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James remembers empty dreams and blood when they find him. The best SHIELD has is brought in but there's no easy solution. Only small pieces come back, little things will stir his memory. There was a moment when he first saw Steve but it passed just as quickly. Not even seeing Natasha helps. Eventually all those great shrinks and the telepaths and whoever else files in and out of James's cell all day long have to give in and admit that there's not much left to him. Physical tests show all his muscle memory is intact. A wrong move sends one nurse to the floor but with no memories, Steve won't let them keep him locked up in a room.
He's brought to the mansion but Steve has to avoid him. The man with the familiar face isn't James. He's barely James. He's allowed access to all the official records and it becomes common place to find him in the living room with a tablet in his lap, reading file after file.
Clint says to talk to him and Bruce suggests that Steve can maybe add things to the official record. Maybe something small will stir his memory. Steve can't make himself do it. Every time, he just thinks of everything he's lost up to now and he can't accept this last thing. It's too much.
It was only a matter of time before James sought him out. He knew it was going to happen, he's mentioned in those files more than anybody else. James finds him in the gym. He's tired; avoiding James and keeping busy has worn him out, but he keeps moving. He has to keep moving.
James, he goes by James now, is nervous and Steve feels bad making him wait. He stops the bag's swinging. “Can I help you?”
“You know me.”
Steve takes a shaky breath and nods, staring down at his feet because he doesn't want to face whatever look is on James's face. “I did.”
“You know they say I'll never remember anything.”
Steve looks up because James sounds so lost. “I know,” he says softly. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”
“No,” he shrugs. “I think I get it. Gotta be weird. Hell, it's weird looking in the mirror and not knowing where all the lines come from.”
“We were best friends.” He says it because it’s something Bucky already knows, and he says it because he doesn’t know what else to say. He runs his fingers over his wrapped knuckles. “I heard...you have some muscle memory.”
James smiles slowly. “Yea, I guess I'm supposed to be pretty damn good.”
Steve grins. “Bet you I'm better.”
“What are you betting?”
“I'll treat you to dinner, your fav...your old favorite.” He goes to get another set of wraps and tosses them to James. He gets them on without looking, Steve wonders if looking would trip him up. Steve wants to ask but he doesn’t know if he can. He has to remind himself they’re no longer friends, just acquaintances.
“Sounds good, I don't have much to give you in return.”
“I don't care.” Steve draws him out to the mat and they start out easy. It's weird, feeling James out, figuring out his moves. James doesn't fight how Bucky fought. The rough style he used to have has been refined, toned. The Russians have turned him into a weapon, but sometimes James makes a desperate move, a short jab that screams Bucky. Steve hates them and it gives him enough energy to continue the fight; to keep on going and not collapse as the exhaustion starts to gnaw at him. It pays off when James finally taps out and they're both breathing hard, and covered in sweat.
“Next time,” James says as they lie side by side, both working on catching their breath.
“Next time?”
“Yea, I'm out of practice. Heard I've been kept in jars or something like a weird pickle.”
“That's what Natasha said.”
James sits up, knees bent and head forward. He doesn't look at Steve at all. “I've heard...I think, she's familiar. Like you're familiar. But I can't...”
“We were friends when we were kids until you...until I thought you died. In 1945. I don't know much but she met you somewhere in the fifties.”
“And we're in 2012 now.”
“Yes.”
“This is...this is a lot you know.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“No, you don't,” he snaps and quickly gets to his feet. Steve thinks he's going to storm out but instead he throws a punch at the bag. “I don't remember anything! It's all fucking gone and...” He makes a strangled noise and throws another punch. “I don't know who I am,” he brokenly whispers .
Steve carefully gets to his feet, not wanting to startle James. “You're James Buchanan Barnes. When we were kids...you stepped into a fight and saved my ass.”
James gives him a disbelieving look. “I saved your ass?”
Steve gives him a small smile. “Not everything is in the files.”
James rolls his shoulder and starts unwrapping his hands. Steve is grateful he chose to wrap the metal one as well. Even powered down to the strength of a normal man, it's still made of metal. “What's my favorite food?”
“Pancakes.” He reaches for James and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let's get cleaned up.”
