For the_asset

[withtheplan]

Steve didn't sleep much the previous night so it was good that he'd had a nap earlier in the afternoon, waking to find himself covered up with a blanket he didn't remember pulling over himself. He had fixed a batch of homemade chicken noodle soup for dinner, ignoring the very pointed looks that Natasha had sent in his direction, knowing she was gearing herself up for a conversation. He'd just been pleased that Bucky had eaten some of the soup even if he'd also had a couple of meal replacement bars, too.

Baby steps.

When Bucky had gone to take a shower, Natasha had taken that opportunity to firmly inform him that he was definitely, 100% making everything worse. He'd been indignant at first but when she'd simply pinned him with a stare that would have made most people wilt, he'd shut his mouth and listened.

"Give him tasks," she said. "Jobs. You can't just tell him to figure out how to be a person and expect him to know what that means. Not with how he's been conditioned." She'd given him some ideas, but he was still deeply, deeply uncomfortable with the concept of essentially ordering Bucky to do anything.

And when he'd told Natasha so, she'd told him to get the hell over himself.

Well then.

He'd lain awake all night, thinking about their conversation and then had gotten up bright and early, covering Bucky up with a blanket before making his way to the kitchen and starting the coffee, and then sitting down at the table with a pen and a notebook, jotting down the list of things Natasha had advised him to begin with, and a couple of others that he'd thought up on his own.

Comments

[the_asset]

Not all that long after Steve left, Bucky woke up in a panic, aware that he was alone even before becoming totally conscious. Every morning he’d been here so far, he’d woken with Steve on the bed next to him, watching him, and the loss of him was alarming if only in its novelty. But even more than that, Steve being out of sight allowed his brain to immediately spit out a variety of horrifying scenarios.

In some of them, Steve had realized he wasn’t worth all this and just left. In others, he was bleeding out from a sniper’s bullet in the living room and a HYDRA team was readying retrieval. The asset stayed very still, almost passing out from not breathing before taking a couple gasping breaths and falling into more regular breathing patterns. It took maybe an hour before he could even start to do more than that.

He tried to force himself to think tactically. He had been in much more dangerous positions than this. He tried to be reasonable with himself, tell himself that he was alone in a warm comfortable bed—scarcely dangerous. His body shouted that down.

After long moments of trying to think this problem through, he crept out of bed, utterly silent. He made his way, in as stealthy of a way as decades of practice could give him. He picked up Steve’s shield, which was in its usual spot in the bedroom, heart pounding. He felt like he was unworthy to touch it in a nauseating visceral way, but it was by far the best weapon at hand. He moved into the living room like a ghost.

And then finally took a full, shaky breath at seeing Steve at the kitchen table. He dropped the shield, wishing he could hide it.

“Oh. Good morning, Steve.”

[withtheplan]

Despite all of his senses being more sensitive than most, he didn't hear Bucky approaching until he'd made it all the way to the living room, holding onto Steve's shield with a worried look on his face. He paused as Bucky set the shield down and greeted him normally even though his face was still pale and his breathing wasn't quite steady.

"Hey Buck," he greeted with a small smile, choosing to ignore the odd situation entirely. It was already clear to him that Bucky had woke up frightened, and he'd picked up Steve's shield because it was the handiest viable weapon in the bedroom. He wasn't nervous about it and he didn't see the point in drawing extra attention to it when Bucky already seemed uncertain, nervous.

"You up for some breakfast?" he asked. "I haven't eaten yet. I was thinking about oatmeal if you think you might be up for trying it."

[the_asset]

Bucky was a little unsteady, but he was grateful that Steve wasn't going to comment. He cast a glance at the shield, and then at Steve, still uncertain if unpleasantness was going to rise up and punish him for his nerves--but he decided to take the line that Steve had cast him.

He walked into the kitchen, making a much more normal amount of sound, though he was never a loud guy.

"I'll try oatmeal," he said, offering it up like a gift. He knew it bothered Steve that he had mostly backed off his interest in normal human food since the incident with the pizza. "Is it sweet?"

Bucky had learned that he liked sweet. One thing he'd very reliably consume was juice.

[withtheplan]

He watched Bucky look between the shield and him, like he was expecting to be punished for touching it, but it didn't bother Steve in the least. The relief that washed over him at the easy agreement to try oatmeal was probably palpable and his smile brightened.

"It can be. We can add sugar or brown sugar to it. As much as you want til it tastes good to you." He had both thanks to the grocery delivery service. He rose to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and finishing off his coffee, carrying the mug to the sink.

Tasks, he heard Nat's voice whisper. Right. Tasks.

"Would you mind grabbing some bowls and cups down while I work on the oatmeal?"

