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The facts are these:
1. Hydra is bad, but Hydra also left Bucky with a set of invaluable skills that he can occasionally feel guilty about using (read: to win at cards, to win at Monopoly, to win at Mario Kart, to win at every game Sam seems to find himself willing to be crushed in), but are otherwise useful in situations such as this wherein
2. the bed is cold, which is not in and of itself anything of note except that
3. Steve radiates heat like a damn furnace in July and
4. Steve leaves at 5 a.m. sharp every morning for his run except on Sundays when he joins Sam at the VA.
5. It is 4 in the morning.
6. Steve is not in bed.
Conclusion: Steve is missing. Project parameters: find Steve, minimal causalities allowed (unless willing to sit through another of Steve’s “innocent until proven guilty” spiels) (he’s not) (but he’ll kill anyone who hurts a hair on Steve’s head) (that’s just good manners).
Bucky rolls out of bed into a crouch. When he hears nothing but the central air pumping heat into the room and the distant sounds of a car driving past one street over, he stands. He pulls on pants and a shirt and, now that he thinks of it, one of Steve’s oversized hoodies (that are not oversized on Steve, but Bucky will never tell him that and he’ll maim anyone who does).
He walks into their kitchen.
Bucky weighed the positives and negatives when they bought this house six months ago and one of the biggest downfalls was the lack of people surrounding them. Steve had frowned because for all intents and purposes, Bucky hates people. But people, besides being disgusting, overexcited pusbags most of the time, are useful. Eavesdropping on people had helped him in any number of projects (which is what Steve wants Bucky to call his missions now and he does so only because he’s half-convinced the idiot can read his mind with the way he narrows his dumb eyes and frowns with that dumb mouth).
Now, it’s too quiet. There are no nosy neighbors up in the middle of the night commenting on how that all-American man next door looks so good in those running shorts, don’t you think?. (She was right.) (Helen had good taste.)
Context clues: Steve’s keys are missing from the hook by the front door, but upon further inspection, their Stark-leased car still sits in the driveway. The front door is locked. Steve’s shoes are gone. His phone – Steve’s phone, that Steve never leaves behind because he’s recently addicted to that insufferable number game that isn’t even a puzzle because it’s a pattern, Steve. It’s so simple, just let me help you for fuck’s sake but also because he always wants to be in contact with Bucky.
Bucky presses the home button on the phone and swipes right. It asks for a passcode, which means Steve has been without his phone for more than 15 minutes. Under the pretense of a serious investigation, Bucky plugs in the code: 0310. (His birthday.) (Steve’s an idiot.) (A sentimental idiot.) (A cute idiot.)
No strange text messages, voicemails, calls (incoming or outgoing). Still, he wouldn’t leave his phone. If he did, he’d come back and get it as soon as he remembered.
Conclusion: Steve’s been taken.
Update to Project parameters: Find Steve, leave no survivors.
Bucky isn’t sloppy. Reconnaissance is pivotal to missions - projects - such as these. Cover all bases before diving in.
Bucky calls Sam from Steve’s phone. He doesn’t answer. Bucky calls Sam from his own phone. Sam answers on the third ring: “Hey man, what’s up?”
“Steve’s gone.”
There’s muffled shuffling on the other end. Sam is sitting up in bed. A lamp clicks on. “Like, gone gone or just taking a nap outside on the hammock again?”
Bucky opens his mouth to point out that that was one time and it was the summer and what sort of idiot would sleep on a hammock outside in December, for Chrissake, when the answer comes to him: Steve would.
“Hold on,” Bucky says and makes his way through the kitchen into the dining room where a set of sliding doors open onto their porch. The hammock is empty. Just to be really thorough, Bucky goes outside and scans their spacious lawn, too.
“Negative,” Bucky says into the phone, heading back inside and locking the door behind him. “Steve’s gone gone.”