-
James looks hard at himself in the mirror, seeing all the lines around his smile that deepen when he frowns or smiles. He is not old and he is not young but he has seen things. But staring at himself in the mirror, he struggles to remember anything. The doctors said he would probably never remember any of it. His brain is damaged.
He is damaged.
They found him in another country that he can only picture by looking at a map. Being used by a government that he has to research to understand. Russia, Communist, Soldier. The words bring back nothing. He reads them over and over. Looks at the mirror and mouths them, but there is nothing. Sometimes he wakes up, knowing his dream was more than that but it slips away, gone as quickly as it started.
Everyone around him knows more about himself then he does. He avoids the ones who know the most; Steven Rogers and Natalia Romanova. Seeing their looks and knowing they know things about himself brings a sick feeling of jealousy to his gut. Makes him sick with pain and anger. It’s not fair. He yells at the mirror, demanding to know who this stranger is that stares back at him, and why does he have to pay for his crimes?
He burns the files SHIELD has on himself. Doesn’t matter that they exist on computers and aren’t going away. There’s something satisfying about watching the flame eat away at those cold words describing the man with his face. There are pictures of himself. In one, he’s in a group, with Steve. In another, he has long hair and no arm. There’s more he can’t make himself look at. He burns those too. He wishes he could burn the metal arm as well; this strange, permanent reminder of someone he no longer is. He’s changed from the man everyone used to know, wiped clean to something raw and fresh but not new. This body is scarred and so damaged.
He has a pen and writes Bucky and Yasha and James on his thigh, digs in with the tip of the pen until it burns. He tries to remember them all. Steve told him about Bucky and the way he looked out for Steve, how they struggled to make a few bucks and snuck into movies. Natalia told him about Yasha who was twisted and broken but she loved with a passion that only people who have dealt with Death can reach.
And in the middle is James who was lost under Bucky and Yasha over the years but now Bucky and Yasha have been wiped away leaving James. James who doesn’t know who he is without them.
The fire burns itself out and there is nothing left but ash.
The satisfaction is gone.
Someone enters his apartment and his body reacts without his mind’s consent. Clint throws up his hand defensively and Bucky pulls his fist back before it connects.
“Jarvis said you might need some company.”
James falls into the nearest convenient chair and buries his head in his hands. “Go away.”
“Yeah right, you’ve looked at yourself recently?” He looks up to see Clint rummaging through his kitchen, pulling out the six pack of beer and setting it on the counter with a clatter. Bucky sighs and drags himself over.
“Are you here with more stories of what I used to be?”
“No, figured that will only fuck you up worse.” He opens two bottles on the countertop. James doesn’t recognize the brand. He didn’t care what brand it was, as long as it was alcoholic and cheap. Clint passes one to him and takes a long swallow of his, grimacing at the taste. “And we have got to get you better beer.”
“I wasn’t looking for taste.” James sips it slowly, not sure if he wants to drunk here with a stranger.
“Obviously.” Clint hops up onto the counter, legs swinging absently over the edge. “You can relax you know, I didn’t know you before we dragged your frozen ass back to SHIELD, I’ve got no stories to share.” James doesn’t feel like making conversation, so they drink in silence. He thinks of the pile of ash on his balcony, the names on his skin. “Anyone tell you yet what kind of movies you like?”
“No, why?”
“There’s a theater in Brooklyn doing a marathon of kung-fu movies. Want to find out if you like them?”
James smiles slowly and finishes the rest of his beer. “Why not. Nothing better to do.” Clint hops off the counter with a whoop but James freezes. “Did Steve-”
“Put me up to this? You’re kidding right? Steve can’t put me up to anything. He’s an adult and can deal with his own problems.”
The theater is empty except for them, so Clint makes fun of some of the more dramatic moves, not demanding anything from James, not even a response. It allows James to sink down in his chair and just listens to the dubbed over voices and Clint’s critiques. They have popcorn that’s been sitting out a little bit too long and is too greasy and too buttery. James hates it.
The realization makes him laugh, making Clint pause to look at him.
“I hate this popcorn,” he says, not caring how ridiculous that sounds. But Clint grins, he gets it and holds out his fist.
