He tried to take heart from the fact that Bucky let his hand be held, even stroked his cheek a little with his fingertips, even if Steve had felt that aborted flinch. He almost let go, but telling himself he ought to give Bucky space was easier than actually doing it. Steve wanted so badly to be near him, to touch him at every moment and be certain that he was really there. He looked so insubstantial, wasted away to nearly nothing; it was as though he could slip away at any moment and there was only Steve to hold him here.

"I don't live in Brooklyn now," Steve told him as steadily as he could manage. That cold, distant voice hurt, but he could understand the sentiment--there were some places that were too haunted, filled with ghosts and nothing else. There was no going back. "I had to get a new place in DC, but--I think you'd like it. It's secure. Sam and I stay where we can when we're on the road." He didn't mention the Avengers Tower. Tony couldn't help them, not now. "My point is, there's a home for you if you want it. I don't care where we live. Any place that feels safe."

He let Bucky's hand lower, still gripping it in his; Steve's gaze moved over the machine clamped down on Bucky's arm, and then went back to his eyes. "You can't hurt me, Buck," he said softly. "Let me help you."