[the_asset]

Bucky looked pleased at the idea of a task. He immediately shot up, going right to the part of the kitchen where Steve kept his bowls. He had kept a very close eye on him in the time since he'd been here and it was immediately satisfying to have something he knew he could do.

"I'd like very sweet," he said. It was easier to ask that in the context of carefully picking out a pair of bowls for them. There was one Steve seemed to favor--mismatched, a nice royal blue. He made sure to grab that one for him and he gave himself the plain white one.

He set them out on the table just like Steve did and went back for the cups. Sometimes Steve piled it all into his hands, but Bucky wasn't going to risk messing up and sometimes the metal arm was slippery with hard objects like ceramics and glass.

[withtheplan]

Steve wanted to tell him he knew that, that Bucky had always loved sweets, but he thought he should leave it be. There was no sense in bringing up who Bucky used to be. Nat had suggested that Steve was putting too much pressure on Bucky, even subconsciously, to try and get him to remember the way things used to be and the person he used to be. This was going to be the difficult part, because he wanted Bucky to remember those things.

He'd also hate himself if he made Bucky's life anymore difficult by unintentionally pressuring him.

So instead of mentioning it, he grinned. "You got it. Do you know if you like regular sugar or brown sugar better? You're welcome to try both and see which one tastes better to you," he offered, stirring the pan of oatmeal on the stove top.

[the_asset]

"I'll try both," he said, immediately, because he could. Steve was so happy this morning. It felt really great. It was draining out the anxiety and tension of how he woke up and replacing it with a strange sort of lightness. He felt the desire to be close to Steve, after he put the glasses down on the table, so he did that. He sidled up right next to Steve in front of the pot of oatmeal and leaned into his body, peering into the oatmeal like that was what he was looking at and aiming for.

It was an oddly subtle move for him--usually he was relentlessly straightforward. But his body did it naturally, as if he'd done it before.

"That looks bland and dense," he said, but he sounded pleased with that too.

[withtheplan]

Steve leaned into Bucky instinctively when Bucky moved to stand beside him. "Yeah, it's pretty filling," he told him, reaching out and patting Bucky's back with his left hand and stirring the oatmeal with his right. "My ma used to dip toast into her oatmeal." He smiled, glancing at him sideways.

"If you think you'd wanna try that, you can pop some bread into the toaster," he suggested. "But if you don't want toast, that's okay too. It's pretty good without."

[the_asset]

"Toast is pointless," Bucky said, firmly. Maybe he used to like toast, but now it was dry and boring and calorically inefficient. He did not want toast.

He did like leaning into Steve, though. When Steve leaned back and touched his back, he actually leaned down a little bit and rested his head against Steve's shoulder.

"I was scared something happened to you this morning," he said, startling himself with the confession. He immediately went tense after he said it--Steve had been so pleased. This was going to make him unhappy.

[withtheplan]

"Fair enough," he said with a quiet chuckle. He liked toast but he didn't have to have it every day. Maybe eventually he'd introduce Bucky to the idea of cinnamon and sugar toast, or peanut butter toast. He had a feeling that might get a different opinion from the other man.

His expression softened when Bucky laid his head on Steve's shoulder, resting his head against his for a moment.

"Oh." He nodded, keeping his expression carefully the same which was a bit more of a struggle for him. "I guess this is the first time you woke up without me right there, isn't it?" He gave him a fond smile. "I just needed some coffee." He gestured toward the coffee pot, still turned on to keep the liquid warm. "I'll be there in the morning so you don't worry." He gave him a gentle squeeze with his left arm.

[the_asset]

Bucky felt uncomfortable with having inadvertently demanded something like that. He considered offering that Steve could leave a note or wake him up before he left and then he could go back to sleep--but he did not think either of those would actually work. It was something about seeing him that left Bucky feeling saner, something about the tangibility of him as an actual body in the world that he could touch and be touched by.

So he just let himself be squeezed and smiled at and enjoyed that the tension didn't ramp up in the room at that request.

"Thank you," he said. "At least for now."

[withtheplan]

"Of course." He should have thought about the fact that might frighten Bucky, to wake up alone in an environment that still isn't totally familiar to him yet. "I'm glad you told me." That was honest, at least. He rubbed his back absently, continuing to stir the oatmeal until it was warm enough to eat. "You wanna grab the milk and juice while I pour the oatmeal into our bowls?"

[the_asset]

Bucky reluctantly moved away from Steve, but Steve had asked him to do something. And it was something he could definitely do. He had the urge to kiss Steve's cheek, but he held it back--he didn't want to make Steve think that Bucky had forgotten the instructions about service that Steve had been so impassioned about. Bucky reached for Steve's shoulder with his flesh hand, though, to press it against the muscle just for a moment.

And then he let himself moved away and got the drinks, put them on the table. It was an easier task than the one Steve had given himself, so he was mildly at ends.