“Evidence?” Sam asks. He sounds tired, but Bucky can hear him putting on his shoes in the background. (He likes Sam.)
“Left his phone.”
“Yeah, I figured that was you.”
“Took the keys, but the car’s still here. Shoes are gone.”
“Shoes?” Sam repeats. “That’s a good thing. Means he left on his own.”
“Or it’s Hydra. They’re not stupid.”
“I dunno,” Sam replies thoughtfully. “They made your dumb ass.”
Bucky huffs goodnaturedly. He likes Sam. Sam jokes about Hydra because he knows it helps Bucky cope with what was done to him. Steve can’t joke because it’s still too personal. Bucky doesn’t blame him.
“I’m worried,” Bucky says. He names the feeling because that’s what Betty told him to do months ago in a therapy session. He’s still not very good at it.
“I know, bud,” Sam says. “I’m on my way.”
Sam tucks his chin down in the way Bucky has come to recognize as a sign of no new information.
“Okay, well, let us know if you see or hear from him… Yeah… Thanks, Tony.” Sam taps the screen of his phone.
Bucky stops pacing to stare at him, asking the silent question he already knows the answer to. Sam shakes his head.
“I’m going to find him,” Bucky says, not for the first time. He heads toward the front door, but Sam is close at his heels.
“Slow your roll,” Sam says and touches Bucky’s right shoulder.
Bucky tenses. Sam realizes. He lets go. Bucky feels guilty for half a second because he’s not actually uncomfortable with the physical contact, but it’ll get Sam to back off and maybe allow Bucky to leave willingly. (Other possibilities are constantly being assessed for validity, including but not limited to knocking Sam out, killing Sam, and faking a mental break.) (The latter looms closer to the truth than Bucky is comfortable thinking about.)
“It’s only been a couple hours,” Sam says.
Bucky bites back several harsh responses regarding the use of the world “only” and involving Sam’s mother. (Unnecessary.) (Cruel.) (Not project compatible.) (Mostly, Steve would be disappointed.) (If Steve’s alive.)
“Long enough,” Bucky says instead. “Too long.” He grabs the worn, leather jacket by the front door and pulls on his gloves. He takes the motorbike keys and turns back to Sam. “Call me if you hear anything.”
Sam lifts his hands by his sides and then drops them. Good enough.
The obvious culprit is Hydra. In spite of their insidious and festering nature, Bucky was almost certain they’d been cleared out of the city and the surrounding boroughs. Still, they’re nothing if not willful.
Bucky heads first to the bank Hydra had used as its base of operations during Bucky’s – the Winter Soldier’s – final missions. (Can’t call those projects, Rogers.) It’s now under the control of Stark and Bucky trusts that anything suspicious would have been reported by now.
(Possibility Stark is double agent? Reassess later.) (But probably not.) (He’s too egomaniacal to pull that off.)
After checking that the bank is still under Stark protection (sixteen cameras on the outside, all functioning within parameters), Bucky turns the bike back into the heart of Manhattan. He stops every few blocks at diners, eateries, butcher shops, flower shops, cafes, nightclubs, bars – anywhere that he remembers Hydra lowlifes used to frequent. Each one turns up empty.
It’s 8 in the morning when Bucky sees him – blond hair, light brown leather jacket, pressed khakis. His heart drops into his stomach (problematic) and he almost pulls the bike onto the sidewalk in his pursuit. He hops off after a shoddy parking job and darts after the bobbing head as it crosses the crowded avenue.
Bucky isn’t gentle when he yanks the man back by the shoulder. “Steve,” he breathes.
But the man isn’t Steve. His face is longer, harsher. He could be one of those celebrity look-alikes that star in those Captain America blockbusters Tony’s so obsessed with. (If their Steve looks like this, Bucky’s glad Steve’s said no to watching them.) (Even if Bucky is deadly curious.)
“Sorry,” Bucky says quickly at the same time the man says, “What’s the idea, pal?”
