, go the hell home to Darcy."

Steve blinked and scrubbed at his eyes. "Barton. Why do people keep telling me that?"

The archer rolled his eyes. "Because you look like crap, and you're making everyone here a little nervous. And Darcy misses you."

That was low, even for Barton. Steve winced. "I have to be here for Bucky. Darcy will understand that."

Barton snorted. "Whatever, Cap. I brought beer." He held up two six packs, prompting a wry smile from Steve.

"I can't get drunk. The serum."

The archer grinned. "I didn't say I brought it for you, Cap."

He was willing to share anyhow, even though it didn't have the desired effect on Steve. Barton's presence was welcome after the stress of the day, and Steve relaxed a little.

"Thanks," he said honestly, as the archer prepared to leave. "I needed some company that wasn't stressful or invested in this."

Barton grinned. "What, Stark is stressful? I figured this was my way to apologize for that. Seriously though, Cap. Take some time and go home to Darcy."

"I'll take it under consideration. Thanks again."

He watched the archer depart, and settled back into a chair to try to nap again. Maybe tomorrow Bucky would be better. He'd take a night to go home when Bucky showed some signs of improvement.