Alpha'd by Travelilah! Thank you so much for your help and words of encouragement!

"Dougie," TJ said, tugging at his twin's sleeve. He rocked on his feet as he waited for his brother's attention and his gaze caught on a sign on one of the doors leading to an employees-only section of the museum.

"The Man Who Became a Legend - Captain America"

A Semicentennial Celebration!

July 4, 1995 - June 20, 2000

Closing Soon!

The "Closing Soon" was in bold red letters on a separate sign posted at an angle overlapping the original. TJ looked back at his brother who looked absorbed in the plaque he was reading.

They were on their annual summer visit to one of the many Smithsonian museums. Every year since they moved into the White House, the Hammond boys were allowed to go to any of the museums in the capitol once school let out. They each had favourites. Dougie liked American History, of course, and TJ thought the Natural Science one was fascinating but they had spent the entire week leading up to their visit arguing so Mama had chosen for them. They were at the Air and Space Museum. It hadn't been the twins' first choice but they both seemed to have found the exhibits there interesting.

"Dougie," TJ tried again, this time grabbing his brother's arm and pulling.

Doug stumbled back and turned to glare at TJ. "I'm not done reading all the plaques about Captain America yet!"

"You've got to come see this, you can come back to that," he waved his hand at the informational plaque detailing what the super soldier serum had done to Steve Rogers's body, "in a minute. You've got to see this, though."

Dougie rolled his eyes and jerked his hand in front of him, one of those frustrated adult gestures that TJ'd seen Mama do when Dad had irritated her beyond words. Now, though, TJ just turned and walked ahead of his twin to the display a little further away; it was still in the Captain America exhibit. There, a face enlarged almost as big as their bodies, was his face. TJ's face. It was also apparently Sergeant Bucky Barnes's face.

"Whoa," Dougie said, a breathy little exhalation as he took in what he was seeing. "Are we related to him?"

"I don't know. They don't have much about his family, just that he was Captain America's best friend and the only Howling Commando to die in the war."

"He's got your face, TJ," Doug said. It was loud enough to have a few people nearby turn and look at them. They also seemed to notice the resemblance. TJ felt his face burn but he pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and offered anyone looking one of his charming smiles. A glance to his right showed the Secret Service agents slipping closer in case there was a problem.

A young kid, maybe five-years-old, walked up to him. At fifteen, TJ and Doug had already started to get growth spurts and the little boy had to tip his head all the way back to look up at him. "Are you Bucky?" the kid asked.

TJ bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "No. I'm TJ." More people were starting to stare, possibly recognising them. TJ hated it. He tried not to look around in case someone had a camera. "Go back to your mom, kiddo," he told the kid. He was shocked when the kid obeyed.

"We should ask Mom about Barnes. Maybe see if we can't find more resources or something. Maybe Nana...?" Dougie was already thinking miles ahead. "I'm going to go back and finish reading the Captain America thing, TJ," he said, turning and getting a glimpse of the Secret Service agents standing nearby, "before we're escorted out for safety."

"Right," TJ said, nodding and watching his brother walk back to the display he'd been reading. TJ didn't join him. Instead, he took a few steps in the other direction, closer to a screen with a black and white video of Barnes and Rogers. The two shared a look, Barnes said something, and they both cracked up with smiles and laughter. TJ wished he knew what had been said. There seemed to be a lot being said with just their eyes. A look shared between people who were close. He remembered seeing Mama look at Dad like that once or twice.

TJ didn't have a word for it. He was too scared or embarrassed to think of words like lovers or intimacy but there was something shared between those two men in the video. One of whom shared his face. He wondered if they'd ever kissed; Rogers had been cute. Maybe it'd only happened once.

To himself, TJ decided that even if it turned out that he and Bucky Barnes shared a face but no relation, he could still claim him as his Uncle. Uncle Bucky. Who might have also been a little queer and wanted to kiss boys like TJ did.

They didn't talk about things like that in those days, right? No one could tell him he was wrong. Maybe he was like Uncle Bucky and maybe that was okay.

He just wouldn't have to tell anybody unless he wanted to. It might have been a little naive, TJ knew, especially considering how the press knew all about his dad's affairs, but maybe. Maybe.

