From There to Here - Bucky Barnes One Shots - SJSmith56 (2024)

Chapter 1: The New Neighbour

Chapter Text

The pickup truck filled with furniture parked in my parking stall wasn't the first sign that my lousy day was destined to continue into the evening. The day had started well enough. My alarm went off on time, the coffee maker didn't blow up, and I didn't burn the toast. Once I arrived at the Library all hell broke loose when a bathroom on the second floor experienced a burst pipe sending water out towards the book stacks. The water soaked the carpets and the Library manager had to call in a plumber to fix the pipe, then a cleanup team to wet vac most of the second floor while all of us staff that weren't working the circulation desk had to remove the bottom level of books in every stack to keep them away from the moisture. It was tedious work, especially since we couldn't kneel on the wet floor, for obvious reasons.

On the way home I stopped off at my favourite pizza place, ordered a loaded pizza then went to the liquor store a few doors down to get a six pack of beer to go with the pizza. As I got closer to the apartment building I could smell the tantalizing scents of the large pizza and began to think of how it would taste when I arrived home. My plan was to change into sweat pants and a T-shirt then relax on the couch and binge watch the latest season of The Mandalorian. It was all brought to a screeching halt when I saw the pickup truck backed into my parking stall, the one I paid a premium for so that I was close to the door.

I pulled up in front of it and got out of my car, staring at it with my hands on my hips. Two men came out of the door of the apartment building and approached the truck.

"Hey, this is my parking stall," I said to the closest one, a muscular dark skinned man. "Would you mind?"

"Uh, Buck," he said to the other man, a tall muscular man with dark hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. "We're in someone's parking spot."

He looked at me. "Sorry, this is where the manager told me to park," he said. "I have to get my stuff in."

"Well, it's my spot," I insisted. "I pay extra for it so that I don't have far to walk to the door. What unit are you in?"

"302," he said. "I'll go ask him where I'm supposed to park. You can park there until we're finished unloading and then I'll put the truck where it's supposed to be."

"Fine, do that," I snapped, thinking of my pizza getting colder. It also meant he was my next door neighbour. "I'll wait."

Exasperated he looked at the other guy and headed back into the apartment building in search of the building manager. The other man stood there, slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry about this," he said. "Seriously, the manager said we could park here. You don't happen to know where Buck's spot is do you?"

I pointed towards the far end of the parking lot. He winced and looked back at the door. A few minutes later the dark haired man, Buck, returned shaking his head.

"He's not in his suite," he said. "Listen, if you know where I'm supposed to park just park there for now and we'll try to get this done as soon as we can. I can even switch both vehicles once I'm done."

Shaking my head I restarted my car and backed up to the far end of the parking lot, putting my car into the spot marked 302. Grabbing my purse, the six pack and the pizza I closed the car door with my foot. Putting them on my hood I pressed the lock button on my car remote then gingerly picked up the pizza and beer to head to the door. It was closed, the door stop had come loose making it close. This was ridiculous. Balancing the pizza as best I could I tried to isolate the security door key so I could unlock it. Just as I inserted it into the lock the pizza box tilted, began to slide and I tried to grab it to no avail. It fell cover side down into the concrete step.

"f*ck!"

I swore a few more choice words and put the beer down to pick up the pizza box. Lifting the top my heart sank as the entire cheese layer was stuck on the lid. At that moment the two men came out, seeing the ruined pizza.

"I'm so sorry," said the blue eyed man. "I must have kicked the door stop on my way in. Let me make it up to you. We'll be done in 15 or 20 minutes. I'll order a new pizza, switch the truck and your car, and still owe you a favour."

"Don't bother," I replied. "I don't need your pity or any favours."

I entered the building before I said what I was really feeling and got into the elevator. Angry at the day, at the pizza, and especially at BUCK, I stomped down the hallway to my apartment and put everything on the floor to open my door. Just as I opened it the elevator dinged and the doors opened. My new neighbour and his friend came out carrying a big mattress ... king sized. Great, now he knew which apartment I lived in. With a grimace I picked my things up from the floor and backed into my place, slamming the door shut with my foot. Dropping everything on the counter I changed and came back out to the kitchen, peeled a slice of pizza off the inside of the lid, put it on a plate then into the microwave. I opened a beer and took a long drink of it. When the microwave beeped I pulled my pizza out and sprawled out on the couch. After a deep breath I took a bite of the pizza and began to chew. Immediately I spat it out. It tasted like cardboard. Looking closely I could see bits of the lid stuck to the pizza. Swearing again I went back to the kitchen, picked up the pizza box and tossed it into the garbage can. As I sat fuming I heard a timid knock on the door and looked out the security peephole. It was Buck. I opened the door and looked at him with all the disdain I could muster.

"Um, we're almost done and if you give me your car keys I'll move you back into your parking space," he said. "I'll also go pick up a pizza to replace the one I ruined. What's your choice?"

It was while he was looking at his hands that I noticed he was wearing leather gloves, finding it odd that he was wearing them in the middle of summer. He noticed me looking at them and looked briefly up at the ceiling before scratching his head.

"I have a metal hand and arm," he admitted. "It intimidates some people so I spare them by wearing the gloves. I know we got off on the wrong foot down there and I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding. Since we're neighbours please allow me to try and make it up to you."

"Okay, neighbour," I said a little more civilly after considering his words. "My name is June, and I prefer the loaded pizzas at Tony's Pizza, two blocks south on Versailles Avenue."

He took the glove off of his right hand and extended it to me. "Call me Bucky," he said. "It's a nickname."

As I shook his hand I couldn't believe how warm it was. It was also quite large but his handshake was firm without being overwhelming. We stood there for a moment not saying anything then he nodded, turned around and began walking to his apartment.

"You need my car keys," I reminded him and he returned sheepishly, taking them with a self deprecating grin.

Half an hour later there was another knock on the door and I opened it to Bucky standing there with three boxes of pizza. He gave me the top box and my keys then nodded and began to walk back to his apartment. Suddenly he turned around and looked back at me.

"If you don't want to eat alone you're welcome to join me and my friend, Sam," he said. "I got pizza for us as well. We're not ...."

He let the sentence hang in the air then nodded his head again and headed back to his door. Despite my misgivings there was something sweet about how he asked and I made an impulsive decision.

"Okay," I said. "I'll join you. Just let me grab my beer and door key."

A moment later I was walking into his apartment as he opened the door for me, waiting for me to enter ahead of him. His friend Sam, was unpacking a box of books and smiled at me as I came in. He stepped forward right away, extending his hand.

"Hi, I'm Sam," he said, waiting for me to answer.

"June," I replied, then shook his hand.

He grabbed a couple of boxes off of an armchair and offered it to me then pulled a large box in front of it to act as a table. At first I thought they were a couple but as I watched them both get plates, serviettes and beers I realized they were more likely friends that worked together. It was as if they each knew what the other was doing making their dynamic more of a partnership. They both sat on the couch, also using boxes as tables and opened their pizza boxes in front of them. Both of them took several big bites before drinking some of their beer. Bucky looked at his slice in appreciation.

"That takes me back," he said to Sam. "Just like they used to make in Brooklyn when I was young. I guess Tony's Pizza becomes my go to place."

"You're from Brooklyn?" I asked, trying to be polite.

"I was born in Indiana but my parents moved to Brooklyn in the 1920s after my Dad left the military and got a job in the shipyards. I grew up there."

"Wait, did you say 1920s?" I asked, wondering what this guy's issue was.

Sam began to smile. "She doesn't recognize you," he said to Bucky then he looked at me. "You don't recognize him?"

"Should I?" I was starting to get irritated again. "Who is he supposed to be?"

"Bucky Barnes," said Sam, to my blank look. "James Buchanan Barnes? Last of the Howling Commandos? The Winter Soldier? Partner to two Captain Americas?"

"Co-worker," said Bucky, "not partner. You and I are co-workers."

"Wait, you're Captain America?" I asked, staring intently at Sam. Then it hit me and I looked at both men as if seeing them for the first time. "Holy f*ck. You are ... and you're ...."

Sam started to laugh. I should have been offended but I wasn't. I was eating pizza with Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Grabbing my beer I drank it and kept looking at them, still not quite believing it. How did I not recognize them? Bucky finished his first slice of pizza and looked critically at me.

"There aren't many girls your age named June," he stated.

"First of all, I'm not a girl." I bristled at the condescension. "I was named after my great grandmother. Perhaps you dated her. June Gladys Norton. She lived in the Bronx."

Sam snorted then tried to look innocent. "Don't mind him. He's still stuck in the 40s."

Bucky turned red but took a bite of his second piece. "All I meant was it's an uncommon name now. I liked it in the 1940s and I like it now. The fact you kept it means you don't go with the flow. You seem very confident."

"Well, thank you," I replied, mollified by the compliment. "I was born in June and my mother thought it was apt to honour my great grandmother at the same time. What's the Bucky for?"

"My middle name, Buchanan," he replied, curtly. "Why do you pay extra for the parking spot next to the door?"

I froze as it was a very personal matter, one that only the building manager, library manager, and a few of my closest friends knew, and one that I really didn't want to share with two strangers. Finishing my bite I put my slice of pizza back in the box and stood up.

"I need to go home. Nothing personal, I just can't ...."

Quickly I got out of there and went back to my apartment, as the panic began to rise up into my throat. It felt like I was choking and I suddenly flashed back to two years previously when I was mugged in the parking lot as I walked from the other end where I parked my car. The raspy voice telling me to give him my purse and car keys, then the feel of his hand on my throat as he decided I wasn't acting fast enough. That was followed by the fear when he took my purse and my car leaving me without the means to get into the building because they were in the purse.

Desperately I concentrated on my breathing, slowly in and slowly out. Gradually my heartbeat returned to normal and I felt calmer but now I had a piercing headache. Running a bath I stripped down and got in, hoping the warmth would help my blood vessels dilate and relieve the pain I was feeling in my head. The pain slowly eased and after drying off I got my pyjamas on and climbed into bed, hoping to sleep off any of the after effects.

It must have worked because I woke up a little earlier than normal the next morning. Stepping into the kitchen I started some coffee, put some bread in the toaster and opened the door to see if the newspaper had been dropped off yet. As I picked mine up I heard Bucky's door open. He stepped out and looked over at me with a worried look.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "I'm sorry if what I asked you brought out a panic attack. I've had a few and they're not fun to deal with."

"I'm fine, thank you. I'm a little embarrassed by it."

"I'm always available to talk," he said. "I've been in therapy and still talk to my therapist every once in a while when I get overwhelmed. You shouldn't be embarrassed or ashamed as it's obviously something that still affects you." He looked like he wanted to say more but changed his mind. With a quick nod he retreated back into his apartment. Looking at the paper in my hand I stepped back in. Grabbing my apartment keys I locked the door and went to Bucky's door, lightly knocking. He opened it almost immediately and ushered me in, gesturing to the kitchen table. He offered me a coffee and I took it gratefully.

"Where's Sam?" I asked.

"He's out for a run," said Bucky. "I'm faster than he is so I finished sooner."

"Two years ago, my parking stall was beside yours," I began. "I work at the Library and I was on until 9 o'clock. I met a friend for drinks after work and came home about 11 pm. As I walked across the parking lot towards the door a man accosted me and demanded my purse and car keys. He grabbed my neck when I didn't give them to him immediately. I have PTSD from it and walking across the parking lot triggers it, not so much in the day but definitely at night. Having the spot nearest the door means it only takes me a few seconds to get in. I get my keys ready as soon as I turn off my car and get inside where it's safe."

"I'm sorry," said Bucky. "That must have been so traumatic for you. Are you able to go out at night?"

"Not socially," I replied. "It's still hard when I'm assigned an evening shift but my manager is understanding so I only have to work one night every two weeks. I have to pay a premium to park there because the person who lives in the apartment it's assigned to demanded it. It's worth it to me. I'm sorry I flew off the handle at you. The manager is new and he might not be aware of the agreement. I assumed the old manager filled him in."

"Don't apologize," said Bucky. "Listen, I do go on missions but I have a lot of downtime. If you want I can wait for you if you ever want to go out with your friends. Just text me and I'll be waiting to make sure you get in okay. No one will mess with you if I'm there."

"That's nice of you, I'll keep it in mind," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee. I looked around and noticed nearly everything was put away. "You're already organized."

"I don't have a lot, books mostly," he said. "You'll probably see me at the Library. It's one of my favourite places."

"Why did you move to New Orleans?" I asked. "If it doesn't trigger you to tell me, I mean."

He smiled and for a moment I saw something wonderful flicker over his face, an extremely handsome one.

"I was living in Brooklyn, trying to fit in but I felt out of place," he said. "No one knew me and it's hard telling someone you're 106 calendar years old. Everything was different ... music, movies, television. I'm still not sure of half of what's on it. Women are different. I don't quite get pronouns. Don't get me wrong I'm not phobic about gays or people who are transitioning. It's their life, right? But it's ...."

"Overwhelming?"

"Yeah, that's pretty accurate," he said. "I just wanted the life I had before I went to war but it doesn't exist anymore. I lived with Sam for the past year; slept on his couch really but decided it was time for me to get back out on my own."

"Do you date?" I asked, hoping that he didn't.

"I tried but I was too self conscious and although when I was 21 or 22 would probably have loved to have a girl ... woman come on to me in a big way, it's off putting to me now," he said. "I guess I'm still old fashioned enough to want to be the man, do you know what I mean? I want to bring her flowers, open the doors for her, pull out her chair, get to know her first before we take it further. I'm an old man in a younger man's body."

He looked down at his coffee before drinking it and I could feel his confusion and hesitancy over how to negotiate the dating scene. Hell, I hadn't had an evening date since the attack and before that had only been out a handful of times in the previous year. I always put it down to being on the slightly plump side. I was still curvy but I definitely wasn't a waif. Several of my less than successful dates also said I wasn't deferential enough and was too opinionated for how I looked. They didn't say it in quite so nice words which often had me in tears once I got home. Briefly I looked up from my coffee and saw Bucky watching me. He smiled and looked away.

"If you ever want to hang out or go out for coffee we could always do it together," I offered. "I don't have a big social life. Hardly anything since the incident."

"A pretty girl ... sorry, bad habit, woman like you?" he shook his head. "Guys have to be crazy not to be lined up to take you out."

"Well, I'm not exactly considered desirable," I began and he interrupted.

"Like I said, guys have to be crazy. You're pretty, have a nice figure, and you're easy to talk to. You're definitely a strong woman. I would have asked you out in the 40s."

The security door buzzed at that moment and Bucky left the table to answer it. It was Sam, and Bucky buzzed him in then opened his apartment door. Sam came in moments later, all sweaty. His eyes lit up when he saw me and I gathered he had probably encouraged Bucky to talk to me.

"Nice to see you, June," he gasped slightly. "I don't know why I go running with this guy. He always leaves me in the dust then looks like he's just been out for a leisurely stroll after." He looked at Bucky. "We going back for the rest of your stuff this morning?"

"I think I'll leave the weapons in storage," he replied. "I don't like having them around the apartment. Makes people nervous. I wouldn't mind getting my motorcycle." He looked at me reassuringly. "I'm not a gun nut although I own a lot of them and knives as well. They're tools of my trade, Avenger tools. I keep them in the storage locker and grab what I need when we're called for a mission."

"Fair enough," said Sam. "I'll grab a shower now and a coffee after. You making me breakfast?"

Bucky grinned. "If June stays I can be talked into it."

Both men turned their attention to me. "Sure, maybe I should get changed out of my pyjamas first."

A blush formed on Bucky's face. "I didn't want to say anything but I'm guessing they're your comfort clothes."

"Something like that," I replied. "I won't be long."

It surprised me that Bucky got to the door first and opened it for me. He really did want to be the gentleman. It was touching that there was still gallantry in a man as it had been something lacking in the men I had dated. As I walked past him into the hallway I could smell his cologne. There was a touch of citrus in it but also some lavender and cedar. It was light and definitely suited him. As I turned to acknowledge him I noticed he was looking at my lips and I was suddenly self conscious. He sensed it and backed away.

"See you in a few minutes," he said softly.

With a nod I returned to my apartment and quickly washed my face and moisturized. I slid on my skinny jeans, then put a tunic on that came down to my hips. It had a v-neck and showed a touch of my cleavage. Then I put my hair in a low ponytail and put on a couple of drop earrings, turquoise ones that were one of my favourites. I only wore makeup for work and going out but I did put some lipstick on, a berry colour. When I returned to the apartment Sam opened the door and took in what I was wearing.

"Looking good, girl," he drawled. "Buck will like this."

Blushing I walked past him to see the table was all set for three. Bucky was at the stove and had already made pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. He worked fast to finish it off and put everything out at the table. After pouring everyone a fresh cup of coffee he sat down and gestured for me to serve myself. Sam served himself then Bucky took the rest. There was a lot of food on his plate.

"I need a lot of calories to function properly," he explained. "If you want more I'm happy to make it for you."

"I'm good, this is more than enough for me," I assured him.

Both men ate quickly and were finished well before I was even halfway done. Neither seemed bothered that I was still working my way through it. When Bucky asked if it was okay if he started cleaning up I gave him my blessing. He finished cleaning the pans just as I finished my last bite of toast. Knowing they had to get going I prepared to leave then I noticed Sam nodding in my direction. Bucky made a subtle face at him then cleared his throat.

"June, if you're not busy you're welcome to come with us," said Bucky. "It's a storage facility out near the air base. That's usually where we leave from for a mission. It's a nice drive."

If two muscular men had asked me that just a few days before I would have wondered what their game was. Were they trying to get me alone and isolated for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind? Were they just being polite? Regardless I didn't get that feeling from either of them. In fact, it seemed like they genuinely wanted my company. Maybe Sam was being polite and from that gesture he made to Bucky it seemed like he was trying to encourage him to be more sociable with me. In fact, once he asked me Bucky looked away as if he didn't want to influence me one way or another.

"Is there room?"

"Sure, that front bench has enough room for three," replied Sam. "Come out for the drive. It will give you and Buck a chance to get better acquainted ... as neighbours."

"Sure, I'll just get my purse," I replied, surprised at myself.

Both men waited for me and when Sam took the wheel I realized the truck was his. On the drive out to the storage locker Bucky sat with his left arm resting behind my head on top of the truck seat. Our legs were touching and I noticed how muscular his legs were even through the denim of his jeans. I looked up to see him looking at me and he gave a shy grin before looking out the window. Sam had his phone hooked up to the radio, playing new R&B and old Motown. Bucky seemed to prefer the older stuff based on the tapping of his fingers behind my head.

"What do you normally listen to for music?" I asked him before speculating that he probably preferred 1940s music.

"Old stuff, from the war years, mostly, but I like a lot of Motown and some of the crooners from now like Tony Bennett, Michael Bublé, Diana Krall, people like that. You?"

"I like the singers you just named," I replied. "A lot of things really. My parents played a lot of music as we grew up."

Sam swerved to avoid hitting a garbage bag on the road and I was thrown into Bucky's side. His left arm came down to steady me and I had to admit I liked how it felt to have his arm around me. His face went pink and he put his arm back on the top of the seat then looked over my head to glare at Sam before looking out the front. We pulled up to the storage area and Bucky reminded Sam of the keypad code. The gate slid open and Sam drove to a row of storage doors, stopping midway. Fishing a key out of his pocket Bucky unlocked the lock and slid the door up. Under a tarpaulin was what I assume was his motorbike and I gasped when I saw it; a Harley Davidson FLSTF Fat Boy.

"This is the same motorcycle used in Terminator 2," I said, looking back at Bucky. "You've seen that movie, haven't you?"

"He has," laughed Sam. "It's kind of his nickname when I want to annoy him."

"It was in pieces at an estate sale," said Bucky, with a bit of edge to his voice. "I knew how to put it back together and the owner's widow gave me a deal to get it out of their garage."

"Well, it's a classic and I'm impressed you know how to maintain it," I said, excitedly. "Will you give me a ride some time?"

Sam looked away smirking and I realized what I had said. This time I turned red and left the storage locker to get my dignity back. Bucky wheeled it out while Sam pulled a couple of wide boards out of the back of the truck. Together they got it up onto the truck bed and strapped it in tight. Bucky went back in the storage locker while I sat on the tailgate. He brought several boxes out, putting them on the tailgate next to me, and opened them, saying he couldn't see well inside the locker. Inside were old pictures of Bucky and what I assumed were the Howling Commandos. He smiled briefly as he took them out then he showed me one of him during the war. His face was so young but the look on it was stern.

"That was shortly before I fell off the train," he said quietly. "We had an army photographer to document our missions and he took this picture of me after I looked at the zip line we needed to use to hit the train as it went by. I wasn't a big fan of heights."

"You zip lined onto a moving train?" I questioned. He nodded. "How come I never knew this about you?"

"Most of it was classified during the war," said Sam, looking over Bucky's shoulder. "Then when he was identified as the Winter Soldier a lot of the heroic stuff he did during the war got buried in the Army archives. Steve and I filed a Freedom of Information request for these to help Bucky's case once he broke away. They were finally approved during the Blip so Steve hung on to them for old time's sake."

"I'm going to leave them here," he said.

I put my hand on his arm. "Don't, I would like to see them and hear you explain about them."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because people would be interested. There's so much about you that isn't known and maybe it should be." He still didn't look convinced. "Okay, so maybe because I'm interested in knowing more about you. Yesterday I thought you were a jerk and today I think you have a story I would like to hear."

He smiled again and that glimpse of the handsome man appeared. "I will under one condition," he said, looking me in the eye. "You go out with me, to dinner, on a date."

"You want to go out with me on a date?"

I couldn't believe what he was saying. Me, the book worm who always seemed to be a last resort for the guys I had dated.

"I'm asking here," he said, his Brooklyn accent coming out strong. "Will you go to dinner with me?"

Sam said nothing but had a small satisfied smile on his face. I looked at him and he just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Alright," I replied. "Dinner ... when?"

"Tomorrow night?" he asked. "Wear a dress." There was a pause. "Please. I like to see an attractive woman in a dress. We'll take an Uber."

Smiling, I nodded my head in agreement and Bucky returned the picture to the box, closing it up and putting it in the truck bed. He and Sam brought several other boxes out, securing them around the motorcycle. On the trip back our legs touched again. His arm was behind my head, extended along the top of the seat and he had a small satisfied smile for the entire trip back into town. So did I.

Chapter 2: Family

Chapter Text

October, 1936

It was what we all knew would happen. Sarah Rogers had been sick for several months and when she finally went into hospital it was just a matter of time. Just a few weeks from the day she was admitted she was gone and her son, Steve, at just 18 years old, was left alone in the world, except for us. Our son, Bucky, had been Steve's friend from childhood.

Steve was a sickly boy who was small, asthmatic, and seemed to catch every virus going around. His dad, who died from a mustard gas attack in France during World War I never saw his son as Steve was born a few months after he died. Sarah was left to look after him as best she could on the meagre widow's pension she received. In those early days she lived in Hell's Kitchen which is almost as bad as it sounds for a widow with a sickly son. Somehow, through hard work and a strong will, she earned enough to move to Brooklyn. The neighbourhood had its own issues but there was one thing here that Steve didn't have there ... Bucky.

He was our oldest child, born in 1917. Rebecca, our second was born in 1929. Bucky met Steve in 1930, when the smaller boy was 12. He was being beaten up by bullies who wanted his lunch money. If there was one thing Bucky couldn't stand it was bullies. Being a bigger, stronger boy himself he laid into those others who were pummelling Steve and showed them that they couldn't have their way all the time. He brought Steve home with him, his nose bleeding, a black eye forming, and his shirt ripped. I chipped a piece of ice off the ice block in the icebox and wrapped it in a rag, told the boy to hold it to his eye. Bucky put pressure on the bridge of Steve's nose to stop it bleeding. While he was doing that I went up into the attic looking for some of Bucky's shirts that he had outgrown. Surely he had one that Steve could wear so I could launder and mend the one he was wearing. When I came back down Steve was holding Rebecca in his arms as she had started to cry. Bucky just shrugged as he held the bleeding nose back and pressed the cold rag into Steve's eye. Rebecca just cooed at the boy and the smile on his face and Bucky's face was wonderful.

They were friends from that day on. Steve's mother found work as a cleaning lady and I asked if Steve could wait for her at our house, worried about him being alone. She had the same worries and readily agreed, offering to pay for my time.

"No, you don't need to pay us," I said. "The boys can do their homework and watch Rebecca while I get supper on. Bucky likes him and boys need good friends. We're happy to have him for a few hours until you pick him up."

He was with us every week day after school, doing homework, having a snack, playing with Rebecca. Occasionally they went out and canvassed the neighbourhood for soda bottles to cash in, or doing odd jobs. Both boys liked to keep busy. They showed initiative often and I know the money both boys earned made the difference during the Depression. In 1935 Sarah Rogers was able to get work as a nurse in a TB ward. It was better paying than the cleaning jobs and with Steve in high school she didn't worry about him being home alone. Bucky was already graduated and working at the docks but they hung around together on the evenings and weekends.

Steve had started drawing pictures during the times when he was too sick to go to school. Occasionally he stayed at our house, sitting on the parlour sofa with a blanket wrapped around him, his sketch book open on his lap. He was such a good artist and Bucky learned to draw from him. They would draw cartoons of their teachers and school friends. When Sarah began feeling poorly she was unable to work much. Steve drew some beautiful pictures for her; scenes of the ocean, or flowers on the flower boxes that hung on the railings of fire escapes. He was doing all the housework then, cooking, cleaning and laundry. His devotion to her when she couldn't work at all was touching. Bucky supported him as best he could during that time but there were moments when Steve pushed him away, insisting he could do it himself.

When Sarah became too sick to stay at home Steve took her to the hospital and they confirmed what she already knew in her heart. She had tuberculosis and it was in its final stages. Only Steve was allowed to see her and he had to wear a face mask, and cover up his clothes with a gown. Bucky would wait for him, if he wasn't working, and walk him back to the flat where he and Sarah had lived. There wasn't much talking between the two but Bucky felt it was important to be there for his friend.

On Thursday, October 15, Bucky clocked out of his shift at the docks and came out to Steve waiting for him. As soon as he saw Bucky he began to sob and that's when my son knew that Steve's mother was gone. Now, working on the docks is very physical and manly. Softness isn't something looked kindly on. But at that moment Bucky just held his friend, hugging him hard and rubbing his back. He ignored the looks he got from the men coming off shift and was just there for his friend. Gradually Steve stopped crying and Bucky brought him home. We already knew as Sarah had put us down as next of kin and the hospital phoned. I hugged him. So did Rebecca. Gently I asked him if he had enough to pay for her funeral. He nodded.

"When Ma first got sick she called the American Legion and I guess she asked about helping a widow of a deceased veteran to pay for her own funeral," he said. "They offered her $25. I've been saving ever since. It's not much but it's enough. I'll have to put a headstone on her grave later, when I've saved up some more."

Bucky looked at me then at his friend. "I have some money," he offered. "It's yours."

"No, I can't take your money," said Steve. "I'll find a way."

Bucky insisted but Steve was firm. Then he stood up and thanked us for our sympathy and he began to leave. He wouldn't listen to our pleas to stay with us, said he was a man now and a man took care of his family himself, even when he was the only one left in the family.

A few days later we went to the funeral. It was a closed casket as Steve couldn't afford to pay for the embalming. The casket was little more than a plain box but again it was what the boy could afford. I bought a bouquet of flowers and we laid it on top so that Sarah would have something pretty to go with her to her final resting place. There were a few other mourners there as the Legion had posted a notice and some of Joe Roger's fellow soldiers who had survived the Great War came to pay their respects to his widow. As we took the final walk from the undertakers to the cemetery Bucky stayed beside his friend, worried about him having the strength to walk the mile distance.

At the cemetery the priest, as the Rogers' were Catholic, spoke the words that would consecrate Sarah Roger's soul to her maker. We didn't understand a word of it as it was in Latin but Steve and several of the mourners seemed to know what the responses were and we followed their lead. When the priest said the words "cinis in cinerem, pulvis ad pulvis" Steve picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it on the casket as it was being lowered. We understood he meant the phrase "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" and tossed some dirt on the wooden box. Bucky put his arm around Steve's shoulder, while I held his hand on the other side. The boy never cried but his face was stricken with grief.

I invited several of the mourners to our house for some coffee and sandwiches. It took a while to walk there and they filed in quietly into our parlour as I took my coat off and and put my apron on. Rebecca, even though she was only seven years old came into the kitchen to help, bless her good heart. Steve sat there with a sandwich on a plate in one hand and a coffee in the other, looking lost and completely devastated. Suddenly he stood up, put his food down and looked at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry but I can't stay."

He ran out the door and I told Bucky to follow him. When he came back a few hours later, well after the other mourners had left and I cleaned up after them he was sad and a little perplexed.

"He couldn't even find his door key," said Bucky. "I had to give him the one hidden under the brick."

"Did you ask him to live with us?" I asked. "We can squeeze another bed into your room."

"I told him but he said he could take care of himself. Why does he have to be so stubborn?"

"He's a man now," I replied, stroking Bucky's hair. "Has been ever since he started to look after his mother. It's hard for a man to accept help. Doesn't mean we won't help him."

Bucky looked at me with those blue eyes I loved so much. His thick dark hair was just like his father's had been and he had his strong features. I knew he was already popular with the girls but I also knew he understood how to keep a girl out of trouble. But what Steve was going through had Bucky perplexed that his friend wouldn't accept charity.

"How can we help him, Ma?"

"We offer our help with love, encourage him to believe that it's not weakness to accept it," I said. "You keep treating him the way you have since you became friends. He needs to know that will be the same. He doesn't want pity, but our understanding is another matter. I'll tell him his mother asked me to watch over him and that if he doesn't accept that then he's not honouring his mother."

"You're gonna guilt him," he smiled. "That's sneaky."

"Maybe, but I can't in good conscience let him wallow in misery, can I?" she said. "What if the tables were turned and it was you mourning me. What would you want him to do?"

My son pondered a while and then nodded his head in understanding. "I would want him to treat me the same as he always did. So, I guess I'll still tease him a little, build up his confidence a little, and just be quiet with him when he needs that."

I hugged Bucky quickly then patted him on the back. He always was smart. Together we would get Steve through this time.

Over the years it was hard for Steve and there were times when he felt terrible accepting our help but Bucky was always there to tell him we saw him as family and you have to help family. Through odd jobs, scrounging, and the occasional birthday or Christmas gift that included some folded cash hidden in it we helped Steve continue to live on his own, although he moved into a single room flat from the two bedroom one he had shared with Sarah. There was a standing invitation to Sunday dinner at our house and I always made sure to give him lots of leftovers that could be left in the small icebox he had in his room. Then he could heat it up on the hot plate.

Five years and a couple of months after Steve's mother died the world, which was already in some turmoil with the Nazis taking over Europe and threatening to invade England, was thrown into more chaos when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. One day Americans were going about their business and the next day we were at war. The Selective Service act had been passed that fall of 1941 and both boys registered for the draft. Bucky got his notice just before Christmas and was ordered to report to the Brooklyn enlistment office in January. Steve got his notice as well just a couple of days later, and the two went together to undergo their physical. Bucky passed, was declared 1A and told to report for basic training at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin in February. Steve, as was expected, was declared 4F and took it hard.

Before he left Bucky tried to help Steve build up some muscle by taking him to the gym and training him the same way he had been trained when he took up boxing. It was a noble gesture but all the years of being sick hadn't allowed Steve the ability to withstand any sort of physical activity. He tried to enlist again just before Bucky left for basic training and once again he was rejected as 4F. George, myself and Bucky tried to encourage him to get involved in the war effort in other ways but he didn't want to hear it. I suspected he was going to other towns and trying to enlist under other names. He wasn't the first one to try as any number of men who wanted to serve their country but were considered unsuitable for combat also tried. Some succeeded, most didn't.

On the day Bucky had to go I made sure his clothes were clean and mended. He had all of his toiletries. We stood on the railway platform, George, Rebecca, Steve, and me, trying to milk out as much time with Bucky as we could before he absolutely had to board. Then his father offered Bucky his hand before pulling him in for a quick hug.

"You'll do alright, son," said my husband. "You have a good head on your shoulders and you're used to hard work. That's all the army needs from you."

Bucky kneeled down to his sister and looked fondly at her. Despite the great difference in their ages he had been a wonderful brother and Rebecca wrapped her arms around his neck then kissed his cheek. She began to cry and he took his handkerchief, wiping the tears away before kissing her forehead. He looked at Steve next and they hugged.

"Don't do anything stupid," he said to Steve.

"How can I when you're taking the stupid with you," replied Steve.

"Punk."

"Jerk."

They gave each other a little push and laughed nervously. Then Bucky turned to me and I had to swallow down the sob that was threatening to envelop me. My son, my only boy, was preparing to go to war. When did he become so tall and so handsome? When did he start shaving and wearing aftershave? My eyes began to fill with tears ... I couldn't help it.

"Ma, don't cry," he whispered as he enclosed me in his muscular arms. "I'll get leaves and come home to see you each time. The rumour is that once we're in it we'll chase Hitler right back to Germany in no time. I'll be careful, I promise."

Once again he pulled his handkerchief out and he dabbed at the tears on my cheek. The conductor called for everyone to get on board and Bucky picked up his valise, kissing me again quickly on the cheek. He showed his ticket to the conductor and got on with a final wave. We watched as he found his seat in the car and placed his valise in the rack above. Then he sat at the window and tried to lower it but it was locked and he shrugged. A whistle sounded and the locomotive gave a great gust of hissing steam as it began to pull the the cars behind it. Rebecca chased after it for a bit until George called her back and the train left the station with Bucky on it, leaving us four, his family, behind.

We didn't hear anything from him that first month. George, being a veteran of the First World War himself, said that was normal as the boys would be learning so much at boot camp. They would have their hair cut that first day, receive their fatigues, boots, underwear, shaving kits; the army supplied everything. Physical training would begin and I had no doubt that Bucky would excel in that. He was used to road training, running, as a boxer, and working at the docks had made him physically strong. George said his boxing skills would come to good use as he learned other methods to disarm a man. There would be marching to get the soldiers used to working as a unit and learning to trust the men they marched with.

"They won't even get into firing their rifles until the drill sergeant is satisfied they're ready to handle it," said George, recalling his own military career which ended when he lost his eye in an accident.

Six weeks after Bucky left we received our first letter and it was as George said, right down to the army giving them their own shaving kits. There was no picture of Bucky but he did ask for a picture of us and he gave permission for us to share the address with anyone who asked. I knew he meant any one of the girls he had dated as several had already asked to write him. We received letters every week from him and on the 12th week he informed us he would be given a week's leave after the following week of training.

The man who stepped off the train that day was not the boy who left. My first thought, and I'm sure George thought the same thing, was that this man was going places. Even though Bucky was confident before, the man we saw stepping off the train was incredibly sure of himself and very aware of the figure he cut. He seemed taller, broader, and noticeably drew the attention of all the women, young and old, waiting at the station for their loved one. His uniform was impeccable, his boots shone, and his smile when he saw us was as bright as the sun. Rebecca grasped his hand and he held it all the way out to the car, then opened the door for her and for me, like a real gentleman.

"Looks like the army agrees with you, son," said George, looking at him in the rear view mirror. "How has it been?"

"Good, I'm actually getting a promotion to Corporal and being sent for special training," he said. "All those times at the shooting galleries at Coney Island and Rockaway Beach are paying off. I'm the best marksman in the unit. When I'm finished in November I'll be made a Sergeant and return to finish out my training with the 107th."

"I'm proud of you son," said George but he gave Bucky a look which he acknowledged. I didn't know what had passed between them but I gathered George wanted to have a talk with him later. "Any one you know in the unit?"

"A couple of guys that I fought against when I was boxing," he replied, "and a few more that I faced in basketball or football. We've banded together whenever we get 24 hour liberty. Brooklyn boys have to stick together." He was quiet for a moment. "How's Steve doing?"

I looked at George. "He's still trying to enlist," I said. "Still getting classified 4F. He's coming for dinner tonight."

"Sure, but I do have a date later," he said nonchalantly. "Met a nurse on the train. She's staying with her sister in the Bronx. We're meeting at a dance hall. Don't wait up for me."

George and I exchanged glances. Bucky already had a date. That wouldn't go over well with about half a dozen girls who had his camp address and had been writing him religiously. Still, you were only young once. By the time we got to the house Steve was waiting on the stoop. He stood up as George parked the car; his eyes widened as he saw Bucky step out.

"How you doing?" asked Bucky, offering his hand to his friend. "Staying out of trouble?"

"I've had a few moments," replied the smaller man. "You look good. Did you grow?"

"Yeah, the army chow is better than they say," replied Bucky. "Not as good as Ma's food but I can have seconds with no problem. I have a date tonight, have one lined up for you if you want."

Steve blushed but said nothing. George unlocked the door and we all went inside so I could start preparing dinner. There was more talk about basic training with George adding some of his own experiences to the conversation. When dinner was finished George got out his pipe and tobacco, intending to go out back for a smoke.

"Okay if I join you, Dad?" asked Bucky, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

Steve followed them outside and I began cleaning up. Rebecca offered to help but I suggested she get her homework done. I watched the three men through the kitchen window. George sat in an Adirondack chair that he assembled years ago. He was listening intently to something that Bucky was telling him, puffing on his pipe. Bucky held his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, like many working men of the day. Steve just listened, as if he was happy to be there. Eventually they all came in and Bucky put his arm around my shoulders.

"That was a real good meal, Ma," he said warmly. "Your food is still the best."

"Thank you." I patted him on the cheek. "What time are you leaving for your date?"

"Right away," he said. "We have to get Steve dressed right, then take the subway to the dance hall. You're okay if I bunk at Steve's tonight?"

I smiled and nodded, knowing that meant he expected to stay the night with his date. It was never really spoken of between Bucky and me, but George had told me of having the "talk" with him when he was 17 about boundaries, and being a gentleman. As far as I knew he never got a girl in trouble. If he had there would have been expectations of him to make it right as it would be our grandchild that needed a father.

After he and Steve left George turned the radio on. I finished cleaning up in the kitchen then brought some mending into the parlour so I could keep my hands busy while we listened to the music. Rebecca had finished her homework and was reading a book. Once she went to bed George waited for a while to make sure she was asleep then he gave me that look that indicated he had something important to say. I put my mending down and looked at him with curiosity.

"That special training they're sending Bucky on? It's sniper training. Killing men from a distance."

He put his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache so I knew it bothered him.

"How do they decide who does that?" I asked. "They did have them in the Great War, didn't they?"

"They did and we hated them," he replied. "Not the ones on our side but the German ones. They seemed to target the best of men and took them out without any chance of them surviving with shots to the head. We thought of them as merciless killers ... and now they want to make my son one of them. I know it's war but a sniper ...." He gave a big sigh. "Bucky wasn't joking that his time on the shooting galleries probably made him a good shot. Those rifles are rigged and he still cleaned up. Right from the moment they began marksmanship he said the drill sergeants were impressed with him."

"Does he know you feel this way?" I asked gently.

He shook his head. "How could I tell my son that? He's a good boy, a good man, who is going to be doing a thankless job but a necessary one." George looked at me with sadness and acceptance in his eyes. "Don't say anything to him. I'm only telling you because I tell you everything and I had to tell someone."

I nodded my agreement not to say anything but it was hard to picture my Bucky hiding somewhere in a battleground or a village, aiming his rifle at people, then pulling the trigger and ending their lives so quickly. When we went to bed I knew it still bothered George as he touched me in the way he did when he wanted me. This time he wanted comfort and I gladly gave it to him, the man I loved since I first laid eyes on him in 1915.

Bucky arrived back home about 11 o'clock the following morning. He looked a little worse for the wear and sheepishly asked if I could wash and press his uniform shirt. While he changed out of his uniform I called up and asked if he could do some yard work for me. He came down with his shirt in his hand and waited for me to tell him what I wanted.

"How was your date?" I asked.

"It was okay, Myrna was a good dancer," he said. "Wasn't happy with her sister Betty. She took one look at Steve and wouldn't go out with him. Said so right to his face. Myrna talked to her and she agreed to sit with us in the hall but after a couple of dances with him she saw friends on the other side and went to sit with them. He stuck it out for a while then left when I was on the dance floor. Didn't even say goodbye. I drank too much after as I was angry and once I got Myrna and Betty back home safely I drank some more. Barely made it back to Steve's but he was awake still and helped me settle down."

I turned to look at my son with concern on my face. He had never admitted to being drunk to me. His eyes met mine and I could see there was something further he wanted to say. Then he swallowed and handed me his shirt.

"What can I do in the yard for you?"

"The frost is gone from the garden bed," I said. "Could you turn the dirt over? There's some manure in the shed that you can work into it."

"Sure, I can do that, Ma," he said, then he smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

He went out every night the rest of that week, with each of the different girls who had been writing him. Steve didn't come around and I wondered if they had a disagreement but Bucky never said anything. When it came time for Bucky to return to camp we took him to the train. His girlfriends were all there and he kissed each one of them on the lips, smiling at them after. Then he turned to us and said goodbye to Rebecca first. His goodbye to his father was next, and it was very masculine and proper between them. Finally, he looked at me and hugged me hard, whispering that he loved me. With tears in my eyes I put my hand on his cheek and smiled, trying to be strong for him. He stepped on the stair into the train and looked past us for a moment, as if he was searching for someone then stepped inside, found his seat and put his valise up on the overhead rack. As the train began to pull away he raised his hand in goodbye. We didn't see him again until Christmas.

Chapter 3: The Shopgirl and The Sergeant

Chapter Text

Franklin's Department Store, Sparta, Wisconsin, November, 1942

"Hey Beanpole!"

I stiffened when I heard those words. It was bad enough I was tall for a girl. To be reminded of it as often as I was hurt every single time. Counting to three I plastered a fake smile on my face and turned around to greet the customer.

"How can I help you, sir?" I answered, addressing a soldier with a giggling girlfriend, named Evelyn, that I recognized from my old high school standing next to him.

"My girl wants a new hat but the one she wants is on that display up there." He pointed up to a hat stand on top of a shelf. "You tall enough to grab it for her?"

"Not quite but I'll get a step stool," I replied politely.

I went into the back room and came out with the step stool that would give me another foot of height to reach the display. As I stepped up onto it I could hear Evelyn whispering into her soldier's ear and him breaking out laughing. Ignoring what I assumed to be an insult whispered about me I picked the hat off of the stand and brought it down to them, offering it to her. She took it in her hand, put it on and looked into the display mirror. Evelyn made a face, took it off and placed it on the counter.

"No, I don't like how it looks on me. Sweetie, why don't we go get a donut and coffee instead."

"Anything for you, sugar," said the soldier, lightly touching her nose with his index finger.

It was enough to make me feel ill but with the manager watching I had to try and rescue the sale.

"Would you like to try on another hat?" I asked. "We have other styles and colours available."

The soldier looked up at the selection then at Evelyn but she shook her head and turned around. Ignoring me she put her hand in the crook of his arm and pulled him away towards the lunch counter. I heard a sigh behind me and turned to see the manager, Mr. Deakins.

"Miss Warren, you really need to try harder to complete those sales. With all the soldiers we have at Camp McCoy there's no reason you shouldn't be able to sell at least one hat every day. They all have a girlfriend, money to burn, and we have a good selection."

"Yes sir," I replied. "I did try to interest him in another hat."

"Perhaps you should bring that hat stand down and place it on the counter or on the display over there," he suggested, pointing towards a display of scarves and gloves for the discriminating lady.

"Mr. Franklin told me to put it up there, sir. But if you think it will be better down on the counter ...."

"No, if Mr. Franklin wants it up there then I guess that's where it's supposed to be," he answered. "Carry on."

Mr. Franklin, the owner of the department store, had waltzed through the day before ordering staff to put things on display in certain ways and places. Like the manager I thought the hats would do better on the counter or the scarf display but I really had no say in it. I stepped back onto the step stool returning the hat to its place then returned the step stool to the back room. Since I was low on stock I pulled out some ladies handkerchiefs to add to the selection I already had. As I came out of the back room I was bumped into by another soldier and the handkerchiefs were scattered on the floor. Immediately I kneeled down to pick them up and was joined by the man who bumped into me. The brim of his hat obscured his face but when he stood up to hand me what he had gathered I almost gasped. He was only one of the most handsome men I had ever seen with thick dark hair, bright blue eyes, strong cheekbones, and a chin dimple that I couldn't keep my eyes off of.

"Here, doll, sorry about that," he said with a Brooklyn accent. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Thank you for helping pick them up," I replied. "Is there anything I can help you with sir?"

A smile revealed beautiful straight white teeth. "I'm a Sergeant, not an officer. Just Sarge is fine. I'm looking for something for my mother. It's her birthday soon and I won't get leave to go home and see her. These handkerchiefs are okay but I was thinking of something nicer."

"We have these scarves and matching gloves." I gestured towards the display. "They would be good for wearing to Sunday service or to a social gathering."

"Yeah, they're nice," he agreed. He looked at me as if he just realized I was almost as tall as him. "Could I see how they look on you before I decide which one I want?"

I picked up one of the scarves but before I could put it around my neck he took it from my hand and draped it around my shoulders, gently using his hands to smooth it. It was close to taking a personal liberty and I'm sure if Mr. Deakins was there he would have raised his eyebrows. Personally, I didn't mind. I watched him as he looked at the scarf resting on my shoulders and upper chest.

"Could you put the gloves on that match this?" he asked, looking pointedly at my left hand as he did so.

I put them on and posed them next to the scarf. He smiled and said he would take them. As I removed them he picked up two of the handkerchiefs and put them on the counter.

"Will that be all for you, Sarge?"

"I wouldn't mind your name and phone number," he said casually.

"I could get fired for giving you that information," I replied truthfully.

"That is a problem." He leaned on the counter and tilted his cap back slightly. "When do you get off?"

He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth when he asked but I wasn't sure if it was intentional or if it was just a habit of his. I smiled then looked away and saw Mr. Deakins nearby.

"I'll write your sales slip up, sir," I said as loudly as I could. "Would you like these wrapped up for the post? It will be an extra 25 cents."

"Will I be able to write an address label for it?" he asked, noticing Mr. Deakins watching me.

"Of course, that's covered in the extra cost. I have a small complimentary card as well if you wish to write a note to your mother."

He agreed to the extra cost and I provided the card and the address label. I waited while he wrote on the card then pulled out a box big enough to hold the items. I removed the tags then took the items with me to the back room. There was a roll of brown paper there and I pulled out enough to cover the box. Wrapping it around I folded the extra paper and sealed it with transparent tape. Mr. Deakins was still watching when I got back to the counter. I wrote up the items on the sales slip and paused before I began writing in the customer name box.

"Your name, sir?"

"Sergeant James Barnes," he replied. "I would give you a phone number but I'm at the base and only have access to the pay phone."

"Of course, sir. Your barracks number is sufficient."

"Hut E19," he replied, smiling at Mr. Deakins. "Do you need any more information, miss?"

"No, if you take the slip over to the cash register the lady there will ring it through. I'll finish glueing the address label on. We do have the post office next door if you wish to post it right away."

"Thank you, miss," said Barnes, politely. "You've been very helpful. I hope your manager realizes what a good employee you are."

"That's kind of you, sir," I replied, keeping it professional.

Barnes took the sales slip over to the cashier and pulled his wallet out to pay. He kept looking back at Mr. Deakins, still smiling politely at him. He then asked the cashier for a slip of paper and a pen, wrote himself a note, folded it and put it in his pocket. By the time he returned Mr. Deakins had moved on to observing another employee. He was still visible to the Sergeant so the younger man put his hand inside his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper, sliding it across the counter top to me. Taking his package and tipping his hat he sauntered out of the store. I slipped the paper into my pocket, not reading it while I was still on the sales floor. About 15 minutes later another clerk came to relieve me for my break and I hurried to the ladies room. Inside the stall I pulled it out and read what he wrote.

Meet me outside the Oldham Theatre at 6:30.

We'll grab a bite to eat and go see a movie.

Please don't stand me up.

Bucky

I had a date with a handsome soldier. Feeling giddy inside I put the note back into my pocket and left the stall to wash my hands. After having my coffee in the staff room I returned to my station and worked the remainder of my shift. When 5 o'clock came I slipped my time card in the punch clock and placed it in the Out slot. Quickly I walked home so I had time to change and make it back to the Oldham Theatre for 6:30. As I unlocked the door I was shocked to see my eight year old niece Stella sitting on the armchair reading a book with no sign of my sister.

"Where's your Mother?" I asked, surprised that my sister Willa left her daughter on her own.

I lived with her and her daughter while her husband was fighting in North Africa. Willa worked at the dairy on the production line.

"She went back to work," said Stella. "She left you a note in the kitchen."

On the kitchen table was a note from my sister.

Eleanor,

Sorry to spring this on you. The dairy was short handed for the evening shift so they offered me double pay to stay and work. They gave me time to get Stella from school and bring her home. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Willa

I rubbed my forehead. Of all the days to work a double shift. I sighed as it looked like I was going to stand up the handsome Sergeant Barnes. I looked at the clock. At least I could take Stella with me and tell him in person. Then he would know I wasn't standing him up for no reason.

"How do you feel about dinner in the café?" I asked Stella. "My treat."

"Honest?" My niece seemed excited at the prospect.

"Honest," I replied. "I was supposed to go on a date but I'll have to meet the fellow first and ask him for a rain check. Since we'll be out we might as well treat ourselves."

With a smile Stella stood up and got her coat and gloves on. I turned on the outside light for the front door and locked it. Grasping her hand we hurried towards the Oldham. Twenty minutes later we arrived and I could see him standing there. He turned, saw me, and smiled that gorgeous smile of his then frowned when he saw I had Stella with me.

"I'm so sorry," I explained. "This is my niece, Stella. I live with her and her mother, my sister. She got called in for an extra shift at the dairy. I didn't want you to think I was standing you up. If you could maybe give me a rain check for another date I'd appreciate it."

He pushed his cap back slightly on his head and looked down at Stella then at me. Then he kneeled down to Stella's level and looked her square in the eyes.

"I don't even know your Aunt's name yet," he said gently. "Do you think she would mind if I took two beautiful ladies out for dinner?"

Stella's eyes sparkled. "Her name is Eleanor and I don't think she would mind at all," she replied with a grin. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

"Definitely," he stated firmly. "I'm sure you've broken lots of hearts already and if you haven't, you will. My name is Bucky and it's a pleasure to meet you Stella." He shook her hand, stood up again and smiled at me. "I have a younger sister. She's almost thirteen. Stella reminds me of her. I do appreciate you coming out in person to break our date."

He offered me his arm and walked us both to the café where we sat in a booth, with Stella and I on one side, and him on the other. Bucky took his cap off and placed it on the coat hook beside his seat. Stella and I did the same with our coats on our side of the booth. The waitress came with a coffee pot and filled our cups with coffee while Stella asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake. With the menus in our hands we made our choices and ordered the food. Bucky took a pack of cigarettes out and offered me one, then lit it for me before lighting his own.

"So, Eleanor," he began. "How long have you worked at the store?"

"Two years, since I graduated from high school," I said. "My parents have a farm about a hundred miles from here. Willa, my sister, married a fellow that worked at the dairy until he got drafted. He's in North Africa right now. I came here hoping to make some money for college. I haven't seen you around before. Have you always been at Camp McCoy?"

"I was here for boot camp then displayed some aptitude for marksmanship," said Bucky. "All those rigged shooting games at Coney Island helped, I guess. I was sent to a special camp to become a sniper and received a promotion to Sergeant. Now I'm back and have been assigned to a unit. We'll be here another five months at least before we're shipped off to England."

"I thought I detected a Brooklyn accent," I noted. "Can I ask why you call yourself Bucky when your first name is James?"

"Nickname from my middle name, Buchanan," said Bucky. "Not even my mother calls me James. Don't know why they named me that but ..."

He shrugged with a grin. His easygoing manner was as attractive as his looks. When other café patrons came in and noticed we were together I was aware of some whispered conversations over why such a good looking man was with one of the tallest women in town. He must have heard some of the words being thrown out and he leaned forwards.

"Don't pay them attention," he said. "You caught my eye as soon as I walked in the store. I can tell you that in Brooklyn you would have a long line of suitors at your door, not all of them tall either. Never did understand why some men had an issue with women who were taller."

"Aunt Eleanor is one of the tallest in town," said Stella, proudly. "She played basketball in high school and Mama said she was the best player, boy or girl."

"Well, I played basketball as well," smiled Bucky, "but I was one of the shorter players. We had several that were over 6 foot 6 inches. What position did you play?"

"Center," I shrugged. "You?"

"Point guard. We got to the city championship but lost in the final."

"We weren't good enough to get that far." I couldn't take my eyes off those blue eyes as I spoke. "Not that we were bad, just didn't have a lot of depth on the bench. When we played against the town team it showed. They wore us down. I enjoyed it though. Was hoping to get a scholarship but the only college that showed interest would only give me a partial one. It wasn't enough. Now that the war is on it seems most women's sports programs have been shelved or underfunded to the point they might as well fold."

"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around," agreed Bucky. "Do you dance?"

"Not very well, as most of my partners were my girlfriends," I replied, looking down at my hands. "I usually led, being taller."

"You come out with me to the next dance," said Bucky. "I'll make up for all of those guys who wouldn't ask you onto the dance floor."

Something inside me bubbled up. He was already talking about a second date, as if this counted as our first. Our food came and I could see he had good manners, as he kept his elbows off the table and didn't eat with his mouth full. He did tell us a story about him and his best friend in Brooklyn, a guy named Steve, who was a small sickly man that he befriended when they were boys. Apparently, Steve was bullied a lot because of his size, but also because he stood up for himself and didn't know when to stay down.

"I kinda liked the guy for that," said Bucky. "He would get back up from where he was bleeding, co*ck his fists, look at the guy and say "I could do this all day." They would hit him down again over and over."

There was a fond look on his face as he told us. "What unit is he in?" asked Stella.

"He was declared 4F," said Bucky. "But he keeps trying. He'll get arrested one of these days when they find out he's tried to enlist under false names. He just won't take no for an answer, crazy kid."

"Sounds like you miss him very much," I said. "You must have a very good friendship."

"Yeah, we are good friends. But I do have some friends in Camp McCoy. A guy named Dum Dum Dugan. His given name is Tim but he picked up the nickname Dum Dum when he worked as a circus strongman. He's married with two kids. Salt of the earth, except he cheers for the Red Sox but he's from Boston originally so I'll let him have it. There's another guy who I'm friends with, Gabe Jones. He's in our unit due to a clerical error, and the Army, in its infinite wisdom, won't reassign him to where he's supposed to be so Dum Dum and I watch out for him. Speak of the devil."

He looked out the window and smiled at the biggest man I had ever seen and a Negro man, of which I hadn't seen any being in a small town in Wisconsin. Bucky chuckled at the look on my face.

"Yeah, they put a black man in a white unit," he said. "Someone made a mistake on his enlistment form and marked him as white. It's even on his dog tags. He's a good man. Smart, college educated, speaks German and French."

The two men came in, removing their caps and stood beside the table.

"Sarge, we were looking for you," said the bigger man, who I assumed was Dum Dum. "Didn't know you had a date."

"Gentlemen, this is Miss Eleanor Warren and her niece Stella ...?" he looked at me.

"Stella Howe," I said, offering my hand to both of them. "Bucky was just telling us about you and then suddenly you were outside the window. You must be Mr. Dugan and you must be Mr. Jones."

"Corporal and Private actually," said Dugan, politely.

I could see the waitress in the café talking to the manager. They both had worried looks on their faces and were looking at the faces of the other diners.

"Would you like to join us?" I asked. "That's alright, isn't it Bucky?"

He looked towards the manager as well and stood up to sit next to me as Stella and I moved over.

"Sure, slide in there boys," he said. "We've already ordered. Miss? Could you please bring some coffee and menus for Corporal Dugan and Private Jones? I can vouch for their character."

The waitress looked at the manager and he shrugged then nodded his approval. She brought a couple of menus, and coffee mugs, pouring them some of the hot black liquid. They both looked at the menu and Dugan looked up at her, ordering two blue plate specials. Jones ordered a cheeseburger and fries, making sure he said please and thank you. He was nervous and I caught his attention.

"Bucky said you speak French and German," I said. "We didn't have any foreign language classes at my high school."

"Yes, Miss Warren," he said, showing a nice smile. "I studied German in college but switched to French because it sounds nicer to the ear. They plan to use me to translate once our unit gets overseas, although odds are we'll be fighting the Italians first. We have a few second generation Italian Americans in the unit so I guess they'll use them once we land in Italy."

Our food arrived and both Dugan and Jones urged us to go ahead and eat. Their food came shortly after. Both men were very interesting, especially Dugan, with some of his circus stories which he kept clean for the benefit of Stella. Even the waitress came within earshot to overhear some of them, going back to the kitchen with a grin on her face. I could see why Bucky enjoyed their company as despite their different backgrounds they all had something in common; a desire to do right by others. Their core of basic decency was evident. When the bill came it was delivered by the manager who stood there a moment before addressing all three soldiers.

"Gentleman, please consider this an invitation to dine with us again, anytime," he said. "You are all a credit to the uniform you wear and our country is better because of good decent men like yourselves."

Bucky put his hand on my knee and squeezed it when the manager said the word decent. I almost laughed out loud but managed to suppress it with a cough. After paying the bill we all stepped out into the cool night air. It was too late to go to the movies and I needed to get Stella home soon as she had school the following day. As I looked at the three soldiers Dugan and Jones gave each other a knowing look.

"Well, I think we're going to head back to base," said Dugan, with Jones nodding. "It was awfully nice to meet you Miss Warren, and you too, Stella. You've been pleasant company. Sarge, we'll see you later."

They both shook hands with me and put their caps on, heading off into the night. It had started snowing and Stella lifted her face to the sky, opening her mouth to catch the falling flakes. A smile crossed Bucky's face when he saw her do that and he also lifted his face to the sky, trying to do the same. She giggled at his efforts and he smiled fondly at her.

"Come on, I'll walk you home," he said after a few moments, offering me his arm.

We took our time, not talking, just enjoying the wintry ambience. When we got to the house I unlocked the door and told Stella to take her boots and jacket off then to get ready for bed. She hugged Bucky and thanked him for the date. He rewarded her with a brilliant smile, and she headed inside, definitely in love.

"I would ask you in but Stella isn't the most discreet 8 year old girl," I said. "I'm sorry your plans got turned sideways."

"I still had a good time," he replied. "You are good company and you were friendly to Dum Dum and Gabe. That means a lot."

"They're good men," I said, then I looked away briefly. "Will I see you again?"

"Well, I meant what I said about the next dance," he replied, smiling in a way that almost melted me inside. "I would really like to take you out and give you the kind of date you deserve."

"I'd like that. You know where I work and where I live. We don't have a telephone that isn't a party line."

"I know where to find you."

He stepped closer and put his hands around my waist, drawing me in closer. When his lips touched mine he opened them and gently pressed his tongue against my lips. As mine opened I couldn't believe how soft his kiss was. His hands went around my back enclosing me in his embrace. It was the best kiss I ever had.

In the remaining months he was there until the 107th got their final orders we went out many times. He was a good dancer and made me a better one as well. We went to dinner, the movies, a few sleigh rides, and had a memorable weekend in Milwaukee before he left where he taught me about being with a man. After that first time together he told me about being a ladies man and admitted he initially saw me as his next conquest. I guess when I showed up with my niece and he had the good manners to adapt to the situation that he saw something more in me. Maybe not something long lasting but something satisfying all the same and I like to think we parted as friends. After he returned to Brooklyn for a week's leave then shipped out to England we did write each other, and I'm sure he laughed out loud over my description of Mr. Deakins and Mr. Franklin having a fist fight on the sales floor about how to dress the July 4th window display.

When his letters suddenly stopped in October, 1943 I was dismayed to see his name on the list of suspected POWs. Then I was ecstatic when I received a Christmas letter with a picture of him and his rescuer Captain America, who turned out to be his boyhood friend Steve Rogers, no longer a small, sickly man. It was Steve himself who wrote me about Bucky's death on a mission, early in 1945. He described how much my friendship meant to Bucky and promised to come and see me when the war was over. It never happened because he went missing a month later.

I never did go to college but I did move to Milwaukee and found work as a clerk in a lawyer's office there. One of the younger partners, Thomas Endicott, returned from his war experience a couple of months after VE Day. At 6 foot 5 inches he was taller than me, but I was taller than any of the women in the office and he must have liked that because he asked me out on a date within a couple of weeks of his return. I told him about Bucky and he told me about the realization that he could never hunt again after seeing all the death in Europe. He liked going to the movies, and dancing, and we cut quite the figure on our dates. We were married in August of 1946 and were happy. But I still remember James Buchanan Barnes, the first man who "noticed" me and who was my first real love even though I wasn't the only woman he dated. For those months we saw and wrote each other Bucky was the best thing that ever happened to me. I hoped that when he died he wasn't alone but I'll never know because even though Dum Dum wrote me he said Bucky's death happened on a secret mission that they couldn't talk about. He was the best of men and that's how I remember him.

Chapter 4: The 107th

Chapter Text

Sarge came into the barracks hut at Camp McCoy on the morning of June 4, 1943, brandishing a set of papers, one for each of us. Gabe and I looked at each other and figured this was it, our marching orders had come in. Over a year's worth of training had made us a well oiled unit of fighting soldiers and now we were declared ready to join the fight in Europe.

"A Company," yelled Sarge. "Gather around." He waited while everyone in the hut got close. "The Lieutenant is at Division and has charged me with giving you the good news. We have our orders. Tomorrow morning, at 08:00 you are officially on leave. You may go home, see your wives, or your girlfriends, or your wives and your girlfriends, your folks and anyone else special to you. If you're planning on having kids make them now boys, because it will be a while until you're back. Maybe get married first before you do. Make sure you have filled out your beneficiaries on your life insurance form. You can give them to me right up to our embarkation date. On Saturday, June 19 most of you are expected to report by no later than 15:00 at Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn. There you will receive your kit and await the call for transport to a port in the United Kingdom. Everything you need to know is in your travel orders which I have right here for you."

He began calling out names and handed out the letters one by one. I received mine and looked at the top line. Travel orders for Dugan, Timothy C. A., Corporal, Serial number etc. I looked at the date where I had to report back and noticed it was different from what the others were told.

"Hey, Sarge, why do I have to report back on the 15th?" I asked.

Those big baby blues fixed their gaze on me. "Because some of us have to be back early, like me. I have to be back on the 12th, all corporals on the 15th. I didn't write the orders ... I just obey them."

"My wife isn't going to be so happy with only ten days," I replied.

"Times are tough, Dugan," he retorted as he kept handing out papers. "I have about a dozen girls that I'm supposed to see in seven days. Might have to double them up. Stewart!"

The Sarge had a reputation as a ladies' man, which I had actually seen proof of in Sparta. He went through the girls of that town like a man on a mission although he made good friends with a couple of them, like Miss Warren. She was a real sweetheart, didn't seem to mind that he dated other broads. He always treated her right and with respect. She wasn't like some of the cookies he went out with. Come to think of it he had weekend liberty that week before our orders came in, and when Gabe and I went to the store to say hi to Miss Warren they said she had the weekend off. We wondered if he took her away, but we always thought she was too smart to fall for Sarge's lines. Still ....

"Dugan," said Gabe. "What are your plans for leave?"

"I'm sure my wife has a list a mile long of things for me to take care of," I replied. "You?"

The handsome black man smiled. "I'm hitting the jazz clubs," he said, "Been too long since I heard some good music. Then I'm going to fill up on as much of my Mother's and Aunty's food as I can. Would have been nice if the Yankees were in town."

I laughed. "Why you cheer for those losers I'll never know. You're as bad as Sarge and his Dodgers. Red Sox, now there's a team."

Other guys got in on the conversation over who the best baseball teams were. I saw Sarge smile as we jawed at each other. As long as it didn't come to a standoff or blows he didn't care if we poked harmless fun at each other. If things did get out of hand Sergeant James Barnes was pretty good at breaking it up. I guess he would be, having been a YMCA welterweight champion three years running. That's where I first saw him, fighting a buddy of mine on the undercard as an amateur in 1941, before Pearl Harbor. Sarge was good, maybe could have turned pro if not for the war. When I first met him at Camp McCoy I told him about seeing him fight. We had good talks about Joe Louis, Buddy Baer, and Billy Conn among other boxers of the time.

Early the next day, after morning chow, the three of us, me, Gabe and Sarge, headed out for the bus to the train station in Milwaukee with our duffel bags and travel orders. There was a lineup of guys kissing their girls goodbye. I guess Sarge must have done most of his goodbyes already as only Miss Warren was there for him, and they gave each other a rather tame hug, then he did kiss her, kind of sweet like. She waved at Gabe and me, then left as she had to be at the store for opening. We got into Milwaukee an hour later and boarded the train right away, finding our spot together, as we knew there would be an issue about Gabe riding with us. Sure enough the conductor came and said there was a car for Gabe's type further along. Sarge just looked straight at the man.

"According to the United States Army Corporal Jones is white," he said. "He stays with us. You have a problem with that you take it up with the United States Army."

Gabe, who was sitting by the window, let Sarge handle it and he just stretched his legs out so they covered the aisle seat next to me, then pulled his cap down over his eyes. When another conductor came to try his luck at getting Gabe to move Sarge just pushed his cap up and gave him that intense blue eyed gaze he gave anyone who was messing with him.

"Private Jones is in this unit, and I believe this car as well as several others have been reserved for our unit, 200 soldiers, in fact. If he moves, we all move with him. You able to squeeze us all into a single car?"

That shut the conductor up. Of course, we went through the same thing again when we transferred in Chicago but Sarge wasn't having any of it and we were soon on the train for the long overnight trip to New York. When we pulled in at 08:00 into Grand Central Station I wasn't expecting my wife and kids to be there but I was surprised to see my neighbour, Mr. Santucci. He waved at me and was quite excited.

"Timothy, I'm glad you're here," he said. "Come, I'll take you home. There's something I need to tell you."

Well, this couldn't be good. We got out to the street and he flagged a taxi, a taxi, can you believe it? He gave the address of our building and then sat back.

"Your wife, Kathleen, she kept a little secret from you since you were last here," he said. "She didn't mean to. She meant to tell you in person when you were supposed to be on leave the last time. I told her she should write about it but she said it was something that should be said in person."

I rolled my eyes. My leave got cancelled the last time about six months ago after Sarge, Gabe, and I squared off against a few soldiers from the south who took exception to Gabe's presence in our midst. We all got our leaves cancelled as punishment but the guys from the south got recycled, had to restart their boot camp from day one. I wondered what could have been so important that Kathleen had to tell me in person and then it hit me. I looked at Mr. Santucci. He nodded.

"You have a son," he said. "Looks just like you, born two months ago. He'll be a big boy, just like your other two."

I said three Hail Mary's right there in the cab with Mr. Santucci sitting right next to me saying them as well then I looked at him.

"You're not lying to me are you, Mario?" I asked. "He's my boy?"

"No doubt about it," he replied. "Your wife is sick with worry that you wouldn't believe her, so I said I would come for you and explain it all. You know how some women get when they're full of child. It's like their brain gets all fogged up and they can't think straight."

That did sound like Kathleen. When she was pregnant with our first she took the subway to Yonkers and didn't know why. Took her all day to get back. With our second she went to the grocers and came back with a case of bananas, said it was too good a deal to pass up. We shared them with everyone on our floor so they didn't go bad but Kathleen did do strange things when she was pregnant. Until I saw her and the baby I didn't know what I was going to say or do.

Finally, we pulled up in front of the apartment building and I swallowed as I stood there looking up at the front of it. Three kids in that small apartment. Mr. Santucci patted me on the back and opened the front door for me. As I went up the stairs, I was aware of several of the tenants opening their doors after I passed. Did the whole damned building know? Finally, I arrived at our door and knocked, as I left my key behind when I went to boot camp. There was the sound of a baby crying and I almost burst into tears hearing it. Then the door opened, and I saw my Kathleen standing there, her face fearful but just as beautiful as it had been eleven months before when I last saw her. Two little shadows rushed out from behind her and grabbed my legs, my older boys, Tim Jr. and Danny. After kissing them and letting them have their way with me I looked at the babe that Kathleen was holding, and she put him in my arms.

He was definitely my boy, from the Dugan red hair, to the chubby cheeks and clenched fists that reached for me. Even if he wasn't my boy I would have loved him because he was so perfect and I loved his mother so much. When I kissed him she began to cry and I had to put one arm around her. Mr. Santucci, who had been standing in the doorway smiled and left, closing the door behind him.

