the tables have turned | steve/bucky

chapter eighteen

"Good to see you, Rogers."

"Likewise. I wish our little reunion was under different circumstances, but..."

"Let's cut to the chase." Fury leaned over the table, sliding a portfolio into my hands. As I scanned the information within, he continued to speak.

"We managed to track down that HYDRA agent that Tony told us about. Turns out he's not alone. Including that son of a bitch, there's about three more guys working out of an abandon building just a few minutes from Stark Tower."

"So they've been that close all along, huh?"

Fury gave a sharp nod. I ran my fingers through my hair, thinking. The documents I read said something about Bucky's blood and the serum coursing through it. That's probably why HYDRA wanted him back so bad. Bucky was their prize possession; their only success.

Let HYDRA take Bucky back? Over my dead body.

"Get Sam Wilson on the phone," I told Fury. "I want him flown to New York tonight. Tomorrow we're taking those guys down."

Fury was chuckling triumphantly when I left the room.

An hour later I was pulling up to my new house. I couldn't help but laugh when I kicked my bike stand out on the Harley and got a good look at the place. It was one of those cute little suburban things you saw on TV with the colorful flowers and the green grass and the newspaper scattered on the floor.

It looked like the Barnes' house back when I first met Bucky.

The front door took a jiggle and a shove to open. Absent minded, I kicked it shut once inside. The sound of piano music distracted me. It was coming from the upstairs, where I'd left Bucky.

The last time I came into a house with music playing eerily, bad stuff happened. I unhinged my shield from the holster on my back, and then proceeded to slowly slide with my backside against the wall. I soundlessly tip toed up the stairs. The sound of Bucky's medical equipment became more and more audible as I got closer. A breath of relief pushed out of me. I knew that if he wasn't there, his machines would be going off. But they steadily beeped. That sound was beautiful right now.

I poked my face into Bucky's room. I caught him sitting at the edge of his bed with his head drooped down. He was slowly rocking from side to side to the music.

"Bucky?" I called, and he turned to meet my weak smile. His white lips curved upward a little. After propping my shield up against the wall, I came over to him. Without saying anything, he held out his skeletal hands in front of me. I grabbed them as a reaction.

I must have done the right thing, because Bucky then started to stand up. But his body wobbled, almost fell back. I caught him before he could fully collapse onto the bed.

My arms laced around his small waist, hoisting him up to his feet. He felt like nothing. Tears stung my eyes, but I bit them back when Bucky's head fell against my shoulder. His cold human fingers slid down my arm, interlocking with my hand.

"Dance with me," he softly mumbled into my neck. "Please."

As the music picked up, we slowly swayed to the sound of pianos and cellos. I kissed Bucky's bony shoulder a million times, whispering things that made him smile. Tomorrow I'd kill some of the men that did this to him. Tomorrow the sweet taste of revenge would finally spill into my mouth. But for tonight, we danced.

Under the light of a setting sun seeping in from the window beside us, I think, perhaps, I fell in love with Bucky all over again.