justakidfrombrklyn | The headaches began after he came out of the ice...

The headaches began after he came out of the ice...

To say that a lot of things had changed once he'd come out of the ice wasn't just an understatement; it was practically cruel. The worst part in a lot of ways, though, was the way people treated him: as if the ice had preserved him, kept him exactly as he'd been when he'd sent the plane crash landing into the Atlantic.

It couldn't be further from the truth, though.

He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.

And then there were the headaches.

He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...

Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.

Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.

Beautiful things to draw.

He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...

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If Steve hadn't been dialing the number when he opened the door to the roof, he might have been more prepared for what he found there. But as it was--

"Pick up, Sam. Pi--"

This. Was not part of the plan.

He stares wide-eyed at Steve, caught completely by surprise.

Steve looked back and slowly put the phone, still ringing, into his pocket.

"Bucky?"

Mission compromised. Retreat and regroup, says part of his mind. Another part says, Damn it, Steve, you idiot!

The rest of him is just sure he should've at least left Adam with a knife in his heart, because this is definitely his fault.

He stepped forward, going slow and careful with his arms out wide, obviously unnarmed.

"Buck," he said softly, "Bucky. It's Steve. I... I had no idea. I've been looking for you."

He gave a faint, brittle smile.

"Guess you've been laughing it up, me chasing you around, and you following along after us. Jerk."

"Punk," his mouth says for him, while his brain is still trying to work itself out. He frowns a moment, unsure of just where that came from; from Before HYDRA, which means With Steve, and that realisation triggers another rush of memory--

His deployment, leaving Steve behind, the worry he tried to hide, the relief that at least his fragile friend would be far, far away from the front lines--

But it makes Steve smile like the sun's come out, those blue eyes of his wide and bright.

"Buck..." he said slowly, stepping forward again.

"Bucky, God..." and his eyes are shining for a different reason now, "God, Buck, I've..." and the words aren't good enough but "I've missed you so much."

"You weren't supposed to-- I'm not ready--"

"What's 'ready', Buck?"

And that right there was a loaded question, but one he needed the answer to.

"I can help you, Bucky. Please, let me help you."

He shakes his head sharply.

"I don't want to hurt you." And he might, still; he's getting better, memories coming in fits and starts ("--not without you!--"), he's not--

"I'm not ready."

"You're not gonna hurt me, Bucky," he said slowly, "and I'd never hurt you. Not... not again. Not now. Never again."

"I'm still not myself!" His mouth says it for him again, because apparently his hindbrain has complete unquestioning trust in Steve Rogers.

"I'd... guessed that. But I want to help. I want..." he breathed in, breathed out, "I want to be a part of whoever you are now... and whoever you want to be."

"Steve..." And there's a hint of familiar exasperation there. "Just. Just give me some space, all right? I'm almost there, I just..."

He stopped moving forward.

"All right. All right, space. How much space?"

He looked back at him.

"It's apparently enough space when you're close enough not to set off a headache."

The fingers of his flesh hand curl, and he nods.

"It's fine. I'm just not ready..." He shakes his head, trying to knock loose a piece of conditioning that suddenly rears its head.

"All right," he said again, but then he breathed out in a loud huff, "but no pulling what you did to Adam again. He's trying to help me figure this out. And maybe he can help you figure it out too."

He scowls.

"No promises. I--" He can't just let anyone who wants to run off with Steve! Especially someone like that. Actually, he should probably--

"Maybe you can't see it, Steve, but there's something off about him."

"I see well enough, Buck."

Steve allotted his trust carefully and deliberately, trusting his gut and watching carefully to make sure that he turned his back to people only so much as they could havea back turned to them.

"And I promise to give you time and space if you promise to trust me to take care of myself. You're welcome to... stay where you want" watch "but I'll call you if I need your help. Fair?"

He considers it, and finally, gives a short nod.

"Fair. Just... Be careful, Steve. Don't turn your back on him. Something about him..." He shakes his head, the fragments of memory falling away from his grasp again.

"I'm not. But making an enemy of him isn't a great idea either. I need someone to show me the ropes of this" so I can show you the ropes of it "and he's willing to give me some information. The fact that I'm going to meet others should help too."

People trying to share a lie always ended up giving something away, after all.

He nods.

"I heard. Remember MacLeod, kind of. Solid guy. He hidn't understand why Jeanette wanted nothing to do with him."

"I remember MacLeod," he said with a firm nod. "And seeing him again is one of the reasons I'm trying to make friends. I can't imagine him sticking around someone who'll stab you in the back so quick."

"That's... true."

He'll still kill Adam if any harm comes to Steve by his actions. Not that he'll say as much to Steve.

"This whole thing's crazy," Steve said calmly, "but so are we. Our lives..." he swallowed, "our lives are going to be long and crazy. But I need you to trust me. I'm not ninety five pounds and soaking wet anymore, Buck."

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