The next ten days passed much too quickly as I played with the boys, helped look after little Liam, as Kathleen had named him after my grandfather, then had tender times with my wife that may or may not have put her in the family way again. Before I left I made her promise that if she was carrying another baby to write me about it. Before I left, just after lunch on June 15th I kissed her softly, as tears fell from her green eyes, and I touched her dark hair before enclosing her in my arms. I kissed all three of my boys and then I carried my duffel bag with me to the train station and got on the train to Brooklyn, where there was a regular bus that ran between the station and the base at Fort Hamilton. I didn't know then it would be several years until I saw her, our three boys and our daughter Bridget.

After I reported in I was directed to the barracks assigned to our unit. Sarge was already there going over paperwork. He took a stack of papers and shoved them across the desk to me.

"Put these in order by date," he said. "The clerks here have their own system. I had all the requisitions in, signed by the Lieutenant and everything and they brought them right back to me, date first, then requisition number."

"Hello to you too, Sarge," I said. "How was your leave?"

"Not long enough," he said. "Had to date two at a time. You?"

"I have another child," I said bluntly. "Kathleen was pregnant from my last leave, wanted to tell me in person but my leave six months ago got cancelled, and she didn't want to put it in a letter."

Sarge howled. "So, what is it?"

"A boy, Liam, looks just like me. She might already have another one starting but she promised if she is she would write me."

"How old is the oldest?" he asked.

"Four."

He howled again. "You're a cruel man leaving your wife with that many young babies."

"She's a good mother," I said defensively. "The neighbours are good. They'll watch out for her. My mam had me at 17, then three more before she was 21 and she was a good mother."

Sarge just shook his head and grinned. What did he know? He was a bachelor and doll dizzy. Our other corporal, Tommy Malone arrived and Sarge pushed a bunch of requisitions towards him to put into order. Took us another hour but we finally got them organized like the clerks wanted and Sarge submitted them. The day our company arrived they would line up at the quartermasters office and receive all their bedding and towels. The day after they would get their kit, rifle, sleep roll, cooking kit, medical kit, everything we would need when we were finally mustered and ready to be shipped out to our destination.

"Do we have our ship assigned yet?" I asked.

Sarge smiled. "The Queen Mary," he said. "They're sending us in style to Scotland, leaving on the 24th. We'll be training before we go."

He wouldn't be so happy when we boarded. They packed over 15,000 troops on that ship plus over 900 crew. They had beds stacked three high in every part of that floating transport. Even the officers had to share although they were only two or three to a cabin. Although it was June the seas were stormy and by the time we arrived in Gourock, Scotland, half the complement were almost dead from sea sickness. When we disembarked in Scotland, we boarded a troop train that took us from the port, through Glasgow and down to an army base near Manchester. We had a couple of days there then another sea journey from Liverpool to Algeria where we transferred to another ship that took us to Sicily. The Mediterranean was calmer but by then most of us were just plain worn out and only barely recuperated when we arrived in mid-July.

We did our best and made good headway when we landed in Sicily in July and took the island just a few weeks later, leading to the ouster of Mussolini. When the British landed in southern Italy shortly after the Americans landed to the north, hoping to encircle the Germans and fascist Italians that were still loyal to them.

We chased them to a place called Azzano in northeastern Italy in October 1943. The fighting was brutal, and we lost the Lieutenant, leaving Sarge in charge. Surrounded by enemy mortars he ordered Gabe to call in B Company for support. Before Gabe could do that, we came under attack and the damnedest thing happened. Suddenly we saw these blue flashes coming out of the dark, hitting the Germans and just ... disintegrating them into thin air. Within seconds all the Germans were taken out. We watched as this tank we had never seen the likes of come over a hill, shooting these pulses of blue lights at the German line in the far distance. In awe, we just stood watching it unfold in front of us then suddenly the tank aimed its cannon at us and began firing. Taking cover as best we could in the craters left by the mortar blasts we huddled there, hoping to hell that this wasn't to be our last day on Earth. Then the flashes stopped, and we were surrounded by troops built like machines, dressed in black armour holding these strange rifles on us.

"Aufgeben," yelled the one closest to us and we looked at Gabe.

"They want us to surrender," he said.

Sarge raised his hands. "Tell them we surrender. What choice do we have? We can't fight against those guns."

As we assembled Sarge told me to estimate a head count. As best I could tell there were well over a hundred of us. Whether the rest were dead or had escaped from the rear I couldn't tell. We were marched to an area a couple of miles away and loaded into trucks. Then we were transported for some time before the trucks were stopped and we were ordered out. Sarge didn't look well and we closed ranks around him, knowing that a weaker POW could be subjected to cruel punishment by the guards. They herded us into this building then forced us into an area full of different cells. They stuck me, Sarge and Gabe in a cell with a Limey officer and a Frenchman. I made a joke, not a good one, I admit, and the Limey took offence at it. Well, my people are Irish and I wasn't too fond of the British just because of that and we pushed each other. I have to admit that he wasn't scared of me, even though I must have outweighed him by 50 pounds, but I still got a few licks in before Sarge ordered me and Gabe to stand down. The Frenchman said something and Gabe laughed, then answered in French. It surprised the man and he stood up, offering Gabe his hand.

"I'm Dernier, Jacques Dernier, French resistance," he said, in his heavily accented voice.

Gabe looked to Sarge who nodded his approval and he introduced us. Then the British officer stood up.

"Major James Montgomery Falsworth," he said. "3rd Independent Parachute Brigade of the British Army. My apologies to you Corporal, for being overly sensitive to your joke. These soldiers are not the usual Nazi vermin we're used to dealing with. They're worse and they have treated us like cattle. It has stressed us immensely."

I nodded my acceptance of his apology. "I'm sorry, sir," I replied. "We have to work together against these guys, not fight amongst ourselves."

"Where are we?" asked Sarge.

"Somewhere near Kreischberg, Austria," replied Falsworth. "This is a HYDRA facility. As near as we can tell they were Nazis and now they're worse, looking at Nazis as if they're substandard. The commanding officer is a sad*st named Colonel Lohmer. Try to avoid his notice. He has killed several men just for displeasing him."

That was easier said than done when we were forced to begin working the following day. No work, no food was what we were told. Sarge, who hadn't been feeling well for some time could barely get up but he did and was assigned a job of moving carts of munitions from one spot to another. He collapsed while pushing the heavy cart and fell against the munitions, causing some of them to fall. Lohmer was right there and laid into the Sarge, beating him continually while the man didn't even have the strength to defend himself. I could feel my hands curl in frustration at witnessing the savagery of the Colonel. Finally, he stood up, gave a final kick to the Sarge's side and walked away, ordering Lieutenant Kleiber to see to the mess. Kleiber motioned to me and Gabe to pick Sarge up and take him to the cell. Gabe examined him as best he could and determined Sarge had broken ribs. He also had a rattling cough.

"Sounds like pneumonia to me," said Falsworth, standing nearby. "Kleiber isn't so bad. He would let your Sergeant recuperate before sending him out to work but Lohmer would just as soon see him die on the work floor. We need to take Lohmer out and I think I know how."

While we returned to our workstations we looked for a certain substance, it was sticky and if left long enough on a metal surface would weaken it. The Major, Gabe and I found some, brought it to Dernier and when no one was looking he applied it to the chain attached to a crane carrying bins of scrap to be melted into munitions. All night that stuff sat on the chains and the guards were none the wiser. In the morning, Lohmer ordered Sarge to work. Gabe and I helped him up. I never knew a man who could tolerate as much pain as Sergeant James Barnes could. Even though every step was agony for him he refused to show weakness in front of Lohmer. He loaded scrap metal into a large bin. When it was full Lieber ordered the crane to lift the bin up. We all stood back, knowing the chains were weakened. As the bin rose up high Lohmer walked under its path just as a part of the chain broke, dropping the bin right on top of him. All of us POWs cheered when the son of a bitch was crushed, then the guards herded us back into our cells. Again, Gabe and I supported Sarge while he stumbled back.

"You don't have to worry Jimmy boy," I whispered to him. "Lohmer won't hurt you again."

"Bucky, my name is always Bucky," he mumbled. "No one calls me Jim, or James."

"Alright, Bucky, we got you," I said, as Gabe and I laid him down on the floor of the cell.

We were there for hours while the guards and Lieutenant Kleiber investigated the "accident" as they finally determined it to be. When we got our food, Gabe and I took turns feeding the Sarge. The next day Kleiber agreed that Sarge was too sick to work and he was allowed to stay in the cell. Even though he rested he seemed to get sicker and sicker over time. Several days after Lohmer died a scientist showed up, a little guy with glasses. Apparently he was now in charge. At least he didn't order any beatings, but there was something about him that gave me chills, especially when he noticed Sarge. His second day there he showed up at our cell with Kleiber.

"This man, on the floor, why hasn't he been working?" he asked.

"We think pneumonia, plus several broken ribs courtesy of your predecessor," said Major Falsworth.

The scientist turned to Kleiber. "Why was he not sent to me sooner?" he asked. "I am a medical doctor as well. I have treatments for pneumonia. Bring him to me."

"Yes, Dr. Zola," saluted Kleiber. "Immediately. Guards!"

He signalled to several guards and one motioned us back with his gun while the other two took the Sarge between them. He tried to struggle but there was no strength left in him at all. I was angry and upset. Grasping at the bars I yelled at them.

"Don't you kill him, you dirty bastards!"

The doctor, almost out of the room turned back and walked towards me several steps. What he said chilled me; not just the words but the way he said it.

"I have no intention of killing your Sergeant. Whether he survives the treatment is up to him. If it works it will be a new day in science and your Sergeant will never be sick ever again."

With a smile I can only describe as twisted the doctor left with the two guards carrying the Sarge behind him. For the next few days we heard nothing, except there was another man in charge, an arrogant SOB called Schmidt who upped the production limits for everyone. Even Kleiber wouldn't say anything about Sarge, and both Falsworth and Dernier shook their heads, saying it was likely that Sarge was dead. Neither Gabe nor I were going to let his death go unpunished and we talked together about taking on the guards and getting one of those fancy rifles in our hands. We knew it would likely end up with our deaths and although I was worried about leaving Kathleen a widow with four babies to look after alone (she had written that our last time together had produced another pregnancy) I wanted to die fighting, not as someone's slave.

One night we were sleeping in our cells when the guard on patrol above us suddenly fell over, knocked out. Some guy, wearing a leather jacket, a toy helmet, and carrying a toy shield took the keys to our cell out of the guard's pocket.

"Who are you?" asked Gabe.

He looked around, shrugged, and said, with a Brooklyn accent, "Captain America."

Then the guy jumped down, proceeded to unlock our cells, and asked about Sergeant James Barnes. Falsworth told him he was likely in the isolation unit. The "Captain" told us where the tree line was, to wait there for him, to raise some hell along the way, and he took off towards the unit where Sarge likely was. We all looked at each other and did what we were told. We hit them hard, took their weapons, found grenades, found their fancy tanks with the blue flash cannons and gave them hell.

When we reached the rendezvous point Captain America wasn't there but shortly after the whole factory went up and we wondered if he made it out. We shouldn't have worried because he showed up with Sarge and we found out that this guy was his best friend from Brooklyn who disobeyed orders to drop behind enemy lines and rescue us. co*cky little guy, little to me, anyways. Sergeant Barnes couldn't keep his eyes off of him, as if this guy had undergone some big transformation. Whatever it was, he had moxie, and there were several of us that kind of liked his style of fighting. Oh, and Sarge? I don't know what that Nazi doctor did to him but he was better and his ribs were apparently healed. It was a miracle, as was our rescue. For those of us who stuck with Captain America, it was the beginning of some incredible missions.

Chapter 5: The Blonde and the Brunette

Chapter Text

Bucky

I knew as soon as I saw her greeting Steve after we walked into the camp like we owned the place that my next girlfriend was standing right in front of me. She was beautiful, with long dark hair that I wanted to bury my face in, while I was kissing her neck, and undoing her dress, of course. Along with dark eyes and ruby red lips she was a dream come true. Then she opened her mouth and the voice, with its British accent, was like silk and I longed to hear it say my name. Whether it was said as a greeting or in the throes of passion didn't matter to me ... I just wanted to hear her say it.

There was just one small problem. For some reason, she preferred Steve. Don't get me wrong, I loved the guy. Hell, I'd been his protector since he was twelve years old but when he showed up at that factory and found me strapped to that bed mumbling my name, rank, and serial number, I couldn't believe it was him. How did he gain over 100 pounds of muscle and grow a foot in height in a matter of months?

He said something about an experiment then turned red and realized he probably shouldn't say anything about what was obviously a classified subject. But I was his best friend, Bucky, and if he couldn't unload his secrets to me then who could he tell? Whatever they did to him was something. When he jumped from the other side of that factory to where I was waiting it was like watching a f*cking god in action. I'm getting sidetracked here.

My immediate dilemma was how I could get the lovely Agent Carter to focus her attention on someone worthy of her beauty, namely me. After we got back to London, shown our quarters, and the quartermaster gave us new uniforms I showered, shaved real nice and close, styled my hair with just a touch of Brylcreem, then went to the pub with the others that had been captives with me, Dugan, Jones, Morita, Falsworth, and Dernier. It was a bit loud for me where the others were situated so I sat in the quieter snug, nursing my scotch. Steve talked those suckers into joining his new unit then came in to give me the sales pitch. As if he had to ask. I was in ... I just wanted him to sweat a bit.

Then Peggy Carter walked in wearing this red dress that hugged all the right spots and showed just enough décolletage (it's French for bosom, I think) to make me imagine what the rest of her looked like underneath the dress. She glanced at me when she came into the snug and walked right up to Steve talking about some equipment that Howard had for him. She must have meant Howard Stark, yeah ... that Howard Stark whose flying car hit the ground at the Stark Expo in June, the night before I shipped out. That was the night Connie and Bonnie ... damn, I'm getting sidetracked again. Thinking of dames will do that to a guy.

Anyways, as I was saying, I was playing it cool and giving Steve some side eye, trying to give him the signal that I got this one but damned if he doesn't check her out, just like all the times I tried to teach him back in Brooklyn. She looks back at the other guys in the main part of the pub, sitting next to the piano player referring to them as the top team, whatever that was about.

I asked her something along the lines of "You have a problem with the music?"

She answered that she liked the music just fine, but she's still looking at Steve. Then she started talking about dancing, still looking at him and ignoring me. I couldn't believe it! So, I asked what we're waiting for, giving her my best "I want you" look. Always worked before. Without missing a beat, she said, "the right partner" and was still giving Steve her "I want you" look. It was humiliating. Finally, she told him what time he needed to meet with Stark and walked out of there like the Queen of England. Class, pure class, but none of it aimed at me. I was invisible to her. In fact, I told Steve I was turning into him, the old him, the 98-pound weakling him. He just stood there with that smirk on his face. I taught him too well. Who knew he was listening all those years, storing up all of my best moves and looks, until the day he used them against me. Then he had the nerve to comfort me, patting me on the shoulder, saying maybe Carter had a friend for me ... all the things I used to say to him back in Brooklyn. I'm a hell of a teacher and I needed a plan.

After having a drink with me Steve said he was going to turn in and he headed towards the door. A luscious blonde walked in, gave him the eye, which he ignored and she shrugged then saw me watching. With a grin and a walk that said lots she strutted right up to me.

"Buy me a drink, Sarge?" she said, giving me the once over.

I was game. I hadn't won the attentions of the lovely Agent Carter yet, so I was still free to see other women. Her name was Lorraine, a private, and she was the secretary for General Chester Phillips. Steve was supposed to be meeting with Stark in Phillips' office the next morning. I ordered her a drink then we raised a toast to the brave Captain America where I casually dropped the information that we had been friends since we were boys. Her eyes brightened.

"Does he have a girlfriend?" she asked eagerly.

Nope.

"Does he want a girlfriend?"

Oh yeah, absolutely. Didn't tell her at first it was Agent Carter but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"So, how do I approach him?"

I smiled then took another drink of my scotch.

"Well, sweetheart," I said, reaching out and grasping one of her curls gently so I could play with it. "I could tell you or I could show you what he likes. He does like to play shy and let the girl do the talking but sometimes he really plays the part of the innocent to find out if the girl is really interested. You have to be prepared to take it to the limit."

A slow smile crossed her face. "Why are you so interested in helping me?" she asked coyly.

"Well, I have my eye on a certain lady who seems to be your biggest competition," I replied. "Personally, if I was Steve, I wouldn't even look at her with a doll like you around. So, by me helping you in how to approach him, you'd be helping me attain the lady I want."

She hummed like she was really contemplating my offer but when she drank her gin and tonic, she gave me the eye that said she was more than game to practice on me before taking on her main target the following morning. We both finished our drinks and headed out of the pub, checked in at the base then she found a supply room and took a key out of her purse, dangling it in front of me. She unlocked the door, we went inside, and I told her what to say, showed her what to do, and heard her call out my name in a way that helped me out as well. I'm a gentleman so I won't say anything else but if it doesn't work out with Peggy Carter then I'll be back to make sweet Lorraine sing out my name again. I know, I'm an ace in the art of seduction.

Steve

I reported to General Phillips secretary just before 08:00, asking to see Howard Stark. She was reading a newspaper and I noticed the headline was about the soldiers I helped liberate from the HYDRA factory. Without looking up she said Stark was meeting with the General then she looked at me and did a quick double take. Right away she became as sweet as pie and invited me to sit near her. Then she showed me the headline and I nodded in recognition, still uncomfortable with how they were making me out to be the big hero. I just did my duty. That's how I saw it. She sat there, at her desk, with her legs crossed, casually bouncing her one foot. She had nice legs, that was for sure. Then she stood up and said something about the wives of the prisoners being happy about their husband's rescue. Approaching me in a sultry way, I started feeling a little funny; warm, kind of, and my mouth got a little dry. I crossed my arms and tried not to look directly at her. At that moment I kind of wished Bucky was there. He would know what to do and what to say. I was definitely in over my head. Then she said I was a hero, grabbed my tie and said the women of America owed me their thanks. At least, I think that's what she said. It all happened so fast, and my heart was beating so loudly in my ears that I barely heard anything, to be honest. Then she pulled me behind the shelving unit and the next thing I knew her lips were on mine, followed by her tongue. It was ... really nice, but holy sh*t, I wasn't sure what to do next. Do I put my tongue in her mouth? Do I hold her? Do I press her against the filing cabinet and unbutton her blouse? We were in General Phillips' outer office for crying out loud!

"Captain!" said a voice, Peggy Carter's voice, and I jumped.

So did ... what was her name? I was kissing a girl and I didn't even know her name.

"If you're not otherwise occupied, we're ready for you," said Carter, and with a sinking heart I could hear the disappointment in her voice.

I tried to catch up with her to explain that the girl was kissing me instead of me kissing her but Carter didn't want to hear it, saying it was obvious I had found a partner. As we walked she looked sideways at me, at my tie and I tucked it back inside my jacket. I might as well have been tucking my ... you know ... back into my pants. It was awful. I felt like a cad. Then Peggy, Agent Carter, said I was just like all the other soldiers and I saw red. I was angry and asked about her and Howard Stark. I mean, I heard how he talked to her. It was obvious something was going on between them and she was judging me after one kiss, that I didn't even ask for. The look she gave me and the words she said made me feel like I was six inches high. Howard heard what she said and patted me on the back after she stomped off.

"We haven't done anything," he said. "Not for lack of trying on my part, believe me. Do yourself a favour. Don't ever assume you know anything about women because if even I have trouble with winning the affections of Agent Carter, you have even less chance."

He showed me a uniform made out of material that would deflect a bayonet. Then he patted my shield from the USO show that came in handy when I freed the prisoners and showed me some samples of a shield I could use for real in battle. I saw a round one under the table and although he tried to downplay using it, once I put my hand in the harness it felt right, like it was meant for me. At that moment Agent Carter came into the lab and asked Stark if we were done. I showed her the shield, anxious to try and get back in her good graces. Damned if she didn't pick up a pistol and shoot at the shield sending bullets ricocheting everywhere! Then she gave me a look that said she was still angry at me but there was something more with it and I realized that it was like the times Bucky's parents were having a disagreement and even though you could tell they were both angry there was another look that Bucky said was their "Just wait until I get you alone look." He never explained to me what he meant by that, but I think that was the look that Peggy Carter gave me, and it made me feel warmer than the kiss that secretary gave me; a warmth that I felt deep inside me.

Bucky

When Steve asked me about the look my parents would give each other when they were working their way through being mad at each other I knew the competition was over. If Peggy Carter was that angry at catching Lorraine kissing Steve, she liked him a lot more than I figured. The guy sat on my bunk looking miserable and I felt guilty about turning Lorraine loose on him. Sitting across from him I leaned over and cleared my throat.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I wanted a clear path to Agent Carter and I thought if I could get you involved with someone else then I could ...."

He looked up and the betrayal on his face was almost more than I could bear.

"You? You were in love with Peggy?" he asked.

"No, but I would have liked a chance to make her fall in love with me," I said. "Six months ago she wouldn't have given you the time of day and then you show up looking like this." I waved my hands at his physique. "What chance did I have?"

"Bucky, she was there when I was transformed," he said. "She rode in the car with me to the lab. She was at Camp Lehigh when I was in basic training and she always talked to me, always made time for me."

"She was?" I asked, flabbergasted. "sh*t, buddy, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Now I felt worse, mostly because it was Steve I tried to block. "When you showed up looking like this, I just assumed she was like all the other women on this base who were panting for you. But if she was your friend back in New York, then she liked you for you."

Steve didn't say anything for the longest time and I was worried I had poisoned my friendship with him. But Steve never did stay angry for long and he finally looked up at me.

"You were jealous of my looks? You, Bucky Barnes, ladies man, scourge of fathers all throughout Brooklyn?"

He began to laugh, reaching forward and clapped me on the shoulder. Then he gripped it hard and looked at me with a determined look.

"I'll give you a pass on it this time but do it again and we'll have more than words."

"Hey, I'm out," I replied, showing him my empty hands. "I won't stand in your way. She's worth it. She's no dame, she's a lady."

Steve smiled and relaxed his grip. Then he looked at me. "Explain it to me what it means when a couple are angry at each other but they give each other a look that says they're still angry but they're not?"

"You punk," I said. "It means that the makeup sex is going to be fantastic. You missed out on so much not having your dad around. You do know what to do with a girl when you get her into bed, right?" He didn't answer. "Jesus, Steve, you don't know?"

"It's not like my mother could explain it in detail," he replied, his face a dark shade of pink. "Everything I do know I've learned from you and even you haven't been all that forthcoming about the actual deed. I mean, you have your own code when it comes to discussing your girlfriends, which I admire, by the way."

I smiled. It was true I didn't brag about the girls I was with. There were guys that did, and I saw how it affected the girls who they talked about. With a sister of my own if I heard a guy talking about her like that, I would kick his ass. Going to my footlocker I dug down to the bottom and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

"I could put you on report for that," said Steve.

"But you won't," I replied. "Because I'm your friend and I'm going to tell you how to make a woman happy in bed. It's a lot more fun if she's enjoying it along with you. Too many guys just want to get their own pleasure and forget that she needs to get something out of it as well."

I poured out a glass for each of us and for the next half hour told him everything I knew. There were even times I demonstrated with my hands or drew a picture for him, as bad as my drawings were. He sat there, asked more than a few questions, and took everything I said to heart. In a way, it was graduation for him, and I was happy to help him. For too many years he had been ignored and passed over by all the girls we grew up with which was wrong because he would have worshipped the ground they walked on and would have treated any of them right. If anyone deserved to have my knowledge passed on to them, it was Steve.

For the next couple of weeks, we were busy training, learning to work as a team. It was exhausting and no one went out to the pub after because all we had energy for was to go into the mess hall, eat our meals and then crawl into bed, hoping to get enough sleep so we could do the same thing the next day. It was worth it because when we had our first mission as a team it was like we knew exactly what everyone else was doing. I had my sniper perch covering everyone's back and kept my sniper rifle busy enough that the others could get the job done. That doesn't mean I wasn't in on the attacks. There were times I was right there beside Steve and the others, machine guns blazing as we kicked in doors and took the fight to HYDRA. It was exciting times and I felt we were making headway against those Nazi villains.

Steve

It was great having Bucky on the team. All those years as kids when we pretended we were in the Great War came back to me when we did it for real. Half the time Bucky was the unit sniper, taking out threats before we attacked our objective. Then he would trade his sniper rifle for a machine gun and join the rest of the Howling Commandos in infiltrating our target. It was heady times, and the Army were so impressed that they assigned a photographer to the unit.

"For posterity," they said.

Yeah, so we could make General Phillips's bosses look good. He didn't care about the publicity, just the results and we got them. On one of our returns to base he pulled the team into a Quonset hut, set guards on the outside and looked at all of us like the next mission was the most important one yet.

"There's a train," he said. "It regularly makes the trip between the HYDRA bases carrying supplies and soldiers. It's powered by the Tesseract, which is one of our targets. Our second target is the man in control of that train. Dr. Arnim Zola."

The projector put an image up on the wall and all of us gasped. He was the little man with Johann Schmidt in the HYDRA factory in Kreischberg. I looked at Bucky and could see his eyes were narrowed, full of anger. He never spoke about what they did to him in the HYDRA lab in Austrian factory but it couldn't have been good. Right then I knew he wanted to be by my side on this mission, no matter what.

We had a week to train just for this mission. Three of us had to get on that train then find the Tesseract and Dr. Zola. Only three could go because we only had time for three to ride a cable line across the ravine and drop onto the top of the train while it sped along the track. There was only one place to set up the cable line that wouldn't smack us into the mountainside. Partisans were setting up that line as we trained. With us in control of the train we would bring it to a pre-arranged stop where we take the Tesseract, the doctor, then blow the train and track up. As leader I was going. Before I even had a chance to ask for volunteers Bucky said he was in.

"Buck, you don't like heights and it's several hundred feet up the side of a narrow ravine," I told him.

"I want in," he said through gritted teeth. "I want payback for what that asshole put me through."

So, Bucky was in. We just needed a third person. I asked for volunteers, but everyone put up their hand. Guess they all wanted payback against that doctor as well. So, we put names in a hat and Private Gabe Jones was the lucky third. The three of us practiced on a cable line at the base until we got the timing down just right. Word came from the partisans that the train was leaving from one of the far bases. If it followed the pattern of stops it had previously it should be going through where the cable line was rigged in two days. The whole team headed out and two days later we were there. Gabe was monitoring the radio to hear from the source when the train was on its way. Bucky took a look from our vantage point at where we would drop and asked if this was payback for the time he made me ride the Cyclone at Coney Island. He never did like heights but then I didn't like throwing up all over myself either. Our unit photographer chose that moment to take a picture of the two of us.

At that point Gabe spoke as he listened to the German voices on the radio. "You're right, that Dr. Zola is on the train. They're moving at top speed and will be here pretty quick."

I put my helmet on and grabbed the handle on the cable line, waiting for the word. It wasn't long in coming. Falsworth was watching through binoculars further up the line for the train as it came into his view. He turned and looked at us three with some concern.

"It's moving pretty fast."

I estimated we had about a ten second window to get all three of us on that train. Gripping that handle hard I waited for Dernier to give me the signal then I jumped off and slid down that cable like a bat out of hell. I felt the line bounce twice behind me and knew Bucky and Gabe were holding on for dear life. Just like we practiced the cable was strung out over the length of the train and we dropped down onto the top of it. Carefully stepping along the length we got to where there was a doorway while Gabe covered our backs. He would keep moving towards the front of the train, to stop the engineer. Bucky and I were going inside, hopefully to find the Tesseract and the doctor.

Inside, Bucky and I were instantly on alert as there was no one, no guards, no signs that we had been detected, nothing. Neither of us liked it but we had no choice and we began moving towards the front of the train. I walked through the open connection between this car and the next when suddenly a double door shut down, separating me from Bucky. Through the windows I saw him turn and fire his machine gun at someone entering through the far end. Hearing a sound behind me I saw another guy, a big guy, loaded with a couple of guns I had never seen before. I fired at him and his guns fired a blue pulse at me. Same type of weapon that was on the HYDRA tanks at their factory in Austria. It took a bit of doing but I finally got him down and used his weapon to blow a hole back to the car where Bucky was trapped. Through the window of his door I could see he was out of ammo so I got my weapon ready, opened the door and tossed it to him. Running interference for my friend I raced towards the other soldier sending him out into the open and Bucky took him out. Suddenly, from behind us I heard the whine of a pulse weapon charging and pushed Bucky down while lifting my shield to take the brunt of the charge, deflecting it into the side of the train car and blowing a hole to the outside. I was dazed and the soldier was about to charge up again when Bucky grabbed the shield and began to fire on him. Just as he walked in front of that hole the pulse weapon fired and Bucky disappeared while my shield fell to the floor. Grabbing it I threw it at the soldier, taking him down and I raced to the hole, looking outside.

"Bucky!" I called, hoping beyond hope that he had somehow held on to something to keep from falling.

He was holding on to a railing and I yelled at him to hold on while I edged closer, hoping to get my hand to his before the railing gave way. Just as he moved to grab my hand the railing broke and I watched in horror as my best friend fell down into that icy ravine, his screams already drowned out by the sound of the train speeding away from that spot. It was all rocks and the bottom was hundreds of feet down. He was gone ... Bucky was gone. I wept at that moment not just for his death but my own failure to save him. Me, Captain America, couldn't even save his closest friend from dying.

We accomplished getting the doctor and took him back with us to England although the train didn't carry the Tesseract itself, as it was powered by a portion of its energy. I went to the pub where Bucky told me he was following that little guy from Brooklyn. Damned if it hadn't been bombed while we were gone. I looked in the debris and found some intact bottles, hoping to get drunk, although I knew I wouldn't. While sitting there crying some more I heard foot steps and turned to see Peggy at the door into the snug. She tried to tell me it wasn't my fault but I knew deep down that Bucky only joined the unit because of me. If I wasn't so keen on him being with the Howling Commandos he could have been back with the 107th in the regular war, not fighting some enhanced Nazis with weapons greater than ours. Peggy gave me a pep talk, telling me to respect Bucky's choice to fight alongside me. Then I told her that I wasn't going to stop until all of HYDRA was stopped or captured. She nodded her head at that, saying I wouldn't be alone. Looking behind the remains of the bar counter she found an unbroken glass and wiped it out with a scarf she was wearing. Putting it on the table she motioned for me to pour her a drink.

"To Sergeant Bucky Barnes," she said. "Friend to a little guy from Brooklyn, and a brave, brave man."

Giving her a grim smile we drank to Bucky and she stayed with me until we finished the bottle, even after we left the bombed out pub.

Chapter 6: The Knock on the Front Door

Chapter Text

October 1943

The alarm clock went off and George reached over to turn it off before turning back to me. I knew I had to get up to see to his breakfast and make his lunch for work, but I had such a headache the night before that I was sure I was coming down with something. He stroked my arm.

"How do you feel Winnie?" he asked. "Still have the headache?"

"Worse," I mumbled. "Must be a cold coming on. Give me a few minutes and I'll get up to get your breakfast going."

"No, you stay in bed," he said, patting my arm. "I can get my own. Goodness knows I can fry up a couple of eggs, some bacon and toast. I'm not that useless."

"George, you're not useless at all," I smiled. "I'm awake anyways and have to get Rebecca up for school. I'll go back to bed after I get her seen to, I promise."

"You're a good woman," he said, as he sat up and stretched. "I hope we get a letter from Bucky soon. The fighting in Italy has been hard but they must get some time away from the fighting."

He headed for the bathroom to wash up and shave while I put my robe on and headed down to the kitchen. It was cold down there and I went down to the cellar to put some coal in the furnace. I made a note to order some more coal soon. Back in the kitchen I put the coffee on and turned on the gas burner on the stove, placing the cast iron frying pan on it with half a dozen slices of bacon in it. While those began to cook I cut half a dozen slices of bread from the loaf, and pulled a couple of eggs out of the ice box. Four of the bread slices were buttered then I layered some delicatessen meat and cheeses on them, before slicing them in half and wrapping them in waxed paper. The other two slices were put into the toaster for George's breakfast. Along with a piece of apple pie, an apple, and several cookies which were put with the sandwiches into George's lunch box I poured most of the coffee into his flask, adding some cream and sugar. I put his lunch box and flask on the side table next to the front door. Opening the front door I took the morning newspaper out of the mailbox and brought it inside so George could read it while he ate breakfast.

The bacon was done and I lifted the pieces out, then drained some of the fat out, collecting it in a jar that I kept just for that as bacon grease was good for cooking. I broke the two eggs into the pan and noticed the bread was toasted so I buttered the slices. As I splashed the bacon grease onto the eggs to cook the top George came down, dressed for work at the shipyards. He gave me a kiss on the side of the head and poured himself some of the coffee from the coffee pot, even though it was the stuff at the bottom and likely very strong. He always said he liked it that way as it was the best way to start the day. With the spatula I put the eggs on a plate, along with the bacon and toast, placing it in front of him, along with the bottle of ketchup, salt and pepper.

While he began eating I began making oatmeal for Rebecca's breakfast, bringing water to a boil, adding the oats, stirring them then lowering the temperature so they cooked slowly. They took longer, sometimes as long as 30 minutes plus I had to keep my eye on them to keep them from burning.

"Oh dear," said George, suddenly as he read the paper. "Winnie, look at this." He pointed to a newspaper article of recent battles. "The 107th was in a battle at Azzano in Italy a few days ago. Out of 200 men less than 50 returned. The rest are either dead or captured."

"You think Bucky is alright?" I asked, my fear threatening to choke me. "They send telegrams if they're killed or captured, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," he said. "We should have received something by now, I would hope." He stood up and held me, stroking my back. "No news is good news, right? He's okay. I feel it in my bones."

Nodding my head, I let him comfort me. He returned to eating his breakfast while I stirred the oats. The 23rd Psalm entered my head and I tried to take comfort in the words. Bucky had to be okay, he just had to be. George finished his breakfast and stood up, checking the clock. Once more he hugged me, then kissed me on the cheek.

"I'll phone at lunch," he said. "It will be alright, Winnie. I have to go."

He put his work jacket on, tucked his lunchbox and flask under his arm and took the car keys to drive to the shipyard. While I washed his breakfast dishes, I continued to watch the oatmeal, then hurried upstairs to wake up Rebecca. She was already awake, bless her, and was just finishing up in the bathroom.

Back down in the kitchen I took out the milk, brown sugar and a banana. School lunch programs started the year before so I didn't have to worry about making Rebecca a lunch. While I watched the oatmeal I read the news article about the 107th, hoping there was more information I could glean from it but it was pretty cut and dried. Folding the paper back up I put it aside and checked the oatmeal texture, deciding it was ready. I spooned out enough for each of us and sat down waiting for my daughter to come down for breakfast. We ate without talking ... rather, I ate without talking as Rebecca spoke enough for both of us, telling me about an activity that was planned for school later in the week. I must have not been listening because she put her hand on my arm.

"Ma, what's wrong?" she asked. "I asked you about the bake sale three times."

"Sorry, sweetheart," I replied. "My mind is elsewhere. I had such a headache last night and I feel it coming on again."

"Do you want me to get you some aspirin?" she asked, and I smiled at her, nodding my assent.

She returned with a couple of aspirin a few minutes later and I took them with some water. After kissing Rebecca goodbye, I cleaned up the rest of the breakfast dishes and headed upstairs to make the beds and get dressed. There were some of George's work shirts that needed washing, so I got the wash tub out and put the kettle on for hot water. After dissolving some detergent in the water, I put his shirts in to soak for a while in the hot water. Once it had cooled down a bit, I could scrub them on the washboard. While they soaked, I dusted and phoned the coal man to get more coal delivered soon. Just as I got the washboard out there was a knock on the door and I wiped my hands on my apron to see who it was. As soon as I opened the door, I felt a rush of fear in my stomach as it was a telegraph delivery boy.

"Mrs. George Barnes?" he asked. I nodded and he gave me an envelope, smiling sympathetically. "Would you please sign here?"

I signed the form and he tipped his cap, then headed back down to his bicycle, off to deliver another telegram. Holding it in my hand I stared at it for the longest time then brought it to the kitchen and placed it on the table, wanting desperately to know what it said, but at the same time fearing what it could say. I opened the envelope and pulled the telegram out.

WA 4446 GOVT=WASHINGTON OC 21 843A

MR AND MRS GEORGE BARNES=

140 68 ST BROOKLYN NY=

THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR SON SGT JAMES B BARNES HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING IN ACTION SINCE 10 OCTOBER IN EUROPEAN AREA PERIOD IF FURTHER DETAILS OR OTHER INFORMATION ARE RECEIVED YOU WILL BE PROMPTLY NOTIFIED PERIOD=

ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL

A sob escaped from my throat. My boy, my beautiful boy, was missing in action. Giving in to the emotions I had a long cry at the kitchen table then slowly pulled myself together, placing the telegram back into the envelope and putting it in my apron pocket. The water that George's shirts were soaking in was cooler and I began rubbing them against the washboard, working through my grief and fear by scrubbing the stains on the fabric. When I was satisfied with their cleanliness I wrung them out and used a pot to empty out the dirty water down the drain. Then I picked it up and tipped the rest out, rinsing the tub so I could fill it with clean water again to rinse the shirts. Once that was done I wrung them out again then took them out to the line and pinned them up to dry.

I could see Mrs. Webster in the yard across doing the same and we waved at each other. A part of me desperately wanted to tell her about Bucky but I wanted to tell George first before anyone else. Plastering a smile on my face I wished her a good morning and turned back into the house, desperate to find something, anything that would keep my mind off that awful piece of paper in my apron pocket. As the clock neared to lunch time at the docks I stayed in the kitchen, not wanting to be far from the phone. When it did finally ring, and I heard George's voice he knew by the sound of mine that something was wrong.

"Winnie, please, tell me straight," he whispered.

I could hear him choke up a little. Pulling the telegram out I read it out to him and and heard the sudden intake of breath on his end, then the muttered swear.

"Damn, damn them all to hell," he said. "I'm going to try to get the afternoon off. Stay strong. It says missing in action, that's not the same as killed. He could be a prisoner and if they follow the Geneva Convention they have to notify the Red Cross that they have him."

He hung up but it was well over an hour before he showed up at the door. As soon as he came in he held me, both of us crying. Then he kissed my forehead and asked to see the telegram, poring over it, hoping to decipher something more from it than what was on the paper. When Rebecca arrived home from school she knew as soon as she saw her father there that something was wrong. George broke the news to her about her brother and she immediately began to cry, as he enveloped her in his arms and let her cry her eyes out.

For almost two weeks we lived in limbo, not knowing anything. George still went to work, Rebecca still went to school, and I existed in a state between grief and denial, refusing to accept that the God I believed in would take my only son so soon from us. George still had some acquaintances in the service, and he asked them to let him know if there was any word of POWs taken at Azzano. On November 4, a Thursday, he came home early from work. When he opened the door and called my name my first thought was that he had received the dreaded telegram at work but when he came in with a joyous look on his face, holding that day's copy of Stars and Stripes, the services newspaper, I began to hope. The headline read 400 Prisoners Liberated, and the story told of a new hero ... Captain America ... who had gone single-handedly behind enemy lines to get to the 107th POWs, all 163 of them who survived the battle at Azzano, plus others from other units also being held.

"It says that?" I asked, quickly scanning the article.

"It says he deliberately went looking for the 107th because his childhood friend was one of the prisoners," replied George. "Winnie, Steve Rogers is Captain America."

"No, that can't be right," I replied. "He was 4F. Although, he did get accepted for basic training after Bucky shipped out. How could he become strong enough to go by himself and rescue 400 POWs?"

We both read the article and although Captain America wasn't identified by name it described him as a handsome, tall, muscular man of 25 with blond hair and blue eyes, who came from Brooklyn. Even if the height and weight description was wrong, everything else fit. Who else could it be? Later that evening we received another telegram and this time it was from the Army to say that Bucky had been returned to military control. There were no other details but that apparently meant he was safe.

It was another couple of days before we received another telegram and this one was from Bucky himself.

AM SAFE AND SOUND THANKS TO STEVE PERIOD WILL WRITE SOON PERIOD LOVE YOU ALL=

BUCKY=

It was as if everything was right again in our lives; the sun seemed brighter, the air seemed warmer and all three of us awakened in the morning full of hope for the day. Even better was the day we received an actual letter from Bucky. In it he confirmed that Steve was in fact, Captain America, the new hero of the war. Bucky couldn't say what happened to Steve as it was secret but the sickly boy of their childhood and youth was no more, replaced by a strong man with incredible abilities but still containing the good heart of the boy we loved as much as our son. A picture taken of the two showed two handsome young men, both now working on a special unit called the Howling Commandos. It was as if they were always meant to be together, side by side, fighting evil for real, instead of pretending like when they were boys.

Over the following months Bucky wrote regularly, and we read the exploits of the unit in the newspapers and heard about them on the radio through on air war correspondents. There was even a Life magazine photoshoot for the February 1945 issue that was done and already on the newsstands in early January. We bought two copies as soon as we saw it, which was smart because it sold out in the neighbourhood just because of the prominence of the two local boys who were in it. It wasn't long after the magazine came out that the knock on our front door happened for the last time. It was Saturday, during dinner when we heard the sound. George got up to answer the knock, wondering if it was another local reporter wanting our take on the Life magazine cover. I heard the door close and no sound after that, wondering what was going on.

"George?" I called out. "Is everything alright?"

He slowly returned to the kitchen holding the telegram open in his hand, his face suddenly looking a hundred years old. His mouth was open and then a cry came out of it that frightened me, and Rebecca. Stepping towards him he began shaking his head in denial.

"There has to be a mistake," he said. "This can't be true."

"George, dearest, what is it?" I asked, now afraid to know the answer.

That's when he handed the telegram to me, and I read for myself.

WA 1715 GOVT=WASHINGTON JAN 20 615P

MR AND MRS GEORGE BARNES=

140 68 ST BROOKLYN NY=

THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEPEST REGRET THAT YOUR SON SGT JAMES B BARNES HAS BEEN REPORTED KILLED IN ACTION 16 JANUARY IN EUROPEAN AREA PERIOD FURTHER DETAILS OR OTHER INFORMATION ARE MARKED CLASSIFIED PERIOD A LETTER FROM HIS COMMANDING OFFICER WILL BE SENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE PERIOD=

ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL

I slumped to the floor, still holding that telegram in my hand. Like George, I couldn't believe it. Bucky, dead? How could this happen? Rebecca sat at the table, tears pouring out of her eyes, not needing to read the telegram to know that it was the worst news possible. There was another sound in the room, a terrible keening wail and it was coming from my throat. George kneeled down on the floor with me, gathering me into his arms, adding his sobs to my wails. Dinner was forgotten as our family bled our pain out as surely as if we had taken a knife to our wrists.

When we didn't sleep that night we didn't go to church the next day and the minister came to the door, knocking hesitantly. George answered it and Reverend Martin knew as soon as he saw our faces what had happened. He read the telegram, then grasped my hand as we sat in the parlour.

"He is with our Lord now," he said in a gentle voice. "His struggle is over and he is in a better place."

"Don't," I breathed through a clenched mouth. "I can't believe God took him for real this time. It was bad enough he made him a prisoner before. Wasn't that enough? What did Bucky ever do to deserve this? He stood up for people, never lied, never cheated anyone, worked hard. Tell me why he has to die while someone less deserving gets to live."

Of course, he just spouted some more platitudes that I didn't want to hear. Abruptly I stood up and went to our room, just to get away from the droning and completely inadequate words that were meant to comfort me. George came upstairs after he saw the Reverend out.

"He's bringing us a gold star flag," he said. We had a blue star flag in our front window indicating we had a family member fighting overseas. "He truly is sorry, Winnie. Remember he has two boys in Europe as well."

"When one of them dies I'll listen to him again, but not until then," I replied angrily.

George kneeled down in front of me, grasping my hands in his. "Winnie, your anger won't bring him back." His voice cracked as he spoke and I could see he was on the verge of crying again. "Take comfort where we can, even if we don't believe it yet. Bucky wouldn't want you to be angry because that's not how you raised him." I looked at my husband dully, surprised that he said I raised our son. "You did raise him because I was busy in the army then at the shipyards trying to make a living after I lost my eye. He's my son but he's your boy, through and through. Everything good about him is from you."

He bent his head into my lap and began to weep for Bucky, truly weep like I had never heard him before. Pulling one of my hands out of his I stroked his grey hair and cried again for my beautiful son; so handsome, so confident, so good a man. By mid-afternoon there was a steady stream of visitors bringing food, baking, and just themselves to sit with us in the parlour. I accepted their condolences with as much grace as I could muster. The gold star flag replaced the blue star flag in the window, to show the world we had lost a son.

Two weeks later we received a letter from Steve. He tried to tell us as much as he could about Bucky's death but even what he did say was too much for the censors as someone had blackened over whole sentences. Included was the last picture taken of the two of them before it happened. All we knew for sure is that he fell into a mountain ravine that was several hundred feet deep. There was no possibility that he survived the fall and no chance that they could get down to the bottom to retrieve his body for burial as the area was still under enemy control. In a way, it was worse knowing that Bucky died alone. Guilt was eating away at Steve's soul; that much was evident in his letter. For all of his abilities he felt like he had failed to keep his best friend safe, and he blamed himself for Bucky's death.

Together we wrote Steve, as much to thank him for being witness to the event, as well as for writing us what he could about it. We spoke of the end of the war coming sooner, rather than later, and told him we loved him like a son. George posted it on his way to work. A week later it was all over the newspapers that Steve had gone missing, and was presumed dead himself, in a heroic act of self-sacrifice. The letter we sent him was returned, enclosed in a box that contained Bucky's possessions as well as Steve's as he had designated us his next of kin.

We received both of their life insurance payouts, not that we wanted it. Part of the money went to a memorial for both of them in Green-wood Cemetery and we visited there every Memorial and Veterans Day. When Rebecca went to nursing college in 1948 her tuition was paid from that life insurance. So was her wedding to Harvey Proctor in 1954. When George passed away in 1965, I was able to purchase a plot for both of us near the boy's memorial. I continued to live in our brownstone as it was all paid for.

Over the years I received the occasional visit from a British woman, Peggy Carter, who was friends with both Steve and Bucky. She was a lovely lady and told me that both men were pivotal in fighting against a division of the Nazis that were even more evil than those villains. In the summer of 1971, I called her when I found something inside the screen door at the entrance to my back stoop. It was a beautiful day and I wanted to open the window on the door to let in some fresh air. At the bottom of the doorway, stuck in between the inner and outer door was a copy of The Hobbit, a used paperback copy. Inside it was cash, over a hundred dollars. There were also a pair of hand knit socks. Out on the stoop was a handmade cloth bag, like the type hippies used. The truly puzzling thing that I called Peggy about was an inscription inside the book.

"To James, May you be free to find your own Eden. Seth and Summer."

She looked at it, a small frown on her brow. "What do you think it means, Mrs. Barnes?" she asked.

"Well, Bucky loved The Hobbit," I said. "He must have read it many times over the years, and I know he took it with him to Europe because it was in the possessions returned to us. James was Bucky's Christian name. It means "the one who follows." What if ... what if Bucky survived but he lost his memories and somehow found his way home finally. Perhaps this is his way to say he's still alive but he's not free to make it known yet, not until he finds peace."

"Does that give you comfort?" asked Peggy kindly, looking into my eyes.

I sighed and gave a sad smile. "I found comfort many years ago, when I accepted Bucky and Steve's death, and began to believe in God again. But this, it makes me wonder and question if Bucky really did die. If he didn't then where has he been and why leave this here now? Why didn't he knock on the door and come home?"

"Perhaps it's as you said," replied Peggy. "He needs to find peace first. Maybe he just wanted to know that you were alright and not in any danger." I picked up on that and looked sharply at Carter. "Keep the book, the bag and the money. Don't tell anyone else about it, not even your daughter. Thank you for letting me know about it."

She wouldn't say anything more about it and took her leave. I had the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on, but it seemed like she didn't want to give me false hope or something. Whoever left it, even if it was a lost hippie that maybe took refuge in my yard one night, would have been welcome in my home. They wouldn't even have had to pay me as I believed in helping people who needed help, period. If it was Bucky, I hoped he was alright and wished that he had let me look on his face, even if it was for just an instance. To see his eyes and smile again would have gladdened my heart considerably.

Chapter 7: Checking In

Chapter Text

Present Day

I put the Army report from 1945 down and looked with compassion at Bucky. He was looking at his hands, clasping and unclasping them, displaying some anxiety.

"This is Steve's actual report?" I asked. "When he thought you were dead?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly. "My lawyer got copies of everything made from the Army archives when I had to face charges for being the Winter Soldier."

"He was devastated when he thought you died," I noted. "Do you think that's partly why he took so many chances, trying to make up for not saving you?"

Bucky shrugged. "Who knows? I do know that when he recognized me in 2014, he felt tremendous guilt for not going back and looking for me in 1945. Steve told me a lot that wasn't written down in the official reports before he went back."

"He didn't even stay to make sure you were going to be pardoned?"

That must have come across as opinionated because Bucky frowned.

"He had his reasons to leave."

Bucky's tone was defensive, and I could see his jaw was set in a way that indicated he was displeased. Even though we'd only known each other for a few weeks I was already attuned to his moods. His face softened and he took my hand in his.

"June don't mind me," he said softly. "I know I get defensive about Steve leaving. He never felt comfortable in this future. He did ask me to go back but I had changed so much I just didn't think I could handle the 1940s anymore."

"But you could have been with your parents and your sister," I answered. "Instead he left you here alone. When he did go back, why didn't he try to find you and rescue you then?"

I touched his face with my palm then withdrew it when he smiled shyly at me. In the few weeks since we met we had kissed after dates but really hadn't gone any further. Not that we didn't want to but Bucky wanted to take our time until we became intimate.

"I actually did see them, my mother and sister anyway," he said, then took the report from my hands, cleared the pictures from the table, and filed them all back in the box. "But those stories are for another day. As for the other, maybe he did but just wasn't successful."

He picked the box up and put it in his storage room then returned to the couch and sat next to me, turning to his side so he could touch the ends of my hair. Despite his reticence to get physical with me he had no qualms about the little touches, like playing with my hair, putting his arms around me, or holding hands. It was sweet and quite a change from the presumptuous octopus moves of some previous dates.

"Tell me about this party," he said, all of his attention on me.

"Well, it's our staff Christmas party," I said. "It's at a burlesque cabaret with a 1930s-1940s theme. We get to see the show, then they have a private party room we can use. Music will be jazzy 1930s-1950s and they want us in period costume."

A grin crossed his face. "Burlesque in my day wasn't exactly where a guy took a girl on a date, at least not a decent girl."

"Oh, and you know that how?" I asked, tickling his side a little.

"I went a few times, mostly when I was going through a dry spell." His face blushed as he spoke. "How does current burlesque match up with old burlesque? It could be pretty racy back in the day."

"I don't know," I replied. "I've never been but one of our reference librarians works part time as a dancer at the cabaret. She said it's a little risqué and a lot of fun."

"Wait, librarians can work in burlesque?" He shook his head in amazement. "In my day they were usually old spinsters, although I guess they were young once."

"Hey, I'm a librarian, and technically a spinster," I declared. "I even have a tattoo."

"Really?" He started looking at my exposed skin with a cheeky grin. "Where?"

Now it was my turn to blush. "Inside my left hip, if you must know. I got it on my 21st birthday, a rose, the flower for June."

His smile was something else and I knew he was likely picturing it in his mind. It had been an impulse at the time, something my best friend talked me into. It also hurt so much I never got another.

"Sounds like it might be a fun time," he said. "Do your friends know who you're dating?"

"One or two," I answered. "We're thinking of having a movie night soon if you want to meet more of my friends. I'd like you to meet them."

"Can I think about it? The party that is. Movie night sounds alright. How about tomorrow night for that?"

I kissed him on the cheek, making him smile softly again. He was pretty accommodating. Thinking back to our first date he called an Uber to pick us up, then held the door open and offered me his hand as I entered the vehicle. He was just as solicitous when we arrived at the restaurant, a seafood place. Sam must have recommended it as the manager asked Bucky how Sam was doing since they hadn't seen him for some time. The manager looked with interest at me.

"Who do we have the pleasure of serving tonight?" he asked.

"This is my date June," replied Bucky. "June, this is André, the manager here. Sam and I have been here for lunch but this is the first time I've been here for dinner with a date."

André offered me his hand and shook it. "We'll take good care of you both."

He gave us a few recommendations for food and the wine to go with our choices then made sure we were served promptly. After that he kept a buffer of empty tables around us until it became busy enough for him to start seating people nearby. Bucky didn't say much that first date, letting me babble on about books, movies, music, my family and friends. I realized I was dominating the conversation and stopped. He just looked at me with this sweet expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, I was talking too much," I said. "I do that when I'm nervous."

"I don't think you were talking too much, June," he replied. "I like listening to you. You're a unique woman, with a lot of interests."

"Well, it should be more back and forth," I countered. "What about you? What do you like?"

He took a breath. "Well, I like eating, and dancing," he began. "Not the dancing they do now but close dancing, like they did in the 1940s. Alcohol doesn't affect me any more because of my metabolism but I do like the taste. There are some TV shows I don't mind but a lot of it doesn't make sense to me. Like why would people want to watch other people living in a house and plotting against each other? I don't get that. Some things should be private, you know? Movies, well, some of them I like and some of them I don't."

I couldn't disagree with him on his assessment of some TV shows as I knew what he meant. As for movies, I liked pretty much everything except bloody horror but there were some movies that were an acquired taste. After dinner we went to a lounge that played jazz and old standards. Bucky took me onto the dance floor where I could see first hand why he liked dancing. He was very good and I wondered if he had a lot of girlfriends back in the day. At one point he lowered his face so that his mouth was next to my ear.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

I looked up at him. Even though I was 5'9'' he was over 6 feet tall by my estimation and it was kind of nice to look up at a man whose arms were around me, especially a handsome one. His blue eyes gazed into mine and for a moment I wasn't sure I could speak. But his eyes were calm and he seemed genuinely interested in my thoughts.

"Just wondering if your good dancing skills indicated you were popular with the ladies back in the 1940s," I replied.

He blushed a little as he smiled, slightly embarrassed, I think.

"I had quite a few girlfriends," he admitted. "Nothing serious. I was more into having a good time."

"How good a time?" Now I was deliberately being cheeky.

Bucky laughed outright then looked at me. "You really want me to say it? I think the term now is player but in the 1940s I would have been referred to as doll dizzy. Not that I was a bad guy. I never forced a girl into going to bed with me. I had a lot of dates that never went that far, sometimes with the same woman if I enjoyed her company."

I wanted to ask where I fit in, but I held my tongue, and we danced without talking for some time. After one last drink we decided to call it a night and we took an Uber back to the apartment building. We stood outside my apartment door for a moment before Bucky gently put his hands around my waist and bent down to kiss me. It was lovely, and sweet, and I almost asked him in, but he spoke first.

"When I was young I would probably talk myself into your apartment at this point but I'm not that guy anymore," he said quietly. "I'm looking for something special so I would like to take our time getting to know each other better before we take it to another level."

It was unexpected and not entirely unwelcome. That he was being a gentleman was obvious and he continued to be a gentleman since that night. Now, as we sat on the couch watching TV, I must have been too quiet while I reflected on our first date as he stroked my hand to get my attention.

"You were somewhere else," said Bucky. "We don't have to watch TV if it bores you."

"It's not that," I replied. "I was just thinking that we've been dating for a few weeks and haven't ... you know. My friends aren't going to believe that we're not yet physical."

"Do you tell them such things?" he asked.

"Well, not details," I replied. "But it's been a while for me, a couple of years. How long has it been for you?"

He blushed (God, I loved that) then sighed. "I had a date that wanted to go straight to sex before we even finished dinner at her place last year. She wanted me to do things to her that frankly kind of shocked me. I'm no prude but it was a bit much even for me and I left without even kissing her goodnight. Before then was in 2017 when I was in Wakanda. Before then I don't really want to talk about because it happened while I was the Winter Soldier."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to bring up bad memories," I said, feeling terrible for him.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us and Bucky gently turned my face towards him.

"I was often abused and forced to abuse others," he said softly. "Even the few that weren't abused by the Winter Soldier affected me. It's something that I still see a therapist about and it's also partly why I want to wait to be with you. I don't want to hurt you because I care about you and hope we do have something special."

"Oh, Bucky." I was mortified. "Please forgive me."

"It's alright, really. You should know about them anyways. It doesn't mean I don't want you because I do, very much. You're so beautiful and it takes a lot not to get carried away when we're close."

"Really?" I hadn't expected to hear that, having been told before that I wasn't all that desirable and should feel lucky that someone wanted to even go out with me, never mind taking it further.

"June, sweetheart, you're it for me," he said in a low, very sexy voice.

He threaded his flesh hand into my hair and kissed me in a way that I had never experienced before. It was electric as his soft lips and tongue teased me to where I felt the heat of desire beginning deep inside me. We both broke away at the same time and he looked at me with those blue eyes then kissed my forehead.

"I better go home," I whispered. "That was some kiss."

"My thoughts exactly," he said back. "Let me know about movie night."

He didn't get up from the couch; instead he watched me as I went to his door. I realized he was likely aroused and smiled to myself that I had that effect on him. When I went into my apartment I went to the bathroom and could hear his shower turn on as our bathrooms shared a common wall. Closing the door behind me I went to turn the TV on then I texted my friends about having movie night at my place the following night. Four of my friends agreed to come over, two of them wanted to bring their boyfriends. We would decide what to watch once everyone was over.

I worked the following day and headed to the grocery story after to pick up snacks for everyone. I knew that my friend Ingrid liked Chicago mix popcorn, Sherry liked buttery movie style microwave popcorn, Danielle liked Cheetos, and Irene liked regular potato chips and onion dip. For myself I grabbed a medium cheese and meat platter, figuring Bucky would like that, then some crackers, beer, soda, and coolers. If we wanted to eat between movies we would order in pizza, Chinese food, or Thai food. While I was there I received a text from Bucky.

>>Sam wants to come. Is that alright?<<

>>Yes. What snack food does he like? <<

He didn't answer for a bit so I gathered he was asking Sam.

>>Said he'll bring his own. Looking forward to meeting your friends.<<

>>Me too ❤️<<

I texted him when I parked in my spot and he came out of the security door to help me carry the snacks and drinks back in. He looked at the different snack foods as he unpacked the bags, happy with the meat and cheese platter. Sam texted to say he was at the door and Bucky buzzed him in, telling him to come to my apartment. When he arrived at the door he was bearing a sizeable pot containing fresh shrimp that had been caught that day, and all the ingredients for a shrimp boil.

"You didn't have to do this, Sam," I said to him as he pulled everything out.

"It's my pleasure," he said. "I've been cooking since I was a kid. Wanted your friends to be impressed with your new friends, especially me. This won't take long to prepare and we can sit around the table and eat with our hands between movies. Best way to get to know each other."

"Sam does know what he's doing," affirmed Bucky. "We'll have to open a window as it will get fragrant in here."

My first two friends arrived, Irene and Sherry, with their dates following them in. The two men became very excited when I introduced them to Bucky and Sam, displaying some serious fanboy vibes.

"Ted, Irene, Ben and Sherry, this is Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson. Bucky and I are dating."

"Holy sh*t, June, how did you meet these guys?" asked Ted, stepping forward first to shake hands with Bucky then Sam.

"We're neighbours," said Bucky, in his low key way.

Sam enlisted their help to prepare the shrimp, showing how to devein and peel them, except for the tails. By the time my other two friends arrived he had all the prep work done and grabbed himself a beer.

"Ingrid, Danielle, this is Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson," I said. "Bucky is my boyfriend."

He beamed when I said that. Danielle was almost dumbstruck. "You know Captain America and Bucky Barnes? Why am I just finding this out now?"

"Maybe because you've been out of town for work for a couple of weeks," said Ingrid. "Bucky, pleased to meet you. Sam, you look much better in person than you do on TV."

"Well, thank you," he replied. "Which one of you is the burlesque dancer?"

All five women broke out in laughter and Ingrid put her hand up. "That would be me and you've probably heard about the staff party. You want to come as my date?"

"You have to come, both of you," said Ben to Sam and Bucky. "It's risqué but fun. Much more entertaining than a pole dancer at a stripper bar, not that I go to those since I started dating Sherry. They even get the drag queens involved sometimes and they are so entertaining."

Bucky leaned towards me and whispered in my ear. "Do you really want me to come?"

I nodded, then put my arm around his waist, feeling nothing but muscle. "I kind of want to show you off."

"We'll go then," he said, kissing me on the side of the head.

The others decided to start movie night with Casablanca, thinking it would be something Bucky would like to see. He shrugged, saying he did see it during the war, and it was okay. That set off a discussion of all the different phrases that came from the movie, then how iconic it was as a cinema masterpiece. We started watching it because it was obvious some people were passionate about it. I sat on the floor below Bucky as he sat in the armchair as there wasn't enough room for everyone on the couch. He offered to switch places, but I didn't want to impose. So, being a man of action, he leaned down and whispered an alternative. I looked at him and he raised his eyebrows as if it were the best solution. Offering me a hand I got up and sat on his lap shifting until he nodded and put his arm around me.

"I'm not too heavy?" I asked, still mindful that I was a bigger woman.

"Perfect," he whispered into my ear.

To be honest, it was great being so close with his arm around me. In a way he was showing my friends how he felt about me. During the more romantic parts of the movie, I leaned my head against him, and he shifted again so that I was more comfortable. Sam got up with about 30 minutes left in the movie and filled up the big pot with water, putting it on the stove to start boiling. He also put the potatoes on to boil. Then he came back to watch the end of the movie. By then the water in the big pot was boiling and he put the corn in. He followed that by the sausages then the shrimp. As Sam watched the colour of the shrimp Bucky organized everyone to lay newspaper down on the tabletop then plates. Sam kept a little bit of the broth that the shrimp was cooking in then poured off the rest and assembled the food on two baking sheets, drizzling the food with the broth, melted butter, lemon, and seasoning. Finally, he brought out a full roll of paper towels, tearing off several sheets for each person.

"This is all meant to be eaten with your hands," he said, with a big smile. "It's going to be messy but great. Dig in."

For the next ten minutes there was only the sound of chewing, groans and moans of satisfaction. It was amazing. Ingrid finished eating a shrimp, wiped her hands and mouth on a paper towel, took a drink of her beer and looked at Sam.

"Do you have a girlfriend or a wife?" she asked point blank. Sam shook his head. "Want one? That was so f*cking good, Sam. My God, I've lived in New Orleans for 4 years and I've never, ever had this before."

"You haven't been hanging out with the right people," he said. "If you lived near Delacroix we'd have this every other week, at least. You want to go out sometime?"

"Hell yes," said Ingrid. "Where have you been all my life?"

Bucky smiled at Sam, who smiled back, looking smug. We ate every single morsel of food on those two large cookie sheets. Cleanup was easy, as the plates went into the dishwasher, the cookie sheets and two pots were washed in the sink and the newspaper was bundled up, put into a garbage bag and taken out to the trash chute. After wiping down the table and counters everyone was ready for movie number two. The others were going over the list on the TV, coming up with a shortlist of choices.

"Okay, we have When Harry Met Sally," said Ingrid, "or Crazy, Stupid, Love, or Crazy, Rich Asians, or Princess Bride, or Ocean's Eleven."

"I don't want to watch anything with crazy in the title," said Ted, who was seconded by Ben.

"When Harry Met Sally is so 1980s," said Danielle, shrugging.

We took a vote and with Bucky as the last voter it was tied 4-4 for the remaining two choices. I looked at him.

"I have no idea what each movie is even about," he said.

"Well, Princess Bride is a tongue-in-cheek fairy tale," I explained, "Ocean's Eleven is a heist movie set in Las Vegas. They're both good but you might enjoy the heist movie more."

"Because I'm a guy?" he asked with a slight grin on his face. "Just for that I choose the fairy tale."

He sat down on the arm chair, patted his lap and I settled down on it again. We watched the movie and he seemed to enjoy it but I think he was more amused at all of us who said the lines in tandem with the characters throughout it. When it was over nearly everyone got up to stretch their legs while a few went out to the balcony to have a cigarette. I started to get up off of Bucky's lap and he stopped me, looking at me with those big blue eyes.

"Bucky," I said, as he wrapped his arms around me. "Don't you want to stretch your legs?"

"I can do it later," he said. "Ingrid seems to be having a good time."

I looked at her standing close to Sam, flirting in that easy way she had and Sam flirting right back. It wasn't surprising as she was quite extroverted. Bucky's hand went down my back and I turned back to see a look on his face that I saw briefly the day before when he gave me that amazing kiss.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Just thinking of my therapist saying that I would know when I was ready to be more intimate," he said. "Yesterday, I wasn't. Tonight .... Would you be bothered if I asked if I could stay over?"

"No, I would like it if you did," I replied, suddenly feeling a little warm.

His beautiful smile came out and my heart jumped a little. He was so handsome, with an incredible body and was everything in a man that I never thought would be interested in me. Gently, his right hand went into my hair, and he kissed me like he did the day before. At that moment his phone went off, vibrating against my leg and I jumped a little. Sam's went off as well and both men looked at each other, just knowing it wasn't going to be good. Bucky pulled his phone out, looked at the message then replied to the text. He smiled grimly and looked disappointed.

"We have a mission," he said. "We have to leave within the hour. Guess I'm asking for a rain check."

He kissed me again, tenderly, and stroked my face. As I stood up I looked over at Sam, exchanging his phone with Ingrid for their contact information then he kissed her on the cheek and looked over at Bucky.

"I have my case and go bag in the truck," he said. "I just need to text Sarah." He looked at Ingrid. "My sister. I live with her."

Bucky pulled me by the hand to his place and unlocked the door. While I waited, he quickly checked his go bag then turned out the lights before stopping at the door to the hallway. The kiss he gave me then was like nothing I had ever experienced before. His soft lips felt incredible as his tongue explored mine. When he pulled away all I could think of was how good it felt to be in his arms and to be kissed like it was the last kiss we would ever share.

"I'll call or text you if I can," he said as he bent his forehead to mine. "If you don't hear from me it's because the mission is classified and we're on a communications blackout. We'll pick up where we left off, I promise you."

I got one more kiss to remember as he pressed his body against me, pushing me into the wall. It was erotic and sexy as hell, and left no uncertainty of what I could expect when he returned. Back in my apartment he and Sam made their goodbyes to my friends, promised to come to the staff party, and then they were gone. My friends all told me how lucky I was to be dating such a hot guy then Ingrid put her hand on my arm and gave me a look. She knew that it was now more than dating. Until Bucky returned I wouldn't know how much more it would be.

Chapter 8: Random-access Memory

Chapter Text

1945

A jolt hits him again and the screams erupt from his throat, because his jaw is so tightly clenched, he can't even open his mouth. Why? Why are they doing this? Why didn't they let him die beside the river. Why didn't ... Steve, why didn't he give him a hand and pull him in before the railing broke?

"What is your name?" asks a voice and he sees a face, a man, with glasses, just inches away from his own face. "What is your name?"

"Barnes, James Buchanan, Sergeant, serial number 32557038."

A nod is given to someone out of range of his vision and he screams again as the pain courses through him. It seems to last forever then it stops and the man with the glasses comes into view. Again he speaks.

"What is your name?"

Again, the answer is given. "Barnes, James Buchanan, Sergeant, serial number 32557038."

Again the pain returns, again, and again, and again after he answers the same way each time. Finally, he doesn't answer because he is unconscious and the prisoner doesn't feel the straps removed from his body, being transferred onto a gurney, and wheeled into an operating room to repair the artery where his arm used to be. On the last treatment his blood pressure went so high it burst the stitches of where his arm was amputated and he required a blood transfusion. They gave him something else as well, just like they did in Austria. It was blue in colour.

His face is in her hair, and it smells so good. If they weren't on the dance floor, he would be undressing her. What was her name again? Connie, Bonnie, Ronnie, Donnie, Yvonne, Dionne, Diane ... there were so many, and their faces are all just out of view. If he could just focus....

"What is your name?"

The question jolts him awake and in a panic the man looks around in confusion. Where is he? He struggles to remember where he was before he woke up and there's nothing there. It's like a blank in his mind.

"What is your name?"

The question is repeated, and he looks for the source of the voice but it's hard because there is a bright light shining in his face, that makes it difficult to see anything more than an outline.

"f*ck you," he answers.

He won't answer anything. That's his right as a POW. It's from something named after a place. He's only required to give them his name, rank, and serial number. They're supposed to treat him right.

"What is your name?"

"Barnes, James, Sergeant, Serial number 32557038."

The last four digits are hard to say for some reason and he wonders if he's sick. In boot camp that number is drilled into you. It's more important than any other number in your life. For some reason they seem satisfied with the answer and the light is turned off. The men leave the room and the door is closed leaving him in darkness and silence. After just a few minutes or maybe longer he wonders if they have forgotten about him.

"Hey!" he calls. "Hey! Where is everyone? I need a doctor! I'm injured."

