justakidfrombrklyn | 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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He nods.

"Yeah. I know where all of them are."

"And you've just been leading me on a merry chase, huh?" he asked,keeping the teasing gentle.

"Kept you out of trouble, didn't I?" Until now, anyway, but he couldn't allow for variables he had no idea of.

"I probably don't want to know how many people you've taken out, do I?" He asked lightly.

He shakes his head.

"Don't ask me."

"Wasn't planning on it," he said with a sigh.

"Do you mind if we go inside?"

He hesitates a moment, and then shakes his head.

"It should be all right."

"Though Adam might not be happy to see you," he pointed out mildly.

"He'll live," Bucky said.

He looked over at Bucky.

"Trust me, he knows. And he might take advantage of the fact that you'll survive. Not that I'm thrilled with the idea. I'm not really thrilled at the idea of anyone hurting you."

His hand drifts to his side, where, against all his calculations, Adam had managed to get a knife - a surprisingly accurate knife, not even considering his condition - in him. If it had been two inches longer, it would have nicked his kidney, even through the tacsuit.

"...I'll live."

"I'd rather no one died, even if they'll come back," he grumbled, giving Bucky a squeeze.

"Such an idealist," he replies, with an affectionate shouldercheck.

He took three seconds to think about it before leaning in and pecking his cheek.

"I'm going to spend a long time doing my best to make sure no one ever hurts you again."

A little smile curls up on his face.

"Dumbass. That's my job."

"Always had the job. Just finally got the muscle to back it up."

"Says Mr. Charge Into Danger At The Least Provocation."

"You being captured is not he least provocation," he pointed out. The he smiled a little more even if it was a little brittle.

"There's nothing that's gonna make me jump like that."

"I wasn't talking about that," he says, shaking his head. "That's Normal Steve. You did that kinda shit before this-" he pokes Steve's arm pointedly "-too. Normal Steve is ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. 'Course, then they went and gave you a bigger bag, so you had to add more crazy."

He looked back.

"Like I said. I can back it up now."

"Yeah. Doesn't mean it's not my job to look after you."

He smiled at that.

"We take care of each other."

He glanced out over the roof.

"Did you want to collect your armory, or can we head down?"

He glances around.

"Lemme grab a couple of things."

He gives Steve a squeeze, and then moves about the roof, making a few adjustments, and grabbing one of his favourite long guns.

"All right."

He watched him, his eyes unconsciously trained on Bucky's hips as he moved with the same easy swagger he always had. Somehow, of everything, that had survived.

"I'll go down first. Hopefully, it'll keep Adam from shooting you. Or anyone."

He nods.

"Go ahead."

That gives him the rearguard, and he's. Okay with that.

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