This story starts off post Winter Soldier and pre Civil War
And oh, this too shall pass
This loneliness won't last for long
The winds were fierce as they tore through the desolate streets of London and the air was damp; the city's normal hustle and bustle nowhere to be seen. Puddles filled the deep potholes that lined the thoroughfares surrounding the cityscape which only made the glow of the streetlights all the more fluorescent.
It was a miserable night to most – but to Bucky Barnes, this was ideal. Walking amongst the shadows – being a shadow. These days, it was all he knew. It allowed him to be one with the isolation the various cities and countries had to offer him. He could see things and find things without actually being seen or found himself. He could focus on getting the multitudes of questions he had regarding his life – both past and present – answered.
Tonight in particular was no different.
This was not his first time in London that much he knew. This particular part of the city reminded him of somewhere – somewhere very familiar yet extremely unversed at the same time. It reminded him of Brooklyn. It reminded him of home.
The first time Bucky had been 'back' to New York was directly after breaking into the Smithsonian. The Captain America exhibit had catalogue after catalogue of Steve Rogers' life and, as it had turned out, the blonde man who he had dragged out of the Potomac once upon a time had not been lying to him. He did know him. And he knew him well. Well enough, at least, to contribute quite the tribute to his best friend Bucky Barnes.
He could remember the strange sensation of physically seeing himself as Bucky Barnes and despite the fact he had broken in, he remembered staring at it for quite some time. He was smaller back then, which only made sense considering what he was now, and though his eyes remained the same shade and his hair the same colour, he hardly recognized the man that stared back at him.
He had gone back to Brooklyn for the first time that night. He had to see what was left of his supposed home, or at the very least if anything was stirred by the vision of it.
Nothing had, of course, which left him with an overwhelming sense of longing that he could not quite pinpoint. He hadn't recognized his home, he hadn't recognized the roads leading to it – he hadn't recognized a damn thing. It wasn't until weeks later when he found himself in London, that something inside him sparked to life. He had been walking down a road just east of Covent Garden past a small establishment when it first happened. The bar itself triggered nothing for him; simply just another old brick building made to look with the times – but it was the music that flowed from it that stirred a familiarity inside of him that was nearly overwhelming. It was a jazzy sounding tune, not one from this time, and he recognized the upbeat tempo almost immediately which floored him. He had only stumbled over his own name just weeks prior and yet a song of all things unleashed a flurry of memories deep inside of him.
The memory itself had only lasted for few moments at the time, but when he found himself back in London the second time around after chasing down a member of HYDRA, he had come right back and stood outside of the near-empty bar. He remembered feeling his hand shake as he hesitantly reached out to open the door and when he finally did, there was a sense of awareness that shook him to his core.
The waitresses that served in the bar were dressed exactly how they had been back in the forties and he recognized the song that blared throughout the tiny bar instantly. He did not know its name, of course, but he could see himself – or rather the man he had been – dancing with a dame. He could see her so clearly, raven hair pulled back into two liberty rolls and a paisley dress that twirled just right when he spun her around. It was as if it was playing out right before him rather than playing out in a distant memory he had had in a bar much like this once upon a time.
But it was all too much at the time and before he could think of stepping foot into the bar, he had turned and walked away to be a shadow once again.
Tonight marked the third occasion that Bucky Barnes found himself back in London. And as he walked towards the bar he did so with just the slightest bit of assurance. Since abandoning the bar the last time, he had recalled many more memories. Some of which took place in a bar much like the one his heavy footfalls lead him towards. He recalled that the bar in his memories had once been the local dance hall and he had spent many a night there – rarely with the same bird on his arm. He recalled Steve then, too.
These days he recalled Steve a lot. He had been in every single positive memory he had been able to recall thus far and even a few of the not so good ones; he was a constant. But so much had changed, too much had changed, and despite their past there could never be a future. Not where Steve was concerned.
There were still too many holes, too many blank pieces of vital information he needed to have in order to piece his life together and he knew from personal experience that the effects of being tested on for years was still far from over. There were times when the rage would get too much and he could feel himself slip into his old ways; it seemed almost easier that way. Anything was easier than reliving what he had done to so many people over the years. He would wake often times drenched in a pool of his own sweat, petrified of what he had done, of what he had seen and the few minutes it took for him to sober up from his nightmare were horrible. It was the few minutes of waiting that scared the hell out of him. Waiting to see if this had all been the dream and whether or not he truly was still stuck under the control of Hydra.
No, he could not trust his own mind just yet. In fact, he wasn't sure if he ever could again.
Breathing out evenly through his nose, Bucky's jaw clenched as a spurt of anger flooded through his veins. The feeling was all too familiar at this point but it still took a lot of him to focus on anything but the intense emotion. He had to, though. For his own sanity, he had to. And after a few long minutes, the feeling passed and before he knew it, he was standing outside of the familiar brick structure.
