--
"A mission," the Soldier said, low and desperate. His hand shook around the knife as he pressed the hilt deeper into Steve's throat. Steve didn't budge from the walls, just as much as he didn't lift an effort to push the Soldier off his person. He just stared at his assailant with a tilted head.
Briefly, Steve wondered if the assassin who wore his dearest friend's face was referring to Captain America as his mission, as the target in his contract.
"A mission?" Steve mumbled. Now his blue eyes cast to the floors, blinking in mid-contemplation.
The Soldier hissed. "A mission."
"I don't understand." Steve tried. A mission? Kill him? Finish him on the spot? Peel his skin from his bones and all of that stuff? Well... Steve smiled then, catching the Soldier off guard for a swift second before he mastered his cruel and dark expression into place. The Soldier pondered how easy it would be to just press the knife and-
"Do you want a new mission? Do you have nowhere to go? Nowhere to seek a new order from?" Steve softly said. His words were loose and light, not a trace of fear or doubts; just curiosity and childish-triumph.
The Soldier's hold faltered.
"Are you lost? Is that it?" The larger man gently brushed the Soldier's fist to pull the knife from his grip, carefully not to alarm the currently placate assassin. Once he had the sharp object, Steve walked toward the garbage can and threw it in with such a simple ease. As if he was a child throwing a piece of an unwanted picture.
(Winter Soldier gave him an odd look from where he stood)
"... A mission?" The Soldier whispered.
"Well-..." Steve gave a thought about it (actually, seriously gave a thought about it). "I can give you missions. New ones."
The Soldier looked up, hopeful. "... Really?"
(Steve knew there were still hidden weapons on the Soldier, not to mention his metallic arm but he could deal with those later)
"Yeah." It was both sad and pathetic how the Soldier seemed to function properly only through given missions. It was both disgusting and agonizing - Steve's irises turned to slits as his lips curved upward in utter derision - that the people who treated Steve Rogers' precious gem as a mere controlled dog were dead or hiding from plain sight.
He'd love to have the pleasure in meeting these people.
"M-my... My mission... Sir?" The Soldier gave him a desperate glance. He looked at his new owner as if Steve commanded the thunder and earth. New owner meant a new purpose to be activated. Good.
Steve's smile was brighter than the expensive lamp in the room.
"Let's start by calling yourself as Bucky from now on."
Winter Soldier's eyes were wide and lost. New name? New identity? But-... Oh yeah. Orders. Missions. Must follow.
"Understood, sir."
"And call me Steve."
Oh, so many missions in a minute. Good good.
"Understood, Steve."
"Tell me who you are." Steve walked closer to his Bucky. He took the brown locks into his fingers and inhaled the scent; ahh. Musky scent of earth and coppery blood.
"It's Bucky."
“How will you address me?”
“Steve.”
"Good." The Captain purred. He arm went about Bucky's waist, pulling the familiar heat closer to his chest. "Now, let's get you cleaned."
--
He examined the Winter Soldier's uniform with a frown.
'What should I do next?' Steve sighed. He pulled the razor and scissor from the cabinet. His gaze occasionally fell on Bucky, making sure the man stayed and immersed himself in the tub filled with bubbles. Bucky made it his personal task to glare and poke at the floating bubbles with incredible precision; cackling evilly when said bubbles popped.
"We need to cut your hair and shave those beards."
Bucky's eyes narrowed at the man. "Mission?"
Steve sighed again. It had become a routine for the night. "Yes, Bucky, a mission. Now stay still and let me do the work."
"Very well." Bucky's posture turned ramrod in the tub. His hands clenched tightly on his laps, eyes closed with strong anticipation.
Steve raised a brow. Okay, he wasn't expecting instant obedience but then again, Bucky was fairly loyal to whoever gave him a purpose to keep functioning. Though it was painful to accept, Steve Rogers was the type to feel grateful for whatever he could get. Even if it was someone's broken good.
"Stop popping the bubbles."
"Affirmative, Steve."
--
Bucky looked somewhat younger with his short hair and clean face. There was still a hollow look in his gaze but Steve reckoned it’d take a long, long while for it to disappear, if at all.
One step at a time.
"Stay still." He said that quite a lot too.
Bucky stilled on the chair and let his chin drop to his chest. Steve resumed drying Bucky's hair with a towel, chastising his friend whenever Bucky gave a death glare at the cotton cloth for accidentally poking at his eyes.
