The bugle sounded Reveille and Steve cracked his eyes open. In the darkness he could see the faint outline of shapes but none of them were the familiar lumps of the barracks, and most notably of all the one that should have been closest was missing.

The weight of it all hit Steve like a Freighter and he bolted up in bed remembering now. He called out desperately in the dark, as if shouting his name would bring him back.

"Bucky!" Steve shook and reached out instinctively, like he was going to catch him this time.

"Who's Bucky?" Steve had heard that before, but this was considerably less menacing and much much smaller. She stood in the doorway, a shadow against the dim light from the hall, and all too quickly the 70+ year gap was closed and Steve remembered exactly where he was.

"Max..." He breathed, his legs no longer feeling trapped under the blankets, but the realization that everything slipped away again made his heart sink one more time. Steve ran his hand across his brow, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I, uh... I found..." She grappled for words that eluded her and held up the beaten up instrument. "I, I swear I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine, I just didn't expect..." Steve tried to make it okay, but for the first time Max looked at him like he was a fragile vase teetering on the edge of crashing to the floor irreparable. "I wasn't ready is all. Say, where'd you learn to blow like that anyway?" His deflection hadn't worked on Max; she crossed the room and slid into the bed next to Steve, nesting herself carefully right next to him.

"Later." She whispered as she settled down and pinned Steve with the saddest and most sympathetic look he had seen from her yet. "Steve, who is Bucky?"

"Max, I really don't-"

"Who is Bucky?" She pressed. "Tell me, please."

"Who was Bucky... " Steve responded morosely. "The right question is, who was Bucky."

Max didn't push when Steve took a long pause, she seemed to understand that it was a difficult topic, but one that Steve had to work through. She gently slotted her fingers with Steve's and squeezed once reassuringly. She was there, and she would listen even if it took all day. "Whenever you're ready, Steve." Somehow that meant everything in that moment.

"He was my best friend." Steve continued finally. "He was always looking out for me, which for a sick asthmatic kid was everything. He finished the fights I started, and never once complained about the beatings he might take because of it." Steve actually smiled a bit, remembering the time before everything became much too complicated. "When my mother passed, he was the closest thing to family I had left. I felt real guilty when he enlisted and no body would take me; felt like it was somehow my fault that I couldn't serve my country the same way every other man could."

"Wait, you WANTED to enlist?" Max asked.

"Of course. I wanted to serve my country." Steve admitted, then thought of a better answer, one Max would understand better. "I didn't like bullies, no matter how big they were, and I wanted to do what I could to save people. So, when my opportunity came I took it. Dr. Erskine gave me the chance that no one else would, and it ended up killing him. And then I became a dancing monkey." Steve remained somewhat bitter over that particular part of history. There he was, able to knock out Hitler and his men for real, but all he did was show.

"Tell me about Bucky, what happened? You must have told him." Max rounded back onto the topic, and Steve took a deep breath to prepare for it all.

"I found out he was MIA behind enemy lines; him and about half the 107th. I didn't know if he was already dead or what, but there was no plan to rescue them so I took matters into my own hands. I made it out with all of them, but they were doing something to Bucky, testing of some sort."

"They?" Max seemed confused.

"Hydra, the real threat of the time. You'll find out more about it later, but it didn't end with the war. Hydra did something to Bucky but I didn't figure out what until much later, by then he was gone again. It was a mission with the Howling Commandos,"

"Your special ops group, I've read about it." Max confirmed.

"It wasn't supposed to happen, he slipped right through my fingers." Steve felt the pain creeping up. He could still see the scene perfectly if he closed his eyes. "I WISH I could go back to that train in the Alps... Maybe things would be different, maybe..." It was all quiet now. "I could have saved him. From everything."

"What was he like?" Max asked.

"Charming." Steve answered quickly, recalling in a heartbeat what had made Bucky. "The man could charm the shirt off your back if you let him, but he never coasted by on that. He worked real hard to support the people around him, always grateful for what little I could provide. He went without often enough, sometimes just because I needed new medicine, or a doctor visit. He always took care. And popular with the dames, but he was a good one, always treated them right. Respectful. He was constantly trying to be my wingman, but no girl was ever really interested."

"If they could see you know." Max mused.

"Bucky was one of the greatest men I ever knew. Certainly my best friend." Steve thought out loud. "I didn't deserve him, but if you ever asked he'd have you convinced in the minute that it was him that didn't deserve me. He was just that kind of guy." For the first time since he started, Steve looked at Max who was taking to heart the things he said. With a soft smile he combed her hair back out of her face. "I think you would have really liked him, if you ever met him."

"If he was anything at all like the man you described, I think I would have been honored to." Max leaned into the touch, the little bit of affection meaning the world to her.

"So," Steve drawled, picking up the battered brass and turning it over. "Where'd you pick this thing up anyway?"

"The skill or the instrument?" Max chuckled.

"Both I suppose."

"Same place. Old stomping ground, way out in the middle of nowhere. I think it was supposed to be a camp, but there was no campfires or crafts... Just a lot of disappointment. There was one old guy that'd trek up the hill to the highest point every day, just to ring out the calls. I don't know why I thought it was as interesting as I did, but I'd climb up with him every day until one day he offered to teach me." Max shrugged. "So he fixed me up with the nicest bugle in his possession and I practiced everyday. I made enemies, and trekked out into the woods where I was alone to really practice hard, so by the end of the camp I was rolling those calls off every day. Guess it was good I got interested when I did, because the next year I was by myself."

"It's not exactly the most popular instrument you could have picked." Steve mentioned. Max just waved it off.

"It wasn't about any of that. It was more... Tradition maybe? You don't really realize how much you need the bugler until you don't have one." Max sighed, pushing all the heavy thought and memories from that time away, as she looked up at Steve. "This bugle has been one of my prized possessions, I keep it from pretty much everything. Too many more dings and she won't ring true for me anymore."

"It sounds very important." Steve agreed. "At any rate now that you've woken me up with it, what should we get to?"

"The sun's not even up yet, there's plenty of day left." Max began to shift around over the bed. "Besides, today feels like a lazy day anyway." She felt around until her feet slipped under the covers and she kicked Steve in the shin. She apologized, but Steve didn't seem too bothered. Safely under the covers and curled up against Steve's hip Max smiled satisfactorily and Steve felt himself crack a grin too.

For today, this was good.