Fourteen months, six weeks, four days, since Steve woke up on the side of the Potomac with water in his lungs, a couple bullets in him, and the distinct knowledge that he could’ve drowned easily. The options he’d left Bucky with were come back to me or kill me, and Bucky, as usual, had found a third option. He’d saved Steve’s life, and... and disappeared.

Fourteen months, six weeks, four days.

Steve’s tearing his hair out.

Everyone’s been helping him as they can. Sam’s been on the road (or in the sky) at least a couple times a week. Tony’s helped out with all kinds of tech options. Surveillance. All kinds of things on the internet, that have given Steve and the others clues. Nat’s gone out more than once, and more importantly, sometimes, she’s dragged him to the occasional movie or out to dinner so he’ll eat properly where someone can watch him.

It’s all been for nothing. They’ve come close a couple times, Steve’s sure of it, but every time they seem to have a handle on where Bucky is – it all goes up in smoke.

Steve’s best friend is out there. Lost and alone. After being tortured for heck knows how long, after being made into a weapon, after having his memories messed with. Steve burns to find him, to help him, and he keeps failing.

Until this day.

Until this day when Steve’s just arrived back from Belgium, where the last dregs of some Hydra forces gave him some trouble. Until this day, when Steve’s dropped off his shield and gone for a debrief. Until this day, when Steve heads back to his room, still stinking of smoke from engine troubles, tired and heartsick, and he.........

Finds Bucky sitting on his bed.

He freezes in the doorway, the folder falling from his suddenly nerveless hand, papers scattering.

“H-hi.”