'Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.'

Assassin. Ha! The Winter Soldier, as Steve has now found out, may be an assassin but, most of all, he's a pain in Steve's ass. They're staring at each other, situated in the common area/kitchen of the Avengers compound. The standoff must have lasted fifteen minutes by now but neither are letting up. Spectators come and go but not a single one dares try and rectify the situation.

Bucky - aka The Winter Soldier - throws a plum up and down, catching it in his metal hand with a clang as he watches Steve, ever-vigilant. Steve looks back, as stubborn as a bull, eyebrows furrowed in his 'Captain America is about to avenge' look, one that has morphed from the 'Steve is most definitely peeved' look.

Bucky almost smiles that he's learnt the difference now.

They were stuck at an impasse, though, that wasn't going to be rectified soon. "Buck, put the plum down," Steve warned, as if the ripe fruit was as dangerous as a gun.

"Not until you agree."

"Come on! It's not that important," Steve complains. At Bucky's glare, he shuts up rather quickly.

"Give in, Steve, you know you've lost."

"No, I have not! It's really not that important and anyway-"

"Stop!" Bucky orders, holding up his flesh hand. "Don't continue that sentence or I'll be forced to take dire measures."

"Really, Buck?! You're threatening me? We're talking about Snow White," Steve whines.

"Repeat what you told me," Bucky spits haughtily.

"Snow White was not that good, even when we went to see it in the cinema," Steve replies monotonously, pouting.

"Are you going to take that back?"

"No. Seriously Buck, it's not that good, I re-watched it!" It all happens in slow motion after that. Bucky stops tossing the plum up and down and instead pitches it at Steve's face, where it lands sloppily with a splat and explodes on Steve's face.

Steve is flabbergasted, fighting for words but finding himself gaping like a fish, his mouth opening and closing with incredulity. "You threw a plum at me!" He shouts, his eyes wide, throwing his hands up in the air.

"You dissed Snow White," Bucky replies as if that's obvious.

"You just used the word dis!" Steve fights back, (as an objective third party, that is probably the worse crime here) trying to wipe the chunky purple goo from his face.

"That doesn't matter! How can you not like Snow White?"

"You just like it because it's nostalgic."

"That's not true!" Bucky replies (he might be lying). Steve gives him 'a look'. "Fine, maybe you're right," he capitulates with a huff. "But!" He adds dramatically. "It's still a good film. Even if it's only for the nostalgia."

"I'm not going to watch it with you, Buck," he sighs dramatically before adding, "if only you hadn't thrown a plum at me." Steve approaches the sink to wash of the juice that's drying on his skin; Bucky watches him go with puppy eyes and a childish pout.

"Please," Bucky begs, elongating the a. When Steve gives him another no, he begins to chant so childishly that Steve almost breaks. "Snow White! Snow White! Snow White!..." It keeps going until even FRIDAY pipes up. "Captain Rogers, I believe the best course of action would be to just watch the film 'Snow White', would you like me to put it on?"

"See!" Bucky shouts and Steve doesn't chastise him, only because he hates telling Bucky he can't do things even more than he hates it when Bucky jokes about his time 'with the brain-blending Nazi clowns'. (Bucky, though he would never admit it to anyone but Steve, who must have already known almost everything about him, was extremely terrified of clowns).

"Buck, it's not worth it."

"It's one hour! I've got a lot of time to fill here! It's not as if they think I'm safe enough to go outside," Bucky spits with a venom that could have only accumulated over the years of dehumanisation he faced.

"Buck, you know it's not-"

"Like hell it's not! You know why I'm here and it's because if I go outside, I'm on death row so can we please just watch Snow White," Bucky pleads and Steve knows it's a trick but he doesn't have the heart to say no any more. And anyway, what's an hour?

🍑

"That was shit!"

"Told ya so."

"Shush."

"I was right, though," Steve adds haughtily.

"I said shush!" Bucky complains, scowling at the screen like its betrayed him. He pauses and scrunches up his eyebrows, focusing on the screen before he says, "but why does it look so old?"

"It is from the forties, Buck."

"We're from the forties! How does that even make sense?" Steve shrugs. "Well, now I'm disappointed."

"You threw a plum at me for nothing," Steve huffs; Bucky glares.

"That plum was for everything you did whilst I wasn't here." No one mentions why he wasn't here.

"What did I do?!" Steve complains indignantly.

Bucky coughs loudly, muttering "jumping out of planes without a parachute" under his breath before coughing again.

"Who told you that?" Steve says as he jumps up in panic. Bucky smirks, looking Steve dead in the eye: "Natasha."

"No!" Steve complains and Bucky doesn't even have to ask why. Everyone knows that if there is betrayal within their ranks that they are perfectly allowed to fight it out (in safe parameters, of course) but with Natasha, those rules do not apply. Not only is Natasha likely to beat the crap out of you (or at least, even if you win, fuck your mind up enough that you wish you'd never fought her in the first place) but will also make you regret dredging it up for the rest of your life.

Clint (after complaining to Natasha that she told everyone about his hearing aids, if only to help them understand why he was ignoring them sometimes, completely by accident) still finds ears (real or fake, no one knows but they're oddly fleshy to touch) on his bed in the morning.

No one knows why that punishment was chosen apart from its relationship to the complaint. No one asks.

"I hate you," Steve mumbles, albeit entirely fake. Bucky just smirks: words aren't necessary. "But," Steve adds, giving Bucky the 'Captain America is disappointed in you' look, "next time you're annoyed, you don't get to throw plums." Bucky huffs like a child but nods his affirmation.