“Fist bump man, come on, just…” he sighs when James just stares. Hesitantly, he copies him. Clint cheers when they bump fists. “Welcome to the modern age. Chinese food next. Don’t worry, I’ll order.”
Clint shows up in his room after that, often without invitation or request. James knows Jarvis is keeping an eye on him and sends Clint over when James is at his worst. When he wonders if there’s much point to making a future without a past. There’s no context for any of it. He continues going to the gym, remembering what his body already knows. Steve is there and he talks about missions, a new movie if maybe Bucky-James is interested. He’s trying. James looks him in the eyes, stares him down, trying to figure out what is going through Steve’s head. They keep on gravitating towards each other and away, and James can’t figure out what the balance is.
Steve looks at him and James doesn’t know who he’s seeing. During the times they talk, James
doesn’t want to know. There’s an ease to it, to being with Steve.
It’s all ruined so easily though. Steve slips up, asks ‘do you remember’ and whatever easiness there was, is gone. Replaced by this specter of the man whose face James stole.
Conversation is usually over after that.
-
Steve watches them together. Clint is teaching Bucky, no James now, he needs to remember that. Clint is teaching James a card trick. James has all of Bucky’s reflexes and learns the slight of hand quickly, laughing while he does.
Steve stares down at the book he’s trying to read but the letters jumble and mix and swirl and he keeps on seeing Bucky’s name. Meanwhile Clint shows James another trick and Steve can’t sit around anymore. He sets the book down and slips out. No one stops him. His friend who noticed him slipping away from the crowd, who might have been the only one who ever did so, is gone.
James doesn’t laugh for Steve.
At first, there was a chance. Steve only wanted to help and James had jumped on those chances. They’d gone out to eat, went to where their old apartment in Brooklyn had been. There’s an office building there now but the facade is the same, solid brick. James chuckled when he heard that, said it was a fitting metaphor. The outside being all the same but the inside all gutted and different.
They didn’t go out much after that. James avoids him and Steve’s learned the hard way that talking about Bucky, talking about being kids, living in a world no one today remembers, will never happen. He remembers being in SHIELD, looking at the familiar face and thinking maybe he won’t be alone. He won’t just be the Man Out of Time, a title the newspaper have still not let go of. Maybe he can again be Steve Rogers. That hope didn’t last long.
Sometimes though, their paths still run into each other. Steve thinks, Steve hopes, that even though James doesn’t ever say so, he likes the time they spend together, usually in the gym where they don’t have to talk. Sparring is simple and for a little while they both forget about everything between them.
Steve wishes that could exist outside of throwing punches at each other.
He leaves the Tower without any real destination in mind and he’s not entirely surprised when he ends up in the park, watching families and friends.
“Steve?”
James is standing there, shoulders hunched awkwardly, looking more like Steve then Bucky but he’s there and that alone makes Steve smile. “How the hell did you find me?”
James holds up his cell phone, a map of the city clearly visible. “Tony explained it. Said there was something in your phone I could track.”
“Is there,” he swallows hard because the only reason he can think of for James to be here is that he needs something from Steve. “Is there something I can help you with?”
James buries his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Can we walk?” Steve nods and lets James take the first few steps. For awhile they just walk, Steve watches James and James watches everything else. He absorbs it all, like a sponge. Steve feels so guilty for trying to push him to remember, to be Bucky. For the first time, Steve wonders who James is. “I’m sorry.”
Steve trips over his feet. “What? You don’t-”
“Yeah, I do.” He looks at Steve and then quickly away. “Clint pointed out that you lost a best friend.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Of course it’s not.” James shoots him a grin and Steve reacts without thinking, punching James’ shoulder lightly as if he’s Bucky. He flinches back when he realizes what he’s done but James is still smiling and he nudges Steve back. “You were right, about the pancakes. Well, I liked them. Don’t want to say favorite just yet, but thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No it’s not,” James whispers. They’ve left the park and Steve knows they’re making their way slowly back to the Tower. He turns them, starts walking down a different road. Just to not go back just yet. “It’s everything.” They get stopped at a street corner by traffic and there’s a Starbucks behind them. “Do you know my coffee order too?”