"There... Better. And now..." He went to the drawer, producing a simple looking sleeveless shirt and a grey shorts. They were too big for Bucky but it’d do for the night. He gingerly handed it to the confused looking man. "Wear this. After that, we're having dinner."
Bucky sniffed the fresh clothes.
"It's a mission."
The Soldier moved into action, donning the attires with impressive stealth and remarkable elegance. Steve released a deep breath. "You can stop taking everything seriously, Bucky."
--
Steve stared at the man sitting across the table.
Bucky wouldn't touch the portion on the plate. Bucky wouldn't even touch the glass of water. He merely looked and studied the food with furrowed eyebrows because apparently, he was trained to believe everything that could be stuffed into his stomach had a high probability of being a poison.
Steve bemused. Then what the heck his previous caretakers had been feeding him? He didn't want to use 'it's a mission' against Bucky for a dinner. He’d been abusing that command for the past few hours earlier.
"Bucky. It's a pizza and it's gonna get cold if you don't finish it quickly."
No movement.
"Bucky."
The Soldier looked up.
"Eat it." Steve gave him a weak smile. His appetite was shortly gone just by looking at Bucky's defeated figure. Bucky wasn't as large as Steve and the muscular stature was just an illusion created by the metal arm. Bucky was leaner in reality.
"Is it a mission?"
Steve shook his head. "Not now."
"Oh..." Bucky poked the pizza with his flesh-and-blood finger, almost recoiling back once it touched the crusty part on the pizza. His eyes now shone in interest. "Is it lethal?"
"No, it's food."
"Weaponry?"
"No, only food."
"Food made out of dangerous chemicals?"
"No, Bucky, just food."
From his vision, the Soldier finally sagged. He carefully held the pizza between his thumb and forefinger, slowly biting it with a rigid expression. He bit once, twice, thrice and then he gawked at the pizza as if it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
Steve was jealous.
At least, at the end of the dinner session, he got to lick the sauce at the corner of Bucky's mouth.
--
Bucky stood at the center of the bedroom. Steve stared stupidly at his friend.
"What are you doing?"
"Resting."
"You can't rest while standing, Bucky."
"I'm capable, Steve."
Steve huffed. He sprawled himself on the bed, hand on his face before he brushed it downward and turned to study Bucky again. "C'mere." He removed the blanket, ushering Bucky to lie down next to him.
Bucky's face was mixed of fear and confusion. "I must not. It's not part of the protocol."
"There are no protocols. No rules. No laws. No punishment. Nothing, Bucky."
Bucky scanned the room.
Steve didn't really want to do this but... "It's a mission."
Bucky snapped into position and looked at Steve with a hard and determine expression. "Understood, Steve." He marched to Steve's side and dove under the blanket. He snuggled once, tried to adjust his body to the comfy sensation, snuggled again, before he hummed and waited for the next command.
"You're too stiff, Bucky. Ease up."
"Affirmative."
There was a long stretch of silence as Bucky continued to lie down perfectly while Steve watched his friend directly in his eyes. He didn't want to admit it but it actually made the Soldier uncomfortable. His new owner was observing him with a blank slate, as if he was trying to drill into the Soldier's damaged spirit.
"Bucky."
"Yes, sir-... Steve?"
"Stop holding your breath and just go to sleep. You're acting like I'm going to bite you."
'Because that's what it feels like,' Bucky scrunched his face.
Another silence.
(Bucky slowly lost in the realm of unconsciousness with Steve still staring at him intently-)
"Bucky."
(His eyes darted open)
"Yes, Steve?"
"This is a mission. Hold on to me and cuddle."
"Affirmative." Bucky spread his arms and slung them around Steve's broad torso, his face trapped between Steve's neck and chest. He didn't even wince when he felt a strong hand brush against his back. Perhaps it was Steve's way of praising him for his good work? It was different from how his previous owner rewarded him. There were foreign touches too but they were at places where Bucky felt like he was being violated.
"Night, Bucky." Steve put his chin on top of Bucky's head - the Soldier was paralyzed by the odd action - and yawned.
Bucky hesitantly replied with a soft "N-night, Steve."
“… You know. You’re so cute I just want to stack you like Tetris.”
“What?”
Steve beamed. If Bucky couldn't remember him ever again, it was fine with Steve. New memories could always be created.
--
When morning sun piqued through the curtains; Bucky thought the way Steve draped himself over his chest as the drool stained Bucky's shirt felt strangely like a normal life.
It also felt like a second chance.
'Eww. Man's drool.'
--