🍑

'Alright, I have a question for you, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it, though, you're kind of answering it, you know?'

'What?'

'Was that your first kiss since 1945?'

The disaster starts at precisely three in the morning. Bucky, having just woken from a series of nightmares that barely scare him now for their repetitiveness but still have the ability to make him an insomniac zombie, is wandering aimlessly around the kitchen and living area, meandering and winding until he ends up at the fridge.

Plums, he thinks, are a good midnight snack. The only ones he'll accept, really. Sweet enough that he sees them as a treat but healthy enough that Hydra's words don't come to bite him in the ass (the asset only eats things of nutritional value. The asset will only eat these. The asset will comply, won't it?). Unfortunately 'these' consisted of some odd looking wheat bars that just about kept him awake and focused.

He rifles through the fridge, unhurried but desperate as the thought of plums invades his thoughts and leaves him no longer able to think of anything else; eating something else now would be difficult. Cravings, he recalls, something he's allowed to have now.

He hasn't had cravings in a long time.

He thinks back as he searches the fully-stocked fridge to the last time he bought some and he is certain that it was only two days ago. No one else eats plums, he thinks. Or, at least, he's never seen any of the others eat plums so surely they would still be there.

They are not there.

Bucky is, regrettably, mad.

It's three in the morning and James Fucking Buchanan Barnes is mad.

So, he begins his three-in-the-morning rampage by slamming the fridge door before stalking silently (Winter Soldier, activated) into Steve's room. He tugs the door from its latch, leaving at least one of the connections broken, leaving the door clinging to the frame with its last breath, and growls: "where the fuck are my plums, Steve?"

Steve wakes to the sound of his name, hissed under an unfamiliar voice's breath. No, that's not right. He recognises that voice. That voice is...

Bucky.

"Wha-"

"Where. Are. My. Fucking. Plums," Bucky growls again, stalking forwards and looming over the sleeping form of Captain America, dressed in his birthday suit (what? Isn't Captain America allowed to sleep naked if he wants? It helps him sleep when he can't feel the clothes cling to him, like when he was small and the clothes hung off his tiny frame).

"Plums?" Steve murmurs, brows furrowing, not yet noticing his complete lack of dress in front of his friend (neither of them really care but for the sake of decency, Steve should probably put some clothes on). "What about...plums," Steve mumbles, failing to tie a proper sentence together, his mind muddled and groggy.

"Where are the plums, Steve?" Bucky threatens, taking another step forward, his bare feet hitting the floor with soft thuds. He's barely an inch away from Steve now, nose's almost brushing, breaths mingling.

"Plums? I don't...I don't know anything about your plums. Didn't you just get new batch?" Steve finally wakes up a little and sits up, drawing the covers up enough that he's only revealing his bare torso.

"Exactly, Steve. A new batch. And where are they now? Because I don't spot any in the fridge." Bucky's eyes are wide, almost manic, as he glares down at Steve, the faint pulse of fury nagging him from the back of his mind (who the fuck took his plums).

"I don't know, Buck. Does it matter? It's just some plums."

This is all it takes to light the fire. "Just some plums?! Do you not fucking understand that I can't just eat any old shit, Steve?! Do you not remember that they fucked with my head so bad that I can't even eat half the food in the fridge. So who, the fuck, took, my plums."

Steve stares incredulously at Bucky, feeling something between sympathy and pain, because what is this? They're arguing about plums. Plums! Yet, Steve feels the pang of guilt he always does when Bucky brings up HYDRA, because it's true, he can't eat a lot of food anymore. He tries, often fails, but sometimes he just can't stomach it. Or, sometimes, it's fine but the anxiety afterwards is just not worth the effort.

"I don't know, Buck. Let me get changed and we'll...I don't know, see if there's another batch around." Bucky nods reluctantly and storms out the room, leaving a trail of welling indignity behind him (hiding it, poorly, behind a nonchalant veil). Steve sighs, takes a deep breath and pulls on some grey tracksuits and a white t-shirt, stretching upwards, cracking his knuckles along the way. With a final deep breath, he trails after Bucky.

Bucky paces back and forth the kitchen area, with all the cupboard doors open, as well as the fridge's, as if to make a statement to Steve: there's no plums, that's for sure. Steve sighs, feeling like he's going to put himself out with just with the amount of times it's seemed to already happen this morning, and peers into some of the less obvious cupboards.

Still nothing.

Someone's not hidden them, they've eaten them.

"Buck, do you want me to cook you something? We can get a new batch tomorrow and ask whoever ate them not to do it again," Steve states surely, pretending that he doesn't feel the flare of anger (guilt) that someone's made Bucky any more miserable than he already is. Bucky nods tersely and silently stalks to the kitchen island and sits on the stool, waiting for Steve to make something up.

Steve peers at the clock, it's nearing half three in the morning and he's in no state to make anything fancy but he bundles up as many fruit and vegetables as he can find and tries to make one of the simpler vegetarian recipes he's read about on the internet recently (he's been learning to cook properly for Bucky's sake and is damn proud to say he's getting pretty good at it).

It doesn't take long to prepare and Bucky's delving in within the fifteen minute mark, leaving Steve to speak, picking at some of it himself. "So, you want to say why you're up at all, Buck? It's pretty early." Bucky continues to chew and shrugs. Steve sighs again - this is going to be the death of him - and leans a little closer. "You definitely don't wanna talk about it?" Bucky nods definitively; Steve lets it go.