He struggles against the restraints but he can't move and when he tries to move his head it seems there is a strap around it preventing him from looking anywhere but straight ahead. For a long time he tries to move and when the effort exhausts him he falls asleep.

He's at the dance hall, dancing to Moonlight Serenade, with a red head ... her name is simple, three letters, one syllable, Dot, her name is Dot. He's been trying to impress her for some time, winning her the stuffed animal at Rockaway Beach, taking her out to that jazz club, trying to prove to her that there is a correlation between dancing well on the dance floor and dancing well in bed. She's a tough cookie though, having heard all these lines before from other guys who wanted that red hair between their fingers. But he's Bucky Barnes ... no girl is immune to him for very long. If only he wasn't so tired.

"What is your name?"

"Barnes, Sergeant, Serial number 3255 ...."

The man attached to the voice nods in satisfaction and begins to dictate in German to a clerk writing on a clipboard.

"Prisoner number 56898 is experiencing more memory loss of his old personality. Grafting of the new personality with the activation words will begin when there is no more trace of his previous identity. Work on the cybernetic prosthetic shoulder will also begin with the implantation of titanium rods attached to his skeleton and spine. Once the shoulder unit has been successfully attached the integration of the arm unit will begin. Subject continues to heal from other injuries suffered in his fall. All broken bones have healed properly and the skin over the compound fractures has healed completely."

"I'm thirsty," says the soldier.

He's hit across the face. "You will only speak when spoken to," says the man in charge. "Water will be given at designated times and only those designated times. If you speak out of turn again you will be punished, and water will be withheld. Do you understand, Soldier?"

"Yes," says the soldier.

The first man turns away from the soldier in the bed, speaks some more to the clerk and then both of them leave. The soldier lays there in the dark wondering where he is and why Steve hasn't rescued him yet then he remembers falling, falling so far and hitting the rocks on the way down. Another memory of being dragged through the snow, leaving a trail of blood comes to him and he tries to look down at his legs to see if they're still there. Wiggling his toes he's satisfied he still has them. Then he wiggles his right hand and makes a fist, feeling his wrist against the leather strap that binds it. He tries the same with his left hand but there is nothing, no sense of his fingers or hand, no feeling of the leather strap holding anything down. The more he tries the more frustrated he gets until he is suddenly tired and thirsty. He calls for water but no one comes with it and he eventually falls asleep.

He's walking past the blind alley and hears the sounds of a fight, no it's more of a beating as there's a couple of taunting voices. Quietly he creeps into the alley then just before it turns he slides up to the corner and peaks around. Two boys are beating up another much smaller boy with blond hair. There's blood streaming from his nose and his shirt is ripped but he keeps getting up, co*cking his fists and challenging the two bigger boys to do their worst. A smile crosses his face, seeing this kid, who he recognizes as the new kid in school, who knows he can't win yet gets up repeatedly and faces these bullies. With a yell he comes charging around the corner and lays into the bigger of the two, knocking him into a couple of garbage bins. He turns to face the second boy who he recognizes and advances towards him, knowing the boy will turn tail and run because that's the type of coward he is. Sure enough the second boy runs away and he faces the first boy again, putting himself between him and the smaller boy. At least he was, because the smaller boy is suddenly beside him, his fists raised against the bigger boy. The small boy unleashes a torrent of swear words against the bigger bully, telling him to run home to his mama. It's impressive and they both advance on the bully, who picks himself up and runs. Only then does the smaller boy show any weakness as he begins to cough and has to lean against a wall until the coughing subsides.

"You okay?" he asks.

The smaller boy nods then stands upright and faces him, offering him his hand.

"My name is Steve," he says.

"Bucky. Come home with me. You're bleeding."

The smaller boy nods and they head out of the alley, the blood still streaming from his nose. When they go into the house Ma takes one look at the smaller boy and gets some ice from the ice box to put on his nose. She makes clucking sounds (that's what Bucky calls them when she acts like a mother hen) and tells him to watch his sister. He knows she's gone looking in the attic for one of his old shirts for the smaller boy to wear so she can wash and mend his. His baby sister starts to cry, and the smaller boy looks at her with something like awe.

"Can I hold her?" he asks.

"Sure, let me put her in your arms and I'll hold back your bleeding."

When Ma comes back she chuckles at seeing the smaller boy gently holding her baby girl while her son treats his wounds. These two are going to be good friends. They all feel it.

"What is your name?"

The man is silent and looks confused.

"What is your name?"

"I don't know," he finally answers. "What is my name?"

"Soldier," says the man with the glasses. "You are Soldier. What do you remember?"

"Falling, snow, the blond boy with a bloody nose, dancing with a pretty girl, my mother."

"Put him through again until he only remembers the snow," says the man with the glasses to another man with him. "Nothing else is to remain. When that starts we will begin the implantation of the Winter Soldier program. The muscle memory from his sniper abilities shouldn't be affected but we can't test that until the arm has been attached and adjusted." He turns to the man strapped on the bed. "Rest Soldier. Only a few more treatments are needed before we make you the greatest weapon in history."

The music is familiar, but he doesn't remember where or when he heard it. He remembers it made him feel good. Then it is gone, replaced by him in an enclosed space, marked with ropes. He is ... boxing, that's what it was called and he's hitting another man, cutting his eyebrow open, then his arm is raised as the winner, it feels so good to be a winner. After he showers, Steve is there, so is a tall woman, smiling at him, wearing gloves and a scarf, and he feels warm inside, knowing she will be with him tonight. She's his friend but she asked him to show her how to be with a man, so that when she meets the right man she'll know. Then the vision goes blank and even the music fades away. He is alone. When he tries to speak his voice doesn't work and he begins to panic, the fear is closing in all around and he tries to scream but his voice is silent.

"Soldier?" It's a woman's voice, soft, kind, and low. "Open your eyes, Soldier. You were having a nightmare. If they see that they will put you through the machine again and it will hurt. Open your eyes and look at me."

He opens his eyes and sees the dark eyes of a nurse, her face close to his. "Thirsty," he says.

"I know but it's not time for your drink yet," she replies, whispering. "We'll both get in trouble if I give you water. It won't be long. I have to go."

"Name, your name," he croaks out.

A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "Anya. Don't say it out loud."

"Anya," he thinks. "Such a pretty name for a pretty girl."

She leaves and he says her name over and over again in his mind, hoping that he doesn't forget it, like the other things he knows he's forgotten. When the others come, the doctor, the surgeons, and the military men who all wear different uniforms but have the same pin on their uniform lapels, he lays in his bed and listens to their plans for him. Anya returns with his food and water and the doctor nods to her, allowing her to feed him as he is still strapped in. When he finishes, he forgets what she told him.

"Thank you, Anya," he says.

The doctor orders the soldiers to take her and hits the Soldier in the face. "You will not speak to the personnel on this base. How did you know her name?" He looks at the nurse and she shakes her head in fear. "Her life is now forfeit."

"No, don't," says the soldier. "Please, she did nothing. Do what you want to me but leave her alone."

His eyes meet hers and he sees the panicked realization in them that a moment of kindness will kill her. It makes him sick that he has betrayed her. The doctor watches and sneers.

"Shoot her," he says. "Here, now, let the Soldier see what he has done."

The guard takes his pistol, holds it to her temple, and fires. As she slumps to the floor, with a pool of blood forming around her head the doctor watches the Soldier's reaction, and listens to his cries of agony, greater than anything he has ever expressed during his preparations. The doctor swears in German.

"Dispose of the body and prepare the Soldier for further processing," he says. "All signs of empathy, protectiveness and interest in the welfare of others must be erased before we can proceed."

They drag the woman's body out and the man they call Soldier is swarmed by several men wearing lab coats. Even though he struggles they inject him with something and he feels his brain going dark, the sounds in the room becoming muffled and then he doesn't know anything until he wakes up in that other room, the room that hurts. When they're finally done with him he has no concept of time or even a sense of relief. He just is and when they bring him back to his room he lays there in the dark, looking up at the ceiling, seeing but not comprehending. It isn't until he feels a drop of liquid fall down the side of his face from his eye to his ear that he becomes aware that he's sad but he doesn't know why.

Some months, perhaps years later

The Soldier awakens, finding himself in a strange room. The technicians gathered around are different from those he was used to and speak Russian, a language he understands even though he's aware he has never spoken it before, not that he can remember. What's more important is that he isn't restrained and a part of him, still rebellious, lifts his hands seeing his flesh one on the right and a metal one on the left. For some reason the sight of the metal hand enrages him and when a technician steps close the Soldier grabs him by the throat and begins squeezing it, determined to kill this man for what has been done to him. As the others realize what is happening someone has the wherewithal to grasp a syringe with a tranquilizer and injects it causing the Soldier to relax his hold but the damage is done and the technician falls lifeless to the floor. Quickly he's restrained by the others in the lab and he glares at them, his mind full of fury. Suddenly the others step back and a jolt of electricity goes through his body causing a strangled scream as his body becomes rigid. Three times he's jolted until he finally lays there unresponsive and is strapped back in. A face comes close to his and begins speaking in Russian to someone with a clipboard.

"We will program another word, a failsafe that will shut him down, render him helpless," he begins. "Can't have the handler in danger of him rebelling before or after the mission. Dr. Zola didn't take into account the recuperative nature of the serum, repairing the brain's synapses to allow him to access previous memories. They are always going to be a problem every moment he is awake."

"Can I suggest that cryogenic storage between missions be considered?" says another voice, softer but not friendlier, a woman's voice. "After a memory wipe he could be frozen until his next mission. It will extend his lifespan, giving us more years to access his abilities. It will slow down and perhaps stop his synapses from repairing themselves."

The first man nods and stands erect to look at the woman who suggests it. "Have you perfected the method yet?" She nods with certainty. "Do it. Begin exposing his body to the process gradually. We need him to be able to recuperate from the process quickly so that he can be ready at a moment's notice."

He and the others leave; only the woman is left there. She comes closer and looks at the Soldier as if she knows him. Gently, she touches a lock of his hair that has fallen over his eyes and moves it aside.

"I don't blame you for my sister's death," she says in English, so quietly that only he can hear her. "You didn't know that saying her name would result in punishment. These followers of HYDRA are fanatics. Although they think I am one of them I am not and I will make sure that a piece of you, however small, will remain so that when the time is right you will be able to turn against them and make them pay for what they have done. You must never tell them about me."

"Name?" he croaks, then elaborates. "My name?"

She smiles the slightest of smiles. "James Barnes." With that admission she turns and leaves, letting him explore the name in his mind, rebuilding the memories that she knows are still there, buried under the layers of debris that are in his brain. She will have to be careful, but HYDRA will pay for killing her sister in cold blood in front of this unfortunate man who has been tortured almost incessantly since he was found almost dead in the mountains. During cold storage at least he'll be safe, and the serum will rebuild his mind, just at a slower rate. It's imperfect, she knows that, but someday he will turn against his masters, helping to destroy them. Oma has seen it and she is never wrong. In the meantime she will let her contact know that Barnes is alive and still has some of his own personality within him.

1951, Siberia

Each American POW that has been brought to the facility has supposedly been injected with the American version of the super soldier serum but it's obvious the results on the individual men are uneven. Most were taken easily by the special force's teams supporting the Soldier who was sent in search of the men. Even being treated with the HYDRA variant of serum hadn't changed their physical condition and in fact made most of them violently ill, ultimately killing them. Those that survived the HYDRA serum were then subjected to the memory suppression process and that had been even more disastrous. Dr. Zola is livid as he reads over the reports of the failures.

"How can this be?" he rages. "What is it about these men that they didn't react as they should have to our process?"

The American General who betrayed his countrymen stands there, his eyes on Dr. Zola. "Why did the serum work on the Soldier?" he asks. "What was different about him that it did work?"

His question makes the doctor stop in his tracks, and it is like a light turns on in his head. "Of course, what a dummkopf I was. He was already dying when I initially began the process on him. Dying of pneumonia, suffering from traumatic beatings. His body was on the verge of giving up but after a series of serum injections it healed him before beginning to change him. Then he was rescued, and it was over a year before we could resume the process. Perhaps we moved too fast with these others. Instead, we should perhaps proceed slower."

"It is the long game we are playing, isn't it Doctor?" asks the General. "There is another American soldier who responded better than all these others with a less traumatic transition. He is being sent to search for our Soldier and defeat him. If we can take him and convert him, you would have two Soldiers of equal abilities."

Zola's eyes light up. "Yes, I would like to see the Winter Soldier in battle against a more worthy adversary." He turns to the General. "Have you ever seen the process? It is most ... interesting."

Zola leads him to where the Soldier has just been removed from the memory suppression treatment. With a nod to the handler the words are spoken in Russian. The American General looks with confusion at the handler so the commands are translated into English after the Russian commands are spoken.

"Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение на Родину, Один, Товарный вагон. Desire, Rusty, Seventeen, Dawn, Furnace, Nine, Kindhearted, Homecoming, One, Boxcar."

They watch the transformation then the handler says one more word with the translation.

"Солдат? Soldier?"

"Я жду приказов," says the Soldier.

The handler smiles and looks at the American General. "I am ready to comply," he translates. "The Asset is ready for orders. If you wish to give them in English, you just tell him. He has retained his original English language skills. He also knows several other languages which we can add to depending on the situation."

The Soldier stands there, looking impassively at nothing, waiting to be commanded. The General and Dr. Zola walk around him, pleased with the physical result. He has gained height and weight in addition to the great strength the serum has given him. Even though it took many years to get to this point he is the prototype and they have learned so much about the process that they're sure they can duplicate it at will on the right candidate.

"Send him back to Korea," suggests the General again. "They are sending that last remaining super soldier to find the others who went missing. If the Asset can retrieve him and bring him to you all you have to do is brainwash him. Then we can send him back to the States and he will deal with anyone in the Pentagon we wish to eliminate. He'll have full clearance to enter the facility."

Zola walks to a display on the wall with the pictures of the other super soldiers who have been taken by the Winter Soldier. All except one has a red X indicating their demise.

"Soldier," says Zola, in English. "Come here. This picture is of a man named Isaiah Bradley. Remember his name. You will be sent to a location to be determined and shared with you soon. Engage him in battle but do not kill him. He is to be retrieved and brought here to become your brother in arms. Do you understand?"

"I understand," replies the Soldier in a deep monotone voice. "I will defeat him but keep him alive for transport here."

Zola looks at the General. "Where would you like this battle to take place?"

"Right in the American detachment's back yard," he replies, looking at a map of Seoul. "Here, Goyang. There's a bar that is frequented by American troops. Let them see the defeat of their champion at the hands of ours. It will hurt their morale, make them weaker."

While sharing his real opinion of the American super soldier the name of the bar is given to the Soldier and Zola authorizes a new uniform to be provided, as well as a haircut and shave. Although his presence is already suspected by the Americans and their allies, this is the Soldier's coming out party and he will need to represent HYDRA in looks as well as abilities. It will be their greatest moment.

Chapter 9: Regroup

Chapter Text

The Asset's eyes were wild with confusion as the handler and the remaining special forces team wheeled him into the Siberian facility. Oil from the servo motors in his destroyed arm still leaked, leaving a trail of drops that the porous concrete floor absorbed as the gurney raced to the prosthetics lab. Thick bands across the Asset's legs, torso and head kept him confined as everyone in the lab snapped to attention to deal with the disaster. The small man with the glasses, Dr. Zola, stepped up to the gurney.

"Soldier! Mission report!" he ordered but the Asset was still reeling with his injury.

The little man slapped him several times and again asked for a mission report. Breathing heavily with a sense of awareness now appearing in his eyes the Soldier focussed on Zola.

"Bradley was stronger than the Soldier," he spat. "Although the Soldier was ordered not to kill Bradley he was under no such limitations. His strength was great, his purpose was strong, and he beat the Soldier into submission before using his shield to crack a seam in the arm plates. The interior servo motor at that point was damaged and the arm became useless. Bradley continued to sever the lower arm from the upper arm. As he turned away with the lower arm the Soldier took the opportunity to escape in order to avoid capture and to return to make the mission report."

The little man with glasses stepped away from the Asset and pondered what could have gone wrong. It was inconceivable that the American's Winter Soldier program had created an individual stronger than theirs. The General had definitely downplayed Bradley's abilities, using a colloquial term to describe the descendant of African slaves as little more than a pretender, a poor imitation of their superior specimen. Why would he recommend retrieval of the other American if he was supposed to be inferior to their soldier? He looked at the technicians gathered around the Asset's damaged arm, discussing how to remove the damage and attach a replacement part. Obviously there was a weakness in the structure of the arm if a shield had been able to crack a seam. They needed something stronger and he made the decision to replace the arm with one comprised of a stronger substance.

"Remove the complete arm," ordered Zola. "Perform a memory wipe and place the Asset in cryogenic storage while further treatments are devised. Call a meeting of department heads for exactly one hour from now. We need answers and proposals to improve the Asset."

At the meeting of department heads the doctor stood in front of everyone, including his superiors. He blamed the defeat of the Winter Soldier on inaccurate intelligence provided by the American General on the strength of Isaiah Bradley. An underling suggested sanctioning which the leadership approved. Then the little man with glasses gave a little smile.

"What is it Dr. Zola?" asked his superior. "You have something in mind?"

"Yes, if you will allow me to return to SHIELD, I can recommend a complete prolonged physical examination of Bradley," he said. "He will be submitted to testing, collection of biological samples and in the process be exposed to psychological torture. I will explain the testing is needed in order to duplicate the success of his abilities but in reality, I will be making him weaker, keeping him a prisoner in his own country, by his own people. In the meantime, our people can replace the Asset's artificial arm with one made of titanium, the strongest metal known. Our chemistry department can test him on solutions to increase his strength and recuperative abilities, as well as fine tune his level of desire to destroy his opponent. No more trying to take the opponent alive. From now on the Asset is to kill all targets."

"Agreed," was the unanimous decision.

When he arrived back at the prosthetics lab Dr. Zola observed as the technicians removed the remnants of the chrome arm unit. They sealed the internal workings of the shoulder portion to protect it from the cold of cryogenic storage. From there the Asset was wheeled to the cryogenic preparation room where he was injected with numerous substances to lower his heart rate, and reduce his body's need for oxygen, including a form of antifreeze which would keep his blood from crystallizing. Impassively Zola watched as the Asset screamed while the substances spread throughout his body, absorbed deep into his tissues. From there he accompanied the Asset to the cryogenic storage room, watching as he was transferred to the cylinder, strapped in, and had the sensors attached which would monitor his heart, lung, and brain activity while he was in his state of hibernation. With a nod the cover came down and the Asset opened his eyes, gazing at Dr. Zola as the freezing gases were released into the chamber. The colour in the Asset's skin went grey, his open eyes clouded over and the readouts on the cylinder confirmed that the Soldier was under. An aide appeared at Zola's side.

"Your aircraft is ready, sir," he said. "It will fly you to Japan where you will be able to fly an American military aircraft to Hawaii, then San Francisco, and on to Washington."

Zola looked at the Asset once more then turned to leave for transport to the aircraft. It would be many months before he returned. In that time the American General met with an unfortunate vehicle accident. A Colonel, already an agent of HYDRA, was promoted to that position and made sure that Isaiah Bradley was kept imprisoned, frequently subjected to torture designed to appear as extreme testing of his abilities. Blood was taken from him on a regular basis ostensibly for the purpose of creating a duplicate of Dr. Abraham Erskine's serum. In reality the samples were either deliberately lost in storage, sabotaged or smuggled to Russia and handed to the HYDRA team in Siberia.

At the Siberian HYDRA facility teams of technicians began designing and building a new arm and shoulder insert out of titanium for the Asset. The joints and seams in the arm were built in such a way that no implement could be inserted exposing the interior workings of the pieces. The servo motors and gears were upgraded to be stronger and better insulated from outside elements including electrical interference.

The chemists had done studies on lab animals with substances that were purported to give the Asset more recuperative powers, greater stamina, and increased brute strength. A side effect of one the derivatives was noticed to have a significant effect on the test animal's libido, sending them into mating frenzies that lasted for hours. It also permanently increased the size of the creature's sex organs, making them painfully large. Dr. Zola's assistant, although interested in the side effect knew that if it interfered with the Asset's primary function as an assassin it's use wouldn't be approved. There had been talk of establishing a breeding program in cooperation with a new asset program being established by the Russian intelligence community. He directed the chemists working on that particular serum to tone down the effects to something more manageable to present to HYDRA leadership and Dr. Zola, upon his return.

Later, time frame unknown to the Soldier

He was aware of his own breathing, coming out of his body in short sharp exhales as someone told him in Russian to breathe deeply. The capsule was open and there was a slick of melted cold water on his skin that made him shiver. It must have been noticeable because an order was given to extract him from the capsule. Arms pulled his body forward, disconnecting him from leads, unstrapping him from the harness that supported him inside the cylinder. His eyes opened briefly but the light was painfully strong, and he closed them again, fearful of how much it hurt to see the light. Then he heard the voice of the little man, Zola.

"What is your name?" was the question, in English. At least, he thought it was English, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't answer. "What is your name?"

It was asked again, louder.

"Soldier," he spoke but his voice was a raspy husk of itself as if it hadn't been used for a long time.

A glass of water was held to his lips and he drank greedily, the cool liquid felt like honey ... he had an image of a bee on a flower in a garden, then it was gone. When the water was gone he opened his eyes again and saw he was naked, laying on a gurney, being wheeled down a hallway. What happened to his clothes? When did they put him on a gurney? He had no memory of it. Suddenly he felt the urge to vomit and turned onto his side, spewing forth the water he had just drank. He was struck across the face by one of the attendants but Zola spoke sharply to him and he wasn't struck again. Zola bent his head to him. His voice was muffled but angry.

"Under too long and with too cold a temperature," the Soldier heard in bits and pieces of what was said. Then the words "surgery delayed" was said and he felt strangely comforted by that for a moment.

He didn't care shortly after as the shivering became worse and it felt like every part of his body was freezing. Zola barked orders and he was suddenly warm as a covering was put on him, making him feel like he was in a warm cocoon. Curling up into a fetal position he burrowed into the warmth of the covering and closed his eyes. He was wheeled into another room and left there with the lights turned off but the door was open and he could hear the voices outside the door.

"His core temperature was too low," said a woman's voice. "I told them but I was overruled, Doctor Zola. Even with the preparations his level of hypothermia could have killed him."

"Who overruled you?" asked Zola.

She answered but the Soldier couldn't make out the name as he underwent a bout of extreme shivering again. The guard got the woman's attention, and she came in with another heated blanket, placing it carefully around him as Zola went off to chastise the one who had apparently mishandled his cryostasis. The woman's face came down to his ear.

"I am sorry," she said. "While Zola was gone a new commandant overruled all my precautions on your cold storage. You may have sustained damage from the long exposure to the colder temperatures of your cryosleep. Do you remember anything?"

"James," he whispered, and she gently stroked his head.

"Say nothing," she warned, then she was gone.

For a time, the Soldier slept then he heard the woman and Zola talking to a third person, someone of great arrogance and self-importance by the sound of it. The third person was defending his decision to decrease the cold temperatures of the cryostorage cylinder. He was also becoming very aggressive with both Dr. Zola and the woman scientist while trying to assert his control of the program over them. Neither were happy when the third person left them to undo the damage done to the Asset on his orders. Both stepped inside and closed the door, leaving them within the room with the Soldier.

"He will not have the surgery to restore his arm until the body damage is taken care of," said Zola. "Before he does I want him to take on a private mission."

"Doctor?" the woman asked. "He will be at a disadvantage with only one arm."

"Yes, but if he completes the mission it will prove that his value is of the utmost importance," he replied. "This sycophant is only in charge because Stalin put him there. With Stalin now dead it is my intention to reassert that this is my program, my lab, my responsibility. See to the Asset. Make him healthy."

Zola left for the prosthetics lab leaving her alone in the room with the Soldier. Quietly she approached him and he opened his eyes to gaze at her.

"I heard your discussion," he rasped, somehow knowing it was safe to speak with her when no one else was present. "The Russian one sees me as worthless. Is that because of the American in Goyang?"

A grim smile flickered across her face. "You're American, too," she whispered to the look of surprise on his face. "The dark Soldier that you become is their construct and they chose to make him Russian. But you, James, are American. Bury it deep inside until you need those memories. Never show them for they see it as weakness whereas I see it as your strength." He nodded almost imperceptibly. "You will likely have to kill the commandant so that Dr. Zola is back in charge. Make no mistake, he is still an evil man, but he believes in keeping you alive and functioning well. Better the devil you know."

She patted him on the arm then left him to rest while he pondered her words, especially the final ones. It brought up another saying to his mind and he pictured the older woman who said it, wondering who she was.

"Needs must when the devil drives."

He was surrounded by evil, of that, he was sure. The woman scientist wasn't evil but still assisted those in charge, meaning she must hope to destroy the evil from within its midst. Killing wasn't something he wanted to do but if he had to do it in order to survive then he would. Then he thought some more of the revelation that he was American. Those other men, before the one in Goyang, they were American. Did that mean he was a traitor? Surely, he wasn't. He was compelled to follow the orders that were given to him. He had no choice but to obey. His mouth suddenly went dry as he went over the bits and pieces of memories that constantly clawed their way back into his consciousness. The memories of them being brought here to this lab flashed in and out of his consciousness. Then the sounds of their screams came back to him, and he pressed the side of his head into the bed, trying to deaden the horrible memories those sounds brought up. He didn't know how long he heard the screams in his mind before he passed out.

He was being strapped into the memory suppression machine. The action against the new commander had been successful, as he struck the man in the throat with his flesh hand then straddled him as he lay on the floor, trapping the commandant's arms with his legs as he wrapped his flesh hand around the man's throat until he stopped thrashing. Gratified at performing the task that Dr. Zola had personally asked him to undertake he had refused to go back to his room with the handler and they used the failsafe word on him, making him pass out. Now as he awakened he knew what was coming and the dread warred with the anger he felt at this betrayal. His mouth was dry and he looked at the technician who was strapping his titanium arm down.

"Water, please," he whispered.

The man ignored him.

"Please, I need water," he said louder, and the man still ignored him but sped up his efforts to get him strapped down.

He was visibly angry now. He was thirsty and all he wanted was some f*cking water. After all that he had done by restoring Zola to command of the facility surely it wasn't asking too much for a glass of goddamned water. Straining his arms he ripped the strap off and grabbed the man around his throat, squeezing. The others started yelling but he just wanted his water.

"Water!" he yelled then the doctor was in front of him.

"Let the man go and I'll give you water," said the doctor, Zola, calmly. "Soldier, until you let him go you won't get anything."

He let the man go and watched as the technician crumpled to the ground. The others dragged the injured man out of the way, and he watched someone bring a glass of water to the doctor, who held it like a precious commodity.

"Soldier, what is your name?" asked the doctor in that voice of his. "Tell me your name and I'll give you the water."

James, he wanted to say James, but he knew if he did, they would hurt him, and hurt her, and he really wanted the water. He looked at the doctor and whispered.

"Soldier."

"Very good." The water was handed to him and he greedily drank it down. "Now, let the technicians strap you back in."

"I helped you," he whispered after he drank it.

"Yes, you did," replied Zola. "Which is why I gave you the water. Do not disobey me again."

The Soldier handed the glass back and put his right arm into place, keeping his eyes on the doctor as he was strapped in again. Then a mouth guard was put into his mouth and the head piece was lowered onto him as the whir of the machine started up. His anxiety went up as he knew it would hurt but this is what always happened after a mission. It was part of his life.

He opened his eyes to the scene of several doctors gathered around him, all of them focussed on his left shoulder.

"He's awake," said a voice in Russian, and they all stepped back, suddenly afraid.

"Increase the anaesthetic," said another voice, also in Russian.

"It's already at maximum," replied the first voice. "It could kill him."

"Better him than us," said the second voice. "Do it."

Slowly his eyes became heavy, and he closed them, oblivious to everything. When he awakened, he was in an isolation room, his legs, chest and right arm restrained. His left shoulder hurt like hell, and he tried to look at it but his head was also restrained, and he couldn't move it to look.

"You're awake, Soldier," said Zola's voice and the little man came into his line of sight. "We have replaced your shoulder unit. Once we are certain that the graft is accepted you will be fitted with a new arm."

"I woke up," stated the Soldier.

"Yes, a minor complication," replied Zola. "Your body is getting used to the more commonly used anaesthetics and quickly metabolized the one being used during your surgery. It shouldn't be a problem as this was the last surgery you will require, barring any further injury in a future mission."

"Why were they afraid of me?" he asked the doctor. "I wouldn't have hurt them."

"No? Why not?"

"They were not a threat to me," replied the Soldier. "They were not programmed for sanction."

"You know the difference between a programmed sanction and an innocent bystander?" asked Zola.

"Yes, although I am not to leave witnesses to a sanction."

"Good. Tell me, if I ordered you to hurt someone would you obey?" asked Zola. "Even if it were not programmed but I told you it was necessary, would you do it?"

The Soldier was puzzled by this line of questioning. It didn't make sense. All of his missions had been programmed, even the commandant's sanction. To obey the doctor's personal order to hurt or kill someone meant that he was being used for personal gain, not to advance HYDRA's cause. He told Zola his reasoning for not obeying a personal order.

"I see. So, even though I saved your life in Austria in 1943, then again in 1945 after you were found broken at the base of a mountain; even though I have made you into the most effective weapon the world has ever seen you would still question my judgement if I asked you to perform a sanction, without programming it first."

"Yes," replied the Soldier.

"The commandant wasn't a programmed sanction," said Zola.

"No, but he harmed me," said the Soldier. "He left me at too low a temperature for too long in cryostasis. I heard you talking with the woman."

"Ah, I see," said Zola. "That explains it. Soldier, you are never to question an order, whether it is programmed or not. There will be times when you cannot be prepared properly for action, but it is imperative that you obey the order as it is given. Do you understand?"

"Yes," replied the Soldier. "I understand."

Zola seemed satisfied with his words but when a dozen men entered his room several hours later and began beating him while he was still strapped into his bed he was at a loss why he was being punished. It wasn't until Zola brought the woman in, the one who had told him his name and he saw the fear in her eyes that he realized an order he couldn't refuse was coming. He tried not to make eye contact with her but it was no use, as her eyes were full of fear but also full of something else, something he hadn't seen for a long time, defiance. That was when he realized the fear wasn't for herself but for him. The defiance was for herself, that she accepted her fate and would hold her head high. Zola ordered that the Soldier be unstrapped then looked at him.

"We have a traitor in our midst," he said. "She was sending intelligence to our enemies, telling them lies about what we do in this facility. The punishment, according to our laws is death. Since she told our enemies who you were she has betrayed you as well. Therefore I have decided to leave her punishment with you. Whatever you wish to do to her for her betrayal is acceptable, as long as it ends in death. You have your orders, Soldier. Carry them out."

She was pushed towards him and looked at him kindly, with empathy, he realized, wondering how he knew that word and what it meant. Standing up now that his restraints were removed he approached her and bent his face next to her ear.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice that only she could hear.

"I know," she replied back in just as low a voice. "It's alright. The people I trusted were HYDRA. They betrayed both of us and Steve, your friend. Make it quick, James."

He nodded then kissed her, softly and sweetly. Grasping her throat with his right hand he bent it 90 degrees, snapping the top of her spine, killing her instantly and letting her drop to the floor. Then he faced Dr. Zola but said nothing. A small twitch crossed the doctor's face and the Soldier knew he hadn't expected such easy acquiescence but the woman had told him early on to hide his true nature, that part of him they could never touch. Better he kill her quickly and cleanly than let them kill her slowly and painfully. Without a word the doctor left and two of the men who beat him picked up the woman's body. The others left, turning out the light and closing the door, locking it. Certain that they watched him on camera the Soldier laid back on the bed and covered himself with the blanket, closing his eyes. He thought of what she said, that people she trusted betrayed both of them and Steve. Why did that name seem familiar? With regret for her death he began to think of the day when he escaped his captors, after he had hurt all of them, of course. That he wouldn't regret.

Chapter 10: The Stranger

Chapter Text

I woke up with a start, unfamiliar with my surroundings. It was dark, although a full moon was on the rise, and I was soaked. Understandable, considering I was lying on a sandbar in a river. Automatically my hand went to my side holster, finding it empty. My knife sheath was empty as well and I wondered what happened to my weapons. What happened to me? Calming myself I replayed what I could remember, tracking my target, lining him up in the sights, then just before I pulled the trigger an out of control car was on the bridge, aiming right at me and I jumped, landing a hundred feet below in the swift moving current that even with my strength was too much for me to handle. I had to abandon my rifle to stay afloat then the river bashed me against the bridge column, making my head ring like a bell. At that moment I realized something. The Asset wasn't there, it was just me, even though I wasn't sure who I was other than I wasn't him, and perhaps this time I could be free.

Quickly, I did a self-assessment, standing up and lifting my legs to see if there was anything too painful that would indicate an injury. Although I was sore there was nothing that felt broken. Whipping my metal arm around I felt it reset, then I looked at the sandbar I was on. It was long and narrow but near the end of it there was a gap of only ten feet or so to the shore. Stepping into the cold water I carefully waded through, pleased to see it was only a couple of feet deep in this location. It was easy to pull myself up into the brush along the river. Looking up at the night sky I located some constellations, smiling that I remembered them from my childhood. How did that memory suddenly come up? By their position it was after 24:00, if I was still in New York State. I knew that's where I was because they had programmed the optimal location to fire at the target while he had a drink in a golf course clubhouse beside the river, well within range of the rifle I was using.

I took stock of what my mission had been, trying to remember the details. The hit was supposed to be done by 20:00 and I was supposed to rendezvous with my handler at 21:00 at a clearing south of the bridge. The river flowed from northwest to southeast so I was east of my rendezvous site. A search party could already be looking for me. If I was going to get away this time, I needed to find shelter quickly, then deal with the food issue as I was already hungry.

Calming myself again I listened to the night sounds and became aware of a road, perhaps a couple of miles away. It wasn't busy so it wasn't the highway. Perhaps it would lead to a farm and I could hide out in a barn or shed. Heading towards the sounds of the occasional vehicle driving over the pavement I came to a road soon enough and watched for some time before running beside it close to the tree line. I wanted to get as far away north from where I woke up as they knew that I would take my shot from the bridge up river and would track me from that spot. Every time I heard a vehicle approaching my position I hid in the bushes, watching the faces of the people who were in the cars to see if any of them were my handler or the others, the recovery team they would send out after me. So far, the vehicle occupants seemed to be ordinary people. Up ahead I could see a battered sign and stood looking at it for a moment trying to figure out what it meant. There was a name ... Townsend ... then it said "Designed with you in mind." What did that mean?

I kept going on and had to cross over a bridge that spanned a wide but shallow river flowing to the east. While I was on it a vehicle came up behind me without me hearing it. It was obvious my body must be malfunctioning due to a head injury or lack of food, otherwise I should have heard it from some distance. It was all painted with bright colours and the word "Peace" was on the side. As it pulled up beside me the woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window and looked at me with concern. She was pretty, (how did I know that?) with long hair parted in the middle, wearing a head band.

"Are you alright?" she asked, then she noticed my arm. "Oh man, that's some metal arm. What mad scientist put that on you?"

I answered truthfully. "Dr. Zola. I don't feel well." I felt faint. I didn't like it as it made me weak and would expose me to capture.

She looked at the long-haired man driving the vehicle and he nodded his head. "Listen, we don't live too far. Why don't you come with us, and we'll give you some food and a place to sleep."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, puzzled. It didn't make sense.

She smiled. "You look like you need a hand. I'm Summer, this is Seth. What's your name?"

I looked at her and began to panic. It had been so long since I had thought of my name, even though I knew it was important to remember that part of me, and it just wasn't there. I began feeling hot, then dizzy, then everything went black.

He was being strapped into the machine. After his last mission he had refused to go back with the handler and they used the failsafe word on him, making him pass out. Now as he awakened, he knew what was coming and the dread began to fill his stomach. His mouth was dry, and he looked at the technician who was strapping his titanium arm down.

"Water, please," he whispered.

The man ignored him.

"Please, I need water," he said louder, and the man still ignored him but sped up his efforts to get him strapped down.

He was angry now. He was thirsty and all he wanted was some f*cking water. Straining his arms, he ripped the strap off and grabbed the man around his throat, squeezing. The others started yelling but he just wanted his water.

"Water!" he yelled then the doctor was in front of him.

"Let the man go and I'll give you water," said the doctor, Zola. "Soldier, until you let him go you won't get anything."

He let the man go and watched as the technician crumpled to the ground. The others dragged him out of the way, and he watched someone bring a glass of water to the doctor, who held it like a precious commodity.

"Soldier, what is your name?" asked the doctor in that voice of his. "Tell me your name and I'll give you the water."

James, he wanted to say James, but he knew if he did, they would hurt him, and he really wanted the water. He looked at the doctor and whispered.

"Soldier."

"Very good." The water was handed to him, and he greedily drank it down. "Now, let the technicians strap you back in."

He handed the glass back and put his arms into place, keeping his eyes on the doctor. Then a mouth guard was put into his mouth and the head piece was lowered onto him as the whir of the machine started up. His anxiety went up as he knew it would hurt but this is what always happened after a mission. It was part of his life.

I woke up and panicked for a moment as I didn't recognize where I was. I wasn't in restraints, so I wasn't a prisoner. Then I heard the sound of children laughing and playing outside the window and I relaxed slightly, taking in the room where I was. I was lying in a bed, with a pillow and a quilt. I was also undressed, and when I looked under the quilt, I saw that I was naked. Scanning the room, I looked for my clothes, but they weren't there. Instead, there was a soft tunic and some pants, folded up and left on a chair. Assuming they were for me I put them on, finding them odd but not unpleasant to wear. They were certainly different from my normal uniform and were totally unsuitable for what I did for HYDRA. Then I remembered, I didn't want to be with HYDRA anymore and I smiled, because I had also remembered my name, my given name, James. My boots were still there, and I slipped them on but didn't tuck my pants into them like I normally did. The wide legs at the bottom of the pants would make it difficult anyways. Just as I put my hand on the doorknob there was a soft knock and it opened from the outside. The man who was driving the van during the night was there and he smiled at me.

"Hey, you're awake," said the man. "Come, we have some breakfast ready for everyone. You remember I'm Seth?"

"My name is James," I said proudly and stepped out into the morning sun. "Where am I?"

"Well, about ten years ago it was a place called Townsend, but they lost the only source of work in town when it went out of business, so we pooled our money and bought a couple of sections of land. We call it Eden."

"I saw a sign for Townsend on the road," I replied, as we walked. "It said "Designed with you in mind."

"Yeah, the owners of the factory built it here after the war because the land was cheap but they couldn't get others to live in the town they built because there was nothing else for them. No one wants to live in a town where there is nothing to do."

"Why do you live here then?" I asked, as I didn't understand why they would live in a place no one else wanted to.

Seth laughed, apparently humoured by my question. "We like it quiet. We came to escape the rat race, live a pure life off the land, growing our own vegetables, raising our kids in peace and freedom. We're a commune, man. It's a good life."

Soon we arrived at another building and Seth stood back to let me enter ahead of him. Normally I would have been suspicious of such a move but Seth had given no indication of subterfuge or falseness, so I entered the doorway and was greeted by many of the adults in the room who were helping to put food out on the large table. There were at least a dozen adults and many children of various ages. Normally I would have assessed every single person in there for their threat to me but there were no indications from any of them that they would be hostile to me so I stopped assessing them quickly. At first I felt self-conscious but no one seemed to think there was anything different about me, they just continued to get the meal ready. Seth motioned to a seat, and I sat down. A memory of a similar event where a large group of people sat down to eat came to mind, but it was gone just as quickly. The others sat down with their children close by and they all looked to Seth, so I did as well.

"Welcome to our new friend, James," he said. "We chose to live in Eden in harmony with nature and with good will to anyone who needs a helping hand. James looked like he needed help last night and we're honoured to have him join us today. Dig in everyone."

Watching the others carefully I helped myself to the food, not taking too much even though I was very hungry. Something in me, a memory maybe, said to make sure everyone got what they wanted first before I could have seconds. Summer and another woman went to the stove, and each brought a pot of coffee pouring it out to all the adults. With a start I realized that Summer was very pregnant. While the two women poured, a couple of the men did the same with jugs of milk, pouring it out for the children then leaving it on the table for people to use in their coffee. The coffee smell was amazing, and another memory came unbidden into my mind of an older woman pouring some for me as I wore dark work clothes. Who she was wasn't clear but the thought that perhaps she was my mother persisted. I took a sip of it and savoured the familiar taste as it went down my throat. Eagerly I dug into my food, finding it somewhat plain but hearty. When I finished my plate another man, Tanner, lifted a basket of bread and offered it to me.

"Have some more, James," he said, smiling. "We have lots of food and you look like you're still hungry."

"Thank you," I replied automatically, wondering where that came from, taking the bread and other foods that were offered to me. "I hadn't eaten for a couple of days."

"Where do you come from?" asked Summer, her kind eyes were gazing at me.

"I...I don't remember. Since the war, my memories...."

The others nodded in understanding. "That explains it," said Seth. "You lost your arm in the war?"

"Yes," I replied. "I remember falling from a train."

"Bummer, man," said another woman, Tamsin was what they called her. "I washed your clothes and they're hanging on the line. They're very... military."

"It's all I had to wear," I explained. "They wouldn't let me wear anything else."

"Who is they?" asked Seth, curious. I felt my face turn red and looked away, unsure if I should tell them about HYDRA. They might not like me if they knew what I did for them. Seth smiled. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. The war f*cked up a lot of guys. We know that. We understand."

After everyone finished eating Seth looked at Summer and she nodded. He stood up, signalling to the others that breakfast was done, so I stood up with them.

"We have some work to do," said Seth. "We're clearing some brush to build another residence. Would you like to help? You look like you're strong."

Agreeing, I walked with them out to an area where they had cut some trees down. There were stumps in the ground and I could see that they were digging out the stumps by hand. Taking my shirt off without even thinking, I took a spade and began to dig under a stump as Seth explained they wanted to weaken the root system then use their horses to pull the stumps out. Nothing would go to waste as they would cut the stumps apart and stack the wood for their fireplaces and stoves. As I began digging the others were impressed with how I could use my metal arm. I hadn't even thought of the arm when I took my shirt off and no one said anything about how it looked other than most people with prosthetic arms had something much more basic. I kept digging, until a couple of the women brought out jugs of water and mugs for us to drink out of. Seeing some of the other men throw the water on their faces I followed suit and cooled off a little in the warm sun by wetting my head. Returning to my spade after drinking my fill I began digging in another area, undermining the root system. Just before we broke for lunch Seth took a closer look at our progress.

"I think we can harness the horses up after lunch and try to pull it out," he said. "Some of us can start on the next stump and we might be able to get that one pulled out before supper."

"Can I try something?" I asked, knowing I was strong enough to pull the stump out.

Seth nodded and watched as I went over to the stump and stood in one of the holes that we had created. Placing my hands under two of the sections that had been uncovered I began to lift the massive piece of wood. The others watched as some of the roots began to snap then the stump moved up. Seth jumped down next to me along with a couple of other guys and together we pulled the stump up until it was partially free. Then I stepped back, looked at the different parts of it then repositioned my hands and began to push it over. The others pushed with me and with a collective groan of effort the four of us pushed the stump over, freeing it from the root system still in the ground. I stepped back as the others patted me on the back.

"How strong are you?" asked Seth. "I've never seen anyone do that before."

"I can lift about 250 kilograms," I replied. No one said anything about me using kilograms but they did look at each other as if they didn't understand and I realized that they probably didn't know that measurement of weight. "550 pounds about."

"You're a big guy but you don't look that strong and with your artificial arm I wouldn't think it possible," said Seth. "James, did the army experiment on you?"

"Not the army, HYDRA," I replied, without thinking. "They took me captive in 1945."

The other men all looked at each other, unsure of my declaration.

"James, how old are you?" asked Seth.

"What year is it?" I countered. "I wasn't allowed to know."

"1971," replied one of the other guys.

I took a breath and looked around at all of them. The truth was the best thing to tell them. "I think I was born in 1917. That makes me 54."

I could tell they didn't believe me, but I didn't care. It felt good to tell someone. Just being out in the sunlight, with my shirt off, hearing the birds, and feeling the breeze on my skin was glorious.

"When we asked you about the war, we thought you were a Vietnam War veteran," said Seth, trying to understand what was happening. "What war were you in?"

"The war against Germany," I answered, sure of that. "I was a sergeant, I think. My memories are all jumbled. I fell from a train and the Nazis or maybe the Russians found me. That memory is still unclear, but they took me somewhere, gave me to HYDRA. They did things to me, wiping my memory, injecting me with a serum, rebuilt my shoulder and gave me this arm so they could make me do things for them."

"What kind of things?" asked Tanner.

"Killing people," I said, quietly, almost holding my breath. "I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to go back. They hurt me when I remember things from my old life, and when I don't cooperate. Can I stay here, with you? I like it here. You're all so kind."

The other men looked at each other and I wondered if I had told them too much because they didn't look happy. Their response bothered me and I lowered my eyes, fidgeting with my hands as I suddenly felt anxious.

"James," said Seth gently. "We'll have to talk with the others about what you told us. Are you okay with that?"

I nodded. "I never wanted to be this way. They experimented on me. I don't like doing it and it gives me nightmares."

"It's okay," said Seth. "I'm a vet. I was in Vietnam, and I know I did some things that I'm not proud of." He thought for a moment. "James, the people who make you do this – do they know where you are?"

"No, I was preparing for a target when I had to jump off a bridge to avoid being hit by a car and I was swept away in the river. I came to on a sandbar downstream and took my chance to escape. They may come looking for me."

Seth nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. "Because this is a commune it means all the adults have an equal vote on important decisions. Letting you stay will have to go to a vote. I want you to tell your story to the others, then we'll discuss it and decide."

"I understand," I replied, standing as tall as I could. "If you decide it's too dangerous to let me stay then I'll leave. But if you let me stay, I promise to protect you as if you were my family. I would never let anyone hurt any of you or the children."

We went back to the dining hall and sat down for lunch. No one said anything but I could feel an undercurrent of caution around me. Not that I blamed them as I knew if HYDRA came here, they would hurt or perhaps even kill them, and I couldn't bear the thought of anything bad happening to these good people who had taken me in. When I left to use the bathroom, I wondered if they would say anything while I was gone. On my way back I saw all the children were outside and felt certain that the others waited inside for me to tell my story. My instincts were right, and I didn't sit down when I entered the dining hall. Instead, I stood beside my chair and told them everything I remembered so far. They asked questions about the serum and HYDRA which I answered as best as I could remember. Their faces were at least sympathetic to me, and I took hope from that, but I also knew they had to make the best decision for all of them.

"I'm going back to the other stump and dig at it," I said when I was finished talking. "Whatever you decide I thank you for taking care of me and being so kind. I wasn't expecting it."

Leaving them I walked out to the stump, picking up the spade from where I left it. Then I began digging the dirt from the other stump, attacking it with as much energy as I could manage. The time flew by, and I got half of the dirt from under the stump dug out when I saw Seth walking alone over the field towards me. His face didn't look happy, and I felt my hopes dwindle. When he arrived, he put his hand on my shoulder then sat on the ground, motioning for me to sit with him.

"They're afraid," he said. "We came here to escape war and violence, and they're worried that if these others come looking for you, they'll hurt us for helping you."

"They're right," I admitted. "They are vicious people. They have killed for no reason at all."

"We don't want to leave you helpless," said Seth, "so Summer and I will drive you wherever you want to go. We'll give you some food and money. If I were you, I would try to find my folks but I'm guessing yours might be dead. Is there anyone in the army that might help you? Someone you served with?"

"I wouldn't know where to find them," I said, then I smiled at Seth. "It's alright. Even just being here with you for a few hours has been ... wonderful. It made me remember something my mother would say during the Depression. I can't clearly remember her face, but I remember her saying "Good will come to those who are generous and lend freely, who conduct their affairs with justice."

Seth smiled, a sad but gentle smile. "I think it's one of the Psalms," he said. "Lapsed Catholic. I voted for you to stay, James. So did Summer. Whatever they did to you to make you into their killer, it's not who you are, the you inside. I see a quiet and gentle man who freely helped when he was asked. I hope you are able to stay free. Come on back, have a shower, and we'll look at the map to see where we can drive you tomorrow."

Together we went back, and I showered, washing my hair and remembering how the attendants in HYDRA did it for me. It was a pleasant experience to do it for myself, and I tried to commit it to my memory, knowing there was a place deep inside that HYDRA hadn't yet broken. It was where my memories went to hide lying dormant until one or more of them would bubble up to the surface of my consciousness. I wanted this memory of being in this place, with these people, to go there. Wrapping the towel around my waist I stepped out of the shower room then went to the room where I slept. There were more clean clothes for me, and I put them on, accepting it would be the last time I would wear normal people clothes. Seth and Summer were waiting in the dining hall, and they had a map out between them.

"You have a Brooklyn accent," said Seth. "Tamsin is from there and she figured you might want to get there, see if your folks are still alive. We can take you to Albany and help you buy a bus ticket."

"Thank you, I appreciate it," I replied then looked all around me at the dining hall. "You have a nice place here. I didn't know there were such things as communes."

"Well, there probably weren't any hippies around in the 1940s," smiled Seth. "If you find your folks tell them that if there weren't bad people looking for you, we would have welcomed you to stay. It's just too dangerous for our children."

For the rest of the afternoon, I sat outside in the shade with Seth and the others, having a beer, watching the children play, enjoying their joyous laughter. It was peaceful and I wished with all of my heart that I could have stayed here with these kind people. After dinner I returned to my room and found my Asset clothes there, folded up neatly on the chair. I stripped down and got into bed, turning out the light and laid there in the dark willing sleep to come. Eventually it did.

In the morning I put the Asset clothes on, but left the holster and knife sheath off as I had nothing to put in them. As I dressed, I became more and more sad with each piece of clothing from my past, knowing they were made for one purpose, to kill people. On the back of the chair where my clothes were was a jacket and I smiled, realizing they wanted me to be able to hide my arm when I left. It might allow me a better opportunity to get to New York.

What Seth said about my folks resonated with me. They might still be alive, might still be in their house in Brooklyn. It was worth it to me to try and find them, just so they knew I was alive. Once Seth had voiced that idea the memories had percolated up from my mind and I was sure I could find my way to them, once I got there. Running my hands through my hair I stood up tall, took a deep breath then stepped out the door to where Seth and Summer were waiting. We had a quick breakfast then after the others said goodbye we went to the van.

Summer slid the sliding door of the VW van open, and I stepped inside, sitting on one of the seats in the back. She and Seth got in the front, and we were soon on our way. An hour later we pulled into the parking lot across from the bus station at Albany. Seth purchased a bus ticket to Brooklyn and came over to where Summer and I were waiting. She handed me a cloth bag that I slung over my shoulder. Inside was food, some hand knit socks, and a book, The Hobbit, for me to read on the bus. That book sparked another memory for me, as it was a book I remembered I liked reading. I put the holster and sheath inside the bag. Seth gave me the bus ticket then with an encouraging nod from Summer he pulled out some cash and pressed it into my hand.

"Good luck, James," he said, with some emotion. "I hope you find peace. I think you are a peaceful man at heart. Be careful."

"I will," I replied, hugging Seth first then Summer. "Good luck with the baby. Thank you."

A call for the bus came over the loudspeaker and I walked to the gate showing my ticket. I stepped on the bus and found a seat near the emergency window, in case I had to leave the bus quickly. Everyone that stepped on the bus underwent my scrutiny, but I didn't feel any sense of anxiety over any of them. They were all just people heading to New York City. When the bus pulled out of the garage, I saw Seth and Summer watching for me and waved then settled back in my seat.

I didn't read the book that they put into my bag because I was more interested in seeing the outside world, at how much it had changed since I was younger. The cars were different, people definitely dressed different and there was more of a sense of hurry as the highway seemed full of vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Gradually the skyline of New York came into view, and I found myself anticipating what it would be like as we got closer. As the Soldier I was sure I had been there to complete an assignment, but I was never given the opportunity to just look at things for the sake of looking.

As the bus drove deeper into the city, I marvelled at all the taller buildings that were now there although I could still see the Empire State Building, pleased to know it was still standing. The bus pulled into a depot, and everyone was told to disembark. Those going on to Brooklyn had to change to a different bus. I followed the others and was directed to another bus. As I walked, I saw a man watching me intently and felt the first indications that this might have been a mistake.

"When does the bus leave?" I asked the driver of the next bus before stepping on. "Do I have time to use the men's room?"

"Sure, kid," he said. "You got ten minutes."

The driver turned to the next passenger and quickly I went to the men's room, stepping into a stall. Looking at the toilet paper I grabbed some and twisted it into a shape that I could insert into my ears to block out the words. I couldn't let them say anything to me, not the failsafe, and not the other words, the ones that would bring out the Asset. Patiently I waited for the man who had been watching me enter the rest room, peering at him through the crack in the door. When the man stopped, I opened the stall door, grabbed him by the throat and head butted him, knocking him out, dragging him inside and sitting him on the toilet. Searching him, I found a gun and a knife, placing them inside the cloth bag. Then I found the man's wallet and took the cash out, placing the wallet back in the man's jacket. After checking myself in the mirror, satisfied that I hadn't cut open my forehead, I left the restroom, and quickly boarded the bus, just before it left the station. No one on the bus took any notice of me and I was satisfied that I was safe once again.

Forty-five minutes later the bus pulled into the Brooklyn depot, and I exited the bus, looking carefully at anyone who looked in my direction. Seeing a couple of men, dressed in black, carefully scanning the passengers at that exit I stepped back, going behind the bus and exited from the bus exit. Looking up at the street signs I oriented himself and smiled. Brooklyn had changed but it was still my old neighbourhood. I knew exactly where I was and where I had to go. For the next few hours, I took a roundabout way to my parent's house, using the alleys and hopping fences. Just before dark I found the street and went into the back of the first row house, jumping over the fences into the yards. Finally, I arrived at the back yard of my parent's brownstone and crept up the back steps to the stoop, looking in the window of the kitchen, while keeping my face hidden in the shadow.

There was an old woman in there and when she turned I gasped, almost to the point of crying, at seeing the aged face of my mother. She was making a cup of tea and I watched as her shaky hands poured the boiling water from the tea kettle into a cup with a tea bag in it. A cough overtook her and she bent over until she caught her breath again. For a second I touched the door handle to open it then she picked up her mug and walked out of the kitchen, turning the light off as she left, shuffling her way to the parlour where I could see the glow from a television. She had a television, something that was new and different when I first saw it at the New York World's Fair in 1939. Slowly she sat in a chair and I withdrew my hand from the door. As much as I wanted to talk to her and hold her I knew my presence put her in danger. This glimpse of her would have to suffice.

Quietly I sat on the stoop and ate the food that Summer gave me. Next, I pulled out the book and cash, slipping the bills inside the pages. Searching the bag unsuccessfully for a pen or pencil I looked at the book smiling at the inscription already written. "To James, May you be free to find your own Eden. Seth and Summer." Perhaps Ma would figure it out. Quietly I put it inside the screen door, along with the hand knit socks. Taking the holster and sheath from the bag, I fastened them on then inserted the gun and the knife into them. Leaving the cloth bag on the stoop I went down into the yard and looked up at the sky, having a brief memory of me and Steve doing it when we were boys. Steve, I remembered Steve. Taking in deep but ragged breaths I savoured those muddled memories that came and went randomly. With determination I hopped over the fences to get back to the street and began to run. They would find me eventually, of that I was certain, but I wasn't going to make it easy for them. I was the Asset, after all, and I knew how to evade capture.

Chapter 11: Control

Chapter Text

December 1991, Siberia

The Soviet Union had been disintegrating for some time and support for HYDRA's activities was mostly cut when Mikhail Gorbachev became President in the late 1980s, as he pursued a policy of détente with the West. This led to HYDRA pulling back and concentrating their activities in fewer facilities, while contracting out the use of the Winter Soldier as an assassin for hire, with the fees charged going to supporting HYDRA. His most recent mission, the assassination of industrialist and co-founder of SHIELD, Howard Stark, had been successful, resulting in the acquisition of the American supply of super soldier serum.

The case with the stolen serum was placed in front of the Asset's handler, Colonel Karpov, the man in charge at the Siberian facility. For Karpov, it was his plan to use the serum to transform five individuals, part of an elite kill squad, into the newest Winter Soldiers. They were considered HYDRA's best operatives and along with the Asset would form a new group, offered to anyone wishing to destabilize a country, overthrow a government, or remove anyone from office, for a hefty fee, of course. The mission to get the serum wasn't approved by his superiors. In fact, they weren't aware of it at all, as Karpov gambled that successfully transforming more assassins into Winter Soldiers would put him into a position of power that could make him a very rich man.

As the five individuals were infused with the serum they began reacting painfully to the process, necessitating their removal to sealed rooms where they were restrained while the worst of the reactions wracked their bodies. While Karpov wrote his notes, ignoring the screams of pain from the sealed rooms around him he realized that the screams from one of the subjects had stopped and he opened the door, discovering the subject sitting on the edge of his cot, his restraints broken.

"Come," he said in Russian. "Let's see how you fare against the Asset."

The others in the sealed rooms soon also ceased their cries of pain and were discovered in a similar state of waiting, their restraints broken. Leading them into a secure space, with additional guards, doctors and the Asset waiting to test their strength, Karpov gave the order for the first man to square off against their only Winter Soldier until now, eagerly anticipating the battle between the two men. It was as good as he hoped, with the younger man easily dominating the Asset, sending him flying into the bars of the door. As the winner of the bout stood there, breathing heavily in a state of barely contained rage a doctor stepped forward to check his heart rate. As soon as he touched him the doctor was a marked man as the new Winter Soldier seized the man by the head, dashing him to the ground and killing him instantly. A guard stepped forward with a stun baton, applying it to the back of the killer. His life was forfeit in an instant and the other transformed agents stood up ready to assist their brother in arms. Karpov read the situation quickly and pulled his gun out, ordering the Asset to get him out of there and following him to the steel barred door ignoring the carnage going on behind him until he was out of danger.

Together the two men watched the bloodshed on the other side of the barred walls. The five transformed individuals were the only ones who stood alive when it was all over, pacing back and forth in their enclosure like the caged animals that Karpov reluctantly realized they were. Recognizing they were uncontrollable he gave the order for the entire floor to be gassed to knock them out. After ordering the Asset to accompany him to a safe location they watched on the monitors as the others fought the effects of the anaesthetic before falling senseless. Quickly he directed a squad to restrain all of them and prepare them for cryogenic sleep while he tried to come up with an excuse for the massive failure of his plan to create more Winter Soldiers.

It was all for nought as word came that a delegation from HYDRA leadership were coming to remove him from command. For a moment he considered taking the Asset with him into hiding but then it would mean having the killer around him constantly and he didn't trust the man to stay loyal to his commands. After putting the Asset into cryogenic sleep Karpov took the book that contained all the detailed notes of the transformation of an American POW into the Winter Soldier with him, slipped into a snow vehicle and escaped into the Siberian night, hoping to leverage his possession of the book into something, anything, that would make him a rich man someday.

When the delegation arrived at the Siberian facility, they found it in a state of disarray. The revolt of the elite death squad had left many scientists, technicians and guards dead. Without the book it would take years to reprogram the death squad to obey commands and the decision was made to house them in a frozen state for as long as it took to find the book. As the Soviet Union fell apart the Siberian facility was mothballed, the staff relocated and the cylinder containing the Winter Soldier was loaded into a transport then flown to a secure facility in Austria where a freed HYDRA scientist, Werner Reinhardt, had set up a new lab. As the Winter Soldier was not his work, he didn't care what became of the cryostasis cylinder and it was relegated to a storage area, only occasionally checked on to make sure it was still powered. The activation words, still recorded in the Asset's files, became need to know only for the highest levels of leadership, and only to be used in conjunction with the memory suppression device.

A year later an American who had been recruited by HYDRA from the State Department of the United States government came to see the facility intending to see the Winter Soldier for himself. Alexander Pierce, now secretary of the World Security Council had heard about the Soldier, then read his entire file before flying to Austria. To him, it didn't make sense to keep such an asset mothballed, all because Reinhardt didn't like that some Russian colonel had chosen the wrong subjects to use the last remaining super soldier serum on. On Pierce's order the Soldier was removed from cryostasis and brought to meet him.

At first, he wasn't impressed. The man looked terrible; thin, pale, his hair dirty and his whole demeanour subservient. He wasn't even strong enough to stand upright and Pierce commented about it.

"The Asset has been in cryostasis for over year," said the scientist who had continued to monitor the Asset's life support, as Reinhardt was busy with other projects. "Muscle definition has been lost and without proper nutrition for so long his body doesn't have much energy. I would suggest he be fed well for a week, given the opportunity to train and then given a mission. By my understanding there has only been one mission that he failed to complete and that was during the Korean War when an American super soldier destroyed the Asset's arm."

Pierce walked around the man then stood in front of him and struck him across the face, as much to see if the Asset would react or if he was truly subservient to those in command. There was no reaction at all.

"What is your name?" asked Pierce.

"Soldier," said a barely audible voice.

"What is your purpose?"

"To complete my mission."

"What is your mission?"

"To perform what has been ordered."

"Soldier, do you remember your past?"

There was no answer, so Pierce asked the question again.

"I have no memories before this moment," was the reply.

"Who is James Buchanan Barnes?" asked Pierce.

"I do not know that name," replied the Soldier.

Pierce smiled then turned to the underlings around him. "Get him bathed, cut his hair, someone brush his teeth as his breath stinks. Feed him, train him to build up his strength." He looked at the Soldier. "Several people are going to perform procedures on you and some of it may be painful. You will accept the pain, accept the treatments and obey all commands. Do you understand, Soldier?"

"I understand."

Pierce left and the soldier was led to a shower area, told to strip and clean himself. He just stood there in front of the stream of water, as the command meant nothing to him. The scientist who had suggested how to improve his physical condition realized that the Russian handlers had made him totally dependent on them for everything. Calling a technician in, the scientist ordered that he personally cleanse the Soldier. Feeling it was beneath his dignity the technician took his anger out on the Soldier by verbally and physically abusing him during the process. With no response from the Soldier the technician took his anger out to the limit, curious to see how far he could go before the Soldier reacted. When no reaction was given he and several other technicians, as he had told others about the Soldier, pushed their new found power over the man to the limit for the next week, ordering him to perform all sorts of grotesque actions and to receive similar abusive and grotesque actions in return. His head was shaved, as was his beard, eyebrows, chest, and body hair, everywhere. He was punched, kicked, sexually abused and treated to terrible abuse by bullies drunk on their power.

When Pierce returned after a week, he received a report of the treatment meted out to the Soldier, treatment that was accepted by the man because Pierce had ordered him to accept all treatments and obey all commands. There was a small amount of regret in Pierce's mind over the abuse the Soldier had received as that hadn't been his intent. But he decided to use the abuse as an object lesson and called in the technicians who had dealings with the Soldier over the week. He lined them up in a room facing the Soldier, who stood awaiting instruction wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. There were bruises all over his body, cigarette burns on his arms, legs and chest, and his shaved appearance made him look like an inmate in a concentration camp. The Soldier, meant to be a weapon in HYDRA's quest to be in control of the world politically, had been reduced to a punching bag by a group of dissatisfied underlings who didn't seem to understand the big picture of what was at stake. Pierce faced them.

"A week ago I gave orders for the Soldier to be bathed, his hair cut, to be fed properly and given the opportunity to train so that I could adequately assess his abilities as the Asset he was created to be," he began, looking every technician in the eye. "Instead I found that you used him for your own sick pleasures, by physically and sexually abusing him, shaving all of his hair, feeding him slop, or worse, just so you could feel powerful over a weapon who has served HYDRA since 1945. Very well, you took your own sick pleasures out on him. Now it is time for him to show me what he is capable of." Pierce turned towards the Soldier who stared straight ahead, with no recognition in his eyes, or acknowledgement other than he was ready for his next set of orders. "Soldier, do you know abused you the most this past week?"

"Yes," he replied.

"How many?" asked Pierce.

"Many," stated the Soldier.

"Eliminate the first four," ordered Pierce and he stepped aside as the Soldier became the Asset and attacked the first man who had originally been assigned to clean him. He approached him so fast that the technician barely had time to put his hands up in defence before the Asset twisted his head around 180 degrees, snapping the spine and killing him immediately. He moved on to the next man who tried to hide himself behind the others, but the Asset reached through them and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing with his metal hand until the technician stopped breathing. Several others were cowering in the corner, begging for mercy but there was no mercy in the Asset's eyes as he approached and lifted two of them up in his hands, then dashed their heads together in a sickening crunch before dropping them on the ground and returning to his spot. Pierce stood in front of him again and the Asset made eye contact. "Mission complete."

Pierce turned towards the other technicians, who had shakily regrouped facing him. "The Asset is one of HYDRA's greatest weapons and you forgot that, determined to have your own way with him. That only happened because he was ordered to allow people to take care of him, even if the procedure was uncomfortable, and they abused the process. Don't let it happen again. He is worth more than all of you put together and if I ever return to see him like this again, I will tell him to take out the whole lot of you."

Turning away, Pierce left and several attendants came to remove the bodies of the four dead men. Hesitantly one of the technicians approached the Soldier.

"Come with me," he said. "I have clothing for you."

Without any emotion or acknowledgement the Soldier went with the technician and watched impassively as the man pulled out socks, briefs, singlets and shirts that had been specially made for him with one sleeve. Several pairs of combat pants were supplied as were two pairs of combat boots. He explained to the Soldier that the clothing could be changed every day and the soiled garments placed in a bin in his room for laundering. Gesturing to him the technician led the Soldier to a room in a hallway that held a bed, a locker, a chair, and a desk.

"These are your quarters," said the technician. "When you are not training or eating your meals you will wait here for orders, or sleep, if it is night or the light goes out. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"A special jacket and face gear is being made for you to wear when you are on a mission," continued the technician. "I will come for you when they are ready to be fitted. I will also bring you a toothbrush and toothpaste, but someone will shave you once a week. Soldier, do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

The technician turned to leave then turned back. "I'm sorry for what I did to you," he said. "I did not understand your purpose. It will not happen again."

The Soldier turned his face to look directly at the man's eyes. "You were number five," he said.

Then he looked straight ahead, and the technician left the room, standing in the hallway for a moment trying to control his breathing. It wasn't just the words that spooked him; it was the way the Soldier said it. There was something there, something cold and distant, that made him wonder if he truly was under HYDRA's control. Regardless he wasn't going to risk finding out.

After the technician left, the Soldier sat there, quietly waiting. He was aware of the camera in the corner, watching him, just as he was certain the new one, the one they called Pierce, was watching him on a screen somewhere. Already he didn't trust Pierce for wording the order to assist him in such a way that he had to allow the technicians to abuse him. While he appreciated the opportunity to have revenge on those who hurt him the most he took no pleasure out of killing them. He never had taken pleasure ... and the nightmares he had of his victims even while he was in cryosleep made it difficult to sleep when he wasn't frozen. The overhead light went out and he reached for the blanket on the bed, placing his body underneath it, then closing his eyes and searching for the calm memories, the ones the woman told him before to keep buried deep. Accessing a few of them would allow him to sleep, for a couple of hours at least.

In the control room, Alexander Pierce watched the infrared camera footage of the Soldier as he settled into sleep. He turned to the scientist, whose name he had already forgotten.

"Make sure all the other technicians are disciplined for their part in the abuse," he said. "The only ones allowed to physically discipline him will be his handlers and I have people in mind for that position. When he is not in cryosleep and not on mission he is to be observed. Keep an eye out for anyone who is kind to him or speaks directly into his ear."

"Sir?" questioned the scientist.

"Have you ever fully read his file?" asked Pierce. The scientist shook his head. "You should. Attempts were made to rescue him in the early 1950s but were unsuccessful. Someone knew HYDRA had him and tried to rescue him. An American super soldier named Bradley succeeded in ripping the Soldier's arm off when they fought. But the Soldier escaped before Bradley could bring him in. Bradley paid for that with his life. Dr. Zola had Bradley imprisoned, experimented on and tortured until he died about ten years ago. But there was another attempt, a more subtle one. There's still uncertainty who was behind that although I have my suspicions. Their agent was killed by the Soldier himself, on Zola's orders, but he did it mercifully, quickly and cleanly. I think he knew the agent was there to help him because there are still memories there, memories he relies on to keep sane." He continued to look at the sleeping figure on the screen. "Schedule more memory wipes, make them regular, before and after each mission, before and after each insertion into cryosleep."

"Mr. Pierce that could do a lot of damage to his brain," argued the scientist but Pierce gave him a look that said the order was absolute.

