Chapter 7
Office of Dr. Tanis Nieves
New York City
4:25 PM, Local Time
"Let me ask this, and I'd like you to think about it before you answer. Do you blame Steve Rogers, at all, for what happened to you?"
James blinked. "What?"
Dr. Nieves watched him patiently. "It's a straightforward question, Sergeant Barnes."
No, it's absurd. James shook his head and leveled a withering look at her. "You don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart."
The psychiatrist wasn't fazed by how he addressed her. "So...that's a no?"
"Why would I blame him?" James asked, growing agitated. "He's not the one who blasted me out of that train. He tried to catch me."
"Fair enough," she said, jotting something down on that damned pad of hers.
James scowled. "You know, you've asked me that question three different ways this week."
"Have I?"
"Yes," he growled. "You have. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to piss me off."
That got a reaction. She smiled wryly at him. "Oh, no. Definitely not." She pointed at the crack in the thick oak surface of her desk left by his fist earlier in the week. "I'm well aware of what you're like when you're pissed off. I have no desire to repeat that."
James fidgeted self-consciously, anger bleeding away. He'd lost control during their second session. It wasn't something he was proud of or wanted to repeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, Doc."
"I wasn't scared," Nieves said with a small grin. "Trust me. I know when a patient is angry at me and when they're angry at something else."
"And what am I angry at?" James asked, legitimately curious as to what she would say.
"You tell me."
Typical. James sighed, wiping his right hand over his face and silently counting to ten before he answered. "Do they really pay you to ask questions like this?"
"No." She said calmly. "They pay me to listen to your answers."
James just shook his head. It was like they were talking in circles. It was exhausting.
Nieves watched him for a moment, then pursed her lips. "All right. I've been asking you questions for a while. Why don't you ask me something?"
He eyed her suspiciously. "Like what?"
"Anything."
"Would you tell me the truth?"
"I told you when we started, Sergeant. I'll always tell you the truth. I would just appreciate it if you were truthful with me, as well."
James huffed a sardonic laugh, glancing around the room. "The truth is a matter of circumstances, Doc. It's not all things to all people all the time."
She tilted her head. "That's an interesting worldview."
"Yeah," he muttered, lowering his gaze to study the carpet. "I heard it somewhere, a long time ago. I can't remember where."
Nieves was silent for a moment. "How is your memory? Are you still recovering missing time?"
He nodded.
After a moment, she put her pen down. "Ask your question."
James looked up in mild surprise. He'd almost forgotten that she'd opened the floor to him a moment before. She seemed willing. He jutted his chin toward her hands. "Why do you cover up your right hand all the time?"
It pleased him to no end that the question totally blindsided her. She blinked, glancing at her left hand, which even then was covering her right, and looked back at him, looking a bit like a fish that had found itself suddenly out of the water. "I, um, lost my arm a few years back."
Slowly, eyeing him with obvious uncertainty, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing an artificial limb. It was some sort of plastic and slightly darker in color than her skin. "It's not as advanced or as strong as yours, but I can hold things, even type."
"How did you lose it?" James asked. It felt like prying, but she'd been picking his brain for three days.
Nieves smiled. "A very angry former patient. The details, I'm afraid, are classified. You understand."
He shrugged. "Sure." After a beat, he leaned back in the chair. "Why hide it?"
"Honestly?" She shot him a look as she rolled her sleeve down. "I didn't want you to think I was trying to create a false sense of empathy. I didn't know how you'd react."
James actually found that amusing. "I'm the one who picked your name off a list." He waggled his metal fingers at her. "Ironic, huh?"
"About as ironic as two men from the Depression, who were friends from childhood, lived in the same apartment, fought in the same war, both ending up being frozen and living into the 21st Century," Nieves said with a bemused look. "I'm...actually surprised that you noticed it. Most people don't pay attention to little details like that."
"I notice a lot of things, Doc."
"Such as?"