After that, (and a session of Bucky puking into the toilet bowl) both of them seem to give up on the idea of sleep and decide to go on a run together, coming back just in time for the rest of the crew to be waking (their stamina means that a normal hour long run is prolonged to four. The clock strikes seven when they return.)

Bucky's wiping the sweat of his face when Sam walks in, his mouth wrapped around a plum, crunching into it happily. Red flares across Bucky's peripheral vision as he marches towards Sam, eyes thinned into knives, his lips a crooked - yet entirely perfect - grin, falling more into the category of Cheshire cat than your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.

"Where did you get that," he asks, voice entirely flat - dead, even.

"Oh, I found them in the fridge." Sam, as the newest member of the group - although, he'd been here for just as long as Bucky - didn't seem to be aware of the rule: you don't take any old thing from the fridge. (Natasha will murder someone for taking her smoothies, Clint will kill a man for taking his breakfast pizza and Bucky, apparently, will most definitely kill someone for taking his plums.)

"You what?" Bucky spits, stepping so he's nose to nose with Sam, teeth bared.

"I...I took them...from the fridge?" Sam says, pointing to the fridge as if that was the source of confusion.

"Did you not to think to ask if they were someone else's?" Bucky raises an eyebrow, giving his best version of the Captain-America-Is-Disappointed-In-You look, though it will never be quite up to par with the real thing (and unfortunately, as the Winter Soldier, it is far more threatening than disapproving).

"I'm assuming now that I should have." Sam doesn't apologise, he sees no reason to. It's an easy mistake to make and an easy one to amend. "But we shared them out, I would have thought someone would have said if they were yours, man." The red grows and Bucky steps away from Sam and inspects the others who had entered the room, all invested in the current drama between Sam and Bucky (but isn't there always?).

"Who ate a plum?!" He snarls, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Sheepishly, Tony puts his hand up first, followed by Clint - Sam puts his hand up just because he isn't sure what else he should do, even though he still has half a plum in his mouth.

"There were six in that pack, fess up."

"I've eaten two," Sam fesses, shrugging, feeling no need to be dishonest (and if he can piss of Bucky whilst doing so, all the better).

"Two more, who was it." Bruce puts a hand up, as soon as he walks in the room, at Tony's vindicating point (though he has no idea what he's admitting to).

"One more. Come on, hurry up." Steve puts his hand up mind-bogglingly slowly.

Bucky eyes, sharp as lightning, flash to Steve. He stalks forward, feet treading silently against the sleek floor and he prowls. "You too?" Steve nods, faking confidence as he draws himself up to his full height (unfortunately, he's still not taller than Bucky). "I didn't know that was the last of them."

"But you knew they were mine?" Bucky's eyes are somewhere between betrayed and apoplectic.

Steve nods again but looks Bucky directly in the eye, strongly stating "I did but I didn't know how they important were for you. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

It's at exactly that moment, just as Bucky's about to forgive Steve (god, he does that too easily these days) when Tony decides to speak. "Is this really something worth arguing about, Barnes? They're some plums; this isn't first degree murder of anything." Apparently, this is most definitely the worst possible thing that could be said at this point in time.

Especially to someone who has, in fact, committed first degree murder.

Stark does not survive the battle.

🍑

The next day - whilst Stark's still in the infirmary for a knife wound that he definitely has not forgiven Barnes for but will not press charges for because in this house, it would be a nightmare if he did - Bucky is silently wandering the kitchen, his head drifting between guilt and contentedness, when Steve enters, a book in one hand and a pencil spinning on the other. Bucky notices within seconds that he's mistaken and that Steve has a small notebook in his hand, one of the ones he used to like to draw in, back in the day. The smile on Bucky's face is irrevocable: he may be fucked up but Steve has no right to throw away what he used to enjoy doing, seeing him doing it now is - well, great.

"Whatcha drawing?" Bucky asks, a familiar Brooklyn tilt falling back into place as the memories plunder through his brain. Steve's head shoots up, surprised, as if someone had just thrown the past in his face (to be fair, Bucky probably has) and shamefully murmurs "nothing." Bucky frowns, Steve used to always tell him what he was drawing, even if he would never show him - a point of embarrassment and stubbornness, Bucky assumed - and falls to Steve's side.

"Come on, what is it, pal?" The Brooklyn tone seems to be throwing Steve off, reminding them of how they used to be - teasing, even a bit stoic, but within a silent bubble of comfort.

"It's nothing. I'm serious."

"You saying it's nothing is what's serious. Come on, what is it?" Bucky presses, trying to look over Steve's shoulder but the notebook slams shut. "Is this because..." Bucky never ends the sentence, he doesn't need to; it doesn't even really have an ending but it does it's job. Steve capitulates, whether it's because Bucky's silently referring to HYDRA, or their fractured friendship, or anything from the shit storm of the last century, Bucky doesn't know.

Steve opens the notebook with the trepidation of an animal forced into an unfamiliar environment (and god, hasn't Steve experienced that before) and shows Bucky for only a second before-

"Is that me?"

Steve nods.

"Wow." There seems little more to say because even with only a glimpse, Bucky saw...god, a lot. Yes, a lot. He saw him, that much is simple but what lay underneath that is...

Incredible.