Leaving the control room Pierce went to his quarters where he would spend the night before returning to New York the following day. He was angry at how much the Asset had been taken for granted. Allowing him to waste away for months at a time before sending him out on the odd mission, missions that almost without exception had done little to change HYDRA's place in the world. After getting away with Kennedy's assassination the organization could have seized control with a few more well-placed interventions but instead had allowed the Russians to control the Asset. No longer, if he had his way. With his contacts in the State Department and his position on the World Security Council he could identify many people whose death would pave the way for HYDRA to be the force it was always meant to be.

A folder on the desk in his room drew Pierce's attention, detailing a plan to use the Asset to train Black Widows, the Soviet female assassin development program. Even though he didn't trust Dreykov, the head of the program, the man had done an excellent job of indoctrinating his young protégés from childhood and their success was admirable. He also wasn't entirely loyal to Russia, having his own agenda that could fit with HYDRA's. Perhaps that partnership could continue. A thought occurred to Pierce as he recalled what he knew of the Black Widows. Sterilized so that female reproductive functions wouldn't interfere with their missions he wondered if they could be bred with the Asset before the procedure was performed. Zola's notes indicated the changes made to the Asset's body were permanent, part of his DNA. Could his abilities be passed on to progeny? It was worth exploring.

On his return to New York Pierce contacted an individual to become the Soldier's main handler. Known only by the code name, Prospero, Pierce charged him with making sure that the Soldier's abilities were kept sharp. He was authorized to use whatever means necessary to instruct the Soldier in the use of vehicles, aircraft, weapons and technology for his missions. Prospero, who had at one time been a drill sergeant in the American army, then an interrogator for the dark CIA, took that to mean that extreme measures could be taken to program the Soldier. To make sure, he verbally confirmed with Pierce what limitations would exist in his handling of the Asset.

"He lives to serve HYDRA," replied Pierce. "To do that he must be fed adequately, kept in a healthy state, and be monitored constantly to make sure his programming doesn't deviate from his missions. Short of killing him or deliberately breaking bones you do what is necessary to program him. There is a failsafe word that disables him if he steps out of line. You can put him into cryosleep while he is unconscious but length of cryosleep should be less than one year at a time. Any longer has resulted in his physical condition being affected."

"Yes, Mr. Pierce," said Prospero. "Are any missions scheduled for the near future?"

"No, but I am looking to set him up to help train Black Widows and possibly begin a breeding program with them," stated Pierce. "I will keep you advised on the status of that."

Prospero left and Pierce looked out over Manhattan from his lofty office. Ever since he deduced that attempts had been made to rescue the Asset, he wondered how they knew about him and where to find him. Whoever it was had hidden their tracks very well. Mobility was going to be key in protecting their investment from any similar attempts. More safe houses, with memory suppression devices and cryogenic facilities were needed so that the Asset could be hidden quicker, without delay. It was time to make HYDRA global again.

1953, Washington, D.C., a house in Columbia Heights

"You're sure?" asked the blond man, looking at the report his dark-haired wife gave him to read.

"I'm sure," she replied. "It's as we feared, HYDRA had her under surveillance. One of the two agents we sent to help her was a plant or a turncoat. He reported her to Zola, and Bucky was ordered to kill her. Our other operative said he did so cleanly and quickly so she must have told him they were betrayed, and he spared her from being tortured."

The blond man stood up, dropping the report on the floor, struggling to contain his emotions as he went to the fireplace and leaned against it.

"I promised him, Peg," his voice cracking. "I promised him I would find him and get him away from them, save him from all those years. That's one of the reasons I came back, other than you."

"I know," she said softly, picking up the report from the floor and approaching him, putting her hand on her husband's arm for a moment. She read the last part of the stapled pages. "They've increased the security at the base in Siberia. We have no one else we can send in there that hasn't already been corrupted or compromised. Our other operative was lucky to get out alive to bring this report to us."

"So that's it?" the blond man whirled towards her. "We're done? We leave him to the wolves? I'll go myself."

"No, you won't," she said gently. "Steve, it was a long shot. You said so yourself. If we were successful, we would be changing history but maybe some things aren't meant to be changed. If you went, they would take you and do to you what they've done to him. I would lose you again and I don't think I can bear that."

"What about Bradley?" he asked. "We can't leave him there, letting them do to him what HYDRA did to Bucky. I owe him that much."

"Isaiah Bradley died," said Peggy. "Committed suicide." Steve's face fell. "Yesterday, apparently. His body was already cremated. I'm sorry. To be honest I wouldn't be surprised if they killed him to warn us off. They must have suspected I was behind the attempt to find Bucky. If they find you because of me ...."

Her voice caught and Steve held her in his arms. She was right. Even Bucky in 2023 told him it was a long shot, to just let it be. But he had to try. Now he had to accept that he failed and live the rest of his life knowing that he couldn't prevent what happened to his best friend. It was small comfort knowing that eventually Bucky would be free of HYDRA, but it was the only comfort the former Captain America could take from the plan to rescue his friend. That and the knowledge that he could live the life he wanted with the woman in his arms. Bucky understood that part.

Chapter 12: The Dark

Chapter Text

In some ways the influence of the man called Pierce changed how the Soldier was treated by HYDRA. He was still disciplined physically by his handler, sometimes brutally if he didn't do something quick enough or well enough but the treatment from the support staff, those who washed him, dressed him, and prepared his weapons, was better. They feared him and he sometimes heard them whisper about the day he killed four men with his bare hands. Not that he remembered it as the memory suppression treatment was a regular occurrence now. But if the others said he did it he had no reason not to believe them. That was also part of his training, to believe everything his handler and his superiors told him. Questioning was not tolerated, doubts were dealt with summarily, and disobedience was punished to the point of injury. Yet questions and doubts still arose in his mind, especially when he was alone in his quarters trying to sleep and remembering the things he had done for HYDRA. He never voiced them, knowing it would lead to extra treatment in the room with the black machine.

The Soldier ate what he was given, drank what was raised to his lips, and spoke only when spoken to, mostly during mission reports. He was aware of being sent to many different places, usually by aircraft, sometimes by truck, given his mission and weapons, then sent out to track his target, eliminate them, dispose of witnesses and return to a rendezvous point where his weapons would be taken from him, he would report the results of the mission then be taken back to a facility, usually one close to where he had eliminated his target, and be subject to the memory suppression treatment, and sometimes placed into the cryostasis cylinder.

Time had no meaning to the Soldier. When he wasn't frozen, he was aware of the passage of the days, but he didn't know what year it was or what month, unless it was necessary to know for his mission. There was an extended run of days where he was in Russia, moved from site to site as he worked for a place called the Red Room, a training program for female assassins.

The women, many of them still teenage girls, were required to fight against him almost to the point of him killing them but he was ordered not to deliver the killing stroke. Like him, time and money had been invested in them, and their master, a brutish man called Dreykov, would allow them so many attempts at withstanding the "training" with the Asset before removing the failed assassin from the program. He never knew what happened to those who were removed. Several of the women fared well against him in their training sessions, learning enough from each encounter to hold their own against him in his restrained efforts. Apparently, they were to graduate from the Red Room, which should have been an accomplishment, at least by his understanding of the term graduation.

It wasn't until he was escorted to his quarters and told to undress in preparation for sleep that he learned one of the reasons he was there. During the time he had been at the Red Room he was freed of his usual schedule in the memory suppression machine. Knowing that displaying any of his returning memories would result in punishment he kept his thoughts private, while still performing his training requirements with the Red Room recruits in the same manner. When one of the recruits appeared at his door and entered his room, wearing only night clothes, he looked at her suspiciously. Nervously, she looked back at him.

"I was told to report here," she said, in English with a perfect midwestern American accent.

Her face was pale as she said it, her green eyes darting towards the camera in the corner of his quarters. His eyes narrowed as she waited for him to speak.

"Why?"

She swallowed. "To offer myself to you." At least she was honest.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen," she said, undoing the tie on the braid that her red hair was enclosed in and shaking her hair loose. "My name is Natalia."

"No," he replied, turning away. "You're a child."

"Please, you must ...," she began, then her voice trailed off. "They'll punish me."

"No," he repeated, then he looked up at the camera. "They can punish me. If they punish you I will not obey my handler. I will inflict much damage before they can stop me. But I will not do this. иди младшая сестра.*"

She turned her face away from the camera and he heard a little intake of breath. Then the door opened and closed. When he looked back to where she had been standing, she was gone. He continued undressing but could hear multiple conversations out in the hallway and knew they were coming for him. Picking up the chair he crushed it into pieces and picked up two long lengths to use as bludgeons. It was their fault for not suppressing his memory for so long, long enough for him to understand what they were really asking of him. He would not cooperate.

When they came in with stun devices that took him down to his knees he stayed upright for as long as he could, not allowing them to come near. It wasn't until he took one too many jolts and blacked out, then saw himself on the floor of the room, his eyes blank and his mouth open, that he realized they had killed him, and for the first time in a long time he hoped that it was all over, and he was free.

The bright lights of an operating room hurt his eyes when he opened them again. Once more he failed to escape and began to writhe under the restraints. His voice didn't work otherwise he would have thrown curse upon curse on them for bringing him back against his will. A sharp slap against his face then the dark eyes of Prospero greeted him.

"You don't get to leave without my permission, Asset," sneered his handler in English. "You don't get to disobey, either. You will mate with the graduates of the Red Room."

"No."

Even though his mouth was gagged the Soldier spat out the word in a fury then broke the head restraint to head butt Prospero. Just as he pulled his metal arm free his handler said the failsafe word and the Soldier fell back senseless. The handler ordered him to be taken to the memory suppression room.

"His system is still weak from restarting his heart," said the doctor. "Putting him in the machine could kill him."

Prospero grabbed the doctor by his white jacket. "Put him in the machine," he said succinctly.

Attendants came, removing the gag, and transferring the unconscious man onto a gurney then running him to the machine that had been set up for their use while he was in the Red Room. As they strapped him in he began to awaken and resisted their efforts. Grasping a stun baton the handler cleared everyone away and put it into the Soldier's side, leaving it there for several seconds. With a glare in his eyes the Soldier sneered at Prospero.

"I will not comply," he said through gritted teeth. "You will have to kill me before I will stoop to that level. They are children."

Breathing heavily Prospero stood back, then struck the Soldier across the face several times. Each time he did so more blood would appear on the man's face, from his nose, his mouth, and cuts that opened on his cheek and face. Throughout the abuse the Soldier kept his eyes on the angry eyes of his handler. After delivering many such blows Prospero stopped to determine if the Soldier would comply. Instead the dark haired man sneered at him again.

"f*ck off," he said, through bloody teeth. "I will not comply."

The handler lost control and began beating the Soldier about the head and chest until Dreykov himself came in and ordered him to be pulled away from the Soldier. Barking at one of his underlings to bring him the Soldier's file Dreykov opened it then sneered at Prospero.

"You fool," swore the Russian, in English. "He had a sister, almost the same age as these girls when he was turned. You think you can overwrite that type of loyalty? It is in his DNA. He will never comply, not willingly. Take him back. We're done with him."

Dreykov tossed the file to Prospero who caught it in the air, then looked at the section outlining the family relations of the Soldier.

Relatives: Sister, Rebecca. Born 1930.

Swearing out loud, he stood over the Soldier, glaring at him. "Prepare him for cold storage," he said to the doctor.

Storming out of the room he went to place a phone call to Alexander Pierce. As he waited to be connected, he wondered how the hell he was going to explain this to the man. When he got through, he was put on hold and waited for some time before finally being connected.

"He won't comply with the Widows," he stated. "Refused to mate."

"I know, Dreykov just called me," replied Pierce. "I didn't realize the Widows were so young. The Asset sees them as children and that's something we can never change, not with the strong base personality at his core. Freeze him, return him to the Austrian lab."

"Well, can't we wait until one of them is older?" asked Prospero. "Surely, he won't have a problem if she's eighteen."

"He probably wouldn't but that's not how the Widows do things," said his boss. "Their graduation ceremony? It takes place before they're sixteen. If they survive the winnowing out process, they seal their accomplishment by being sterilized, full hysterectomy. Never let biology interfere with a mission. There's a lesson there, Prospero. The Asset's core personality won't allow him to be with what he perceives as a child."

"All this time here, wasted," fumed Prospero. "We could have been on a mission."

There was silence at the other end. "You second guessing my decisions?" asked Pierce, eventually.

"No, sir," replied the handler. "Just frustrated."

"We'll talk later, once you've calmed down," said Pierce. "I expect you both in Austria tomorrow."

By the time he finished the phone call the Soldier was in his cryostasis cylinder, hooked up to the portable power source and ready to be loaded on a transport for the airport. Prospero ordered the Soldier's clothing to be packed as he packed his things. Just before he left his room there was a knock on his door. Surprisingly, it was one of the Widows, the red haired one who had been sent to the Soldier first.

"Dreykov said I was to take care of you before you left," she said, playing with one of the braids in her hair.

A smirk crossed Prospero's face as he looked the girl up and down. Unlike the Soldier he had no problem taking pleasure from such a sweet thing. Stepping back towards his bed he sat on the edge and beckoned to her.

"So, what has Dreykov taught you, sweetheart?" he asked, pulling her closer to him.

"Many things," she smiled, then she leaned towards his ear. "Many, many ways to enjoy me."

Before he could react, the girl had a garrotte around his throat and cartwheeled over him, landing on the bed behind him, pressing her knees tight into his back as she pulled even tighter on the wire cutting off his airway. Every attempt he made to get his fingers under the deadly wire only served to make the girl pull harder with a strength that shocked him. As he began to struggle in earnest for his life she spoke.

"I was ordered to kill you as you no longer have control over the Asset," she said, with venom. "Even brainwashed he is a much better man you ever were. Go to hell, handler."

With one last tug the wire cut into Prospero's throat, and blood began pouring from the severed artery in his neck. In a matter of seconds, it was over, and the girl unwrapped her garrotte, wiping it clean on the pillowcase. The door opened and Dreykov looked inside, satisfied at her efforts.

"Good," he said, in Russian. "Your first official kill, your first entry in your ledger, before graduation. Your ceremony is tomorrow, and you will join your sisters in the field."

As the team came in to clean up the mess the red-haired girl went to the room where the cryo storage cylinder was waiting to be trucked to the airport. Looking around to see if she was alone, she pulled a box up so she could look at the Soldier inside. His eyelids were closed, and he looked like he was asleep.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll never forget you. Good luck, старший брат.**"

Austria, some months later

The sound of his cylinder door lifting made the Soldier open his eyes and he saw he was back home. Home, that word to describe someplace familiar, but it wasn't home, it was his prison. Roughly he was disconnected from the leads and tubing that kept him alive in his frozen coffin, then two large men dragged him out of the space, and down a hallway to the machine room. His skin and hair were wet from the melted layer of frost that had covered him. Dully, he looked up as a technician inserted a mouth guard in between his teeth and his chair reclined as the head piece came down over his face. Just before the pain exploded in his skull a word came to him. Misery, his life was misery.

As the Soldier's screams echoed down the hallway its new handler was looking over its file. Higgins, a former mercenary, had been read into his successor's failure to understand the limitations of the Asset. Knowing the previous handler, he knew it wasn't that simple. Prospero followed instructions to the letter, and he suspected the failure rested with a lack of understanding about the Asset by both his predecessor and Pierce. As a family man himself he knew his own limitations. Raping a woman or a girl was off limits to him personally but when it was called for, he had no qualms about delegating the responsibility to someone else. Knowing a little about the Black Widows he suspected the Asset refused to breed with the young girls before their graduation ceremony. Prospero's mistake was thinking he could beat the Asset into submission. Higgins wouldn't have even asked it of the weapon, just as he wouldn't use it to babysit a bunch of kids. No, a weapon was meant to kill, and he would make sure the Asset did its job quickly, cleanly and with no witnesses. Between missions it would train, be frozen when necessary, and be available for transport anywhere in the world.

A technician at the door advised him that the memory suppression treatment was complete. "Take it to its quarters, clean and dress it," he ordered. "I will be there shortly."

When he arrived at the room the Asset was standing, dressed in black; its titanium arm shining in contrast to the black cloth and leather of its clothing. It's eyes stared at a spot on the wall across from it, not blinking or moving from its gaze. Walking around it he took stock of its body. Six foot two inches tall, 220 pounds of muscle, not including the forty pounds of weight behind the arm. Its shoulders were broad, indicating massive upper body development, its waist narrow, and its thighs strained at the seams of its combat pants.

"I am Higgins," Pierce's man announced, as he stood in front of the specimen. "I am your handler. You will only speak when spoken to, and you will follow my directions to the letter. Do you understand?"

"I understand," it replied.

"What do you remember?" asked Higgins. There was confusion on the Asset's face. "Do you know your name?"

"Soldier," it responded.

"Soldier, do you remember Russia?" he asked.

"No, I have no memories before this moment," it replied.

"You don't remember why you failed in Russia?"

"No, I have no memories of Russia."

"You failed because you did not obey your orders," said Higgins. "Failure to obey orders will result in punishment. Failure to obey orders is unacceptable. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Together they went to the dining hall and Higgins directed the Asset to sit. He filled up a tray with food then placed some of it before the Asset. When it began to eat Higgins beat it about the head.

"Did I order the Asset to eat?" he demanded.

"No," it answered.

"Don't eat until I tell you," stated Higgins.

As Higgins resumed eating his meal the Asset sat and waited for permission. When Higgins gave his consent, the Asset began eating, getting halfway through before the handler gave the order to stop. Standing up the handler put all the remaining food on his tray and slid the remains into the garbage can. For the next few weeks Higgins conditioned the Asset to only eat when given permission. It resulted in the specimen shovelling food into its mouth in a rush to feel full before permission was withdrawn. In Higgin's mind it was necessary to reinforce that orders had to be followed but it was noticed by medical staff that it also causing digestive issues resulting in the Asset vomiting from binge eating, receiving more punishment in the process. It was a never-ending cycle of abuse that only ended sometime later when a mission almost failed because the Asset had vomited so much it began throwing up blood and ended up receiving treatment for bleeding ulcers.

When Pierce removed Higgins from being handler, he came to Austria to see the Asset in his hospital bed. He looked at the pale man wondering what his physical limits were. The HYDRA doctors said his recuperative abilities were astounding but were better when his feeding was regular, and the injuries were not inflicted upon him as punishment but as part of training.

"What do you mean?" asked Pierce. "Punishment is punishment."

Pierce's gaze on the man was severe, as it seemed the man was criticizing Pierce's methods. "Punishment during training as a learning tool is useful," clarified the man. "Using punishment to control things which have nothing to do with the mission is counterproductive. Your handler had the Asset so worried about his next meal that he became fixated on food, instead of putting his energies into the mission. He accomplished the mission but almost ruined his body in the process. Give him support to do the mission to the best of his abilities and he will. Throwing roadblocks in his way to prove that you control him will only slow him down and take his focus away from the mission." Pierce did not look happy at the criticism. "Your handler referred to the Asset as "it" constantly. His memories were stripped away from him as was much of his personality, but he is still a biological organism. He is not a machine or an inanimate object. You want him to perform at a high level? Feed him, treat his injuries, fix his teeth."

Pierce breathed heavily then turned to leave the room. "Fix him," he said to the doctor, "and if you ever talk to me like that again, I'll make sure you become training material for the Asset."

The order was given to transport the Asset to the United States, to be based there. Pierce decided it was time he was more involved in the Asset's conditioning and treatment. There were a few trusted men that he assembled to form a team to handle the Winter Soldier. They would support him in the field, make sure he was fed, clothed, stored and resuscitated when needed. Upon reflection he had seen the wisdom of some of what that Austrian doctor told him, mostly realizing that entrusting the Asset's wellbeing to just one person wasn't wise as their treatment of him would be coloured by their own personal biases. He felt certain that the team approach would make better use of the killing abilities of their weapon.

Over the next few years that approach proved to be the right one as the Asset made more kills in the new millennium that in the previous 50 years combined. His observation and stalking abilities were better than any other operative out there. He became a legend in the ways he would disappear after taking his target down, then would go into cryosleep storage until the next mission. Pierce was confident that how they used the Asset from now on would serve to install HYDRA as the dominant force in the world.

On one mission the Asset was sent to intercept and eliminate an Iranian nuclear scientist. Already being protected by a SHIELD operative the two escaped Iran and were spotted by the Asset outside Odessa, Ukraine. With deadly accuracy he shot out the tires of the vehicle they were in, sending it over a cliff. As it came to rest on the ground below, he realized the occupants were both still alive and repositioned himself, watching as the operative pulled the scientist out of the car. Blocking his view to the scientist he knew the only way to finish the mission was to shoot through the woman protecting him. As he lined up the shot in his scope, he was distracted by the colour of the operative's hair. It was familiar to him, but he wasn't sure how or why. Taking the shot, he understood by the look on the woman's face that her mission had failed as the scientist was dead. Then, as he lined up to remove her as a witness, she looked in his direction, as if she could see where he was in his hidden position. Her green eyes seemed to be fixed on him, and a flicker of those eyes flashed before him, attached to the face of a fourteen-year-old girl.

"She got away," he thought suddenly, then he lowered his rifle and pressed his comms. "Target eliminated; witness eliminated."

"Return to rendezvous point," said the order from one of his handlers, in his earpiece and he backed out, then began his run back to where the covered van opened for him. The handlers took his rifle and other weapons from him. They returned to the airfield where he sat with his back against the fuselage of the aircraft as they flew on to the next mission or perhaps back to a safe house where he would be wiped and frozen. Staring ahead he barely listened to the handlers celebrating the mission, as if it was their success.

Keeping his face blank, he considered what he saw. The SHIELD operative was definitely the same girl who was a Black Widow in the Red Room. Perhaps she was a plant, but he discounted that as she was in a protective mode with the target. That meant she was able to escape the Red Room, able to escape from that life. If she could do it ... then maybe, he could also. For a brief moment he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time, hope.

*Go, little sister. ** Older brother. Google Translate

Chapter 13: The Ghost Children

Chapter Text

Present day

Nothing was said for some time between me and Sam as he drove in the dark to the storage locker where I kept my weapons. Both of us were a little irritated about being texted for a mission right in the middle of a social occasion. I was mid kiss with my new girlfriend, June, after just asking if I could spend the night for the first time, while Sam was about to kiss her friend, Ingrid. When Sam cleared his throat, I finally spoke.

"I like her, a lot. She makes feel me good."

"I noticed," replied my partner. "June is a special lady. You've been sharing your file with her, haven't you?"

"Yeah, nothing about me should be a secret, not if she's ...."

My voice trailed off, but Sam knew what I was going to say. If she was the one, I wanted her to know everything about me. It was important that the people I cared about knew what really happened to me. Keeping things secret had kept me a prisoner for so long.

"Where are you at on your file?"

"Where I fell," I replied. "She read Steve's report." I looked sideways at Sam. "She had much the same reaction as you had. Said he abandoned me. I defended him but I'm beginning to understand why you weren't happy with his decision."

"After all he ... we went through to find you, keep you from being arrested, and get you help it just seemed like a quick decision on his part to leave just after you and I reappeared," said Sam. "Now mind you, I'm willing to accept that he had five years to come to that decision during the Blip, time we didn't have or were aware of. To him, it took a long time to realize he would happier back in the 1940s. To us, it was a matter of days."

I was almost about to tell him that Steve went back for more than one reason then decided against it. It obviously hadn't worked as I still went through all the sh*t I did, not able to get away from HYDRA until Steve and I fought at the Triskelion. There was a memory of a woman in Siberia telling me we had been betrayed and I had to kill her, on Zola's order. Would I tell Sam, or June, about that? Sighing, I put the thought out of my head. Not yet, perhaps not ever, but I would consider it later.

He pulled up to the gate of the storage units and inputted the code, then drove through the open gate to the storage locker. I unlocked it and lifted the gate, turning on the light. Entering the code on the footlocker where I kept my weapons, I chose several firearms and knives, plus the harnesses and sheaths I would need to hold them. Sam smirked at the care I took in my choices, but he knew I had my own preferences. Many of them were weapons I used for years as the Winter Soldier. As much I hated being that person, they were the only things I really kept from that time, liking the familiarity and ease with which the implements fit my needs. For all they put me through HYDRA did give me superior tools to work with. I pulled my spare working uniform out as well, the blue leather jacket with the removable sleeve, black singlet, the black tactical pants with pockets to store magazines, zip ties, and anything else I deemed necessary, with my black combat boots completing the "ensemble." Packing all of it in a large satchel I relocked the footlocker, turned off the light, secured the storage locker and put the bag in the back of Sam's truck.

It was only a short drive to the air base and Sam parked in the designated parking spot for his truck after clearing the check point. The quinjet hadn't arrived yet and we sat looking out through the windshield.

"You looked like you hit it off with June's friend, Ingrid," I noted. "She seems fun."

Sam smiled. "Not at all what I was expecting of a librarian and part time burlesque dancer. We'll see what happens, but she does interest me. We are going to the Christmas party, aren't we?"

"If we get back in time," I replied. "June wants to show me off." I was silent for a moment. "Did the Avengers ever have parties?"

"Oh yeah, Tony Stark was a real party animal," replied Sam. "Booze, beautiful women, food, he provided it all. After Ultron, though, it kind of came to a screeching halt. The Sokovian Accords were brought out after that. It split us apart."

"I thought I did that." Quietly I looked out the front windshield. It was something we hadn't really spoken of. "You did end up in the Raft because you helped me fight the others in Leipzig."

"No, there was tension before you were framed," said Sam. "Steve was ready to walk before because Stark was acting so high and mighty. In a way, it was understandable. He was feeling pretty guilty about what Ultron did to Sokovia. Some of us thought that it was his hubris that got us into that situation. But he and Steve were always butting heads over who was leading the team. When Tony tried to bully Steve, me and a few others into signing the Accords, it brought it all to a head. Then Tony wanted to arrest you and put you into the psych ward without an expiry date, and that just rubbed Steve the wrong way."

"He wanted me in an insane asylum indefinitely?" I asked, turning to face Sam. I wasn't surprised considering how those in law enforcement viewed me when I was the Winter Soldier. "How did the others feel about it?"

"Well, it was preferable to the CIA shooting to kill, and Zemo framed you pretty effectively, making it seem like you were up to your Winter Soldier activities. But Steve defended you and I respected his judgement, so I stood with him."

"Did you think I was still the Winter Soldier?" I didn't mean to stare, but I knew my eyes were boring into his.

"Honestly, I didn't know what to think," replied Sam. "You saved Steve's life after the Helicarrier fell. We checked satellite footage and saw you call for help on the emergency telephone, telling them where he was. Then when we realized you were looking out for him while he recuperated, Steve asked that we let you be. You didn't seem to be a threat to us, so we did. Then we lost track of you until Romania."

"You knew I was watching? I find that hard to believe."

"Why, because you're the god of stealth? It's kind of obvious when I come home the day after I picked up some groceries to find someone has been eating my food, has moved some of my personal possessions and has used my shower."

"You didn't know that," I scoffed.

"Damp towels," said Sam. "You even washed your clothes, because you used a different setting than I usually did. Found a tag that you ripped off of a new shirt but didn't put in the waste bin. I was observing you, too, even if it was after the fact. Tell me, did HYDRA actually come looking for Steve?"

For a moment I said nothing as I sat in the truck, maybe pouting a little bit that I hadn't been as successful at that surveillance as I thought I was. Then Sam sighed, still waiting for my answer.

"Yeah, they did," I replied finally. "I intercepted two different pairs of operatives who were trying to find out what room Steve was in. One pair even set up on a rooftop across from the hospital. I was on a higher rooftop and took them out." I smirked as Sam's eyes grew wide. "I didn't kill them. I was done with that. But I did take them down and dropped them off at a police station, identifying them as HYDRA. They were terrified of me; thought I was going to kill them outright. Told me everything they knew about who was still in play, which wasn't much."

"What happened with the second pair?" asked Sam.

"I led them on a merry chase," I replied, remembering them pursuing me in their car. "The first pair said after finishing Rogers I was a secondary target for reacquisition. They didn't know I was in control, thought I was hiding, waiting for the right time to provide my mission report. I wanted to know who was in charge after Rumlow; told them I could only give him a mission report."

"Did you find out?"

I nodded. "Oh yeah, an Air Force General. Took him hostage, took his phone, I intended to get him to tell me the names of other high ranking HYDRA operatives."

"What happened?"

"The General started saying the activation words. I grabbed him by the throat to shut him up. Grabbed too hard." There was still regret about that. "I killed him. It wasn't my intent, but I couldn't let him have control of me or they would have sent me to finish Steve off, and you, since you were there in his room most of the time. I made amends to his family. Never told them he was number three in HYDRA. They had no idea."

We could see the quinjet approaching in the distance and both of us got out, removing our go bags from the back seat. I took Sam's go bag while he lifted his suit travelling case from the back. Within seconds the quinjet was landing in front of us with Clint at the controls. The ramp was lowered, and we saw Maria Hill and Peter Parker strapped in as we boarded. After stowing our bags and the case Sam strapped in while I approached Clint.

"You need a co-pilot?"

"No, we're not going far," replied the archer. "One more pickup. Thanks though."

Dropping into the seat next to Sam I strapped in and sat back as Clint took the aircraft up. We flew for about half an hour landing next to a rural property. Clint looked back at Maria, and she unstrapped herself from her seat then headed for the ramp.

"Stay here," she said to us.

"What happened to the second pair?" asked Sam.

For a moment I looked at him blankly then I remembered our previous conversation. "The General had called them; told them I was at his hotel, so I waited for them to show up. Then I led them on a pursuit before letting them catch me and I faced off against them. When they saw the General was dead, they thought they were next and begged me not to hurt them. I told them you and Steve were under my protection and if I saw them anywhere near you, I would kill them, slowly. They believed me. I suggested they head to Mexico, find some safe work with a cartel. They didn't notice I had the General's cell phone. As they left, I took a picture of their car's license plate and made an anonymous tip they were smuggling cash to a Mexican cartel, and that they killed the General, then ditched the phone. They admitted to me that they broke into a HYDRA safe house and cleared out the money from the safe, so they had a few hundred thousand on them."

Sam smirked then almost choked when Maria walked back on the quinjet with Oeznik.

"What the hell," he said. "Why is he here?"

"Mr. Wilson, Mr. Barnes," said the old man. "It's a pleasure to see you again. The Baron suggested I offer my services to the Avengers for this mission. I will let Miss Hill begin."

With a nod to Clint to start the final leg of their trip Maria strapped into her seat while Oeznik sat in a seat and did the same. We glared at both her and Oeznik, while Peter just looked from one person to another wondering what was going on.

"It's an open secret that Baron Zemo has managed to maintain his network of contacts while incarcerated in the Raft," began Maria. "About three days ago one of them informed him of a discovery located in a nickel mine in the Ungava Peninsula of northern Quebec. I believe the Baron has an investment in that particular mine." Oeznik nodded his head sagely. "Shortly after that time a request for assistance was forwarded by the company listed as the majority mine owners to the Canadian federal government. Oeznik?"

"Thank you, Miss Hill," he wheezed. "The Baron originally bought shares in the mine for the ore it brought out of the ground. With his investment being considerable he did a lot of research on the area and eventually found a rumour of a connection between the mine and an early HYDRA research facility started in the 1930s. Nothing was ever confirmed until he received word from his onsite contact that an underground chamber was located, filled with cryogenic capsules. He ordered the contact not to touch the capsules, but it appears a curious employee may have done just that."

"What did they unleash?" asked Sam.

Oeznik shrugged. "The mine was on shutdown with only a skeleton crew for the Christmas break," he replied. "Since the request to the government for assistance there has been no contact of any kind."

"The Canadian government requested our intervention on this, considering Bucky's background and your recent experience with the Flag Smashers," said Maria, "but with the temperatures in the area approaching -40 degrees Fahrenheit the quinjet will be unable to withstand the environment. We are en route to Canadian Forces Base Bagotville in Quebec where we will be outfitted with winter clothing, and transported on a Hercules aircraft along with a select group of the Canadian Special Operations Regiment, who will act in support of you four. We will rendezvous with a Canadian Ranger unit who will provide transportation to the mine. Oeznik and I will stay at the airstrip, monitoring the operation."

She looked pointedly at me, Sam, and Peter, who gulped nervously. Clint obviously already knew as he never turned his head away from his piloting duties.

"You want me to send Red Wing in there first to find out what we're up against?" asked Sam. "Then what?"

She and Oeznik looked at each other. "Contain, disable, and reinsert into cryostasis if you find what we all suspect you will find," said Maria. "If that isn't possible Clint will institute an Omega Protocol." She looked directly at me. "We would never ask you to do that. Clint volunteered to take that responsibility if it comes to that."

I could feel my jaw clamping hard as I was bothered, f*ck, even angry. They were expecting to find Winter Soldiers, people who possibly were transformed against their will like me. Before answering I breathed deeply several times then swallowed my anger down and looked at Maria.

"If Peter and I succeed in containing them and getting them back into cryostasis, what then?" I asked.

"Wakanda has already offered to begin the deprogramming process," she replied. "So much was learned when they treated you that they feel they can offer them a good chance of reintegration into society but until we actually see them and interact with them ...."

Peter looked at me, obviously nervous about coming face to face with who knew how many transformed individuals? But Peter was stronger than me and with his webs could humanely contain them.

"Alright but I will do everything I can to keep them alive," I stated emphatically. "I want your promise that the Omega Protocol will only be taken if there is no other choice."

"You have my promise," said Clint, from the co*ckpit, as he put the aircraft on autopilot. "I don't want to be responsible for their deaths but if it appears they will break out of that facility then I will accept that burden."

Oeznik brought up all the information on the onboard computer which the team crowded around. Sam and I had to give Oeznik and Zemo credit. Their information was thorough. The original owners of the mine were among some of Nazi Germany's top industrialists. The mine was sold during World War II, when the Canadian government passed laws restricting hostile foreign ownership of natural resources. The new owners who bought it at that time complained that it appeared certain portions of the mine appeared to have been deliberately sealed off in such a way that exploration of them was too dangerous. As a result, the mining operations shut down for some time then restarted after the war, but in new directions, with multiple various owners, until two years previously with the discovery that the shafts created since that time had extended beyond the areas that were sealed off.

"When did Zemo acquire a financial interest in the mine?" I asked Oeznik.

"Two years ago," replied the old man. "It was at the same time that access to the sealed off areas was improved. It was no coincidence as he had his suspicions, even though his purchase of shares was legitimately for the minerals in the mine."

"He suspected there was something from HYDRA left behind, didn't he?" asked Sam.

"Yes, but he believed it to be an information storage area only, until his contact mentioned the capsules then communications were lost," said Oeznik. "Immediately he authorized me to share all of his knowledge of the mine."

Until we got there and sent Red Wing into the mine, we weren't sure what we were going to find. A couple of hours later we landed in Quebec. Over the next two days there we were outfitted in cold weather gear, then boarded a Hercules transport, along with six members of the Canadian Special Operations Regiment for the three-hour flight to the air strip nearest the mine. When we arrived at the airstrip there were several Rangers, mostly Inuit members of the local population who acted as eyes and ears on the ground protecting Canadian sovereignty in those remote areas. They waited with several snow cat vehicles to transport us to the mine. The CSOR soldiers had dealt with the Rangers before and advised us to trust their knowledge of the environment. The Rangers were the experts who would make sure we all stayed safe in the harsh conditions. After confirming our comms all worked, we dressed for the weather and headed out towards the mine, spread between several vehicles.

After we arrived, Sam sent both Red Wing units ahead of us to determine where the mine employees were. So far as we knew there were about 10 people on site, as the mine was on shutdown for the Christmas break. We waited in the vehicle as Sam monitored the images coming from the drones while they flew through the accommodations portion of the camp, peeking in windows, using their features to look inside the buildings, searching for people. From there the drones were sent to the mine buildings themselves. After twenty minutes of flying through the structures it was determined there was no one above ground in any of the buildings around the mine. Sam brought the Red Wing units back and we decided to relocate to a communal space in the accommodations structure.

The CSOR soldiers exited first, their weapons at the ready and took point on gaining entry into the building, pronouncing it clear. Inside the structure communications were set up with Hill and Oeznik still back at the air strip.

"There is no sign of anyone in any of the above ground structures of the mine," said Sam over the radio. "I can send the Red Wing units down into the shaft but there are three separate shafts, according to the images we received inside the processing structure. Oeznik, do you happen to know which shaft contained the capsules?"

"The one opened first," he replied. "Identified as A shaft. It is the oldest and most extensive of the three."

"Send your Red Wings in there, Sam," said Maria. "I would suggest you do reconnaissance in silent mode. Don't want to tip them off that we have a contingent on the surface."

"Roger that," he answered. "I can make it possible you get the transmission as well."

With a little sigh Sam directed his Red Wing units to switch to silent mode and sent them down the A shaft of the mine. We all gathered around the computer monitors that Sam was able to connect to. He was also recording the transmissions so that if we had to, we could go back and review anything that looked suspect. As the drones lowered themselves into the shaft it looked normal, just another mining shaft. Then they came to a section where the lights had been extinguished and Sam switched to infra-red mode. Still nothing looked out of place until they got to the bottom of the shaft where the lights were on again. There were two directions, but Oeznik didn't know which direction the capsules were found so Sam split the Red Wings up into their different components. Slowly they moved in both directions. Nothing seemed out of place until one of the Rangers noted something.

"Go back," he said. "Something moved. Something is in the shadows."

Sam sent one of the drones back to where the Ranger noted the movement and he switched to infra-red, showing the outline of a small person, a very small person. They were breathing but their breath was barely registering on the infra-red. Suddenly, whoever it was leaped out, grabbed the Red Wing and seemingly crushed it, stopping the transmission and making Sam groan in frustration. Quickly he brought up the slow motion replay of that moment and what we saw coming out of the shadows had us all floored. It was a child, a small child of maybe 4 or 5 years old.

"Jesus Christ," said the CSOR commander, a Lieutenant D'Aoust. "That was a kid. What's a kid doing in the mine?"

"Sam, get Red Wing out of there," I said, suddenly having a bad feeling. "They're compromised. Bring them all back."

Just at that moment two more components met similar fates and Sam sent the signal to return to base. While they returned, we looked closely at all the footage that had been recorded and the Rangers were able to pick out more movement in the shadows. There were at least four other children that were identified. All of them appeared to be wearing hospital type gowns, were barefoot, and all had long blond hair. We couldn't tell if they were boys or girls. But they were all definitely young. Concerned about the possibility of these children, who were likely quite feral, from coming up the shaft Maria sent the order to evacuate the building and return to the air strip. That was the plan but that isn't what happened.

While we were preparing to leave several of the Rangers had taken up positions at the windows keeping watch outside. Just as we were ready to exit the building and board the snow cats two of the Rangers called from their spots.

"We have movement outside," said the one and confirmed by the other.

Turning out the lights I joined them while the CSOR squad took up positions at the other windows. The Ranger closest to me, Henry Inaluk, nudged me.

"There are two of them, just beyond the last snow cat on the left," he said. "They don't seem to be bothered by the cold."

I looked where he was pointing and sure enough, they were there but had blended into the different shadows given by the low setting sun and buildings. Their stealth skills were incredible, and it got me thinking of something that was only hinted at when I was the Winter Soldier. It was something I wasn't privy to except for the big mouth of a braggart HYDRA operative who had also been in the SS. I got on my comms.

"Maria, any chance you can access the online HYDRA and Nazi Germany files, and look for information on Geisterkinder from the Lebensborn program?" I asked. "It was a very hush hush HYDRA operation using children born to pureblood Aryans in the SS, to turn them into operatives from birth.”

"You're not kidding, are you?" she responded, her disgust at the notion coming through even on the comms.

"No, I only recall whispers of it but these kids, they have skills," I replied. "Probably better than mine. They're likely feral and very dangerous. They've got us trapped inside. I need information on trigger words, failsafe words, anything I can use to communicate with them to convince them that I am their handler."

"On it," she said.

We waited and watched as five more were identified in other spots. The two that were still camouflaged in the shadows hadn't moved. I looked at Henry, who seemed to know exactly where they were.

"You can see them?" I asked.

"Not exactly," he replied. "They blend in very well but they're different enough from the snow that I can tell they don't belong there. They're not natural. It's not the first time we've heard of them." He looked at me as if he was terrified. "Qaulluqtuq meeqqat is the closest Inuktitut term to them, "white child" in English but you could call them ghost children. There were stories of them before the Second World War, coming out of this mine while it was first being developed, searching for their parents, taking an adult from their bed and we would never see them again."

"You said the stories were from before World War II," I noted. "What happened then?"

"The stories stopped," he said, still not taking his eyes off the two that were watching us. "So did the disappearances."

"Bucky," said a voice beside me and I looked down at Peter, who was watching with us. "I could go out there and try to capture one of them with my web, bring it back here."

"How do your webs work in low temperatures?" I asked.

He blew some air out of his mouth and tilted his head as if he was thinking. "I can adjust the settings on my web shooters to compensate," he replied. "I just don't know how durable they are when they are chilled."

"Let's wait," I said. "You and I are probably the only two strong enough and quick enough to deal with them one on one. There are seven out there that we know of, and I wouldn't want to risk you being captured by them."

"Bucky?" Maria's voice was in my ear. "We found something. It's not much. Seven children, orphans who were part of the Lebensborn. They were "given" to HYDRA to explore raising them from childhood like Hitler Youth, while injecting them with the serum to give them powers. It didn't go quite how they expected, and they were supposed to be eliminated as they were considered too dangerous. Obviously, someone thought they could do something with them and took them. We're trying to find out more about the original owners of the mine, which wasn't a mine when it was first built."

"What was it?" I asked.

"Not sure," she replied. "There are definitely gaps in the record which makes me believe they wanted to hide these kids permanently, possibly because they couldn't deal with them. It's unclear if they were dangerous only to HYDRA or dangerous to everyone."

"They're moving!" called out Henry, who gestured to the darkening landscape.

The sun had just set and the children were approaching the building. Even I could see them. Suddenly I felt very exposed and made a quick decision.

"Everyone into the common room," I ordered. "Away from the windows and doors. Peter, can you web up the vent covers and ceiling panels to keep them from being moved? We don't want these kids to get in here."

He began covering the ceiling in the central common room with his webs, adjusting the composition so they were almost unbreakable. The rest of us congregated there, all with weapons drawn and on high alert. We could hear scuttling sounds in the vents and efforts being made to come through the now sealed openings into the room. Listening carefully, I became aware of whispered conversations between the children, in German. The more they spoke the more I realized they were as frightened of us as we were of them. In fact, they saw us as Butzemann, or Bogeyman, and more specifically they referred to Sam as der schwarze Mann, or the Black Man, another type of Bogeyman.

"Henry, the stories of adults being taken before World War II, were they white or were they Inuit?" I asked.

"White," he replied. "The priests, or ministers, RCMP, some teachers."

"Maria, I think I know enough to try something," I said. "They speak German and they're terrified of us like we're Bogeymen. The skeleton crew, were they white or Inuit?"

"Mixture," she said. "You think they took the crew because they were scared and they wanted comfort?"

"That's my theory," I replied. "They seem to be impervious to the cold and I wonder if that's part of the abilities they may have received from the serum. Not that it matters because maturity wise, they're little kids, scared little kids who just want the Bogeyman to go away."

"Uh, Buck," said Clint, getting my attention. "We have a visitor."

I turned to where he was pointing and saw one of the children standing in the doorway to the kitchen area. Several other children appeared behind him / her, obviously coming through a vent in that room. Shifting so that I was positioning myself in front of the group I laid my weapons down and knelt, so I wasn't as threatening. Surprisingly, the others did the same, following my lead.

"Why aren't you in bed?" I asked in German. "It's bedtime for good children."

The first child took a step towards me. "We're hungry," she said. It was a girl by the sound of her voice. "They put us to bed without dinner then when we woke up the teachers were gone. It was all strangers here."

"Where are the strangers?" I wanted to find out if they were still alive.

"In the locked room," she replied. "They won't come out even though we're hungry."

"What's your name?" I asked. "I'm Jakob."

"Irene. Can you make us food?"

I stood up and stepped closer to her, offering her my hand. Shyly, she put her hand in mine and I turned back to the others.

"She's hungry and wants food," I said. "It appears they were put to bed without any dinner and when they woke up the teachers were all gone. She says the others are in the locked room and won't come out."

"Buck," said Clint. "What are you going to do?"

"Give them food," I replied. "If they're super soldiers who have been asleep since World War II they're starving. Securing food would be a primary need. Her hand is cold and I'm hoping once they get food in them, they'll warm up, hopefully in more ways than one."

Leading her back into the kitchen I told her and the others who were all in there to sit while I made them something to eat. Fortunately, the pantry and walk-in cooler in the kitchen were full of food. I pulled out eggs, milk, and flour.

"Want help?" asked Henry, from the Rangers, appearing in the doorway. "Scrambled eggs would be the easiest, but pancakes would do in a pinch and satisfy their sweet tooth, if they are anything like my kids. Bacon would go over well."

"Sure, why don't you scramble up some eggs and fry some bacon while I make pancakes," I replied. "No sudden moves. They're still a bit wary of us."

While we made food for the children Lieutenant D'Aoust and his soldiers went down into the mine, looking for the locked room, speculating it was a central place for miners to go in case of an emergency. Sure enough they found the ten mine employees there, almost at the end of their rations. As they debriefed the employees on what happened Sam and Peter came into the kitchen to see if they could help. The kids were afraid of Sam at first which bothered him, but I explained that he was probably the first black man they had ever seen and as children born into Nazi Germany, they had probably been inundated with propaganda describing black people as evil.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" said Sam. "I have an idea. Peter, could you help me find out what kind of movies they have here? I think they need to watch some Disney."

"They're probably bored," noted Henry, as he began dishing out the scrambled eggs onto a serving dish. He drained the bacon strips on paper towels then put the strips on a platter. "We were doing a Christmas toy drive in Kangiqsujuaq, about an hour's flight from here. We could get some toys and clothes flown out for them."

I relayed that information to Maria who said she would see what she could do. Finally, Henry and I had enough food to feed a small army and we took the trays of food out to the common area where one of the other Rangers had set a table for the kids. They followed Henry and me out of the kitchen, sitting themselves expectantly at the table. While I dished out the food Henry went back for milk and glasses, pouring out a full glass for each child. They waited for permission to eat, undoubtedly it had been programmed into them by their HYDRA teachers.

"Go ahead, children, eat," I said.

They were ravenous, eating everything put in front of them. Like I speculated, once they got food into their systems their skin colour changed, becoming normal in appearance. So did their behaviour as they became more talkative and began acting like the small children they were. Irene, who seemed to be the oldest at about 6 or 7 years of age watched me as I watched them.

"What is it, sweetheart?" I asked.

"Are you my father?" she asked in return. "The teachers said that someday our parents would come for us."

I almost wanted to cry at the longing on her face. Kneeling down I took her now warm hand in mine.

"No, I'm not but I will help you and the others. A great wrong was done to you, and you were left behind, forgotten for many years. You won't be forgotten any more. For now, we'll stay here with you until the authorities find families for you. That's what you want isn't it? A mother, a father, a home?"

She began to cry, and I gathered her into my arms, comforting this scared little girl. It would likely take months, maybe even years to find out exactly what had been done to these children. In the meantime, I knew that I would make sure they had what they needed to feel as normal as possible. If that meant becoming their advocate then I was willing to do that as well, as there was no way I would make them get back into those cryostasis cylinders ever again.

When they finished eating Sam started up a Disney movie on the big screen TV that was positioned against one wall with lounge seating in front of it. He even had German language dubbing for it. The arriving mine employees were surprised to see normal kids sitting in their viewing lounge, having seen only the ghost version of them. They were all read in on what we thought the children were and sworn to secrecy. Most of them were fathers and could understand the confusion and fear that greeted these children when one of the employees opened the cylinders.

Maria and Oeznik came to the camp the following day, bringing the toys and clothing that Henry suggested. Oeznik went one step further. He organized a Christmas tree to be set up within a few days, then wore a Saint Nicholas costume that he ordered in specially and spoke kindly to the children in German as he handed out additional gifts during what was likely their very first Christmas party. As we watched the excitement and enjoyment they got out of the event, Oeznik turned to me.

"The Baron wishes you to know that he will financially support the children for as long as they need. Like you, what was done to them was against their will but it is obvious that even with all their abilities they are just children."

"Thank him for me," I replied. "I don't know if we'll ever find out exactly what they were trying to do to them, but they should be allowed to be normal children, as normal as they can be. It makes a difference."

Sam and I volunteered to stay with the children while German speaking caregivers were found so that Maria, Clint and Peter could return home. Several of the Rangers stayed as well as Lieutenant D'Aoust and two of his men. Oeznik stayed with us and proved to be very grandfatherly to the children as arrangements for their care were made. When we all flew out of there on a private jet two and half weeks later, arranged by Oeznik, he approached me with a tablet and showed me a unique flower arrangement online, for my "young lady" as he referred to June, offering to have it sent on my approval. How he knew about her wasn't worth worrying about, but he did promise that Sam and I would make it for the library staff Christmas party. Sam thought the same as I did about Zemo's and Oeznik's assistance. There were times that they were helpful, and this Christmas was definitely one of them.

Chapter 14: Bucky?

Chapter Text

When that blond man said that name to him in the street in Washington it shook him. The man knew him by a name other than Soldat, Soldier, or Asset. Even now as he sat in the HYDRA facility under the bank he went over the man's face in his mind. He knew him and if he could just remember a name to go with the face it would make sense. It had to. Later the older man, Pierce, struck him across the face and tried to sweet talk him, telling him what a gift to humanity he was. He was tired, tired of all of it, of the abuse, the killing, everything. Opening his mouth to take the mouth guard he laid back and prepared for the pain then the blankness that would come after.

"I'm with you to the end of the line," said the bloodied man who was struggling to look at me.

My hand was raised for the death blow but something, a memory of the same bloody face but younger and weaker, was pushing itself into my consciousness, screaming against the mission, the mission to kill this one man. The decision to kill was taken from me by the glass beneath the blond man breaking and I watched as he fell into the water below me. I was hanging there by my metal arm, my other arm broken by the blond man during our battle. A realization that the blond man would drown hit me so I dropped into the water, ignoring the pain from my broken arm as I grasped him by the collar then kicked up to the surface, holding his face above the water until I could drag him to the edge. As I looked at the unconscious man, I still couldn't clearly remember who he was and why he was important, I just knew that he was. Then I turned away and began walking to a nearby roadway, seeing an emergency phone box. Breaking open the door on the box I lifted the receiver and waited for someone to answer.

"There's a man, he needs help, beside the water."

The words came out of my mouth, then I dropped the receiver and walked away, knowing the authorities would be able to trace the phone and find the blond man, only a few hundred yards away.

My choices were limited. With my broken arm I needed medical treatment but that meant returning to the Ideal Federal Savings Bank, with the HYDRA facility below. If the older man, Pierce, and his snarling dog, Rumlow, were there I would be taken again. But I couldn't go to a hospital as then the authorities would be summoned and I would be captured by them, then possibly turned over to HYDRA anyway. Carefully I entered the building and went down the stairs. It was eerily quiet, as if everything had been suddenly abandoned. The sounds of a quiet conversation led me to two men in lab coats who were startled when they saw me. I remembered they were medical staff.

"Set my arm," I ordered them, a wonderful feeling that made me feel powerful.

They treated me, setting my broken arm by pulling the bones straight. It still hurt but it felt better than before and with the sling they tied around my neck and shoulder I knew within hours it would begin to heal. When one approached with a syringe presumably to knock me out, I crushed his hand, forcing him to drop the syringe, then shoved him against the wall, knocking him out. The other man looked terrified.

"I need clothes, civilian clothes."

"Don't kill me," begged the man. "I just obeyed orders."

Turning to him with a stare I said one word. "Clothes."

Nodding his head in fear the man led me to a locker room where I pulled doors open with my metal hand, trying to find something big enough to fit me.

"Help me change." Shaking with fear the man helped me then then I turned to him.

"You'll need money," he said.

Taking his wallet out of his back pocket he offered it to me with a shaking hand. Flipping through it I took some green slips of paper when he nodded. They must be money then I noticed a card with the name of a bank on it and held it up with a questioning look. It wasn't knowledge I had been programmed with.

"You can buy things with it," said the man. "Just hold it up to the purchase terminal and tap it. The purchase will go through. Take it, it's yours. They can trace it so only use it for a short time then get another from someone else. Cash is untraceable so use the money if you can."

This was interesting information, and I raised an eyebrow at this extra bit of knowledge he shared, wondering if it was a trap but the man was terrified. Keeping the card, I gave the wallet back.

"Leave, never come back, never work for them again. If I see you again, I will kill you."

The man ran away, and I was alone. It made sense that the man I knocked out would also have a bank card so I pulled out his wallet, took the money and the card. As I stood up, I felt the presence of the machine, that black, ugly monstrosity. Before anything else I was going to make sure it would never be used against me again so using my metal hand I tore it apart and left it in pieces. It didn't take long, and it gave me a good feeling deep inside, the word satisfaction came unbidden into my thoughts. There was a black ball cap on a hook, and I pulled it off, placing it on my head. With a last look at this place that had only ever given me pain I went up the stairs to the back door of the bank and left it, after making sure no one was watching before I exited. For some time, I walked then saw a banner with the face of the blond man on it. It had a place name on it, the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. Stopping at a phone booth I looked it up in a telephone book, found the address and went through my memory remembering the layout of Washington, D.C. that was given to me when the mission to kill the blond man was assigned. When I arrived at the museum, I wasn't exactly sure how to get into the building without raising suspicion as there were a lot of guards and a lot of security cameras, but I noticed people were lined up in front, as if waiting to be admitted. No one seemed to pay them any attention so following their example I lined up as well and when I got to the front of the line they asked for my pass.

"I don't have one," I said, wondering if this would be enough to bring those guards over.

The lady at the desk looked at me and smiled. "That's okay, we have some that were just released," she said politely. "You'll be able to enter in about 20 minutes. Here you go sir."

With a nod to her I took the pass and entered a place that said gift shop while I waited, looking at the different things for sale. There were some books that seemed interesting which was strange to think of because I couldn't recall ever reading any books. Quite a few toys were on display but didn't make much sense to me. Checking the time on my pass with the time on the clock I went to the next entrance and presented my pass. They gave me a coloured folded paper with information on the different exhibits and for a time I wandered around glancing at them until I turned a corner and saw an exhibit with the blond man's picture. His name was Steve Rogers but he also went by the title Captain America neither of which set off any memories in my head, but it was definitely him. Then they showed a picture of him when he was younger, smaller, and weaker looking. A memory of me putting my hand on his shoulder came to me suddenly with the words he said to me just before he fell into the water. "I'm with you 'til the end of the line." They were once my words that I said to him after something terrible happened, after... someone, his mother died. A strange feeling crept into my throat that confused me. It was not a good feeling either and I breathed deeply to still the sensation.

A screen caught my attention and I saw old black and white film footage of Captain America and a group of soldiers called the Howling Commandos. It seemed familiar but I didn't remember any details of it. Just as I was about to turn away, they showed Rogers with one of the soldiers in the unit and I was captivated, because it was me, with short hair but it was definitely me, laughing with Rogers. For several minutes I watched the film as it looped back to that sequence, seeing myself laugh. Then I stepped back to get a bigger look at the exhibit and found an information panel about the other man, about me. It said my name was James Buchanan Barnes, but I was known as Bucky Barnes. Bucky, that's why the blond man called me that. The printing on the panel indicated I was born in 1917 and died in 1944 but I knew that wasn't right because I remembered celebrating Christmas that year. Why was the date wrong? Why did I remember that Christmas? I read every single word in that whole exhibit then reluctantly left as there was no more information to be gleaned from staying. As I came out of the building, I stood for a moment deciding what I should do next.

Beside me was a bin with newspapers in it, and I wondered how I knew what they were. Pulling one out I looked for any news of Steve Rogers, curious if he had been found. There was an article that said he was recuperating, and I felt relief that he would be okay. His death wouldn't be on my hands. A sickening thought occurred to me; HYDRA, what was left of it, would still want Rogers dead. I read the article again to see if they listed the hospital. It wasn't in there and I searched the bin for another newspaper to see if it was mentioned, finding the information quickly. Someone needed to make sure Steve Rogers would be safe. I was the logical person, but I needed weapons. The nearest source was the bank; I would have to go back there and take what I needed.

It was getting dark, and I didn't want to be there at night, so I quickly headed back to the neighbourhood where the bank was and began a standard surveillance pattern to determine if there were any guards. Surely, they must have resumed their occupation of the building. Surprisingly there weren't any guards outside so I approached the rear door of the bank, staying out of sight from the camera that would be monitoring the entrance. Jumping up I knocked the camera down then forced the door open with my metal hand and listened. There were sounds of muted conversation and I calmed himself to hear what was being said.

"What did Pierce say about our next move?" said the first voice.

"Pierce is dead, Rumlow might as well be dead," said the second. "The Asset is gone, the machine destroyed, and all I know is that I want to be miles away from here when the next one in command shows up to find out why Rogers is still alive."

"Surely they'll sit back and regroup," said the first. "I don't even know who came next after Rumlow."

"There's always someone and they'll be looking for the Asset," said the second. "That's why I'm getting out now. I'm headed to Mexico. I speak Spanish and can find work with a nice safe cartel."

Quietly I stepped closer, removing my sling and dropping it, then looked around the corner quickly to see if I recognized the faces of the men talking. One was a man who took pleasure in stubbing his cigarette out on my chest whenever he felt like it and a feeling of revulsion started inside of me. The other man was newer and hadn't done anything to me, but it never seemed to take long for them to start. The first man looked up and saw me, but I was across the room before he had an opportunity to react and wrapped my metal hand around his throat, while glaring at the other man.

"Sit down, be quiet, and I won't kill you," I said, then looked back at the man whose throat was in my metal hand. "You hurt me, many times. Why should I let you live now?"

"Because I can give you safe house locations," he said, struggling to speak as I clenched my hand. "Many of them, with food, weapons and money in them. That's what you want, right? You don't want them to find you. I don't want them to find me either. Let me live and I'll help you."

For several moments I considered the man's words and even though I didn't particularly trust him the man was right. I needed everything he mentioned to get away but first I needed weapons to make sure Rogers was safe.

"Who is still alive?" I demanded, lessening my hold on him.

"Rumlow, but he's hurt bad," said the first man, speaking easier now. "Rollins is still alive but is in custody. I don't know the names of any others as it was always need to know except for them. Soldier ...." I never wanted to hear that name again and tightened my hand around the man's throat again.

"My name is Barnes," I stated emphatically. "I'm not the Soldier or the Asset. I'm Barnes."

The first man nodded his head with difficulty. "Barnes, you need to get out of here. They'll be looking for you. They'll say the words and make you go after Rogers again."

I glared at him and at the other man, not trusting them. "We don't know them," said the second man. "That was need to know as well, so that we couldn't use you to take over."

"Who knows them?" I was yelling and took a breath, so I was calmer. "Who knows the words?"

"I don't know," said the second man. "Pierce did and Rumlow, for sure, maybe whoever is next after Rumlow but I don't know who that is. He's right though, you need to get out of here. What did you want?"

Opening my hand, I released the first man and he bent over coughing and rubbing his throat with his hand. "Weapons, money, and the locations of those safe houses. There's something I have to do first then I'll go. Help me and I won't kill you. Betray me and I will find you."

The first man stood up, nodding. Together he and the other man took me to the armoury giving me first pick of several weapons, even bringing over and opening a canvas bag for me to place them in. The second man showed me a spotting scope and I nodded to add that to the bag. Then I looked at the first man expectantly.

"Safe houses, right," said the guy and he went to a computer terminal, bringing them up on the screen. "I can print off a hard copy of the locations or send you a file. Do you have a cell phone?"

"Hard copy," I replied, as if they would trust me with a communications device. The printer spit out several sheets of paper in rapid succession. "Money."

The second man went to a panel on the wall and pressed a button. It slid open revealing a safe.

"I don't know the combination," he said. "But I figured you could break it open."

After I put the papers in the bag I stepped towards the safe, clenched my left fist and punched it several times until the door popped open. Reaching inside I pulled out about a dozen bundles of those smaller pieces of green paper, the money.

"That's money," said the first man, "twenties, so a bundle of those is worth $2000. These look new so if you get a chance you need to take them out of the bundle and fold them up to look like they've been used. They'll be accepted better."

I put the bundles into the canvas sack with the weapons. They had helped me without betraying me, so I stepped back and gestured to the safe. So far, they hadn't noticed I only used my left hand for everything.

"Go ahead," I said. "I have what I need."

The other two men emptied the safe. With that much cash I wouldn't need the bank cards I took earlier so I tossed them into the empty safe then looked at the other two men.

"I'm leaving. You wait ten minutes before you leave. If I ever see you again, I will kill you."

The first man lightly touched my arm and I had to fight my instinct to wrap my metal hand around his throat again. "I'm sorry for the things I did to you. Rumlow encouraged it, said it was necessary to keep you in line. He made it seem like you were ... damaged goods anyway."

A sharp breath escaped my mouth as I remembered all the violence that man had inflicted on me then I nodded and left without saying a word, picking up my sling as I went. Quickly I ran up the stairs to the back entrance and looked outside in all directions before leaving. Within a minute I was several blocks away. I fully expected the other two to not wait for the ten minutes as I instructed but I didn't care. My next stop was to find somewhere near the hospital where my new mission was; to protect Steve Rogers.

There were several buildings across the street from the hospital that would allow me to have a good view of the inside rooms on several floors. Although the lower buildings would give me a better view the higher buildings would hide my position better, so I took up a position on the taller building, using the spotter scope to look from window to window. Just as I was about to give up and find a new position I saw the dark man, the one who could fly. He was looking out the window of the lit room then turned back. Shifting position slightly so I had a better view into the room I could see medical personnel around a bed in the room behind the dark man. They dispersed and I took a breath recognizing it was Steve in the bed. His face was bruised, and his eyes were closed but he was obviously alive. For some time, I watched then movement below me drew my attention.

On the lower building's roof, I could see two men setting up a post directly across from the room where Steve was. Just by the weapons alone I knew they were HYDRA and Steve was obviously their target. Shifting my focus to them I saw them get themselves settled then one left, appearing on the street below. I watched him through the spotter scope, preparing myself to jump down to the street to intercept him then saw him go into a shop on the corner, coming out several minutes later carrying a tray with beverages and a paper bag. He returned to the lower building, appearing on the roof, giving the other man a beverage and something from the bag, food. I felt hungry then at the sight of them eating but couldn't leave, knowing they were waiting for night to take their shot.

Gingerly I took my sling off and tested the range of motion of my arm. It still hurt but I could use it if I had to. Opening the bag, I took out a holster that would fit under my jacket and put it on. Picking out several knives and two handguns, I inserted them into the holsters. The civilian clothes weren't all that suitable for fighting but I could manage. Looking over the edge of the building I saw that if I went to another building's roof, I would be able to access the roof the two men were on without them being aware of me. I zipped up the bag and pulled a vent panel off an air conditioning unit stuffing the bag into the space and placing the panel back on. It only took me a few minutes to make it down to the same roof as the other two and I approached them quietly getting close enough to hear them talk.

"What proof does the General need when we take Rogers out?" asked the first one.

"Cell phone image of both him and Wilson dead," replied the second. "He'll text us payment and the location of a safe house for new identities. You really think the Asset has gone rogue?"

"Well, he didn't complete his mission. You know that he doesn't f*ck up. Either he got injured or he turned. Either way, if we find him the General wants him back. There's a bonus if we do find him."

Deliberately I made a noise behind them and one of them looked back, seeing me standing there.

"Jesus Christ, the Asset, he's here," he said, the excitement in his voice easy to discern. "What do I do?"

The other man stood up, looking at me with fear then he swallowed. "Mission report," he said, trying to sound as if he was in control. I didn't answer. "Asset, mission report."

"Only to Pierce or Rumlow," I replied, keeping my voice as monotone as possible. "Where are they?"

They looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. "Pierce is dead, Rumlow is hurt," said the second man. "We have orders to bring you in to number three. You must comply."

"Mission not complete," I replied. "The Asset will complete the mission then you will bring the Asset to number three so the mission report can be made. What is his designation?"

"You don't know?" asked the first and I fixed a deadly stare at him as I tried to come up with a reason why I didn't know.

"The Asset knows who number three is, but the Asset doesn't know you," I replied, taking a step closer to them as they stepped back. "You must confirm identity of number three before the Asset will go with you."

They stepped closer together and began talking in a low voice, forgetting I could hear everything they said.

"Why wouldn't he know us?" asked the first. "We've been there while he was being prepared. Something's not right."

"He could be malfunctioning," said the second. "Plus, it's not like we were in his face during preparations. I never wanted to be closer than a football field to him." They both looked back at me. "I'm going to tell him. It's the only way he'll go with us, and the only way we get the bonus. I don't have any of the tranquilizer with me so it's not like we can force him."

"Alright, let's tell him," said the first. He faced me. "Number three is Air Force General Adam Young. He's here in Washington, at the St. Regis Hotel, room 625 waiting for confirmation from us that the target has been eliminated."

"You are correct," I said. "The target escaped, leaving the Asset injured. I tracked him and the secondary target to this location."

"Okay, you want to take the shots?" asked the second man. I approached, taking their sniper rifle from them. Just seconds after he let me take the rifle, he had a sudden realization. "Wait a minute, you referred to yourself as I."

Taking the rifle in both hands I cracked him across the face with it and did the same to the other man. Both were stunned and I kneeled down, disarming both of them. Searching the pockets of their combat pants I located zip ties and tied them both up before either of them knew what was happening. Going through their bags I found more weapons and ammunition, intending to add it to my arsenal. Then I lifted them both into sitting position letting them lean against a vent stack as I kneeled in front of them.

"Tell me everything," I said. "Start with how many HYDRA operatives are still in Washington."

"You f*cking traitor," said the second man. I took the gun out of my holster and pressed it against his knee then looked at him. "f*ck! There's the General, us, and another pair for sure. I'm sure the General has already called in lots of others, and they'll be here before dawn."

I pressed the trigger, making him scream but there were no bullets in the magazine, and I grinned, hoping I looked like a madman to them.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell!" he yelled, and I tilted my head in response, hoping that made me seem even more crazy. "Sorry, sorry, I lied. After the General and us there's only the other pair."

He began to cry, whether from fear or relief didn't matter. I turned my attention to the other man, only this time I made a big show of taking the empty magazine out and replacing it with a full one, then pressing the gun to just below his chin.

"Is he telling the truth?" I asked. "If he's not, you die first. Remember, I was taught how to tell someone is lying."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he babbled. "He's telling the truth. Nearly everyone was in the Triskelion and that place went down. Rollins got out, so did we and the other two but Rollins was arrested right away. There's some who haven't checked in, but they were just guns for hire, and we figure they got the hell out of here. There were some scientists at the bank and odds are they took off as well. Please don't kill me."

I pulled the gun away and looked at them as if I was making a decision. "Before I got here did you report your position to the General?"

The first man nodded. "He ordered us to take out the targets and we told him we were set up here."

"Does the General know the activation words?"

I stared at both of them, studying them both intensely. The first man swallowed. "I don't know for sure but it doesn't make sense for him not to know, especially with Pierce dead and Rumlow out of it. Are you going to kill us?"

At first, I didn't answer, wanting them to be afraid enough to reveal more information voluntarily. I stood at the edge of the roof looking over towards the hospital. Behind me I could hear their whispered conversation.

"How are we going to get him to the General without the words and the tranquilizer?" said one of them.

The other man huffed in response. "Are you kidding me? It's game over for us. We'll be lucky he doesn't kill us and dispose of our bodies in the Potomac. At this point I just want to live."

Turning back and walking to them I kneeled down, making sure they both saw my eyes. "Do you have a vehicle?"

"Yeah," said the first man. "It's parked on the street. The keys are in my jacket pocket. It's yours. Just don't kill us."

"Who are the other two men?" I asked. "Can you contact them?"

"Webster and McCardle," said the second man. "McCardle is big, with red hair. Webster is skinnier, with blond hair and blue eyes." He looked nervously at the other man. "I have a phone number to find our rendezvous point."

Searching through the first man's jacket I found his keys and a phone. He gave me the code to unlock it and the phone number of their counterparts.

"I'm going to dial it and you will set the rendezvous time for two hours. Was the meeting place pre-arranged or is anyplace fine?"

"Pre-arranged, in front of the National Geographic Museum," he replied.

Dialling the number I put the phone on speaker, pressing the button that looked like volume. I held it out to the first man and told him to set up the meeting and tell them the General would be there. Nervously, he nodded as the ringing began. On the third ring a man answered and was told that the targets had been taken out, the Asset reacquired and that they would all meet with the General at the rendezvous. When he was finished, I stopped the call and smiled at him, keeping the cell phone.

"Good job. Now, let's get to your car."

I helped both of them up and held them by the arm as I took them off the roof and down the stairs ahead of me, watching them carefully for any sign of them trying to escape. At the car I placed them both in the back seat and drove to a police precinct, dragging them both out. With more of the zip ties I bound their legs, then opened the phone.

