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.
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 12
Alone in the gym, Steve flopped into a chair, and opened another bottle of water, drinking the contents without stopping. He swiped the towel over his face and upper chest, and tossed it across the room into the basket.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out, though he didn't want to talk to anyone. The text from Hill was short and to the point. Call me ASAP!
He scrolled for her number and dialed. "It's Rogers."
"There's no easy way to say this, Steve." The tone of Hill's voice set his instincts on edge. "Peggy Carter passed away during the night. Natural causes."
Stunned, just for a moment, Steve couldn't breathe. Given her age and medical condition, each day was a blessing. Now, with Peggy gone, Bucky was all that remained of his old life.
"Steve?"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm here. When's the service?"
"Uncertain. The family will let us know." There was a short pause. Then, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks, Maria, but I lost Peggy almost seventy years ago."
Through the line, Steve got the feeling that Hill had more to say. "I'll be there as a representative of SHIELD. We could ride together, if you don't want to go alone."
Touched by her kindness, Steve managed a small smile. "Thanks."
He picked up his bag, shoved the phone in his back pocket and headed for the exit. As he passed the punching bags, he lashed out with his right hand, breaking the chain and punching a hole in the side. Normally, he would replace the bag with another, and leave money to pay for the one he destroyed, but he wasn't in the mood to hang around.
On the drive back to his apartment, Steve couldn't help but wonder what Peggy wanted to speak to him about, and why it was so urgent. Unless she'd written it down or told someone, he might never know.
~~O~~
Feeling bad for running out on Bucky, Natasha stopped at the light just down the road. After less than a moment's thought, she pulled into the Java Junction drive-thru, and was back on the road within minutes with two cups of their special hot cocoa. It always made her feel better when she was down. Hopefully, it would do the same for Bucky.
She didn't know what to expect when she returned so soon after leaving him standing by the stairs. Instead of letting herself in as she usually did, she rang the bell. After a reasonable amount of time, he still hadn't come to the door. He couldn't have left. The house was on a dead end street, and he would've had to pass the coffee shop on his way out. She would've seen him.
Turning the knob, Natasha eased the door open. "James?"
A strange sound came from the living room. Strange to this home. She rushed into the living room. Bucky was on the sofa, hands over his face and sobbing. Setting the cup holder on the coffee table, she touched him on the shoulder, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.
Holding his head against her, Natasha whispered soothing words while she stroked his hair, again like a child. And soon, his tears ran out. She eased him away, and stood. Taking his hand, she led him upstairs to his room. Without a word, she sent him into the bathroom and soon, the shower came on. She gathered his clothes from the bathroom floor and tossed them in the laundry basket then laid out clean ones.
In the walk-in closet, she got down on one knee. Not knowing what he'd planned for them, she chose his favorite black boots. On the floor beneath them were clumps of mud. She turned one over, and found the tread filled with dried and drying bits of mud. Thinking back, she recalled that the last time he'd worn them was a few days after Thanksgiving. She poked the clumps with a finger, wondering why some of the mud was still soft. He couldn't have worn them while she was out of town or the mud would be hard.
Filing away the information for later, Natasha carried them out to the bedroom and dropped them next to the bed just as the shower cut off. She went downstairs to reheat the hot cocoa before Bucky came out to give him time to regain his emotional equilibrium.
She'd just taken the second cup out of the microwave when she heard his footsteps coming toward the kitchen. He sat at the counter while she took out the whipped cream and added a generous squirt to both cups then slid one in front of him.
Bucky watched her over the rim of his cup as she came around to sit next to him. They sipped their cocoa in silence, and when he finished, he turned to her and smiled.
"What?"
"You have whipped cream on your nose." Natasha rubbed it with a napkin. "Did I get it?"
"Yes." Taking her hand in both of his, he leaned close. She thought he would kiss her, but he didn't. "Thank you for what you did."
Her hand came up to touch his cheek. "I ran out on you, and you're thanking me?"
"Because you made me see what I've been blind to all these years. From the beginning, it was understood that Connie and I had settled for each other. I was gone much of the time because of the Army, so she pretty much did what she wanted, and put up with me when I was home. She never said so, but I thought she was seeing someone while I was gone." He chuckled again, without humor.
"I wouldn't have blamed her. We were seldom intimate those first few years, and I freely admit it was my fault. My experiences in the lab kept coming back, making me unable to… perform, and the nightmares frightened Connie to the point that I would go stay at the VA just to let her get some peace. Sometimes, I would go for long walks, and come back. At least that's what she said. After a while, the dreams came less and less frequently. I still get them, but only once in a great while. The last time was just after Steve came back.