"I was thinking of giving it to you as an apology for yesterday but that seemed a bit weird, to give you a picture of yourself and all and it's not even all that accurate. I mean, you didn't even look like that way back when and to try and draw you from memory-" Steve rambles; Bucky doesn't hear what he says next because-

The picture was perfect. Not only in likeness but style and even if it was only small, it captured every detail on his face like Steve had it right there in front of him. "Steve..." he breathes, looking up at the man that was still fumbling for words.

Steve looks back down at him and suddenly the tension is unbearable. Bucky can't stand looking at him but can't look away because that look on his face...that's....that's... something that Bucky isn't prepared for, something that he's most certainly noticed, he's an assassin, he sees these things but-

But he wants it so fucking bad.

Their lips draw together like magnets, snapping together only at the end when a sudden intensity takes over and they don't know what else to do with it.

"Was that your first proper kiss since 1945?" Their heads fling around to see Natasha leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug grin plastered on her face. She shrugs at the confused looks (seriously, how had the super assassin not even managed to notice she had come in). "Oh, I just came to say that there was something on the news. Due to a heat wave, certain fruits are not going to be stocked in the stores anymore, or not many, at least: plums are on the list.

Bucky still hadn't gotten a new batch of plums.

"What?!" He roars, storming to go look at the Starkpad he leaves in his room, leaving Steve in the dust of his temper.

🍑

'And a semi-stable 100-year-old man'

'How ya been, Buck?'

'Not bad, for the end of the world'

The stores aren't selling plums. Oh god, the stores aren't selling plums. Bucky starts to hyperventilate (he thinks, he doesn't remember much of the following incidents) and Steve watches in horrid fascination as Bucky throws himself into the living room and into Steve's lap, holding his arms tightly around Steve's waist, like a dame back in the day.

"Are-" Steve begins but Bucky, face buried in Steve's neck, beats him to words. "Don't you dare ask that question. And don't you dare mention this to anyone. This is a low point, okay? It's not gonna happen again." The words are muffled by the fabric covering Steve's shoulder but the point gets across just fine.

"Okay," Steve whispers, holding Bucky close like he might never get to again (he might not) and gently strokes his thumb up and down his lower back. "Have you eaten yet?" Bucky shakes his head. "You need to eat, Buck," Steve chastises, sighing.

"Asset only eats when vital. Asset only eats the nutrients he needs," Bucky says, more out of explanation than true belief.

"Oh, Buck," Steve whispers, wrapping a hand around the back of his head and tugging him further into his shirt, now stroking soothing patterns into Bucky's hair, hands knotting in tangled parts (he doesn't dare mention that it's gotten too long).

"I'm hungry," Bucky tries to continue.

Steve just nods. "I know."

"I want to eat," Bucky pushes.

"But you can't," Steve says with more softness and understanding than Bucky has ever deserved (the infamously stoic Steve Rogers is finally revealing just a bit of himself, just for Bucky). "I'll make you something, we can see how it goes down." Bucky smiles and pulls himself away from Steve, straightening up and falling back into that 1940's disguise of put-togetherness.

Steve picks himself up too, brushes himself off like Bucky had been a fine layer of dust and not a 260-pound super soldier (the arm, plus a muscle to fat ratio of a thousand to one, had basically designed the term 'crushingly heavy') and strode confidently into the kitchen; that look of determination is back on his face, the one he gets when there's a task that can't afford to be forgotten or cast aside. Bucky warms inside but gives Steve nothing but a half-arsed, flirtatious smirk before sitting himself at the island and watch Steve fastidiously chop vegetables and fry whatever the fuck is in that pan (because dear god, what is that, Bucky thinks).

The cooking takes longer than expected but it's almost enough time that Bucky's sure his starvation will win out over his 'rules'; he's fasted for far longer than this before but it's no comfort.

Steve sets it onto plates, one large and one small, giving Bucky the option. Bucky takes the small one (one step at a time, here) and brings the concoction to his mouth (even now, he isn't really sure what it is).

He eats steadfastly but with a caution only an ill person can muster. He picks through bits and bobs until the plate's clear and his stomach is full, a shocked - albeit small - smile on his lips as the lack of queasiness in his stomach. Steve smiles gently and takes his plate without a word, having already finished his own - he usually eats like a lion left to starve - and cleans the dishes one by one.

"You better, Buck?" Steve asks, turning around. Bucky nods solidly but curls in on himself, hating his dependence on Steve to keep anything down. Steve sighs out a quiet breathe but wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulder as goes back to his seat and lets Bucky rest his head on his shoulder, brushing gentle fingers over the flesh shoulder.

"It'll be better soon, I promise," Steve says, albeit futile - he can't promise anything but he hell as will anyway. Bucky nods again, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath before peeling himself off the chair and going to sit on the sofa, swinging his legs onto the coffee table. He motions for Steve to follow - who does obediently, as always - and they sit side by side, arms brushing, as they turn on the TV and mindlessly watch some dodgy show on some dodgy channel.

Bucky slowly falls down the sofa until he's practically on the floor and his head is resting on Steve's arm. "I feel sick," he murmurs; Steve just has to nod and runs his fingers through Bucky's ever-tangled hair. "Badly." Steve sighs and pulls Bucky up to his feet and quickly leads him into the bathroom, holding his hair back as he pukes into the white ceramic.

So much for holding the food down.

"I tried," Bucky croaks desperately. "I really did-" he apologises.

"And that's all that matters," Steve hushes, pulling Bucky's hair into a ponytail and sealing it with a rubber band, moving his caring hands down to Bucky's shoulders and massage the aching muscles with super soldier vigour. "You'll be okay, Buck. You will."

