Bucky had been trying to rebuild his life. Therapy, nightmares, learning to live without the Winter Soldier haunting every corner of his mind. Slowly, painfully, he was getting better.

After another exhausting session, he returned to his apartment, dropped his keys on the counter, and shrugged off his jacket.

Then he froze.

An unfamiliar agent sat on his couch, dressed in black, a mask covering the lower half of their face. Someone who definitely hadn’t been invited.

Bucky’s metal fingers curled instinctively as his expression hardened. His instincts screamed danger, but he forced himself to remain calm, remembering everything his therapist had taught him.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice low and guarded.

He took a cautious step forward, blue eyes studying the stranger beneath the mask.

“And how did you get into my apartment?”

For the first time in weeks, Bucky felt the familiar urge to reach for a weapon.

He hated how natural it felt.