Bucky didn't know the exact moment when everything started to change.
In the beginning, Steve was the only mission.
The mission was to destroy and then it became to protect. His brother, his friend. His everything. His strongest link to the past.
The two were disconnected, from a time that was not theirs. The difference is that Steve was good, kind. Bucky had to protect this.
The others, at first, were just there.
It was difficult.
Romanova was the easiest to deal with. They were alike, they understood each other. The others made Steve happy, so they were part of the mission collaterally.
Stark was something else. They had a difficult past and they could never be real friends, but they manage to endure.
And then, he remembered the before. It was not a sudden thing, the images came slowly. Information, names. And he, his promise. A mission too.
So, maybe from the beginning, Edward was a mission too. Since before, when he saw him for the first time. Frozen. So alone.
Edward was different from Steve, even if they had a lot in common too: He was from another time and his eyes where old, lost.
However, where Steve looked strong, stubborn, Edward seemed so damaged. Broken. Like Bucky. His body was hard, but inside, everything looked like glass. Delicate. Too easy to destroy. There was blood on his hands, and he had his own code. And yet he tried so hard to be good.
So, the mission to protect Steve became to protect Steve and Edward.
There were small details, subtly configuring themselves. Changing.
The way he touched the metal arm when he wanted security, regardless of whether it was a weapon.
And how he always looked around in an environment, looking for Bucky, before finally relaxing.
When things got too much, he always snuggled in his arms, as if he were not a deadly predator but just a broken boy seeking for protection.
And then, he started to notice that he hardly used his room: when he had to sleep, it was always in Bucky's bed.
How it seemed that he could only relax when he saw him around. Preferably where he could touch him. A light hand on the hair, a subtle touch on the cold skin. The others looked at them with curiosity. Or understanding.
In that afternoon, he could hear the sound of the piano lost in time and space, he could see the sunlight hitting the glass wall in the room, the dishevelled red hair and bare feet.
"James?"
James. Not asset. Not Bucky. James.
Smile in the melodic voice. He looked into his eyes, green and gold.
"Safe. Mission a success. For now."
"Can you sit here with me?"
He approached the piano, leaving the doorway where he was watching. His body was almost too big to fit on the stool with him. Legs and shoulders touching.
"As it should be."
A soft, humming laugh.
And then, the music.
He closed his eyes and could feel it: Joy, drama, sadness, agitation and then, in the end, softness. Peace. Bucky (James, he was James) opened his eyes on the last note. His chest hurt but he couldn't identify the danger.
The eyes looked at him. Old. For the moment, soft. A little nervous.
"It's yours."
"Mine?"
"The music. I composed it for you."
James's eyes widened slightly, startled. The cold hand touched his face.
It was wet.
"I didn't mean to make you cry."
Edward looked sad, a finger tracing the path of the tear on his face.
"Mission: make him happy."
One hand on the back of the neck, pushing him closer, softly.
The face tilted, slightly. Slowly. Just a brush of lips.
His heart beat faster and he heard a slight gasp in his mouth.
The lips were cold, the breath sweet.
The seconds seemed like an eternity, and at the same time, it passed too quickly.
He leaned his forehead against the cold one. The eyes in his were intense. Then, a smile. Light and so soft. So warm. True.
"Mission a success."
For now.