"Jarvis?" he said. "Please play music."

"What kind, sir?"

"Something I've never heard before."

Natasha had told him more about how to use the AI that was surveilling him. He might as well get music out of it.

[withtheplan]

Steve poured oatmeal into each of their bowls before carrying the empty pan to the sink and filling it with hot water so the remnants of the oatmeal wouldn't get too caked onto the sides. He blinked, surprised when Bucky suddenly requested Jarvis turn on music. It was the first time he'd heard Bucky ask the AI for anything and the idea that he felt comfortable enough to do it without asking Steve's permission was heartening.

He couldn't really help the way his face lit up, practically beaming as he sat down at the table, setting both the sugar and the brown sugar on the surface between them.

He added some of the brown sugar to his own and stirred it in with a spoon as a song begins to play, one Steve hadn't heard before either.

[the_asset]

Bucky got distracted from breakfast by the music. He didn't really feel hunger as an imperative--he was used to having his nutritional needs met in very unappetizing ways, so it was not a quick process to relearn to observe his own bodies signals. It was much, much more interesting to listen to the music.

It was totally unlike what Steve had shown him before. It did not evoke any memories. He felt like he was surprised by the logic of it in a way he hadn't been at all with the other music. He frowned, listening very closely. He liked it.

When the song ended, he asked Jarvis to repeat the song and then Jarvis did.

[withtheplan]

"You like this song?" Steve smiled as he ate a couple bites of oatmeal, watching the expressions on Bucky's face as he listened intently.

[the_asset]

Bucky cocked his head at Steve, almost surprised.

“He sounds very different,” he said. “It’s rough. I can’t quite figure it out. Do you like it?”

Steve getting his attention made him realize that Steve was eating, which reminded him that was something he should do. He reached for the sugar—hesitating totally reflexively before picking it up, glancing at Steve for permission.

[withtheplan]

"Yeah, it definitely sounds different, doesn't it? I think I kind of like it."

He saw Bucky look at him questioningly as he eyed the sugar and he gave him a quick nod. "As sweet as you want it to be," he assured him easily. He reached out and picked up his glass of milk, taking a small sip.

"Nat says there's a hundred different kinds of music we should try catching up on."

[the_asset]

Bucky smiled, picking up the sugar. “That sounds—fun. I like that idea. A hundred different kinds of music? That’s a mission a person could have.”

He felt good, comfortable. Steve gave him permission to use the sugar and he didn’t get upset that Bucky asked for it. It was enough to get Bucky to relax in the space a little bit.

He put a truly ridiculous amount of sugar in his oatmeal.

[withtheplan]

That gave Steve a moment's pause and he reached out, picking up his pen and paper, jotting something down on the notepad he'd been writing on this morning. "That does sound like it could be a good mission," he agreed.

He tried not to chuckle at just how much sugar the other man poured in his oatmeal even as he took a bite of his own.

[the_asset]

The reach for the notebook made Bucky pause momentarily. Which was probably for the best, given that it also meant he tried his oatmeal and found it sweet enough to his taste.

“What’s that?” he said, jerking his chin at the notebook.

[withtheplan]

"Well. Natasha said you wanted more concrete missions," he said with a small smile, leaning back in his chair. "Buck, I'm sorry. I guess...I didn't realize how confusing it was to tell you that your mission was figuring out how to be a person." He smiled faintly.

"So I've been brainstorming some things for us. For both of us."

[the_asset]

Bucky’s eyes went sharp, flicking from the notebook to Steve’s face and back.

“Missions for us?” he said. He sounded pleased. He had been bored and getting increasingly restless, his body winding itself up like a race horse left too long in a stall. “We will be devastating in the field together.”

[withtheplan]

"Yes," he agreed, and he knew the latter statement was absolutely the truth. They'd always been devastating in the field together and if they were ever again, he knew it would be the same. "Here." He pushed the notebook over toward Bucky so he could read what he'd written so far.

[the_asset]

At first, Bucky was struck most by the handwriting. It was achingly familiar in a way he didn't understand. It felt like what handwriting should look like-- a clean draughtsman hand. He knew, somehow, that his handwriting didn't look like that and never had--but this was familiar.

He touched his fingers to it, gently, as if he could learn something by feel. Of course, that's meaningless.

He took a bite of his oatmeal to gather himself and then started actually reading the briefing. It wasn't what he expected. Showering, brushing his teeth, eating new foods--these were things Steve had already been gently trying to get him to do. Not all of them were like that, but most of them were small, daily tasks.

"These are--part of the mission? To be a person?" he said. It wasn't a real mission. Just more confusing and boring stuff that made him feel a little like a caged animal. The gym would be a nice thing, though. Maybe then he can run until he stopped thinking so much.