Tentative Trust, a New Beginning

The sound of melting ice dripping water still echoed, drop after drop hitting the metal floor like the second hand of a countdown. Ye Mo leaned against the wall; his feet were indeed numb, but he didn't move. The Regeneration he'd just been in had almost burned him dry, and his ribs still felt like they were being rubbed by a drill, the pain so intense it defied all martial ethics.

Captain America's hand remained on Bucky's shoulder, never letting go. Bucky didn't say anything more, just kept his head down, his breathing gradually steadying, as if he were learning how to live with his lungs for the first time.

"Hey." Ye Mo finally spoke, his voice not loud, but it was like a firecracker going off in the quiet. "If you don't say anything, we'll have to charge admission—fifty yuan for admission, tea extra."

Captain America turned around and glared at him. "Couldn't you wait a bit before you started being sarcastic?"

"I'm just afraid of awkward silences," Ye Mo shrugged, a loose thread still hanging from the tear in his hoodie. "Besides, there's no Wi-Fi or bubble tea here, we're just relying on our talking to survive."

Bucky slowly raised his head, his gaze slightly unfocused, but this time it was directed at Ye Mo. His lips moved, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against sheet metal. "... You don't need to keep me here."

"Oh?" Ye Mo raised an eyebrow. "So where do you plan to go? Back to that dilapidated substation to continue being a humanoid walking weapon? Or are you going to work illegally at a convenience store, scanning QR codes with a robotic arm?"

Bucky didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to move but didn't dare.

Emma Frost leaned against the wall, her eyes closed, though she had been awake the whole time. She could sense that Bucky's brainwaves, though chaotic, no longer emitted the sharp signals of a program intrusion. She opened her eyes a crack and gave Ye Mo a very slight nod—Safe.

Ye Mo understood.

He took half a step forward, his right fingertips still a little hot, the backlash from the Regeneration hadn't completely subsided. But he still extended his hand, palm up. "We've settled things now, even if we fought before. How about a handshake, so we can get to know each other again? Mr. X, the code name is too perfunctory, just call me Ye Mo."

The air suddenly became still.

Captain America held his breath, his hand still on Bucky's arm, afraid that he might suddenly convulse and hurt someone.

Emma Frost's eyes widened as well; though her mental strength was diminished, she was ready to act at any moment.

Bucky stared at the hand for a full five seconds. His left hand trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from fear—fear that touching it would trigger some kind of command, fear that he would lose control, fear that the blood on his hands was unworthy of touching anyone else's warmth.

"I... hurt you," he said softly, his gaze fixed on the gash on Ye Mo's chest.

"You were hurt even more badly, weren't you?" Ye Mo didn't laugh or dodge, his voice as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. "You think your broken arm is just for show? Everyone can see you're in a worse state than anyone else."

Bucky was stunned by these words.

It wasn't out of pity, but because—no one had ever spoken to him like that before.

It's not "I pity you," nor "I forgive you," nor "You're a monster." It's just the honest truth: You're miserable, I know.

He slowly raised his left hand, his movements deliberate, as if afraid of startling someone. The moment his fingertips touched Ye Mo's palm, both of them paused for a moment.

Then, Bucky shook his hand.

His palms were rough, covered in cold sweat and old scars. Ye Mo didn't use any force, just gently squeezed back, as if he were holding a wild cat that had just been rescued from a trap.

A few seconds later, he grinned. "Okay, your handshake isn't shaking, your mental fortitude is up to par. I suggest you sign up for the Avengers Experience Camp directly; it includes food, lodging, and even washing your socks."

Bucky didn't let go; instead, he tightened his grip, his voice low but clear. "... I'm not a hero."

"Who said I wanted you to be a hero?" Ye Mo rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask you to act in Iron Man 3. We're just ordinary office workers sticking together for warmth. You're missing a brain and I'm missing an arm, so we're a good match."

Captain America finally breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping slightly. He didn't interrupt, just watched, his eyes welling up with tears.

Emma Frost closed her eyes and let out a soft breath. Her mental energy was almost depleted, but she still quietly scanned the area— Bucky's emotional fluctuations were stable, there were no abnormal signals intruding, and his memory fragments were slowly reassembling, like an old cassette tape being readjusted.

"How much do you remember?" she suddenly asked.

Bucky looked down at their clasped hands. "Fragments... the streets of Brooklyn, the winter snow, and... Steve wrestling, and me laughing at his short legs."

Captain America nearly choked. "When have you ever not said my legs are short?"

"Every time..." Bucky's lips twitched, this time a genuine smile, though only for a moment, "You even stole my mom's pies."