Much like it had been the first time, loud music from the forties could be heard blaring through the doors that stood not a foot before him. He had recognized the tune but only slightly and no images of a pretty girl being swung around graced his memory this time around.
Rather than dwelling on the blank memory, Bucky pushed open the doors and finally stepped foot inside of the establishment. The air that met him was thick and a part of him – possibly the part he had left back in the forties – expected to be met with a blanket of cigarette smoke but none came. Instead, all that met him was a friendly smile from the bartender, an old man nearing his seventies, and a couple swaying rather intimately on the dance floor.
The place itself was dead. Besides himself, there were only a few other bodies in the entire bar and that alone made him nervous. How was he to blend into the background if there was no background? The bartender opened his mouth with a question about his drink of choice but Bucky simply shook his head and took a seat towards the back of the bar, ignoring the obvious look of confusion radiating from the man's face.
The man was dressed very much like many men would have been back in the day; pressed trousers, crisp white button-down, brown loafers and a pair of suspenders to top it all off. As strange as it was, it was rather calming to see something straight from the era he was plucked out of. It was almost as if he was back there, back to the time where he was just Bucky Barnes of Brooklyn. Before the war, before Hydra, before everything; for a split second, he found himself relaxing back into the worn leather of his seat.
From the corner of his eye he could see a waitress scribble something down onto a pad of paper on the bar top before she gingerly made her way towards him. Tensely, he found himself grinding his molars together as he watched her approach. He would need to order something to keep the workers at bay; the last thing he needed was a questioning eye.
"Can I get you a drink or anything?"
He was half expecting to hear a British accent falling from the woman's mouth, but when an American one crept out of her thin pink lips, Bucky found his eyes immediately drawn up to the waitress that stood before him.
Much like the bartender, she was dressed according to the times in a flattering pale blue dress with a pair of black Mary Jane's on her feet. Parts of her blonde hair was pulled back from her face into two liberty rolls and the rest was left down in loose waves that hung down just beneath her breasts. She was smiling kindly down at him despite the scowl he wore across his own face.
"Just a beer." His eyes traced the tap that housed the brands before landing on a green one. "Keith's." He wouldn't drink it, of course. Not that it would have done anything; alcohol went down like water these days.
"Sure," she nodded her head only once. "Be right back."
Bucky watched the woman head towards the bar, being careful to keep his eyes low but focused. There was a sense of familiarity with the woman but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. She did look like one of the many girls he would take dancing back in the day – especially dressed the way she was – but there was something else. He had seen those eyes somewhere before; that strange shade of greenish grey.
Before he could dwell on it any longer, the blonde was back at his table with a pint of Alexander Keith's. She offered him another small smile as she carefully placed it on the coaster but seemingly sensing his hostility, she left without another word. Slowly, Bucky let his steely eyes fall towards the glass but he never once reached out to touch the drink. He could almost taste the fizzy alcohol on the tip of his tongue as he eyed the murky cider; almost but not quite.
The slow song that had been reverberating through the walls of the bar suddenly switched and as the couple parted ways on the dance floor, it was as if a jolt shot through Bucky. This song, he knew. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his oppressed memories, a bank was opened – and all it took were the first few seconds of In the Mood by Glenn Miller to do just that.
Don't be a punk, Rogers. Ask her to dance with ya!
He could hear his own voice as clear as day as the song played out but it was the images that followed that took him by surprise. He could see himself standing there, leaning against the bar with a wicked smile stretching across his pink lips, and the man from the river, Steve, stood directly beside him. Much like he had been, Steve was smaller back then – much smaller – but he still held the same conviction in an odd way.
I can't I—
The memory, much like the others, began to fade quickly after that. At first it simply took the rest of Steve's sentence from existence, but before he could so much as try to stop it – the flashback finished and he was left reeling.
His hand slipped beneath the table as his thumb ghosted over the outline of the small notepad he kept in his pocket. Dozens of notebooks were stored in various places – many of which in his bag – but he made sure to keep at least one with him should a memory come back. Without wasting a second, Bucky brought out the small notepad and scribbled down the trigger.
In the Mood
Glenn Miller
Flipping the book shut, he peered around the small bar only to notice the blonde waitress' eyes were already trained on him. At first, she simply furled her brow at the tiny book but it was the look of curiosity that followed soon after that he didn't quite like. Swallowing hard, Bucky slipped the notebook back into his pocket before standing up to his full height.
Rather hurriedly, he slipped a five on the worn table and turned on his heel – not once glancing back at the curious blonde whose eyes he still felt boring into him. His footfalls were heavier this time around as he pushed open the door and slipped back into the night. The winds were still fierce and the ground still sleek and the puddles that covered the old cobbled roads only shivered with each large gust that blew.
And as he glanced habitually over his shoulder – not quite knowing what to expect – he felt profoundly heavier than he had just moments before.