"What are your names?" I asked. "Don't lie to me."

"George Parayko and Bobby Ventura," said the first man.

I got back in the car, phoned 911 and quickly said their names, that they were HYDRA and were waiting outside the precinct to be arrested. Then I tossed the phone out the window and drove off, watching in the rear-view mirror as I saw several police officers come out of the building with their guns drawn. Satisfied that those two were taken care of I drove to the St. Regis Hotel, parking in an alley behind it, and walked around it to get the layout of the building, including where the security cameras had a blind spot. There was a pay phone beside the hotel, and I looked up the hotel's phone number, put a quarter in and dialled it. Some things were still the same. A man's voice answered.

"General Young please," I said. "I believe he's in room 625." I was feeling more confident as the words came out. They put me through and the General answered. At first, I didn't say anything then he demanded to know who this was. "Barnes, James Buchanan, Sergeant, Serial number 32557038."

Dropping the receiver, I broke in through the wall beside the fire escape door and ran up the stairs to the sixth floor. Locating room 625 I listened through the door as he phoned the other team, telling them to get to the hotel as soon as possible. When he opened the door to come out, I put my metal arm around his neck.

"You and I are going for a ride," I said. "You don't say a word to me, or I'll snap your neck."

He nodded and I steered him to the fire escape stairs. We walked down together and stepped out through the hole in the wall into the night air, walking quickly to the car. I opened the front passenger door and shoved him in. Sitting in the driver's seat I placed my right hand around his neck.

"You know this hand is strong enough to kill you." He nodded. "Do you have a cell phone?" He gingerly put his hand inside his jacket and brought it out. "Unlock it, disable the password and give it to me. You're going to tell me who else is high up in HYDRA."

"Once you cut off one head two more will take its place," he spouted and I slapped him, making him snarl at me. "You have no right, Asset."

"My name is Barnes, Bucky Barnes," I snapped. "I am not the Asset, the Soldier, the Soldat, It, or any other foul name your organization forced on me. Now, tell me what I want to know."

"No," he said defiantly. "I would rather die than tell an ungrateful ...."

I slapped him again. "Ungrateful," I roared. "Years of being treated as a science experiment, my identity stripped from me, my memories ripped away, starved, abused, forced to kill for the likes of you and I'm ungrateful?"

He smirked at me then began reciting the words and I instinctively squeezed his neck before he got the second word out. With a smile on his face, he kept trying to say them and I squeezed harder, furious that he would try to turn me. As his air supply was cut, he began to struggle but I knew I had no choice but to kill him if only to ensure that he couldn't make me into the Asset again. Suddenly, his struggles ceased, and I let go, then put my head to his chest, confirming that his heart was no longer beating.

"f*ck," I muttered then I screamed. "f*ck!"

Looking at his lifeless body I remembered that he phoned the remaining team and wondered if I should wait for them. Pulling the seatbelt over the General's body to secure it I drove to where I could see their vehicle approach. Within minutes they showed up and I flashed the headlights twice. They did the same then one of them got out of the car with his gun drawn and began approaching me. Putting the car into gear I backed up, did a full 180 degree turn and took off, wanting to get them to an area that was more private. They chased me and I eventually I let them catch me. As they approached the car I stepped out and faced them with my guns drawn. I had a flash of a memory of John Wayne in a movie, facing off against three gunfighters. Couldn't remember the name of the movie but I smiled at the thought. Both men had their guns drawn but their faces showed they were terrified of me.

"The General, where is he?" asked one of them.

"Dead," I said. "You're next." They looked at each other with alarm. "You know I'm fast. I can kill one of you and have my hand around the throat of the other before you get another shot off. Unless you get lucky you won't hit me."

They were talking to each other, and I heard them discuss what they should do next. One of them brought up that they had lots of money from another safe house they broke into. It was enough for them to live a good life in Mexico, maybe work for a cartel.

"That's a good idea," I said loudly.

Both of them whipped their heads around, not realizing I could hear everything they said. "Don't kill us," said the first one. "If we let you go, you'll let us go?"

"Sure," I replied. "In fact, go to Mexico, work for a cartel. It's a lot safer than what I was planning for you. There's just one thing. You leave now, you forget you ever saw me, and you leave Steve Rogers and his friend alone. They're under my protection. If I see you anywhere near them, I'll kill you, slowly. I know many ways to do it."

Both of them lowered their weapons, then retreated to their car and turned it around to leave. As they did, I took a picture of their license plate then phoned 911.

"There are two men in a car, late model Chevy Suburban, Washington D.C. license plate FT 8781," I said. "They are on their way to the Mexican border with several hundred thousand dollars in cash that have been laundered for a drug cartel. They've killed a General. Both men are armed."

I hung up, tossed the phone onto the boulevard, pulled the General's body out and left him behind some dumpsters, then got into my car and drove back to the building across from the hospital. Just as I pulled up, I saw the friend of Steve Rogers come out, so I watched as he got into his car, his new car that obviously replaced the one I destroyed. Following him discreetly I learned where he lived and filed it for a time when I needed to sleep or shower, probably while he was at the hospital. For tonight I could sleep in the car for an hour or two before resuming my surveillance of Steve as he continued his recovery in the hospital room.

****************

So much of Bucky Barnes fanfiction emphasize how broken he was and he definitely was broken into many pieces then remade into HYDRAs perfect weapon. I wondered if in the excitement of his early days of freedom that he retained his abilities as an operative, enough to pretend to still be the Asset, but using those skills to get information, money, clothes, and anything else he needed to get his bearings, protect Steve, and develop a plan to get away. As an operative he had to be observant and able to adapt to changing circ*mstances, perhaps gaining in confidence as his efforts were successful. Even if HYDRA did everything for him he must have retained enough memories to try things for himself; everyday things like buying clothes, cooking, or doing laundry. It would only be later, once he was finally alone and in hiding that the memories would flood his mind and become overwhelming.

Chapter 15: Kindness

Chapter Text

For several days I had been watching Steve Rogers and his friend, Sam Wilson. Steve was still recuperating and the attention that the man, Wilson, gave him made me accept responsibility for his safety as well. So far no other HYDRA operatives had showed up to finish what I refused to do. At first, it was hard for me to accept it as anything but a failure of my programming but as the days went on and I began remembering the memories of my past I understood that the failure of the programming was my lifeline to humanity. No longer was I subject to the orders of the ones who took me away from everyone I knew and everything I was. Their lies no longer controlled me, and even though the words were still there I knew that the longer I stayed free the stronger my mind would become.

On the third day I stopped at a store where I bought underwear and T-shirts, looking at the pictures on the packages for anything that resembled what I already wore, then paying for them with cash. There were strange looks at me by the staff as I did it but I attributed it to how dirty my appearance was. Perhaps Wilson's apartment had a shower where I could clean up so I took the liberty of entering his apartment while he was at the hospital, knowing that he would stay there until dark. It was easy to break in unnoticed, not that it would be hard for me, with my skills.

As I wandered through Wilson's apartment I noticed he had what appeared to be a washing machine and dryer. I remembered something similar from several of the safe houses I was kept in, although I was never allowed to use them. It couldn't be hard, though. There must be instructions. I searched the top of the stacked unit and found a laminated card covered in dust. Brushing the dust off of it confirmed that if I followed these instructions I could wash the clothes I was wearing. Kicking my boots to the side I took everything off, emptying the pockets and putting all the clothing inside the washing machine. The instructions said there was a pull out piece with partitions where I could put the laundry detergent. Opening the cupboards nearby I found a bottle of liquid laundry detergent and filled the one partition marked for it. Sliding it back in I looked at all the buttons then at the instructions determining which ones to push. Since my clothes were quite dirty I picked one marked Extended Wash and pressed it. There was a sound of water entering the inside of the drum then it stopped and began to spin slowly, turning several times. It was kind of interesting so I sat on the floor and watched it as more water was added. Foam began to appear and I was satisfied that the detergent was being distributed. I was washing my clothes!

As I sat there, I could smell something quite foul and realized it was me, so I pulled myself away from the spectacle of the washing machine and entered the bathroom. It was set up similar to those in the safe houses but was much nicer and cleaner. I looked at the various bottles on a shelf inside the shower, identifying body wash, shampoo and something called conditioner for use after rinsing the shampoo out. At first, I wondered why Wilson had shampoo and conditioner as his hair was very short, cut close to his scalp. The answer came quickly ... sometimes he had guests staying with him, ladies if the images on the bottles meant anything. Examining the handles to turn on the water I was surprised to see there was hot water, not just cold and I turned both to a setting that felt good on my hand. Carefully I stepped in and poured some shampoo in my hand, distributing it equally between my two hands and applying it to my hair. A memory of doing this in another place came to me and I relaxed so that the memory could expand. It was a more basic place but a happy one and a sign with flowers on it kept coming into my mind, Eden. It was someplace I was at before, by my own choice, a safe place.

"Eden," I said out loud, hoping that verbalizing it would keep the memory alive.

I was going to have to write some of these memories down as I was unsure if they would stay in my mind or disappear. Whatever HYDRA did to me in the machine must have damaged my brain, of that I was certain. If I was going to function without assistance I needed to remember everything. Writing it down would help.

After rinsing the shampoo out I put some conditioner in my hands spreading it throughout my long hair. It made it feel really soft and I noticed as I ran my fingers through that it helped untangle it. That's what conditioner did, I guess. I rinsed that out and picked up the bottle of body wash, unsure of the best way to use it. If I squirted it on my body the shower stream would rinse it off, so I put some in my hands and applied it, rubbing it into my skin everywhere I could touch, again with flashes of memories of me doing this a long time ago. There was considerable dirt and some blood that washed off but soon the water that came off was completely clean and I smiled. I gave myself a shower, successfully.

Turning off the water I stepped out and grabbed a towel, drying my hair and body. Everything smelled good and when I looked in the mirror, I looked much cleaner, more like a person and less like an ... like an Asset. I hated that term. Forcing myself to look in the mirror again I stared at myself in the eyes.

"My name is Bucky Barnes," I said out loud. "I am not the Soldier. I am not the Asset. I am a man, a free man."

Letting my breath out I looked for a comb but the only thing I could find looked like no comb I had ever seen before. Running it through my long hair it still did the job, and I was happy with how it looked. Maybe someday I could cut it or get it cut at a ... a barbershop, I remembered a barbershop. A man in a white smock with slicked back hair and a moustache, putting a cover over me, then using scissors and a buzzing machine to cut my hair then applying a nice smelling liquid to it and making it look slick just like his hair. Another memory. I definitely had to write these down.

Opening the package of new underwear I slid them on, pulled the T-shirt tag off before putting it on, then stuffed the tags and packaging into the bag so that I didn't leave any garbage behind that would let Wilson know I was in his apartment. A growl from my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten yet. Until my clothes were washed and dried I couldn't leave so I opened his fridge, finding all sorts of boxes. Opening them I realized they were full of different foods. If I took a little something from each box he likely wouldn't notice that someone had eaten them. Doing just that I put something on a plate and took a bite of it cold. There had to be a way to warm it up and I looked at the appliances in his kitchen, trying to figure out which one to use. A rectangular metal box mounted on a shelf had a button that said Reheat. Made sense to me so I put the plate inside, closed the door and pressed the button. A light turned on in the box as it made a whirring sound and the food rotated. Watching it through the window was as fascinating as watching the clothes in the washing machine. It stopped, a beeping sound came from the box and I opened the door, touching the food with my finger to find it was hot. Eureka! Hot food. Eureka, where did that word come from?

Inside his fridge were cans marked beer, so I took one and opened it, taking a taste. Not bad and it would help wash the food down. I sat on the stool next to the counter and began eating, trying to identify the different foods. There was Chinese food, something that was similar to Chinese but way spicier, although it was good. Spaghetti, I remembered that, and something that had sausages and shrimp in a cooked rice. It was spicy as well but tasty. I wanted more of all of it, but I didn't want to risk Wilson noticing so I drank the rest of the beer down and took the plate to the sink to wash it then put it back into the cupboard. When I opened the cupboard below the sink, I noticed a bin with beer cans in it, so I added the one I used. He likely wouldn't notice the addition of just one can. Once my clothes were dry, I could go to that food place near the hospital and get something in a bag I could take to the rooftop for later.

Checking the washing machine I saw that there was a number 2 on the readout and wondered if that meant it would be done in two minutes. I counted down and although it wasn't accurate a few seconds later the washing machine stopped and I was able to take the clothes out, putting them into the drying machine above it. The clothes had needed about 45 minutes to wash. Perhaps 45 minutes would be a good place to start to dry them. Turning the dial until it showed 45 I pressed a button that said On and it began. There was no window to watch them dry so I wandered around the apartment, noticing a newspaper on the coffee table. Starting at the top of the front page I began reading it, learning more about the different things going on in Washington, and in the world.

There were still articles about the fight between Captain America and the suspected Winter Soldier, with a grainy photograph of the fight. I realized I was the Winter Soldier, that's what they called me in the newspapers. My metal arm was very distinctive in that picture and I knew I would have to be very careful not to show it. The articles described me as armed, dangerous and being sought by local and federal law enforcement. Sitting back I contemplated how I was going to avoid being spotted. Civilian clothes were a start and keeping them clean was going to be important so that I didn't draw attention to myself. There was a pen and a pad of paper on the table. Pulling it closer I wrote reminders to myself.

1. STAY HIDDEN

2. STAY CLEAN

3. CUT HAIR

4. SHAVE

5. AVOID POLICE

I stopped writing at that point, as it felt like my mind had shut down; I couldn't think of other things I needed to do. Putting my head down on my arms I closed them for a moment, trying to calm my mind, and get it back on track. I listened to the quiet sounds of the place, the sound of the clothes drying machine, the chirps of the birds outside. Taking deep breaths I slowed my breathing.

When I woke up in a panic I jumped up from the table. It was late, according to the time readout on the stove. Wilson would soon be home and I needed to leave. The drying machine was no longer running so I opened the door, satisfied the clothes inside it were dry. I put socks, jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt on over top of the T-shirt I was already wearing. Quickly I put the jacket and ball cap on, tied on my boots, and took a quick look at the place to make sure everything was as it was when I got there, taking the list off the pad, then I picked up the shopping bag and left. As I hurried away from the apartment, I could hear a vehicle at the top of the street and slid into the side of a hedge, wedging my body inside its leaves. The vehicle approached then passed and I breathed a sigh of relief, as it was Wilson, returning to his apartment. I had to be more careful as I didn't want him to find me. It carried the risk that he might try to take me in, and I wasn't going with anyone. I watched as he went up the steps, unlocked the door and entered then ran to where I had parked the car I stole from the HYDRA operatives. Starting it up I drove back to the neighbourhood where the hospital was. The food store was still open and right next to was a store that said Dollar King. From outside I could see it had all sorts of different things for sale and I went in, wandering up and down the aisle. There was a backpack, black in colour that I could carry supplies in, so that I put that in a basket that was there for my shopping convenience. There was also a bag like a satchel that I could put my new clothes in. They also had notebooks, of all colours and sizes, pens, pencils; the choices were overwhelming, so I just grabbed the ones on top and put them in my basket. There was an aisle with foods, so I took chocolate bars, something called protein bars, bags of nuts, then several bottles of water. Noticing flashlights, I took one as it could come in handy. Lining up where other people were waiting, I tried to keep my face down so the security camera I noticed in the corner couldn't see my face. When it was my turn the person at the register asked if I wanted a bag. I was confused as in my memory they always gave you a paper bag when you bought something at a store.

"I could put it all in this bag," said the young man politely, who wore an earring in each ear and one in his nose.

"Sure," I replied and as he rang up each item, he placed it inside the satchel.

"$23.55," he said. "Debit, credit, or cash?"

"Cash," I replied and pulled out two twenty dollar bills from a small stack I had in my pocket.

"Dude, you shouldn't be flashing that much cash around," he said in a low voice, leaning closer to me. "I can wait if you want to grab a wallet."

A wallet, yes, a wallet to carry the cash. He was right and told me which aisle to go to. People still waiting were not happy with me but I found one right away and he rang it through then peeled the price tag off so I could it use it to hold the change he gave me.

"Thank you," I said, then added some more words just so it explained things. "I just got out and I'm not used to things."

He nodded and smiled. "I thought it was something like that. Good luck."

Looking to the next person he called them over and I left the store, feeling good. I went next door and picked out some sandwiches from an open case and paid for them with the cash I had put in the wallet. They never even gave me a second glance and I felt even more confident. I could do this. Walking across the street I went to open the door of the building but found it locked then saw hours of operation on a sign. I must be later than the closing time. Leaving I went around back to the alley and pulled the backpack out from the satchel, transferring what I could into it, then putting it on and strapping it across my chest, adjusting the straps so it felt secure. I had threaded one of the straps through the satchel handle so it hung from the backpack. With my hands free I jumped up, taking hand holds where I could and climbed up the side of the building to the roof. Checking the vent cover I found my weapons and brought them out then sat where I could see into Steve's room. He was asleep but even in the dim lighting of the room he looked better and I knew he would probably make it.

While I got comfortable I took my wallet out of the jacket and added the small stack of twenty dollar bills into it. Sliding it automatically into my back pocket felt right and I patted it, remembering feeling it there before. Undoing the strap of the backpack I pulled one of the notebooks out and a pen, writing down the memory of showers in Eden in a part of the roof that had light from the streetlight on it. As I wrote some more memories of that place came including two names, Seth and Summer. I couldn't quite put a face on them but I remember them hugging me and driving me in a vehicle that was painted with flowers. I even drew it, not very well, but it was recognizable to me. A sudden desire to go there filled me and I remembered that Eden used to be called Townsend, and it was in New York State because Seth and Summer took me to the bus station in Albany, the capital of New York. Perhaps tomorrow I could find a map and go to Eden that was once Townsend. Seth and Summer might be there still.

The warmth of the morning sun roused me from the sleep I obviously had been in. At first, I was angry with myself. When I was the Asset, I would have never gone to sleep when I was in surveillance mode. Then the thought hit me that I wasn't the Asset anymore. I could sleep when I wanted and when I needed to. Obviously, I needed it. Looking over at the window I could see Steve was awake, talking to a nurse who was checking on him. He was smiling, so he was feeling better. A short time later Wilson came, and he waited for the nurse to leave, smiling at her then his face grew serious. He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and handed it to Steve. With a start I wondered if it was the paper I wrote on the day before. But I didn't forget it on the table when I woke up because I remembered I picked it up and put it in my jacket pocket. Feeling for it I pulled it out. Whatever Wilson was showing Steve it wasn't my list. Steve was speaking calmly, placing his hand on Wilson's arm. He looked out the window and I ducked; certain he had seen me. If he did see me, he didn't say or do anything, as when I peeked over the ledge he was still speaking calmly to Wilson.

Later, I watched as Wilson helped him out of the bed and they walked around the room together before sitting back on the bed. It brought memories of Steve when he was young, very sick and I sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make him laugh. The memories were so tenuous, so fragile, that if I pushed myself to remember more they would disintegrate so I just breathed and let them come, remembering that I helped him walk sometimes. Wilson left for a time and Steve took the sheet, writing on the back of it. Then he laboriously got out of bed and placed the paper flat on the window, looking in my direction. He had seen me. When I saw what it said I knew it was time to move on.

GO. BE SAFE

I sat back against the vent stack and tried not to let my emotions overwhelm me. As much as I wanted to see it through and make sure he walked out of the hospital he was looking out for me, giving me permission to leave and find a place where I could get better. Once it got dark, I would do that.

Two days later

There it was, the sign for Townsend, but it wasn't the old worn sign anymore. It was bright, newly painted and declared as a safe community for you and your family. I had looked at maps that showed Eden, but the only place named Eden was near Buffalo and I knew it couldn't be there because my Eden was closer to Albany. Not finding an Eden on any map at any of the gas stations I stopped at I looked instead for Townsend and found it, near a river, the river where Seth and Summer first drove up to me as I tried to evade the HYDRA team searching for me. I had remembered more once I decided to seek out Eden. At first, it came in bits and pieces then there were more complete memories of dinner in the dining hall, digging out the stump, and the emotion on Seth's face when he told me I had to leave. Now, I was almost there, and I was filled with a dread.

What if they didn't remember me? I hadn't aged much but it had been...almost 43 years since I was there. Seth and Summer could easily be dead although I had no idea how old they were. Their child was 43 years old, the one Summer was very pregnant with. All these thoughts went through my head as I looked at the sign but at the bottom of the sign was a phrase that seemed to be just for me.

Please visit our beautiful and progressive community. You'll like it!

I had to go, if just to reconnect with this small piece of my past. Getting into the car, the same one I had taken from the first HYDRA pair sent to kill Steve, I put it into gear and followed the signs for Townsend. At the entrance to the admittedly pretty town there was the sign, the Eden sign, that I remembered in the shower at Wilson's apartment. There was an information plaque beside it. It detailed the purchase of land by several Army veterans of the Vietnam War who just wanted a quiet and peaceful place to reconnect with nature, their loved ones and themselves. As their numbers grew so did their economy as they attracted a diversified community of artists, all of them looking for a place to express their creativity freely. Cabinet makers built custom furniture, weavers brought sheep, preparing the wool themselves for weaving unique pieces of art, sculptors set up studios working in metal, stone, and clay. It sounded idyllic. Another plaque gave thanks to the original founders and I found the names Seth Marsh (d. 2010), Marianne "Summer" Alder-Marsh, Tanner Short (d. 2011), Jane "Tamsin" Murray, and several others whose names I recalled. Taking my notebook out I wrote the names down and the story of Eden. I was about to leave when an older woman approached. Her hair was almost white and her face was worn but her eyes were bright. She dressed much like the women in the commune did when I was there. At first, she stared at me, which I tried to ignore, then she smiled when I looked at her.

"It is you, isn't it?" she said, hesitantly. "James? You've barely changed."

I opened my mouth, unsure what to say then she tentatively put her hand on my arm. "I'm Tamsin," she said. "From Brooklyn. I was here when you took shelter with us. I was here when the majority voted to ask you to leave. That was so wrong. No one ever came looking for you. You would have been safe. But they found you, didn't they?"

Smiling slightly I nodded. "I made it to Brooklyn but they were looking for me," I replied. "I saw my mother but she didn't see me, then I left her the money that Seth and Summer gave me and I ran. It took them over a week to finally catch me."

"Summer is still here," said Tamsin. "Would you like to see her? I know that she would want to see you."

I nodded and went to my car. She had walked there to tend to the flowers but agreed to ride with me to where Summer lived. As we drove down the street several people stopped to watch us drive by.

"Ignore them," she said. "You're safe here."

I wanted to believe her but something told me I couldn't stay there for long. We pulled up to a very nice house near a park, Seth Marsh Park. I pointed it out and Tamsin smiled.

"He was the driving force behind our community," she said. "It was his vision, and he was a good leader. Fair, kind, and always trying to find common ground when people disagreed." Her face became sad. "He died of cancer caused by something he was exposed to during the Vietnam War. So much pain when he finally died. Tanner, too."

"I'm sorry," I said. "They were kind to me. It meant a lot."

She stepped out of the car and waited for me, then we went up the steps together and she knocked on the door. A teenage girl came to the door and smiled.

"Aunt Tamsin," she exclaimed, hugging the older woman. "Gramma was just talking about you. Come in."

She noticed me and her eyes grew wide. "Is that him?" she asked, then she looked outside. "Come inside, both of you. There was an alert on the TV to be on the lookout for James Buchanan Barnes. They say he's armed and dangerous. It upset Gramma."

We both stepped in and the girl closed the door then drew the curtains. She didn't seem afraid of me but obviously knew who I was. Gesturing at the couch for us to sit she disappeared into another room. I could hear her speaking then I heard Summer's voice and I stood up as the voice came closer. When she came out of the hallway she stopped, putting her hand on her mouth in astonishment. I almost cried myself. She was still beautiful, in that way that people who are beautiful inside age.

"James," she said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "Look at you, you're still young. They're looking for you. Did anyone see you?"

"Yeah, a few people stared at him as he drove me here," replied Tamsin. "I didn't know about the bulletin. I've put him into danger."

"It's okay," I said calmly. "I just wanted to see you, to thank you for helping me before. I'm not staying."

"How long after you left before they found you?" she asked.

"A week after I got to Brooklyn," I replied. "When they took me I was punished more often. Memory wipes, beatings, cryosleep, torture." I stopped as I could see the tears forming in her eyes. Approaching her I opened my arms and held her as she cried. "It wasn't your fault. I knew what they would do if they found me. Your kindness was worth it."

"And now? What will they do to you?"

"HYDRA is gone," I said. "Mostly. Now, it's police and CIA looking for me. They think I'm a killer, that I chose to do it. Some newspaper articles say I should be shot."

Her hand was on my cheek, and she shook her head. "If they only knew the truth," she said sadly. "Where will you go?"

"Europe," said the teenager. "You know languages, right? That's what they say about the Winter Soldier, that he knows lots of languages. If you cut your hair and shave then go to Europe they'll think you're European. Maybe one of the former Soviet republics. They're still trying to get their sh*t together."

The two older women laughed. "Does your father know you're scary smart?" asked Tamsin. "Speaking of which, do you know where ... he is?"

I noticed a hesitation about the girl's father and looked at the two older women. The teenage girl laughed.

"You named Dad after him?" she exclaimed. "Oh, that is just the bomb, Gramma. Does he know that?"

Summer looked at me and blushed. "We named our son after you. He grew up to be chief of police here." She chuckled. "It is the bomb."

I didn't understand exactly but it seemed to be an ironic expression, at least that the chief of police was named after me, a very wanted fugitive. I chuckled myself as much for the joke as for the fact I remembered irony.

With a pat of her hands on my chest Summer took a deep breath. "Megan, you've cut your boyfriend's hair, fancy a go at James?"

The teenage girl, Megan, giggled, making her grandmother groan when she realized the double entendre she had let slip. I remembered those, as well. She left and came back with a big towel, some scissors, a comb, and a spray bottle. Gesturing to the chair I took my jacket off, forgetting I wore a short sleeve T-shirt that day because of the heat. She saw the arm and stopped, staring at it. I wanted to cover it up and she shook her head.

"It's okay," she said. "It's big and ugly. Promise that when you get yourself fixed up you get a new one, okay?"

I smiled at her. She was something and if I was her boyfriend I wouldn't let a day go by without telling her that. I sat in the chair and she wrapped the towel around my neck then sprayed my hair until it was wet. Quickly she began sectioning it off and I watched amused as big chunks of my hair came off onto the floor. Summer snapped her fingers and hurried down the hallway coming back with a device. It made a loud buzzing sound and she approached me with. I pulled away and she stopped then a look of comprehension came over her face.

"It's an electric razor," she said. "We can get rid of your beard. Don't have time to waste, James."

Nodding my acceptance, I sat as Summer and then Tamsin shaved my beard off. They finished before Megan did then the girl stepped back and looked at my hair with an appraising eye.

"I think I'm done," she said, then she smiled. "How old are you? It's 2014, if you need to know that."

She was a bit of a flirt, in a nice way, and I had memories of flirting. "Still too old for you, I'm afraid. 97 years old."

"Damn," she replied, grinning. "Well, don't accept anyone who tells you that you're not hot because you are."

I smiled at her, and she blushed in a way that I knew she had liked my smile. Maybe I still had "it." Not that it mattered. Taking someone with me wasn't possible and certainly not one as young as Megan. When she pulled the towel off of my shoulder, she said to go look at the mirror in the bathroom. Summer took me down the hallway and showed me where it was. Megan was right. I looked completely different. Without the long hair and beard, I looked very young and quite the opposite of all the pictures out there of the Winter Soldier. When I came back Megan was on the computer looking something up, with Tamsin looking over her shoulder.

"Summer, your granddaughter is quite subversive," she grinned. "You must be so proud of her."

"Where do you think I get it from?" replied Megan. "James, I think your best choices are to go east to Boston or north to Montreal. Both are busy seaports and you can probably stow away on a container ship bound for Europe. I'm giving you both choices because you'll have to decide without telling us. Either way, I think it's better you go to Europe."

I looked at these three women, two old and one young, helping me, without fear or expectation of reward. Then I thought of something.

"I remember my sister's name," I said. "Rebecca Barnes, born in 1930. I don't remember the exact date. My parent's names were George and Winnifred. I don't know when they died but my mother was still alive in 1971." I looked at Summer. "I saw her, left the money you gave me for her to use. If you can find out if my sister is alive could you tell her about me? Tell her the Winter Soldier wasn't me, wasn't the man I really was?"

"Megan will find out about her," said Summer. "She's very good with the internet." She looked at the clock. "James will be home soon. You should go."

"I'll go with him, take him the back way out of town," said Tamsin.

Now that I had to go, I didn't want to. The same kindness I felt all those years ago was still there in these three women. But a different organization was chasing me now. It wasn't fair to ask them to share my danger any longer. I hugged Summer and kissed her on her cheek, wet with tears. Then I looked at Megan and hugged her. She blushed and smiled shyly at me. Finally I hugged Tamsin, in case there wasn't time when I dropped her off. We stepped out of the house and the two of us got in the car. Summer and Megan came out to the sidewalk as I pulled away and watched me leave. I watched them in the rear view mirror until I couldn't see them anymore. After several more minutes' drive Tamsin told me to pull over and gave me directions to a place where I could decide to continue north or east. I thanked her once more then she got out and I drove away. I never thought I would see any of them ever again.

Chapter 16: Options

Chapter Text

The farmhouse looked abandoned. The grass around it was long and unkempt, and although there were several vehicles parked around it none of them looked like they had been used in a long time as they all had layers of undisturbed dirt on them. A large NO TRESPASSING sign at the entrance to the property had already indicated that this wasn't a welcoming place. As I drove past it slowly, I tried to see if there were any signs of anyone actually living there. About a mile down the road, I found a place to park the car that hid it from anyone else casually driving by. Opening the trunk, I unzipped the large satchel that held weapons, searching for a leg holster as I intended to make sure I was armed before I entered the house. I also attached a sheath for a knife, knowing that being prepared for surprises would improve my chances of finding what I needed at this safe house. Then I put the backpack on, as it had some food, the flashlight, a journal, and some lock picking tools that I found at another safe house. If it was truly safe, I planned to spend the night.

Carefully, I entered the property and made my way back to the house, keeping out of sight by following the row of trees that had been planted in a line. I wondered why they were planted like that but it was something I could think about later. Finally, I got to a place where I could observe the house and determine if there was anyone inside. The last place I found did have someone who tried to take me into custody with a syringe. I turned it on them instead and watched as it knocked them out instantly. There weren't many things that could knock me out. I knew that because they often complained about me waking up too soon at the Ideal Federal Savings Bank facility. If they had the titanium restraints then all they would need is a few minutes of me being unconscious for them to immobilize me. I wasn't ever going to let that happen again.

For some time I watched the farmhouse until I was satisfied it was empty. Carefully I went up the steps to the door and took the backpack off, opening it to take out the lock picking kit. Placing the two picks into the lock I tried to use the one to find the sections of the lock to manipulate into place but it kept slipping back and I realized after some time that it might have been designed that way. A sound from above my head got my attention and I saw a small video camera turning towards me. Jumping up I tore it out and realized that I had little time now. Someone knew I was here.

I wrapped my jacket around my metal hand and punched quickly through the window of the safe house. Reaching through the broken window I unlocked it and slid it up then carefully climbed in, shaking the glass out of my jacket after I did so. It smelled musty in the empty place, confirming it hadn't been used for a long time. According to the list that the mercenary in Washington gave me there should be money, weapons and passports in this house. I just had to find them.

Taking the flashlight out of my backpack I turned it on and began looking for a likely place for a safe. I found it in the kitchen, of all places. I noticed scrape marks on the floor in front of the fridge, indicating it had been pulled out and pushed back in multiple times. Pulling it out this time I saw the panel on the wall and opened it, revealing a safe. Taking aim I punched the door repeatedly with my metal fist until the dial mechanism fell off. Reaching inside I was able to manipulate the locking mechanism into opening and found a treasure trove of documents and money. Without delay I piled them all into the backpack, then I exited through the broken window and ran back to the car. Quickly I took the holster and sheath off, tossing them into the trunk then I started the car and drove. After an hour I saw a sign for a motel and pulled in. Paying cash for a room I parked the car in front of it, took everything out and placed it in the room, then I parked the car down the road, walking back. I don't really know why I did that; it just seemed like the right thing to do.

Inside the room I emptied the backpack and looked at all the money. In various sizes, denominations, and countries, they were bundled up in various colours of currency. Some of it was smaller than the American money I had been handling. I looked closely at it and noticed it said Euros, making me wonder if it was the currency of Europe and wondering when Europe became a single country. Others were the same size as American money, but different colours and had a picture of an older woman or man on it with the country listed as Canada. There was a lot of that currency in that pile. A large brown envelope had fallen out as well. Opening it up I emptied it out onto the bed. Passports, multiple passports, some with my picture in them, some with people I didn't recognize. The ones with me showed me mostly with long hair and a beard but some showed me without, which puzzled me because I didn't remember ever getting my hair cut by HYDRA although there were broken memories of people shaving me.

Sorting the passports with my picture in them I found an American one, as well as a Canadian one, a German one, three European Union ones, an Italian one and a Greek one. Surprisingly the European Union ones shared the same names and photographs as the German, Italian and Greek one. The German one was the closest in appearance to me. I read the fine print inside of it, surprised to find that I understood it. When I read it out loud it sounded like German to me, so I obviously had been programmed with it. Jakob Schmidt was the name, that was easy enough to remember. A knock on the door startled me and I pulled the bedspread over the pile of money and passports.

"Yes?" I called out.

"I'm the desk clerk," said the voice. "Is your car parked down the road?"

I opened the door and the man looked at me. "Sorry to bother you but I noticed you parked your car down the road. Thought you might be expecting trouble. There are a couple of guys checking it out."

He stepped back and pointed to where I had parked the car. There were a couple of men, big men, peering into it. I stepped back and motioned to him to step inside the room.

"There are people who want to hurt me, and I just want to live a normal life," I said, trying to choose my words carefully. "If you were trying to do that, would you go to Canada or to Europe?"

"Well, Canada is closer," he said. "But Europe probably has more places to hide. You need a passport for both."

"I have that," I said. "How would I get to Europe?"

"One of my buddies took a cargo ship there," he said. "You can book passage on one going out of New York or Boston. For about a hundred bucks a day you get your food, your room, and access to any of the ship facilities that they have for the crew. It takes a while to get there, a week to ten days, but it's quiet and no one bothers you. You have to book it online."

My hopes fell. "I don't know how to do that. I've been locked up."

"So, you're on the run?" he asked. "Do you have any money?"

"I have lots of money," I said. "You can have what I don't take with me. It's all yours."

His eyes gleamed for a moment. "I can book it for you. How much money are we talking about?"

I wanted to trust him so much. Going to the large satchel I reached inside and grabbed several bundles of cash, bringing them out to him.

"I have more but I'll give it to you only if you help me," I said. "You can't tell anyone I was here because the people who are looking for me will kill you just for seeing me. That is the truth."

"Who are you?" he asked, then he shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Let's consider this a down payment. Since they know your car I can sell you mine."

What choice did I have? I agreed and he left, taking the bundles of cash I gave him. Watching out the window I saw the two men who had been looking at the car meet up with two others, wondering if I would have to take them on at some point, not wanting to hurt anyone. They started walking in the other direction and I stepped away from the window. Looking at the pile of cash on the bed I made a decision. I took all of the American cash and Canadian cash, putting it into the shopping bag I still had. I would give all of that to the desk clerk. I kept the American passport and the German one, as well as the European Union passport that matched the German one. Those I put into the back pack along with the Euros. The other passports were put back into the envelope and I stuck them into the backpack, intending to get rid of them later. The weapons would have to stay here as I knew there was no way I would be able to get on any sort of transport with them. All of the clothes I bought would go into the smaller satchel, my luggage for the trip. The telephone in my room rang and I picked it up.

"Hey, this is Grant, the desk clerk," said a voice. "Those guys have gone the other direction. Why don't you come to the office and bring your passport? We can book that ticket for you."

I hung up and took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. Grabbing the American and German passports, and the room key I left the room and walked to the office. Grant was at a computer, and he was looking at something.

"There's a cargo ship leaving Boston for Lisbon, then on to Rome in two days with a spot still available," he said. "I can pay for it by my credit card as I'm guessing you don't have one." I nodded. "I need your name and passport number." I handed the American passport to him, and he looked at the picture then at me. I could feel his fear increase. "You're that guy, the one they're looking for. This picture looks just like him."

"I never wanted to do those things," I said quietly. "They tortured me and put me through a machine that made me obey. I was a soldier in the army when I fell but they found me and changed me to turn me into their weapon."

I noticed he had a military tattoo on his forearm and gestured to it. "Infantry, Afghanistan," he said. "When were you in?"

"1943," I said. "107th Infantry out of Brooklyn. I was a sergeant, sniper." My voice started to break. "I don't remember much but Steve Rogers remembered me when they sent me to kill him. I began to remember while we fought, enough that I knew I didn't want to kill any more." I looked at him, in the eyes. "One soldier to another ... I need your help. If they find me, I'm not going to let them take me alive, and I'll hurt them, bad. I just need to get to where I can lay low, get my memories back and try not to let them take me again. I have more American and Canadian money, plus a bag of guns. It's all yours. I don't want your car but if you could drive me to Boston I would appreciate it."

"The money and the passports, where did they come from?" he asked.

"Their safe houses," I told him. "I got a list of them. You can have the list of American ones and break into them for the money. You'll have to be careful because there could still be people there and they would kill you. Those guys out there would kill you without a second thought. They don't value life; they don't care. They're evil."

"That's HYDRA, isn't it?" he breathed out dramatically. "Okay, I'll help you. I'll book this ticket and I'll drive you to Boston. Do you have a passport that doesn't have the long hair and beard because that's what's going to tip people off. You look normal right now."

I pulled out the German one and he looked at it then at me, nodding his approval. He booked the ticket under Jakob Schmidt, entering the passport information. Then he printed the ticket off and handed it to me.

"What's your real name?"

"James Buchanan Barnes but apparently they called me Bucky," I said, offering my hand to shake.

"Grant Allman," he said. "Nice to meet you. You hungry?" I nodded my head vigourously. "Alright, I'm off shift soon. I'll order a couple of pizzas and bring them to your room. We need to plan. Don't worry about your car. I have a friend of a friend who would be happy to take it off your hands. I'll take care of it."

An hour later Grant came to the door with two large pizzas and a six pack of beer. I was really hungry, and he watched amused as I wolfed down half of one pizza without a problem. He told me about his experiences fighting in Afghanistan which just proved that war doesn't really change, just the location and the players. I told him what I remembered about being in the 107th and the few memories that were starting to emerge about the Howling Commandos. There were no questions about what I did for HYDRA, which I appreciated, ashamed of what I became for them. It was all public record now, as one of the Avengers had released their files out to the world. Grant said many were encrypted but all sorts of people were working on opening them and finding out how much HYDRA had secretly inflicted on everyone.

"They arrested some politicians already," he said. "They were already scumbags so no one was surprised to hear they were HYDRA supporters." He shook his head. "Makes me wonder how many wars we got involved in because of them." He looked at me. "I don't blame you. You're alright. They make you out to be some kind of killing machine but I've known guys that were over the edge and you're not."

"I still did it," I replied. "They were the ones whispering in my ear, telling me I was making the world a better place, even though I knew deep down that what I was doing was wrong. Whenever I questioned them or tried to get away, they put me through a machine that wiped away my memories, took away who I was, then they brought out the Winter Soldier. He is a killer. He's who they wanted me to be for them all the time."

"But you still questioned, and you still tried to get away." He leaned forward. "There is something good in you, Bucky. You know how I know? If you were still the killer, you would have put a gun to my head to force me to help you. Instead, you asked for my help, and you offered me what you had in compensation. I'm not going to lie; you gave me $6000 just to keep quiet. That's a lot of money to a guy like me who's making minimum wage at a dead-end job. The money doesn't mean anything to you, which means that being free means everything."

"I grew up in the Depression," I said. "Never had much money. Quit school and worked on the docks to help the family. I remember that. Then the war came and staying alive was more important. If the money can help you then you're welcome to it, all of the American and Canadian money that I have." I had a thought. "Your friend, that's going to take care of my car ... can he take it towards Canada, to lead them away from here?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea," said Grant. "That's a really good idea. Then we head out to Boston in my truck. I'll have to give him some money to do it." He smiled at me. "But you're good for it, right?"

I went to the weapons satchel and brought out two more bundles of money, tossing it to Grant. He nodded his head and smiled. Right then and there he placed a phone call to his friend, telling him what needed to be done. They agreed that a diversion would be needed to draw the attention of the four men away from the car long enough for someone to start it up and drive it away, leading the four pursuers towards Canada.

"They're professionals," I said. "Likely mercenaries but they could be true believers. If they catch your friend's friend they might hurt him. I don't want that on my conscience."

Grant relayed that information to his friend and smiled as he heard the response. "No problem. He has some dangerous friends as well."

We set the time for our departure to the following morning. I ate the rest of the pizza and drank the rest of the beer as I was still hungry. Then I gave him the car keys, Grant wished me a good night and told me to sleep well. After he left I had the realization that he never brought up my arm. Opening the weapons bag I found the rest of the money in it and transferred it to the shopping bag. It was pretty full. Looking at what I had for clothing I realized I should spend some money on buying more clothes for the trip. Not having enough would look suspicious and might draw attention to me. I didn't want that.

The following morning I woke up early, feeling a sense of anticipation. A knock on the door and a look out the window showed Grant waiting. When I opened it up he gave me some news.

"One of the guys asked the clerk on evening shift if anyone new had signed in," he said. "They showed him a picture of you with the long hair but I already told him these guys were up to no good. He told them he saw the guy parking the car and walking in the other direction. He pretended to be kind of dense as well. So, what do we have to take out?"

I showed him the weapons bag and he opened it, whistling at the firepower in there. Closing it he picked it up and took it out to his truck, putting it in the back of the vehicle. Then I showed him my backpack, my small satchel and the shopping bag full of money.

"All the American and Canadian money is in here," I told him. "I was thinking I should buy some more clothes for the trip so I don't look suspicious. Do we have time to buy some?"

He nodded. "Absolutely, I was thinking the same thing," he said. "You can get a suitcase that's like a backpack, even has wheels. They're pricey but handy. We can even find a laundromat to wash them first, get the stiffness out of them."

"I know how to do laundry," I said proudly to his strange look. "I wasn't allowed to do anything on my own with HYDRA. But I did do laundry after I escaped. Just followed the instructions."

Grant laughed. "Yeah, that's all you have to do," he said. "We should separate the lights and the darks though. Especially if you buy jeans so the colour doesn't bleed." He waved his hands. "We'll deal with that later."

Looking out the window he gestured to me to come over. A few minutes later a car pulled up in front of the car I had been driving. Two men got out of the back seat and opened the car door of my vehicle, getting inside. Immediately the four men who had been hanging around the day before approached the car with weapons drawn.

"Watch this," said Grant.

An explosion of another vehicle near them distracted the four armed men, and the two cars took off. One came past us while the other, the one I had driven, turned around and headed north. The four armed men headed to their vehicle and took off in pursuit of my old vehicle. As soon as they were out of sight Grant looked at me again, with a triumphant smile.

"Okay, we have a stop to make, then we'll head towards Boston."

The stop was a storage locker yard. I had never seen such things. Grant entered a code on the gate and it opened. He drove towards a building in the middle, then opened the sliding door with another code. Picking up the bag of weapons he put it inside another locker with a key lock on it. Then he took the shopping bag full of money, after taking some cash out for me to buy new clothes, and put it with the weapons. After locking everything back up we got back into the truck and began the drive to Boston, stopping for breakfast on the way. Just like when I ate so much of the pizza he was amused at how much I ate for breakfast. As we ate he used his phone to book a motel near Boston, explaining that it was expensive to stay in town.

After we finished breakfast he drove to a big store called Walmart and we went through it, buying me several pairs of jeans, T-shirts, some long sleeved shirts that he called Henley's, some sweatpants, underwear, socks, and sneakers. We also bought shaving gear, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a large sturdy suitcase with wheels that was also a backpack. Another stop after that was at the laundromat where I realized I really didn't know how to do laundry as he showed me how to separate everything by colour. When that was all done we finished the drive to the motel, getting there mid-afternoon. After we checked in and went to our unit he opened the door to the room and muttered.

"What a dump."

I didn't see anything wrong with it, having lived in some pretty bad conditions when HYDRA had control of me. It seemed clean enough and was quiet. He looked at me and grimaced.

"They made it seem nicer than this online," he said. "Sorry, it's not the best."

"It's fine," I said, sincerely. "During the war I slept in a slaughterhouse once. That wasn't exactly The Pierre Hotel."

Grant laughed and patted me on the back. "You're alright, Bucky," he said. "I saw a burger place nearby. Think you could eat half a dozen burgers?"

It was my turn to laugh and I enjoyed how good it felt. The only laughter I ever heard while I was with HYDRA was always tinged with derangement and evil. Since then the only times I had laughed had been around ordinary people, like the hippies in Eden, Megan in Townsend and now Grant in Boston. For all of their insistence that their way was superior the people in HYDRA really didn't seem to have much fun.

The burgers were quite big, so I only ordered three, and a large order of fries, a milkshake, and a slice of apple pie with some coffee. As I finished off the pie Grant leaned towards me.

"Is this normal eating for super soldiers?" he asked. "That's what you are, right? You didn't eat like this before."

"I didn't eat like this with them, either," I said. "They barely fed me. They used food to control me. It was a reward, given sparingly. Most of the time they fed me slop. There was one handler ...." I stopped, as I struggled to put into words what he had done to me. "I could only eat with permission, but he would put it in front of me, not letting me have it. As soon as he gave me permission, I would wolf it down before he took it away from me, sometimes so fast that I brought it right back up again. I completed a mission with him and almost died because I began throwing up blood and couldn't stop. He was removed as my handler after that."

Shock and disgust were on Grant's face as I told him this. It was strange how I remembered that handler, Higgins. I could still see his face. He called me "It." I wasn't a person to him. I was a tool to be wielded. We walked back to the motel and each of us sat on the bed. Grant turned the television set on and found a Boston Red Sox game, versus the Yankees. I smirked, as neither team had been ones I cheered for when I was still in Brooklyn. After the game was over he turned the TV channel to the movies, stopping briefly at what looked like movies about sex. Glancing at me he shook his head.

"No, I don't know you well enough to watch p*rn with you," he said. "You might think I was a pervert or something."

"I haven't had sex, that I can remember, since 1943," I replied. "I'd be embarrassed to see what passes for sex now. What else is there?"

Chuckling, Grant found a science fiction one, called Interstellar. Although parts of it were hard to understand, as it talked about time, dimensions and such, visually it was incredible as it showed what a black hole could look like. I vaguely remembered reading about them before the war when Einstein talked about them. Then the different planets that the people in the movie went to, and the space station that was orbiting around Saturn, just amazed me. It all looked so real, but Grant assured me it was all done on computers; CGI, he called it. After it was over, we called it a night and both of us fell asleep pretty quickly.

The following morning, after showering, which I thoroughly enjoyed, we went for breakfast then Grant drove the final stretch to the port. He put the dock where the ship was located into his phone and it brought up a route, that told him which way to go, using a woman's voice. It was incredible that they had this talking map on his phone and I told him. He just shrugged, as it was commonplace to him. As we entered the port he had to tell the guard he was dropping his friend off for the cargo ship Marietta. He wasn't allowed to go the whole way to it but was directed to a drop off area. At the drop off he put the truck into park and came around to the passenger side as I pulled the bigger suitcase and the backpack out. I realized I had forgotten to give him one more thing and I opened the front pouch of the smaller backpack. Pulling out two sheets of paper I handed them to him.

"The location of HYDRA safe houses in the United States," I said. "Remember to be careful, check to see if anyone is there first. Some may have security cameras so disable or destroy them. I used my metal fist to break into the safes. You might have to take more desperate methods. Take it all. They don't deserve to have any of it."

Grant took them, briefly looking over the list of locations and shaking his head at how many there were.

"This could make me a very rich man," he said. "I promise I'll do some good with the money. You keep your head down and stay as anonymous as you can. I hope that someday we meet again."

He stuck his hand out and I shook it. Then I started wheeling the big suitcase towards the security check-in.

"Hey Jakob," he yelled, and I turned around, as we had talked about me getting used to my new name. "Viel Glück!"

"Danke," I replied and waved.

Giving my ticket and German passport to the security guard I was waved in then I lined up at the gangway, along with the others who had booked passage. They checked me in, accepting my explanation for my metal arm, and I turned to wave once more. Grant raised his hand, and I entered the ship. A crewman showed us to the elevator and told us what deck the cabins were on. It was very basic, but it was mine for the next 10 days. A bed, dresser, desk, nightstand, and private bathroom with a shower. On the desk was a map showing where the cafeteria was, a library, a running track, workout room, and medical facilities. There was a square window that looked out over many containers that the ship was taking to Europe. I was travelling, by myself, and although I wouldn't let my guard down, I couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of being responsible for myself. It felt ... normal.

Chapter 17: Imagination

Chapter Text

Three days into the journey and I was already bored. My girlfriend, Bobbi, had convinced me that travelling to Europe via a cargo ship would be a great way to meet people. What she didn't tell me was that taking a cargo ship journey wasn't like taking a cruise ship journey. First of all, there was no bar, and no alcohol as it was a working ship. Secondly, there was no entertainment, other than what you could borrow from the onboard library. Library meaning a small storeroom with a few dozen books, board games, VHS and DVD movies, some of which had been viewed so many times they were worn out and more often than not got stuck in the replay. The crew were either too busy with their jobs to be friendly, or they would be friendly with seemingly only one goal in mind, a brief f*ck in their shared quarters on their off times. The passengers, which on this trip numbered about a dozen, were equally unlikely friends. There were a couple of older couples, that seemed to enjoy the quiet on the ship, walking around the running/walking track that snaked between the shipping containers, a pair of younger couples who barely left their quarters except to appear at the dining room, eat and disappear back into their cabins to spend all day in bed. That left me, Bobbi, an older man named Darryl who was buried into his book, and a couple of frat boy types who continually complained about being bored, until they found out about the workout room and disappeared into that sweaty pit to amuse themselves.

Bobbi wasn't much help either as on the second day she appeared to be suffering from sea sickness. She went to the medical centre and they put a patch on her but in her usual dramatic way she took to her bed, moaning and sighing about how she couldn't keep anything down but would I mind bringing her something from the dining room that she would try to eat when she felt up to it? Feeling rather let down at being demoted to personal nursemaid from travelling companion I would bring her something then head out on deck to take in the sea air. At least there, in my little sheltered alcove that I found I could daydream and imagine myself on a three masted ship travelling across the Atlantic to join my future husband in the new world. Yeah, I was that type of romantic.

I was surprised on that third day, after I had just dropped off Bobbi's lunch sandwich and bottle of water, when I stepped out of our shared cabin and walked right into the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He seemed startled when I walked into him and gently grasped my arms with his gloved hands to steady me as the ship rolled slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said, in a soft voice that made me look up immediately, into eyes as blue as the ocean.

He was tall and his broad shoulders almost filled the passageway. His dark brown hair was short and he hadn't shaved for a couple of days but the stubble looked good on him.

"No, I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," I said, trying to step to the side.

He smiled shyly and stepped to the side himself as we squeezed past each other. Nodding his head once he continued on down the passageway and I stood there, dumbfounded, watching him walk away until he got to the door of another cabin and entered it. He glanced back at me before he went in then closed the door behind him.

"Damn," I thought. "Has he been hiding in his cabin this whole time?"

For a moment I wanted to tell Bobbi about him but then I realized I wanted to savour the moment for myself, and I turned back towards the way I was headed, up to my private alcove. When I got there, I got into my daydream mode but now the blue-eyed man was in it, as the handsome, yet sensitive naval lieutenant, who joined the ship's crew to escape a forced marriage with the earl's daughter, arranged by his heartless father in order to save the family estate that he had put into jeopardy with his reckless gambling. I had the daydream all figured out, the chance meeting, the longing glances, the brief touching of hands when he picked up my handkerchief to return it to me, the almost chaste kiss, then the heartbreak when I revealed I was already engaged to a man I didn't know in a marriage arranged by our parents. That was followed by more longing glances then the passionate kiss one night on the bow, as the ship sailed through the light of a full moon. It was good stuff, and it was completely in my head.

Of course I tried to find him again. At first I thought maybe he was out and about at certain times but the rest of the day I didn't see him. Bobbi was feeling better on the fourth day and she wanted to get out of the cabin so after breakfast we went for a walk on the deck. I looked down every pathway that snaked off of that route but there was no sign of him. Bobbi noticed me looking and brought it up.

"Who or what are you looking for?" she asked.

"Nothing...no one," I stammered. "I'm not ...."

She giggled. "Wow, you're so defensive. He must be cute for you to keep him to yourself."

At that moment Blue-eyes walked past us, quickly, with his head down as if he just wanted to get his walk done with. My face must have shown something because Bobbi picked up on it and pointed at him as he walked away from us.

"Him?" she said then she totally embarrassed me by calling out to him. "Hey, handsome!"

For a moment he hesitated and looked back at us, with a look that was almost terrified. Then he looked to either side then back at us.

"Me?" he asked.

Bobbi ever so elegantly (not) strode right up to him. "Yeah, you," she said. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"In my cabin?" he offered and Bobbi giggled then began playing with her hair (yes, she was that girl).

"What's your name?" she asked. "I'm Bobbi and this is my girlfriend, Emily."

We stood there waiting for him to answer. Actually, she waited for him to answer while I tried to shrink myself into nothing because I was so embarrassed at her boldness with him. I could tell he was reserved, introverted, and maybe even a little afraid but Bobbi didn't see any of that. She saw a good looking man who she wanted to pay attention to her.

"No one," he said, in almost a whisper. "I'm no one."

He turned around and ran from us, literally ran. Bobbi just stood there, with her mouth open, for about a minute before turning to me.

"I wonder what his problem is," she finally said and started walking again.

Just like that she dismissed him from her mind. Which was fine, because I was already protective of him. I know that we had barely spoken two words to each other, but I felt a kinship with him. In the few times I had seen him he struck me as someone unsure of his place in the world, something I could empathize with. Yes, I put him in my fantasy daydream but not as himself. It doesn't make sense, I know that, but I lived in my head a lot and he seemed like someone that lived in his head as well. Not that it mattered. I'm sure that he wouldn't step foot outside of his cabin now that he had experienced Bobbi's unwanted attention.

We went to dinner in the dining room and had just sat down at a table for four, as all the tables for two were taken. As more people came in Bobbi kept looking at me.

"Where are all the single guys?" she asked. "The only reason I thought this would be better than taking a regular cruise is because I was told it was mostly single guys that took these cargo ship trips. If I had known it was mostly couples I would have just flown to Europe." She sighed in disgust then just as quickly perked up. "Hello."

She looked to the doorway where the two frat boy types had just entered. I put my hand on my forehead, already feeling a headache coming on. Bobbi stared at the two, making eye contact with one of them. He nudged his friend and they both looked at us. It was all so...high school, no... more like junior high. I stood up.

"Where are you going?" asked Bobbi. "Two of us, two guys. It's perfect."

"No," I replied. "I've already had the pleasure of their company and I'd rather go to the dentist. You do what you want but I'm leaving."

I got up and left, already regretting coming on this trip with Bobbi, because it was heading towards how it always ended up; her coming on to anything remotely "attractive" wearing pants. As I got into the passageway I just blindly walked, until I realized that I was lost in the maze of hallways and stairways. I tried to find my way back but it was hopeless and when I found a stairway I sat on the bottom step and cried, waiting for someone, a crew member perhaps, to find me and lead me back to where I was supposed to be. After about twenty minutes I heard footsteps and looked up, surprised to see Blue-eyes. I wiped my eyes and nodded my head at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, in that soft voice of his.

"No," I said honestly as I looked at the floor because he was too pretty to look directly at. "I'm sorry my friend was so pushy with you. I kind of got upset with her and left her in the dining room. I didn't watch where I was going and now, I'm lost."

He didn't say anything, but he didn't leave, and I looked up at him. His broad shoulders seemed to take up the entire space and in another context, he probably would have seemed menacing, but he smiled kindly and offered me his hand.

"I've been walking through here for something to do," he explained. "I know the way out, if you trust me." Taking his hand I let him pull me up. "I'm Jakob."

He gestured to the stairs and told me to go up to the next level. Following behind me when I got to the top he told me to go right. The passage wasn't big enough for us to walk side by side but I found his presence behind me comforting.

"Your friend is very confident," he said.

I smirked. "You could call it that," I replied, turning my head to the side so he could hear me. "She's not very respectful of boundaries sometimes. I don't mind it most of the time but sometimes it's something that bothers me about her. Like today. It made me uncomfortable how she talked to you."

"Thank you for saying that," replied Jakob. "I'm not very good with talking to people either. I've spent most of my time in my cabin, reading."

"I couldn't even do that because she was seasick," I said. "So, I found a nice little spot on the deck and sat there most of the time, just enjoying the sun and daydreaming."

"You found a good spot outside?" he asked. "I've been looking because I was getting tired of being in my cabin. It's why I was out today and why I was walking the passageways."

"I could show you," I offered. "There are a couple of deck chairs there, and a vent gives off some warm air without being too noisy. It's really quite nice."

"Lead on," he said, and I looked back to see him grinning.

He directed me to the outside and from there I led him to my secret spot. As we turned the final corner to have our own little secluded spot with a view of the ocean and sky he whistled in appreciation.

"This is nice," he said, gesturing to me to sit on one chair while he sat on the other. "What is it you do while you're here, daydreaming?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "I just let my mind go and imagine myself in different scenarios. I read a lot, so I imagine myself as a character in a story, you know, just letting my imagination run wild."

He nodded, then closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. I noticed that his lashes were thick and dark. His face seemed so calm and serene that I didn't want to spoil it for him by talking.

"I remember reading Jules Verne for the first time," he said softly. "Journey to the Center of the Earth. There's a part in it where they find an ocean full of prehistoric sea creatures. I would always imagine myself on a raft on that ocean, looking up at the aurora which somehow existed so deep underground. They ended up being pushed out of a volcano in Italy, Stromboli. When I saw that actual volcano, it was like living that moment in the book again."

"At least you're imagining a real book," I replied. "I just make up my own story and put myself into it."

I didn't want to say that he was in it as well.

"Do you write your stories down?" he asked, his eyes gazing at me. "You should. That's probably how a writer starts, imagining themselves in a situation then writing it down."

"No one would want to read it," I blushed. "They're kind of a schoolgirl romantic thing. You know, imagining the perfect love. Someone handsome and dashing but kind and understanding."

"Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters probably didn't think that no one would read their stories," he said. "Their works still live on."

"You've read them?" I asked.

It was his turn to blush. "I have," he replied. "More to impress girls originally but they were well written and I definitely enjoyed them. Plus I think they were a window into how things were in those times. Relationships were so repressed and formal, that showing affection and strong emotions was considered unseemly."

He was looking at me. "You must have a degree in English Literature," I said. "Sounds like something a professor would say."

"I didn't even finish high school," he said. "Times got tough and I quit to go to work. Never stopped reading though."

"How long ago was that?" I asked, trying to find out how old he was.

"Longer than I want to admit," he said. "I'm older than I look."

"You could always get your GED," I suggested. "Can get into college with it as a mature student."

His smile was sad, but he didn't answer, and I left the subject alone.

"Are you stopping in Lisbon or are you going on to Civitavecchia?" I asked, as it was the port closest to Rome.

"Civitavecchia," he said. "You?"

"Same. Bobbi and I were thinking of taking one of those hop on/hop off bus tours around Lisbon," I said. He looked at me blankly. "You know, you get on this bus that has a predetermined route that goes to the main sights. You can get off, spend some time at the attraction then get on the next bus that comes around and go on to the next attraction. It's an easy way to see the city if you don't have a lot of time to explore."

"Thanks for the suggestion," he said. "I might do just that. I've never really travelled before, not on my own, for pleasure."

He stopped talking suddenly, as if afraid he would say too much. We sat there for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Occasionally we could hear people walk along the pathway at the bottom of the stairs nearest to us. I had found it odd that no one ever came up those stairs to find this little alcove, but I guess they weren't curious enough. On this occasion I could hear the distinctive voice of my friend Bobbi, as she was talking to someone male about something they both found hilarious. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and we were able to hear everything they said.

"Well, we've searched just about everywhere," said Bobbi. "I don't know why she took off. She gets like that."

"While you were sick in your cabin she ignored us," said the one male voice, that I recognized as one of the frat boys. "We figured she was just kind of snobbish. No big deal if we don't find her. Listen, we dock in Lisbon tomorrow. What are your plans? We were thinking of taking that hop on/hop off bus tour. That way we see the highlights and we can finish up at a tavern before we board the ship before 8 pm."

"We were going to do the same," said Bobbi, "but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be good company now that she's mad at me. Why don't I pretend to be sick again? I'll tell her that she should go on her own. Then half an hour later we can get together."

My best friend, supposedly my travelling companion, was going to ditch me to spend the day with a couple of guys who were obnoxious at best. I felt a touch on my arm. It was Jakob, with the most sympathetic eyes I've ever seen. He put a finger on his lips, and we listened to the other three complete their plans before they walked on.

"We don't have to take that bus," he said. "I can talk to one of the crew and find out something different and unique we can do."

"You don't have to do that," I said. "I don't mind going on my own, except I don't speak the language."

He took an audible breath. "I do," he admitted, looking at me with those big blue eyes. "I kind of misspoke before. My previous job took me a lot of different places, but I never had a chance to enjoy them as a tourist. I was always working and as soon as my work was done, I went on to the next job."

"What did you do?" I asked, trying to think what kind of job would take him all over the place but not give him time to enjoy a different culture.

Now he looked quite distressed and I was concerned I had brought up some bad memories. He was trying to come up with an explanation then suddenly got up as if to leave.

"Please, don't leave," I asked. "I'm sorry if my question distresses you. Were you a spy or something like that?"

He sat back down and wrung his gloved hands together. "Something like that," he said in a low voice after a time. "I'm not proud of what I did, and I won't do it anymore. There are times I have nightmares of what I did for them."

"How did you get out of it?"

It took another while before he answered. "I'm still working on that. It's why I had to leave the States. They were still looking for me. Europe has more places to hide." Quickly, he looked at me. "I've changed my appearance so I shouldn't be recognized but if you don't want my company anymore, I understand."

I wasn't sure what he had done that he was on the run because of it. But I also knew that I never felt any sort of danger or fear while I was with him. For some reason it made me think of that film The Bourne Identity. I'm sure many people remember it; a story of a hit man who lost his memory but kept having flashbacks of being a killer. He wanted to find out the truth about himself but didn't want to be a killer anymore, especially once he fell in love with a woman named Marie, who helped him. Of course, being pursued by the CIA all over the world meant that there were times he had to use his skills to escape and sometimes people died because of it, adding to his distress. Even though it was an action movie the development of the romance between him and the woman had always intrigued me. I could envision being on the run with Jakob if he looked at me like Jason Bourne looked at Marie.

"Jakob, were you a hit man?" I asked hesitantly.

He looked at me with fear and distrust. "Why do you ask that?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Who are you?"

"I'm no one," I said. "It's just the way you said that you were like a spy and you had to do things that you didn't like. It reminded me of a movie."

I told him about the character of Jason Bourne and how he had all these safe deposit boxes in banks with cash and passports, that he could speak many languages but didn't know he could until someone actually addressed him in that language. Basically, I gave him the premise of the whole film series. He sat and listened to my description in a kind of fearful fascination. When I finished I watched him, hoping it would maybe help him.

"There are similarities," he said, after a time. "The CIA likely had their own program for assassins that tried to copy what the people I worked for did but they did more to me. I can't tell you because it's better you don't know. They changed me and I don't know if I will ever get my memories back. They're all torn up and fragmented like a puzzle. It will take me years to remember it all and put it together, and that's only if I can stay under the radar."

His distress was evident by his heavy breathing, and I touched his arm, not taking it personally when he flinched. Slowly, I moved my hand down to his and squeezed it.

"Your secret is safe with me," I smiled softly. "It should be okay to go out tomorrow. We can get off the ship early and see the city together. They won't be looking for someone who looks like you do right now, and definitely not if they're with a woman. We can pretend we're a couple and throw them off that way."

Slowly, he nodded his head and agreed. It was almost dinner time and we agreed to sit together at a table for two. Bobbi came in with the two other men, giving me a glaring look which I ignored. After they chose a table she approached, barely acknowledging Jakob.

"You're not sitting with us?" she asked.

"No, I'm sitting with my friend, Jakob," I replied. "It's not like you want my company anyways. I heard you and those two talking about the hop on/hop off bus tomorrow. I'll save you the trouble of pretending to be sick. I have other plans tomorrow."

"Why are you being like this?" asked Bobbi. "We're supposed to be seeing Europe together."

"I don't like the company you keep. When you were sick, they made themselves known to me and they just weren't my type."

"And this guy is?"

I looked at Jakob. "He's been a gentleman the entire time. We've had some really good talks. You've always wanted two guys to make a fuss over you. Now's your chance."

I turned away, seething inside. Our whole friendship had been based on Bobbi pushing me to do what she wanted to do, with little to no regard for my feelings. Now that I was asserting myself, she was making me out to be the bad friend and I wasn't having it. She gave up trying to convince me which is what I wanted and didn't bother us again. After dinner, Jakob and I went for a walk. He offered me his arm and it was nice just being with him. We stayed out there until well into the evening, watching the stars come out over the ocean. Then Jakob walked me to my cabin door where he bashfully stuck his hands in his pockets.

"I haven't kissed anyone in a long time," he said softly. "Not sure I ...."

I kissed him, throwing my arms around his neck. Quickly, he enclosed me in those muscular arms and returned the kiss without making it seem sloppy or too intrusive. Instead, it was soft and sweet, like the kiss all girls dreamed of having for their first kiss. When we pulled apart, he smiled shyly and began walking to his cabin, looking back at me when he arrived at his door. With a nod he opened his door and entered, while I did the same. Bobbi was already in bed and never said a word as I changed into my pyjamas and got under the covers. That night I dreamed Jakob was Jason Bourne and I was Marie, with less violence and more kissing.

When I woke up the following morning the ship had been docked for about an hour and Bobbi was just about ready to go. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, presumably waiting for me to wake up. When I sat up, she put her hands in her lap and gazed at me.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I can be pushy at times." Understatement. "I'm hurt that you would chose a stranger over your best friend." I was hurt she was choosing two jerks over her best friend. "There's something about him that isn't right." He's more truthful than you, Bobbi. "Be careful, okay? Don't let him lead you into anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Seriously, she was trying to look out for my well-being but choosing to go with two creepy guys who wanted to know if I'd ever been part of a threesome before. I told her to have a good day then I went to the bathroom to shower. Jakob and I agreed to meet at the dining room. When I got up there, he had a table for two and was nursing a coffee. We placed our order at the counter and waited only a few minutes. Once we finished eating, we double checked to make sure we had our passports, some Euros, some water, and we were ready to go. A customs officer was on duty on the dock, checking our documentation. It was straightforward and we were cleared to enter the country. There were several taxis waiting and Jakob addressed the first one in Portuguese which surprised the driver. He answered back then looked hopefully between me and Jakob.

"I told him we would pay him well for the day if he showed us the real Lisbon, the parts that tourists should see but often don't," said Jakob. "He's offered to chauffeur us for 200 Euros, but I don't know what that is in American dollars."

I pulled out my phone and quickly looked it up. "At today's rate it's about $220," I said, shrugging. "It seems like a lot but if he drives us all day he would likely make that much in regular fares."

"True," he said, then turned to the driver and addressed him Portuguese, accepting his offer.

It ended up being a bargain as he drove us everywhere, telling us about the sights in broken English, then letting Jakob translate when he switched to Portuguese. Among the highlights were the Palacio da Ajudo, the official royal residence from when Portugal was a monarchy, a richly decorated palace that had no lineups or crowds. From there we went to a market, Feira do Relógio, translated as Market of Clocks. Before we went in, he warned us to keep our wallets safe, as there were pickpockets. He suggested we take a small amount of cash out and keep it in our pocket to pay for something. It was fascinating and we tried some street food, with the driver, Jacinto, describing what we were eating. There was a place we had to walk uphill a bit while Jacinto waited for us, Miradouro da Senhora do Monte; the view was incredible. The bullring, Campo Pequeno, was interesting, although there was no bullfight that day, not that I would have wanted to see it. But the design of the building was definitely unique as was the area it was in. We finished the day at the aquarium, as Jacinto said it was a favourite of his family. He paid for himself to go into the Oceanário de Lisboa and even though it was busy it was definitely enjoyable. Jakob seemed to be transfixed by it all, standing in front of the aquarium glass gazing at all the fish swimming around.

