Chapter Text
Steve looked worriedly at Bucky, who was curled up in the window seat, looking out across the city. Over the last few months he'd fallen deeper and deeper into melancholy, and nobody could figure out why, least of all Bucky. Or if he knew, he couldn't tell Steve. It had gotten bad enough that they had played with the idea of putting him on antidepressants, before concluding that they wouldn't stay in his system long enough to do any good.
'Captain Rogers.' The tone of JARVIS' digital voice told Steve that it had been pitched just for him. Steve thought it was amazing that the AI could effectively throw his voice to wherever he wanted to speak from when he didn't want to speak to the room in general.
'What is it, JARVIS?' he responded silently, knowing the AI would read his lips.
'A package has just cleared security for Sergeant Barnes. Perhaps its contents may cheer him up.' Steve smiled slightly. JARVIS' basic functions were to care for the occupants of the tower, he had evolved from an electronic copy of the butler who'd raised Tony after all, and he'd been as worried about Bucky as anyone else.
“Thanks, JARVIS.” Steve headed down and collected the box from the security desk. It was big enough to be just slightly awkward to carry, but weighed almost nothing to Steve's enhanced strength. He caught the attention of the other Avengers, who had rallied around Bucky when his mental state started slipping and spent most of their free time in the common areas he tended to frequent, and they gathered around the two supersoldiers to see what the package was. “Hey, Buck, you've got fanmail.” Bucky hadn't gone out on many missions with them, but everyone knew the famous WWII hero Bucky Barnes was convalescing at Avengers Tower with his best friend Captain America, and while his fan presence tended to be smaller than most of the Avengers', it was also a lot more enthusiastic than most. Not so many letters from schoolchildren, but a lot of presents from people in the former Soviet bloc that called him the only reason they'd gotten through the USSR era alive, and Russia's greatest hope. It was strange, and Steve didn't like it at all, but Bucky never indicated he wanted them screened out, and only Bucky's therapist was allowed to make decisions like that for him. And she hadn't.
Bucky turned reluctantly to face the room, putting his back to the window glass. His face was resigned, rather than the enthusiasm Steve had hoped for, but at least he responded. That was hit and miss lately. Steve deposited the box onto the seat next to him, and Bucky sighed, but quickly opened the box, flipping the tabs up so that no one could see what was in the box. Slowly, he lifted out an index card that was obviously sitting on top of whatever else was within, staring at it for long moments. Then he sat it on the seat next to the box, and Steve could see it had a single phrase printed in neat Cyrillic.
“Komandir lyubit menya,” he muttered to himself happily as he dug into the box. Steve heard Natasha's harshly drawn in breath, and turned to her questioningly.
“He said 'the commander loves me',” she translated before he could ask. “And the note says 'well done, my soldier'.” Steve frowned. A lot of his fans called him soldier or Winter Soldier, so he knew that security had found it unremarkable, but something nagged him about it. He never liked it when people referred to Bucky as the Winter Soldier, as he hadn't had any choice in becoming that, even less than the rest of the team had. Even Natasha had chosen to own the Black Widow title, claim it as a victory over those who had tried to use her. But Bucky just really didn't seem to care about it. Bucky surfaced with a package of fruit shaped candies -marzipan, Steve identified distantly- popping one into his mouth and humming with pleasure before looking up at the rest of them. Meeting Steve's eyes, he blanked his face as best as he could, dropping the candies back into the box and closing it. Steve frowned, hurt that Bucky thought he needed to hide from him.
“Bucky? What's up?” he asked gently. Bucky shrugged and looked away.
“You don't want to talk about it.”
“Why would you say that?” Bucky gave a little laugh, but it wasn't a happy one.
“Because you don't. I've tried. You just change the subject. You don't want to talk about the Commander.”
“Commander...” The title nagged at his attention for long moments before it clicked. “Rumlow?” Slowly, Bucky nodded, not meeting his eyes. Steve sighed, moving to drop heavily onto the seat next to Bucky. “Talking about Rumlow hurts. I thought he was my friend. I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to hide things from me.” After a moment, Bucky turned slowly to finally meet his gaze again.
“He was your friend,” he whispered. “He used to tell me things, talk to me. He couldn't tell anyone else; they would have turned on him. He didn't want to hurt you. As much as he honestly thought they were doing what was best, he regretted that you became a target.” Steve snorted, looking away from his friend's earnest expression. He didn't know what to do with that information.
“So he sent you a box full of candy?” he asked instead, peeking over the edge of the box. Instantly, Bucky perked up.
“He used to sneak me candies, whatever the specialty was where we were. It was- it was one of the few good things in my life. I would have done anything for the commander, even gone against Pierce if he'd asked it of me. But he didn't. It didn't occur to him, I think, and I couldn't exactly volunteer the information.”
“What did he ask of you?”
“Nothing. He just wanted me to do my job, keep him and his team safe.”
“If he wasn't trying to get you to do something, why the candies?” Steve knew Bucky had always had a giant sweet tooth, often spending his lunch money on sweets, but he couldn't see what the benefit would be for Rumlow other than bribing him into doing things.
“I think he just got a kick out of how much it always surprised me, and how much I enjoyed it. It was something simple he didn't have to think about. If anyone questioned him, he just said that it was a reward for a job well done, but everyone knew that just telling me that I'd done well was all the reward I expected.” This was the most Bucky had ever talked about his time as the Winter Soldier, and Steve doubly regretted making him feel like he couldn't talk about Rumlow now. “But he could justify it by saying that I worked harder for him because he gave me treats.” He shook his head, looking fond. “I would have anyway, and he knew it, but I'll admit the treats didn't hurt anything.” He pulled out another piece of marzipan, tossing it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he took in the flavor, sucking on it slowly, letting it dissolve on his tongue.
“Is that why you've been so sad lately?” Steve asked hesitantly. “Because you miss him?” Bucky shrugged.
“I guess. I've been remembering more.” He shifted so he could look out the window again. “The stuff from the thirties and forties were first, I think because it was easier. The memories after they designed the damn chair hurt to remember, and it was easier to push them away. But I haven't been able to lately. And it hurts, Stevie. I always hurt when I was with them. There were a couple of people who tried to make things a little better for me, and they're the only reason I survived for you to find me again.” Steve reached out to pull Bucky into a hug without thinking about the potential consequences. Bucky was volatile on a good day, sometimes able to accept touch, most times not. Bucky gave a little sob and folded into the embrace though, and Steve tightened his arms protectively around him.
“I didn't want to talk about him, because it hurt that a man I liked and respected so much was Hydra,” Steve whispered. “But I'm glad he was there to take care of you. I'd like hear more of that. Good things.”
“And the bad things?” Bucky whispered. Steve sighed.
“Well, obviously I won't enjoy hearing it any more than you enjoy remembering or telling it. But it's about damn time I stopped running away from it and hurting you more. You shouldn't have to deal with it alone.” He could feel Bucky's tears hot against his neck, and rubbed his back soothingly, trying to be as comforting as he could. “I'm with you, Buck. Till the end of the line.” Bucky chuckled wetly at the old promise that had always stood between them but didn't move or respond.
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The boxes started coming in every three months, and Bucky was visibly excited every time waiting for them. They came from different locations every time but were like a time capsule of where Rumlow had been in the past three months. And yet, they still couldn't track him. Tony couldn't decipher what was taking him to the towns or countries he was picking the delicacies up from, much less when he'd been there. Steve suspected that Bucky could probably track him better, but he didn't offer, and Steve didn't mention it. Bucky's happiness was worth more to him than the arrest of a man who had at least taken the best care of the captive soldier he could. Even if he'd been a willing soldier for a fascist regime, Steve could honestly overlook that with how much thinking of him offset the general terror and pain the returning memories caused Bucky.
Sometimes there were notes on notecards, and sometimes on photos or articles clipped out of newspapers that showed Bucky out doing something. They were always short, but positive, affirmation that he was doing well out in the world, as if he knew how much Bucky doubted himself and his ability to function in society after so long. Well, after being his handler for so long, doubtless he knew Bucky's personality and how his mind worked. It did concern Steve somewhat that Bucky always lapsed into Russian in his excitement and none of them could come up with an explanation for why. Not even that Rumlow spoke Russian to him. The words and phrases that he used were well spoken, but it was the result of pronunciation drills, not fluency. Rumlow spoke English and Italian fluently, but he didn't really even have a working vocabulary in Russian, only the Winter Soldier code words and phrases, and the Cyrillic of the notes was obviously from the internet, according to Natasha at least. Something about the phrasing, Steve didn't get it, but he trusted her judgment.
Bucky watched Steve more than usual every time a box came in. Steve watched him all the time, so he figured it was fair. He never offered any of his candies, though he sometimes did with treats from other sources, and Steve never asked, but he wanted to. He also made himself listen to Bucky's memories of HYDRA, even though it hurt his heart. He noticed, though, that the stories about Rumlow sounded a lot like a lot of people's stories about how they met their spouses, for all that Bucky had sworn that nobody had touched him sexually while he was their weapon. Apparently, it had been discouraged akin to how penetrating yourself with your handgun was discouraged. Nobody had been encouraged to think of him as anything other than a weapon. That, at least, had been a relief to hear.
“Need something, Buck?” Steve asked when he caught Bucky's eyes on him again. Bucky turned to look out the window.
“Would you want him to come in?” he asked softly.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked quietly, moving to stand next to Bucky, absently signaling JARVIS to give them privacy.