“Not from a Starbucks.” He’s not sure he can explain how much the world has changed to someone who barely knows the modern world. Coffee used to be black and if they were lucky, real. James takes his arm and pulls him towards the coffee shop.
“We can learn something new.” They hover towards the back and Bucky’s hand is still on his arm, the warmth seeping through to Steve’s skin. The Starbucks is crowded so James has to stand close to keep out of anyone’s way. Steve blushes, feeling the way his body presses along the length of Steve’s. “Damn they make it complicated,” James grumbles.
“Tony hasn’t lectured you on ordering coffee?” Steve smiles, suddenly feeling like he can do something.
“No?”
Steve pulls him forward into line, here’s something that he can show James, something that isn’t about Bucky. “Go find a seat.”
James hand falls away and Steve misses it. Misses the warmth. It’s something he hasn’t felt since Peggy, since that kiss left his insides twisted and warm. He assumed parts of him had never defrosted from the ice. Steve watches him find a table with one chair by the window, stealing a second seat on his way for Steve. He props his feet up on it to make sure no one steals it back and goes back to looking around the room. Steve wonders what he’s looking for.
He remembers when the sisters would sometimes give them treats. They gave them peppermint and he always gave Bucky his, because he loved them more. He waits by the counter after ordering so as not to interrupt James, and so that Steve can watch him. He’s quiet and still, just his head moving, watching. If this was Bucky, he’d assume he was looking for a threat or danger, maybe a pretty girl. James’ gaze lingers on the couple trying to decide what movie to see, and the student on his laptop and little girl playing with her mother’s iPhone. Steve realizes James is learning, taking in everything and fitting it into his growing picture of the world.
Their drinks come up and Steve takes them to James’ table. “Let me know if you don’t like it, alright? It’s easy to get something different.” James looks at the writing on the side of the cup, trying to decipher the abbreviations. “Just drink it.” He blushes, feeling a little silly now but James had liked the pancakes.
James looks at him and smiles slowly before taking a sip. “It’s good.”
“You’re just saying that.”
James laughs, he sounds like Bucky but without the reservation of Bucky. “No, I’m not.” His smile softens and fades, looking back down at his hands, wrapped around the cup. “It’s still weird. You know my favorite foods and Natasha knows how I take my tea. But I’m not…”
“You’re not Bucky. I know.” Steve doesn’t turn away; he doesn’t want to be scared of this. “You’re James.”
-
It’s 3 AM and the hints of memories have kept James up again. The nightmares that he knows were real but are gone as soon as he opens his eyes. There’s no chance of falling back asleep so he makes his way to the communal floor. The TV is already on and he recognizes Steve even when he’s slouched on the couch with his back to James. There’s something in the neat haircut and set of the broad shoulders. He goes to the kitchen, not sure he wants to deal with those earnest blue eyes. He’s kept his nightmares a secret and wants to keep them that way.
There’s ice cream in the freezer and for a second James just stares at it. He still does that, stare at things and hope it will stir some memory. It’s been weeks, almost long enough for him to start counting in months but he just doesn’t want to. SHIELD doesn’t seem to know what to do with him. He has all his skills but they don’t want to put a man with no memory out into the field.
Things with Steve have at least gotten better. They talk, have conversations about things other then Bucky and what had happened in the past. Once they move past Bucky, James discovers he and Steve get along. Steve complains about meetings and lets James go through his bookshelf.
He did it once, while everyone was gone saving the world. James had nothing better to do then find a new book to read and instead found a photo, old, worn out. Of two men with their arms around each other. In the corner was pinned a small circular cut out of a woman. Steve was obvious, he hadn’t changed. James had stared at himself in enough mirrors to recognize himself. The woman he didn’t know, but that wasn’t his concern. He had been told that Steve had lost his best friend and now for the first time he was meeting that best friend.
“You must be Bucky.” He touched the man’s face. “I go by James. Guess we both got fucked over in all this.”
He set the photo down and left. Didn’t ever come back, or tell Steve about it. They were talking, and it was almost good living here. Now Steve is out on the couch, apparently unable to sleep just like James.
