"I just can't stand him."

I roll my eyes at Tony's declaration. He'd come down about twenty minutes ago to pout after losing an argument to Steve about something that I'd already forgotten.

Tony, oblivious to said eye roll, crosses his arms and continues. "He just follows orders. He isn't an independent thinker. And have you seen the outfit? Ridiculous."

"I don't believe you," I sing. "I saw the Iron Patriot. Nice paint job, I thought. Rather reminiscent of a certain historical figure though..."

"I had nothing to do with that!" he protests. "That was some promotional thing."

"Sure you didn't, Tony, sure you didn't," I condescend.

He huffs but doesn't get a chance to respond.

James strolls through the door with a cardboard take-out box in hand. "Dr. Banner wants to see you, Stark. Something about having a thought about electro stuff...maybe an ion thing... He said to meet him in the lab."

Tony stares dryly at him. "You certainly have the memory of a ninety-year-old."

James shrugs. "Didn't care enough to remember the particulars." He sits down in the chair by my bed. "Oh, he also mentioned that he made some progress on identifying the components of the inhibition serum they gave Anne."

Tony rolls his eyes, beleaguered. "Next time, just have JARVIS pass on the message." He walks quickly out of the room, leaving me with James and something that smells delightful.

"What'd ya bring the invalid?" I ask lazily.

Being confined to bed rest for the past three days has driven me nuts. Sure, the boys had brought my books, all of them, along with the rest of the contents of my apartment – apparently I'll be staying in Stark Tower for the foreseeable future. But after the time I spent at, um, the other place and being stuck in this room... well, I just want to go for a walk in the park. But the gang doesn't leave me alone much; which is both sweet and annoying. They probably think I'll have a break down – and I might – but I need to be alone to process...stuff. And I haven't been given that chance.

James drums his metal fingers on the lid. "Fresh cookies from that bakery a couple of streets over."

"Fran's?" I ask, this time with excitement. Fran's has some ah-may-zing baked goods and I haven't had anything except "healthy" hospital food for three days (a small eternity for someone who has subsided on mostly junk food for the greater part of the last several years).

He nods.

"What kind?" I question as I reach for the box.

James doesn't hand it to me. "Chocolate crinkle, with strings."

I furrow my brow. I love chocolate crinkle cookies, but- "Strings? What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'll give them to you but I want something in return."

Wondering what he could want from me, I drop my hand and think. I meet his eyes slowly as I remember a previous deal we had made. "Is this about what we talked about in the gym – you know, before? Because I thought I still have a week or so left for that and I sort of have a doctor's note for the week I've missed so far."

He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head minutely. "No, but thanks for reminding me."

I poke my tongue out at him.

Cabin fever, man. It'll loosen you up.

"You're being pretty, normal, for you at least."

"Isn't that a good thing?" I look away. I know where he's going with this.

"Anne, you were beaten, then held hostage for two and a half days, and you almost died. You're a civilian. You weren't trained to handle that but you're acting like you just had a case of the sniffles."

My fingers fiddle mindlessly with my blanket. "It's no big deal. I mean, yeah, it was horrible- 'and I'll be both physically and emotionally scarred for the rest of my life'. -But what good is talking about it going to do?"

James leans forward and puts his right hand on the bed next to me, not touching me, just moving to be closer. "When Steve first found me, I thought the same thing. The memories I got back of my time without him, I kept to myself. I figured it'd just hurt him to see what a monster I am – or was. It wouldn't change the past and I might lose him for it all over again."

I'd known it was hard for James, opening himself up to Steve again, but hearing it directly from James... I hesitantly put my hand by his on the bed and lightly brush the tops of his fingers, knowing he isn't as comfortable with physical contact as Steve, but still feeling the need to be there for him.

"But he pushed me," he continues. "Wouldn't let me fold in on myself. He told me that while he'd never think I'm weak, I'd be so much stronger with a friend. That talking things out would quiet my mind and give me some peace, help me put things in order. So I tried. And he was right." James pauses, working through what he's going to say next. "Do you know what made me want to try? It wasn't just that it was Steve who suggested it. It was because he said a friend of his told him the same thing, that they helped him adjust to being in this time and finding me again."

I look down at our hands as he slowly takes my hand in his. James is clearly not used to talking so much, but I can tell this has been on his mind and that it means a lot to him.

"I'm not saying you have to talk to me, Anne," he starts again, softer this time. "You could talk to Steve, if that would make you more comfortable, or even some SHIELD head-shrink. Just talk to someone."

I smile wryly at how familiar this sounds.

"You do know that you're the friend in Steve's story, right?"

I narrow my eyes. "I'm beat up, not brain dead."

James grins. "Just checking. And to sweeten the pot, since I figured you couldn't be swayed by cookies alone..." He trails off as he heads out the door and brings in a wheelchair from the hallway.

"You sneak. I'm assuming they were familiar with 'extortion' in the 40's?" I shake my head at him as he smirks.

"Of course. The 1930's was a big decade for gangster flicks," he answers as he wheels closer.

"So, I'm assuming that this means someone, most likely you, will take me out of this stupid room if I promise to talk to somebody about what happened? Also, I get cookies. I'm not forgetting about the cookies." I would cross my arms, but I can't really move one and the other is still sore, so I settle for raising my eyebrows.

"Yup. Talking gets you the goods." He sits in the wheelchair with the cookies in his lap and rolls back and forth, popping wheelies and just showing off in general.

I bite my lip as I think. I really want to leave this room, but talking about...about that? I sigh as I come to a conclusion. "Amendment: make the wheelchair trip outside today and I agree."

James sets all four wheels back on the ground. "Deal." He hands me the box of cookies with a grin.

Relishing the moment, I send him a reciprocal grin. "So you never stipulated when I need to talk-"

He cuts me off with a 'not amused' look.

"Ha? Joke?"

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

A/N: Well, here's the beginning of the shortened chapters. I didn't exactly wait longer to post it though. I have no self-control. It's a problem.

This is, essentially, half of a chapter. The other half is...good? It's at least a bit longer and will have more of Steve. So. There you go.

Also, the title is obviously a reference to Bucky acting like a gangster- what with the extortion and all. But it wasn't until after I picked this title and googled it that I discover that Jimmy Blue Eyes was apparently a legitimate gangster/mafioso who, according to his wikipedia page, oversaw clubs, speakeasys, and illegal gambling in Brooklyn in the 20's. I laughed.

See, kids? Fanfiction is educational.