When Jacinto dropped us off at the gate to the dock, Jakob offered him his ungloved hand. He said something complimentary in Portuguese which pleased Jacinto as he said something back then he turned to me.

"You very nice people," he said, in his broken English. "Your husband good man. Good luck."

Before I could correct him he entered his taxi and drove off. Jakob smiled at me with a twinkle in his eye.

"Sorry, he assumed we were married and it was easier than trying to correct him."

We checked in at the gate and walked towards the cargo ship. It looked like all the loading and unloading had been completed as there were no dock workers around, other than a few that were gathered near the bow of the ship, having a smoke. Jakob let me go through the security check-in first then followed me. We took the elevator up to the cabins level then he walked me to my cabin.

"Will you join me for dinner?" he asked. "I enjoyed your company today."

"I would love to," I said, then opened the door to see Bobbi lying on her bed, in tears. Immediately, I went to her, while Jakob waited in the open doorway. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She looked at me then at Jakob and shook her head. He looked at her with concern for a moment, then took a breath and came in, kneeling in front of her.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked. "Those two you went with. Something happened, didn't it?"

She swallowed noticeably then nodded her head, trying to calm herself. "We were having a good time, then it got ugly." Her voice was diminished and shaken. "They began suggesting things for us to do tonight, the three of us, and it wasn't ... it was crude, at best. I tried to get off the bus but I was on the window seat and they blocked me. We got to this garden area and they pulled me off the bus."

She began crying again and I looked at Jakob. His face was frozen but his eyes were blazing and I knew he was angry at those two assholes.

"Bobbi, did they assault you?" I asked. "If they did, we should file a police report."

"It would be my word against their's," she answered. "They didn't ... if that's what you're asking but only because a big tour group came along and I pulled away. I ran through the group and out to the street, grabbed a taxi and asked them to bring me here. I've been holed up here ever since. My imagination has been going wild, terrified they were going to break down the door."

"They know which room you're in?" he asked. She nodded. "I won't let that happen."

"How? You going to stand guard outside my door?"

"No, but I'll sleep on the floor if I have to, and if I hear them out in the hallway I'll take care of them."

"Jakob, you don't want to draw attention to yourself," I said, frightened if he hurt them and they filed a police report.

"I'll barely touch them," he said, making eye contact with me. "I can be pretty scary and I'll just make sure they know they can't treat women that way. Now, you wash up, Bobbi, and come up to the dining room with us for dinner. We're not leaving you alone tonight, okay?"

I couldn't believe how much of a gentleman Jakob was to Bobbi that evening, to both of us. When we entered the dining room he pulled our chairs out for us after we placed our orders. I noticed he kept the chair that faced the doorway for himself. Then he brought us each glasses of water. Once our food was ready he brought it over and served us before picking his up. It was kind, attentive, and in a way, it was almost unnerving because it was obvious he was preparing for something to happen.

When the two jerks arrived the look on Jakob's face changed into something almost unreadable, like a curtain fell over his eyes, hiding what lay behind them. It was definitely chilling. Yet it was all directed at the two men. When Bobbi turned her head and saw them, Jakob's look to her was of understanding.

"I won't harm them," he assured her, with a soft smile. "I promise you. But they will see the error of their ways."

Standing up he offered his arm to both of us, me on the left with Bobbi on the right. We walked right past the two and heard one of them mutter. Jakob stopped, and looked at them.

"Did you say something?" he asked calmly, looking up into the man's eyes, as he was taller.

"I said it didn't take long for the slu*t to find a new guy to f*ck," was the reply, loud enough that several people in the dining room looked up from their meals.

"Take it back and apologize," said Jakob, his whole body tensing up.

"Or what?" smirked the second man, also bigger than Jakob. "You think you're man enough to take us both on?"

Jakob made eye contact with me and I nodded, reaching across to take Bobbi to the doorway. She looked terrified but knowing what little I knew of him I was kind of calm. What was certain was that they were judging him by his size in comparison to theirs and that was their first mistake. When Bobbi left his side Jakob turned to face them both.

"I'll give you another opportunity to apologize for your insult and for your behaviour towards the young lady earlier today," said Jakob politely. "I won't ask again."

"f*ck you," said the first man, who went to shove Jakob on the shoulder.

Faster than I would have believed possible Jakob put his hand on the man's wrist, twisted it behind his back and brought him to his knees, bringing a yell out of the man's mouth. The other man tried to intervene and Jakob did the same move on him, basically immobilizing them both by locking their wrists, bending them back towards them while keeping his thumbs on the back of their hands under their middle fingers. A couple of people in the dining room, including one of the ship's officers, stood up as if to intervene but Jakob looked up at them calmly.

"It's a simple wrist lock used in self defence," he said out loud. "There will be no permanent damage but it hurts like hell and they can't get out of it without great effort. These two men made an attempt to assault one of the young ladies waiting at the door today, then insulted her when we walked past. My mother raised me to be a gentleman. I gave them two opportunities to apologize for their behaviour but you can see they chose violence."

The officer went to the wall, placed a call on the phone there, then returned and nodded to Jakob who instantly released the two men. By then two other ship's officers arrived and the first officer ordered the arrest of the two men. He looked at Bobbi and me.

"Would you like to press charges?" he asked. "It would mean calling in the local police and you would have to disembark from the ship to follow through, as we must leave at our scheduled time. Or, we can just make them pack up their things and banish them from the ship before we leave the dock."

"Do you have a plank?" asked Bobbi drily, making the officer grin. "Kick them off the ship. I don't want to waste any more time on them."

"Take these two to their cabin, make sure they pack and get them off the ship," ordered the officer, then he looked at Jakob. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. I appreciate your restraint."

With a nod to the officer Jakob offered his arms to us and escorted us to the outdoor walkway. We stood there enjoying the early evening as the sun began to dip. About twenty minutes later we looked down to see the two jerks being escorted off the ship. What was most interesting was watching them approach the gate that separated the dock from the city itself. As they exited the gate they were suddenly approached by a police vehicle which flashed its lights and ran its siren briefly. Both of them were taken into custody and placed into the back of the vehicle. A cough behind us brought the presence of the ship's officer.

"We received a call from the police that there was an incident at a bar late this afternoon," he said. "The description was vague enough that we couldn't tell for certain who it was. When that incident happened in the dining room we sent the photos we had of those two to the local police. Their identities were confirmed as the suspects, and we were asked to remove them from the ship. Sometimes karma is a bitch."

He smiled and left us there to watch a beautiful sunset over the Atlantic Ocean from the Port of Lisbon. There were two more days of sailing before we arrived in Italy. Bobbi was much nicer to both Jakob and me, even joining us in our little alcove when Jakob secured a third lounge chair. On the night before we docked she gave us some privacy, knowing that I really liked him. As we sat in the dark looking at the night sky I touched his hand.

"Bobbi and I were talking," I said. "You're more than welcome to join us on our travels. We don't have anywhere specific to go. We're kind of playing it by ear."

"I can't," he said apologetically. "It's tempting but I need to find that perfect spot to hole up and remember my life."

I knew he would say that but it still hurt. My imagination had pictured us falling in love, me helping him find himself, then having a life together.

"I could come with you," I said hesitantly. "It'll be difficult on your own."

"It will be difficult," he agreed. "This past week has been kind of a dream for me, a break from what I know is to come. Keeping under the radar is going to consume my attention. Dealing with my demons is something I have to do on my own. I did some terrible things, Emily. There's a lot of blood on my hands."

The pain in his voice almost broke my heart. It was obvious he had been through hell before and in his mind there was more to come. I began to cry and he stood up, lifting me up so that he could hold me. He gave me the most beautiful kiss then buried his face in my neck. He must have been crying as well as his face was wet.

"You enjoy your trip, and try to write down the things in your imagination," he whispered. "If I wasn't dealing with my past I would have made you my girl but you deserve much better than a broken down man like me." I tried to protest but he shushed me. "I'm leaving as soon as the ship docks in the morning. Promise me you'll have a good life."

He kissed me again, a goodbye kiss then turned to leave. I could see his face in the reflection of the ship's lights. Still handsome but full of sadness.

"My real name is James but my friends call me Bucky," he said softly. "Goodbye Emily."

"Goodbye Bucky, I promise," I replied, then he was gone.

That month touring Europe was bittersweet. Bobbi and I became better friends and she made an effort to be more inclusive as we made our travelling decisions. We both missed Jakob. I told her what he told me of his past but it wasn't until two years later when there was a bombing in Vienna that killed the King of Wakanda that we realized who Jakob really was. Neither one of us believed he had anything to do with it, remembering that day in the dining room when he brought two bullies to justice. When it was revealed that he had been framed both of us were thrilled for him. By then we were both married with families on the way. I could only hope that he was at a point in his life where he could actually have one. In my imagination I wished that for him, for the love of a good woman, who accepted him for what he was, not what he was forced to be once upon a time.

Chapter 18: A Little Late

Chapter Text

Present day

"June."

I heard my name, but I didn't respond as I was on the phone, talking to a library patron who wanted to renew a book without coming in. Still, I turned my head and saw my friend and co-worker, Ingrid. She saw I was on the phone and nodded her head, acknowledging I was busy.

For three weeks neither Ingrid nor I had heard anything from our favourite Avengers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. When last we saw them, we were in mid-kiss, for me anyways, at a movie-viewing get together at my apartment. Ingrid was just about to be kissed by Sam when both of the men's phones had sounded a text message alert. It was a distinctive alert sound, apparently one that was assigned to the Avengers, advising them of a pending mission. Both of them apologized, then left within minutes. Since that time, we had heard nothing. Bucky had told me already that missions had to be responded to immediately and if they were classified then not to expect any communication, but it was still hard. We had just asked them if they would come to our staff Christmas party, a burlesque show, followed by a gathering in the party room at the burlesque club. Both men had agreed to accompany us.

I had faith that Bucky would make it, so I bought his ticket as well as mine. Ingrid, taking her lead from me, bought one for Sam when she bought hers. As the day came closer and closer, we both wondered if it was meant to be. So, when Ingrid tried to get my attention two days before the party just after she arrived at work on the afternoon to evening shift, I hoped it was because she had heard something. She jerked her head towards the staff room when I hung up the phone and I quickly followed her in. She pulled her cellphone out.

"I was notified by email of a money transfer," she said. "There was a message with it."

Opening her banking app, she clicked on the transaction and showed me the message attached to it.

On a communications blackout but we'll be there. Hope this is enough to cover four tickets. Sam.

"Did you give Sam your email?" I asked.

"Well, I kind of put everything into his contact list when he gave me his phone," she replied, blushing. "I really like him. There aren't many men not intimidated by a woman with a Master's degree in Library Science who's a burlesque dancer as well. Plus, that food he made ... it was divine."

Even though they only met the night that we watched movies together I think Sam's contribution of a shrimp boil had won the heart of Ingrid. To be fair, it was delicious, and everyone had raved over it. We both hoped this message attached to the money transfer meant both men were going to be at the party then headed back out into the library. When I finished my shift and drove home the building manager knocked on my door with a floral arrangement.

"This was delivered for you this afternoon," he said. "That guy who sent it sure likes you. I could smell these through the plastic cover."

Thanking him for bringing them up to my apartment I took them into the kitchen and opened the plastic. For a moment I stood there with an open mouth and looked at this arrangement that was made entirely of purple lilacs. Never before had I seen such an arrangement. They smelled wonderful and were different enough from any other bouquet that I wondered if they had some special significance. Looking them up on my cell phone I smiled as I read they symbolized first or new love.

"Oh Bucky," I said out loud, taking in their smell again. "They broke the mold with you. What a beautiful man you are."

Opening my closet, I looked at the two dresses I bought, unable to decide which one to wear to the party. The first one, a polka dot tea dress had key openings on the sleeves and neck, but it was very safe. The second one, all lace with sleeves that sat off the shoulder made me realize I would need a strapless bra to wear under it. Changing out of my work clothes I headed out for the mall, determined to find some pretty lingerie to go under the dress. I found the perfect bra and panty set, in black lace that made me feel good when I tried them on. It felt good to be buying something like that after so long without a boyfriend. I just hoped that Bucky was able to be part of the viewing party.

We had been dancing around our relationship becoming more physical, after three weeks of dating. That evening of the movie viewing party he finally asked if he could stay over, feeling the time was right for us to take our relationship to another level. That's why we were kissing, then we were interrupted by the mission alert. I was hoping that when he returned from his mission we would pick up from where we left off; in fact, I was counting on it.

The day before the party both Ingrid and I were at work when we each received a text. Of course, we didn't know it at the time because our cell phones were in our purses, locked in the staff room. It wasn't until we took our lunch break that we both had the chance to check our messages.

B: Thought I would be there today but there's been a complication with our mission. We have to attend a debrief session in Washington. Hoping that they don't keep us too long.

I texted back even though it had been over an hour since he sent it and he might not see it if he was back in the meeting.

J: Okay, 🙁. Let me know how it goes. BTW I got the bouquet of lilacs. They were beautiful. Thank you. ❤️

Ingrid looked up from her phone with the same disappointed look that I had. "Well, there's not much we can do if some suit in Washington keeps them there to ask them questions," she said. "Must have been some mission."

By the time we were finished work there was an answer from Bucky.

B: Still here. I'm glad you liked the flowers. It was suggested to me by a person on the mission and I thought they were different from the usual flowers I was going to send. Send me a picture of you and the flowers. Miss you.

J: How about a video call later? I'm off tonight.

B: Can't. They've got us appearing at some reception, schmoozing (that's what Sam called it). We're the face of the Avengers, apparently. I hate this.

J: Poor baby. I feel for you. Okay, I'll send you a picture but if you get out of schmoozing early make the call. I'll be up until 11.

I sighed. Why did politicians have to keep my boyfriend away from me? It wasn't right. I took the picture of the lilacs then another of me with the flowers and sent it to Bucky. Just before 11 pm my video call alert rang, and I opened it up to see Bucky's face immediately smiling at me. He looked tired and a bit frazzled; he also had a beard.

"Hi," he said. "I finally got out of that torture session and hoped you were still up."

"Hey," I replied. "I'm glad you called. How did it go?"

He shrugged. I could hear Sam's voice in the background then it moved as he changed locations.

"Sam's just moving to the bathroom so he can talk to Ingrid," said Bucky. "What a couple of days this has been. Both of us are feeling a bit defensive."

"Can you talk about it?" I asked.

He took a breath and took the time to choose his words. "It's still classified but it will come out by the weekend. On our mission we found children, who had been changed by HYDRA and left in cryostasis, until someone activated the wake cycle."

"That's terrible!" I exclaimed. "Are they alright?"

"Yeah, but it's what to do with them that's the problem." He looked upset. "They're just kids, 5-7 years of age. Physically, they've been changed. I can't tell you how or what, but they have certain abilities. Emotionally and mentally, they're still little kids. None of them speak English. It was only because I understand German that I was able to figure out what was going on at first. We were able to place them with German speaking foster families, you know, learning to live like kids again."

His face betrayed his frustration. "The authorities want to study them, don't they?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, in a secure facility, like a hospital or mental facility. They're worried the kids have implanted commands, like I did. As if there have been HYDRA operatives just waiting since before World War II to find these kids and activate them to be little killers. June, their capsules were buried in a mine shaft. They were left behind by their handlers, abandoned."

"That's why you're stuck in Washington, isn't it? You want to make sure that these kids have someone advocating for them, someone who's been in a similar position."

He looked away then back at me. "Yeah, that's why I'm here. Sam, as well. I honestly don't know if we're going to make it back for your party. I know we promised but we can't abandon these kids. Someone has to be their voice to make sure they can stay where they feel safe and secure."

I felt such a swell of emotion when I heard those words come out of Bucky. Just looking at him I could see the intensity of the feelings that rippled over his face as he spoke. He was torn between his obligations to me and his obligations to some children who had been left behind by people who were supposed to care for them. At that moment I knew I was in love; real love for a man who was unselfish, giving, and understanding.

"Bucky," I said softly, waiting for him to look at me. "You stay and do what you have to for those kids. I'm so proud of you for standing up for what's right. There will be other parties, other opportunities for us but those kids need you right now, more than anything. I'm good with that."

"You are?" He looked surprised. "You're not angry?" I shook my head. A soft look came over his face. "You're pretty incredible. You know that right?" I nodded my head yes and we both laughed. It was nice to see the worry lines disappear from his forehead. "I'll make it up to you. I promise."

"Okay, I look forward to that," I replied, then I made a decision and acted upon it before I lost my nerve. "Bucky? I love you."

He was surprised to hear that, and I could see that he took a quick breath before answering. "I love you, too, June."

His beautiful smile was incredible to see, and I hopefully gave him a look that affected him in the same way. When we disconnected, I sat back on the couch and took a deep breath. We said it. We said that we loved each other. My messages beeped and there was a text message from Bucky.

B: You really meant that?

I giggled a little, thinking of him overthinking our declarations because I knew that I was ready to do the same.

J: I really meant that. I love you James Buchanan Barnes.

There were a few moments before I received his next text.

B: I love you June Gladys Roberts. You better prepare yourself for how much I'm going to show you.

J: I look forward to it, Bucky. Now let me go to bed and dream about you. Oh, and I love the beard.

B: Goodnight my sweet love. I'll dream of you also. Was thinking of shaving it but maybe I'll keep it for a while.

It took some time before I could calm myself enough to sleep. When I got up in the morning, I made my coffee and stood out on the balcony to drink it. It had rained overnight and there was a mist that blanketed the area. It calmed the normal traffic sounds so that everything seemed muted. My phone vibrated in the pocket of my robe. It was Ingrid, asking if I was up for a call. Putting my coffee mug on the railing I texted back that I was. Stepping back inside I answered the ringing device.

"So, looks like you and I will be going on our own," she said. "I can't be mad. They're doing something incredible, aren't they?"

"Yeah," I replied. "They're both pretty amazing men."

"I think I'm in love," said Ingrid, wistfully. "I barely know him, but add that sense of responsibility that he's taking on to everything else ... you don't think that's crazy, do you?"

"No. I told Bucky I loved him."

"What, you didn't? What did he say?"

"That he loved me too," I replied. "He's a unique man, with a strong sense of decency. When he told me about the responsibility he felt to make sure those kids were represented I realized that I needed to tell him."

"I'm so happy for you." Ingrid's voice was truly warm and genuine. "Sam said the story would hit the news before this weekend. I hope they get a lot of support. He said the kids were afraid of him at first because their handlers told them that black people were evil demons. By the time they left he was playing with them and teaching them English. They were all sweet kids who had something evil done to them."

I turned on the television and it looked like the story had already leaked. After telling Ingrid she turned her TV on, and we both agreed to call each other later. It was surreal watching the ticker along the bottom of the screen.

Pre-WW2 HYDRA storage facility reveals seven children in cryostasis. Avengers advocate for children to be raised normally.

A few minutes after the ticker appeared the story was reported. It showed Bucky and Sam entering the White House, both of them in suits. Bucky did not look comfortable in his, but he did look good. There were photos of them in a meeting with the President and his cabinet, then at the reception last night that seemed to have a lot of different influential people there. The reporter repeated how the "experts" wanted to study the children but both Bucky and Sam said that all the HYDRA notes they had found so far already detailed what had been done to them. It was nightmare stuff, bringing up the Nazi Lebensborn program, and how these particular children born into that were given to HYDRA as test subjects. They didn't get into the abilities the children had as that part was still classified. They didn't show the children's faces either, blurring them out to protect their identities. It ended with the reporter talking to both Sam and Bucky. Sam was advocating for the children to be allowed to grow up normally as the best way to treat them. Then the reporter turned to Bucky and asked for his thoughts. He was quiet at first before speaking.

"I've been the subject of medical experimentation," he said calmly. "When I was undergoing treatment in Wakanda it was always done with my knowledge and permission. Nothing was hidden from me, and I was able to live a normal life there, without a problem, until I joined the fight against Thanos. Yet, when I returned to the United States there were a core group of people who didn't think that was good enough. They wanted me to be in a mental facility, proving my sanity all over again. Then they wanted me in another facility so they could find out what my capabilities were. All of this was discussed without my input, without my knowledge or permission. I didn't escape from HYDRA just to report to another master. These kids had no say in what was done to them. They were test subjects who didn't respond the way that was expected, and were frozen, then abandoned and forgotten until we found them."

He was quiet for a moment and Sam put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, supporting him, as he dealt with his emotions.

"I think they should be allowed to be kids, not test subjects, not objects of research, definitely not groomed as potential weapons like HYDRA planned," continued Bucky. "All they want is to be loved, to be part of a family that was denied to them. Anything else would be as cruel as what HYDRA did to them. Leave them alone and let them grow up normally."

Both men came across as very passionate individuals who obviously cared about the wellbeing of the seven children. They had backing from the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, and the American Psychological Association, among others who were quoted as believing the children needed the structure of a nurturing family more than being traumatized further in an institutional setting. The report ended with a live reporter's feed from the White House where the talks were continuing that day.

After breakfast and getting dressed I drove to the library for my shift. Work still had to be done and as much as I wanted to watch the news on TV in the hopes of seeing Bucky, I knew the chances of him and Sam making it tonight were lessened with each hour they were stuck in Washington. At least I could keep my disappointment at bay with work as I threw myself into it. At the end of the workday, I hurried home to have something to eat and get ready. Ingrid was going to be working the first part of the burlesque show as a chorus girl so I wouldn't see her until I got to the club. I had just finished putting the finishing touches on my makeup and stepped out into the apartment, glancing outside. It was raining, not an unusual thing in New Orleans but still, after the way things were going it was kind of the "perfect" way to end the week. With a sigh I ordered an Uber, put my coat on and grabbed an umbrella. There was still no message from Bucky.

The rain had lessened to a drizzle by the time I got to the club, but I still opened the umbrella up for the short walk into the venue. I told them my boyfriend would be late and was informed he would be kept in the lobby if he arrived after the show started. The best I could do was keep my phone close and hope Bucky texted me if he arrived. As more of my co-workers and their dates arrived, I stifled my disappointment and after turning down several drinks decided I might as well start enjoying myself in one way, by ordering a Moscow mule. After that I ordered an Appletini, then I decided to stick with my usual go-to drink, Cosmopolitans.

The show started, and we whooped and hollered as Ingrid performed as a chorus girl in the opening number. There were several other acts and then a big production number where Ingrid reappeared as a chorus girl again, then it was intermission. I headed out to the lobby, following the flow of people headed outside for a cigarette.

Then I saw him. Bucky was watching me as he stood near the wall with Sam. Wearing the same suit he wore in Washington, a brown houndstooth plaid suit, brown shirt, and houndstooth tie, his hair was styled just so, and his beard was trimmed down to a level that was positively seductive. His face was soft as he gazed at me, and I almost wanted to cry at how utterly handsome he was. As I walked over to him, I could see him taking in my appearance from top to bottom.

"You look amazing," he said, kissing me softly on the cheek, his beard tickling me.

"So do you," I replied. "I didn't think you would make it."

"I promised and I always try to keep my promises."

I couldn't help it and I threw my arms around his neck, while he held me close, his hands on my back. When I stepped back, he reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing my eyes with it.

"Your makeup is a little smudged," he said softly. "Still think you look incredible."

Sam leaned close. "Ingrid is here, isn't she?" he asked, sounding worried.

"Hi Sam. Yeah, she was in the first half of the show so she's getting changed," I said. "She'll be so happy to see you. How did it all end with the kids?"

Both men smiled. "They'll leave them with the foster families, but they do have to go for sessions with a child psychologist, one who's fluent in German," replied Bucky. "All of the families have been vetted by the authorities and will receive financial assistance from an acquaintance of ours, who is just as concerned with how they are treated." He hugged me again. "No more about the mission. For the rest of the night, we'll enjoy ourselves."

"I second that," said Ingrid's voice as she came out all dolled up in a 1940s outfit that had Sam whistling at her. They gave each other a big hug and kiss. Ingrid looked at both men. "Those suits. Did you buy them in Washington?"

"We pulled some strings," admitted Sam. "Took advantage of a friend with connections. Since we needed something to wear at the White House and at the reception that we could wear tonight we wanted something styling. Had to talk Buck into getting something different than his usual black on black on black."

"I think you look very handsome," I noted, grasping his hand.

He blushed a little but still had a happy look on his face. As several of my co-workers approached, I felt him squeeze my hand, seemingly nervous about meeting them. He shouldn't have been as all of them were aware of what he and Sam had been doing and complimented them both on being advocates for those children. It was brought up in the second half of the show as the MC, a drag queen named Dottie LaMouth, brought them up on stage. After introducing them by name Dottie detailed their efforts to make sure the kids would be raised in families and not in an institution, asking the audience to give them a hand.

"Now, both of you are veterans," she said. "So am I, a former Marine. Tell me, have either of you been to a burlesque show before, perhaps before you were deployed?"

Sam shook his head but when Dottie saw Bucky's smirk she picked up on it right away.

"Okay, spill the beans big guy," she said, although she was taller than he was in her platform boots and hair. "When were you last at a burlesque show?"

"1939 or 1940," guessed Bucky. "I'm a little surprised they're still around to be honest. They weren't exactly a place to bring a date."

He looked at me as he said that and Dottie noticed, pointing me out. "Is she your lady friend?" Bucky nodded. "She's awfully pretty." Bucky agreed. "Tell me, have you ...?"

"I don't kiss and tell," replied Bucky nervously. "I am a gentleman, or at least I try to be."

Dottie made a swooning motion, then called for everyone to applaud the two Avengers, as she read correctly that Bucky was beginning to become uncomfortable being in the spotlight. She shook both their hands and once they were seated with us called on the next act to begin. Once again, he took my hand and held it as I leaned close to him.

"You did good," I said. "Are you alright?"

"A little anxious," he admitted. "Still not sure about the rest of the show."

He needn't have worried as the next act was a comedy routine. It was full of groaners that got him grinning and he ended up enjoying the rest of the show. When we went into our private party room after and the music started, he was charming, engaged, and showed a flair for dancing, especially to the older songs that he knew. For all the worry I had that he wouldn't make it I had a memorable time as he treated me like a queen. We took an Uber back to the apartment and stood in the hallway, outside my door.

"My place or yours?" he smiled, as he nuzzled that beard into my neck.

I looked at him, as with my heels I was almost as tall as he was. His eyes were dark and his hand was gently playing with my hair.

"Why don't you get something to change into for the morning and I'll leave my door open for you," I whispered.

"Don't get started without me," he whispered back, then he kissed me, pressing me into the wall as his soft lips met mine.

While he was in his apartment, I tried to set the scene, bringing out some artificial candles (as regular ones were banned in the building), starting a hopefully sexy jazz playlist, and trying so hard not to be nervous. When he came into my suite, he closed and locked the door behind him, then turned off the lights, before entering the bedroom where I stood, anxiously waiting. He dropped his bundle of clothes off on the chair and approached me. He was so handsome that I almost started to cry.

"What's wrong, pretty girl?" he asked gently, his hand caressing my cheek. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Of you, no," I stammered. "Of me not being enough ...."

"Stop," he said. "Look at you. You're smart, caring, understanding, and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, ever." He emphasized the last word. "I don't know what was wrong with the guys you were with before, but they were idiots. I've been waiting three weeks for this moment and I'm right where I want to be. I'm glad you told me that you loved me because I wanted to say it to you before I left. I love you, June. I love how you look, how you talk, how your nose crinkles up when you laugh, everything about you."

I thought he had given me great kisses before but the kiss he gave me then was like nothing I had ever had in my life. Its effect reached every part of my body. When we finally undressed down to our underwear, he gazed at me again and kept repeating how beautiful I was. Then he saw my tattoo, the rose on the inside of my left hip. Kneeling before me he kissed it gently then looked up at me from there. It was as if he was worshipping me, unafraid to be in that position, even though he presented very much as a man in charge. For someone who had been told multiple times that I would have more success in a relationship if I were thinner, or quieter, or more subservient, it was a revelation that he loved me just as I was.

To be honest, I felt the same way about him. He was still sharing his past with me and I honoured the trust he had to show me everything, good and bad. His arm was his arm, a part of him. There were going to be times when his PTSD would come out but Sam had already talked to me about it and how to help him through it. He was worth that much effort from me. Truthfully, he was probably the best man I had ever met and I wanted a future with him. Meeting the perfect man happened a little later in my life than I had expected but Bucky was definitely the man for me. Tonight was just the first night we would be together. We had so many more to look forward to and both of us were ready for that.

Chapter 19: Starting From Scratch

Chapter Text

It had been several days since Bucky Barnes crossed the Atlantic as a paying passenger on a cargo ship. So far, cutting his hair and keeping his face shaved had been enough to make him look different from the images being shared in the media. Those images, taken mostly from the battle with Steve at the Triskelion showed him in his Winter Soldier gear, complete with the longer hair, and unshaven face. His new look, combined with the German passport showing him with shorter hair and no beard had resulted in no issues while travelling. Since disembarking at Civitavecchia Bucky travelled across Italy, starting with buying a train ticket to Rome from the port. With the help of an older American couple who he helped with their luggage on the train to Rome he learned about the ferries that left the port of Ancona, on the coast of the Adriatic Sea, bound for Croatia, settling on taking a ferry to Split. He hadn't decided where exactly he was going after that, but the Eastern European countries seemed to be the best fit for him. As he talked more to the older couple, they told him he could easily afford to live in Serbia or Romania but with the latter now a member of the European Union there would be more opportunities for employment for a German citizen. In their opinion it was also a much safer country, with less unrest. Considering that he apparently knew the Romanian language just by looking at some pictures they shared from their phones, and understanding the signage, Bucky decided that country would be his destination. He just had to get there.

Once he arrived in Rome, he inquired at the ticket office about the next train to Ancona and asked if he could purchase his ferry ticket through them. The fastest trains took about three and a half hours, with several scheduled per day. He had just missed the most recent one with the next one set to leave in three hours. Smiling kindly at the ticket agent he paid cash for his train ticket then was directed to where he could wait with his luggage. Normally they wouldn't sell him a ferry ticket but because he had no phone the agent did it for him, putting it on her credit card. He gave her extra cash for the favour. Before he left the window the agent warned him about pickpockets, con artists, and not to leave his luggage unattended. Taking the warning seriously Bucky took his luggage with him into the bathroom, using the facilities then making sure his notebooks, money and passport were in the backpack. He also packed a change of clothing into it, rolling the clothes up so they would fit. Looking at the other passports that were in the backpack he decided to get rid of them and tore them up into little pieces, flushing them down the toilet. Heading back down into the waiting area he watched the boards constantly to see when his train would arrive from the coast, wanting to be ready to board for the return trip.

As the waiting area began to fill up with more passengers arriving, he had to accept that he would be sitting close to other people. It was a little unnerving for him at first as crowds made him uncomfortable but eventually the announcement was made that boarding could begin and the gate to the track was opened. Standing in line with the others he showed his ticket and was directed to where his car was. After showing his ticket once more he boarded and was told that his larger bag had to be left in a common area along with everyone else's luggage. He was allowed to bring his backpack with him and put it under his seat.

His anxiety level began to rise when the train didn't leave at its scheduled time due to small problem involving local police. For a moment he wondered if somehow they found the pieces of the discarded passports, then his anxiety was relieved when he saw several polizia escorting a man and woman on the train platform. The couple were handcuffed and looked miserable.

"Pickpockets," said the man next to him, in accented English that seemed familiar to Bucky. "That's usually who gets arrested at the train station."

Smiling slightly at the man and nodding his head Bucky looked out the window, glad when the train began moving. He had chosen a window seat with the window on his left, thinking that it would keep his left arm hidden from scrutiny. A few minutes after leaving the station the man looked at Bucky.

"American?"

"German but I lived there a long time," said Bucky. "You?"

"Swiss," said the man. Bucky stiffened, remembering that Arnim Zola was Swiss. "I'm heading to Croatia for business. Had to go to Rome first. You on business or just travelling?"

Why was this man asking so many questions? "Just travelling," said Bucky. "Thinking of moving, finding work elsewhere."

The man nodded. "Romania is a good place but you'll have to register as a non-resident," he said. "It's just a formality. If I were you I would get a place to live right away. Once you show you have a residence it's easier to get work. The other countries around it have more strict requirements."

Bucky nodded and smiled wanly. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," he said, then he turned to look out the window, hoping that signalled he didn't want to talk anymore.

It must have because the other man didn't say anything more until they were almost at Ancona, and then it was just a comment about almost being there. Grabbing his luggage he was about to get off when the Swiss man spoke again.

"If you're taking the ferry to Split so am I," he said. "We can share a taxi, my treat, as I can claim it as a business expense. It's not a very pedestrian friendly walk." Bucky looked at him, unable to make a decision as his anxiety began to overwhelm him. The man must have sensed it. "It's okay. You just seemed anxious about this part. My name is Leon Meier."

He showed Bucky his passport just to show that he was on the level. Swallowing noticeably Bucky nodded and he waited with Meier until the rush of departing passengers had lessened. They came out to the front of the station where a line of taxis waited. After putting his larger bag in the trunk Bucky got into the back seat with Meier, clutching his backpack. Meier asked for the port and the driver began the drive down the busy roadway. Nothing was said by either man. The Swiss businessman paid the driver when they got there, receiving a receipt for his expense record. After seeing where Bucky's cabin was Meier asked Bucky to meet for a meal in the café.

"You don't have to, but I'm guessing you haven't eaten all day," he said. "I could hear your stomach groaning."

"Sorry," said Bucky. "I'm not a good traveller."

"Hmm," replied Meier. "I think you have other issues as well, if you'll forgive my bluntness." Right away Bucky's sense of unease increased, and the Swiss man had to explain. "I'm sorry. You seem to have anxiety issues which are none of my business, but it does make you stand out. When you get to the other side, you'll have to be less conspicuous. Join me for a meal and I'll explain. Please."

Bucky agreed and entered his cabin as Meier went on to his. Twenty minutes later they met in the café and Bucky bought a couple of sandwiches and a coffee. Meier bought his food and sat at the table across from him. After listening to several of the people around them he looked at Bucky and took a significant breath.

"I know who you are," he said in Spanish. "I'm assuming you understand me. If you do, just nod your head. You don't have to speak." Bucky slowly nodded his head. "Good, what name are you travelling under?"

"Jakob," replied Bucky. Meier looked again with raised eyebrows. "Schmidt."

"I assume your German is flawless?" Bucky nodded his head again. "I'm not turning you in. How do I say this? I was related to Arnim Zola." Instantly, Bucky tensed as if he was ready to bolt. Meier shook his head and put his hands out to calm the super soldier down. "I'm not one of them. Zola was a disgrace to our family. He collaborated with a madman and brought such dishonour on the family name that we had to change it. When that organization fell, someone, I don't know who, delivered a box of files to my father, Zola's nephew. They must have thought we were sympathizers, but it made us sick to see what he did, to you especially. That's how I recognized you as it showed you during the war, after they found you. It was smart that you cut your hair and shaved as most of the images being shown of you are from more recently."

He stopped speaking, as if he was making sure no one else was listening. Then he took a bite of his food and drank some of his coffee, encouraging Bucky to do the same. When he spoke again it was with a lower voice.

"My father turned the files over to Interpol," he said. "So, they now have images of you from when you were younger. You will have to grow your hair a little bit and maybe return to a partially shaven look. I don't know which look would be better but the further east you can go the better for you as you are less known in those countries. Romania is probably best and with it being on the coast of the Black Sea would allow you more opportunities to escape if you are found."

Bucky slowly ate his meal, still reeling at the man's disclosure. "I'm not him. I fought it all the time."

A grim look appeared on Meier's face and he nodded sympathetically. "I know that. My great uncle could never understand why you always needed to undergo constant treatment to remove your memories and condition you to be their man. Even that wasn't enough as you were still reluctant to be what they wanted. There was a quote from Abraham Erskine about why Steve Rogers was his choice to receive the serum that made him Captain America. Basically, it said the serum made the good man better, but made the bad man worse."

"I still killed for them," interrupted Bucky, his face full of guilt.

Meier nodded then spoke intensely to him. "They had to go to extreme lengths to make you, Jakob. Lengths that would have killed a lesser man. Tell me truthfully, have you received help from people?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Did they know your true identity?" Bucky nodded. "Then accept that they saw the good man within you, the good man that forms your soul. When I revealed I knew who you were you froze, but at no time did you become aggressive. The other one, who I won't even dignify with a name, would have lashed out, removed me from existence, even in the presence of all these witnesses. He would have removed them next, gone on a rampage to cover his tracks. He is not you."

"He's still there," said Bucky. "He can be brought out with a series of words and I'm helpless if anyone says them."

"Yeah, I read about them," stated Meier, sounding almost defeated. "You need to be deprogrammed for those and I don't know who you can trust to do that for you. Truthfully, there are many organizations that would take you in, but they would make you do what my great uncle did. Your skills are coveted by many."

The Swiss man looked almost sick as he said the last part, as it verified what Bucky feared. There might not be any way to remove the Winter Soldier programming from his mind. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore and he pushed the last part of his sandwich away. Neither man said anything for some time then Meier leaned close.

"Your friend, with the shield," he began, not wanting to say his name out loud in case anyone caught on to their conversation. "Can you contact him?"

Bucky took a deep breath before speaking. "He told me to run and get somewhere safe. I almost killed him and I'm not sure I won't attack him again because my mission to kill him wasn't completed. It's still there, a whisper that I have to go back and finish the job."

"That's unfortunate," replied Meier. "He is probably the one man who can ensure your safety. You know, your passport name, Schmidt, was probably used to signify that you were a child of Johann Schmidt, the madman my great uncle collaborated with. The serum you were given was likely made from his blood. Schmidt is a good name, it means blacksmith, a decent, honest occupation. It won't raise eyebrows wherever you end up, unlike my great uncle's name. Stay low, try not to become involved in any incidents. If you have to work, then do something involving manual labour. You're a big man and I suspect you will find some release in a physical job. Your anxiety ... are you having nightmares?"

"Often," replied Bucky. "More memories are returning, mostly in bits and pieces. I write them down, in case I lose them."

"You have suffered, Jakob," said Meier. "What you went through has probably damaged your brain and brain injuries can take years to heal. There are foods that can help, food rich in anti-oxidants, like fish or fresh fruits and vegetables. If you go to a library and look up anti-oxidants you can find out more. The better your nutrition is the quicker your brain will heal. What will take longer to heal is the damage done to your soul. In your day they ascribed it to men who couldn't handle the horrors of war, calling it battle fatigue, or shell shock. It had implications of cowardice attached to it."

His face was distasteful as he said that last part and for a moment Bucky felt shame, as he remembered times during the war when he wanted it all to stop but never said anything out of loyalty to his unit, and to Steve. Certain that Meier looked upon him as inferior, Bucky began to rise but the man put his hand out.

"No, please stay," insisted Meier. "It is seen as more complex in these modern times. They call it post traumatic stress disorder, PTSD for short. You can find resources in a library on it. It is how your mind has been affected by all the trauma you suffered and you suffered more than just about anyone, Jakob. There are going to be times the whispers will tell you lies, that you are worthless, damaged beyond repair, broken for all time. You must do your best not to listen to those lies."

Meier stopped speaking, suddenly rubbing his face with his hands. When he pulled his hands away Bucky was shocked to see tears glistening in the man's eyes. He stood up to leave and Bucky stood up with him, puzzled by the emotions the man was showing. People around them were noticing and whispering about the two men. Grabbing Bucky's arm Meier pulled him outside. There were several people out on the open deck, smoking cigarettes, taking in the air, or having a walk before retiring for the night long journey. In a spot where there was no one in earshot Meier looked intently at Bucky. This time he spoke in English.

"Don't give up. Don't let my great uncle win. Fight for your life, Jakob. Perhaps, someday, you can come in from the cold, and be seen as a man again. When Zola was arrested by the Americans in World War II they froze the family's assets, all of them. He then began working for SHIELD to undermine that organization and build HYDRA up within them. At the time we didn't know it. Then he stole the family's money, all of it. We had to start from scratch, is the expression, I think. That is when my father changed our family name. When you escaped, and the Romanoff woman released the files and they found mention of Zola's family they came looking for us, thinking we had access to his secrets. HYDRA, the CIA, reporters, con artists ... trying to take what we had built again from us. Once more, I'm trying to save my family from the shame of having the same DNA as that monster."

"Turn me in," said Bucky. "I'll tell them everything I know. You shouldn't have to suffer because of what he did."

"I cannot do that. Not if I want to look at myself in the mirror ever again."

Meier looked out over the water, breathing heavily. Then he approached the railing and looked down at the dark water many feet below. For a moment Bucky thought the man would throw himself over and he put his hand out, touching Meier's arm, making him flinch a little in the process.

"I know where the HYDRA safe houses are," he said solemnly. "You can have the list. They're full of money and weapons. I don't need a lot to live on and you're right about me working manual labour. It would help give me a physical release."

"No, I can't take that list," argued Meier. "You've suffered so much. The money rightfully belongs to you for all that they made you do."

"I insist," said Bucky. "Wait here and I'll get the list."

Bucky ran to the stairwell then down to the cabins level. He entered his cabin, picked up his backpack and opened the front pouch where the list was. Folding it, he placed it inside his jacket and ran back up to the open deck. Meier was still at the railing, still looking despondent as the ship sliced through the open water. Bucky offered him the sheets.

"Here," he said. "Take it. Watch the places for a while as there may still be people there. There may be cameras watching so you'll have to avoid them or disable them. Everything is usually in a hidden safe but if you have the right tools, you can easily open it."

"God bless you," said Meier, emotionally. "You are a good man, Jakob, or should I say James."

"Bucky," he replied, putting his hand out. "My friends called me Bucky."

"Bucky, then," replied Meier. "You have saved our family from our shame." He shook Bucky's hand before reaching in his pocket and pulling a card out of his wallet. "This is my business card. If you ever find yourself in trouble, please call me and I will do what I can to help. You have my word." He looked at his watch. "Well, this has been quite the day. Thank you again. Remember my advice."

Bucky put the card in his wallet and together the two men went down the stairwell again, each to their own cabin, although they had to shift to allow a woman to pass them in the narrow hallway. As Bucky lay on the firm bed in his cabin, he felt good about what he had done. He slept well, not having any dreams that he could remember.

In the morning he was awakened by the ship's intercom announcing that docking was imminent. Quickly dressing he put his jeans on and patted his back pocket, feeling for his wallet. It wasn't there and he looked in his jacket pocket for it. It wasn't there either. Quickly, he searched his luggage for it, finding his passport and remaining bundles of Euros in the backpack. Then he searched the room, unsuccessfully, and began to panic.

As he tried to recall the last time he handled his wallet a sick feeling began building in his stomach. The last time he saw his wallet was when he put Leon Meier's business card in it and put it back into his jean's back pocket. As he replayed their return to their own cabins he suddenly remembered the moment when the woman squeezed past them and Meier slipped his hand behind Bucky to keep him from hitting the wall.

"No," he whispered.

Leaving his luggage briefly he ran to Meier's room and found the door open, a steward already in there cleaning and changing the bedding. Running back to his room he grabbed his luggage and went down to the gangway where people were already leaving. Searching everywhere to find Meier he heard a beep and turned around to see a smiling Meier in a car driven by the woman in the hallway. Even though the vehicle was a considerable distance away he could see the smirk on the couple's faces as Meier saluted him and the car drove off the ramp. He should have chased them but there were too many people about to do it safely.

The words of the ticket agent in Rome suddenly echoed in his mind, warning him about pickpockets and con artists. Yet Meier had known who he really was. How was that possible, unless ... with a sick feeling Bucky realized that Meier had probably found out about Zola and himself on the internet then guessed successfully who he was by close observation. By playing on his fears to make him release more information about himself, Meier exploited him for even more information. Quickly checking his backpack again Bucky confirmed that he still had some cash, enough for a train ticket to somewhere, and perhaps to pay for some food. The other bundles that were in there had been tampered with, the money replaced with coloured paper. Only the top few and bottom bills were actual currency. The woman must have broken in before he got the list for Meier, likely when they were still eating, and taken most of his money.

With a sigh he gathered his luggage and headed towards the exit from the port. He asked a guard if there was public transit to the train station. With a grin the guard told him it was only a few minutes' walk away. Putting his small backpack on his front and his large backpack on his back Bucky headed in the direction indicated. It was busy there and he had to wait in line at the ticket office. They didn't have routes to Romania, but they could take him to Zagreb, further in Croatia, where he could catch a direct train to Bucharest. Purchasing the cheapest ticket, he was pleased that he wouldn't have to wait long for it, although it would be a long seven-hour trip. Going over his diminishing cash reserves he bought an energy bar at a kiosk in the station and drank water from the tap in the washroom. It would have to do.

When the call to board was made, he found himself behind a large family, a mother, two teenage boys and three small children. They were loud, slow, and began to make him anxious. Still, being brought up with manners, he said nothing to the family. When he saw his seat was in the midst of them, he almost changed his mind about taking the train, but it was the only train of the day from Split to Zagreb. With a sigh he took his seat and tried his best to ignore the antics of the young children. He even managed to doze off at one point, which was a miracle that didn't last when one of the younger ones suddenly flopped onto his lap. Sitting upright in a panic he looked all around then saw the small girl looking up at him with a shy smile.

"I'm sorry," the mother said, in heavily accented English. "Lena, leave him alone. He was sleeping. Oh, I knew I shouldn't have tried to take them all without my husband."

"It's alright," replied Bucky. "No harm done."

The harried mother had an insulated case and opened it up, distributing food to her brood. She offered Bucky food, wrapped in plastic.

"Please," she said. "Share with us."

He tried to turn it down, but she wouldn't take no for an answer, so he accepted it, unwrapping it, and biting slowly into it. It was basic fare, a hollowed-out bread roll, filled with a formed meat, onions and a red sauce. It was also delicious, and Bucky found it hard not to wolf it down.

"Thank you," he said, as he wiped his mouth with his hand. "I was hungrier than I thought. I didn't eat since last night, except for an energy bar I was going to eat later."

"A big man like you must eat," she chastised him lightly. "You go home to your family?"

"No," he answered. "Trying to find work. I don't how I'll manage to get to Bucharest. I was robbed."

Her face dropped. "No, a pickpocket?"

"Yes, and cheated by a con man," he admitted. He shook his head. "He fooled me."

One of the teenagers said something to her in a language that seemed familiar but he only understood a few words. She answered him a little sharply then patted his cheek, as if to apologize.

"You come with us when we get to Zagreb," she said. "My brother has a ... place to eat food."

"A restaurant," said Bucky, to which she nodded.

"Yes, a restaurant," she said. "You work few days, make some money. We help each other."

"I don't understand, how do I help you?" he asked.

She looked at the older teenager. "She wants you to take care of something," said the boy, in better English. "You're a big man, with big muscles. There are people who want money from my uncle. That's why we're going there, to help get the money. She wants you to show the people they can't push our family around."

He shrugged, embarrassed at having to ask a stranger to defend their family. Bucky leaned back into his seat, looking at the family. Noticing their clothes and mannerisms he had an idea of who they were.

"You're Roma, aren't you?" he asked the boy, who nodded.

"We're refugees but managed to get to Italy until my uncle said that people would kill him unless he paid them protection money. The only way we can pay them is to go back to the family business, which we left Croatia to avoid. Now we're going back because my uncle has ordered it. He's the head of the family."

"If I help you, I can't kill anyone," he said. "I will not do that."

The mother looked at her son who told her in the Roma language what Bucky said.

"Okay," she agreed. "You hurt bad men?"

"I can hurt them, but if they're mafia they'll keep coming for you," said Bucky.

The boy translated and she looked afraid for a moment. Then she nodded her head in agreement.

"Okay, I'll help you," said Bucky. "You pay me cash and you tell no one, ever, that you saw me."

He leaned back, breathing heavily, and closed his eyes. Everything in him was saying not to do this, not to get involved as it could signal his presence in Europe. But Meier had already figured that out so it might be a matter of time anyways before someone came looking for him. Right now, he needed money to get to Romania, and to do that he needed to work. If he could intimidate these people who were extorting money from the uncle into stopping, then he would get something for his efforts.

When the train arrived in Zagreb he helped pick up one of the smaller children, carrying her in his arms, even though he had his suitcase and backpack to take care of. Each of the teenagers handled the rest of the luggage and the mother had a small sleeping child in her arms as well. There was an older man at the train station waiting for the family and the woman explained who Bucky was. At first the man was upset but she said more and he eventually agreed. Taking the young child from Bucky's arms he led them on a twenty minute walk to an apartment over a restaurant, which was open. As the others went upstairs to the apartment with his bags she took Bucky into the restaurant. It was busy and the smells coming out of the kitchen were aromatic enough to set his stomach growling. An older man in the kitchen saw her come in and frowned at Bucky. Meeting her in the doorway he argued with her and once again Bucky had to witness the woman convince the man that he could help them. Coming over to Bucky he looked up at him and felt his shoulders and arms, noticing his left arm was much firmer than his right.

"You a soldier?" he asked.

"I was," answered Bucky.

"Why do you help?"

"I need the money," he replied. "I was robbed by a con man and I need to get to Romania. I also don't like bullies ... khuligany."

It was the Russian word for bullies and he hoped it was close enough to Croatian as they shared many similar words. The man thought for a moment then nodded and pointed at a chair. Yelling at someone in the kitchen he brought food out for Bucky.

"You eat and when they come in you tell them to leave," he said.

"You know it may take several times before they leave you alone?" asked Bucky.

"Yah, I know," he said, resigned. "I feed you and give you a place to sleep. If you help, I give you 1000 Leu."

"That won't go very far," said Bucky, knowing it was worth about $220 in US dollars. "How much did they want?"

"2,000 kuna, about 265 Euros just for the first payment," he spat. "I don't have it, not even half. So to pay them I'm forced to make my family into criminals again, a life we hoped to leave behind. Please, help us and I will pay you what I can."

Bucky sighed. "Alright, but you can't tell anyone about me," he said. "I'm trying not to draw attention."

The man smirked. "You're too big not to. My name is Nicolae. You?"

"Jakob."

"I hope you can do what my sister said you could," he stated. "Otherwise, they'll kill us all."

Bucky dug into the food. It was tasty and satisfied him. When he was finished he asked to use the restroom and the woman, Milena, showed him a room in the back. It wasn't the cleanest but he had been in worse. When he came out Milena put her hand out to him and nodded to the front. Looking out through the pass through Bucky saw there were three big men, talking menacingly to Nicolae. He could understand the gist of it. They wanted the money or would force Milena and the two teenagers into being pickpockets until the debt was paid.

"Is there a back door?" he asked Milena.

She showed him and he went out that way then came around to the front, stepping quietly behind the three men. When one of the men moved to grab Nicolae Bucky tapped him on the shoulder and downed him with one shot. The other two men turned around but never had a chance as Bucky took them both down within seconds, lifting the third one over his head and tossing him out the door into the street. Picking the other two up he dragged them outside, dropping them into the street then stood outside the doorway watching them. As they came to and stood up, he addressed them in Russian.

"These people are my friends. They are under my protection and do not need yours. Leave them alone."

They pulled out guns and Bucky attacked them again, quickly disabling them and knocking them to the ground. In front of their snarling faces he crushed their guns in his prosthetic hand, still gloved. After he destroyed the third gun he addressed them again in Russian.

"If you come here again I will do this to your bodies." Then he smiled, remembering a line. "I can do this all day."

Slowly they got up and left but they weren't happy. Bucky went back inside the restaurant and looked at Nicolae.

"They'll be back," he said. "Probably tonight, with reinforcements. What time do you close?"

"Nine, ten o'clock," he said. "Depends on how many customers."

"Lock the back door," said Bucky. "If you can close by nine turn off all the lights in the restaurant and go up to your apartment. Leave me inside. If you don't want your furniture broken, you should move it all to one side, but I can't promise there won't be damage."

Nicolae nodded and Bucky pulled a bar stool just outside the door and sat on it, watching the neighbourhood. At about 8:45 Nicolae said he was closing and that they had moved the furniture. Bucky moved the stool and himself back inside. He hesitated for second.

"You're sure you don't need help?"

"Yes, I work better alone and if I don't have to worry about anyone who could get hurt," said Bucky. "I know what I'm doing. Just go upstairs and watch out for your family."

With a shake of his head the other man left, leaving Bucky inside the restaurant. He sat in the darkness, enjoying the quiet, as he calmed himself to hear any sounds outside that did not sound natural. About half an hour after his vigil started, he heard the sound of a car pulling up down the street then slowly advancing towards his location. It stopped about twenty feet before the door of the restaurant and Bucky positioned himself near the door but still in the shadows. He could hear the sounds of several footsteps outside, attempting to be stealthy. Looking out the window he saw the shadowy outlines of several men, more than three. There were whispered instructions between them then they carefully broke a window in the door in order to open it. Two men stepped inside, each with a gun that appeared to have a silencer on. They took a firing position as they kneeled before waving the others inside. When the fifth man entered Bucky took action grasping one of the guns and using it to hit the man across the nose, sending him to his knees in pain. Using the gun, he shot two of the others in their knees then advanced on the other two so fast they likely didn't see him coming. Wrapping his metal arm around the neck of one of the men he kept him in between his body and the other man who would have shot but Bucky moved so fast he couldn't take the shot. Once the man in his arm passed out Bucky pushed him into the second man then choked him into submission. By then the first man, whose nose had been broken was standing and trying to find Bucky in the dark. A touch of the gun to his ear alerted him and he raised his hand offering his gun to Bucky.

"Take your men back to your car and return to your boss," said Bucky, in Russian. "Tell him these people are under my protection and I will not allow him to extort money from them again."

"You don't know who you're dealing with," replied the man, also in Russian. "They won't stop."

"Then I won't stop sending his men back broken and injured," stated Bucky. "These people do not have the money and they don't want to be criminals."

"What are they giving you to fight for them?" sneered the man. "Come to work for us. You can be a rich man with your skills."

"I will not be used by men like you any more. The more men you send the more men will be sent back broken."

With an exaggerated sigh the man grunted and as the two unconscious ones came around, he ordered them to carry the shot ones out to the car. Then he stood in the doorway looking at Bucky's hulking shadow inside the restaurant.

"This isn't over, mudak," he threatened. "You've just made it worse for these people."

"You don't know who you're dealing with," replied Bucky. "If you did you would leave this city. Next time I will come to your house and bring it down."

The other man spat onto the floor then turned and Bucky quickly gathered the guns, sticking them into his waistband. This was going to be tricky but it had to be done. He watched out the window as the car was started and turned around to return to the mob's headquarters. Stepping out into the night he began to run after them, making sure to stay in the dark shadows, not giving away his position. After about ten minutes of easy running for him he saw the vehicle pull up to a garage and one of the men get out to open a sliding door. The vehicle drove inside and the door was closed. Approaching it in silence Bucky looked for any guards outside. Not finding any he used a building next to the garage to get up to the roof and found a vent where he could hear everything.

As he expected the conversation was entirely in Russian, indicating these weren't local mobsters, who wouldn't have asked for so much and stuck more to the drug trade and smuggling. Bucky felt shame for his part in bringing the Russian mob into this country, remembering several hits he made taking out key people in the Croatian mafia who were also connected to the government of the time. In his mind Bucky felt partly responsible for these criminals who were terrorizing the Roma minority in this neighbourhood. It was one of the reasons he accepted the job, hoping to make some sort of amends to these people who just wanted to be left alone. Shaking his head to clear it of the negative thoughts Bucky could tell the boss man was not happy about five of his men being sent back, after the original three came crawling back earlier. He was angry at how one man seemed to have the ability to counteract his men. As Bucky feared, the boss man was considering sending his whole force against the restaurant, meaning he had to do something now, before it escalated further.

Quietly moving to the perimeter of the building he looked for the electrical connection to the grid, finding the cluster of wires that powered the building. He flexed his left hand then reached over and pulled the wires apart. A small buzz flowed up his arm from the small amount of electricity that the titanium in his arm allowed to be conducted. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but he could feel it. As the yells from inside indicated the lights going out Bucky jumped to the ground, pulled out two of the guns and burst through a window, firing at anything that moved.

In the chaos he picked out the one man who was backing away from the firing, pulling two men to cover him. Like a whirling dervish Bucky went through all of his men, ignoring any bullets that grazed or hit him. In this mode he could withstand a lot of injuries without impacting his performance. Years of being sent to take out powerful men with many bodyguards made his actions routine and as natural as breathing. Finally, it was just him facing the boss with his two bodyguards almost vibrating in their terror.

"Soldat," said the boss man, swallowing nervously.

"I'm not him anymore," said Bucky in English. "I have no master, and will never have another forcing me to their will. What I do now I do of my own free will. You know what I can do to you?" The boss man nodded his head. "I will say this once. Leave the Roma alone, all of them. They are under my protection. Let the other bosses in this town know. If I hear of any action taken against them I will find you and send you all to hell. Do you understand?"

"Yes," stammered the boss. "The Roma will not be bothered."

To emphasize his threat Bucky removed his left glove and extended his hand into a beam of a streetlight that came from outside, making the titanium shine. Then he took one of the guns out of his waistband and crushed it in his hand, driving home the power he still held and the terror he could still wield.

"I am Baba Yaga, a ghost, a demon, and I will know if you go back on your word. Do not anger me."

Turning away, he waited for the sound of a gun being aimed at his back but instead he heard the sound of guns being put back into their holsters and he knew he could leave without having to take a life. Pulling the sliding door open he stepped out into the night and began walking towards the restaurant. A sound from the shadows beside him drew his attention and he swung towards it with a gun aimed at a shape.

"It's us," said the voice of one of the teenagers. "Let us help you back, Jakob."

Both boys came out and Bucky nodded, beginning to feel the several bullet wounds that had managed to hit but not kill him. Gently, the boys positioned themselves on either side of him and wrapped their arms around his waist, walking him towards the restaurant. When they got there, they went to the stairs up to the apartment and Bucky looked up, seeing Nicolae and Milena looking anxiously at him.

"We'll look after you," said Nicolae, gesturing to come up. "Please."

With the boy's help he managed to get up the stairs, collapsing at the top and everything went fuzzy as he struggled to stay conscious. As he felt the blackness coming on he accepted that maybe this time he had done something right for the right reasons.

"Jakob."

It was a whispered child's voice, then he felt a small soft hand on his cheek, and he opened his eyes to see the little girl, Lena. Her face was close to his, close enough for him to feel her breath on him.

"Lena," he whispered. "Are you being a naughty girl?"

She giggled then was pulled away by Milena, exasperated at her daughter for bothering him. Bucky blinked his eyes and took stock of his situation. It was day, he was in a bed, and he had no clothes on. With a start he realized his arm and shoulder were exposed and he tried to sit up to cover himself.

"Don't, you have many stitches," said Milena. "It's alright, Jakob. You safe."

Bucky swallowed hard and looked up, expecting to see fear and revulsion on her face but all he saw was her smile, and the smile of her little girl, Lena.

"What happened?" he asked. "I remember the boys helping me walk."

"They bring you home," said Milena. "You pass out. We take care of you. Six bullets I take out and sew you up. You dream bad things, cry out. So much pain in you, Jakob."

Her eyes glistened and for a moment Bucky wanted to cry, afraid at what she had seen and heard.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked, sure that they would turn him in.

She looked puzzled then she sat on the edge of the bed, and gently put her hand on his.

"We help you get to Romania," she said. "Nicolae is um ... making a ride for you to Bucharest. Other Roma have a place for you to live and work. We take care of you, Jakob."

"Why? Why would you help me?"

A man's cough interrupted them, and Bucky saw a strange man standing in the doorway with Nicolae. His first instinct was to cover his arm up, but the man waved his hand to indicate it wasn't necessary. Milena stood up and left the room with Lena, leaving the man and Nicolae alone with Bucky. A chair was brought in from the hallway and placed beside the bed for the strange man to sit in. He looked over Bucky as if he were assessing him.

"You're the one they've been looking for in the States," said the man in English with a definite New Jersey accent. "The Winter Soldier, a killer, a demon, a ghost, but all I see before me is a man who stuck his neck out for a family he just met and turned it into a crusade to protect an ethnic minority in a place that doesn't really care if they live or die. So that leaves me to ask why? Why would you help them?"

"At first, it was just to make enough money to get me to Romania," said Bucky, realizing that this man required the truth to be spoken. "I need a quiet place where I can try to get my memories back, memories that HYDRA ripped from my brain and tore apart into little pieces. Milena fed me on the train. She asked if I could help them with a problem. Nicolae fed me in his restaurant, and we negotiated a price. I told them I wouldn't kill because I can't do that anymore. But for them I would hurt those who would hurt them."

"Yet, when you got to that Russian criminal who pulls the strings here you changed it from this family to all the Roma in this town." The man's eyes were burning into Bucky's. "Milena said you were the victim of a pickpocket and conman. It's possible they were Roma so why would you protect our community? Why?"

For several moments Bucky thought of how he would answer, not sure even he knew why he did that.

"I let my guard down to that con man and that's on me," he said sincerely. "I wanted to believe his words so badly that I let him convince me. But I don't like bullies and a woman with many children having to take a train back into a place they left as refugees in order to help their family ... it just sparked something in me. That maybe, with what I know, I could help and make it possible for them to return to the life they want, not the life they used to have. In my own life I did things, terrible things, that allowed people like the Russian mob to have power. It's not my life anymore."

"What is the life you want, Jakob Schmidt?" asked the man. "If you succeed in getting your memories and your life back?"

"What we all want," replied Bucky. "A job that pays the bills, a family so that I'm not lonely, a life with meaning, not death and destruction."

That seemed to satisfy the man and he looked up at Nicolae, speaking in their language, then coming to an agreement. He looked back at Bucky.

"You're from Brooklyn," he said. "I recognize your accent. You lived in a diverse neighbourhood?"

Bucky smirked. "If you mean did we have immigrants from all over there, yeah. During the Depression we had to rely on each other. That much I remember."

"It's been decided to make you part of our family, adopt you," he said. "Nicolae will be your father. It's just a formality and the words have already been spoken. What it means is that we will use our people to get you to Bucharest, where another family will find you a place to live. Don't expect anything grand but it will be warm, private, and yours. They'll find you work. It will be manual labour but I think you're good with that. You have callouses on your right hand so I expect you're used to working hard. No one will speak of you to outsiders and will not discuss your unique features. We will do this for as long as possible as word will eventually get out that you're in Europe. The Russians know you're around and we expect they will come looking for you but the word is already out that Roma are off limits to the mafia. So you did something good there. Do you accept?"

Bucky put his hand out and the man spit into his first, signalling that this was as close to a blood oath as one could get. Even in Bucky's day the act scored the seriousness of the agreement. Bringing his hand closer Bucky did the same then the two men shook.

For several days Bucky recuperated in the apartment above the restaurant. Milena and Lena were his constant companions although the teenage boys visited several times, bringing him English language newspapers so he had something to read. He never asked if they were bought or stolen, not wanting to insult them.

When the day came for him to leave Nicolae paid him double what they had negotiated, as it appeared the entire Roma community in Zagreb wanted to show their appreciation for his assistance in removing the Russian mob from the city. He wasn't so sure they were gone but at least they weren't bothering Nicolae and his family. A car, driven by the man who came to see him, was brought to take him to another location and he stood outside the restaurant that morning with his new family. Remembering what he could of Eastern European customs he accepted the kisses on the mouth from Nicolae and the boys, knowing it was considered normal. Milena looked to her brother and received a nod before hugging him. The other daughters also hugged him, then he saw little Lena looking up at him with her sweet smile. Picking her up he smiled at her.

"Goodbye little angel," he said, receiving a wet kiss on the cheek in return.

In the car once they were out on the road he was surprised when the strange man offered his hand again. "I'm Jovan Sakić. Back in New Jersey I'm called John. My immediate family immigrated to the States before World War II and did very well there. I came back during the troubles to help the extended family, and stayed."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Bucky.

"Because, James Barnes, there are many people looking for you and I want you to know that you can trust me to keep your existence as quiet as possible. Since it's going to be a long drive to Bucharest, I want you to tell me everything you remember about your life and when you get to the part about the conman and the pickpocket I want all the details. You're family now and we take care of our own."

From the despair and hopelessness, he felt after realizing he had been robbed, Bucky found it hard to accept the kindness he had already received from this outcast community. To be accepted so readily was going to take some getting used to. But at least he knew that there would be a place for him, a place where hopefully he would have the time and space to get back that which had been taken from him. Taking a deep breath, he started telling Jovan about his life.

Chapter 20: Catching Up

Chapter Text

"Damn," said Steve, looking at the rear display in the quinjet as we flew away from Leipzig Airport. "Rhodes...."

"What happened?" I asked, unbuckling and coming towards the pilot's seat.

Steve was quiet for a moment then took a breath. "Not sure but Colonel Rhodes suit was damaged. He fell to the ground."

It was as if all the air was sucked out of my lungs and I almost stumbled. Another person, hurt or worse, because of me. I could feel my eyes burning as the tears threatened to fall. Steve quickly put the jet on autopilot and got out of the seat, grabbing hold of my shoulders.

"Bucky, don't," he said. "It wasn't your fault."

"We just destroyed an airport, and a man has been hurt, possibly killed, because you and your friends were fighting for me," I said. "Of course, it's my fault. How many people were injured in Bucharest, then how many did the Soldier kill in Berlin when that man activated me?

I slid down to the floor, slouching against the wall. I was done. Everything the authorities said about me was true. No matter what, I brought death and destruction with me. Wiping the wet from my face I drew my knees up and rested my arms on them.

"I know you don't want to hear this but I'm going to keep saying it," said Steve, kneeling down in front of me. "We chose to fight for you. The special forces in Bucharest were there to kill you. You had the right to defend yourself and I could see you pulled your punches and tried your best to make sure to leave them alive. As for the Winter Soldier, what he did is on that fake doctor, not on you. He knew what would happen and he used you to get information then to get away."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "The result is still the same. HYDRA turned me into a killing machine and that's all I've known for 70 years."

"That's not true and you know it," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Summer Alder-Marsh, her granddaughter Megan, and her friend Tamsin Murray."

I looked up at him in surprise. "How do you know those names?"

"Rebecca told me," he said, studying my face for my reaction. "Then I sought them out myself."

"Rebecca? Is she still alive?" My voice cracked. Was it really possible? Did Summer connect with my sister? "She knows about me?"

"She knows what was done to you," confirmed Steve. He stood up and held out his hand. "We have a long flight to Siberia, and I think we need to talk some things out before we get there."

Grabbing it I stood up and watched as he double checked the autopilot settings then he gestured to my seat.

"You hungry or thirsty?" he asked. "We usually keep some energy bars and juice on here." I waved him off, but he got some for himself. "First of all, I never really got the chance to thank you for pulling me out of Potomac. I was ready to die for you, Buck, you know that."

I nodded. "When I saw your face, all bloodied up, and you said those words, it came rushing back to me. All the times I intervened in a fight for you, then telling you that I was with you until the end of the line after your mom's funeral. I knew you were familiar before they wiped my memory. I told them I knew you and Pierce hit me several times. Then they wiped me, brought out the Soldier, and told me to finish you. I would have."

"It was your last mission," said Steve. "Several HYDRA operatives that I believe you dropped off in front of the police station confirmed that Pierce didn't care if you made it off the helicarrier alive. I figured you were in control of yourself and were already trying to make things right when you left those guys there."

"Is that why you told me to go?" I asked, looking him in the eye. "I was watching you, making sure they didn't try to finish you off in the hospital."

He smiled. "Yeah, I also didn't want the authorities to get you, either. No one wanted to believe that you actually saved me and that you were watching out for me. Where did you go between Washington and Townsend?"

"I had a list of HYDRA safe houses that I got from the bank," I answered. "Got some money from them, and some weapons, bought some clothes. That was fun." I grinned. "Couldn't believe how tight blue jeans are."

Steve grinned as well. "Took some getting used to, didn't it? I often wore khakis, they're like a looser fit casual pant. Probably not your style but they were more like what we used to wear. But Townsend? How did you know those women? They wouldn't tell me much, just that they helped you and helped change your appearance, so you weren't as recognizable."

I told him about the botched hit job on the bridge in 1971 and being taken in by Summer and Seth. Said the two nights there were like heaven as they were so accepting of me. I described the wonderful feeling I had helping to dig that stump out with my shirt off, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, then all of us working together to rip it out of the ground. My face must have reinforced how incredible it was as I described listening to the birds flying overhead out in the field. Then I told him about making it to Brooklyn, and seeing Ma from the back stoop but deciding not to knock because I didn't want them to hurt her.

"Is that where you left the book, The Hobbit, with the inscription from Summer and Seth?" he asked. "Rebecca showed me after she told me of Summer phoning her and giving her the message from you. She thought it was a crank call, except Summer described you to a T and told her about the Winter Soldier. When I confirmed it, she told me where to find Summer. She reminded me of Peggy, except Summer didn't have dementia."

