"Hey Steve, what's up?"

"Good evening, Anne. Do you have three eggs in your fridge?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Is this like, 'do you have Prince Albert in a can?'"

"Um no, I don't think so. I want to make pancakes." He smiles nervously and glances over his shoulder.

"Did SHIELD outlaw breakfast for dinner, or something?"

His head snaps back and he looks at my quizzically. "What?"

I wave a hand at him. "You look really nervous about making pancakes. I don't care what time period you're from, that isn't normal."

Steve huffs slightly and pushes me into my apartment, closing the door behind us.

"What is the matter with you? Is this a 'Mission Impossible' thing? Are you not really Steve but in fact some spy person and you're going to pull off your Steve mask and then brutally murder me in my own home?"

'Huh. Usually don't say that last bit out loud.'

An incredibly concerned look crosses his face. "Anne," he says slowly. "Have you been sleeping okay?"

I cross my arms. "Hey, I'm not the one with pancake paranoia. What's wrong with you?"

He rubs the back of his neck, looking away from me.

'Great sign.'

"You met uh, James, huh? I mean, before today?" Steve glances up at me.

"Yeah." It's my turn to awkwardly look away.

"Well? What happened? Did he do anything?" He's immediately concerned, grabbing my arms like I'm going to run away.

I look back, embarrassed. "Well, I guess he sort of did something. That's why I brought him cookies..."

"What?"

"There was a spider and you weren't home, but he was. I didn't ask him to do anything!" I quickly add. "He overheard my pleading from the hallway and just, took care of it. And it was a monster, seriously. He deserves all those cookies and more."

"Oh." Steve drops his hands, looking boggled before turning playfully suspicious. "Is the arachnophobia thing just a way for you to meet men? Do you lure them into friendships with you on the expectation of saving a beautiful lady?"

My heart speeds a bit at hearing him call me beautiful, but I narrow my eyes in distaste at his theory. "Don't be ridiculous. Spiders are the last thing I would associate with romance."

His expression slips enough to show his return to concern. "You're sure he didn't scare you at all? James, I mean, not the spider."

I shake my head. "He wasn't any more intimidating than Nat when I first met her. Why? Were you expecting him to do something to me?"

"Oh, no. No. He's, um, I just wanted to tell you about him before you met him," he says apologetically.

"Ah. Well, since he's staying with you, I assumed you're friends and you trust him." I shrug.

Steve furrows his brows; but his confusion quickly clears. "Anne, James' middle name is 'Buchanan'," he says leadingly.

I nod slowly. "That's unfortunate. But at least it isn't his first name, I guess."

He shakes his head. "Buchanan – Bucky."

"Oh," I whisper. "Oh!" My eyes widen and I smack Steve's arm in my excitement. "You found him! You found Bucky!" I bounce on the balls of my feet and give Steve a quick hug.

As frenetic as my actions are, the super soldier's reflexes are quick enough for him to hug me back before I step away. He quickly nods with a grin. "I did."

I remember I should be angry. I furrow my brows and punch his arm a couple of times with much more force as I say, "You didn't tell me! I'm not good at 'friending', but I'm positive that's a thing you should tell a friend!"

Steve grabs my wrist to stop me from hurting myself. "I needed to tell you in person but as soon as I got Bucky to my apartment I was called in to the Tower."

My nose crinkles as I consider his excuse. "Okay, but the next time you find a friend you haven't seen in over half a century, you blow off meeting with Tony and tell me about it. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes glint with amusement before his smile slips and he hesitates.

"What's the matter? You have your best friend back!" I give his shoulder a playful shove only to push myself backwards as he remains still. I'm apparently quite physical when vicariously excited on behalf of my bestie.

His expression is all seriousness and he drops to almost a whisper. "Buck- he isn't who he was before... I don't know how much of my friend I have back. I don't want you alone with him, okay? At least not for now. Don't come over to my apartment if I'm not home. Something could trigger him and he might forget who he is and hurt you."

"Steve, you have to trust him at least a little...He was perfectly fine being alone with me a few days ago. A little reticent maybe, but still nice. And I made him smile today, that has to count for something. I wouldn't take brainwashed assassins to be the smiley type."

He shakes his head. "I'm glad- surprised really, that he seems to like you- 'rude!' -but I don't know what exactly Hydra did to him or what could set him off. It's safer, for now at least, for you to avoid being alone with him."

I sigh. "Okay, but you'll have to trust him eventually. Who else knows he's here?"

"Just Sam, my friend from D.C. He helped me find Bucky."

"Then I'm guessing you don't want me to say anything to anyone either?"

"No, not yet."

I groan. Keeping secrets involves lying. I hate lying- which may be because, in part, I'm pretty much the worst at it. "I can't believe Captain America, Mr. Truth, Justice, and the American Way, just told me to lie."

"Not lie, just don't say everything you know." He looks as unconvinced as he sounds.

"They can help. You need to trust your friends, Steve." I give him my best 'disappointed mom' stare, hands on hips included.

"I trust you." He puts his hands back on my arms.

'No, no! Not the puppy-dog eyes! I can feel my defenses melting into nothing...'

"Ugh! Fine." I acquiesce with a grunt. "Just stop with the face... I feel like I'm disappointing all of America." I look up to see him smiling. "You're being so devious today. Are you sure you're you?" I reach up to run my fingers on his neck like I'm searching for the edge of his mask. Of course, I find nothing; he isn't even ticklish. Steve really is the perfect fighter.

He just stands there, looking at me like I've lost my mind. I drop my hands and clasp them in front of me. Clearing my throat in my embarrassment, I ask, "How are you friends with me again?"

"Mostly it's 'cause I need eggs."

"What? Oh, right. Pancakes – your totally not cliché excuse to talk to me without raising James-er, Bucky's suspicions." I go to the kitchen and cut off a section of my cardboard egg carton. "You know you've been here too long for just eggs, right?"

"I'll tell him I was asking you for advice," he says as he takes the eggs.

"You're going to lie to him too?" I can't help but sound disappointed. This is so unlike Steve.

He shakes his head. "No, I did want to ask you about something."

"How to work an electric shaver? 'Cause I just go to a barber," I say with a grin. I'm a bit thrown that there's still something I could have a better perspective on than him.

"Ha, ha, no." He starts to look a bit sheepish. "Kate finally convinced me to subscribe to Netflix. Would you give me a crash course?"

My stomach sinks slightly at the reminder of his ladylove. "I'm sure Kate would help you."

Steve looks a little surprised. "Oh. Of course. Right. I can ask Kate."

I'm completely thrown by the fact that he seems hesitant to ask for her help. Maybe it's a macho boyfriend thing? But that doesn't sound like Steve. "But I'd be glad to help if you want," I offer, feeling a little guilty for no reason.

He immediately relaxes. "Thanks so much, Anne. I'll owe you one."

"I'm keeping score," I warn grimly. I'm not. I'd be drowning in debt.

-------------------------------------------

A/N: *GASP!* The handsome stranger was Bucky?! Who would've thought it possible?!

Okay, I'm done. Sorry.

At least there's a cute gif of Steve patting Bucky on the head for being good while he was out.

Additionally, I'm terrible at titles.

Buuuuuuuuut, the next chapter will have more Bucky and some fluffiness and, of course, more angst. Poor lil Bucky.

Oh my goodness, I can't stop watching the gif. I keep scrolling up and there they are, being adorable. It's too cute. Send help.

I'm a mess.