I wake up because fingers move through my hair and curl around the strands. I should feel terrified because of that, as my handlers often used my hair to establish a domineering hold over me, but it doesn't feel threatening. The touch is surprisingly gentle. Looking at Steve, who's awake and studying me in turn, I swallow nervously. What is he up to?

"Morning. Did you get any sleep after I woke you due to that nightmare?"

"Yeah, I slept some," I confirm. I don't know how long I slept though. I watched over Steve for quite some time, but then fatigue got the better of me. I'm stunned that I didn't have any nightmares. In the past, I woke up screaming because of them.

"It's only six, so we don't have to hurry. Sam will meet us downstairs, so we can take our time, have breakfast, and if you want to, talk."

"What about?" I'm still waking up and talking isn't the first thing on my mind.

"Whatever you want to talk about."

I sigh. "Give me a break, will you? I just woke up two minutes ago." To my surprise, Steve laughs warmly. Maybe it was the right thing to say?

"So, do you want to stay like this a little longer? Just like old times?"

Did we really do this in the past? Steve seems awfully comfortable though, like he did do this before. I don't want to talk, but that doesn't mean I'm opposed to listening to him.

"Can you tell me more about our... friendship?" Steve repeatedly insisted we were close, so I hope it's appropriate for me to call it that. I don't want to presume too much.

"Let me see... " Steve considers the question in earnest. "When I became Captain America I was part of a revue. There were dancing girls and they made me knock out an actor dressed as Hitler. When you found out about that, you couldn't stop laughing, especially after Peggy showed you some pictures of that time."

"Who's Peggy?" The name seems familiar as it leaves my lips. I've said it before; my subconscious recognizes it.

"She was feisty... Peggy Carter was a lady to reckon with. You might not believe this, but she taught me how to fight. Frenchie always accused me of fighting like a woman, and maybe I still do, but it wins me the fight."

"You... cared about her?" I'm treading on thin ice; I have no idea if I'm right. It's just a feeling...

"Yes, I did," Steve confirms and a sad expression appears on his face. "She's still alive, but suffers from Alzheimer. She does recognize me now and then, but it's hard – on both of us. Old age caught up with her."

"I'm sorry," and I mean it. If he loved her, losing her must hurt. His tale leaves me with more questions though and I'm not sure I should voice them.

"What else do you want to know? I can tell you want to ask me something. I know that look."

"How is it possible that you're still young? You must be close to ninety, possibly hundred, just like me."

"You know how long Hydra kept you prisoner?"

Steve sounds surprised and I get it. "I'm not stupid... Hydra punished me each time I tried to think independently, but my curiosity always got the better of me. When they took me out of the ice, they always carried files with them. Files have dates on them. Any data they enter into the computer, carries a time stamp. Sometimes, when a mission lasted longer, I managed to get a glance at a newspaper stand, the billboards, or television screens. The Winter Soldier registered the data mechanically, no emotions attached, but sometimes, I would remember something he saw."

"We're both in our nineties, Buck, but it doesn't show."

"You didn't answer my question." Me reminding him about that evasive maneuver is something that shocks me. Pressuring someone for information is unheard of, but Steve might let me get away with it.

"It's a long story, and I'm going to give you the short version. A known Hydra villain wanted to destroy our country and flew a plane, carrying a bomb, right into the heart of it. I ended up taking control of the plane, but the bomb was going off anyway. I decided to crash the plane into the ice and when it went down, the impact knocked me out. The cold did the rest. I ended up frozen and spend about seventy years in the ice. Shield found me eventually and dug me out. That's why I'm here today."

Crashing a plane in order to save millions sounds like something Steve would do. I hardly know the guy, and yet, I know he would sacrifice himself if that meant saving innocent people.

"Do you still feel the cold?" I probably shouldn't be asking him that, but his story is similar to mine in that way; the ice preserved both of us.

"No." Steve shakes his head slightly. "I barely noticed the cold. I never realized what happened until they woke me from my sleep."

His expression changes and I don't like the way his eyes narrow in thought. I have the feeling he's going to address something unpleasant – for me, that is.

"But YOU still feel the cold, don't you? That's why you asked me about it. What was it like for you – in cryo?"

Didn't I tell him just now that I don't want to talk about any of that? I seriously consider refusing answering his question, but he did so much for me. In a way, he gave me my life back. Not answering him would be ungrateful.

"It's hard to explain," I try, "I always hated that moment when they woke me from my sleep. I couldn't wait for them to put me back under. In spite of the terrible cold, I felt at peace. I didn't have to worry about Hydra, any missions, my handlers, Pierce or Rumlow." Steve's eyes narrow further; something I said caught his attention.

"How does Rumlow fit in?"

I cringe, as I would rather not answer that question, but Steve's look is both expectant as compelling. If I don't tell him now, he will find a way to make me open up eventually. Maybe it's best to get it over with.

"He was one of my handlers... And an instructor. Pierce trusted him unconditionally."

"Rumlow knew you were alive? And he didn't tell me?"

Steve suddenly releases me and sits upright. His back is tense and his hands turn into fists. I'm at a loss to explain the sudden shift in his mood. I elbow myself into a sitting position and keep my distance. Something I said angered him and I don't want to make it worse so I stay quiet.