* . * . *

Once TJ discovered kissing in the seventh grade at the age of thirteen he never wanted to stop. The warm, wet connection with another person, the drag of tongue and lips and sometimes teeth, the way his lips would get red and swollen if he did it too much, the stretching ache at the back of his tongue after heavy, long kisses. He liked kissing girls, sure, they were usually softer, content to let him lead even when he didn't really know what he was doing. He liked the taste of their lipstick and the tacky, colourful marks it left on his skin. But he wondered what kissing boys would feel like, would they be just as soft and sweet? Would they want to lead him along and show him how they liked to kiss? Sometimes he even wondered what stubble would feel like, scraping against his chin. (He didn't even have enough facial hair of his own to shave yet, so he couldn't pretend, couldn't imagine.) When he finally got up the courage to try kissing boys, he found he liked it. Almost (well, really) more than he liked kissing girls.

Then he tried ecstasy.

When he combined the two he thought he could die happy. He loved the way his skin felt alive, every touch was electric, every taste exploded on his tongue. When he was on E kissing was all he wanted to do and he would kiss anyone who would let him. He didn't care; he would have even kissed Dougie if he'd been the only boy around.

It was this need to kiss everyone that landed him here, in one of the small conference rooms of the White House. He was sitting next to Doug and Mama dressed impeccably, answering only the short, soft questions that Mama had pre-approved for this interview.

He'd kissed a boy. He'd kissed a foreign diplomat's son (Mathieu had kissed back!) but now Mathieu was being told to say, "no comment" and Mama and Dad had decided they needed to get ahead of the journalists otherwise things would get really bad, and polling and public opinion would go down and that would be bad for their careers and and and—

TJ really wanted something to take the edge off. Whether that was pot, or E, or Nana's booze, he didn't care. He just wanted to disappear. He hated journalists and paparazzi. He hated the way they dissected everything about their lives, every word that was said, every clothing choice, every interaction. He focused on breathing even and with every third thump of his heart in his chest, he wished magic was real and if he wanted it enough he could make himself invisible. Make all the eyes watching him go away.

Finally, when the interviewer asked the last question and he was told to smile, TJ pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He'd been told years ago that that was how you make it look like you're smiling when you don't want to smile and he'd spent hours in front of a mirror practising until he wasn't sure he knew how to smile any other way. Pretend. He remembered Doug saying that to him four years ago when Dad won his second campaign and they'd have another four years in the White House. "Can't you just pretend to be happy?" He supposed he would have to pretend because he didn't remember what happy felt like. All he knew were the invasive eyes of the press watching every moment, every interaction. Waiting to see who screwed up next; expectant.

Mama had decided to send him to boarding school. She knew about the drugs and the liquor TJ stole from Nana. She said he'd brought it on himself by his behaviour. She didn't specify if it was the drugs or the kissing boys.

Doug followed him to his room. He wanted to scream at him, tell him to leave him alone. There was a joint and some pills and other things in a tiny bag hidden underneath his mattress but he knew his brother would disapprove, might even go and tell Mama.

"Hey," Doug said, calling his attention back from the spinning thoughts of get away-make it all stop-leave me alone-I'm worthless-I can't do anything right.

"What?" TJ asked. He winced in syncopation with Doug, knowing he shouldn't take his mood out on his twin. "What?" he asked again, softer, gentler.

"I got you something," Doug said, pulling a small notebook from the bag he'd stowed away in the hall during the interview. "I got it when we went to the Smithsonian because I thought you'd like it but I didn't know when to give it to you. We had such a good summer, you know?"

TJ took the notebook from his brother's hands, swallowing against the odd taste of love at the back of his tongue. It was one of those licensed notebooks with the likeness of Captain America and the Howling Commandos on it, Bucky Barnes's face was centred. Bucky Barnes-themed. Doug had thought TJ would like it. It felt like so long ago, only four months, but so much had changed. TJ didn't know what to feel about it anymore. He looked up at Doug, saw that expectant face he sometimes wore and gave him that practised smile. "Thanks, I do like it."

Doug nodded and left him alone. TJ sat on his bed for a while just staring at the face he shared with Uncle Bucky. He remembered thinking about how he wanted to keep himself a secret, not tell anyone about how much he liked kissing other boys. But they'd taken some E and Mathieu had kissed back and someone had seen.

Maybe he had brought this on himself.

TJ slipped off his bed and shoved his hand under his mattress, grabbing his little bag. There were two joints, a few pills with a butterfly imprinted on them, and some white powder. He'd snorted E before; he liked how more intense and fast it was compared to popping the pills. He got up to get a few supplies and to lock the door. He got the line set up on the handheld mirror from his bathroom and didn't hesitate to lean down and snort it up. He knew immediately it wasn't ecstasy; it tasted different on the back of his tongue. His eyes rolled back at the sudden overwhelming rush. Whatever this was he was sure he had a new favourite; it was fucking magical.