So he grabs two spoons and jumps over the back of the couch, holding out the ice cream before Steve can say anything.
A million different questions pass over Steve’s face but he settles on just one. “Rocky Road?”
James shrugs. “It was there. What are you watching?”
“I don’t know.” Steve takes the ice cream and a spoon. James looks to the TV, they’re talking to each other in Spanish and he understands. For a moment he freezes, as it sinks in that he understands. Steve is giving him a weird look but James isn’t entirely sure what his face is doing. “I can change it if you want.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He takes the ice cream back, momentarily caught off guard by the warmth of Steve’s fingers against the cold ice cream. “I understand,” he says quickly to hide the moment from Steve. His tongue darts out over his lower lip as Steve cleans his spoon off. “I understand,” he repeats, looking back at the TV.
Steve sits up straighter and moves so they’re side by side, shoulders touching. But it’s the shoulder of metal and all he feels is pressure. He widens his legs slightly so his knee bumps against Steve’s thigh. “So tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“About…whatever it is we’re watching.” He gestures vaguely with the spoon.
James settles in and listens. “Well, it sounds like he,” he points at the man on the left, “fell in love with his daughter and now she’s pregnant but…but the baby isn’t the boyfriend’s? I think.”
Steve sinks down so he can rest his head on the back of the couch. “I have a meeting with Fury tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I want you on the Avengers.”
James chokes on the mouthful of ice cream. Steve’s hand is warm and steady on his back until he can finally breathe again. “I’m not your old sidekick. Just because I still know how-”
“I know,” Steve says softly. His hand is still on James’ back. “But you’re good. I watched you with Natasha the other day, and it’s stupid to keep you stuck in here when we can use you.”
James twists so he’s sitting sideways on the couch, facing him. “Do I get a cool codename?”
“I think we can come up with something.”
They fall asleep on the couch, Bucky’s head on Steve’s shoulder. Natasha wakes them the next morning. She doesn’t say anything but she has a small smile on her lips whenever she looks at them after that. Steve and James don’t talk about it either but two days later, Fury calls James into SHIELD headquarters, a place he hasn’t been since the doctors announced him an amnesiac with no cure and sent him to the Avengers Tower. He gets Phil Coulson for an escort, he isn’t sure if he should be complimented or not. He assumes they all think he’s going to become the Winter Soldier at the sight of a lot of people in black suits.
Fury glares at him for one eye and tells him that Captain America argued for him, the Black Widow argued for him, hell every damn member of the team has been into his office to tell Fury that James Barnes should be given a suit and a gun and sent into the field to help them out. Stark even offered to make him a suit of armor.
“Why should I do that?” Fury leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his lap. James can’t read him.
“I don’t know.”
Fury chuckles and it makes James’ hackles rise. “All the agents out there keep on expecting you to slaughter us all because of the smell of borscht or something.”
“I actually haven’t tried borscht yet. Natasha says it tastes like glue.”
“She’s a smart woman.” He suddenly leans forward again and shuffles through his desk. “Here’s the deal. I don’t trust you. Don’t take it personally, I don’t trust anyone. I trust that this amnesia thing is real but maybe putting you back in the field is all the trigger you need. We don’t know shit about the Winter Soldier or what they did to turn you into him.” James bits his tongue to keep from correcting him that he’s not Bucky, and he’s not Yasha and it wasn’t him who was erased. “I’m man enough to admit I know when I’m in the dark.” He finds the file he’s looking for and slides it over to James. “Non-disclosure, insurance bullshit. You’ll be on probation at first. Since in these circumstances I can’t deny you a gun, it means if you fuck up, Hawkeye and Black Widow have standing orders to take you out. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly.” He flips through the paperwork, there’s a lot of lines to sign and boxes to tick.
“Good, then take that and get out. When you’re done, give it to Coulson. He knows what to do with it.”
“Yes sir.” He knows he’s being dismissed and quickly leaves, Fury’s already onto the next thing. Steve’s waiting for him outside and it’s strangely comforting.
“Well? Do I get a new teammate?”
“New?”