“Thought you were somebody,” Bucky mutters, waves his right hand, puts on a half-hearted smile. It comes off frantic judging by the man’s indignant look before he wrenches back into the crowd.
Bucky steps back until his back hits the brick façade of a law office. The pressure is comforting. His heart is beating too fast. His breaths are shallow. He can’t feel his hands or feet.
Poison. Bucky’s eyes blur when he looks up, tries to spot the man again, but he’s long gone. Was it contact by skin? Needle? Bucky’s mouth is cotton-dry. His vision tunnels. He’s on the ground as he tries to remember antidotes.
A pharmacy might have–
Would a hospital–
Flush his system–
He has to–
Find Steve–
“Didn’t you read 1984, man? Big Brother is watching. No one keeps their GPS on anymore. Especially not since the attack on New York. Because now it’s aliens, not the government.”
“We’re lucky I’m not paranoid, I guess.” The reply is soft, quiet, sweet. Bucky wants to bury himself in it, wrap himself in the voice like it could keep him warm.
Because he’s cold.
Very cold.
He wakes suddenly, eyes snapping open and inhaling sharply. He wants to sit up, but a firm hand keeps him pressed against the couch he’s laying on.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right, Buck. You’re okay.”
Bucky’s afraid to blink in case this is a poison-induced dream, the last neurons firing haplessly before he goes still, dead, and cold. His neurons chose right because Steve’s just as handsome as he remembers.
But not even Bucky’s dying subconscious could produce the concerned look gracing Steve’s face right now, so Bucky blinks and blinks again. “Steve?” Except it comes out more like “-eve” because his voice cracks and he’s having trouble breathing.
“Hey,” Steve says and it’s so soft and earnest Bucky would have laughed and elbowed him hard to break the tension (Steve corrects every time: ruin the moment) if it were any other time. He’s too tired now. Every muscle in his body aches.
“You’re okay,” Bucky says and allows his eyes to wander away from Steve for just a moment. They’re in their house. Steve is kneeling by the head of the couch, one arm across Bucky’s chest.
“I’m fine,” Steve replies. “How’re you feeling?”
Bucky grunts. “Why’s it so damn cold?”
Steve actually looks embarrassed for a second and Bucky hears a familiar snort of laughter from the direction of their kitchen.
“It’s nothin’,” Steve says. “Sam burned something in the kitchen, that’s all. We opened a few windows.”
“Like hell I did!” Sam calls from the kitchen. Bucky hears his footfalls – soft, muted; he’s not wearing shoes, just socks. He comes to stand behind Steve, hands on his hips, playing at peeved. “Your boyfriend felt guilty and he tried making oatmeal, that’s what happened. Had to open a window to air the place out. Don’t you pin this on me, Cap.” Sam points at Steve. “Don’t you sully my reputation. I’m a damn good cook. I’d never burn oatmeal.”
Steve’s a lovely shade of pink now. “I was a little distracted,” he explains to Bucky. “I may have… forgotten about it.”
Again, Sam snorts, but there’s no explanation this time. Sam pads over to the armchair and sits, pulling out his phone in the process.
“What happened?” Bucky asks and makes to sit up. Steve lets him this time, sitting back on his heels in the process. Bucky’s head swims with the sudden change of position. A glass of water is pushed into his hand. He drains it.
Steve’s eyes dart to the side. Bucky knows it to be his guilty look. “There was a… misunderstanding.” Steve takes the empty glass from Bucky, puts it on the floor by his leg, and then takes Bucky’s right hand in his own. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? It was mine. I was careless.”
“Was it Hydra?” Bucky asks, voice flat, emotionless. He’ll kill them. He’ll tear their eyes out and make them eat them if they so much as breathed on Steve.
“No. Bucky, no. It wasn’t Hydra. It wasn’t anyone or anything. It was just a misunderstanding. I went for a walk, that’s all. To the store. That little art shop I told you about a couple weeks ago?”
Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. “You left your phone,” he finally manages.
“Yeah, I… I know. I thought… Well, I didn’t think you’d wake up and think – it was stupid. I should have known. I should have thought. I’m real sorry, Buck. I know I scared you. But I just needed… to be alone for awhile. To think.”
“Think,” Bucky repeats. He rearranges the pieces in his head until the story fits. Steve wasn’t taken, Steve wasn’t lost. Steve was hiding. From him? (Likely.) (Probable.) (Definite.) “Oh,” Bucky says.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Steve says and squeezes his hand. Bucky hadn’t realized he looked away. He looks at Steve and sees sincerity when he says, “It wasn’t you. I need to make sure you get that, Buck. Do you?”
Sam silently gets up and leaves the room, disappearing into the dining room and out the back door onto the porch.
Bucky nods once. “Why?” he asks. If not because of Bucky, why else would Captain America want to run and hide?
Steve sighs, long and hard like he’s not just 32 going on 33, like he’s really lived all of those 66 years in between asleep and awake. “I don’t know,” he says and Bucky understands it for what it is: an apology. But he doesn’t want an apology, he wants an explanation.
“Is it the job?” Bucky asks, quiet enough that if there are any bugs in the house (because Bucky’s read 1984, unlike Steve) they won’t be able to pick it up.
“No,” Steve says immediately. Then, amends: “Maybe.” He shifts his jaw and smiles sadly at Bucky. “I was afraid to wake you,” he says. “I was restless. I needed to go somewhere, be away from the people calling the shots.”
Bucky nods. “Leave a note next time,” he quips.
“I did,” Steve says. His smile turns from sad to wry.
“Where?”
“In bed.”
“Oh.”
Because Bucky had been in the bedroom, had known that Steve wasn’t in there, hadn’t even gone back to look for clues, had jumped to the worst conclusion possible instead of thinking things through like a normal person would.
Steve hand reaches up to cup the side of Bucky’s face. “Don’t do that,” Steve says. “It’s not your fault.”
“Not yours either,” Bucky says. Then he remembers a whole faction of the day’s happenings haven’t been explained. “I was poisoned,” Bucky says. “Who was that?”
“Poisoned?” Steve says with a slight frown. “When?”
“Before. I don’t know. I found someone. He looked like you. He must have done something.”
Steve’s face goes curiously soft. “You remember when we were kids and there was that community dance at the firehouse?” Steve asks. Bucky’s memories are sharper these days and the picture is familiar if not memorable.
“I think I forced you to go,” Bucky replies. “What’s that got to do with – ?”
Steve cuts in: “I was 13, you were 14. And you’d convinced this girl – what was her name?”
“Linda Bowman,” Bucky supplies, the name rolling off his tongue, surprising Steve.
“Yeah, Linda Bowman.” Steve laughs softly. “You convinced her to dance with me and she was swell. She was also the best dancer of every girl there and everyone knew it.”
“Course,” Bucky says with a small smile. “Only the best gal for my best guy.”
“Remember what happened when she came over to ask me to dance?”
Bucky dredged through the confines of his frayed memories, but there was nothing. He shook his head.
“I ran,” Steve says with a smile. “Faster than I’d ever run before. ‘Til I was halfway back home. Of course you’d noticed and came after me.”
The grainy picture in Bucky’s mind clears and he grins. “That’s right!” he says. “You’d run yourself into an attack. You were doubled over by the time I got to your dumb ass.”
Steve nods and looks off past Bucky’s shoulder into middlespace. “Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see right. It was cold outside and I was burning hot. Heart was goin’ a mile a minute. Took you sitting there, breathing with me for an hour before I could talk, another hour ‘til I could walk again.”
“Scared the daylights outta your ma,” Bucky recalls. “Y’know, she later asked me if you’d seen some girl that night, if that’s why you were so late comin’ home. Had to break the news to her.”