“The commander. I'm pretty sure I could get a message to him. But I don't know if you would want me to.” His hands were clenched into fists, but other than that his body language was relaxed.
“You want to bring him in from the cold?” He knew that was the term used for spies operating on their own and figured it would be appropriate. Bucky hesitated, and then nodded.
“But not if he would be going to prison. I owe him more than that.” Steve thought about that for a long time.
“See if you can make contact. I'll see what I can do.”
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Unsurprisingly, the idea was a hard sell to the rest of the Avengers. Especially with the revelation of how Arnim Zola had kept Hydra alive by restarting it inside SHIELD. Nobody wanted it to happen again. But they could all see the value of having another operative of the quality they knew Rumlow was, too. If they could just be sure of his loyalty.
Bucky spent three days isolated in his room searching the internet with JARVIS. Steve poked him into eating about every eight hours, but he was the only one allowed in the room. Tony spent approximately sixteen hours trying to figure out what the connecting factor was, and found a mercenary called Crossbones had been to each location he checked within eighteen hours of the timestamp Bucky searched. He added Crossbones into his equations for finding Rumlow after a cursory search found an overlap between the treats sent and Crossbones activity. Steve was vaguely uneasy about this but couldn't really argue it. Rumlow was currently a wanted terrorist, and Tony was trying to apprehend him.
Meetings with Fury and Hill went a little better. Both were cautiously willing to bring Rumlow home and let him speak for himself, at least. But Steve didn't trust it, and only told them that Bucky wanted to find a way to bring him in, that he trusted him, and not that he was trying to get in touch with him. He didn't trust Fury's motives, and he was tired of feeling like the man was using him.
King T'Chaka and his son T'Challa had been instrumental in getting Bucky's name cleared, the loyalty between the Steve and Bucky had evidently hit T'Challa hard when the case had first come before the United Nations, given the Winter Soldier's international range. Steve reached out to them now with the tale of the only living Hydra agent who had tried to take care of Bucky properly, working it casually into normal conversations with the men who'd somehow became his friends during Bucky's trial. Neither of them made any promises but given that Bucky still had at least monthly videocalls with both of the royal offspring, Steve figured he'd probably have help when he needed it. T'Challa and Shuri just cared too deeply to let things happen that they knew would make their friend sad, and they were perfectly willing to gang up on their father to get what they wanted. Shuri's technological inclination meant that she'd made a new arm for Bucky that anchored more firmly and painlessly than the one applied in the forties and was lighter and easier to use. Tony was only a little jealous that none of his scans could see inside. He was honestly more jealous that she'd had access to the vibranium to make it from in the first place. She had only responded with a mysterious smile when he'd asked where she'd found it. The incident had left Tony grumbling about how good it must be to be a princess for days, until Natasha had tired of it and offered to give him a princess makeover. He'd declined, on the grounds that he didn't know how -thorough- she would be about making him a princess. Everyone had gotten a good laugh out of it, at least.
And then the next box for Bucky was accompanied by one for Steve, packed not just with sweets but with all kinds of odds and ends; sausages, cheeses, olives, even a presliced package of Iberian ham. And the note was written, not in Cyrillic, but in French. You're doing great taking care of him. Don't doubt yourself. It was the best encouragement he'd gotten from anyone since he'd first found Bucky, and it came from someone he hadn't even seen since Insight Day. He passed it over without hesitation at Bucky's inquiring sound, knowing he would be able to read the French just as easily as Steve himself had as the same man had taught all of the Howlies, and took the notecard on which Bucky had quickly translated the Russian into English for him in neat block letters at the bottom. Trust Steve. He loves you and wants what's best for you. And honestly, that he got the show of support from someone who was, if not a villain than at least an anti-hero (thank you Tony for pelting him with his comic collection as though he wouldn't know what one was) rather than the heroes he was generally surrounded with was rather telling. Bucky peeked into his box with a curious expression that quickly turned into a frown.
“Why... this? What's that mean?” he asked before Steve could question the expression. Steve shrugged.
“Means he knows I don't have the sweet tooth you do.”
“But- before- I thought you liked- Were you just humoring me?” Steve looked up, frowning at the betrayed note in his voice.
“What? Buck- Oh, no, Bucky no.” He suddenly realized that Bucky had to be referencing when they were kids, and he would bring Steve sweets to make him feel better when he was too sick to go outside. It was a habit that had followed them all the way into the war, and what made it so odd that he'd never shared the candies Rumlow sent him. “First off, what kid doesn't like sweets? And second, I knew how much you like them, so it made me happy that you cared enough to share. I knew you didn't even share with your sisters.” He grinned at his friend, relieved to get a grin back. “It was you that made me happy, not the candy.”