"Our intimacy problems worked themselves out too. Soon, Carolyn came along, and our time together wasn't as much a chore as it had been. Then we added Steven, Jacob and Olivia, and stopped talking about separation or divorce. The subject came up many years later, but we never did anything about it. I, uh, I guess that should've been a sign that life had changed us from the young couple we were in the beginning."
"It's all very interesting, but why are you telling me this, James?"
He released her, and carried their cups to the trash. "Sometimes you just have to get things off your chest. If it had been the mailman that found me, I'd be talking to him instead of you."
Natasha pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "That would've been awkward." Bucky leaned against the counter, watching her, yet not. She came around to stand in front of him. "So what was the surprise?"
The excitement came back to his expression. He held out his hand, and she took it. "Let's go get a cat."
Bucky had just pulled into the parking lot of Tails in the City, a no-kill animal shelter, when Natasha received a call from Hill that put a huge damper on their day.
~~O~~
At home with nothing to keep his mind off his troubles, Steve got down on the floor for crunches. He was into his second set of five hundred when the phone beeped again. Another friend texting to express their sympathy.
Steve responded, and tossed the phone on the sofa when what he really wanted to do was throw it at the wall. He went back to his crunches until the phone beeped again. This time the text came from Natasha.
Sorry about Peggy, Steve. I told James. Anything he and I can do?
He thanked God for his friends as he tapped out, Thanks. I'll let you know.
Not more than a minute had gone by when he received yet another text, this one from Coulson expressing his sympathy as well, and offering to give him someone to talk to, if he needed or wanted it. Steve thanked him, and shut off the phone so wouldn't be bothered anymore.
Getting to his feet, Steve stood in the middle of the room wondering what to do now that the first woman he'd ever cared for was gone. He went into the bedroom and opened the closet. Nope. Nothing suitable to wear to a funeral.
He showered, dressed and walked up the street to a men's clothing store. An hour later, he'd been fitted for a suit. When the owner realized who he was, he put a rush on the alterations, and would call when it was ready.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of the store, Steve stared into the sky, remembering their first conversation and how at ease he'd been with Peggy from the beginning, his occasional foot-in-mouth notwithstanding. She was the first woman besides his mother and Bucky's to see him for more than his outward appearance. If the serum hadn't worked, they may have still made some sort of life together, though he doubted it. Given the nature of her job, she would've spent most of her career out of the country.
He texted Joi to call him when she had a few minutes, and left it at that.
Turning right, Steve began walking without any real destination in mind, and found himself on Constitution Avenue. As he approached the National WWII Memorial, his eyes searched out his name.
Rogers, Captain Steven G. August 1945
For a brief moment, he thought about contacting those responsible and asking them to remove his name, but decided just to leave it.
He wandered over to the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, watching the images of the surrounding buildings ripple on the water's surface. Turning in a circle, he soaked in the history of the area, wishing he'd been here to experience it for himself. Starting his walk again, he heard the pounding of running shoes on the concrete.
"On your left," a voice called out as he passed, and kept going toward the setting sun. The African-American man was fast, but Steve could run rings around him without even breathing hard. Rather than show him up, Steve made his way over to Joi's café. She wasn't there, but the staff knew him and brought his usual. He settled at a table in the corner, drinking coffee and brooding.
Nocturnal Diversions Studio
A Few Days Later
"Cut, cut, cut!" yelled the director, Simon. Huffing with annoyance, he stood, dropped the clipboard in his seat and pulled off his headphones. "It's not working again. Take ten, everybody."
Joi resisted yelling back because that's all the man had done all day. He'd put her with other chefs and told them to argue without giving them specifics. No matter what subject they chose, he nixed it, telling them in no uncertain terms that they just weren't believable. Well, duh! How can you argue with someone whom you've never even laid eyes on until today?
This time Simon put her with Leigh Wolfson, a chef from one of the premier hotels in the D.C. area. Joi knew her by reputation, though they'd never met. In between takes, the women found they had a lot in common. So much so that they ended up laughing like old friends.
When Joi came out of the bathroom, the A.D., a woman named Amalie, was waiting for her. "Simon wants to go in another direction, Joi. He's going to put you with one of the men since you seem to have made friends with all of the women."
Heaving a sigh, Joi nodded. "Yeah. Fine. Whatever." They walked toward the studio. "I don't know how you do this every day. I'm worn out just watching Simon work."