"Promise?"

"Promise." They both know Steve can't promise anything.

"And all because of some plums," Bucky chokes as he laughs, bile spilling out of his mouth.

"All because of some plums," Steve smiles, masking the pain behind smiling lips as he presses a kiss to the conjunction of Bucky's neck and shoulder.

They move back to living room together - after Bucky has washed his mouth out with mouthwash, and Steve has braided his hair so it remains out of his face - and fall onto the sofa in synchronisation, relishing in the plush cushions that hadn't existed back in the 1940s.

"You okay?" Steve asks, though the question is futile.

"For now."

It's always for now.

"Good," Steve affirms, although all their words are practically a lie. But the more they say them, they believe, the more they may become true. And whether that works or not, it's ingrained into their routine now and that in itself seems to make it true enough.

They're getting better.

They really are.

Even if a bag of plums can set them back.

Plums, Steve wants to laugh, how the fuck did plums become anything to do with anything. He smiles anyway.

🍑

'He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm.'

When Tony gets out of the infirmary, it's fair to say he's pissed - and no, not drunk, like usual - pissed. It's also fair to say that Bucky does not regret a single action he has taken. In fact, he's rather pleased with the outcome.

Tony needed a knife to his stomach to give him a wake up call.

And yeah, Bucky knows it's scary and a bit shit to stab someone in the stomach but hey, Tony's gone through worse, so it's okay, right? Tony disagrees, heavily, and storms up to Bucky with murder on his face and goes "revenge will be mine, Barnes."

Bucky is not scared.

Until he is.

It's six in the morning and Bucky has just returned from his run when, through the loud speakers installed for JARVIS, comes Tony's voice. "Will anyone with the last name Barnes please make their way to the shooting range immediately. I repeat, will anyone with the last name Barnes please make their way to the shooting range immediately." Steve groans beside Bucky before asking, "what the hell?" Bucky just shrugs and jumps off the stool at the breakfast bar, waving Steve goodbye before stalking to the shooting range, face wary and body tense.

"What the fuck?" Bucky whispers as he enters the room. A spotlight is trained on one of the targets, the rest of the lights switched off, except for another solitary one in a booth that illuminates the pistol - medium calibre, not shabby - that's lying on the small desk, alongside a pair of headphones and some goggles.

Bucky does not need equipment. Someone seems to think he does.

"Barnes!" Stark gleefully shouts over the intercom. "I'm glad you could make it. Because, see, I'm still rather...enraged over the whole stabbing incident and I was thinking, what could I do that would really, really hurt back. See, hurting the Winter Soldier is quite hard. But then, I realised your weakness. And since we're celebrating the returns of an assortment of fruits back to supermarkets, I've got a little treat for you." With Stark's words finished, Bucky stalks forwards until the gun is in front of him, as well as the lit target.

It's then that Bucky realises just what Stark has done.

"No," he breathes, eyes wide. "No, you can't."

"Shoot them, Barnes," Tony hisses, no doubt smiling from the other side.

"Please, no," Bucky begs, staring at the beautiful fruit in front of him.

"Shoot the plums, Barnes. Shoot them."

"And what happens if I don't?" Bucky argues stubbornly.

"The doors are locked. You're not leaving until you shoot those plums, Barnes," Stark threatens, leaving Bucky shaking with anger.

"Fine," Bucky says, falsely aloof, lifting the pistol. His hands are shaking and for once, he's not sure he'll even be able to hit the plums. He takes the shot.

He misses.

The Winter Solider misses.

He's fast, he's strong, he has a metal arm and he fucking misses.

"Ooooooh!" Stark jeers, laughing. "The Winter Soldier missing, this just gets more and more exciting."

"Fuck off, Stark," Bucky barks, raising his gun again and taking the shot. He doesn't miss, because the Winter Soldier never (never) misses. But he hits the targets and, oh god, isn't that so much worse.

He can hear the tear through the flesh of the fruit and the final splatter of the juice on the walls, every sound right down to the infinitesimally small, including everything from the exploding crack of the core to the gentle rain of purple drops onto the cold, concrete floor.

Bucky flinches but pulls the trigger again, determined, shooting each plum through the heart with growing guilt and despair, ignoring Stark's imprudent jeering. He shoots until there are none left, leaving only the gloop of wasted fruit on the tabletop on which they were sitting.

Bucky puts down the gun with a shaking hand and hears the door unlock with a click. "Man, that was cruel," Clint complains as he walks into the room, holding a plum in his right hand. "Peace offering? And as Natasha puts it, a show that it was Tony and only Tony that made up this scheme."

Bucky narrows his eyes.

"Okay, okay," Clint apologises as he raised his arms, plum still in hand. "It might be an apology for accidentally giving Stark a very good, but extremely cruel, revenge tactic." Bucky just smirks and takes the plum out of Clint's surrendering hands and takes a large bite, like he used to from his food back when HYDRA had him, just to prove something.

Anything.

He'd lost his dignity nearly a century ago, he might as well throw that in people's faces every now and then.

"Not forgiven," he says maniacally and scurries out the room and back to where Steve is eerily staring at the screen, still looking a little shocked.

"Bucky!" he practically shouts, "are you okay?" He runs up to Bucky and looks at him like he's checking for injuries.

"Holy shit, Steve, calm down."

"But Tony, he made you-"

"It was plums, Steve. Nothing to get worked up over." Steve raises an eyebrow at him, like a disappointed mother gives to her son.

