Disclaimer: I own nothing Marvel. This is for fun, not for profit. If you don't know the characters from the comics or the movies, then they are probably mine.
Sanctuary
Sanctuary was less a warship than a floating city. Bucky led the way as their newest guests followed behind him, eyes wide. The deck beneath their feet gleamed under the sun. To their right was a swimming pool that looked more like a lake, complete with a rock feature and waterfall. A handful of people were swimming in it, none of them the original members of the crew. Beyond the pool, the graceful glass peaks of the conservatory and arboretum rose over their heads. Most of the plants inside were edible, either medicinal or for food purposes. Shuri had designed the garden to be mostly self-sustaining, and it produced enough food to feed the entire ship. As their numbers grew, the garden seemed to produce more as well. Bucky hadn't quite figured out how exactly that worked, but he had learned not to question Shuri's genius. He laid a hand on the touchpad set into the glass, and it shifted apart, framing a doorway. They wound their way through the paths bordered in green, surrounded by the scent of growing things. It reminded him of being in Wakanda, and sometimes he was surprised by the vague feeling of nostalgia it gave him. Cooper waved at him from where he was picking fruit from one of the trees, and Bucky waved back. He caught a glimpse of Laura moving amongst the plants, Gracie a sleeping pile of dark curls in the pack on her back. In the distant corners of the conservatory, he could hear but not see the flock of Wakandan chickens that lived there. Their eggs were tasty enough to be worth the hunt through the massive greenhouse, and on special occasions, sometimes they were dinner.
The paths through the conservatory led to belowdecks. He led them past the gym, exercise room – available to everyone - and the armory and fight simulator, used by the core team to keep their skills in top shape. There was a library as well, and a pair of classrooms, where Mutt taught all the children. They had started with the handful of Barton children, plus Gabriele and Felix. As they had raided more abandoned Hydra sites and rescued more survivors, there had been more. More children, more teenagers. The others had occasionally expressed surprise or disbelief at this fact, but Bucky had experienced firsthand their ruthlessness and cruelty. While it didn't surprise him, it reminded him how far he had come, and hardened his resolve that he was on the right path. He had abandoned the thought that this could somehow save his immortal soul. Whoever was responsible for those decisions, it was well above his pay grade. But it did help him sleep a little better at night. He pointed out each of the amenities as they passed by. The others were not commenting, but their astonishment was palpable.
"The mess hall is open oh-six hundred for breakfast, eleven for lunch, and dinner starts at seventeen hundred," he explained, gesturing as they passed it. "Felsma is our excellent cook – sorry, executive chef. Please alert her to your individual dietary requirements. If you don't care for her meals, the individual quarters do have kitchenettes, but you'll also have to explain to her why you don't like her food." Truthfully, she made the best meals he'd ever tasted, but his standards were Depression-era fare, army rations, and the slop that Hydra served him, which had been formulated to meet his daily caloric needs with a serum-augmented metabolism but didn't offer much in the way of flavor or consistency. It had taken him a little while to adjust to foods having distinct textures, first in Wakanda and then here. He had nothing but admiration for the reptilian woman. She managed to create a variety of meals to satisfy everyone, from the picky toddlers to supersoldiers to human-animal hybrids that sometimes had very specific dietary needs. He led them down a staircase to the next level down, dedicated to personal quarters. Most of them appeared to be identical from the hallway, with the glaring exception of Lorelei's. She had been the product of Hydra's attempt at creating warriors that could fight underwater. She was, for lack of a better word, a mermaid. At least, she had gills and a fish tail, though the overall impression was more nightmare than fairy tale. The scales did not stop at her waist, but covered her torso, face and arms, all the way down to her webbed fingertips. Her face was narrow, with wide, unblinking eyes. A row of spines along her back and fanning out from her head were filled with deadly poison, and she could also generate electrical shocks strong enough to incapacitate or kill. She could not survive out of the water. They had found her half-dead in a rancid aquarium at a derelict facility in Poland. Initially, she had embraced the freedom they had given her, traveling in the open ocean. But she had tracked the ship down after a few months, growing tired of the companionship of fish. They had converted one of the rooms into a massive 12,000 gallon saltwater aquarium, and she happily swam there, interacting with people as they passed the large window that connected her tank to the hallway. She swam closer to see the newest members of their little community, her piscine face arranged in the closest expression she had to a smile.
"These will be your quarters while you are here," he explained, gesturing to a row of four rooms that had been unoccupied until now. "They have standard precautions built in – waterproof, flame retardant, resistant to electricity, customizable climate controls. Any further changes you need, talk to me, Scott, Steve or Clint." He opened the door to the first room, and Ember wandered in, eyes wide as she took in the comfortable bed, kitchenette, private bathroom and modern Wakandan conveniences. Bucky sympathized. Compared to the oppressive conditions she was used to, this was almost unimaginable luxury. She half-turned back towards Bucky, eyes shining.