Amalie grinned. "It's a calling, I guess. We all have our strengths. Yours is creating edible masterpieces. Mine is putting up with temperamental directors, and coddling difficult celebrities." She pulled Joi to a stop, looking left and right. "Between you and me, I hope you win this thing, just because I know it will piss off Simon and that other guy. Oh, man you should hear what he says about you."
"Frank Vitale" Joi growled. "He is so full of himself. He's an arrogant, self-important, pompous, egotistical jackass!"
Joi took several deep breaths to calm down, and when she could speak without shouting, she found that Amalie had disappeared. Not that she blamed her. She had her mother's temper, and once she got going there was no telling what might come out of her mouth.
A quick check of the time told her she had less than a minute to reappear on the sound stage. Simon demanded that his "stars" never be late, and she made it with seconds to spare. Frank was lounging against the wall talking to a crewmember. The woman said something, and he threw head back, laughing as if it were funniest thing he'd ever heard. Even from the other side of the studio she could hear the false note. Inside her head, the word jerk blinked over his head in sickly green color. Well, if he could pretend to be in a good mood, so could she.
Pasting on a bright smile, Joi marched over to Frank as the crew member scurried away. "Guess it's you and me, Francis."
Though he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. "Franklin," he corrected with annoyance.
Joi crossed her arms. "So you're not really Italian then, or it would be Francis."
"That's funny, coming from you."
Confused, Joi scowled up at him. He was over six feet, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "What d'you mean?"
"I checked up on you, Esmeralda. No wonder you go by Joi. Who wants to be associated with an inept witch on a mediocre defunct television show?"
Oh, he is so damn smug! He's also messing with the wrong girl! Taking a step closer, she poked him in the chest. "That's rich coming from someone whose rigatoni al forno tastes like Spaghetti-Os, and his sogliole alla mugnaia smells like Virginia Beach at low tide!"
Frank dropped his arms to the side and straightened his spine, making him appear even taller. "Those are my family's recipes, handed down for generations. Come osi scagliare insulti! Sei maleducato when your Buffalo Chicken Sliders are inedible and the Rosemary Sweet Potatoes are overcooked!"
"Oserei perche sei un stronzo!" Joi turned go and came right back. "And for your information, I was named after the character of Esmeralda in my grandmother's favorite novel, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. And she was not a witch, inept or otherwise."
It all went downhill from there. They continued shouting and waving their arms, and no one tried to stop them.
What neither of them noticed was that Amalie had the cameraman record everything. She looked over at Simon and grinned, the pair sharing a fist bump. This would be epic! Their best show ever. And they hadn't even aired the first promo yet.
A Few Days Later
Sitting between Steve and Justin on her grandfather's sofa with family gathered around, Joi waited anxiously for the first Chef vs. Chef promo to air on the Culinary Channel during Home Bakery - Christmas Edition.
The recipes the pâtisserie used were too complicated for the average, every-day cook just trying to get through the holidays with their sanity intact. If she were the host, she would go with something like…
Joi quashed her internal voice when Justin shook her hard. "It's on! It's on!"
She turned the volume up, and over the next two minutes, she squeezed Steve's hand so hard, if he'd been an average man, the bones might've broken.
When the ad ended, there was a moment of stunned silence. Joi handed the remote to Steve, stood, tugged her top down over her hips, and picked her way between those sitting on the floor. In the kitchen, she leaned her hands on the counter, closed her eyes and counted to ten, and kept going. By the time she reached one hundred and seven, she heard footsteps behind her just before a hand touched her upper back, urging her to turn around. She did, and found herself pressed into Steve's comforting embraced. Her fingers dug into the material of the dark blue sweater he wore over a white t-shirt. "I am so damn angry!"
Steve rubbed her back soothingly. "Can't you sue them for defamation of character?"
"Everyone signed a contract saying they could use any footage for promoting the show." Joi pushed back suddenly, her eyes wide. "Damn! He'll think I staged the argument just for publicity."
"The director?"
"No. Him! Frank Vitale!" Growling, Joi backed away from Steve, crossing her arms and facing the windows that looked out into the front yard. "This is all his fault."
Warm hands lightly massaged her shoulders. "Take a deep breath. Try to relax."
With Steve's comforting voice and firm chest as a backdrop, Joi let out a long sigh. "He started it by trying to get me to drop out. How did he even get a list of the contestants? I asked, and was turned down more than once."
"Maybe he knows someone who works at the studio."
"If he did, he wouldn't be able to participate. Anyway, it doesn't matter." Joi inhaled and let it out on a sigh. "I just don't know how I'm going to show my face in public."
Steve turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. "The same way you do everything, babe. Like a steam engine. Full speed ahead."
"You always know what to say." Joi patted his hand on her shoulder. "When is Peggy's funeral?"
"Two days. Bucky and I were asked to be pall bearers."
She turned to face him, still holding his hand. "I'd be there if I could."
Steve's sad smile almost broke her heart. "Your career is important, and Natasha will be there. I'll be fine." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "Appreciate the thought though."
The Smithsonian
January 18th
Howling Commandoes
Exhibit Dedication Ceremony
Christmas and New Year's passed with no major drama aside from snow, and the anticipation of the Howling Commandos exhibit opening. Steve and Bucky talked it over, and had decided to appear in suits of the era, but were voted down by the Barnes family. The majority wanted them in Army dress uniforms.
Because their originals were being used as part of the exhibit, with Natasha's help they located a company that could recreate their dress uniforms using vintage materials. Steve stayed the night before at Bucky's so they could ride together, waving and smiling at the crowd as they pulled up to the museum's main entrance.
For the first couple of hours, Steve and Bucky dutifully posed for photos with the museum's board of directors, benefactors, and local celebrities, bearing the attention with a smile. For the general public, there would be photos and autographs after the banquet.
While the band set up, Steve found a corner where he could see the main entrance, yet remain separated from the mingling crowd. Bucky appeared next to him with a glass of scotch in each hand. Steve took one and downed most of it in one swallow. "Tell me this'll be over soon, Buck."
"Wish I could. There's still dancing, dinner, and after." Bucky stared into his glass, rattling the ice. "The girls should be here soon. Have you talked to Joi yet?"
Once again, guilt tickled at Steve's conscience. The past couple of months had been so busy there hadn't been a good time for Joi and he to have a private talk. He shook his head and downed the rest of his drink.
"Don't wait for the time to be right, Steve. Just do it. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for both of you."
"I'm supposed to just blurt out that I kissed someone else?"
Bucky slapped Steve in the chest with his free hand. "You kissed another woman while dating my granddaughter?"
Steve kept his eyes averted. "Yeah." Confused at Bucky's tone, he asked, "How did you find out?"
His friend snorted into his glass, took another sip, and looked away. "I didn't."
"Then what're you talking about?"
"Nothing." Again, Bucky avoided his gaze. "Tell me about it. How did it happen?"
Huffing, Steve shoved a hand in one pocket of his pants. "We were on a mission, and that's how we distracted the guard so we could break into the morgue." He shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his head. "And I liked it. Really like it. I wanted to…"
His best friend was silent for so long, Steve thought he wouldn't respond. Then, when he did, Steve got the feeling he'd been about to say something different.
"There's a lot you haven't been telling me, Steve."
"Because it's confidential." A server came by, took their empty glasses, and replaced them with champagne.
Bucky swirled the amber liquid and took a sip. "What's her name?"
"Maria Hill. She represented SHIELD at the funeral, and again tonight." Steve glanced around the room, locating Hill talking to a man and woman who'd been introduced as relatives of DumDum Dugan.
Hill wore a black dress that hugged her curves, emphasizing them while appearing to minimize her appeal. If that had been her goal, she failed miserably. A small black hat with a froth of netting perched on the left side of her head, and her hair was loose, parted on the right, the waves not quite touching her shoulders. Her feet were tucked into black and white open toed heels, and from this distance, her legs appeared to be bare. As a whole, the package came across as chic and sophisticated, not to mention sexy as hell.
Steve pointed her out, and waited for Bucky's response. Again, his friend slapped him on the chest. "She's hot! No wonder you haven't told Joi."
"We've both been too busy to get into a deep discussion about our relationship." Another server came by, and Steve handed him the empty glass. A bright splash of red at the entrance caught his attention. His jaw dropped, and he found it difficult to breathe.
"You okay, Steve? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Unable to speak at first, Steve swallowed hard, and whispered, "I think I just did."
TBC
The character of Esmeralda was a kind, but shy and inept witch on the series Bewitched. The show aired from 1964 to 1972. Esmeralda was played by Alice Ghostley, added to the cast as a replacement for Samantha's Aunt Clara.
Esméralda born Agnès, is a fictional character in Victor Hugo's 1831 novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame (or Notre Dame de Paris).
Italian:
Come osi scagliare insulti! = How dare you hurl insults
Sei maleducato = How rude
Oserei perche sei un stronzo! = I dare because you're an a$$hole
