Road to War Part III: I Would For You

Just Leave Them Lying on the Floor

Steve's still hanging around when he gets back, which is somewhat surprising. "Don't you have anywhere else to be?" he asks, giving in to the impulse to grin as he walks through the door.

A slightly startled look crosses Steve's face before he smiles. "Somewhere besides waiting to pick up the pieces of my best friend when the ex-Soviet super spy he fell for dumps him on his ass?"

He wrinkles his nose at him. "Well, she didn't. She's just going on a mission for a while. Shut up, Steve," he adds when Steve opens his mouth.

"It's okay, Buck, that's what most ladies do when you ask them out. Leave the country for a while."

With a dramatic sigh, he drops onto the opposite end of the couch from where Steve is sitting. "You're a terrible friend. I don't see you чате вверх любой дамы."

Steve is staring at him, brow slightly furrowed. "I don't speak Russian, Bucky," he says quietly after a pause.

Licking his lips, he shakes his head and stares down at his hands. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"It's okay. It happens. Were you talking to Nat in Russian?" Steve suggests, clearly to give him an excuse for his lapse. He doesn't take advantage of it.

"I honestly don't know. Sometimes my brain just switches me over without telling me," he answers, almost but not quite successful at keeping the bitterness from his voice.

Most of his memories had returned. They were difficult to sift through, and things ended up getting garbled. Sometimes he switched between two or three different languages in one sentence, which was often how he discovered what other tongues he could speak. How or when he had learned them was usually a mystery, though Steve assured him that he had picked up some easily during the war. But he didn't like to talk about it. The words he knew were indicative enough of what kind of situations he'd been in and they weren't pleasant to contemplate.

"It's alright, Buck," Steve reassures him, looking at him intently. "You're right, though. I am a terrible friend."

He smiles tentatively. "Especially since you aren't putting yourself out there."

"Aren't I?" Steve raises an eyebrow at him quizzically.

He shrugs. "I mean, there's Sharon. Is she still your girl?"

"I don't think she'd appreciate being called that," Steve answers with a pained smile.

"Oh? Why not?"

Shrugging, Steve stands up. Avoiding the topic as usual. "Because things are... complicated right now. Okay, on your feet, we have to meet Sam in DC today and we're going to be late."

The trip to DC takes a while, since they drive. Well, Steve drives. He tries to avoid stressful situations whenever possible. Steve is very quiet on the trip, which is unusual. Although, truthfully, Steve was always the quieter of the two before the war. It's just more recently that Steve has held up the conversational end of things. The silence feels awkward at some points, but he can't think of how to break it, especially since he can't seem to focus on much besides Natalia.

"You haven't gone out with Sharon lately," he says abruptly when he decides the silence has been allowed to continue for too long.

Steve's hand clenches around the steering wheel and he glances sharply at him. "True," he answers shortly.

"Why?"

With a sigh, Steve shakes his head slowly. "Why are you asking?"

He gives it some thought before responding. "You work too hard. You're always fully invested in whatever you're doing. And that's a strain on you. I just thought, you know, having some positive influence, something pleasant, would be important. Since you haven't let yourself have a personal life since you became Captain America."

Steve purses his lips, staring at the road with too much intensity. "You think I had one before?"

"You wanted one."

"Yeah, well, it didn't seem like much of an option," Steve mutters.

He takes a deep breath. "You should have relationships outside of work, Steve. You had friends when we were kids, not just me. Maybe not lady friends, but you haven't let yourself have many regular friends since you were unfrozen, either. Natalia and Sam have worked very hard to get you to, you know, talk to them. About more than just the mission."

"Maybe that's all I was comfortable talking about."

"Okay, I get it. It was a huge culture shock. And it's understandable that you'd have trouble relating to people for a while. But you didn't really try."

"Yeah, I wonder why I wouldn't want to."

He bites his lip, watching his friend, suddenly understanding. "You didn't have to be alone to grieve for me, Steve. For any of us. Having people around... It really helps." Steve doesn't answer. "You need to stop carrying around all your dead. Sam always says you have to let people help you. I know you're Captain America, but you're Steve Rogers, too. And he doesn't have to stoically hold the world on his shoulders all the time. He can have fun occasionally."

Steve smiles grimly. "Occasionally," he echoes.

"Yeah, well, I know you'd stop listening to me if I said you should have fun, you know, frequently," he answers lightly.

"I'm glad you came back," Steve murmurs.

He reaches out to pat Steve's shoulder. "Sometimes I think, if you didn't have me, you wouldn't have anyone who truly understood you," he replies.

Nodding, Steve frowns deeply. "Yeah, probably."

"So I guess it's good that they found me," he suggests, an attempt at levity. It doesn't come as much of a surprise that it doesn't work, and Steve looks angry.

"No, it's not. I should have –" he begins.

"Stop it, Steve. You rescued me."

"Yeah, once. Not when you really needed it."

Sighing impatiently, he clenches and unclenches his hands. "I didn't mean back in '43. I meant last year. Without you, I'd still be a slave, killing people. Or dead," he adds harshly. "I owe you for that."

He doesn't expect Steve to believe him, not really, but he does nod slowly. "I just wish that we had, you know, survived the war. Gone back to Brooklyn."

"Yeah, me too," he answers quietly. "Have you been there?"

"A few times. It's not the same."

He nods. "I tried to jog some memories there, but it wasn't as helpful as I hoped."

"Too bad there weren't any Russian dames there to kiss you," Steve says, dead-pan.

Smiling broadly, he leans back against his seat. "If only all my memories had come back that way," he says wistfully.

Steve grins. "I'm not going to kiss you, Buck. Tell me about Nat."

Sobering, he looks outside and takes a deep breath. "She was one of twenty-eight, before I met her," he begins.

�h