Steve grins and takes the paperwork from him, glancing at it as he leads the way out. “New. Haven’t fought besides James Barnes yet.”
-
Their first mission goes well, surprisingly well. It’s simple but Steve could see that everyone was nervous before hand. The kind of nervousness that led to mistakes and rash decisions. He pulled Natasha to the side as they flew out to the middle of Montana and asked her to help him keep an eye on James. She nodded and promised so Steve felt a little better jumping into the fight.
Afterward, looking at the carnage left by a 30 foot long land octopus exploding into small chunks thanks to a combination of explosive arrows and lightning strikes, Steve thinks he can honestly say job well done. No one was hurt, the bad guys were apprehended and his own team only came away with bruises and scratches. Clint has one awkward bruise on his forehead where a tentacle caught him.
James catches his eye where he and Natasha are trying to get the worst of the octopus gunk out of Thor’s hair and smiles. Steve finds himself smiling back. As he watches, James excuses himself and makes his way over to Steve. He’s still just in a standard SHIELD field uniform. Steve finds himself looking for longer then he should and quickly tears his eyes back up, to James’ face.
“So this is what you guys do.”
“Only on Mondays.”
“You must all be crazy.”
Steve laughs and reaches out to pat James on the shoulder. “You get used to it.” James looks ready to say something else but then slowly nods. “Still James then?”
“Yeah, just James. Something wrong with that?”
Steve shakes his head. “You ready to go home?”
“That obvious?” James looks sheepish, as if admitting that is some kind of weakness. Steve doesn’t say anything, just pulls him up onto the jet. He doesn’t say anything either when James sits beside him, their legs bumping lightly with each tremor that runs through the jet. Tony’s taking up most of the floor, trying to de-gunk his armor and Thor is attempting in vain to convince Clint that his bruise should be a mark of honor. A sign of his success. Clint refuses to lower his hand.
Natasha is watching them though with a small knowing smile on her lips.
Steve tries to ignore it, tries to think it means something else but he knows that he’s only lying to himself. When they’re leaving the jet, she ends up in step beside him. “It’s easy isn’t it?” She murmurs.
“Natasha…”
“He’s made his choice.” She shrugs and lightly touches Steve’s arm. “I can arrange for something to keep you two later.”
Steve groans, the last thing he wants is his team attempting to set him up. Luckily there’s no one lingering around when he gets back to the Tower. Fury found it hard to believe that James did so well but eventually he had nothing left to question and Steve excused himself before Fury came up with any more.
James is in the kitchen when Steve ducks in to get a snack before finally cleaning off. The cowl at least saved his hair from the same fate of his teammates but he was still dirty. James is in worn jeans and an old t-shirt that Steve had lent him when he first moved to the Tower, with a bowl of popcorn and the newspaper. He looks damp and comfortable and when he glances up at Steve’s entrance, he smiles. “Took you long enough.”
“I…sorry? I didn’t know you were waiting.”
“No worries, coffee?” Steve is still staring and he knows he has to move, or respond. “Steve?”
“Sorry,” he winces. “I just wanted a bite of something. Then shower.”
James wrinkles his nose theatrically. “You’re right, you do need a shower. Get out.” Steve grins and steals a handful of popcorn before leaving. James tries to act offended but Steve can hear him laughing. The shower helps him. He feels better, cleaner. Everything seems a little more manageable. Except he keeps on thinking of James and not like he thought of Bucky. Steve isn’t sure when exactly he started thinking of them as two separate people but that’s who they are now, like a bizarre set of twins.
Part of him still desperately wants Bucky back. He wants the man who he grew up with, who shares his memories. But James doesn’t have Bucky’s pain, James laugh comes easier, he’s as bad as Bucky when it comes to trust but for different reasons. Standing there, alone with burning water pouring over him, Steve thinks if James is the price, Bucky wouldn’t want to come back. Or maybe he’s just being selfish. Trying to make himself feel better about wanting James and his smile, wondering what it would taste like to kiss him.
James is still there when Steve goes back down to the kitchen, except the other members of the team have joined him.
Steve watches from the door, he watches Tony attempt to argue his way past Bruce for one more cup of coffee and Clint dig through the fridge for dinner, while Thor tells James some story from Asgard.