"Like how many entrances and exits there are in this building. You disguise the wall safe behind you with a false bookcase. The windows are wired for a security alarm. You keep your phone less than a foot from your left hand at all times, and what sounds like a canister of pepper spray in your pocket."
Her brow furrowed. "Okay, the rest just impresses me, but how on Earth do you know I have a can of pepper spray in my pocket?"
James tapped his ear lobe. "I can hear it hitting your keys."
She seemed astonished. "That is amazing."
"It gets old," he said, glancing around the room again idly. "Be nice to be able to turn it off when I try to sleep."
"You could try ear plugs."
He frowned. "Then I wouldn't be able to hear if anyone tried to break in."
She frowned back. "That's very paranoid."
"It's not paranoid when there are people trying to hunt you down."
"Touché," Nieves admitted. "You know, it's interesting that you brought up how much you notice things."
James narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Sergeant, the reason I—"
"You don't have to call me sergeant, I've been out of the Army for a long time." He said. It was true. Regardless of the dates on the paperwork he'd signed, his service to the American military had ended in 1945 when those Soviet troops fished him from the water.
Nieves spread her hands innocently. "I was just showing respect. What should I call you?"
"You can call me James."
"All right. Well, James, the reason I have been asking you about Captain Rogers is because you don't seem to have noticed the problem there."
James stiffened, his defenses back up. "What 'problem?'"
She sighed softly, glancing at the papers on her desk. "You are aware that before our first session, I interviewed Captain Rogers, yes?"
"Yeah."
"There were a few things that he said to me that indicated some...tension regarding the subject of your apparent death during the war and realization last year that you were still alive."
James grimaced. "I know he was...I mean, I would have been too, if it had been the other way around."
"I think he might blame himself for what happened to you," Nieves said solemnly.
"Isn't—" James started, then stopped and shook his head. "I thought doctors weren't supposed to talk about what their patients say?"
"Captain Rogers isn't my patient," she said. "And you are in a unique situation, James. You are relying on him for help during your recovery, even living in the same home. His emotional well-being has a direct influence on yours. I just think you should be aware that there may be some residual issues between you that could make things difficult."
"It wasn't Steve's fault," James repeated quietly. He mentally ran through the past few weeks, trying to see if he'd seen what Nieves was talking about. Surely, Steve knew none of what had happened had been his fault.
"Look," Nieves said calmly. "I just want you to think about it. If I'm wrong, come back on Monday and tell me. I promise, it won't be the first time I've been wrong or the last."
James nodded slowly, considering what she'd said.
"Anyway, our hour is up."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Brooklyn, New York
Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse
7:10 PM, Local Time
"Dr. Nieves has an artificial arm, too?" Steve asked incredulously. "That's...ironic."
"As ironic as two guys from the forties ending up living in the future?" James replied, digging into his dinner like he was starving. Which he was.
Steve chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. So, you haven't said much about her. How are the sessions going?"
"Well, I haven't killed her, yet. That's progress for me." James didn't look up from his plate as he cut into his steak. In his peripheral vision, he saw his friend stop and look at him. James grinned. "That was a joke, Stevie. Stand down."
"You haven't made too many jokes since you came back," Steve observed quietly.
James stopped chewing for a moment. "You want me to stop? I can be all glum and serious all the time. Like you."
Steve held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean it like that, Buck. It's just nice to hear, is all."
"Mm," James grunted, resuming the enjoyment of his meal. He glanced at Steve surreptitiously. "She's strange, though. She keeps asking me something over and over."
"What's that?"
"If I blame you for what happened to me."
Steve tried to hide his reaction, he really did, but James caught the almost imperceptible flicker of...something across his friend's face.
James pressed ahead. "I told her she's crazy. There's no reason to blame you for anything, you know?"
"Mm," Steve grunted in reply.
James laid his fork down on his plate, planting his elbows on the table as he stared across at Steve, who seemed to be examining his plate microscopically. "You know that, right?"