"Is this real?" she asked hesitantly. "I'm not dreaming… or dead?" With a lopsided smile, he shook his head.
"It's real," he assured her. She nodded slowly, looking around with a thoughtful expression.
"You said flame retardant," she recalled. "How much heat can it withstand?"
"It's been tested to 3000 degrees Centigrade, but if you need more than that, we can come up with something." He had to give Scott credit; for as clueless as he could seem sometimes, he really did come up with some ingenious modifications considering the variety of beings on board the ship. Ember nodded.
"Thank you. For everything," she said. He nodded and smiled. After getting the others settled into their quarters and a brief discussion of what modifications might be needed for them, his tour duties were done. The standard tour did not include the control room or the underbelly, where Scott and his assistants kept everything running smoothly. The ship was powered by a combination of solar and hydroelectric, as well as a generator that could scour garbage out of the water and burn it cleanly for extra fuel. In the time they'd been at sea, Scott estimated they'd cleaned up 400 tons of trash. Saving the world in more way than one. He continued down the hall to his own quarters, which was two decks down. Halfway there, he encountered a dark-haired girl with a huge smile, a golden-haired puppy in a sundress beside her and a squat, round canister trailing behind them.
"Hi, Uncle Bucky, how did the mission go?" Lila chirped. "Did you bring back more friends for me?" Beside her, Gabriele slowly transformed back to her human form. Bucky grinned at the title she had bestowed upon him. It had been months since she started calling him that, but it still made him smile.
"It was successful," he assured her. "Nobody your age, though, and you know you need to give them some time to adjust before you start trying to be their best friend." Lila feigned a pout.
"Fine. I promise," she sighed, then brightened. "Are you coming swimming with us later? Nate wants you to launch him across the pool again." Bucky chuckled.
"I'll think about it," he hedged. "Right now, I just need a shower."
"Okay," Lila chirped, and beckoned to the machine behind them. "Come on, Bittybot." She had constructed the robot to help fetch her tools, but it seemed to follow her everywhere. Bittybot chirped affirmative and rolled after the girls. Bucky watched them go with a half-grin, then continued on his way.
He breathed a sigh of relief as walked through the door to his quarters. They weren't ostentatious – he still wasn't prone to decorating – but everything was where he'd left it. Well, almost everything. Balaur trilled at him, launching into the air and landing perched on his metal shoulder. They had found him and several of his nestmates on one of their missions, leftovers of a vanity project by a high-ranking Hydra official. They had apparently been trying to create dragons. What they had produced were ten pound flying lizards that burped smoke or acid when they were threatened. They hadn't intended to bring any of them back with them, but Balaur had followed Bucky all the way back to the ship, chirping. Sam insisted that he was only attracted by the gold in Bucky's arm, but he wasn't so sure. He had built a habitat for him in the corner, by the window looking out over the water. Occasionally, he would wear him around on deck, giving him ample opportunity to fly away, but Balaur always chose to stay. Curling his tail around the back of Bucky's neck, he chirped contentedly, tucking his head under Bucky's chin. Bucky absently scratched under his pet's jaw as he started putting away his weapons.
FBI Director Tate Wells trudged back to his office after a long day. Demonstrations had been popping up around the country protesting unfair treatment of Enhanced persons, and they had been gathering information on every person who attended, investigating if they might have any indication of having superhuman abilities, or if they were a threat. Most of them did not. There were also several reports of crimes that did not seem possible for a normal human. He had fifteen divisions alone investigating those. With a sigh, he sat down at his desk and flipped over the file on the very top, scowling down at the photos of a woman with wide, hazel eyes staring defiantly at him from the mug shot in her file.
"If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just asked, Director Wells." His head snapped up as the voice wafted from the couch in the corner of his office. How had he missed the woman sitting there with her dog at her feet?
"How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded, picking up the phone to call security to come and escort her from his office. The receiver gave him no dial tone, only dead air. He tried depressing the button several times, but found it was still not functional. With muttered profanity, he hung up the receiver and grabbed instead for his gun. She did not seem concerned, even as he leveled his firearm at her head. "Why are the phones out?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
"I just wanted to make sure we weren't disturbed." She stood and sauntered over to the desk. "I'm fairly certain you will not want witnesses to this conversation, either." She touched the back of the chair across from him and pulled the chair closer. "Do you mind if I sit down?" He didn't answer, but she sat anyway. His hand with the gun wavered slightly. He wanted to pull the trigger, but he couldn't make his fingers close.
"I could shoot you dead right now, in my office," he growled. The dog took a step between him and the woman, staring at him fixedly.
"That would save you the four million dollars, wouldn't it?" she mused. