A/N: Many thanks to Lady Pandora and ladygris for their endless hours of listening to me talk about my ideas, and for all the Betas they've done over the years.
Thanks also go out to Sparky She-Demon and CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for making sure I didn't commit any major faux pas.
WARNING: This chapter may contain content that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take,
towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Namaste,
Sunny
Captain America
Echoes in the Memory
Chapter 11
Joi pulled into the Java Junction drive-thru barely awake, ordered an espresso for the kick, and extra whip because she deserved it for getting up at three in the morning to drive all this way. She received a call the previous afternoon to come to Nocturnal Diversions Studio on Fifth Street in Baltimore to record promos for the show. The man on the phone advised her that some clothing would be provided as well as hair and make-up.
Pulling into the parking lot, she counted the cars. Fifteen in all, including those in the reserved spots. She parked next to a brand new Honda Accord in shiny black without a speck of dirt to mar its perfect lines, compared to her three-year-old Prius that was silver and dirty from driving on the sanded roads near Gramps' house.
Joi showed her ID to the receptionist and was told to take a seat. Unfortunately, the only seat available was next to Frank Vitale. Rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd unnerved her with those piercing brown eyes, she lifted her chin, marched over and sat down, giving him a nod of recognition and nothing more.
Soon, a young Indian man wearing a headset, a bored expression, and carrying a tablet came to the desk. He looked over the list, noting who was here and who was not, had a short whispered conversation with the receptionist, and came to stand in the middle of the room. "My name is Charlie. Follow me." He led them down a long hallway, talking all the while. "One of the assistant directors will speak to each of you before we set up the on-camera interviews so you'll know what to say.
"As with all reality shows, ratings come from conflict. We'll see who butts heads with whom, and play it up to build tension. We'll get into more of that as the show progresses." Without consulting the list, Charlie called out, "Isaac Walters, Leigh Wolfson, Vaishali Brijesh, Thanatos Katsaros, Elyse DeWitt, and Gabe Moreno. You're in wardrobe, end of the hall on the left. Rudy Hayes, Frank Vitale, Hattie Sanders, Brady Norris, Vanya Igoryok, Randi Tobias, and Joi Lockwood. Make-up and hair on the right.
"When you're done in one, hit the other then go into the studio to wait." He pointed over his shoulder. "Back to reception, take the first right and follow the signs. If you need anything, that's where I'll be. Drinks and snacks are provided. Just don't make a mess."
Then Charlie was gone, leaving his charges in the hands of others he hadn't bothered to introduce. Joi caught Frank's eye as they approached the make-up area. He glared at her, and just to be contrary, she smirked and raised one eyebrow as a challenge. They hit the door at the same time. Frank stepped back to let her go first and followed her in.
The four stations were already taken. Joi leaned her back against the wall. Without meaning to, she glanced over at Frank only to find him watching her thoughtfully, arms crossed, thumb and forefinger of his right hand tugging at his bottom lip.
To show him she didn't care, Joi turned to the man next to her, and introduced herself. "Joi Lockwood, owner of Mon Petit Café on Glengarry Boulevard."
He was about fifty, stocky, and had a pleasant face that smiled all the time. He took her hand, bowing over it. "Vanya Igoryok. Please call me Vanya, dorogaya moya. I am pleased to own Za Vas, a Russian cuisine restaurant inside Dulles International Airport." His Russian accent coupled with his smile charmed Joi. She made a mental note to speak to Natasha about teaching her a few words of Russian.
All through her conversation with Vanya, she could feel Frank watching her. It only got worse when they sat side by side in the chairs where they could see each other in the mirror. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.
~~O~~
Steve stood over the coffee pot waiting for it to finish so he could get started on his day. He'd spent the last couple of nights debating with his conscience over whether or not to tell Joi about the scene with Hill. As he got out of bed this morning, he came to the conclusion that the only honest and honorable thing to do would be to tell her. They didn't have a formal, going steady type of relationship, though it was understood that they wouldn't date others while together. Not that what he and Hill had done counted as dating, but he still felt bad for enjoying it so much.
His phone lay on the counter, the light blinking telling him he had a message. Thumbing the voice mail icon, he listened to Joi's message.
"Morning, Steve. Sorry to do this, but I got a call from Chef vs. Chef. They need the participants to record promos for the show. I have to be there every morning at five, and my days off for the next couple of weeks, so dinner is out. If you come to the café when it's slow, we could do coffee or lunch. Talk to you soon. Try not to miss me too much."
Relieved and annoyed at the same time, Steve deleted the message just as the coffee pot finished brewing. He filled his travel mug, popped the lid on, and snagged his gym bag on the way out the door. Maybe six or seven hours of pounding on a punching bag would help clear his conscience.
~~O~~
Rolling onto his back, Bucky blinked in the brightness of the morning sun coming in through the bedroom window. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that he'd slept much later than was his habit. Sitting up on the side of the bed, he rubbed forehead, groaning as the pain of another headache seared its way through his brain.
He put on his slippers and shuffled into the ensuite. Peering at his face in the mirror, he touched the puffy skin around his left eye finding it somewhat tender. Wondering what he'd done to it, he splashed water on his face, and decided to shave before going downstairs.
Thirty minutes later, he felt better, but not a hundred percent. Coffee and breakfast would clear away the rest of the cobwebs… hopefully.
Bucky made his way downstairs, pushing the cuffs of his long sleeved t-shirt up to his elbows. The radio was playing in the kitchen, and Natasha was singing along. The scent of food cooking made his stomach growl. He stopped in the doorway to watch Natasha moving about the room, fascinated as always by her grace and efficiency of movement. She reached for something on a high shelf, her dark blue top pulling up to expose the smooth skin of her ribs.
"Smells good," Bucky said by way of announcing his presence. Natasha didn't jump or even appear to be surprised that he was there. She just seemed to know.
Her smile of greeting said she was happy to see him as she came to give him a kiss. "Good morning. Breakfast is almost ready." A crease appeared above her nose. "You look tired. How did you sleep?"
"Not great." She poured coffee and passed it to him as he slid onto a chair at the counter. "I don't know what it is, but lately I've been getting headaches, and having strange dreams."
Bacon, eggs, and buttered toast appeared in front of him. He draped the napkin over his lap while Natasha placed two ibuprofen next to his coffee cup. She served herself and came to sit next to him. "I have to go to the office for a couple of hours. After that, I'm all yours. What would you like to do?"
Bucky swallowed the pills with coffee, making a face at the taste. "While you're gone, I'll try on my dress uniform to see if it still fits. After that…" he shrugged.
"When's the opening? I want to be there."
"The, the grand opening is Friday, January 20th, and dedication is the Wednesday before. You don't have to come to both."
She scooped up a forkful of eggs. "I'll put it on my calendar." Her eyes dropped to the counter, or so he thought until Natasha set the fork on the edge of her plate. One hand went around his left wrist and the other at the elbow, turning his arm over, examining marks on his skin. "What were you doing while I was gone?"
He hadn't noticed the curved lines while getting dressed. "Nothing that would do this. Is it a rash?"
"No. They're too uniform."
He pulled the sleeve down to cover it, and went back to eating.
"What did the doctor say about the sleepwalking?"
"Sent me for a sleep study, but nothing showed up. Said I slept all night." Bucky only eaten half the food when his stomach rebelled. He pushed the plate away and wiped his mouth. "Sorry. It's good. I just don't feel well."
Natasha touched the back of her fingers to his forehead and cheeks. "You don't have a fever." She slid off the chair, and took him by the hand, leading him to the living room. "Lie down and rest. I'll clean the kitchen and go to my meeting. If you're feeling better when I get back, we can take a walk."
She turned away, and Bucky grabbed her hand. "You're too good to me, Tasha."
"You're worth it, lyubimaya." She pressed a kiss to his forehead as she would a child, and returned to the kitchen.
He dozed off to the sound of dishes clattering in the sink, not even hearing the front door close behind her when she left.
~~O~~
The dream started almost immediately. Vague images of people Bucky didn't know in places he'd never been, their faces twisted in fear, many begging for their lives. Others he seemed to see through a telescope. As in most of his dreams, events unfolded as if he were the protagonist, showing everything from his point of view.
The scene shifted, and a man and his wife knelt on the floor, hands raised in surrender. From the corner of his eye, Bucky saw the left hand come up, a weapon clenched in the fist. Light glinted off the metal that the arm was made of, frightening the couple even more. A finger pulled the trigger until the clip was empty, the sound of the blasts jerking him awake.
Bucky sat up, looking around for the source of what had awakened him, but he was alone. On the upside, his head no longer ached, and his stomach had settled. While he couldn't remember the details, he recalled that his dreams had been unpleasant, reminding him of the wars he fought for his country.
He got to his feet, stretched and yawned while scratching his left arm. Far away, he heard the sound of dogs barking, and it reminded him of his promise to Natasha. When she returned, they'd talk about their plans to get a cat, and having her officially move in.
Wiggling his stocking feet in the thick carpet, Bucky went to the kitchen for a cold glass of water then upstairs. Standing on the balcony, he thought about selling the house and getting something smaller. That meant he wouldn't be able to host the family gatherings like he and Connie had done for many years before she died. Leaning his forearms on the railing, he let his mind go blank, not wanting to be reminded of that time. But the memories came anyway.
Bucky had gone to the lake with family members. Connie had her book club, and Serenity's birthday gift to finish, so she stayed home. When they returned three days later, they found Connie lying on the sofa where she often took a nap. She'd been dead for almost a full day from a massive stroke.
Just as he told Joi, Bucky missed his wife, and he'd been sad that she was gone from his life. In the six years since her death, he hadn't once cried. Not at the inquest where the medical examiner had produced his findings of death by natural causes. Not at the memorial service. Not at the gravesite, and not since. He also knew that crying wasn't a requirement to mourn the loss of a loved one.
Exhaling loudly, Bucky went to his room and into the walk-in closet for his sneakers. He put them on, crouching to tie the laces, hearing the front door opened and close.
Natasha's voice called out, "James? I'm back."
He thought it curious the way she announced herself. It was always, I'm back not I'm home. "I'll be right down."
Going to the bathroom, he washed his hands, dried them on a hand towel, and ran a comb through his hair. Time to get it cut, he thought. He'd asked Natasha if she preferred long or short hair, and had been told to please himself. That it was him she cared about, not his hair. Resolutely, Bucky decided to have it cut this week so he would present a professional appearance at the dedication.
Through the material of his shirt, Bucky rubbed at his left arm. While in the bathroom, he examined the skin and found the marks went all the way up to his shoulder. Maybe I have been sleepwalking, and just didn't do it at the clinic. The only way to know for certain was if someone caught him. Natasha was the most likely to do so, but she hadn't said anything except for Thanksgiving.
Natasha met him at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes roaming over him, assessing his condition. To set her mind at ease, and have a little fun, Bucky grabbed her wrist, bent his knees, and threw her over his shoulder.
"James! What're you doing?"
He grinned. "Don't worry, lyubimaya. There's a method to my madness."
~~O~~
The world spun, and Natasha was on the sofa, looking up at Bucky. His eyes had that sparkle, the one that meant business. Funny business. She gave him a sultry smile to let him know she was agreeable. He pulled his long sleeved t-shirt off over his head and tossed it away, and when she saw what he was wearing underneath, she laughed. The shirt was blue with a red, white and blue shield on the front. "A Captain America t-shirt? Does Steve know?"
"Don't know, don't care." He toed off his sneakers then removed her shoes as well, his warm and calloused hands lightly massaging her feet.
When he reached for his belt buckle, she rolled to her knees, brushing his hands out of the way so she could do it for him. Taking her time, she maintained eye contact as she opened the buckle and slowly pulled it from the loops. She popped the snap, and lowered his zipper to the bottom, but before she could go any further, his hands flew to the hem of her top, lifting it over her head and tossing it away. In response, her hands grasped the bottom of the shirt, pulling up and off.
Before she could push the jeans and boxers off his hips, Bucky had gone down on one knee so that they were eye to eye. He leaned in for a kiss while opening the closure on her pants, and slid his hands inside the loosened material, smoothing his palms over her ribs and around to caress the small of her back.
Momentum took over, and soon they were on the floor, engaged in a dance that was timeless, and supremely fulfilling. And when the end was near, Bucky rolled onto his back with Natasha looking down at him, that blonde hair surrounding her like a cloud.
She leaned down to take possession of his lips, and he returned the favor. To prolong the intense physical sensations, she sat up, encouraging him to touch her just so, and when he did, bright light exploded behind her eyes as her entire body convulsed.
He rolled her onto her back again, and made his move. Soon, it was all over for both of them. Flopping onto his back again, Bucky cuddled her close, and she lay her head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat as it returned to normal. Taking hold of her hand, he brought it to his lips.
Each time Bucky had proposed, it was after intense love making just like this. Natasha waited, but the words didn't come this time. Instead, he shifted her to the side, and stood. As he moved around the room picking up their discarded clothing, she let her eyes roam over his body, enjoying the play of muscles under his skin. His waist was trim though he didn't have a six-pack, but that didn't matter. He was beautiful just the way he was. When he reached down to help her up, pulling her tightly against him, she let her fingers skim through the hair on his chest.
"Let's get dressed. I have an idea for an outing."
"Mmm. Where're we going?"
Bucky rested his cheek on the top of her head. "It's a surprise."
He released her, and she sat on the sofa to get dressed, watching him do the same. She went into the downstairs bathroom to fix her hair, and when she came out, Bucky was waiting with her jacket, hat, scarf and gloves. Though it was sunny out, the wind blew cold, telling them that snow would arrive by the weekend. She had a hunch what today was about. He wanted her to move in, and for them to get the cat they'd talked about. There were issues to be resolved before that could happen.
"Before we go, we have to talk, James."
The smile on his face turned to concern. "It's always serious when you use that tone, Tasha."
"It is." She took her things from his hands and laid them in a chair with her bags she'd already packed. Taking his hand, Natasha led James back to the sofa.
On the shelves surrounding the entertainment center, Natasha cast her eyes over the photos. Four generations of Bucky's family, and it had all started with him and Connie. Their wedding photo showed the two of them looking happy. Bucky was in a gray suit, a white rosebud boutonnière in his lapel. Connie wore a white dress that went down to her calves, and superficially resembled a wedding dress in that the sleeves and across the front were made of lace. In one hand, she held a small bouquet of pink and white roses. The way they were standing, you could see their left hands and the gold bands on their ring fingers.
"What's it about?"
"You wanted to know why I keep turning down your offers of marriage." She gestured at the photos. "Connie, and the fact that, six years after her death, you're still wearing your wedding ring. This tells me you're not as ready to remarry as you think you are." James opened his mouth to protest, and she quieted him with a finger over his mouth. "You told me you and Connie weren't in love. But this…" Natasha held up his left hand, the light glinting off the metal, "…tells me otherwise. You need to think long and hard about your relationship, and when you figure it out, call me."
~~O~~
Natasha left Bucky standing at the bottom of the stairs rubbing his left hand as if he'd never seen it before. He watched her put on her jacket, gloves, scarf and hat. She picked up her bags, and left by the front door, the click sounding like an ending.
Bucky looked around at his empty house that moments ago had been filled with love and warmth. Now it was cold, and there was just him. No more them. That's how it felt. Bucky didn't want it to end with Natasha. He wasn't ready for it to be over. Not by a longshot.
He went back to the living room, sitting heavily on the sofa, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped between them, turning his left hand over, thumb finding the back of the ring and twisting it. He'd worn the same ring since the day he married Connie, and seldom felt the weight any longer.
Why was he still wearing it? That was the only question Natasha had about their relationship. She hadn't asked if he loved her or if the age difference bothered her, because he knew that she knew the truth. Reading people, knowing what was in their minds even when they didn't, was what she did. It was as much a part of her as a hand or a foot.
Bucky stood and went to the shelves that held the family photos, picking up the one taken on his and Connie's wedding day. He'd taken it and others from his bedroom and brought them downstairs so he wouldn't have to see Connie's face every morning and night, watching him. It had nothing to do with Natasha because he'd done it within a month of her death.
The truth shall set you free. He'd always thought of it as a platitude, a phrase that meant nothing because telling the truth all day, every day wasn't easy. Everyone told lies. Small ones to yourself, and big ones to those you loved to spare their feelings.
So what was the truth? Bucky had told Joi that he loved Connie, and he had. Just not in the way she deserved. He knew it, and so had she.
Bucky's eyes roamed over the photos that traced a path through the life he's shared with Connie. Their children growing up, becoming adults, marrying, having children and grandchildren of their own.
He returned the wedding photo to its place, and picked up the last one taken of he and Connie together. They had been at the park with the family just a few weeks before she died, sitting side by side at the picnic table. He had his arm around her shoulders, holding her close, and was kissing her. Her eyes had closed at the contact, and a blissful smile softened her wrinkled features. The smile was reflected on his face.
With his youthful appearance, they looked more like mother and son. That was why she normally shied away from public displays of affection between them. Didn't even like to hold hands.
However, on that day, she had encouraged it. Had Connie somehow known that her days were numbered? That soon she would be gone and wanted him to know that she loved him? Really loved him. How had their love changed over the years without him noticing?
In a moment of epiphany, he realized that yes, he had loved Connie. As his best friend. As the mother of his children. As his companion for life. And when she died, he'd been deprived of the ability to show that love.
The air stalled in his lungs making his chest ache. He sat on the sofa and rubbed the area to ease the pain, but it didn't help. It felt as if he were trapped in a vise that was slowly being tightened. He couldn't breathe.
Panic started to set in. Bucky reached into his back pocket, but it was empty. He'd left his phone upstairs. The landline in the kitchen. He had to get to it, to call someone. He had too much living still to do. Grandchildren still to be born. Great-grandchildren. Great-great-grandchildren even. Friends he hadn't seen in months. Steve. Natasha. The exhibit. He had to see it all, experience everything life had to give, and more.
Bucky's eyes began to sting. First, just a tear or two. More and more until he was sobbing. Through the sorrow, he felt pressure on his shoulders as someone wrapped their arms around him, whispering soothing words of comfort. He latched on, holding on so tight he might never let go.
TBC