“Still don’t want help?”
“Damnit, Natasha.”
She chuckles and doesn’t even try to look innocent. “Well?”
“I can handle myself.” He watches the group for another moment with her steady and quiet beside him. “Why are you trying?” He asks quietly.
Natasha hums softly and Steve thinks he might not even get an answer. “A lot of my memories are as damaged as his, but I know he was real. I know what we had was real.” Something sad passes over her face, gone almost as soon as it came. “But he’s James now, not Yasha.”
“And not Bucky,” Steve says in agreement.
“Memories are not something we realize are so defining until they’re gone.”
“Is this about to turn into a treat him well, or I’ll hurt you talk?”
“No, you’re an adult.”
“Are you two going to join us or just whisper conspiratorially over in the corner?” Clint asks, waving a spatula threateningly at them. Everyone turns to look at them now. James expression darkens when he sees them standing together but he doesn’t say anything.
“Yea you two conspiring isn’t terrifying at all,” Tony shudders dramatically. “Just two of the scariest tactical minds, talking quietly in a corner. I know your innocent thing is just an act, Rogers. It’s always the innocent ones.” Steve hears Natasha give a long suffering sigh. He rests a hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her forward and they go to join everyone else around the kitchen’s island. Steve slips in beside James, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“Talking about me?” James murmurs.
“Yes,” Steve answers, not seeing a reason to lie.
James tenses, Steve can see it in his hands. “What about?”
Clint is describing enthusiastically what he’s cooking, but James is just looking at him, waiting for his answer. “Do you want to get coffee?” James blinks in surprise but before he can respond, Clint smacks the counter in front of them with his spatula and says if they don’t pay attention they don’t eat.
Steve doesn’t get his answer about the coffee.
-
James sits outside after dinner, everyone is still inside, and he can hear Tony and Clint arguing loudly about some movie. Some other thing James doesn’t know. He hears the door open but doesn’t look away from the city.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Natasha says, taking a seat beside him.
“Yea,” James murmurs. “Yea it is.”
They fall silent. James is never sure what to say to her. He wonders sometimes if his eyes used to look like hers, dark and haunted before his brain got too damaged and broke. There’s something between them but he doesn’t know what it is and every time he looks at her, he knows he doesn’t want to know.
“Back when I lived there, Moscow was never so bright. I never really liked Moscow.”
James doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he’s supposed to agree or ask why, have some kind of opinion. But Moscow isn’t anything but a dot on the map for him. “Did I?” He finally asks.
“I don’t know. We never talked about it.”
“What did we talk about?”
“You don’t need to know.”
He swears softly, the words feel good and sharp on his tongue. “And why do you get to decide that for me?” He doesn’t look at her but he can feel her looking at him. He shouldn’t push. There are the nightmares, the glimpses into something painful and bloody. He knows they’re more than nightmares but he’s never risked scratching too much at them, he’s not entirely sure why he’s doing it now.
“Do you really want to know?”
He freezes then at suddenly having the choice and he’s not sure. “Maybe, I don’t know.”
She reaches over and takes his hand, the real one. Her thumb rubs over his knuckles. He feels like it should pull at something, bring back some feeling. Her hand is warm and it’s comforting but there’s no familiarity to it. “We loved each other James.” She leans over and kisses him softly. “That’s all you need to know. You love someone else now.”
He closes his eyes, memorizing the feel of her lips, slightly chapped and dry. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
She kisses his cheek. “It’s not your fault.” She leans back in her chair so nothing connects them but their hands. There’s nothing else to say, but it feels good just to sit there with her. There’s no sense that she’s judging him, and he loses himself in his thoughts. Her hand grounding him to the present.
There’s another nightmare that night, more detailed then in the past. He wakes up screaming. Seconds later there’s a knock on his door and Steve pokes his head in. “Jarvis said…” James doesn’t know what he looks like but it can’t be good. Steve doesn’t even finish his sentence before he’s in James space, pulling him against him, holding him tightly. “Jarvis said you might need some company,” he murmurs when James feels like he can breathe again.