I looked at Steve. "Peggy is alive?"

"She was," he said, a look of sadness crossing his face. "She died recently. I visited her but she wasn't always there. She said some things as well that didn't make sense about looking for you." I could see the pain on his face as he thought of her. "So much sadness, so many unrealized dreams. She was still beautiful, inside and out. Summer and Tamsin were both like that, except I got the feeling they were quite different from Peggy."

"I'm sorry about Peggy. She was special. Remember in the pub in London when she kept paying you more attention than me and I wasn't happy about it? Thought I lost my touch."

Steve smirked. "That was a highlight of my life. All those years of being in your shadow and all I needed to do was gain a hundred pounds and grow a foot in height. If I had known it was that easy...."

Neither one of us said anything and I got up to where he got the food, offering him more then taking some out for myself. I took a bite of the energy bar and drank some juice then looked at him.

"They were called hippies," I explained, returning to the subject of Summer and the others. "They left behind normal life for one that was more in keeping with nature. Townsend was supposed to be called Eden, that's what they called it when I was there. Seth, and several of the guys were Vietnam War veterans. They understood my issues, which led me to believe that wars don't really change, nor the men that fight them. All they wanted was to live a peaceful life and make a living with their own hands. I liked it there, very much. I would have stayed."

"I met your namesake, James Marsh," said Steve. "Can't believe he was the child of hippies. He was even more straight laced than I was supposed to be during the war."

"You were," I replied. "You had an image to uphold, and you took that seriously. Did he know I was there?"

"Yeah, Summer told him that they helped you," replied Steve. "He was upset at first, but I had some of the HYDRA files with me and shared them. He was more understanding then. His daughter, Megan, she was smart suggesting you go to Europe. Said she cut your hair for you and thought you were one good looking man. You kept under the radar for a long time."

"I had help," I told him. "Roma in Croatia. They adopted me, took me under their wing and helped me get to Romania, found me that little flat, and kept me working. Their leader was from New Jersey, a guy named Jovan. I helped some of his people fight off some Russian mobsters." I saw the look on Steve's face. "I didn't kill anyone, but I made sure they knew who they were dealing with."

"That explains how the CIA knew where you were," said Steve. "They must have had an informant who kept tabs on you."

"No," I scoffed. "There's no way they knew I was there. Unless ...."

I told him about the con man, about him knowing about me and using that to get most of my money and the list of the European safe houses. It was his suggestion to go to Romania. He looked at the computer on the quinjet.

"You know how to use one?" he asked. "I'm still learning on it, but we could look him up."

"I wasn't permitted," I replied. "It can be tracked you know, electronically."

Both of us reached for it to shut it off. We sat there quietly for a time, not saying anything.

"Rebecca, did she ever get married?"

"Yeah, she did," replied Steve. "She went into nursing in 1948, graduated at the top of her class and served in the Korean War. Met her husband there, a sergeant in the army, Harvey Proctor. He demobbed after, they got married, and he went to school for his accounting certification. She had her first daughter in 1956, a son in 1959 and another daughter in 1962. She went back into nursing when the youngest was 12. They lived in Brooklyn. She lives in a senior's home in New Jersey. Harvey died about ten years ago. She has 8 grandchildren and three great grandchildren."

I was happy for Rebecca. It was hard to picture her all grown up and married. All those years, gone and never to be reclaimed. I sighed and Steve looked away.

"I found your parent's graves," he said sadly. "They're buried in Green-Wood Cemetery. Rebecca said they used our life insurance to buy the plot. It also paid for Rebecca's tuition and wedding."

"You assigned your life insurance to my parents?" I asked, surprised at first, then realizing that if the situation was reversed, I likely would have assigned some to his mother.

"Once Ma died, they became my parents," he stated. "Your dad died in 1965. He suffered a heart attack and then they found cancer in his lungs. Your mom lasted until 1991." He made a face, a disgusted one.

"What?" I asked.

"You were given a posthumous Medal of Honor," he said. "It was presented to your mother and sister in 1991, a month before your mom died. Alexander Pierce was there."

He didn't have to say anything more. I wanted to hit something. My final jailer, the man who kept me imprisoned and loaned me out to every authoritarian or terrorist group in the world to make money for HYDRA stood in front of my mother, offering his sympathies on her loss. I could just picture that sanctimonious smirk of his as he told her what a gift my service was to humanity. He used those words on me, in Washington, just before he put me through the machine and scrambled my brain one last time to make me kill Steve.

"Who killed Pierce?" I asked. "They're sure he's dead?"

"A man named Nick Fury," he replied. "Pierce was his boss at SHIELD. HYDRA had infiltrated it from top to bottom. Fury knew something was up with those heli carriers and Project Insight. Then you were assigned to kill Fury."

I reacted, searching my memory for who this Fury was. "Bald guy, with an eyepatch?" I asked to Steve's nod. "I killed him, didn't I? They said it was mission complete."

"You hurt him, but he was a smart man, and he faked his death," said Steve. "Had us all fooled, except for Maria Hill and a small squad of people she trusted. Then he showed up at the Triskelion, with Natasha already there in disguise. She was the redhead at the airport that let us go. They forced Pierce to cancel the launch and implementation. Except Rumlow tried to override it."

"Rumlow was my handler," I said. "Bastard of a man." I could feel the anger filling me and it must have bothered Steve because he put his hand on my shoulder. "He was abusive, encouraged his men to treat me like sh*t."

"He's dead," said Steve. "Died in Nigeria. I was there. He knew who you were to me because he brought it up. Thought it would make me weak to know how broken you were."

"I am broken," I said, looking him in the eye. "As long as those words are there, I'll never be free of HYDRA. Someone will always know them."

"We'll get you help, Buck, I promise."

There was a beep coming from the co*ckpit and Steve went over to see what was going on. I sat there, thinking of the fact that although I was free, I was still a prisoner of my programming, and of people's beliefs about me. Steve came back.

"Course adjustment," he said. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll keep watch for a few hours then we can switch. You know how to pilot one of these, right?"

I nodded. It had been programmed permanently into my brain, just like all the weapons, and forms of killing had been engraved into my muscle memory. Steve went behind me and pulled on a handle, releasing a berth, just like on a train. It was already made up. I unstrapped and removed my leather jacket then took my boots off and laid on the berth. Even though I was desperately tired I wasn't sure I could fall asleep as my mind was racing, especially with what I knew was waiting for us in Siberia. I must have been more tired than I thought because Steve woke me up several hours later.

It was dark outside. He looked exhausted and we switched places. I sat in the pilot's seat and turned all the lights off, except for the night lighting in the co*ckpit. Soon I could hear him lightly snoring and smiled, remembering the sound of his wheezing whenever he slept over at our place when we were young. So many times, I thought he would stop breathing but the next tortured breath always came. Maybe that was part of what made me remember him. He was my brother in so many ways.

HYDRA knew of our connection. They exploited it many times; telling me he didn't care about me, then that he was dead, which technically he was for almost as long as I was a PoW. They even told me that he had joined HYDRA and was a much better soldier than me for the cause. So many lies, so much pain and torture, and for what? To keep me bound to them as their weapon, not even regarded as a man but as an asset to be used. I was done with all that. No longer would I kill for anyone.

A small glimmer outside the co*ckpit window attracted my attention and I dimmed the co*ckpit lighting while I peered outside. There were lights in the sky, green at first, then red and and white. It was like watching curtains being drawn across the sky as the lights flickered and moved. A memory of reading about the aurora borealis occurred to me and I watched it for some time, fascinated at the beauty. After about an hour it slowly faded, and I turned the co*ckpit lights up.

I heard a snort and turned back to see Steve waving his hands in the air. He must have been dreaming but before I could go over he suddenly woke up and his eyes opened. Raising himself on one elbow he saw me watching and he let out a breath.

"Bad dream?" I asked.

He sat up then came over and sat in a seat behind me. "Yeah, Sokovia," he said. "f*cking androids."

Turning around in surprise I looked at him. "Language," I smirked. Then I stopped bugging him when I saw his face. If it was bad enough to give him a nightmare, then it was bad. "You lost people."

"We lost a whole country," he said. "That's why they tried to rein in the Avengers."

I looked at him. "What do you mean they tried to rein in the Avengers?"

"Said we were too reckless and that we caused too much death and destruction. They came up with something called the Sokovia Accords which was to regulate the activities of so-called enhanced individuals. The Avengers couldn't go into a situation without approval from a UN appointed panel."

"Well, that's ridiculous," I replied. "They blamed you for what evil people did? It's not like they play by the rules."

Steve shrugged. "The thing is they wanted all of us to sign it and agree not to act unilaterally. It was an infringement of our rights, ultimately meaning that if any of us was walking down the street and saw a crime being committed, technically we weren't permitted to intervene unless a UN panel gave us permission. That's an extreme example but it's how I interpreted it. I wouldn't sign."

"Good," I replied. Then a thought occurred to me. "The others, your friends who helped ... did they sign?"

"Nope," he replied. "They stood with me, mostly for their own reasons. But when they gave the shoot to kill order on you after King T'Chaka was killed without even confirming that it was actually you who set off the bomb ... they were not happy. That action meant that any one of us could be set up just like you were, and they would assume the worst about us. Natasha signed but she helped because she trusted me."

"She's the one who let us go," I confirmed. "I think I knew her, a long time ago, when she was younger."

"It's possible as she knew about the Winter Soldier, that you shot through her to kill a scientist she was helping," said Steve. "She was originally a Black Widow but was turned by Clint."

I breathed in suddenly as a flicker of the face of a girl, maybe 14 or 15 suddenly appeared in my memory. Then the memory of seeing that face again outside Odessa when I took out a scientist but didn't kill the witness, a red headed woman who looked familiar to me at the time.

"Then I must have met her because I was loaned to that program for a time," I said. "It was brutal, pushing those girls to the limit of their pain tolerance. Those who came through it went on." I looked out the window. "They wanted me to breed with them. Girls, young girls." I shook my head in disgust. "I wouldn't and I was punished for it."

Glancing back at Steve I saw a combination of pity and disgust on his face, and I turned away. He put so much on the line for me, and I wasn't worth it. Standing up I went to use the head, wanting to splash some cold water on my face. When I came out it was already lighter out and Steve was in the pilot's seat. He turned.

"We'll be there soon."

I sat behind him. "What will happen to your friends, the ones we left behind?"

He shook his head. "I don't know but I'll deal with it."

"I'm not worth all this," I said. "You know that. I've done terrible things, evil things."

"You didn't have a choice," he replied. "They forced you, tortured you into doing it."

"I know. I resisted; I really did but I still did it. It's all there, part of history. Officially I killed dozens of people, that I remember. How many don't I remember, Steve?"

"Bucky ... don't do this to yourself," he said. "We'll find a way. I promise."

I didn't answer because part of me did feel guilty, did feel like maybe I should face a firing squad. While I was in Bucharest more of the memories had resurfaced including one that shook me because I killed someone I knew, Howard Stark. He and his wife were targeted because he had found a way to duplicate the serum that changed Steve and I was sent to retrieve that serum. That was the serum that was wasted on the super soldiers in Siberia where we were headed. I wanted to tell Steve what I had done but it stuck in my throat. Neither of us had liked the man very much when we were in the Howling Commandos, but he was a genius and he invented a lot of things that the unit benefitted from, explosives, weapons, even bullet resistant clothing. He must have remembered me that night as I had recurring nightmares of him calling me Sergeant Barnes while begging for his and his wife's lives. Just for that I deserved to be punished.

"We're here," announced Steve and I stood behind him as he hovered over the frozen wasteland below us. "There's a weapons locker at the back of the quinjet."

I went to it and pressed the control to extend it, choosing a familiar looking gun. Steve finished his checklist and came back, picking his own weapons, then putting his shield on. Pressing a control, the back ramp lowered.

"Remember Rockaway Beach and the freezer truck?" he asked.

I smirked. "When we bought hot dogs with our train money?"

"When you tried to win a bear for that redhead," he replied. "Her name was Dolores, but you kept calling her Dot."

I remembered and gave out a short laugh. f*ck, we were so young then. With a nod, Steve put his helmet on, and we stepped down the ramp. There was a snow vehicle parked there, no doubt left there by the fake doctor. Even though there was light snow the tracks were still visible as were his footprints, so he hadn't been there very long. We stood in front of the entrance to the facility then looked at each other before stepping into the darkness inside. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.*

Some time later

It didn't hurt. Not really, except for the shock of my titanium arm being gone. The beating I took at the hands of Tony Stark hurt more. That suit of his packed a punch but together Steve and I disabled him. Once he learned what I did I knew he wouldn't hold back. I couldn't blame him, not really. He reacted the way a son should when he learned the man in front of him was the man who killed his parents. Part of me wanted to give up, to let him have his pound of flesh but when he started laying into Steve it was like the 1930s again. I couldn't not be involved, couldn't let him hurt my friend. So, we fought him together and left him inside the HYDRA facility to make our way back to the quinjet. After that, we didn't know where we would go, except away from here.

Then we saw him, the Black Panther, Prince T'Challa of Wakanda, the man who tried to kill me in revenge for killing his father. What was most surprising was that he had the fake doctor, in cuffs and was herding him towards us.

"I am sorry that I did not believe you, Sergeant Barnes," he said, in that crisp and precise accent of his. "The Colonel here has confessed to my father's murder and to framing you for it. I am taking him in."

"You may want to take another passenger," said Steve. "Tony Stark is inside. His suit isn't functioning."

"Where will you go?" asked the prince. "The damage to the arm is extensive."

Steve and I looked at each other. "We haven't got a clue," said Steve, "but we'll find somewhere that will treat him, not just for the arm."

T'Challa tilted his head, in an inquiring way. "I have commands implanted in my mind," I said, then nodded at the prisoner. "He found the book with the command words and activated me in Berlin to spread chaos while he escaped. As long as they're there I'll be at risk of being reactivated. Do you still have the book?"

The prisoner's face was sullen, and he didn't answer at first then T'Challa leaned in close and murmured something to him. A look of acceptance passed over the man's face.

"Yes, I will give the location to the prince," he said, then he looked at me. "My apologies. You never asked to be made into a weapon. My grief over the death of my family in Sokovia overwhelmed me into taking the actions I did."

I wasn't sure I accepted his apology but at least he would face justice for his crimes. As for me, I didn't have any idea who would have the ability to fix an arm designed by a madman, or a brain tampered with as much as mine had been. As we walked into our aircraft T'Challa told us not to take off yet as he put the man into his aircraft and made sure he was secure. Then he came into ours and looked at both of us.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the remnants of my destroyed arm.

I nodded and he approached it, then gently raised it to peer inside at the circuitry. His lips pursed as he examined it then he straightened up and looked at me.

"How is it attached to your body?"

"They removed my original shoulder, even though it survived the fall from the train," I began, noticing Steve wincing, as he still felt guilt for not coming to look for me. I squeezed his shoulder as I knew the thought that I survived that fall wouldn't have occurred to him at the time. "They built a metallic version and attached it to my skeleton. I'm always in pain from it. The arm weighed so much it changed how I walked and how I moved but they never tried to improve it for my sake. It was meant for one thing and one thing only."

I didn't say it out loud, but the prince nodded sagely, understanding. Once again, he asked if he could take a closer look and I undid my leather jacket, exposing the shoulder area. Gently, he reached inside and touched the metal plate of the shoulder unit feeling the extent of where it was grafted onto my body. He tried to keep his face neutral, but I could see the disgust on his face. Then he placed his palm on it and lifted it off, looking me in the eye.

"For how many years have you had this monstrosity attached to your body?" he asked.

"Since 1945," I said. "They updated it in 1951 after another super soldier destroyed it, tearing it in half."

Steve shifted and looked questioningly at me. I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it right then.

"I would like to offer you sanctuary in Wakanda, Sergeant Barnes," said T'Challa. "My country has the technology to replace the arm with a better prosthetic."

"I don't want it," I said, with certainty. "I won't kill anymore."

The prince tilted his head again as he nodded. "Then at least let us remove this shoulder and replace it with something more natural feeling. It will be a vast improvement on this." I gave him my agreement. "As for the things done to your brain to make you compliant ... our scientists in Wakanda, one in particular, can help you. We have ways to duplicate the layout of your mind. She can develop treatments, testing it on the duplicate before finding the best way to undo what was done to you."

"Another mad scientist?" I questioned him. "I don't think so."

"My younger sister is far from mad," smiled the prince. "Irritating, yes. A pain in my backside, sometimes. But she is gifted intellectually and will treat you with the humanity and compassion you deserve. Nothing will be done to you without your consent. I guarantee that as the next king of Wakanda, Sergeant Barnes. At the very least we can give you a safe haven."

His offer was unexpected, considering that just days ago he was ready to tear my throat out. But his gaze and his voice were steady, and I could feel the empathy that flowed from him. This was a man of his word and he had just thrown me a life preserver.

"You're willing to let me stay if you can't remove the words?" I asked, feeling the tears forming in my eyes.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "If it proves impossible to undo then we will provide you with a means to live a life of dignity on your terms."

"Alright, I accept," I said. "What now?"

He looked back outside through the ramp. "I will be delayed but I can input certain commands into your quinjet that will give you admittance to my country. You will be met by a ... delegation who will be expecting you." A slight smile creased his face. "Do not be alarmed by their demeanour as they are protectors of the royal family first, the country next, and are just doing their duty. But they will escort you to the medical centre where my sister will be waiting. I will join you when I can."

He followed us onto the quinjet and Steve gave him access to the flight computer. He also used our communications equipment to contact his country, I assume advising them of our arrival as he spoke their language. When he was done, he straightened and faced us both.

"They await your arrival," he said. Then he turned to Steve. "Your friends who assisted you at the airport have been imprisoned in a facility called The Raft. It is a very secure place, located under the waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. There is a possibility I may be able to assist you in finding it, but we can discuss that in Wakanda."

"Didn't you sign the Accords?" asked Steve.

A slight smile crossed the face of the young prince. "My father helped draft them but no, I didn't sign as they didn't know at the time that I was enhanced," he said. "It was not our intention to make the world aware of my existence. I don't think they envisioned that a single man would be able to do so much damage and make it look like another man's fault. Once I have ascended the throne, I will begin lobbying for them to be amended. A man shouldn't be stopped from doing the right thing because of a piece of paper." His gloves suddenly disappeared, and he offered us each his hand, shaking ours before he exited. "I will see you soon in Wakanda."

Steve belted me into the seat and took his place in the pilot's seat. He started up the quinjet and lifted it into the air then pushed the throttle getting us up to speed before turning the control over to the programmed autopilot. Stepping past me he looked in a compartment and came out with a first aid kit, then went to the head with a container, coming out with water, soap and cloths. He stood in front of me.

"You going to let me assess your injuries and clean you up?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "Goodness knows you did the same for me many times when we were young."

I returned his smirk and nodded, undoing my leather jacket. He helped me ease it off, then pulled the singlet I wore underneath off. Gently, his hands pressed into my sides as he watched my face for reaction.

"You're telling me you're not in pain," he said. "Your face gave away nothing."

"I'm in plenty of pain but I wasn't permitted to show it," I replied. "I'm pretty sure I've got a couple of broken ribs on my right side. If you can just bandage them up, they'll start to heal within the hour."

"What else does your serum do for you?"

"Mostly the same as yours, as it's the re-creation of the one made by the man who made yours," I said. "Increased healing capability, strength, stamina, ridiculous good health although they did their best to make me sick by the sh*t they fed me, slowed down aging, better reflexes, improved eyesight and hearing. I've been programmed to know a bunch of languages. Some of them I didn't know until I started reading them and found I could understand them. You know, just the standard super soldier serum with a few tweaks thrown in."

He cleaned the blood off of my torso and wrapped an elastic bandage around my middle, then turned his attention towards my face, gently cleaning the blood off.

"My memory improved," said Steve. "So did my ability to plan tactics." I gave him an incredulous look, remembering some of the things he planned when we were Howling Commandos. "Yeah, I'm still a reckless bastard sometimes. Even though I'm not comfortable with computers, it seems I have a predisposition to easily learning how to fly even the most advanced aircraft."

"Don't take this the wrong way but has it made you a better lover?" I asked. "I noticed certain physical changes in myself, not that I've had the freedom to go out and test it."

His face turned pink. "Well, I'm not a virgin anymore, if that's what you want to know," he said. "Lost it to a showgirl on the USO tour, didn't I tell you that? I guess I didn't because I lied and you gave me a pep talk after you tried to steal Peggy from me. The showgirl seemed happy with me. Peggy and I ... after you died, we spent a night together but it was more for finding comfort than for pleasure. We never really got that dance that she talked about. Since I woke up, nothing and no one."

"Not even the blonde?" I asked. "Sam told me who she was."

"The kiss was it," he answered. "Another lost opportunity."

"If you hadn't been frozen for so long, would you have gone back to Peggy after the war?"

"In a New York minute," he said, taping a bandage on a forehead cut. "She was it for me and she knew me before I was changed. We were friends first. When you're better, are you going back to being the old Bucky?"

"I don't think so. I don't think he exists anymore. It will probably be a long time before I get the chance to find out."

He tapped me on the shoulder to indicate I was finished and left to pour the bloody water down the head. I could hear the tap running so he must have stayed in there to wash up himself. When he came out, he had his jacket in his hand, wearing just a white undershirt underneath. He went over to another compartment and opened it pulling out a gym bag. From that he pulled out another undershirt and tossed it to me, pulling a T-shirt out for himself. When I struggled putting mine on, he helped. Then he grabbed some more energy bars and juice which we both inhaled.

"A scientist with the Avengers figured a super soldier needs 10,000 calories a day just to function," he said. "How did you manage with the sh*t they fed you?"

"I guess that's why they put me back into a frozen state so many times," I replied. "Maybe so they didn't have to feed me so often. Although I remember sometimes them saying I was in too long. It made me weak which kind of defeated the purpose of having me."

"Perhaps the Wakandans can decrypt some of the files on you and find out more," said Steve. "With all the manpower and time HYDRA invested in you I can't believe they would deliberately starve you unless they did it for a reason."

"Yeah, everything they did had a reason," I said, sarcastically. I shifted and felt the pain of my ribs, making me inhale quickly, forgetting the conditioning. Steve put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm okay, just can't move too quickly. Can we talk about something else?"

For a while we talked about Brooklyn and how much it had changed from our day. He lived in the city, but found the time to visit some of our old haunts, at least the ones that were still there. We talked about us sharing a place once all of this was resolved. It was hypothetical but in a way it felt good to think about the future when the present was looking so bleak. As we sat there musing of what used to be and of things to come I remembered something that he said while we were on the way to Siberia. I don't know why I thought of it at that moment, perhaps a fragment of a forgotten memory had just nudged itself into my mind.

"You mentioned something about Peggy, about looking for me."

"Yeah, she was mostly crying when she said it and I was more concerned about calming her down," he replied. "She just said she was sorry that she failed. The nurse at the nursing home said she often blurted out things about her work. We would be having a nice conversation then it would be like a switch went off in her mind and she thought I was still lost in the ice."

He looked at me expectantly but whatever glimmer of a memory I'd had was gone and I shook my head. At that moment I yawned and he pulled that berth down, gesturing for me to take it.

"Rest," he said. "I'll catch a few winks when you wake up."

I wasn't going to argue with him as I was exhausted. That fight with Stark took a lot out of me. Sleep came quickly and was only interrupted by Steve's baritone voice waking me to say we were there.

"What happened to having your own rest?" I asked.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a super soldier. I figured you needed it more. They've taken remote control of the aircraft. They did once we entered their airspace. You gotta see this place."

Offering me his hand he helped me off the berth and put me in the pilot's seat while he stood behind me. It was an incredible view, with green mountains, waterfalls, and blue-green lakes. Then it seemed like a curtain opened before us and we saw a city that seemed to be right out of a science fiction novel. Tall towers, some of them covered in cascading vegetation, were interspersed with a monorail snaking its way through the city. It was incredible and both of us were speechless.

Effortlessly, whoever had control of the quinjet landed us in an open plaza that had many soldiers, both men and women, lined up in formation. The women, from what we could see through the co*ckpit window, had shaved heads. We looked at each other, in a slightly concerned way, as both sets of guards looked very capable. Steve helped me on with my jacket but we left it unbuttoned as we could already feel the heat and humidity of this exotic place. Pressing the button that opened the ramp we waited for it to lower and a guard of six women were lined up with another woman waiting.

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes," she said, in a no-nonsense voice. "I am General Okoye, the commander of the Dora Milaje. My king asked me to meet you here and escort you to our medical centre."

While she spoke I recognized that both of us, but especially me, were being assessed. There was no doubt in my mind that this woman was an experienced soldier. Her manner was authoritative but also professional and extremely confident. I had no doubt that these women soldiers were fully capable of handling two super soldiers, reinforced by how they moved when we began our walk. There was also the way she said "my king", as if she felt a personal responsibility for him. Then I remembered what T'Challa had said about our delegation. They were protectors of the royal family first, then the country. In other words these women were his personal guard, responsible for the safety of an enhanced human, who likely didn't need much protection.

The next few hours were a blur as they efficiently but patiently helped me clean up first then change into soft white hospital wear of pants and a wrap around top. Their voices were soft, always with a please and thank you while they asked me to lie in place while scans were done of my body. Blood was taken from me, with my permission, also done quickly and professionally. It was like nothing I had ever experienced with HYDRA and quite frankly, I found myself distracted by the modern equipment that surrounded me, wanting to know what each piece was and what its function was. They answered all of my questions. Even though there were three Dora Milaje present with me at all times I never felt threatened, nor did they seem to be afraid of me, just on alert. Steve was shown somewhere else that he could clean up. Occasionally I saw him in the background, talking with a very young woman who I assumed was Princess Shuri, T'Challa's genius sister.

Finally, the meeting between me and the princess happened. She was definitely a younger sister. Her attitude reminded me of Rebecca. I felt at ease with her almost immediately.

"Sergeant Barnes," she smiled, as an attendant helped me remove the wrap around shirt I wore. "May I touch you?"

Her eyes flickered to my damaged arm then focused on the shoulder. I gave her permission and she ran her fingers over the seam between metal and skin, pressing in occasionally then she stepped back and nodded at the attendant who helped me put the shirt back on. She wore a beaded bracelet that she made a hand motion over, bringing up an image then projecting it to a solid background so it was visible to me.

"Whoever did this to you was a monster," she said, her indignation obvious in her voice. "You told my brother that your shoulder was intact at the time of the initial injury?" I nodded. "They removed a functioning part of your body in order to put in infrastructure to support an arm that must have weighed almost 60 pounds. It was inhumane, as they integrated it into your ribs, and your spine. It must be painful for you."

"It is," I replied. "Does this mean you can't do anything about it?"

She smiled, then patted my arm. "It's coming out," she said with assurance. "First I want to remove the remnants of this arm. It serves no purpose anymore. Once it is off we will begin the construction of a shoulder insert to replace what was forced on to you. It will still be metallic but we will use vibranium which is much lighter, stronger, and will not provoke an immune response as this one has done."

Her eyes were sad as she said that and I guessed she had recognized the still red scars on my back and chest for what they were, my own failed attempts to claw that metal hardware off of my body. She spoke of being able to construct a prosthetic and fully functional arm out of the same material. I was dead set against it at first then she showed me some film of amputees in their country who had been given limbs of the same material. They were from all parts of their society and other than the metallic appearance of the limbs there was no evidence that the function was for anything other than to live a normal life.

"I know you have experienced a great trauma, and that titanium arm forms part of it," she said carefully. "A vibranium arm will feel much more natural to you. If you choose to never wear it, then that is your choice. Please allow me to make it possible for you to have that choice when we have completed your treatment."

I agreed and then we moved on to the next topic, the code words. The prince had sent word that he had the book with the code words in hand. Whether there was another copy of it was unknown but not dismissed outright. I had thought about it while all of these tests were being done and had come to a decision, my decision.

"I think I should be frozen again while you figure out how to deal with the words. I don't want to be accidentally activated. The chance of me hurting someone or worse is too great."

"I agree," she replied. "I have an idea of how to render the words harmless, but it will take a lot of testing to verify my process. It won't be tested on you but on a virtual model of your brain. There was so much more they did to you, but I am still trying to understand their process and we need to decrypt more of the files on you before we begin treatment. Sergeant Barnes, I promise that your recovery will be a priority for me."

I reached out and grasped her hand, as much to reassure myself as to reassure her that I trusted her, and I did trust her. A team of people came in at that moment and my shirt was removed while they began to remove the remnants of my old arm. They were constantly checking on me, asking if I was feeling pain which I assured them was bearable, so pleased was I that I would never see that appendage again. When they were finally finished with the task of disassembling it a temporary cover was put over the exposed workings of the shoulder unit then an attendant helped me get a clean undershirt on.

At that point Steve was allowed in. Obviously, he had been told of my decision and I assured him it was for the best. I could see the prince just outside of my hearing range speaking earnestly with his sister. He had the book in his hand and handed it to her.

"I have the location of my friends," said Steve, noticing where my attention was focused. "I have to go to them."

"I know," I replied. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. Until these words are out of my head, I think this is the best place for me." I put my hand out and shook his, trying to maintain my composure. "Thanks for believing in me."

"There was never any doubt," he said. "I'll be back when I can."

The prince came over and offered his hand to me, reiterating once more that I was in a safe place and they would do all that they could to help me. With a deep breath I hopped off the table and went over to their cryostasis chamber, already a vast improvement on the HYDRA one. The cover on this one was fully transparent. I wouldn't feel like I was being sealed in a coffin or a torture chamber. As I stood on the platform, a nurse attached many different leads to points on my skin. Then I was strapped in and I watched as the cover came down. The last thing I remembered was a gentle cooling sensation on my skin then nothing.

Chapter 21: A Little Calm

Chapter Text

It wasn't the crow of the rooster that woke Bucky up. He had slept well; no nightmares had plagued him this time. When he opened his eyes feeling that something wasn't right it took a few moments before he realized what it was. He couldn't hear his goats.

"sh*t," he muttered, sitting up and heading to the small bathroom in his hut, where he relieved himself.

Pulling his work pants on first he tugged on a sleeveless undershirt, tucked it in, then pulled up the fly on his pants, doing the button up as he walked back to his bed. His boots were ready to be slipped on and he quickly tied the laces using the one-handed technique that had taken him a day to figure out when he first came to Wakanda. After double knotting the loops, he grabbed his work shirt and slipped it on, doing up the buttons as he headed outside.

"Dammit goats," he said out loud, seeing where one of them had pulled away the wire netting creating a hole big enough for the baby goats to get out. Of course, the nanny goats, seeing their kids outside of the enclosure had finished the job, pulling it even further to where one of them, likely Constance, had pushed and pushed the post until it fell over, opening up an even bigger space for her and the other nanny goats to escape as well. Constance was known for continually testing the strength of the posts that he and his neighbour, Silumko had spent hours pounding into the soil when they first erected the pen. Stepping over the mess of the peeled back wire netting he strode into the small shed that acted as a shelter during rainy times to see if any of the goats still remained. He was shocked to see Constance there.

"Okay," he said to the oldest goat he owned. "So, it wasn't you that pushed the post over. Unless you did it just to bother me and send me on a wild goose chase, or should I say, wild goat chase."

Bucky didn't know why he was talking to the goat. It wasn't like she was going to answer him, as she stood there calmly eating what was left of the sweet hay he brought in the day before. Maybe she was the guilty party so she could have the hay all to herself. He posed that to her but of course she gave no indication that she even understood what he was saying.

"Damn goat," he muttered again.

The sound of one of the baby goats bleating drew his attention and he came out to the sight of Silumko's son Uuka, carrying Stevie, his oldest billy goat who was making a big show of struggling against the arms of the boy.

"White Wolf, I found this one in our garden," said the boy, in English. "Mama sent me to tell you the others are scattered over the whole village."

"Thank you," replied Bucky, taking the struggling goat from the boy. "Can you help me round them up?"

"Of course, Mama said I should help," replied Uuka. He looked critically at the goat paddock. "You might have to fix this first otherwise they will just get out again."

"Tell me something I don't know, kid," thought the older man.

Still carrying the struggling Stevie, he went into his hut and came out with a handful of collars and tethers. With Uuka's assistance they managed to get one on the uncooperative goat and he tied him up to one of the sturdier posts. Looking sternly at Constance, Bucky pointed his finger at her.

"Stay here," he commanded, then with a grimace he and Uuka began to jog towards the village to find the others.

Two hours later they finally found the last of the runaways, a nanny goat, thanks to the assistance of two other boys, Chuma and Luzuko. On their arrival back at Bucky's hut he was relieved to see that none of the returned goats had managed to escape again. Silumko was already there with another neighbour Akida, trying to reset the knocked over post.

"White Wolf, all that time we spent making sure this post was secure before attaching the netting was for nothing," smiled Silumko, then he pointed at Constance. "It was this one, wasn't it?"

"I'm sure of it," answered Bucky, running his hand through his long hair. "She was still in the pen, eating the sweet hay I put in yesterday, as if she wanted it all to herself." He looked at Akida. "I should sell her back to you for all the trouble she gives me."

"Why do you think I sold her to you?" laughed Akida. "My wife was ready to leave me because of that one. You have no wife to anger, although I've heard it said that a few of the unmarried ones think you're a good project to take on."

"I'm too old to be married," replied Bucky, trying not to blush. "Calling me a project to take on doesn't give me much credit, either."

The other two men thought that was the funniest thing they ever heard and laughed out loud. "I'll tell you a little secret," said Silumko, beckoning Bucky to come closer. "All men are a project to take on. We all need a woman to civilize us, even our king. When he finally accepts his fate and takes a wife, he will be a much happier man." The sound of their wives calling to them brought their laughter to a quick end. Silumko smiled and patted Bucky on the shoulder. "We'll be back to help you rebuild the goat's pen. Think seriously about what I said, White Wolf. The right woman in your life could bring you the happiness you deserve. At the very least, she would be an extra set of hands."

Smiling half-heartedly back at the two men Bucky looked over the destruction of the pen. It was true that being one-armed had limited him in many ways, but it had also freed him in others. No longer was that shining monstrosity a constant reminder of what his life had been for so long. Without its bulk that forced him into an unnatural walk to balance properly he felt almost normal. Shuri had told him from the beginning they were building him a new arm, one more natural in appearance and feel but he wasn't sure he wanted it. He thought he had managed quite well without the appendage although on a day like today he would have appreciated having two arms so that he could just get started on fixing the damaged pen without waiting for the assistance of others. A chiming sound from inside his hut drew his attention and he entered his home, seeing the holographic notification above his kimoyo bead bracelet that there was a message for him.

Slipping his hand inside the loop he used his thumb to activate the message from Shuri.

"Sergeant Barnes, are you able to receive a guest? Ayanna Maina has arrived to take photographs for her next exhibition and would like to make your acquaintance again. Would you be able to host her for a few days starting tomorrow?"

Ayanna ... it had been almost 8 months since he last saw her. As a child, she had shown an ability in photography that was nurtured and encouraged to the point where she was now one of the top wildlife photographers in the world. It had been eight months since she appeared at the dinner table in the palace as a guest of Queen Ramonda and they were introduced. Eight months since he walked in the gardens at the palace with her, becoming entranced by her quick wit and gentle soul. Eight months since he last smelled her hair and felt her soft skin under his fingertips when she found her way through his defences to become mshikaji, his lover. Her timing could have been better, but he wouldn't let a few runaway goats deter him from seeing Ayanna again. Toggling the reply command on the bracelet he answered Shuri's message.

"It would be my pleasure to see Ayanna again," he said. "Mpaka kesho, until tomorrow."

He opened his small solar powered refrigerator and pulled out some leftover teff porridge that he made the day before. Starting up his butane one burner stove he put some goat's milk in a pot and added the porridge to it, stirring it to mix the two together. When it was the right consistency, he turned the burner down and pulled out some dates, nuts and apple, chopping them into coarse pieces, then adding them to the mix, stirring until it had heated everything up. He put a couple of spoonfuls of honey on it to sweeten it up. Turning off the burner he put a large spoon into the pot and took it outside, setting the pot on a bench outside of his door. Trying not to eat quickly he spooned the tasty porridge into his mouth, enjoying the different textures, thinking his mother would be proud that he could cook porridge. When he was finished, he took the pot back inside and filled it with water, adding some natural detergent gel. Using a rag in his hand he washed out the pot, rinsed it, then left it to air dry.

While waiting for the men to return he brought his tools out and took another look at what had been done to damage the fencing of the pen. When the other two men returned Silumko brought some quick setting cement with him. Together he and Akida pulled the fence post out then mixed the cement with water until it was the right consistency, pouring it into the hole before sinking the post back in the mixture. While it set, they straightened the metal netting, noting where it was damaged by the noticeable teeth marks that eventually wore a section of it through, allowing a persistent goat to pull at it repeatedly, eventually pulling it completely away.

"This must have taken her days to do this," said Akida. "You didn't notice?"

"I was busy with the Princess the past few days," stated Bucky. "Still becoming educated on what has happened in the world."

"Is that what it's called?" smirked Silumko. "There are those who say you and the Princess are friendly."

Bucky stood upright, looking at his neighbour with surprise at the tone he used with the word "friendly."

"She is like my sister," he declared. "Plus, her brother is my friend and, in my country, if a man expresses interest in his friend's sister, he better be ready to marry her. We also shouldn't be discussing the King and the Princess as if they are regular people. They aren't."

"Sounds like Silumko touched a nerve," noted Akida. "That was a long reply to a general observation."

Huffing a little Bucky went to find more of the wire netting, remembering he had some somewhere. The other two men continued their conversation about him in their language.

"Ninaweza kukusikia, unajua," he called out in Swahili, then repeated it in English for good measure. "I can hear you; you know." He came back, carrying the rest of the roll of wire netting. "You two are like the old men who sit in the shade of their daughter's hut, gossiping about everyone they see."

A flash of white teeth appeared as the two men laughed, knowing it was true.

"We care about you, Sergeant," said Akida. "You are the oldest man here, but you still have a young man's face and body. You must still have a young man's desires. To live like a hermit is not good for a young man's soul. We would see you happy, with a good wife and many children."

"Now you're sounding like the wives who send their unattached daughters to bring me food," stated Bucky, looking directly at them. "Perhaps I don't want a wife, and why would I want children when so many of them here already pester me?"

The other two men didn't respond but they did grin at each other as it was true the children pestered him. They all saw through his façade of stoicism and indifference, to see the real man they all knew and cared about. He was the man who went after a panther that stalked the village a few months before, stealthily tracking it into the bush, then physically wrestling it into submission so that it could be tranquillized and relocated to another location, away from people. The deep scratches and bite marks he received from the strong creature were ignored as he used his great strength to immobilize the panther while a wildlife officer injected it. They all knew he was brave but that was the day they realized he saw the people of the village as family that must be protected. As he sat in front of the healer's hut and removed his upper garments so she could treat his wounds a fairly sizeable audience gathered in respect of his abilities. More than a few women were there just to admire his impressive physique.

Since that time, he had become a fixture in the village, even though he held himself apart from much of their celebrations. Occasionally, he indulged in playing football with the children, the international kind, not the American kind that was seen on one of the few television sets in the village. Whenever something had to be built, he was there. If any heavy lifting had to be done, he would silently appear then leave without waiting for thanks. In many ways he had inserted himself into village life so well that the thought he would someday leave wasn't even considered.

Akida looked fondly at the dark-haired man. "Perhaps we just want you to be happy, White Wolf," he said gently. "You are a man who deserves that much."

Bucky looked up at the man, expecting to see amusem*nt but instead he saw sincerity and smiled back.

"Thank you," he replied. "You are too kind."

With a nod, Akida and Silumko stretched the new wire netting over the now immobile post while Bucky hammered nails into it to fasten the covering. They cut an overlapping section and each of them interwove the new piece with the old fence sections, making sure it could not be picked apart by a devious goat again. Once the fix was completed the three men untethered all the goats, allowing them their freedom inside their sizeable pen.

"Thank you," said Bucky, pressing his clenched fist into his chest and bowing his head. "That's only half my day wasted."

"It's never a waste when you are with friends, White Wolf," said Silumko, with a grin. "Come to my hut for lunch. My wife always makes too much, and I don't have any daughters of marrying age to parade in front of you. You'll be safe for a little while longer."

"Thank you, I will," replied Bucky.

The other two men took their leave and Bucky proceeded to load some more hay into the pen for the goats to eat. Entering back into his hut he took stock of how it looked. He wasn't a messy man but living alone had brought out some bad habits and he knew he should clean up before Ayanna arrived. First, he searched for any dirty dishes that may be around, knowing there were times he would put things down and forget about them. Filling up a kettle with water he put it on the burner then once it got hot, he poured it into the wash tub, along with some detergent gel. As they soaked, he found his broom and swept out the hut. Then he finished washing the dishes and left them to air dry. Next, he checked his bedding. Remembering what happened between him and Ayanna the last time they were together he decided it would be prudent to change the sheets. He had a set of clean ones in his bureau so he changed them out and bundled up the dirty ones, intending to wash them later in the communal laundry hut. Finally, he picked up all of his dirty clothes that were scattered around and put them into a basket for washing later. Satisfied with how it looked he left for Silumko's hut.

After lunch he returned to his hut and took the dirty clothes and sheets from the basket, loading them into a duffel bag, along with some organic laundry gel. He put a paperback book into the bag as well, intending to read a bit. Slinging the strap over his shoulder so that the bag lay across the other hip he walked the short distance to the communal laundry hut. When he arrived he was alone, which suited him fine, but word must have gone out that White Wolf was doing laundry as soon a number of unmarried women, and a couple of men, showed up to do theirs.

"White Wolf, I would have done your laundry for you," said one of the more forward of the women, Chiku, as she sized him up. "Surely, a strong man like you has other tasks to attend to."

"I don't mind doing my own laundry, Chiku, but thank you for the offer," he said.

She shrugged and put her own things in the open washing machine next to him. He tried to ignore her as he sat on a chair opposite and opened his paperback book, Discworld by Terry Pratchett.

"What are you reading Sergeant?" asked Badru, a young man. Sighing, Bucky raised the book so everyone could see the cover. "Ah, a classic of modern fantasy, am I right?"

"So, I've been told," answered Bucky, once more burying his face in the book.

It took several more attempts and failures to engage him in conversation before they left him alone and began talking amongst themselves. As their conversation became louder and more animated Bucky gave up trying to read and checked to see if the washing cycle was done. As soon as the final spin cycle finished Bucky pulled everything out, stuffed it into the duffel bag and hurried back to his hut so he could hang everything on a line to dry. That took him some time but he finally got everything up and sat back on the bench to read his book in peace.

The rest of the day passed peacefully enough and Bucky was able to take his laundry in well before sunset. After he folded everything and put them away he went out to check the fence, satisfying himself that the repair should hold for a long time. Then he set about milking the nanny goats, as they hadn't been milked in the morning due to the broken fence. He would have time to add some starter culture and rennet to the milk to begin the process of turning it into cheese. By the morning he would be able to drain the whey off then salt the curds before forming the cheese rounds. Silumko's wife, Banou, had asked if he was making cheese anytime soon. After the good lunch she fed him, he was happy to oblige. It was well past sunset when he put the muslin over the pot where the curds were already forming.

Stepping outside for a moment Bucky walked away from the light spilling out of his doorway and looked up into the night sky, so full of stars. It was truly spectacular and he tried to get out every night to enjoy the serenity. After he had his fill of it he returned inside his hut, pulled his blanket door over and undressed before getting under the covers of his bed. Sleep came quickly.

The crow of the rooster woke Bucky up but this time he didn't get up right away. Instead he laid back with his hand under his head as he went over his plans for the day. First, draining the whey from the curds of the cheese he started last night, then breakfast, then milking the goats and trading the milk with others for food. That should give him enough time to shower and change into traditional clothing to welcome Ayanna to his home. After that, he would see how the welcome with Ayanna went first before deciding.

As Bucky crossed off his mental checklist of things to do he added one more to his list, lunch with Ayanna. When he last saw her he was living in the palace, his meals provided by the servants. Shuri brought up the plan to place him in a village to learn how to take care of himself while they built his new arm. He wanted to show Ayanna that he had adapted well to the situation, becoming self-sufficient.

After he finished all of his chores Bucky quickly showered and wrapped a thin red shuka cloth around his body. Then he wrapped the second heavier red patterned shuka cloth on top of it, pulling a leather belt on and fastening it around his middle. Finally he knotted a blue shawl and pulled it over his head so that it covered his shoulder implant. Using his right hand he gathered his long hair off of his face and and tied it off as best he could. There was nothing to do but wait and he eventually laid down, breathing deeply and rhythmically to calm himself. It worked all too well as he was awakened from a restful nap by the sound of Uuka and two of his friends whispering White Wolf while they watched him, then the boys scattering when he opened his eyes.

"Kids," he muttered, then he sat up.

He could hear the boys being gently chastised by Shuri outside so he went to the cloth, pushing it aside and bending his head as he stepped outside. The princess was standing by a tree.

"Hello, Sergeant Barnes," she said. "I bring you greetings from my brother, the king. I also bring you a friend."

She nodded towards the lake and he looked past the princess to where Ayanna was standing with her back to him, her hands in the pockets of loose linen trousers, looking out over the water.

"Go to her," said the princess. "I have other business to attend to."

His heart rate increased as he came closer to her, then she turned around and gave him a soft smile. Her curly hair had been pulled into a bun and the white shirt she was wearing made her look almost ethereal against the blues of the water behind her.

"James," she said simply.

"Ayanna," he replied. "You look amazing."

Her smile broadened. "You look good in traditional clothing," she noted. "Red for a warrior. Are you still a warrior, James?"

"That's just because I caught a panther that was stalking some livestock," he replied, almost shyly.

"I heard it was more than just catching a predator," she countered. "It was stalking children as well." She came towards him. "I'm glad you're doing well. If anyone deserves to live in peace it is you, James, mhibu."

He could feel his cheeks get warm at her calling him "dear one." For a moment he almost responded with mpwenda, beloved, but something stopped him, and he just smiled at her instead. Gesturing towards his hut they walked side by side towards the small home that he had made his own. Pulling the blanket aside and fastening it to a hook he let her in first then stood behind her as he described his home.

"I noticed goats in a pen," she commented. "Are they yours?"

"They are," he replied, stepping back outside. "I have several nanny goats that I milk. I either barter the milk or I make cheese from it. The baby goats will stay until they mature then I'll sell them to other people. They are fun to watch so I enjoy their antics while I have them."

She nodded then looked up at him and for a moment he wanted to kiss her, remembering that night they spent together. Before he could act she pulled away and walked towards the bench in front of his hut, patting the empty space beside her as she sat down.

"There is something I have to tell you," she said. "You deserve to hear it directly from me and not via a mutual friend."

"What is it?" he asked, feeling somewhat afraid of the answer.

"I am getting married," she replied, looking out over the lake. "He's one of my body guards that accompany me when I go to dangerous places. On my last assignment we ended up becoming close after we were taken hostage. He kept me safe and was able to manage our escape. Since then we grew even closer and it became love."

Bucky sat motionless, feeling almost sick at her revelation. He couldn't be angry as it wasn't like they had a relationship. It had just been a friendship that became physical one night. Nervously, he licked his lips then he let out a long breath before turning to her.

"Congratulations," he said. "I'm happy for you. He must be quite the man to have won your heart."

"He is," she replied. "He's very much like you." She was quiet for several moments. "If I hadn't met him I would have returned sooner to be with you." She gently touched his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. "You will always have a special place in my heart, James. You are one of the best men I know."

He smiled grimly as she squeezed his hand slightly. "You won't be staying with me tonight."

"No, it wouldn't be proper," she admitted. "I'm staying with the healer. But I would like to take some pictures of you while I'm here, with your permission of course. The world needs to see that you are more than capable of living a peaceful life."

Quietly, he nodded his head and they sat there for some time, not speaking. Eventually he went back into his hut and prepared lunch for them both, bringing out the small table and placing it in front of the bench so they could eat outside. After they finished she took her leave.

"They are having a feast for me," said Ayanna. "Will you be there?"

"I will if you want me there," replied Bucky.

"I will see you then," she replied. "Wear this again. I like seeing you in it."

Looking out over the lake he nodded but didn't watch her as she walked towards the healer's hut. Then he went back into his hut and sat on his bed for some time. After he came to terms with losing a love before it ever really took root he sighed and put an apron on over his shuka. He gathered the cloth that held the solid curds of the cheese, twisting and squeezing it so that the remaining whey drained off. Salting the cheese came next, mixing it in thoroughly he packed the curds into containers then put them in his small refrigerator, covering them again with a cloth while they began curing.

When he arrived in the centre of the village for the feast he paid his respects to the village elders before taking a position with the unmarried men. He sat there throughout the welcome and official greetings extended to Shuri first, then Ayanna, watching her. There was a man sitting next to her, a Westerner with brown hair. They held hands throughout the greetings and the entertainment. She looked so happy, and Bucky accepted that the looks the couple exchanged were genuine. Once everyone was invited to begin eating he used the crowd to slip away back to his hut. He sat on the bench outside watching the sun set, then the sky getting darker until the stars came out. A glowing light approached and he looked up to see Shuri with a lantern. Smiling at him she sat on the bench next to him.

"Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?" she asked calmly.

"No, but I will be," he replied, after several minutes. "There was never anything formal spoken between us. We had a friendship that I thought became more one night. When you called to tell me that she was coming I ... hoped that she wanted to pursue a more permanent relationship."

He breathed out a quick breath and shook his head. "Sergeant Barnes, I think you mattered to Ayanna more than you think. It was her request to come and see you."

"Doesn't matter," he stated. "She belongs with him, now. I don't get involved with someone who is already in a relationship. I didn't do it when I was a ladies' man; I'm not about to start now." He turned his head and looked intently at Shuri. "I'll be alright, really. In fact, I hope they're very happy together. She deserves that."

"She believes that you deserve happiness as well. It's why she came here."

Bucky didn't answer and after a while Shuri sighed, leaving him alone. Eventually he undressed and laid down in his bed. He didn't know when he fell asleep but when he woke up in the morning Ayanna was there, sitting on the floor with her camera, her hair freed from the bun of the day before.

"I wanted a picture of you in your traditional clothing," she stated, "but you left the feast early. David also wanted to meet you before he returned to Birnin Zana this morning. So, what's the expression ... I'm batting zero for two?"

"How did you get in without me hearing you?" he asked. "I'm not much of a super soldier if you managed to get in here without me knowing."

Ayanna smiled. "You're not the only person with stealth abilities. How do you think I get most of my wildlife shots? I blend in with the environment and I take my time approaching my subject."

"Could you wait outside while I get dressed?" asked Bucky.

"I have seen you with your clothes off," she countered but his face remained the same. She stood up. "Alright, I'll wait outside. You're grumpy this morning, James."

She went out the doorway, pulling the cloth across so he had privacy. While she waited, she went over to the goat pen and took some pictures of the goats. Then she walked down to the lake and took some pictures there. When Bucky joined her, he was wearing his normal work clothes.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" he asked.

"No, I'm starving," she replied. "What do you have?"

"Leftover teff porridge, fruit, eggs, and goat cheese," he answered. "I made the cheese myself."

"How about an omelette with some goat cheese?"

"I can make that," said Bucky.

Soon he had a couple of omelettes prepared, filled with fresh goat cheese, and had poured some coffee, with goat's milk since Ayanna didn't like hers without. They ate outside again, with the small table brought out for them to share. When they finished eating she helped him with the dishes, giggling a little as they bumped into each other in the small hut. As Bucky began his normal day she took pictures of him; milking the nanny goats, trading the milk for other food and goods, then he got word that some feed that he ordered had been delivered to the other side of the village.

"I have to go borrow a cart," he said to Ayanna. "You can come with me or wait here."

"How long will you be?" she asked.

"Half an hour, maybe," he replied. "I have to load it."

"I'll come with you," she said.

They borrowed the cart and the donkeys that would pull it. He led the creatures to where the feed was, at the bottom of a slope, near another goat farmer's hut. Ayanna took pictures of Bucky as he hauled the heavy bags of feed onto the cart. It was hot, sweaty work but he approached it methodically, almost as if he had a rhythm. They both heard the talon fighter approach then saw it hover overhead before it landed at the top of the slope where the land was flat. Several of the King's Guard came out, one of them carrying a large case. King T'Challa and his Dora Milaje General Okoye began striding towards them. The man with the case put it on top of the feed on the cart, opening it then assumed a position some distance away. Ayanna watched as Bucky cautiously approached, seeing the contents of the case. Still staring at it he spoke, almost as if he was resigning himself to something dire.

"Where's the fight?"

"On its way," replied T'Challa.

"What's happened?" she asked, as Bucky continued to stare at the prosthetic arm nestled inside the case.

"Trouble," replied the king. "For everyone. We need Sergeant Barnes."

Nodding his head Bucky waited as the king took the arm out of the case. Removing the shawl from around his shoulder Bucky offered the side of his body to T'Challa who attached the arm.

"Swing it backwards in a full circle to set it," advised Okoye.

Following her instructions Bucky did then he looked at Ayanna and smiled softly at her.

"Ask my neighbours to look after the goats," he asked her.

"We will send someone for your things," said T'Challa. "Miss Maina, your fiancé will be coming for you soon to take you to safety. I would suggest you return to the village immediately."

With a raising of his hand that signalled they were leaving the king and his guards started back up the slope with Bucky following them. Ayanna called out to Bucky and ran up to him, placing her hand on his cheek. This time he didn't hesitate, pulling her into his arms and kissing her fiercely. Then he pulled away and caressed her face, looking at her with a soft smile. Turning around he kept walking up the hill until she couldn't see him anymore.

Chapter 22: It Mattered

Chapter Text

It had been almost a year since Thanos succeeded in dispensing with half the world's population. Six months of disbelief, raw grief, and anger, especially at the remnants of the Avengers for our failure to stop the alien mass murderer, psychopath, sociopath, narcissist and any number of descriptors ascribed to him by the survivors of his purge. It had been almost that long since I last spoke with Tony Stark, blamed by the latter for not being on the killer's home planet with him to deal with that evil presence, even though I was already leading the force against Thanos on Earth. It was unfair; I knew that objectively, but I still felt the guilt, still had nightmares of seeing Bucky, Wanda, T'Challa and so many others disappear in front of me.

One would think that with my early history of being a weakling that I would have adjusted better to losing that fight. As if adjusting to the deaths of billions was easy. It wasn't. Not since I lost Bucky after he fell from the train had I been so angry about not being able to get drunk. It would have been the bender of all time. At least there were still a few Avengers alive; specifically Natasha, Bruce, Thor, and Rhodey. We also had help from a couple of aliens; one of them a cyborg woman named Nebula who spent weeks alone on a space craft with Tony Stark, both of them trying to eke out their fuel and food to make it back to Earth. They were rescued by a human hybrid who apparently knew Nick Fury back in the 1990s. Captain Marvel is what we called her, but she started out as a fighter pilot on Earth by the name of Carol Danvers. She rubbed some people the wrong way with her manner, but Rhodey said if she had been a fighter pilot, she came by that attitude honestly. Her powers were incredible, and she confirmed the effect of the Snap and following decimation on planets outside of our solar system. There was also a talking raccoon named Rocket who came to Wakanda with a walking, talking tree person, Groot, who sadly didn't make it. Rocket and Nebula fixed their spacecraft, and we used it after we found Thanos hoping to take back the infinity gauntlet. But the bastard had destroyed the stones, stopping us from undoing his deadly snap. Thor lost it and killed Thanos outright. We were beaten and had to go back to Earth with our tails between our legs to tell them there was no hope, no chance of fixing it.

But losing the confidence of Tony Stark hurt the most. He'd had it, retreated from everything and everyone. Calls were not returned or even accepted; his email addresses were all erased. He became a ghost. Thor retreated to New Asgard, drinking and eating away the pain of not killing Thanos the first time, in Wakanda. Bruce retreated to Stark's remote lab in Mexico to find a way to combine the Hulk and himself but have them each in balance. I hadn't heard if he made progress. Clint went rogue after his family disappeared. We'd heard rumours that he'd gone on a killing spree of criminals who survived the Snap, but the rumours were hard to confirm. In Wakanda, both T'Challa and Shuri were lost. So much loss everywhere.

I lived in New York City, figured that I might as well stay in a place I was familiar with, but it wasn't the same without the people. There was a feeling of emptiness about it, a sadness that pervaded everything. With the Avengers out of commission I had to do something to pass the time, so I began attending a support group for those of us ready to try and deal with our losses. It helped and I became a counsellor for the organization that funded it. Three afternoons and three nights per week, I led a group of ordinary people to talk about those we lost, the effect it had on us, and how we handled life now. Turned out I was pretty good at it. The supervisor said I was very empathetic but objective enough to handle the depression that most people were feeling, once they got past the anger. Still, whenever someone lost it physically, my strength came in handy to subdue the individual calmly, with dignity, allowing them to get it out of their system without hurting anyone. The rest of the time I boxed, I ran, and I sketched or painted. I didn't date. The only woman I even considered seeing before, Sharon, was lost to the Decimation. I took it as a sign that maybe being celibate was how I was supposed to be. Ma would have liked to see me become a priest, but I didn't believe anymore, not accepting that God would allow Thanos to do what he did and walk away from it. So, I lived a boring life. At least I did until a man approached me after one of my weekend sessions.

He was just an ordinary man, in his late 30s, maybe early 40s, light brown hair, brown eyes, 5 foot 8 inches or so, maybe 170 pounds, muscular. Dressed well, he stuck his head in the door near the end of a Saturday afternoon session then waited in the hallway for me to be finished before coming in. I was stacking the chairs as he approached.

"Steve Rogers?" he asked, extending his right hand to me which I shook. In his left hand he was carrying a small leather case. "Grant Allman. I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time."

"Were you interested in the counselling sessions?" I asked. "You just missed this session although I have one Monday evening, starting at 7 pm."

"No, I'm okay," he said. "I was already alone when it happened, so I didn't lose anyone. This is about a mutual friend of ours, Bucky Barnes."

He had my attention. "How did you know Bucky?" I asked. "You realize he is one of the decimated."

Grant nodded soberly. "It goes better with coffee and a donut," he said. "My treat. I think you may be interested in information I found out about him, about when HYDRA had him."

Now I really was interested. As soon as I finished stacking the chairs, I grabbed my jacket and locked up. Grant and I walked a couple of blocks, finding a coffee shop. I ordered a black coffee and a glazed donut. He asked for the same and paid for it, leaving the change from a $20 bill as a tip. We sat at a table near a window.

"I met Bucky when he was trying to get to Boston to buy passage on a cargo ship to Europe," he said immediately. "It was just after he met with two old hippies and a teenager in Townsend. He booked a motel room at the place I worked at. I noticed some guys checking out his car and let him know. Figured he was on the run, and they were up to no good so I offered to call some acquaintances who could lead them astray. He gave me several thousand dollars to do it, which surprised the sh*t out of me." He took a bite of his donut, and a drink of his coffee then studied me for a moment before continuing. "I offered to buy his ticket for him, which is when I recognized him, we talked, and when he found out I was a veteran he opened up more about who he was."

He showed me his infantry tattoo on his left forearm to prove he was a veteran, and drank some of his coffee, waiting for my response.

"Did you help him just for the money?" I asked.

"At first, yeah," he admitted. "I hadn't done so well after getting out of the military. I had substance abuse issues, and the job was all I could get. It was dead-end, minimum wage. But the more I spoke to him the more I realized that he had been through infinitely worse, but he was still a good guy, a really good guy."

We both took another bite of our donuts and drank some more coffee. So far, all Grant had told me was preamble. He obviously had something more to tell me and I wondered if he wanted money before he told me. I decided to cut to the quick.

"You run out of the money?" I asked. "Is that what this is about? You want more money to tell me something I likely already know?"

He smiled in a self-deprecating manner, but he didn't seem offended.

"No, I'm quite well off now," he said. "I've been to rehab, and I've been clean for almost 5 years. I have Bucky to thank for that. He gave me something before I left him in the Port of Boston at the dock of a cargo ship. He gave me the locations of a considerable number of HYDRA safe houses in the United States, Canada, and Mexico. Because of his generosity in giving me that information I was able to come by a lot of cash, weapons, and a treasure house of unencrypted and unredacted HYDRA files on him. Some of the files were also marked with SHIELD stamps. So, the reason I came to see you was to see if you wanted them ... for free. It's the least I can do for the guy who literally saved my life."

"But he's dead," I replied bluntly. "It would all be moot, now."

"Yes, and no," said Grant, leaning forward. "I also found something mentioning the woman who founded SHIELD."

"Peggy Carter?" I asked. "There's a file on her?"

"Oh yeah," he said, "but I want you to see all of it because at the least you can clear Bucky's record. He was a victim and people should go to jail for what they did to him. Some of them should be shot."

He stopped talking then, his face set in a hard look. Opening his leather case, he gave me a file folder. I opened it and closed it immediately, so disturbing was the image. Then I opened it again, seeing an actual picture of Bucky in some sort of machine that was obviously torturing him. What was even worse was that the picture was taken at the same moment sutures in his amputated arm burst, spurting blood everywhere. The next few images showed him in surgery, repairing the damage caused by whatever that machine did to him. He looked dead by the time they finished. I stared at Grant, wondering what else he had.

"By the date stamp on it that was in January of 1945," he said grimly. "There are notes at the end, written in German. I had them professionally translated. The machine was basically a conduit for electroconvulsive therapy, ECT, but done at such a high voltage that it would result in severe seizures, followed by memory loss. From the medical experts I consulted about it the result would make the recipient very susceptible to suggestion. With his arm injury still healing the accompanying rise in blood pressure burst the sutures on his arm, resulting in him almost bleeding out."

"Brainwashing," I said. "They were brainwashing him and pushing his body to the limits to get it done."

Grant nodded grimly. It was obvious he wasn't about the money anymore.

"This is just the first file, the earliest one," he said. "The f*cking Nazis documented everything as if they were so proud of the torture they inflicted on him as part of their mad science experiment."

He wanted justice for Bucky and I found myself liking Grant for that. As we finished our coffees we made plans to meet up the following day. Grant had an apartment in New York, giving me the address. I agreed to come over at about 1 pm and begin to look through the rest of the paper files he had. He left me with that first file, said that I should find a way to make sure no one ever went through that again.

At home I dropped that file on the coffee table in front of my couch. While I made something to eat, I kept glancing at it, hating what was in it but knowing I had to read it through, to look at everything, to understand what they did to my friend. After I ate I sat down and opened it, once again studying those disturbing images. Then I began reading the translated notes and read how they did this to him, over and over and over again. They had a transcript of what was said by Bucky and by anyone in that room with him.

At first Bucky would repeat the standard phrase all PoWs said to their captors: Barnes, James Buchanan, Sergeant, serial number 32557038. It was all the enemy was entitled to as part of the Geneva Convention, as if HYDRA ever honoured those rules. Then the command would be given for the machine to be turned on. My lips curled and I could feel the bile in my throat as I read through the multiple repetitions of that torture and each instance after. He fought them. God help me, when he told me in the quinjet that he fought them I envisioned him fighting physically but he couldn't even do that, being so injured and then restrained on that gurney. All he could do was endure the torture then fight them with his persistence and his very soul. Looking back it was obvious when I found him in Austria at that factory, that they had started the process there, with the serum injections and the memory wipes. He never said a word about it, was probably ashamed that I would think he had given himself up to the enemy.

"Buck, you should have told me," I whispered to myself. "I would never have put you into danger like I did."

He was probably already halfway to being a super soldier when I rescued him. It's why he survived the fall off the train. Whoever found him took him to HYDRA and they were only too eager to continue the process. My transition was done in one long moment of simultaneous multiple injections and a burst of Vita Ray radiation. Bucky's was spread through weeks, perhaps years of injections of the serum, in between the sessions on the ECT machine, all while still being seriously injured. The realization of the torture he went through hit me and I cried for him, for what the best man I ever knew went through, alone and without hope of rescue. Wiping my eyes and blowing my nose I finished reading that damn file. Although I barely slept that night, I knew that I owed it to Bucky to read the rest and find out exactly what HYDRA did to him.

I arrived early at Grant's apartment. He wasn't surprised to see the look on my face either. I imagine he had a similar one on his face when he began accumulating the evidence. Everything he found were stored in file boxes, marked with the days, months, and years they referred to. He brought us both a coffee and sat next to me.

"Before you ask, the money that I found in the safe houses has made me well off," he said. "I'll admit that. But I promised Bucky I would do good with it, and I have. After I got clean, I began sponsoring other vets with substance abuse issues to get into rehab. I invested some, that's what paid for this apartment and my lifestyle, which isn't flashy, but I do alright. I went back to school, and I offer my services to people who need help, either with a person, or a problem, or a situation. Officially I'm a private investigator. Unofficially I rescue people in trouble. I don't kill. Bucky was emphatic that he was done with that, so I've kept that up as my mantra. Every once in a while, I find someone who is named in these files and if they are HYDRA, I turn them in. If they were victims of HYDRA, I help them."

He turned to me, trying to gauge my reaction and I felt I should respond. "I'm glad to hear it," I said sincerely. "Bucky never did like bullies. It's how we met. He was like my big brother and when I found out he was still alive I knew I had to help him."

"There's another thing you should know," said Grant. "These files have taken me since 2014 to accumulate. They were scattered around all the safe houses, in no particular order. Maybe the people who put them there didn't want everything in one place. I know Bucky kept the list of European safe houses with him when he left. But I don't think he ever used it because I got word of someone trying to sell HYDRA files of him on the black market and that didn't sound like Bucky's style."

"There was a con man," I answered. "After Bucky got to Italy. He must have recognized Bucky and used his knowledge to trick him out of most of his cash and the list of European safe houses. That person might have sold some of the files to the CIA because they knew Bucky was in Bucharest in 2016. I saw the file myself. Bucky told me he ended up helping some Roma people, and they helped him in return. They got him to Romania, found him a little flat, and helped him find work. It gave him the time to get a lot of his memories back."

A small smile creased Grant's face. "Roma, huh?" He shook his head. "If they helped him that means he meant something to them. They must have adopted him. I have a Roma contact in New Jersey I can ask."

"Jovan?" I asked, remembering that name. "Bucky mentioned a guy by that name being from New Jersey."

"Yeah," he replied, nodding his head. "Damn he keeps his hands close to his vest. I came to him about some information for one of my cases, and he never let on that he knew Bucky even though I mentioned finding information on him."

Something occurred to me just then, as it seemed too much of a coincidence to let go. "Do you think he knew about Bucky's sister?" I asked. "She lives in New Jersey, in a very nice senior's home."

"That's a very good question," answered Grant. "If they did, they're probably watching out for her. If they made him family, then she's family by extension. I could check it out if you want. What's her name?"

I told him and we began our session, going through the files of what had been done to Bucky. The documentation was thorough, sickeningly so and I was ready to take a break when I read about the nurse who was shot in front of him because she gave him her name, Anya. They put Bucky through the wringer after that, an endless stream of ECT, serum injections, and torture seemingly just for the hell of it.

"They punished him for showing concern or empathy for people," I noted.

"Yeah, in fact, I only found one instance where they didn't, but it was an odd occurrence," he said, flipping through another box. "This is from later that year, 1950, I think, after he was taken to Siberia. His first metal arm has been attached and he awakens from some sort of anaesthetic, sees the metal hand and goes into a rage, trying to strangle an attendant. They stun him repeatedly with cattle prods and there is a discussion of a failsafe word to disable him quickly. There's talk about them realizing the serum is repairing the damage they've done to his brain, undoing all of their brainwashing. A woman scientist, Dr. Eva Waslewski, recommends cryostorage, as it was her specialty. She suggested it as a way to keep the brain from repairing itself too quickly and that using it judiciously would extend his lifespan, allowing them to bring him out only when needed."

"He thought that was so they didn't have to feed him so often," I said bluntly. "Maybe that's how it ended up being used because he was pretty sure they wiped him before and after each session."

"What is most interesting is that Dr. Waslewski was the sister of the nurse, Anya," said Grant. "It's not in the files but I did some research on my own. They were both born in Poland, were conscripted into the German army, and assigned to HYDRA. The doctor may have been a double agent, as she was seen speaking closely with Bucky, and treating him with kindness, something that was not allowed."

"You think she was working with SHIELD?" I asked.

"If she was, she wasn't the only one," said Grant. "Bucky was ordered to kill her, when she was betrayed by persons unknown. He did so, quickly, cleanly, and after he gave her a tender kiss. That was the only time on record he was not punished for showing mercy. That account comes from another SHIELD agent, unnamed, who sent a report directly to Peggy Carter." I wasn't expecting to hear that she was killed by Bucky or that Peggy knew about it. But Grant seemed to have another thing to say. "Eva and her sister Anya were raised by their maternal grandmother, a Roma, Kezia Pawlowski." He shrugged. "Another coincidence? There are so many and they are buried deep in these files. I don't know if Bucky were still alive, if he himself would remember as surely some of his memories are gone forever. I do think you and I should go to New Jersey. I would like to meet Bucky's sister and I would like you to meet Jovan Sakić. Perhaps we can get some more answers."