"I thought," Steve chastises, "that you thought plums were something very valid to get worked up over."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "They are," Steve goes to interject, "BUT! It's not like there isn't more. Yes, it pissed me off but Starks a bit of a bitch, isn't he? I'll live. Now, where's my prize?"

"Prize?" Steve questions with a smirk, seemingly more relaxed.

"Plums, you dumbass. I get to eat as many as I shot," Bucky says gleefully, skipping over to the sofa and plonking himself down, legs immediately folding on the coffee table, the embodiment of relaxed confidence.

"Your wish is my command," Steve laughs, jogging to the fridge and rifling through the ingredients until he finds the (far too large) stash of plums. "How many did ya shoot, Buck? I wasn't exactly countin'". Bucky laughs at the odd tad of Brooklyn that has slipped into Steve's accent but calls back with perfect memory, "14!"

"Holy shit, Buck. You might be running the stash dry."

"Watch your language, Mr America! You're supposed to be the epitome of politeness now, right? Can't do with no swearing, can we?" Buck laughs but waves Steve over, all fourteen plums he has in hand.

"I ain't gonna be able to eat these all anyway but it's nice to shove it back in Stark's face. Put him out a few pennies."

"He's a billionaire, Buck. I'm sure buying fourteen plums isn't making him bankrupt."

"Every little helps," Bucky shrugs. Steve, without being able to hold it in, cracks up laughing. He feels a little bad, he knows exactly how it feels for people to be laughing at you because you accidentally made a reference. But Steve just can't help it.

"What?" Buck asks, looking a little annoyed.

"Sorry, sorry," Steve apologises, choking his laughs down. It's just, when I went to the UK (mission stuff, you know), there's this supermarket advert and they always say that. It's just cheesy, that's all." Bucky huffs but smiles a little, leaning into Steve and taking the bite of his first plum.

They sit in silence for a few moments before Steve whispers, "I'm glad you're here, Buck."

"Me too, punk." Bucky smiles.

🍑

'It always ends in a fight'

Steve hears the sick thud of something hitting the ground before he sees anything. His shield is raised, protecting himself from the parade of bullets flying at him. His feet are planted steady on the corrugated iron roof, his spare hand holding a small pistol that is easy for firing at small range.

Steve calls out for backup, expecting an overeager Bucky to charge forward and kill these men in minutes (mission report: terrorist cell, shoot to kill, code red). He turns when nothing comes back; Bucky was by his side just a minute ago, shooting from behind Steve, using the protection of his shield for two of them.

"Bucky?!" Steve calls out again, over the rapid gunfire of another round being shot into men's chests (Steve flinches, feels the guilt of every life, watches the blood pour but pushes on. He's a soldier, this is his mission). "Bucky!" He calls again, panic rising in his voice when he pauses. He shoots one last man in the chest, carefully examining the backup group that are patrolling the ground when he sees...

Bucky.

Bucky fell. Bucky's on the floor.

And oh god, he's bleeding. His head has smashed into the concrete, with death-inducing consequences (but Bucky's a cockroach, Stark's words not his, and will survive anything: even the agonising probable brain damage that he's just been hit with that his body might take months to heal. Steve hopes it will be quicker. Hopes he's underestimated it all). Steve stares, agape, at the fresh wound, until he tumbles off the building himself, landing in a heap, but at least in a crouch, feeling only a slight strain in his muscles. Bucky is bleeding not only from his head but his torso as well, blood profusely spurting from the wide rip across his chest - it had gone through the kevlar, it gone through the fucking kevlar.

Armed soldiers storm down the alley only seconds later and Steve is forced to fight them off, swinging his shield without finesse, only unbridled rage for his friends twitching body.

They're all gone within two minutes; Steve leaves the fight then, Bucky in his arms, and ignores his teammates cries.

They win anyway.

Steve is let off the hook when they tell him that Bucky Barnes may really not have survived this time.

🍑

Bucky comes to it with an undignified groan just under two weeks later and a mind-shattering pain in his head. Alarms immediately start buzzing and through the small slits between his eyelids, he sees a frantic giant storming around like its the apocalypse. Bucky can't see his expression but he can bet that it's the 'I'm Steve Rogers and you're going to do exactly what I do because I'm a stubborn punk who won't take no for an answer.'

"Captain Rogers, we're going to need you to vacate the room," Bucky hears above the screaming in his head. He knows it's a nurse, it has to be, and Bucky just sighs at the implications.

"I'm sorry, madame, but this man is my best friend and I'm not going to-" Bucky scoffs becausebest friend but it seems he did it a little too loudly because now that blonde giant is by his side with eyes as wide as the moon, worry shining through the hope.

"Bucky? Bucky, you awake?" Bucky tries to croak a yes but only managed a little noise that only Steve would percept with his preternatural hearing. "Bucky!" He calls out and turns, presumably to the nurse and says, "he's awake, ma'am," because even he knows that the sound was so small that any nurse would think Steve was hallucinating.

"Captain Rogers, if your friend" (see, even she knows) "is awake then it's imperative that you leave. A lot is happening with his body, we're going to need to help him and you can't assist that."

Steve huffs. "I've got medical training, ma'am. I can help."

"Steve," the nurse finally sighs, giving up any ruse of formality. "Let us do our job. Please." Steve looks to the floor, evidently chastised and stumbles out the room like a dog with its tail between its legs. Bucky giggles a bit in his head (it even quietens the deafening ringing) and smiles, the twitch of his lips enough for a small wrinkle to appear on the corner of his mouth.

"Sergeant Barnes?" The nurse calls down to him, replacing Steve's position. "Can you open your eyes for me, please?"

"Blurgh," he gurgles, attempting to refute but his lips only opening a fraction. She giggles gently but hides it behind a frail hand, only a minute quirk of her lips visible. "Please try again for me, Sergeant," she says, humour drained from her voice as she takes on a professional front. He attempts as much as he is able to and manages to just about open his eyes, even if it is still a little squinted. She smiles perfunctorily and begins the next step. "Can you tell me how bad your pain is? On a scale of 1-5, show me on your fingers." It takes a gargantuan effort but Bucky holds up a solid two and lets his eyes close a fraction. She notes something down on her sheet and even through the delirium, he can see her write a clear 4/5. He's not sure whether to be proud of her intuition or a little peeved that she thinks he's lying.

I mean, he is but that's not the point.

"Ok, thank you. I'm going to get the doctor in as soon as possible. That remote in your hand is the call button, press it if you need us. Or," she adds pointedly, "if Captain Rogers finds his way in again." Bucky wishes he could smile back at her as she leaves but finds himself exhausted just by the simple movement of his fingers.

Bucky's memories are unstable (as always) but the last day or so (he believes) seems particularly unclear. He remembers...fighting. Yes, fighting and then...falling? No, that can't be. Whenever he sees falling he sees-

(A train, a hand, a shout and the barren cliffs rolling away from him, up into the sky)

Internally, he sighs and tries to dig through the creaks of his memory and scavengers as much of a picture as possible. And, with all the information in his grasp, he realises his conclusion might be right: he'd fallen.

Well, shit.

🍑

The doctor checks in on him at least twice before Steve is allowed in the room again. When he is finally checked back in, he runs in like it's a Hydra base and it's about to explode with Bucky still inside. Bucky, at this point, is at least somewhat awake. His eyes are open and he can speak, even if with the smallest of voices and a pain that spikes up to what the nurse says is a five (he'd give it a solid four).

"Bucky! Are you okay? They haven't been hurting you, have they?" Bucky huffs a laugh and shakes his head with a wan smile.

"Fine," he croaks, letting his eyes fall closed for just a second in compensation. Steve sighs, looking down at him with pity. "I thought...I thought you were dead, Buck." Bucky nods, a silent 'I know'. "I...I didn't know what I was supposed to do." Another nod. "Thank you."

"Til...the...end...of the...line." It's agony to say but it's worth it for the gentle smile that overcomes Steve's face.

"Yeah, 'til the end of the line."

Steve continues to sit by Bucky's bed side for hours, telling him stupid stories about the Avengers, or memories from back in the day (some that he remembers, some that he doesn't). Bucky listens avidly but can't help but doze off sometimes. Steve doesn't seem to mind either, running a gentle hand through Bucky's hair every time he goes back under.

Nurses and doctors are in and out, checking vitals, asking pain levels but predominantly leaving them alone. (Bucky predicts that Steve has assured them that if anything goes wrong, he can help. If Steve's anything, it's stubborn).

"You hungry, Buck?" Steve asks after a lapse of silent. Bucky smirks gently, feeling the pull of awareness for the first time since he'd been under. "Sure, pal. How about a few plums?" Steve looks down at him with a wary smile, playing all his emotions underneath the surface, only letting Bucky see what he needs to see. "Sorry, jerk, no solid food until you've got passed the mush stage."

And all of a sudden, Bucky is totally, irrevocably awake. "What?" He croaks, staring Steve down like a Hydra man with a gun to his head. "You've gotta be shitting me, punk. I'm having a plum." He tilts his head up snootily and waits for Steve to accept. Except he doesn't, because he's Steve (and Steve, if anything, is stubborn. Remember?)

Steve shrugs and leans back with easy grace. "No can do, Buck." Bucky's overcome with the urge to glare at Steve until they end up in some eerily long staring contest (who knew the super soldier serum made them have to blink less), one which Steve wins in the end - Bucky blames it on the current state of his health.

"But Steve," he whines, opening his eyes until he's at maximum 'puppy eyes'. Steve, however, does not acquiesce. He's practiced, he knows exactly what he's doing; Bucky may look cute but Steve will never give in.

"Nope. No, no, no, no, nope."

"Please."

"Nope."

"Come on! Pleeeeaaaaaseeeeeee."

"No can do, pal." Bucky huffs and folds his arms petulantly, scowling like a child. Steve ignores this too; he knows that a semi-stable 100-year-old man will never coax him into giving in. The silence afterwards permeates thickly as Bucky keeps up the charade of child-like anger whilst Steve acts the ever-loving parent that won't give the child the ice-cream they've so desperately been asking for.

It's all interrupted, though, by the unexpected arrival of one unwelcome individual. "Robocop! How's life treating you? I brought you something!" Tony Stark shouts, not only paining Bucky's sensitive ears but Steve's too. He strides in with all his usual bravado and brandishes a beautiful object. A plum: oddly shiny, Bucky notes, but a plum nonetheless.

Steve seems to know what's coming before Bucky does but it doesn't matter; in his desperation, Bucky snatches it from Tony's hand and before he even has the time to think 'this feel's weird', he takes a bite and...

Shit.

It's plastic.

Fuck you, Stark. Fuck you.

Bucky's rage is uncontainable at this point. He doesn't care that he still has an IV drip connected to him, he takes it out (gently, if that's any consolation) and pushes Stark to the nearest wall. Steve, in the meanwhile, seems stuck in a state of shock, staring at the incident with wide eyes and an open mouth. "How dare you," Bucky spits, teeth-bared.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, terminator. Don't get angry; it's only a little prank."

"Do you think that this is a-" Bucky's rising voice is cut off by the panicking tremors of Steve's own. "Buck, stop. It was just a joke. You're still ill; you'll regret it if you take this any further."

"Will I?" Bucky argues, spitting.

"Yes." At the words, the fight drains out of Bucky and he stumbles back to the bed, holding his head in his hands and choking out a laugh. "Oh my god," he breathes out, half way to hysterics, "what the hell is going on with me?"

Steve dares let out a huff of a laugh. "It's fine, you just need a little food is all."

"Plum flavoured?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Is no one gonna ask how I am?" Tony interjects, shock still evident in the way his chest is pumping. "Seriously, terminator, first I get put in the fucking medical bay with a knife in my stomach - and you know how much I hate the medical bay - and now I'm getting threatened. Should I start calling you the plum-man or something. No, scrap that, that's an awful name. What about Pluminator, that's better-"

"Tony," Steve interjects "stop." Tony shuts up, for which they are thankful for. "We'll talk about this later." At the dismissal, Tony leaves, muttering endless strings of words that have little meaning together but make an overall sense that 'no one in this tower has any sense of humour and they're missing out'.

Steve sighs a sigh of relief and leans back in his chair, smiling mischievously at Bucky. "So, after all that, you want me to actually go get some food?"

🍑

Bucky's finally released from the medical bay at 2pm on a Friday, only four hours before 'team lunch', in which they all sit in the actual allocateddining room (no lab, no living room, the actual dining room) to try and 'talk'. It's a fairly loose term and it may be more adept to say 'arguing relentlessly' but Steve likes it: it feels like, for the first time since he's woken up, that he really has a family again.

Steve lets Bucky out himself, helping the nurses do some final checks before leading them back to the apartment where Steve has spent the last three hours cleaning to hide the never ending mess that has been piling up (Bucky accepted nothing but perfect cleanliness: something Steve could never quite attain).

They wash, dress, (clean again) and flop down on the sofa together. Steve's said that they should put off food for now, knowing that the food tonight will be plenty enough for the both of them, even with the heightened appetites (even with the possibility that Bucky's may all come back up), and is unwilling to waste any more food than necessary - an instinct, probably, from a time long forgotten.

"You know, I really never thought I could have this. The big house, the family, however unconventional it is. I always thought it was a distant...dream, I guess," Steve admits, letting his head fall so its resting on Bucky's right shoulder, comforted by flesh and not metal.

"Still haven't got the wife or the kids yet though, have you, pal?" Bucky teases but there's an edge to it, one that Steve can recognise with ease now, no matter how well the ex-assassin can hide his emotions. Bucky can't give him any of those things, he knows. And that's why...that's why he doesn't want any of them. He's not afraid to voice that.

"Don't need 'em. I have a perfectly good man here, don't I? One that can look after me whilst a stay at home and clean day in and day out to meet his expectations." Bucky barks a laugh but doesn't interrupt. "And kids...hmmm. Probably wouldn't, even if I did have a wife," Steve admits, "you don't want kids with a profession like this. And anyway," he adds, trying to add joviality to the conversation again, "they whine to much. Don't think I could deal with that." Bucky smiles gently and runs a hand down Steve's shoulder and up again, a silent gesture of comfort. Steve leans in further and looks up at Buck, awkwardly leaning in until their lips just brush. Bucky smiles further and pulls Steve in, relishing in the feeling of it until-

"Mr Stark would like me to relay you a message, Captain, Sergeant. It states:" a recording starts of Tony's voice "if you two aren't too busy fucking, we're starting up early." Steve lets out a half laugh, half whine sound. "Guess that's our call then," Steve sighs, standing and holding a hand out for Bucky, pulling him to his feet.

They make their way to the dining hall and see the feast before them. All the members of the team are already sitting around the table, happily digging into whatever they can find: everything from Asian to African to European. Bucky sits down in the one place where there is a free seat next to him, motioning for Steve to join him and begins to eat before asking "Tony?". Most people around the table shrug but Bruce pipes up as soon as he's swallowed almost an entire bowl of rice in one go. "He's coming, he's just getting a little something ready." The ominous statement doesn't do anything to ease Bucky's confusion but they eat and try and ignore the empty chair at the head of the table.

They're almost all done with their portion of the main courses, even though half the table is still brimming with uneaten food (Steve probably has good reason to feel uncomfortable at the waste), when Tony storms in - all with same bravado as before - brandishing something that's quite hard to determine when he's holding it above his head, no matter how short he is.

"I have heard many a complaint from a certain person about a lack of a certain fruit and I decided, in the name of team spirit, to gift this to our own personal Pluminator - yeah, yeah, it's the best I could come up with - a plum tart!" Tony's arm swoops down and reveals a perfectly made plum tart with a sloppily written 'to stop you from killing me' in cream on the top. "Courtesy of Pepper's brilliant baking and my amazing handwriting." Despite the crude message, Bucky lights up and digs in with a usually unseen determination - with the exception of fighting - and doesn't hesitate in complimenting Pepper on her amazing baking skills, to which she modestly blows him off.

Of course, there's a fight over the last slice but what else did Steve expect? This is his family, he's used to it by now.

word count: 8666

published: 15.10.18