The New Fist Of Hydra ☆ Avengers

MIND

2 MONTHS LATER

"Any news?"

Steve throws the question out casually as he pours himself a cup of steaming coffee, like he's making conversation about the weather. Except he isn't. And he doesn't see this situation as 'casual' in the slightest. However he doesn't have a lot of hope for the answer that follows.

"No," Shuri shakes her head, defeated as she snatches a bag of chips from the cabinet in the lab lounge room. "What about on your side? Has he agreed to come out of his shell?"

"Well, you know him," Steve sighs, rolling his shoulders. "He's almost as stubborn as I am," A joke, to lighten the mood. The Captain notices it works a bit, when the corner of Shuri's lip raises in the slightest.

"That is true," She nods, ripping open the bag. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

Steve nods a goodbye to the Princess as she walks out the door, sighing lightly. It's only been two months. About eight weeks. But they've felt like the longest two months of his life.

It's been quite eventful. Especially with Rumlow falling into a coma right when they brought him back, leaving no room for questioning. Once the news was lain on Bucky, he retreated back to his farm for the time being. Steve had tried to keep the remainder of his team busy, working through cases provided by Natasha's KGB links.

Then, as if things weren't stressful enough, the UN got a drop on their location, and attempted to hijack one of their missions. They barely made it out without getting caught. T'Challa had advised hiding in Wakanda until later notice, which Steve was doing, but now he had one more thing to stress about. Bucky. The same Bucky who claimed he was fine, yet barely left his farm or spoke to anyone. Steve knew Bucky, and that was not fine.

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Bucky let out a high whistle, rounding up the sheep who were grazing freely at the moment. He had a few animals on his quaint little farm, ranging from but not limited to a few sheep, a dog, a cat, and an odd lemur that would break into his home and steal food. Not that he cared all too much. In fact, he's begun leaving it little scraps to eat.

Tending to his farm has kept him busy. It's kept his mind from wandering, and his hands busy doing something else other than punching a wall repeatedly.

"Barnes!" Bucky groans internally at the voice. It's not that he dislikes the voice. In fact, he's grown rather indifferent of it, which is better than the hate he used to feel towards it. However, now, when he hears the voice, it normally also means he has to undergo another secret 'therapy' session.

Sam gives him a small wave, hands tucked into his cotton sweats as he jogs through the fields.

"Sam," Bucky nods, giving a gentle push to the last sheep and closing the gate. "What's up?"

"Still can't believe you do this in your free time," Sam mutters under his breath, his nose scrunching up in disgust as he jumps over the pile of sheep feces on the ground.

"Do you need something?" Bucky ignores his remark, wiping his hands on his pants. Sam shrugs, sniffing.

"Not really. I was planning on going to this one restaurant I ran into the other day, and I was wondering if you wanted to join?"

'He thinks he's being slick,' Bucky thinks, holding himself back from rolling his eyes. He knows what Sam's doing. He'll say sure, and they'll go to lunch. It'll start off with light conversation, maybe a few teasing jokes. Then, somehow, against Bucky's will, the conversation will take a turn into his mental health. He's allowed it to happen these last few weeks, because he figures Steve put Sam up to the task. It's better than Steve coming, anyways. If Steve comes, he'll do nothing but worry about Bucky. This way, everything stays between Sam and Bucky, and no one has to worry about anything.