It sounded like a good idea to me. I hadn't seen Rebecca for a while, not since before I helped Bucky get to Wakanda. We had a good visit at the time but I had the feeling she kept some things from me. After that small break Grant and I went back to the files where we learned about the American super soldier who fought Bucky in Goyang in 1951. An African American, he was referred to by ugly slur words, as nasty in German as they were in English. They didn't even say his name but he apparently may have been sent to retrieve Bucky and bring him home. Instead, the fight got out of hand and he tore Bucky's metal arm in two. I remember him mentioning that when we came out of the Siberian facility and encountered T'Challa. Bucky told him the arm that Tony shot off was a replacement arm. I think he meant to tell me more but we didn't get around to it. Grant jumped ahead and brought out another file, a SHIELD file that was apparently copied and sent to Peggy. It identified the American soldier as Isaiah Bradley, then reported that he committed suicide in 1953, after being imprisoned on his return to the United States as his reward for defeating Bucky.

"That Dr. Zola had the fix in," said Grant. "He was part of SHIELD as well as HYDRA and insisted on Bradley being kept against his will as a test subject because they didn't know why the serum worked so well on him but not so well on the others." He made a disgusted sound. "They were all African Americans and were told the serum injections were vitamins. I tried to find his family, but I hit a dead end. It's like anything about him went into a black hole."

That angered me. We had our own issues with racism, having Gabe Jones as one of the Howling Commandos. Bucky knew him from the 107th as they were captured together, along with Dum Dum Dugan. Even with his language skills and communications know how, some of the powers that be didn't want him as part of our unit. Said it would give his people the wrong idea. His people ... humans just like me and the others on the team. I wish I had known about Bradley as I would have gone in myself and got him out of whatever hell hole they were keeping him in.

Before I crashed that Valkyrie aircraft, I knew the allies wanted Dr. Zola's know-how to continue on with Dr. Erskine's work. I was against it all the way but was obviously overruled. When Natasha and I found that electronic version of him in the computers in Camp LeHigh it made me sick to see how thoroughly he had infiltrated SHIELD, turning it into the errand boy of HYDRA. I told this to Grant, as I was done keeping secrets. He wasn't surprised having experienced some of the military mindset himself when he fought in Afghanistan. His own experience of how it seemed that everyday their enemies changed as war lords changed allegiances like we change our socks sounded all too familiar. It reminded me of what Bucky had said about the Vietnam War veterans he encountered in Townsend. Wars and soldiers didn't really change but the soldiers always paid the price in the end. With that we decided to call it a day and agreed to go to New Jersey during the week. He would contact this Jovan Sakić person while I would contact Rebecca then we would go see both of them and try to get some more answers.

As it turned out we didn't go to New Jersey that week or for some time after. Grant called me to say that something came up but when I pressed him, he admitted that he wasn't even in the United States. That's all he would say, other than he wanted to keep me, Rebecca, and the information he had already uncovered safe. It was another two weeks after that call before he contacted me again to say we could meet. I met him at his apartment and was shocked at his condition when he opened the door. He held his hand up before I could say anything and beckoned me in, making a show of locking the door behind me. Gesturing to a chair with the hand that wasn't covered in bandages and in a sling, he sat across from me and said nothing while I looked at the bruises that still covered his face.

"You've looked better," I finally said.

He smirked. "I've felt better but they fared worse than me. You know there are still pockets of HYDRA around. Turns out there are some people in the CIA who are "helping" them stay hidden. I contacted Jovan and asked him directly about Bucky Barnes. Turns out we've been searching for the same thing, except his focus has been on Europe while mine has been North America. He invited me to go with him to France because of a sighting of the man who conned Bucky out of the list of European safe houses. You were right, he had been selling the information that he found to the CIA."

I wasn't surprised. The CIA, known as the OSS during World War II, had a stake in Dr. Erskine's research. Their people were witnesses to my transformation. They were also witness to the removal of 12 vials of my blood after Dr. Erskine was killed. Eleven of those vials disappeared into the bureaucracy of the American government. One vial of blood disappeared with no trace, at least according to the SHIELD files that Natasha had released. I always wondered if either the CIA or HYDRA ended up with it.

"We, that is Jovan, some of his associates, and me, found the guy living the high life in Provence," said Grant. "His name was Leon Meier and he told the CIA about recommending Romania to Bucky, told them that he cut his hair and shaved his beard, that he was travelling on a German passport under the name Jakob Schmidt; he basically sold him out for money. That's why when that Zemo guy pulled his stunt it messed up their plans to take Bucky back into the fold. The CIA wanted him for themselves, to be their assassin."

Why was I not surprised? How long had HYDRA used him, successfully, to kill their enemies? It only made warped sense that the CIA was envious of their asset. Once again, someone didn't see the man, they only saw the killing machine they could control.

"So what happened?" I asked, gesturing at Grant's injuries. "Did he fight back? Did the CIA try to come to his rescue?"

"Yes to both," replied Grant. "You have to understand that the Roma were going to deal with Meier permanently. They see Bucky as one of their own, because he stuck his neck out for not just a Roma family but a whole community. He went up against the Russian mob for them and they knew enough about him to be properly scared if they stayed so he basically got peace for the whole Roma community in Zagreb. That's where Jovan met him, after Bucky took multiple bullets in several encounters with the Russian mob before finally confronting the head man there. He didn't kill anyone but he made it clear that he would, if he had to. Jovan had been in the military here, went over to help the extended Roma family when Yugoslavia fell apart and stayed. He drove Bucky to Bucharest, set him up in the apartment and made sure the Roma there watched out for him. But the CIA was also watching and they were watching Meier's place in Provence. They came at us as we were taking him elsewhere."

At this point I wasn't sure I wanted to know more. Grant sensed that and didn't try to justify what the Roma were planning to do to the man who cheated Bucky. Of more interest to me was that this Jovan had been searching for the same information Grant was, evidence of what was done to Bucky, or ... maybe it was evidence of what was done to Anya and Eva.

"Was Jovan related to the two women in HYDRA?" I asked. Grant shrugged slightly but nodded his head just as slightly. Perhaps that meant that the Romani people feel related to all the others of their background no matter where they were from in the world. "Did you find anything?"

"Yup," said Grant. "But Jovan won't give it to us. You know that a lot of Roma people were killed in concentration camps? Because many of them weren't officially registered in the country of their birth there is no official count, but Holocaust experts estimate the number is between 250,000 and 500,000 victims. The Waslewski sisters were Roma, but both were blond, fair haired, and their father was of Polish ancestry. I think they may have been plants to find Roma who were being experimented on by HYDRA and found Bucky in the process. With how quickly the brain washing wore off they would have learned quickly that he wasn't the killer HYDRA wanted him to be. Jovan thinks that somehow, they were able to get word out to SHIELD that he was alive and being tortured into becoming the Fist of HYDRA." He stopped as if he wasn't sure whether to go on. "You'll have to talk to Jovan directly about what evidence he has from the sisters. He knew about Bucky before he met him. Of that I am certain. They've been going after everyone who had a hand in the deaths of those Holocaust victims, and any other Roma victims of HYDRA since."

It sounded like the Roma had their own score to settle with the Nazis, HYDRA, and the CIA. Couldn't say I blamed them. A lot was at stake and Bucky's files were the proof of the spider web that had connected all of them. On advice from Jovan the file boxes that Grant possessed had been moved to a secret location, in a storage facility owned by Roma. Even though Jovan wouldn't give us his files he was willing to let us go and see them, and make copies of them. He was doing the same with the files that Grant had accumulated. I was to be brought into the fold, to be given the location and access to all of it. I told Grant that in the two years between when Bucky and I fought on the helicarrier and when I found him again in Bucharest that Sam Wilson and I had filed official requests for all military, SHIELD, and CIA records on Bucky. We received a lot, heavily redacted but still containing enough information to prove that Bucky was a PoW, abandoned through the efforts of HYDRA supporters within the military, SHIELD, and the CIA, in exchange for favours, and copies of the treatments being forced on him. He shook his head in disgust.

"When you say favours do you mean assassinations?" he asked.

I nodded. "Specifically a very famous one, of a sitting president." I didn't say anything more but Grant's eyes grew large.

"sh*t," he muttered. "No wonder they wanted to find him. That's one of the biggest conspiracy theories out there. All of that to keep his existence a secret, to keep him bound to them, until they accomplished their goal."

"You don't know the final indignity," I said. "Alexander Pierce was willing to let Bucky die when he sent him to the helicarrier to stop me. Those helicarriers were to be used to take Bucky's place. From space they could target anyone, anywhere, and kill them with a laser weapon. They wouldn't need him anymore and they didn't care what happened to him. When I destroyed them, they wanted him back because that's all they had left, other than mercenaries, and goons they had turned. He had enough of his will return to realize he could never let them get control of him again. That's why he went into hiding. For two years he lived under the radar, working, not getting into trouble, not hurting anyone. At least now he's out of all of it."

"Yeah, but they still want to keep the secrets about him," added Grant. "We owe it to his memory not to let them get away with it." He stuck his hand out to mine. "Promise me, that we'll do this together. We'll make copies of all of it and make sure it sees the light of day. Bucky deserves that much. So do Anya and Eva Weslowski, and the hundreds of thousands of Roma victims, hell, all of the victims of the Holocaust because I can't see HYDRA caring who they experimented on. We won't let this get buried."

His words were true and I shook his hand. Even though Bucky was dead there were still people bent on hiding the truth about what was done to him. As his friends, fellow soldiers, and as decent men, Grant, myself, and Jovan, who I had yet to meet, were bound together in a pact to honour Bucky's memory by doing the right thing. We would make sure history knew who James Buchanan Barnes really was, and how he was the victim of the world's largest conspiracy, one that spanned decades and involved thousands of willing participants. It mattered, damn it, it mattered.

Chapter 23: The Plan

Chapter Text

The fight was over, and we won but we also lost. Tony Stark finally proved to all of his detractors that he could make the ultimate sacrifice and he did, saving the universe from a being that made HYDRA look like school children but losing his life in the process. The last time I had seen him was when Steve and I left him in Siberia, in a broken Iron Man suit, while we hightailed it for Wakanda. That was the time he wanted to kill me for being the one who took his parent's lives. It wasn't how I wanted to resolve things with him, not that it's really possible to resolve anything when you're fighting together on the battlefield.

When many of us rematerialized in Wakanda seemingly right after the battle we lost, we didn't know it had been five years ... five years of not being in existence, then several sorcerers appeared and told us to get armed as the fight had resumed, only this time in New York State. None of us got a chance to ask about anything, or anyone. None of us were given the opportunity to deal with the fact that the world had changed while we were ... just gone. We had to walk through one of those weird portals into another battlefield, a hellish one at that and meet a different version of Thanos. Just as dangerous but now determined to snap everyone out of existence.

It seemed like an eternity of fighting, shooting, close combat with more nightmare creatures, until Stark raised his hand, with the stones on them, the power of them tearing him apart, and stating defiantly, "I am Iron Man," before snapping his fingers and sending Thanos and all of his legions into oblivion. Then he fell against a concrete block where a kid started crying over him then a beautiful blonde woman, his wife I was told, smiled kindly at him and told him to rest. He closed his eyes and died. I never got to tell him how sorry I was that it was me that killed his parents, me that put that everlasting pain of loss into his heart.

As portals opened to send some of the combatants back to their country, even back to their planet, I stood there, unsure of what to do. I was still wanted and once the authorities found me on the battlefield with the others, I was sure they were going to arrest me, and shuffle me off to a secure prison before putting me on trial, or court martial, found me guilty and put me in front of a firing squad. But I was done with running, done with hiding, so I waited for the inevitable to happen. As I waited, several of the others, the Avengers, slowly gathered around me. At first, I thought they were there to help take me in then Steve looked over at me, nodded, and pressed his comms. I could hear his command through my comms earpiece, and I almost cried when he said it.

"Protect Bucky," he said. "No one takes him in. He's one of us."

It was King T'Challa who spoke next. "We are here, Captain," he said. "Wakanda will stand with you and the Avengers."

When trucks were sent to transport us to a military base there were armed guards waiting to take me but the looks they received from the others and the order Steve gave them to stand down was confirmed. They stood aside as we all boarded the trucks. Steve made sure I was beside him.

"What happened?" I asked. "I remember my hand beginning to disintegrate then nothing until I was suddenly standing up in Wakanda."

He smiled at me. "Wait until we get into one place, all together, and we'll explain it all," he replied. "We all need a shower and a change of clothes, but we'll tell you everything, I promise."

The trip from the desolation of the battlefield to a base with green grass and trees was less than an hour's duration but we could feel our hearts lift at the change as the sun shone on us and the sound of birdsong was all around. When the truck stopped in front of a barracks building an officer stepped to the open end of the truck and looked for Steve, making eye contact with him.

"Captain Rogers?" he said. "I have orders to take Sergeant Barnes into custody."

"No," said Steve, stepping towards the officer. "He stays with us."

"Sir, it's not negotiable," said the officer. "This comes from the Joint Chiefs."

"He's an Avenger, and we just defeated an alien force from decimating the entire world," stated Steve. "We're hungry, dirty, and tired. But we're all willing to fight for Bucky Barnes, because he's one of us. That's also not negotiable." He looked back at all of us, receiving nods of agreement from the others. "You really want to be the guy who picks a fight with us? Because I could fight all day."

I smiled. Some things didn't change. The man looked very frustrated then stepped back.

"Let them go," he said to the armed guard. Then he turned to Steve. "He's your responsibility, Cap. If he goes after anyone, we'll take him down."

"If anyone tries to hurt him in any way, I'll take them down," replied Steve. "He's to be given the respect due to a Sergeant in the Army, which he is, who has been a PoW for 70 years, because he was. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, crystal clear. I'll pass the word."

Only then did Steve jump out the back and we all followed. The lieutenant led us to the barracks and directed us to a hallway where we could pick our own rooms. He said there were toiletries and clothing ready for us. Then he looked at how big I was, along with another guy with long blond hair who was even bigger than me, saying he would bring bigger sized clothing for us. Steve insisted we bunk together, not trusting the military to keep their word and leave me alone. It was easy enough to carry a bed from one room into his, along with a locker, and the personal items that were there for us. While I waited for my change of clothes Steve had a shower, coming out wrapped in a towel. A soldier knocked on the door and dropped off some military athletic wear for me, a sweatshirt, sweatpants, underwear, socks, and what he called sneakers. They hardly weighed anything, and I wasn't sure they would hold up. Steve smiled.

"They are really comfortable," he said. "Once we debrief and get out of here, I'll take you shopping, and we'll get you some regular clothes. Go, have your shower."

Entering into the bathroom I stripped down and turned the shower on, stepping under the very warm stream. In Wakanda the water in the hut had been lukewarm which was fine in the heat, but this water was hot, and I let it hit my back, angling it so the spray went right between my shoulder blades. There was shampoo so I washed my hair, running it through my fingers so it wouldn't get tangled. I noticed then that unlike my HYDRA hand my hair didn't get tangled in the plates of this vibranium hand. It was definitely an enjoyable sensation. Before I came out, I peeked to make sure no one else was in the room as I was still a bit leery of people seeing my body. The scars had faded but were still quite prominent to me, and the arm and shoulder unit were definitely topics of a conversation that I really didn't want to have. Fortunately, Steve was alone.

"How's the new arm?" he asked, making me swear inside my head but he was Steve, so I gave him a pass.

"It's good. Much lighter than the other, stronger too. Just noticed when I washed my hair that it didn't get tangled in the plates. It always did with my other one."

He took a deep breath then and I knew he had news for me, likely bad news at that. I was shocked when he told me something else entirely.

"Rebecca is still alive," he said. "She survived the Snap and still lives in the retirement home in New Jersey. I think we should go see her."

"Freckles?" I asked. "She's what, 93 now? No, she doesn't remember me."

"She does and she wants to see you," said Steve. "She told me at her birthday party. The hippies and Grant Allman came out for it as well. Megan drove Summer, her dad James, and Tamsin. She's graduated from college, honours degree in political science. Grant went with me. It was a great day."

"You were all there together," I said, not believing him.

"We were all invited to her birthday party," he replied, as this sh*t-eating grin spread across his face. "You would have loved it. She has another three great grandchildren. There were balloons, streamers, and a big chocolate cake."

"How did you meet Grant?" I asked, surprised they had connected.

"He contacted me," said Steve. "He went to all the safe houses on the list you gave him. Used the money to change his life, helped quite a few veterans to get through some problems, and helped accumulate HYDRA files on you."

I sat down. They knew everything. Knew what I had done. Steve saw my face and stopped smiling, his face becoming serious.

"Bucky, we have the evidence to prove you were tortured, brainwashed, and forced to become the Winter Soldier," he said. "Despite what the Joint Chiefs of Staff believe they have no case against you. We were working on getting you a posthumous pardon, now we'll re-file the motion as a pardon for a living person. You'll probably have to appear in court, but we'll make sure we get you a good lawyer who will represent you properly. With the witnesses we have willing to testify to your character after you left HYDRA, they'll accept that you are not the Winter Soldier anymore. T'Challa will also provide the medical documentation of everything they found when they deprogrammed you."

For a time, I said nothing, just put my clothes on. "What if I believe I deserve punishment?" I asked. "I did all those things, Steve. I killed all those people. My journals are full of them. Speaking of which, where are my journals?"

Suddenly, I felt anxious as my whole being was in those books. My heart started to pound as I contemplated that they were all gone. Steve came over to my bunk and kneeled before me.

"They're in a safe location, still in Wakanda," he said. "All of the HYDRA files that we found, and that were found on your behalf are being stored in a secure place in New Jersey. They've been digitized." I looked at him, confused by what that meant. "Put into computer format. Bucky, do you remember Jovan Sakić?"

I nodded. He was the Roma leader in Croatia, born in New Jersey.

"He's been searching as well, not just your files, but all of HYDRA's files. Many of his people were victims. When you stood up for them in Zagreb, they adopted you as one of their own, meaning your fight is their fight. He's also watched out for Rebecca, making sure she has everything she needs."

I rubbed my hands on my face. All these people, who I had accepted help from had determined that I helped them and were paying it back, trying to help me clear my name. It was overwhelming and I didn't know what to say. Which was just as well as there was a knock on the door. Steve opened it to a man I remembered meeting in Wakanda. Rhodes was his name, I think. He came in and acknowledged me.

"Sergeant," he said, then he turned to Steve. "I hear they tried to take custody of Barnes. Sam and I talked to the lieutenant, and he tried to tell us the order came from the Joint Chiefs. I phoned my source in Washington, and it didn't. It came from the Military Intelligence Corps. We're pretty sure they want to "examine" Sergeant Barnes, then second him to their command."

"You mean turn me into their asset," I said. "f*cking unbelievable."

"I agree," said Rhodes. "So, I phoned the President. We've golfed several times. He has agreed to remand you to the custody of Cap here. It was the best I could do. Where he goes, you go. But if you step out of line...."

"Yeah, I get it," I said. "I'll behave. I'm not the Soldier anymore. Thank you for getting that at least."

"Hey, if it was up to me, I would show the whole world what was done to you, so they know how true evil works," said Rhodes. "HYDRA made you their weapon, but they had people who were high up in government, industry, and the military who were the ones making the decisions. They're the real criminals and some of them were in the perfect position to play one side against the other. Wars were started because of some of these people and their influence is still at play as some in command still refuse to believe they were compromised."

"Thanks, Rhodey," said Steve. "We should meet up in the mess for some food, and a debrief for those who reappeared. Bucky said they weren't given any time to adjust before coming to the battlefield."

"Sounds good, I'll pass the word."

He headed out and Steve looked at me. "Hungry?"

"Starving," I replied. "Even for army food."

We headed towards the mess hall, picking up more of the Avengers and a few others, including the talking raccoon, who eyed my arm, a tree person, a green skinned woman, and several other alien looking people. Steve said the green skinned woman was Thanos daughter, as was another blue skinned woman who seemed to have more cybernetic parts to her than I did. Both turned against him, so I guess their help was invaluable. When T'Challa and several Dora Milaje appeared all conversation from the regular military stopped. The women all made faces at the food but T'Challa said something in Wakandan that made me laugh. I didn't pass it on to the others, but I couldn't disagree with him that it was at least edible.

Once we had eaten our fill and Steve asked if we could use the mess hall for a debriefing, he stood in front of everyone, looking at every single person in turn.

"First of all, thank you for your efforts," he said. "We were able to find a way to bring all of you who disappeared back. When Thanos snapped his fingers in 2018, he had one thought on his mind ... that half of all living things disappeared. There was no rhyme or reason to it. His thought spread throughout the galaxy, possibly the universe and it wasn't limited to sentient life. Even animals disappeared. Then one of the Avengers, Scott Lang, who was trapped in a quantum dimension when it happened, was able to return and realized that for him only hours had passed in the almost 5 years that passed in this realm. I won't get into the science behind that. Those of you who are interested can talk directly to Bruce Banner, as he was part of the team that designed the replacement gauntlet and built the machine that transported us. Basically, we had to go back in time, using the quantum dimension, to where the stones still existed, borrow them, and bring them here to snap everyone back into existence. A complication occurred ... mainly a past version of Thanos found out and planted a spy in our midst who helped him get to this time and this place. That's how we found ourselves fighting him again. Except this time, we succeeded."

There was an increase in general comments and side conversations then Steve asked for our attention again.

"The stones that we brought from the past ... they have to go back to the exact moment we took them, otherwise we risk creating multiple timelines that will deviate from the original one and we've been warned that's a very bad thing. Unfortunately, one of the first things Thanos did when he arrived was to destroy the device we used to travel in time. Bruce, I'm going to ask if you can oversee digging it up and if there is anyone here with any kind of knowledge that can help rebuild at least one station, I'll volunteer to return the stones to where and when they belong."

"I will help," said Shuri, standing up. "I have the knowledge, despite how young I look."

"I'd like a try at it, Cap," said a gravelly voice, then the raccoon stood on top of his table. "I can build just about anything. That's no bullsh*t."

"My dad," said Hope Van Dyne. "He created the Pym particles that you apparently used to do this. I'm sure he would help. So would my mom. They're both geniuses."

"Alright," smiled Steve. "We have a plan. Bruce, Princess Shuri, Rocket, Hank Pym, and Janet Van Dyne will do what they can to rebuild the device. I would also ask that you all stay at or near the base until we have a memorial for Tony Stark. We owe him that much. I'll find out what I can about it. Until then we're based here. Try not to be too hard on the soldiers. They're not used to this many unusual people in one place."

With Steve finished and talking to some of the others Sam came and sat next to me, nodding at me in acknowledgement.

"What?" I asked, still not warmed up to him.

"How are you doing?" he asked and I looked at him before looking away, not answering. "Don't do that. I'm genuinely interested. I have a background in counselling veterans with PTSD. I know that I personally am having issues about being gone for 5 years. I still haven't phoned my sister and I'd like to take a side trip to see her .... Sorry, see what I mean? You have other issues, Buck. Being dissolved and watching as it happens doesn't help dealing with them."

"Don't call me Buck," I said. "To you I'm Bucky or Barnes. Only Steve gets to call me Buck."

"Fine, Bucky," he said, emphasizing the extra syllable.

I just shook my head. The guy was an asshole and probably thought the same of me. Which I didn't mind because I knew I could also be an asshole, had known since I could think. Then I let go of some of my aggression and looked at him.

"I know you mean well," I said. "I really do but I'm quite messed up. The only place I felt good was Wakanda and now I'm not there. They wanted to take me into custody here, the Military Intelligence Corps. Doesn't take much to know that they want my skills. I don't want to kill anymore. I did what I could to protect the human race from Thanos, but I can't do any more than that, not again."

He listened then gazed seriously at me. "I get that," he said. "You were under someone else's control for so long that your freedom to choose is important, really important to you. I'm going to make a suggestion. Whether you listen or not is up to you. Get a therapist, someone who can listen to you objectively, and help you work through your issues. You have 70 years of imprisonment and slavery to deal with. No one can do it on their own. You've lost most of your family, most of your friends, and you're a man out of your time. I know we didn't get along so well at times and that reflects my own biases. For that, I'm sorry. But I am invested in your future. If you need someone to talk to just call me. I'll pick up the phone."

He stood up, patted my shoulder then left me. Why the hell did he do that? Made himself helpful ... damn, I hated that. But Steve liked him, and I knew the little sh*t would pester me to be more friendly with Sam. Despite my misgivings I was going to have to trust someone.

Steve approached me again. "I've arranged transport for us into town tomorrow to get some clothing, and other necessities," he said.

"I have no money," I replied.

"I do," he said, pulling a wallet out of his combat pants. "I always carry my wallet."

"Punk," I muttered, receiving a big grin from him.

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve constantly being in demand while I sat back and cooled my heels. Only the Wakandans stayed near, occasionally making a comment in their language. Nothing offensive, just observations of life in America. It wasn't that the others were afraid of me, or maybe it was to a degree, but just that they didn't know me. I was the new one and the one with a dark past.

The following morning we met up with an older army sergeant, Dan Hobbs. He saluted Steve, even though Steve said he wasn't in the army anymore. Then he looked at me making me feel like I was being evaluated. He must have been an instructor at some point because of what he told me.

"I've read some of the HYDRA files on you," he finally said. "I read that you were trained as a sniper, and they were pleased about that because your instincts as a sniper would be kept intact and they wouldn't have to expend any effort in training in you in that, or in most of your combat skills for that matter."

"Yes, Sarge," I replied. "That's my understanding."

"That was good thinking on their part," he noted. "You boys that were trained as snipers for World War II learned from the best. I respect your skills, Sergeant Barnes, but if you try to escape while we're out, I've been ordered to shoot to kill."

"I have nowhere to go Sarge," I answered. "I'm not looking to escape. I just want some real clothes to wear. Not that there's anything wrong with these."

He grinned. "Understood. Let's go, my truck is in the parking lot."

The trip into the nearest town didn't take long but Sergeant Hobbs wouldn't shut the hell up. He had an opinion on everything, from the colour of the street name signs to the way young men cut their hair, or didn't cut their hair, as he gave my long locks a good long look. He came with us to the clothing store, always inserting his opinion on one piece of clothing over another. Not that it really mattered because it had been so long since I had any choice in what I wore I just wanted to get the first things I could and get the hell out of there. After determining what size I needed we began going through the shelves or hangers and picking things out. Most of it was black or dark in colour, black or dark blue jeans (as I had become used to wearing them when I lived in Romania), T-shirts (mostly dark colours), underwear, socks, and a comfortable pair of black lace up boots. The sneakers were fine but they didn't feel right for walking. As we were walking past a display, I saw the shirts I really liked, advertised as Henley's, long sleeved T-shirts but with a button up collar. I found my size and grabbed several, not caring about the colour.

"What about a jacket?" asked Steve. "Black?"

"Black," I confirmed. "I need gloves as well."

"Can I give you some advice Barnes?" asked Hobbs, then didn't wait for an answer. "I figure at some point you're going to have to appear in court, either to face trial or to give your testimony in the likely investigation of how deeply HYDRA had infiltrated the military. Cut your hair and wear a suit, with a tie. Don't show up with that long hair and don't wear blue jeans. Present yourself as a real man and they'll respect you right away. Show your metal hand. I know you have a different one now which is good, because different will distance you from those Nazis. I guess what I'm trying to say is you have to represent yourself as a good man and how you look when you walk into that courtroom could set the stage for how they treat you."

It was good advice and I acknowledged it but I had reached the end of my tether for being out in public so Steve said we could leave buying a suit to another day. Hobbs drove us back and we headed back to the barracks with my haul. We had missed lunch so both of us were already feeling the effects of not having enough food to sustain us. Just before we entered the door to our room a private brought a note to Steve and he made a face, then shook his head.

"They're not happy that I challenged their authority about taking you into custody," he said. "I've been called to the CO's office to explain myself. You're not invited."

"You think they might try again while you're gone?" I asked.

"They shouldn't, not if the President has intervened," he replied. "I better find Rhodey and tell him about this. He might want to come with me. In the meantime, I'm sure we can find somewhere for you to be, surrounded by friends."

For a moment he said nothing, as if he wanted to talk about something serious then someone knocked on the door. He was definitely in demand. This time it was Sam.

"Just noticed an armed guard outside," he said. "I'm thinking they're here for Bucky."

"sh*t," said Steve. "I've been called to the CO's office to explain why I intervened. Have you seen Rhodey?"

"In his quarters," said Sam. "What's the plan?"

"Gather everyone," said Steve. "Bucky isn't to be left alone for them to grab him. He's still under Avengers protection. Make sure T'Challa and the Dora Milaje are aware of this. The Wakandans, Thor, and Peter are our strongest fighters, although I hope it doesn't come down to that." He looked at me. "Let's go find Rhodey."

After filling Rhodes in we went to the mess hall where everyone else had gathered. Sitting me in the middle of the group Steve and Rhodes went to the CO's office. As soon as they left the armed guard came in and headed straight towards us. Before they could get to me the Dora Milaje stood in their way.

Now, anyone who has never seen the Dora Milaje before tends to underestimate them. They think they are decorative in purpose, exotic looking women surrounding a foreign king as part of his "harem." Nothing could be further from the truth. They are bodyguards first, but their structure is military, with a general, Okoye, who commands them with the toughness of any drill sergeant I ever encountered. Armed with their vibranium spears, and their intricate knowledge of hand-to-hand combat they are fearsome warriors. The corporal who attempted to order them aside found out the hard way that no one tells the Dora Milaje what to do.

"Move aside, ma'am," he said, smirking at her. "We have orders to take Sergeant Barnes into custody."

"No," was Okoye's simple response.

Then he tried to push her aside and met an immovable force. As everyone else in our group tensed up, ready for a fight, King T'Challa stepped forward.

"Corporal," he said, in his deceptively calm voice, "you do not want to proceed any further. General Okoye has committed to keeping Sergeant Barnes from harm and she will not let you pass."

"General ...," smirked the corporal. "In case you haven't noticed we're armed with guns. Your spears will not be enough to keep us from Barnes."

A slight uprising of her lips was the only indicator that Okoye was amused but she still didn't stand down. Visibly irritated the corporal attempted once again to get past her and found himself on the floor. Before his guards could even react the five other members of the Dora Milaje who were there disarmed the others and had them on the floor as well. The others in our group just watched and let it happen, knowing the guards needed to be taught an object lesson. When another squad of armed men arrived, the others stood up, even me but Sam gently touched my arm.

"Let us handle it," he said. "I'm guessing they're trying to goad you into reacting, giving them an excuse to take you with force."

I nodded but all of my instincts were on alert, and I could feel the adrenaline flowing through me, as HYDRA had always conditioned me to accept the fight response, rather than the flight option. That is where Steve, Rhodes, and Sergeant Hobbs found us, in this tense standoff. Using his sergeant's voice, Hobbs called the soldiers off, ordering them to stand down then stand at attention while he addressed them. When the corporal objected, I had to smile as the shorter Hobbs stood in front of the younger man and glared at him.

"What part of that order did you not understand, Patterson?" he asked. "Who ordered you to come here and create an international incident?"

"Sarge?" he asked, genuinely confused. I almost felt sorry for him. "I ... uh, a Captain Meriweather."

"From the Military Intelligence Division, am I right?" he asked. Patterson nodded. "Do you normally obey orders from someone not affiliated with the base? The order that Sergeant Barnes was not to be bothered was given by the Commander in Chief. The Commander in Chief! You know who that is, right?"

"The President?" winced the young corporal. "But Sarge, Captain Meriweather ...."

"Is in the CO's office right now, explaining why he just tried to countermand the President's order." Hobbs looked past Patterson at all the other soldiers, then raised his voice so that any other soldier in the mess hall could hear him. "Just so you all understand ... Sergeant Barnes is a sergeant in the United States Army. He was a prisoner of war for 70 years until he escaped from his captors. The President has given him permission not to report for duty until his legal issues have been resolved, which includes him being free to retain legal counsel and to go about his way unhindered. Until then he is to be given the respect due a man in his position. I had the privilege of spending some time with Sergeant Barnes today, and in my opinion, he is a man who I want on my six." He looked back at me, our eyes meeting. He nodded at me, and I nodded back. "If I hear any sort of disrespect spoken of Sergeant Barnes, I can make sure that some extra training can be added to everyone's daily duties. Dismissed."

As everyone in our group stood down the soldiers picked up their guns from the floor and slinked off under the watchful eye of Sergeant Dan Hobbs. With both of them shaking their heads at what almost happened Steve and Rhodes approached us.

"Well, good thing the CO had already called Washington to confirm the order," said Rhodes. "That Captain Meriweather tried to do an end run around it, claiming he wasn't aware of the President becoming involved. That just irritated the President and the CO even further. Sarge, you still have to have an escort, but it's not limited to Steve anymore. It's been expanded to include Sam, and me, if you trust us."

"The CO has also assigned me a vehicle so we can go see Rebecca tomorrow," said Steve. "On the way back, we'll stop to see a lawyer that Grant found for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate it, all of it."

I did appreciate it, but everything seemed to be happening so fast that I was having trouble keeping up. At that moment I could feel a headache coming on. Since it was almost dinner time, I ate but as soon as I was done, I told Steve I just wanted to rest. Even though we had slept the night before it wasn't a good sleep as we were both still filled with the adrenaline of the battle. After getting the necessities taken care of during the day we both wanted some time to relax. As we talked while we got ready for bed we reminisced about the times when we slept over at each other's homes. It was a lifetime ago but in the dark of that barracks room it felt right. Just before I fell asleep, I thought of something.

"Steve?"

"Uh huh?" he mumbled.

"We're gonna get a place together, back in Brooklyn, aren't we?" I asked.

There was no reply then I could hear him breathe out. "We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said. "I'd like that, but I only have a one-bedroom flat."

It sounded like there were other things going on that he wouldn't give me a straight answer to but I didn't want to push it, even though I could feel the anxiety beginning to build again. I had to trust Steve. So far he hadn't let me down.

The following morning, we were about half an hour away from the base when Steve finally stopped talking about mundane things and came clean.

"I'm not making any plans because I'm not sure I'm staying," he said.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"It's not really a where but a when," he said. He glanced at me and my face must have alarmed him. "Give me moment to explain."

He told me about how they went back to various points in time to take the stones, at times and places they knew they would be available. To keep those timelines going the way they should the stones had to be replaced at the exact same moment and time.

"I'm doing it because I can move fast enough to replace them without anyone seeing me," he said, his forehead creasing a little. "Since we thought everyone who disappeared was dead, I've been thinking about leaving it all behind, the superhero thing. It wears on me. The responsibility, the effort it takes; it's become too much. I wanted a simpler life and I had it until Scott appeared to tell us about the quantum universe. I don't want to be Captain America anymore. I just want to be Steve Rogers."

"So, what does that have to with travelling in time?" I asked, making him grimace slightly, then I got it. "You want to go back."

"Yeah, I do," he said. "We can both go back."

"What about facing the charges against me?" I asked. "That sounds like running out on everyone who's stuck their neck out for me, doesn't it?"

"That's one way of seeing it," he agreed. "But you could start over with a clean slate. Say you were a PoW and that you lost your memory. We show up a few years after the war and we begin our lives again."

If it were only that easy. I looked down at my hands, seeing the first obstacle right there. "How do I explain this?" I asked, holding up my vibranium hand. "It's advanced even for this time. Plus, if HYDRA ever gets an inkling that I'm back don't you think they would come after me again?"

"Yeah, there is that possibility," he said, as he kept driving. "I loved her, Bucky. Tony and I went back to the 1970s to get Pym particles and one of the stones. I was in Peggy's office and she still kept a picture of me, pre-serum me. She loved me in both my bodies, skinny Steve and Captain America Steve."

"So you want to go back for her," I clarified, sounding more irritated than I thought I did, "more than you want to stay here and help me see this through. That's some plan."

"Buck don't be angry," he said. "There's another reason to do this but we have to see Rebecca, so you see it for yourself."

I tried to get him to explain but he wouldn't, just kept saying I would find out at Rebecca's. Eventually, I gave up trying to get him to say more and we drove the rest of the way to Newark in silence. As we pulled up to the senior's home, I could see it was a very nice place, with well-tended flower beds out front. Inside was just as nice; clean, bright, and by the sounds of it, full of activities for the residents. After checking in at the reception Steve led me to Rebecca's room before stopping me in the hallway.

"Let me get her ready to see you," he said. "She knows you're coming but I imagine she'll still be in a bit of shock when you walk in."

As I cooled my heels in the hallway I could hear him talking to her, telling her I was just outside. He asked if she was ready to see me. Then he was there at the door, beckoning me in. I stepped into the room, seeing a tiny white-haired woman with bright blue eyes, sitting in an armchair. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw me and I kneeled down to her, feeling like I wanted to cry myself.

"Bucky," she whispered, running her fingertips over my face. "My big brother. Look at you. You've hardly changed and I'm an old woman."

"Oh, Freckles," I murmured. "You're still beautiful. I still see my baby sister."

She kissed me then and put her arms around me, drawing me in close. I could feel her tears making my cheek wet and I rubbed her back with my hand, trying to comfort her. We stayed like that for several minutes before she finally loosened her hold on me. As I leaned back, she took in all of my face again.

"If I hadn't seen Steve and how young he remained I wouldn't have believed it possible," she said. "Those people that kept you prisoner ... I hate them. They stole you from us. Ma and Dad died without knowing the truth. Is it true some people want to put you on trial for what you were forced to do?"

I nodded. "Steve said they have all sorts of evidence that prove I was tortured into it but I still did it, Freckles," I replied. "I still feel guilt for the people I killed."

"I know," she smiled sadly. "That's just the type of man you always were, Bucky. You always owned up to your mistakes." She looked over at Steve. "Did you tell him?"

"About going back, yes," he said. "But not about the letter. You still have it?"

She nodded. "It's in the top drawer of my desk. I got this letter after Ma received that medal for you. I never showed it to her as it would have upset her. She had already showed me the Hobbit book with your Christian name in it, even though Peggy Carter told her to keep it secret." Steve handed her a folder and she looked at it before looking at me. "Just read this."

I opened the folder and saw an opened envelope, and a plain piece of paper with handwriting on it. It was addressed to Rebecca Barnes Proctor, dated in 1991.

October 10, 1991

Dear Rebecca,
I'm sending you this letter after learning about the Medal of Honor that was awarded to your brother, James Buchanan Barnes. Did he deserve it? Yes, absolutely, but not just for the reasons you think.

You see, Bucky is still alive, still a prisoner of war, being held by an organization known as HYDRA. I was part of a small group of people trying to rescue him. We had to be very careful with our efforts as HYDRA was very suspicious of anyone who had access to your brother. When they first acquired him, after he fell from the train in Austria, his body was so broken, and they treated his injuries while injecting him with a super soldier serum. What was worse was they were already torturing him, trying to break his mind.

You see, Rebecca, they saw what Dr. Abraham Erskine did to Steve Rogers with his super soldier serum and they wanted to do the same thing to a soldier that they could control. What better way to do it than to choose a soldier who they could hurt because he couldn't fight back, neither physically nor mentally. Except, we know that Bucky did just that. He fought them as hard as he could, even when he didn't know who he was, he still knew enough to understand that what they were doing was wrong.

Ultimately, we failed. We were so close to getting Bucky to a place where we could take him back and fix him but they moved him to another place, imprisoning him in a way that he had no idea of time or reality. Our agent finally found him and tried to help but was caught and killed. When we finally heard about it the agent that managed to tell us that much had also been caught and executed, leaving Bucky truly on his own. I wanted to go myself to find him but the risk of being caught was too great and I was forced to stand down, to my shame and disappointment.

I'm sorry, very sorry, that you're only learning this now. Missions like the one I was on are secret for a reason but sometimes the secrecy that is needed to protect the people involved means that when it goes wrong, nothing can be done to rectify it. When the secret about Bucky finally comes out it may dismay you. People may say things about him that just aren't true. Just believe that there are people who know the truth and will do all they can to make sure everyone knows. I know, because I'm one of them.

Always a friend to Bucky until the end of the line.

I looked at Rebecca then to Steve, both of them with a sincere but deliberate expression on their face. I looked at the date again, saw the paper was old, the envelope it came in was postmarked October 12, 1991. Then I looked at the writing again because I had seen that writing before, many times in the 1930s and 1940s.

"How is this possible?" I asked Steve. "You were looking for me in the 1950s? You were frozen."

"I was frozen," he answered. "But apparently, I was also there, in hiding, trying to find you and rescue you."

"But it didn't work," I countered. "I mean obviously, it didn't work because I still did all of those killings for HYDRA. I was still the Winter Soldier."

"Yeah," he said, looking down. "Bucky, I asked Dr. Strange about this. This letter proves I went back, not just for Peggy, but for you. Even though I know I wasn't successful I still have to go."

"Why?" I stood up, holding the paper towards him. "If it didn't work what's the point of going back at all? What's the point of leaving me here, after I've just ...."

Rebecca touched my hand, and I could see the tears in her sad face. Steve let out a tortured breath then stood straight and looked me in the eye.

"Because there is a chance that when I go back this time I'll be successful," he said. "Dr. Strange saw it but he can't tell in which timeline I rescue you. So, apparently, it is my destiny to return to the past to try to find you and to keep trying until I succeed. In that timeline, you return home, you see your parents again, you stand up as a groomsman at Rebecca's wedding, you become godfather to my children, and you get married yourself, able to have the family you always wanted. The best part is that you and Captain America fight together, stopping HYDRA in their tracks, preventing them from doing to that timeline what they did to this one."

I staggered back a little hearing him outline what could happen if he succeeded in finding and rescuing me. It all seemed too fantastic, too much like a science fiction novel. Yet, if there was a chance that he could save me and together we could stop HYDRA then maybe it was something I had to let happen.

"How will I ever know if it worked?" I asked. "Isn't this timeline already set?"

"Yeah, this timeline won't change," he said, frowning slightly, in that way he had. "This timeline will continue on. I'm doing this for the timeline that hasn't happened yet. For the Bucky who hasn't fallen yet, hopefully hasn't had the words implanted, and still knows who he is. It's a sacrifice, Bucky. You have to let me go and stay here on your own, figure out life on your own."

"Does Dr. Strange know how I do in this timeline?" I asked, wanting desperately to have something good to cling to.

Steve shook his head. "He refused to say, something about not interfering in the natural order of things. My going back is part of the natural order of things."

That staggered me more than anything. I had just been reunited with my best friend and he was preparing to leave, for good. Another thought came to me.

"You wrote this in 1991 which means you might still be alive," I said. "The serum can keep you alive longer, can't it? You could still be my friend in this timeline, still be there for me."

"I'll be more than 70 years older," he said. "I'll probably be a very different man than the one standing here. I'm not sure I'll be of any help to you. It's possible I've already died by this date. Buck, there are people here, that belong in this time who will help you. Sam has been a good friend to me and he could be a good friend to you, if you let him. Grant, Jovan, Megan, even James Marsh have all said they're just a phone call away if you need them. Hell, Sergeant Hobbs seems to like you. You just have to give those people a chance."

I knew he was right but a part of me felt abandoned, even betrayed, that the one person who I remembered throughout all of it couldn't stay and be part of my life going on. It was unfair.

"Do the others know about this?" I asked, gesturing to the letter.

He shook his head. "No, just us three and Dr. Strange but he won't talk about it to anyone. You can't tell them, either. Dr. Strange did say there will be one person you tell but he didn't say who it was, or why you told them. I'm guessing it will be someone you trust more than anyone."

I still didn't like it but it was obvious there really was no choice in the matter. We stayed, visiting Rebecca for another couple of hours before saying our goodbyes. She made me promise that I would come to see her as much as I could. On the way back to the base we stopped at a lawyer's office and I met the lawyer who had agreed to handle my case. He said he was representing me pro bono, which in Latin means "for the public good." In my case, it meant he was also representing me for free, since I had no job, or prospects of one. With the evidence of all the recovered HYDRA and army files that Jovan Sakić, Steve, and apparently Tony Stark had found he was confident of a pardon. He also recommended I file a claim for back pay; as a PoW I was entitled to it. Finally, he wanted to file a lawsuit against the estates of several high profile individuals who had been identified as HYDRA leaders; people who had actively suppressed the knowledge of my existence to the world and kept me imprisoned. Some of them were military so there would be additional claims filed against the army for the actions of several generals in keeping my existence a secret.

Over the next week Steve and I hung out together as much as possible, often including Sam in our activities. Steve wanted me to feel comfortable with him and the others, I guess. I tried but it wasn't easy as I often felt judged, mostly by myself. When Stark's memorial service was held, I had a panic attack, feeling I shouldn't be there, as Tony wouldn't have wanted me. Steve had already left, having been asked to be an honorary pallbearer. Sam, tasked with getting me there, knocked on the door and saw me sitting on the bed in my black jeans and shirt, the suit I bought still hung up in the locker.

"Bucky, you're not ready," he stated, ignoring the fact that it was obvious.

"I'm not going," I replied. "Tony wouldn't want me there."

"Tony's not going to be there," he said, again stating the obvious. With a small grimace he sat down beside me and mirrored my posture. "Bucky, you need to go, even if it's just to resolve your own feelings about the man. Let's face it, you didn't get a chance to tell him you were sorry. But he also didn't get a chance to say he forgave you."

I looked at Sam, shaking my head slightly in acknowledgement. Maybe this was why Steve wanted me to accept this man as a friend. Sometimes, in his plain spoken but obvious way Sam said things that needed to be said out loud. He stood up suddenly and picked up my zip up jacket, handing it to me, not saying anything. Putting it on, I followed him, and we joined the others, waiting for the vehicles to take us to Tony's cabin, where the service would be held on the pond beside it. A young woman, Wanda, beautiful but with sad eyes smiled at Sam, then turned her gaze to me. She looked at me without flinching, or judgement, then gently placed her hand on my arm.

"You're not alone, James," she said softly. "I was also HYDRA, but by choice, a choice made when I was an angry child. I blamed Tony for my parent's deaths, saw him as a monster, until I faced the real monster. We all do things that we regret. It's what we do with the regret after that's important."

During the service I almost bolted several times, but Sam was there and so was Wanda, both of them lending me their calm presence to see it through. Later when the device that would allow Steve to return the stones was completed, I joined the other few people who were present. We said goodbye, the same way we did when I went to war, except I knew I wouldn't see my friend like this again. It hurt, but it had to be done because that's who Steve was, the guy who never gave up fighting. He was just taking the fight to a place I couldn't follow. Then he stepped on the platform, looked at me once more and activated the suit he had to wear before disappearing in a flash.

As the others panicked when he didn't return, I looked in the other direction and saw the old man sitting on a bench, facing the lake, with a large carrying case by his side. I called to Sam, and nodded towards the old man, knowing who he was. Sam seemed hesitant to approach the older Steve until I told him to go ahead. This was Sam's moment with destiny, and I was there for him, whatever that would entail. Steve had come up with the plan, and I was going to follow it.

Chapter 24: The Future

Chapter Text

Waking up next to Bucky Barnes is an experience. First of all, the man is a cuddler, and if you are someone who likes that, like me, then it is the best thing in the world to wake up in the arms of an incredibly handsome super soldier. He's also affectionate, always kissing me good morning, totally ignoring how I look or if I have morning breath because according to him, I am "the most beautiful woman he knows." I'll take that and I believe it now because I believe in him, the man I fell in love with almost eight months ago.

He started out as the new neighbour, who irritated me to no end when he used my paid parking space to park a truck filled with his belongings while he and his friend Sam moved Bucky into the apartment suite next door to mine. But he quickly won me over with his good manners, compassion, and absolute drop-dead sexiness. About 6 weeks after our meeting, we became lovers, and I began thinking of us as a couple. Even though he still rented his apartment he practically lived here with me, and it was wonderful.

I woke up first, on this weekend that I had off from my job as a librarian for the New Orleans Public Library. For several minutes I laid in Bucky's arms enjoying the feeling of his strong arms enclosing me. Carefully, I turned around so I could look at my guy, my boyfriend, the man I loved. His strong features were calm, the little crease he often got between his eyes when he was concentrating was almost invisible; his thick dark lashes that covered his eyes, lashes that any woman would love to have, except his were courtesy of the super soldier serum, were peacefully staying closed. Everything on Bucky's body was constantly repairing and replenishing itself, although grey hairs were now reappearing in his facial hair, a welcome sign of aging for him.

"You're watching me," he murmured. "I can feel it."

"You do the same when you wake up first," I answered, then kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Now you've done it," he smiled as he pulled me closer.

The man was instantly ready for some morning love, another thing that I loved about him. Before Bucky most of my encounters were laced with a sense that my partner was doing me a favour by being intimate with me. But James Buchanan Barnes always made me feel like I was the centre of his universe, the one he worshipped before all others. I never wanted that to end.

As he made breakfast for both of us later, he received a text on his phone, smiled and answered it.

"Sam is moving in with Ingrid," he said. "He wants help tomorrow with taking some things over to her place."

"She was hoping it would happen," I replied. "You know she fell for him when he laid that shrimp boil out on this very table."

"When did you fall for me?" he asked.

"When you took me out for dinner for our first date," she said. "You were such a gentleman and then that kiss just sealed the deal for me. When are you going to move in with me?"

"I thought I was already," he answered. Then he put his hands up when I began to counter that. "I know I still have the apartment, but I didn't want to break the lease, just in case you tired of me and sent me packing."

"Never," I said, putting my hand on his. "You're perfect, even with all of your imperfections."

He leaned back in a mock swoon. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult." Then he leaned towards me and put his face close to mine. "I think you're pretty perfect, too. Actually, I wanted to take you somewhere today. What do you say to a ride on the motorcycle?"

"Okay," I said, slightly puzzled. "Where are we going?"

"Just want to look at something," he said. "It's near Audubon Park. We can go to the zoo after, if you want."

How could I say no? Audubon Park was one of my happy places. After cleaning up the breakfast dishes Bucky helped me put my leather jacket on, the one he bought me so we could ride his motorcycle together. Then we stopped at his apartment to pick up the motorcycle helmets. He was always making sure I was dressed properly for a ride on his Harley. Soon we were on our way, enjoying the clear skies and open roads. About half a block from the larger part of Audubon Park, Bucky pulled up in front of an off-white stucco covered two story home. Waiting for me to dismount first Bucky pulled his helmet off and looked up at it, then at me.

"What do you think?" he asked. "I've been thinking of buying a house and this one just appealed to me."

"You're thinking of buying this?" I confirmed, then looked at the other houses. "Bucky, this is one of the nicer areas in New Orleans. That looks like a big house. Are you sure you need that much?"

"Well, I don't know," he replied. "I could always have roommates." I gave him a look which made him laugh. "I get along with people."

Behind us a car pulled up and a woman got out of the car approaching us.

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes," she said, then looked up at the house. "I'm Janet Dufour. You're right on time."

"Hi Janet, this is my girlfriend June Roberts," he said. "I like the look of the outside but it's the inside that counts. Can we get the tour?"

"Certainly," she said, stepping to the fence and opening it for us.

After keying in a code on the lockbox Janet unlocked the door for us and allowed us to step in first. As she began describing the house, I looked at Bucky, noticing the soft smile he had on his face. The place was absolutely stunning, with beautiful hardwood floors throughout, two staircases up to the second floor, and an open plan feel that still respected the character of the home originally built in 1943. The kitchen was modern, with a gas range, and stainless-steel appliances, having been remodelled just a couple of years previously. There was a living area, dining area, a large family room, a guest bedroom and a full bathroom on the main floor. Opening the door to the back yard Janet showed us there was a covered porch, grassy area, patio and a two-car garage off a back alley, apparently a rarity for this area. Upstairs were four bedrooms of varying sizes and two full bathrooms, one of them an ensuite for the master bedroom. There was also an upstairs laundry room.

"There is air conditioning throughout for our hot summers," added Janet, as we came back downstairs, "plus central heating for the cooler times. We are in flood zone X, which didn't get flooded during Hurricane Katrina and although there is an increasing risk of flooding over the next 30 years more anti-flooding measures are being taken all the time. There is a generator to keep up the power during blackouts, which, as you know, can happen during storm season, and the garage has solar panels on it. The foundation has also been raised. It's a beautifully maintained home and being so close to Audubon Park is in a very desirable area."

"Thank you," said Bucky, smiling his charming smile at her. "Do you mind giving us some privacy so June and I can talk?"

"Not at all," she replied. "I'll be out on the back porch."

"What do you think?" he asked, after Janet left us. "I like it."

"We didn't ask the price," I said, starting for the door to ask Janet.

"I already know it," he replied, calmly. "$1,350,000."

My jaw dropped as did my heart. As we were walking through the house, I could see us in there, see us with a family, maybe a dog. I pictured us going for walks in Audubon Park, or down to the levee that was on the nearby Mississippi River. He just looked at me with a kind look on his face, as I guess a whole range of emotions were playing over mine.

"June," his voice was soft. "Do you like the house?"

"I love it, but we can't afford it," I said, trying not to sound disappointed. "I mean, you can't afford it, can you?"

"If I could afford it, would you marry me?" he asked.

"Bucky, I would marry you whether you could afford it or not," I replied, then saw he was holding something out to me in his fingers.

"So, you don't care if we live in a one-bedroom apartment, or a grand five-bedroom house like this one," he confirmed. "You'll marry me either way?"

It was an engagement ring, and I began to cry. "Is that what this is all about, a proposal?" I stammered. He nodded, then gently took my hand and poised with the ring at my fingertip, waiting for my answer. "Yes!" I exclaimed, nodding my head. "I want to marry you."

"Good," he said, sliding it on. "The house is ours if you want it. I have the money. I just didn't really want to use any of my settlement to buy one until I found someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

At that point I threw my arms around his neck, and we kissed, with me crying while he chuckled. I could feel his hand lift from my back and heard the door to the back yard opening, followed by Janet entering. I turned towards her, wiping my eyes.

"I take it she said yes to the proposal and the house?" she asked, grinning.

"Yes," answered Bucky. "Give them the offer I discussed with you, in cash, closing date as soon as possible after the inspection is done."

"Will do," she said. "I'll just get the offer sheet from my car. Congratulations. It is a beautiful home, just waiting for the right couple to begin their life together."

We were alone again, and Bucky was kissing away the tears that were still on my face. "I love you," he said softly. "You're exactly what I wanted in a woman; smart, beautiful, affectionate, and so many other qualities that I can't even begin to list. You do want kids, right?"

I nodded, still a little overcome with the emotion. "The long bedroom upstairs would be perfect for a nursery. I pictured nursing a baby in there. When do you want to get married?"

"Soon," he said. "We'll go over to the zoo but stop at the Tree of Life. It's one of my favourite spots in the city and apparently you can get married there. Then we'll have a big party at a unique place." He looked down for a moment, seemingly embarrassed. "You can say no if you don't agree but I kind of want it at the World War II Museum. We could have a swing orchestra playing 1940s tunes. Those guests who were military could wear their dress uniforms."

As I watched his face light up, I realized how much it would mean to him to honour his pre-Winter Soldier past. The thought of him wearing his uniform intrigued me.

"Would you wear your uniform?" I asked.

He smiled that charming smile of his again. "I think the Smithsonian has it," he replied. "I would have to ask them if I could borrow it. It would probably have to be let out because I grew after the serum."

"Or maybe you can find someone who could make you a new one," I suggested. "Those old wool ones would be torturous to wear in the heat and humidity here. I would like to see you in uniform, after all that I read about what a ladies' man you were, back in the day."

Janet came back inside interrupting our repartee. She entered all of our information on the purchase offer, and we signed it, then shook her hand and went back out to the motorcycle. Once again, Bucky made sure I was buckled up properly and my helmet tightened just right. Getting on behind I held him around his waist. Just a few minutes later we parked in the zoo parking lot and walked over to the Tree of Life. Sam and Ingrid were there, waiting under the massive old oak tree.

"Well?" asked Sam, apparently knowing what was supposed to happen.

I held up my hand, showing off the ring and was immediately hugged by him and Ingrid.

"She loved the house," said Bucky, a smug grin on his face.

Ingrid hugged him next while Sam gave him the more manly pound hug. After confirming that the couple were willing to be our best man and maid of honour we explored the Tree of Life as the site for the wedding ceremony. It really was beautiful, full of natural beauty and majesty. Bucky explained that it would have to be a quick civil ceremony as the city would only give us an hour's time frame for the wedding. We also had to accept that we didn't have exclusive use as it was a public park, and anyone could wander by while the ceremony was going on. He looked at me in anticipation as I stood underneath one of the massive branches, looking up at the sun peeking through the leaves.

"I want to get married here," I said decisively. "It's beautiful."

All those gooey commercials and sappy movies showing the man lifting his fiancée off the ground and twirling her around in the air before lowering her for a romantic kiss were forgiven at that moment as Bucky easily lifted me up. With laughter he twirled us around in a complete circle before lowering me and kissing me tenderly. Sam and Ingrid just watched, with happy faces for both of us. It really was an unbearably sweet moment, and I loved every part of it, as I gazed at those blue eyes on that incredibly handsome face of this man who made me feel more loved than anyone.

Together the four of us strolled through the zoo, trying to come up with a plan to get a wedding organized quickly. Bucky brought up the war museum idea for the reception and Sam actually thought it was a good idea.

"There are several of us Avengers with military backgrounds, and proud of it," he said. "Maybe we could even make it a bit of a 1940s dress up event, like the Christmas party. Listen, why don't we talk more about it when you two help me move in with Ingrid tomorrow?"

It was agreed to discuss it more the following day and we spent the rest of the afternoon at the zoo and Audubon Park, even having a tasty hot dog lunch in one of the zoo food areas. The next morning Bucky dropped me off at Ingrid's, taking my car to Sam's. Together we went through her clothes, discarding some older garments to make room in the closet for Sam's clothes. He was also bringing some furniture and we shifted her furniture arrangement to make room for it as she knew the dimensions. When the guys came back, Joaquin Torres was with them, currently the Falcon. We had met a few times and I liked his energy. He was such an upbeat guy. As soon as he brought in some of the boxes of clothes he came right up to me, giving me a hug.

"Congratulations," he said. "I heard about the engagement. Let's see what kind of rock Bucky gave you."

His eyes lit up when he saw the ring and he hugged me again, seemingly just as excited as I had been the day before.

"Hands off my fiancée, fly boy," growled Bucky as he entered carrying a chair.

"Aw, Sarge, I'm just happy for both of you and you wouldn't let me hug you," pouted the younger man, after giving me a conspiratorial wink. "So, June got both hugs."

After putting the chair down Bucky stood up tall and straight looking down at the shorter Joaquin. With an audible sigh he offered his hand to the younger man and gave him a quick pound hug.

"That's all that Sam gets," he stated. "Don't expect it to be a usual thing."

With a cheeky grin Joaquin headed down to get the next load of possessions. I offered my arms to Bucky, and he stoically accepted them, really milking the strong and silent stereotype for all it was worth. We all knew the truth about him, and he knew we did. After a couple of hours of unloading and unpacking Sam was finally officially moved in and he thanked all of us.

"What do you say to another shrimp boil and some beer?" he asked. "Delancey's has a good one and their beer is always cold."

Bucky drove my car again, with me in the front and Joaquin in the back. He asked if we could stop somewhere, as he promised his girlfriend something from one of the unique shops in New Orleans. Bucky made it known it was a big imposition, but he stopped at the place. While Joaquin was in the shop Bucky took the time to kiss me, then played with my hair while he gazed at me. When it seemed like Joaquin was taking an awfully long time Bucky opened his car door, just as the younger man stepped out of the shop, holding up the bag like it was a trophy.

"Sorry, it took so long," he said. "When I called they said they had one in stock but it wasn't on the shelf when I got here so they had to go looking for it. I didn't realize it was taking so long otherwise I would have come out and told you."

"Right kid," sighed Bucky.

We pulled up at a packed Delancey's, wondering if we could get in but Sam texted that they were already inside. As we stepped into the lively place there was a big cheer and I realized it was an engagement party for us, as I saw several of my friends and work colleagues there with beers already in their hands. There were other Avengers there as well, coming forward with hugs for me and handshakes for Bucky although the women gave him hugs as well. He looked at me once we got through the gauntlet and shrugged.

"I had nothing to do with this," he said.

"That's right, you didn't," declared Sam, with a grinning Ingrid by his side. "We knew it was coming, and Ingrid assured me there was no way June was saying no so we organized a party for you, complete with shrimp boil and beer."

When the food was laid out on a long table that stretched from the front to the back of the bar, loaded with more shrimp, sausage, potatoes and corn than I had ever seen in my life, everyone grabbed a spot and began eating. Just like the party at my place there was no sound except the loud background music from the jukebox and the contented sounds of people eating, moaning and groaning at the sheer ecstasy of buttery juices falling down their chins from the perfectly cooked food onto the newsprint covered table below them. It was an event that was talked about for ages, and repeated a year later when ... well, that's another story.

After eating every last morsel of food, the bar staff came to clean up, bringing wet wipes and paper towels galore to all of us, carrying garbage bags with them to take away the discarded shrimp shells and bare cobs. The tables were relocated to open up a dance floor and the music was cranked up. It was loud Cajun music then it suddenly stopped, and Sam stepped forward.

"We picked a song for Bucky and June to dance to," he said to everyone. "It probably came out after he shipped out for Europe in 1943 but it's something those of us who know you have seen happen right in front of us. Bucky, being the good dancer he claims he was, should be able to do a few turns of this with his girl."

As the strains of People Will Say We're in Love began, Bucky smiled. "I can dance to this."

Just like in those romantic movies he began to lead me across the floor, showing everyone what a light-footed dancer he was. We were in our own world, just us two, on the dance floor as that beautiful song enveloped us in its magic.

The magic was repeated two months later when we danced our first dance to the same song at the wedding reception at the National World War II Museum. Bucky wore his replica uniform that the Smithsonian had actually custom made for him. He even cut his hair and had a close shave that took years off, making him look much younger. I found a flirty forties style wedding dress with lace shoulders that I loved as soon as I put it on. As he twirled me around the dance floor the skirt swished around my legs, making me feel like a modern-day Ginger Rogers.

It had been a beautiful day for a wedding as the perfect weather had just enough breeze to keep the humidity and heat at bay. The ceremony at the Tree of Life was meaningful and we both cried a little during the vows. Afterwards, Bucky hugged everyone and I mean everyone. He was so happy, making me feel like our marriage was the culmination of all his dreams. Certainly, marrying him was the culmination of all of mine. We took pictures at Audubon Park then relaxed at our new home with the wedding party and some few close friends before the reception. It was wonderful.

The limousine dropped us off at the museum and it was everything Bucky pictured in his mind when he thought of having the reception there. The aircraft and vehicles that were on display above us and around the space lent a retro feel to it. There were several young women dressed in period appropriate costume for pictures with the guests. The decorations were done to match the banners and decorations of 1943. A thought occurred to me and I leaned close to Bucky when we sat at the head table.

"I really like this," I said. "It doesn't bring back bad memories?"

A wistful smile crossed his face. "No, it really doesn't," he admitted. "It reminds me of before I shipped out, when wearing the uniform meant you were part of something big. I wasn't looking for it but I know of many marriages that started at a dance at a base, or at a war bonds rally. It was a more innocent time, I guess. Until we got on the battlefields and found a different reality."

I squeezed his hand, receiving a kiss on the cheek for my concern, setting off a round of spoons tapped against the water glasses asking for more kissing from us. We both happily obliged, still caught up in the adrenaline of our new status. During the speeches Ingrid told some stories about me; Sam told some stories about Bucky; people laughed. With a full live swing orchestra our first dance as husband and wife made me feel like the star of an old musical as my handsome soldier twirled me around the dance floor. Between the time of first hearing People Will Say We're in Love at the bar then dancing to it at our wedding Bucky found out it was from the musical Oklahoma. We watched the Gordon MacRae, Shirley Jones movie at home and for a week after I had to deal with Bucky getting up singing Oh What a Beautiful Mornin' in his loudest voice to get me out of bed. It would have been irritating if it wasn't so cute. Our marriage was going to be so much fun.

As the evening went on we did the usual cake cutting, throwing of my garter and the bouquet. It's a secret who caught them because they just moved in together and were very emphatic that they were taking things slow. Funny how they disappeared for about half an hour after. After that things changed as the older people (not including Bucky) began taking their leave. The younger people began asking for newer music so Bucky and I decided to leave for our wedding night so the others could have their music. As we waited outside for the limousine Bucky was called in to sign for some additional alcohol, as our guests were a thirsty bunch. While I stood on the curb an elderly man approached me, walking in from the parking lot.

"Is this the Barnes / Roberts wedding?" he asked, then laughed at his own question. "Of course it must be. You look just like your great grandmother."

"You knew her?" I asked, as she had been dead for twenty years.

"I knew her very well," he replied. "Gladdie was one of a kind."

He must have known her because she was known as Gladdie to her friends. Only those who didn't know her called her June. I turned to him and took his hands.

"What's your name?"

"Steven Grant," he said. "I first met Gladdie at a dance, where she danced with a friend of mine. But that's not important. I just wanted to give my regards to you and to your husband. I knew him back in the day as well, although I doubt that he remembers me. It was so long ago, and he's been through so much since then." He looked at his watch and frowned. "I have to be going as I only have a few minutes."

"Bucky will just be a moment," I pleaded, sure that Bucky would want to meet with him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I really have to go," he said, his face showing his sadness, then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "But if you could give him this, I would greatly appreciate it."

I took the envelope from him and turned to see if Bucky was coming. When I turned back Mr. Grant was already walking away from me.

"Wait, please!" I called to him but he just waved his hand and walked to a part of the parking lot that was in shadow. Bucky came out of the door and I grabbed him, pointing out Mr. Grant to him. "He knows you, Bucky. He said he knew my grandmother."

Leaving me on the curb, Bucky ran after him and called out to the old man.

"Hey, mister, wait!" he yelled, before pulling up just a few feet from him.

Mr. Grant turned around and I wish I was in a position to see Bucky's face but the old man had the biggest smile on his. Bucky lifted him up in a hug then gently put him down and the two men talked for a moment. The old man got misty eyed and I could tell he was ready to leave. Bucky stepped away a few steps and Mr. Grant stood straight and tall, as Bucky saluted him, a salute he returned. Then the strangest thing happened. A sparkling circle appeared behind Mr. Grant, growing in size until it was larger than him. With another wave of his hand, he stepped inside the circle and it closed leaving Bucky alone in the dark parking lot. His shoulders slumped and I was worried about him, so I quickly walked over to where he stood in the dark. He wasn't crying but he did look somewhat sad. Placing my hand on his shoulder made him turn around and he grasped me, surrounding me with his arms.

"It was him," he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in my neck. "It was Steve, the one who went back. He did it. The Bucky in that timeline never became the Winter Soldier."

I held him closely, letting him deal with the conflicting feelings of grief, happiness, and envy. He had shared with me how Steve Rogers had recognized a letter received in the 1990s by Rebecca, Bucky's sister, apologizing for not being able to rescue Bucky, as being written by himself. It was his and Rebecca's belief that he went back to rescue Bucky but hadn't been successful, resulting in a never-ending loop where his original self kept waking up in 2011 after so many years of being frozen, even while his returned self was in the past, seemingly reluctant to interfere with that Steve's fate. He wanted to keep trying, even though Bucky wanted him to stay.

After Steve left and Rebecca died Bucky kept that secret until just a few weeks ago when he told me. He knew it wouldn't change his past but he always wondered if Steve had finally been successful for at least one Bucky in the multiverse. In my hand was the letter that Steve said to give to him and I pulled away showing it to my husband. Several moments passed before he took it from my hand and looked at the writing on the front. Then he slipped it inside his jacket pocket and kissed me.

"I'll read it later," he said, then he offered me his arm and we walked back to the curb in front of the museum.

The sound of loud modern music bled out of the building as we waited silently for the now late limousine. When it arrived, the driver apologized profusely as he had experienced a flat tire. He opened the door for us, and Bucky assisted me in getting in before stepping inside himself. We had already decided to spend our wedding night at home as we didn't need a fancy hotel room to feel special. Bucky made me feel special every day and he said the same about me. On the drive to our house, he put his arm around me and kissed the side of my head.

"Thank you for saying yes," he whispered. "Thank you for agreeing to a life with me."

I thanked him for being the good man I had waited for. When we arrived at the house he paid the driver a cash tip, believing that the limo being late allowed him to experience the few moments with Steve. He stepped out of the car and offered me his hand as I got out, ever the gentleman. Then he inputted the security code on the door and we stepped inside. We kissed each other tenderly in the darkness of the foyer, then my husband picked me up in his arms, his strong arms that would never let me fall, and carried me upstairs to our bedroom, where we began the future of our life together.

The End