His tone must have gotten Steve's attention, because he finally looked up, all traces of whatever it was wiped off his face. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."
Nodding slowly, eyes narrowed, James picked up his fork. "Yeah, so, I told her she was nuts."
They ate in relative silence. James watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. His friend had all sorts of misconceptions about the world, as James remembered it, he always had. He had a big heart but an even bigger guilt reflex. But, Steve would have to be out of his mind to think he was responsible for what HYDRA had done.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" James asked, deliberately changing the subject.
"Oh," Steve said, his mood visibly lightening. "Natasha bought me some cookbooks when I was living in Washington. I was never home, so I didn't have a lot of time to practice."
James nodded. "Well, it beats your over-boiled spaghetti any day."
Steve pointed his fork at him threateningly. "You always over-boiled the spaghetti, not me."
"That's not how I remember it," James shot back with a smile. "Anyway, Doc thinks that it might help if we put our heads together, compare notes, swap stories, maybe that'll jog some more memories free. I still...have a lot of gaps."
"Yeah, sure. Anything I can do."
There was that flicker again. James definitely saw it that time. It was disturbing. He'd been ready to write off Nieves' suspicion as nonsense, but now... "She keeps telling me about 'closure.' But, I don't think a lot of talking's gonna do what she thinks it will."
Steve smiled faintly, back to keeping his gaze anywhere but on James. "Yeah, sounds like the same line S.H.I.E.L.D.'s counselors kept throwing at me. I don't think they ever really understood."
"Guess you had to be there." James said softly, going back to eating but considerably less comfortable than when he'd started. It felt like he'd walked into a minefield.
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
22 September 1944
USS Jawfish (SS-356)
Depth: 150 Feet
Malian Gulf, Greece
0115 Hours, Local Time
"One mile to launch point."
"Thank you, Ensign. Diving Officer, prepare to make your depth seventy-five feet." Commander Parker turned to Steve and nodded. "Are your men ready, Captain?"
Steve nodded. "Waiting by the forward hatch."
Parker checked his chart. "We'll be off the mouth of the Spercheios in a few minutes. You've got four hours. After that, I have to head out to sea. There are still German patrol craft in these waters. If we have to leave, we'll be back this time tomorrow night."
"I understand, sir." Steve excused himself from the control room and headed toward the bow. It was an hour and a half on foot to the factory from their planned landing zone. That left them less than an hour to destroy the target. It would be close, but the destruction of the factory was considered key to clearing the way for the British army to land in the weeks to come.
The Commandos were assembled below the forward hatch. Falsworth and Pinky looked a bit green, but Steve knew neither of them would admit to being seasick, so he pretended not to notice. "Ready fellas?"
Everyone nodded or responded in the affirmative, except Bucky, who was standing against a bulkhead, holding on to pipe that ran along the overhead with his right hand. Steve noticed that his knuckles were white from gripping so hard. His left hand was frantically tapping against his thigh. When he got close, Bucky flinched, like his mind was somewhere else.
"You okay?"
Bucky glanced around at the others, and kept his voice low. "Feeling a little sick."
Steve smiled. "Don't worry, we'll be off this tub in a couple of minutes."
"I'm not seasick," Bucky said, shaking his head. "I just— I don't know what it is. I can't stop moving. Feel like one of those tin wind-up toys, you know?"
"I think they have a doctor—"
"You know how I feel about doctors," Barnes grumbled, throwing a sideways glare Steve's way.
Steve stepped in close so the others wouldn't hear. "Buck, if you're sick—"
"All hands, prepare to surface the boat. Bridge watch report to Conn."
Bucky glanced up at the loudspeaker and grinned. "Duty calls, Cap. Time to go."
There really was no arguing with Bucky Barnes once his mind was made up. Steve kept an eye on him, but as they ascended the ladder up onto the submarine's main deck and began preparing the rubber rafts, everything seemed fine. Bucky didn't appear the least bit ill as he organized their departure.
The sub went under a few minutes after they shoved off, leaving them completely alone on the smooth surface of the water. Clouds hung low overhead, helpfully blocking the moon and concealing their journey, but also making the beach almost invisible ahead of them. Steve focused on the sound of waves hitting the shoreline to comfort himself that they were in fact rowing in the right direction.
Once they reached the small cove, Falsworth took Gabe, Sam, and Pinky and formed a perimeter. Steve hauled the first heavy raft ashore by himself. Bucky and Dum Dum pulled the second raft together, but Steve couldn't help noticing Bucky did the lion's share of the heaving, leaving Dum Dum visibly impressed.
"No need to show off, Sarge," Dugan whispered with more surprise than sarcasm.
Bucky, as usual, replied with self-deprecation, "I gotta earn my money somehow."
Steve helped Morita and Dernier unload their supplies. Most of their rations would stay nestled in a rock formation on the beach until they returned, hopefully hidden from casual observation in a crate painted in one of Stark's experimental camouflage schemes. The radio equipment and combat gear they'd have to carry.
"Form up," Steve ordered quietly. The nine men huddled around him by the rock outcropping while he unfolded a map on top of the supply crate. Morita supplied a small electric lantern with a special hood that directed the red light downward. Steve pointed to an X on the map. "This is where we're headed. We stay together. The Resistance claims there are no patrols along our route, but we won't count on that. You see a HYDRA soldier, you take him out. Knives only, unless guns are absolutely necessary. We want to stay invisible as long as possible. Questions?"
No one spoke up. Steve laid out several reconnaissance photos of the HYDRA factory and continued. "The main assembly line is the primary target. Anything else we find is strictly secondary. When we get there, I'll sweep the wall, take out the sentries and open the rear gate. Dum Dum, you and Gabe are with Dernier. Get in, set the charges, get out. Bucky's going to cover us from the north. Morita, you stay with him, and use that gizmo Stark made to jam their radios."
"Hopefully this one won't blow up on us," Bucky remarked sourly.
Steve folded up the map and photos and stuffed them into a pouch in Morita's pack. "Monty, Pinky, Sam, Junior, you have the perimeter. Word is HYDRA has some of those rocket-powered whirly birds of theirs stationed here, so keep your eyes on the sky."
"Light and noise discipline from here on out," Bucky ordered, switching off the lantern. "Saddle up. We move in five."
Steve walked to the tree line and knelt down, scanning the dark forest for movement. A moment later, Bucky knelt beside him.
"And you stay where I can see you this time," Barnes murmured.
"You're not still sore about Bulgaria, are ya?" Steve asked.
Bucky patted his ever-present M1941 rifle. "Hey, Betsy's good, but she can't see through concrete walls. And you're not indestructible, so stay where I can watch your back, Captain. Are we clear?"
Steve gave Bucky a mock salute. "Crystal clear, Sergeant."
CAP WS CAP
0230 Hours
The heavily forested terrain provided excellent cover, and once they reached a narrow dirt road heading west toward Lamia, they made better time than expected. The group reached a hill overlooking the factory around 0215 and split up. Morita powered up Stark's radio jammer, and they were off to the races.
The six guards along the perimeter wall didn't see Captain America coming in the gloom until it was too late, and he had them all incapacitated inside of five minutes. He opened the rear gate and then lingered around the dark factory courtyard in case he was needed.
"So far, so good," Morita said, watching Steve in action through a pair of binoculars.
"Mm," Bucky grunted back, watching through his sniper scope.
Dum Dum's group moved in. Bucky tracked their progress while trying to keep one eye on Steve. Greece was a relatively quiet backwater compared to Northern France or Italy, and the complacency of the HYDRA sentries worked in their favor. Dugan reached the factory undetected, and the three men slipped inside.
Unfortunately, just as they reached the building, a sentry in a nearby guard tower decided to become curious, and moved to turn on a large spotlight. Bucky squeezed off one round that took down the soldier before he could light up the area. The report of the rifle, however, was almost as bad as any light as it echoed in the quiet night.