“It was just a bad dream.” He doesn’t pick up his head from Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s arms make no effort to let go.
“Doesn’t matter.” His hand runs soothingly over James’ back. “Not letting go.”
“You’re not going to ask me to talk about it?”
Steve’s breath hitches, James can feel it. “No,” he finally whispers. “I mean, you’re welcome to if you want, but you don’t have to”
“I killed a woman. There was blood on my hands.” He tells him because he needs to say something to make it real and Steve said ‘no’, James is choosing to share. It’s different from how everyone demanded to know what was going on in his head before.
Steve takes one of his hands and squeezes tightly. “That wasn’t you.”
“It’s in my head.” He tries to push himself away, he needs to figure out what this means, how to fit it into the little he knows about it but Steve catches his wrists and holds him until James stops fighting. “This isn’t like figuring out you like fucking peppermint. I had an idea, but it was all so fucking clear and I don’t know.” His voice cracks and he refuses to meet Steve’s eyes.
“You don’t want to be Bucky, or Yasha, right?”
“I’m James. Of course, they’re all fucking James. So even being James isn’t special.”
Steve’s hands cup his cheeks and make him look. Bright blue eyes and so understanding. “You’ve become someone different. You have to live with some of their scars but you’re not them. You wouldn’t kill that woman.” He hesitantly lets go and James stays very still, trying to figure out what they were doing, sitting on his bed in their underwear. Steve seems to see their position at the same time and his fingers twist together in his lap. “Do you want to watch bad TV? I don’t know if there’s more ice cream in the fridge, but we can make popcorn.”
“Yea, yea ok.”
Steve’s smile lets him know he said the right thing. They don’t bother with the popcorn, just sit together on the couch and Steve doesn’t say anything when James yawns and rests his head on his shoulder. There’s nothing on this time so they find an infomercial and watch a woman overexcitedly describe a blender.
“Did you and Bucky ever…” He’s just tired enough to let his guard down, to ask things he wouldn’t have the guts to ask normally.
“I said you weren’t a replacement. But no, he was like a brother.”
“Are you blushing?” Steve laughs which isn’t really an answer. Steve’s chest vibrates against his back, making him smile and that’s good enough. “Sorry, for taking your brother.”
“It’s ok. I…kind of accepted he was gone.”
“Good, because I think I like being me.”
“Even with the nightmares and no memories and metal arm?” Steve’s hand curls around his shoulder as if preparing to comfort him in case even the mention of his nightmares leads to another break down.
“Even with. They all kind of make me now, don’t they?” He reaches for Steve’s hand and tugs it off his shoulder and down around his chest.
“James.”
“If you don’t want this, just say so.”
Steve lips press to his head and James can feel each breath.
-
“I think there’s a hole in my chest,” James groans.
Steve glances down at him. His head is in Steve’s lap and his feet on Clint’s. The rest of the team fills up the back of the jet, in various states of consciousness. The team’s changed and grown. Bruce sat this one out but Sam joined them and Carol is in the pilot’s seat.
“This is why you make sure there are no guards standing around waiting for someone to make a rescue attempt,” Steve says, smiling wryly. The worst is over, James is bandaged up and they’re on their way home. James groans and reaches stiffly with one hand to find the injury. “I told you not to do anything rash.” Steve moves his hand and holds it over the bandage.
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
James laughs but it fades quickly into a pained groan. “Ok, not laughing yet. I saved your ass though, so no, not sorry.” Steve sighs, knowing he has a point. Sam rolls his eyes at them when he notices Steve looking.
“This is your fault too, you threw him,” Steve says, knowing it will make no difference to what Sam thinks.
Sam shrugs. “Saved your ass.”
James gives another short laugh and holds up one hand. “High five, Sam.”
“Just get better so you can put Steve in a better mood.”
James hand reaches for Steve’s entwining their fingers loosely. “Working on it.” Steve sighs, knowing when retreat is the better part of valour and lifts their hands to his lips to lightly kiss his knuckles. They’re red and bruised from punching goons in the face. Steve rests his other hand on James’ chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against his palm. “I’ll be better before you know it,” James mumbles. Steve just smiles and bends over to kiss him properly..