"That's because you voluntarily shared it with me!" Captain America immediately retorted, "And you always hid it under the knife and fork!"

"Because you know I'll sneak food," Bucky said softly, "You've always known."

The atmosphere changed abruptly.

It wasn't lighthearted, nor was it sad; rather, it was a kind of... familiarity.

It was like two people who had known each other for a long time finally finding each other's names again.

Ye Mo watched this scene without interrupting. He slowly withdrew his hand, flexing his fingers; his Regeneration skin was still a little taut. But he didn't feel it was a waste—hadn't he endured all those punches just now for this moment?

"So," he broke the silence, his tone casual, "Are you planning to go back to Captain America's hometown to grow potatoes, or are you considering joining our 'strangely capable, underfunded, and perpetually overtime-working' civilian rescue organization?"

Bucky didn't answer, but he didn't refuse either.

He simply nodded slowly, as if he had finally retrieved something he had lost long ago.

"... Ye Mo," he said softly, "I've remembered."

Ye Mo was taken aback for a moment, then laughed, "Oh, you're quite savvy! I suggest you have it engraved on a stone tablet and sell it as an antique a hundred years from now."

Emma Frost scoffed, "Can you stop thinking about making money all the time?"

"If I don't earn money, who will support you?" Ye Mo glanced at her sideways. "Your Diamond Form consumes energy without costing you anything? The electricity bill alone could buy a Tesla."

"Even if you Regeneration, it won't be cheap," Emma Frost said calmly. "Just now, I felt like the entire building's circuit breaker tripped."

"That's called a stunning entrance." Ye Mo puffed out his chest. "Don't you understand art?"

Captain America shook his head and smiled, his hand still loosely supporting Bucky, but no longer so tense. He knew Bucky wasn't fully recovered; the fragments of his memory were still piecing together, and he hadn't overcome the hurdle in his heart. But at least—he was willing to speak, willing to reach out.

That's enough.

"What's next?" Emma Frost asked.

"What's next?" Ye Mo feigned ignorance. "Let me catch my breath first; my injuries haven't healed yet."

"I mean... what about him?" Emma Frost looked at Bucky.

Bucky didn't avoid her gaze; instead, he looked her straight in the eye. "I don't want to be controlled anymore. I don't want to... hurt innocent people."

"Then you need to learn to control yourself," Ye Mo said seriously. "For example, next time you see me, don't pull out a knife at the drop of a hat. Can we chat for a bit first?"

"Your landing was really bad," Bucky suddenly said.

Ye Mo choked. "Huh?"

"Last time I sent you flying, you did a triple somersault in the air, and you landed without any cushioning, so you deserved to break your back."

"You still remember?" Ye Mo's eyes widened.

"Blurry," Bucky nodded, "But the picture is hilarious."

Ye Mo pointed at him and cursed, "So you dare to mock me now that you've just woken up? Looks like you've really come back to life."

Captain America couldn't help but laugh out loud, Emma Frost also curled the corners of her mouth slightly.

Bucky didn't speak again, but his eyes were different. No longer a blank scan, nor a painful struggle, but a kind of... the light of life.

Looking at him, Ye Mo suddenly felt that all those punches she had taken were worth it.

He leaned back against the wall and let out a long sigh, "Alright, since we're all still alive, let's make a rule—from now on, before we fight, we'll vote by raising our hands. Only if more than half vote can we start. Anyone who violates this rule will be fined and have to buy milk tea."

"You really think this is a meeting?" Emma Frost sneered.

"Otherwise what?" Ye Mo shrugged. "We're not Hydra carrying out assassinations; we should at least adhere to some procedural justice."

Captain America shook his head. "You're never serious."

"I'm being serious," Ye Mo said earnestly. "Just now, I strictly followed the 'block damage for teammates' manual. I suggest you give me a certificate for bravery."

"No award certificate," Captain America said, looking at him. "But you can make a request."

Ye Mo was taken aback. "Really?"

"Real."

He thought for a moment, then looked at Bucky: "Alright, I only have one request—next time if you lose control again, don't go after anyone else, come and fight me first. I'm thick-skinned, Regeneration quickly, and can take it."

Bucky stared at him for a long time, then slowly nodded. "... Okay."

Emma Frost looked at the two of them and suddenly felt that the cold air in this dilapidated house didn't seem so biting anymore.

The water droplets were still falling, the ice was still melting, and the sky remained dark.

But something has changed.

Ye Mo stood still, his right hand hidden behind his back, the stinging pain from the Regeneration still lingering on his fingertips. He didn't cry out in pain or complain; he simply moved his wrist slightly.

He knew this battle was not over yet.

But at least now, the four of them are standing together, and none of them want to run away.