With the hornets' nest sufficiently alerted, Bucky was suddenly glad for Stark's latest gizmo. Without their radios, the HYDRA soldiers were unable to coordinate and unable to sound the alarm when they saw anything, and the result was a confused riot as guards tried to lock down the plant, while others shouted about everything from an Allied invasion to an attack by the Resistance to an air raid.
Steve did his part to amplify the confusion, roving back and forth, eliminating isolated teams of guards. Bucky assisted by sniping the ones Steve couldn't easily intercept. All they needed to do was buy a few minutes.
Dum Dum and the others appeared from out of the factory door and raced for the gate. Less than a minute later, Dernier's explosives blew the insides out of the main building. For the HYDRA troops on the ground, confusion in many cases turned to panic, and any organized attempt to rally against their unseen adversaries fell apart.
Schmidt's elite HYDRA Air Corps, however, were going to be tougher to escape. Four rocket powered Triebflügel fighters took off vertically from the roof of an adjacent building, and immediately swarmed down over the area, dropping flares to illuminate the hills around the plant. It was the Commandos' signal to leave.
A machine gun nest along the east wall erupted into a fireball. Bucky shifted his scope in time to see Steve racing away through the smoke. He angled toward Bucky's sniper nest, zig-zagging in case any sentries came back to their senses and fired on him. That left Dum Dum. Bucky scanned the area where the demolition team had gone in, but saw nothing. "Come on, Dugan..."
"There!" Morita called out.
An open-topped Kübelwagen with red and black HYDRA markings smashed through the front gate of the factory. Bucky could just hear Dugan's "Wahoo!" over the din of sirens, gunfire and aircraft passing overhead. He didn't stop to wonder how Dugan had yelled that loud. Dugan made for the tree line at breakneck speed.
"Time to go!" Steve hollered, arriving behind Bucky's nest on the hill. Morita pulled the radio jammer over his shoulders while Bucky slung his rifle across his back and picked up his submachine gun.
They almost made it down the hill and out of sight of the factory when one of the Triebflügels got a bead on them and came in on a strafing run. Steve reacted fast, grabbing both Bucky and Morita and leaping up the next hill with them just as the ground under their feet was torn up by 30mm cannon rounds.
Closer to the trees, Happy Sam and Junior were firing back with their Thompsons, but were having little effect as far as Bucky could tell. He, Steve, and Morita reached them just a few moments after Dum Dum's stolen Kübelwagen came to a careening stop along the trees.
"Fall back!" Steve shouted, ushering Dugan and Dernier into the forest. Pinky and Falsworth were close behind. A handful of HYDRA soldiers had zeroed in on them, advancing out into the open field between the main gate and the forest.
Bucky and Gabe laid down cover fire with their Thompsons while Steve corralled Sam and Junior. "Get them moving!" Bucky shouted. "We've got the rear!"
Steve didn't argue, moving to make sure the rest stayed together in the dark woods. Bucky tapped Gabe's shoulder, and they fell back in the same direction, carefully firing just enough bullets to keep the Germans' heads down. They were almost in the clear when another Triebflügel swooped down on a strafing run. As it came out of its dive, the plane released a small rocket, which slammed into the ground below the Kübelwagen, flipping it over onto its back.
On Bucky's left, Gabe suddenly cried out. He turned and saw that the private had been pinned between the German car and a thick tree.
Bucky dropped to one knee, trying to see the extent of the damage. "Gabe!"
"I'm okay," Jones replied with his usual nonchalance. "My foot's caught," he muttered when he tried to move. "I think my ankle's broke, Sarge."
Barnes took a moment to fire a few rounds toward the slowly advancing Germans. He glanced behind them. "Steve!"
Steve and the others were deep in the forest. Bucky could just see them moving in the nearly pitch black woods.
"Leave me, Sarge," Jones said. "Get my gun, I'll hold them off for ya."