Steve laughed delightedly. “I didn’t know that. I’m sure she was real shocked.”
“Is that why you ran?” Bucky asks. “Runnin’ away from the first gal that ever got you to dance?” Bucky’s only half-joking and he’s relieved when Steve rolls his eyes in response.
“No, Buck. I’m tryna tell you – you weren’t poisoned. You had a panic attack.”
Bucky’s easy demeanor breaks. “That’s not possible,” he says.
“It’s very possible, I assure you. I came home and Sam called your cell several times. When you didn’t answer, he tracked my cell, which you had. We found you behind some law office in a real state. You don’t remember that?”
Bucky shakes his head. “No,” he says. He stares at his hands. He’s forgotten. He’s never forgotten something in recent memory before. What if he’s losing it, finally losing it? What if he’s finally cracked?
“That’s normal,” Steve says. “That you don’t remember, I mean. It’s normal. We got you into the car after you calmed down a bit. You passed out on the ride home. Woke up here.”
“How long?” Bucky asks quietly.
“Three hours, about,” Steve guesses. “It takes it out of you, I know.”
“Jesus,” Bucky says and drops his head into his hands.
“Hey, it’s okay. It happens to the best of us.”
“Not to me,” Bucky snaps, looking up to glare at Steve. He withers as soon as does. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Steve says.
“Not to you,” Bucky amends. “It doesn’t happen to you.”
“It happens to me all the time,” Steve replies easily. “I just learned how to cope, how to nip it in the bud before it gets bad enough to stop me doing my job.” Steve touches Bucky’s arm affectionately. “Y’know, Sam says it’s a good thing this happened.”
“He would,” Bucky says.
Steve grins. “He says it means you're processing your emotions more like a person would instead of a machine.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a shitty way to go about things,” Bucky says miserably.
“I’m sorry I gave you a panic attack,” Steve says.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
The porch door slides open and Sam calls out, “I’m comin’ in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here!” He pads back through the dining room, muttering, “Please be clothed, please be clothed, please be clothed, thank God.”
“It’s been more than a year,” Steve says as Sam beelines toward the armchair. Steve pats Bucky’s leg until he scoots back against the arm of the couch and gives him room to sit. “You’re still traumatized?”
“Man, I’m gonna be traumatized for the rest of my life after that,” Sam replies. He shudders dramatically.
“We weren’t even technically naked,” Bucky points out innocently.
“Yeah, I mean, we were both wearing pants,” Steve agrees.
“Sweatpants,” Sam corrects and then waves his hands in the air frantically. “We are not talking about this! I’m tryin’ to forget it even happened!”
Steve smiles cheekily and Bucky snickers behind his hand. Sam looks at them with a frown.
“So, what was that I heard about oatmeal?” Bucky asks, turning back to Steve. It gains the expected response of turning Steve red and making Sam laugh.
“Yeah, Steve, tell Bucky about your foray into comfort cooking,” Sam goads.
“I was at a loss,” Steve says defensively.
“Dude was a wreck,” Sam adds helpfully. “Like, couldn’t decide whether or not he should light a candle because I know the scent of pine is comforting to him, but what if he thinks he’s lost in a forest?!” Sam teases, his voice gruff – a bad impression of Steve. “Then he disappears into the kitchen, rambling about oatmeal and how you always used to make it for him when he got sick, so he had to return the favor. Not should,” Sam emphasizes. “Had.”
“That’s real sweet, darlin’,” Bucky tells Steve, smiling wide.
Steve gives him a miserable look.
“He burned it because I went outside to field calls from worried Avengers who thought Steve had gone AWOL and he was so busy freaking out every time you so much as breathed different,” Sam says.
“Not my finest moment,” Steve admits.
“Agree to disagree,” Bucky says and leans forward. Steve meets him halfway for a short, chaste kiss.
“Disgusting,” Sam says affectionately.