"I considered him my friend! A very good friend! We fought side by side, saved each other lives and he hid this from me?"

I'm not sure what's happening, so I settle for saying nothing and watching him – not too obviously though.

"I told him about you. I told him what happened to you; that I lost you on that train and he said that he was sorry I lost my friend. He looked me in the eye and told me he was sorry! And all that time, he knew that Hydra had you and that Pierce was pulling your strings. If I ever get my hands on him, then... then..."

Steve's breathing speeds up and his anger continues to build. I move away from him and shift toward the foot end of the bed, increasing the distance between us. I don't want to be in his vicinity when that anger wants out.

"He was your handler..."

Steve's gaze focuses on me again and I can't repress the shivers running down my spine. His eyes scream murder.

"Yes," I whisper, calculating the distance to the door just in case I need to get away. That is, if I have the guts to make a run for it. It wouldn't be the first time I froze up and just took the punishment. Rumlow in particular would always drag me back by my hair to make sure I learned my lesson and stopped talking back.

"Did he... hurt you?"

Steve's tone changes again and the anger fades from his eyes. He calms down and swallows hard, as if emotions are making it hard for him to breathe. I don't know what to make of that. I'm not sure I should answer, as it might fuel his anger again.

"Bucky, did Rumlow hurt you? Did he hit you? Did he... *discipline* you?"

The tone he uses when saying that word shows disgust. Whom is he disgusted with though? Rumlow for punishing me or me for behaving badly and earning that punishment? Well, there's only one way out for me for find out and the only thing I can do is to hope for the best.

"He was my handler. He was supposed to discipline me, so he did." Steve draws in a deep breath and moves toward me. Sitting cross-legged in front of me, he leaves me little maneuvering space.

"Bucky, did he hit you? Yes or no?"

"Yes," I snap, feeling cornered. "It was expected of him."

"What other things did he do to you?"

I'm not going there. Not even for Steve. "I don't want to talk about it." I move one foot onto the floor, so I can quickly get away if necessary. Steve will probably catch me before I'm out of the door, but I can't take much more of this interrogation.

"Bucky, I need to –"

"Stop it! Just leave me alone!" I jump off the bed and make a run for it. I head for the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. I curse the fact that locking the door will do little to keep him out and sit down, putting my back against it and hoping it will stop Steve from entering. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to push? I bury my face in my hands and am shocked to find I'm crying. My face is wet. When did that happen?

I listen closely and everything stays quiet for some minutes. I use that time to compose myself and to wipe the tears from my face. I can't hide in here forever, but I'm not moving yet. I'm not ready to face him. I lost it again. I fucked up again. I should have answered his questions instead of losing my guts and running away.

"Bucky?"

Nervously, I raise my head and listen closely. Steve's on the other side of the door, but he's not trying to open it.

"Buck? I'm sorry. I was wrong to pressure you in that way. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to. I'm to blame for what happened, and next time, I will respect your boundaries. I will stop when you tell me to stop. Please accept my apology."

My hearing picks up on him resting his hands against the door, but not in order to push it open. He simply stands there, remaining motionless and waiting for my decision.

"Bucky? I'm going to get breakfast ready. You don't have to join me if you don't want to. If you want some time on your own, I will respect that. I'm so sorry, I really am. I got carried away."

I can tell he's sincere and that he regrets pushing me. Slowly, I get to my feet and curl my fingers around the door handle. After drawing in a deep breath, I open the door and face him. I'm not sure what to expect, but it's not Steve looking utterly defeated. He seems hesitant to even make eye contact and his shoulders slump forward. He looks truly apologetic – and beaten.

"I can't talk about certain things yet. They're still too close and hurt too much. I'm not used to telling people off... I never had the freedom to do so before..." Steve raises his head and waveringly makes eye contact. Seeing him look that remorseful, I find the courage to add, "Please respect that. I'll probably tell you what you want to know if you push me hard enough, but...it hurts to talk about it."

"I get that, I really do," Steve quickly admits. "It was my fault. I got carried away. I blame myself for not realizing sooner that Rumlow was playing me. I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself."

"Steve..." Lost for words, I just look at him. Words are meaningless in a situation like this. My soul urges me on to reestablish contact, to comfort him, and reassure him. My soul? I didn't know I still had one... My mind may have forgotten about him, Hydra may have taken my memories, but my soul still recognizes him and remembers the friendship that bound us in the past. Hesitantly, I move toward him, watch his reaction, and when he remains motionless, I wrap my right arm around him and hug him, feeling incredibly shy about it. Steve remains still at first, but then his façade crumbles, and he hugs me right back, resting his head on my shoulder. I'm not sure, but it sounds like he's crying. My shoulder definitely feels wet. "Don't cry. Please don't." I can't bear seeing him this way.

"Sorry," Steve whispers and wipes away his tears. "I was worried I had broken the trust between us."

I still trust him and I know I always will. Maybe he hurt me earlier, but I know I trust him.

"Shall we get started on breakfast now? Sam is going to be here shortly." Distracting him worked before and hopefully it will work again. Steve chuckles, but it sounds fake.

"Yeah, let's start on breakfast. Do you still want to go running?"

"Yes, definitely." Being cooped up in here is driving both of us nuts. Hopefully going outside and running will help our nerves to settle down; we're both ticking time bombs.

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