"Shut the hell up, Private," Barnes barked. "I'll decide when someone gets left behind."
They didn't have much time, and Steve was out of range. Bucky grabbed two grenades off Gabe's combat harness, pulled the pins and flung them toward the HYDRA soldiers. The explosions gave them second thoughts, as he hoped, and he used the few seconds to move around to the side of the overturned car and push. He tried with all his might, but the car was angled toward him, its front end in a ditch near the tree roots. He didn't have the leverage.
"Bucky!" Jones called out, pointing skyward. "They're coming back around!"
He could see the three spinning engines of one of the Triebflügels getting larger overhead. The damned plane was diving right on top of them. They were officially out of time. Bucky spun around, grabbed the edge of the 1,500 pound car and heaved. After a moment's struggle, the vehicle finally shifted, and Bucky shoved, sending the car flipping back onto its wheels.
"Jesus..." Gabe breathed, looking from Barnes to the car.
"No time to pray, Gabe," Bucky said, pulling him up over his shoulders and running into the woods. The car exploded behind them as the diving plane opened up with cannon fire. Bucky didn't look back.
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Present Day
Brooklyn, New York
Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse
"Gabe never said anything about that," Steve said, absorbing Bucky's version of that night's events. "He just said you got him out from under the car."
"They had him so doped up in the infirmary, he couldn't remember his own name. I convinced him he was imagining things." Bucky said, idly rubbing at a spot on his cybernetic hand.
Steve's eyebrows went up.
Barnes favored him with a faint, sad smile. "I knew something was wrong. I didn't want to— I couldn't face it. Zola changed me."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Steve had wondered if Bucky had been aware of anything before the fall. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious...
"Steve," Bucky spoke quietly, staring at the surface of the kitchen table. "There's something that I've wanted to ask you. I don't...did you know? I mean, back then, did you realize something was wrong with me?"
Steve frowned, fidgeting uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say it like that, but...I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed things were different. You never got drunk, no matter how much you drank. You kept up with me better. Hell, I don't think you even broke a sweat half the time."
Barnes nodded. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
There it was. The million-dollar question. The question Steve had been going over in his mind again and again for eleven months. He rubbed his hands together, nervously trying to answer it, and still not knowing how. "I knew you'd been through terrible things, you didn't want to talk about it and I didn't know how to ask about it. I wanted to believe that you were okay...and I guess I lied to myself when I saw that you weren't."
"Maybe if one of us had spoke up, things would have turned out different," Bucky said with a shrug.
Steve flinched. He couldn't deny the accusation. There was nothing he could do at all. "I am...so sorry, Bucky."
Barnes looked up at him, tilting his head with a frown. "I didn't mean it like that..."
"No," Steve shook his head. "No, if I'd done something— I was you're C.O. If I'd done my job, maybe none of this would have happened."
"Steve, I told you, I don't blame you for anything."
Steve shook his head again. He couldn't look at Bucky. He couldn't face the shame. "Maybe you should."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
28 December 1944
S.S.R. Headquarters, London, England
1730 Hours, Local Time
"What the hell is this?" Phillips growled.
Steve's eyes flicked down to meet the Colonel's chilly gaze, but he remained at attention in front of the desk. "My request for court martial—"
"I can read!" Phillips barked. He glanced down the letter again, and sighed. "You're not the first C.O. to lose a man in combat, son. Hell, you're not even the first to lose a friend. How long'd you know him?"
"We survived the Depression together," Steve muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."
Phillips watched him silently for a moment. "I'm sorry for your loss. Truly."
Loss. Steve replayed that inadequate word in his mind. That didn't describe it at all. Surely the Colonel understood. Steve wasn't fit to be in the field. If he could let Bucky die—
"Did you show this letter to anyone else?"
Steve looked up with a frown. "No, sir."
The Colonel nodded and immediately ripped the paper in two. He reached into a drawer and produced a cigarette lighter—which was unusual, since Steve had never once seen the man smoke—and promptly lit the torn paper on fire and dropped it into an empty metal wastebasket. "Take the night off, Captain. I've got to pay a visit to our new prisoner."
Zola. He felt a surge of raw hatred at the thought of the German scientist. But, Steve couldn't let it go at that. "Colonel—"
"You're dismissed, Captain. Report back here at 0800."
Steve clenched his fists, but said nothing. He spun on his heel and marched for the office door. Before he reached it, Phillips called out, "Rogers."
He turned, finding the older man's face showing a slightly less imposing expression. "Sir?"
"What was Barnes doing when he got hit?"
Steve blinked. "Covering my back."
Phillips nodded. "Then he went out doing exactly what he wanted to do. We should all be so lucky."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Present Day
Avengers Tower
1:00 AM Local Time
Steve hammered the punching bag, ignoring the steady stream of statistics JARVIS read from the sensors Tony had installed in the bag's lining. He knew how hard he was hitting it, and he knew he could hit it harder.
The awful images from the train played in his mind's eye again and again. Bucky taking the hit that had been meant for him, the handrail giving way. He heard Phillips' words over and over and it never made a difference. Colonel Phillips hadn't understood the gravity of his failure. No one could.
He distantly heard JARVIS' warning that the bag liner was weakening, but he ignored it, pounding a series of steadily stronger punches into the leather.
"Steven."
Thor's voice startled him, and he jerked his head around, finding the Asgardian standing a few feet behind him, wearing what looked like a very comfortable combination of a T-shirt and waist-length leather coat. Steve wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded toward him. "Jane take you shopping?"
"This afternoon, yes," Thor said, folding his arms. "She seems to enjoy finding clothes for me to wear."
Steve nodded, turning back to the punching bag. "Looks good on you."
He felt Thor's stare on the back his neck. "Thank you. It would appear that your day was less enjoyable."
"What's not to like?" Steve panted, starting a series of right jabs. "Reminisced about old times. Like when I left my best friend for dead so he could get captured by monsters who took him apart piece by piece."
"I have heard the tale," Thor said slowly. "Though, I do not recall finding any fault in your actions."
"Then maybe you aren't looking hard enough," Steve growled, laying into the bag a little harder. "Maybe you don't get it. Maybe no one does."
"We sometimes lose men in battle—"
Steve grabbed the punching bag, tore it from its moorings, and flung it against the far wall so hard that the seams separated. He spun on Thor. "I didn't lose some random soldier to the enemy! I lost my best friend!"
"Should familiarity make it any different, Steven?" Thor's eyes darkened, but not with anger. Steve belatedly remembered that the alien prince had left his own brother on a bloody battleground barely two years before.
Steve's anger fled, replaced with a weary agony that had been plaguing him for a year. "I read the files. They knew who he was. They couldn't get to me, so they took him. He suffered because of me, Thor."
"That's not true."
The new voice surprised Steve, but Thor merely glanced toward the door, then back to Steve as though he'd already known they weren't alone. He nodded sadly and quietly left the gymnasium, leaving Steve with the newcomer. It took Steve a moment to turn and face him.
"Bucky..."
Barnes stood near the door, walking slowly toward the boxing arena, hands in his coat pockets. "I wondered where you went."
Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Bucky beat him to it. "Your memory's failing you in your old age, kiddo. HYDRA was experimenting on me before you even showed up in Europe. None of it was your fault."
"I kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong with you," Steve said softly. "I didn't want to see what was right in front of me."
Bucky shrugged, stopping in front of Steve. "It wouldn't have changed anything if you'd spoken up. I wasn't going anywhere."
Steve met his eyes briefly, then looked away. He sank down onto a nearby bench and started unwrapping his boxing gloves. "We looked for you...you know, after. We searched the canyon as long as we could."
"I know you did," Bucky said quietly.
Steve needed him to know, though. The questions had been festering in his mind for almost a year. What if he'd stayed longer? What if he'd found Bucky in that river? "If I'd known—really known—I never would have left you behind. I swear."
Bucky sat on the bench beside him. "I know." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Did you ever read Dugan's book?"
A little off-balance from the change in subject, Steve shrugged. "Bought it. Haven't gotten around to reading it."
"I did," Barnes said, unfolding what Steve saw was a carefully torn out printed page and handing it over.
Steve quickly read the text, eyes welling up a little when he realized what he was reading about.
Barnes watched him silently, obviously studying him. "Is that how it happened?"
"Heh, yeah," Steve huffed, sniffing. "He left out the string of vile obscenities I hurled at them, but yeah, it's true."
Barnes huffed at that. "Language, Stevie."
"He was wrong about the last part, though. I didn't blame them."
"You shouldn't blame yourself, either," Barnes replied.
Steve nodded, not really convinced of that, but not possessing the strength to argue the point.
Bucky's metal elbow nudged him in the side. "I don't."
Looking at him at last, Steve saw that Bucky meant it. He wished he could find it in himself to accept it, too. But, Bucky was there now, and Steve could finally make up for his mistakes. He would make things right between them.
"Is Stark gonna make you pay for that?" Barnes asked, nodding toward the wrecked punching bag.
Steve shook his head. "Nah. Believe it or not, I'm not the only one in this building with a lot of pent up issues."
"Oh, good, I like fitting in!" Bucky said with exaggerated relief. He side-eyed Steve with an amused gleam in his eye.
"I forgot how funny you think you are," Steve jibed gently.
"I thought you were the entertainer. Music, movies, that outfit."
Steve shrugged. "I think the dancing girls were the big draw in those shows."
Bucky grunted in understanding. "Yeah, probably so. That must have stung. Like the doc says, you need closure."
"What'd you have in mind?" Steve asked, knowing Barnes was going somewhere with it but not sure what to expect.
"There's still some of Thor's ale at the apartment."
Steve laughed. "You want to get drunk and swap a few decades worth of regret?"
Barnes shrugged. "What are friends for?"
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
"Bucky's death hit us all pretty hard. I'd been in his company since the Torch landings, the others came in later, but what really made us all close were those months after Azzano, in the HYDRA labor camp. And Steve had known Bucky his whole life, so when we all got together in the Commandos, we were inseparable.
We searched the canyon for as long as we could—Junior was guarding Zola on Stark's plane. The terrain was terrible. Frozen water, jagged rocks; it was snowing so hard by then that you couldn't see ten feet in front of you. An entire HYDRA division was moving in on us. We knew we had to go, but Cap wouldn't leave. He told us he'd hold off the enemy so that we could keep searching. That was suicide. We all told him so. I think it's the first time we'd ever openly disagreed with one of his orders. I know it was the only time we ever told him 'no.'
It took all seven of us to drag Steve back to the plane. He fought us the whole way, though I know he was holding back, because he could have flattened us all with one hit. We got to the landing strip before HYDRA did, and we got away, but Steve was never the same after that.
We talked about it a lot after the war, after Steve went down. He never said anything to us about it before the end, but truth be told, I think some part of Steve never forgave us for making him leave Barnes behind..."
—Excerpt from The Howling Commandos
by Timothy "Dum-Dum" Dugan
Page 291
TBC
A/N: Tanis Nieves was a psychiatrist in Carnage #1, who lost her arm to a symbiote and later became "Scorn."
USS Jawfish was begun but not completed during WWII. In fact, construction was canceled just a few months before the story event here. I used a fictional submarine to avoid any confusion with real life naval vessels or personnel.
A Kübelwagen was Volkswagon's equivalent of the American Jeep. It equipped the German army in WWII.
The Focke-Wulf Triebflügel was an experimental vertical takeoff plane with 3 rotating rocket engines that never reached service in real life, but the Red Skull escaped in one in the Captain America: The First Avenger.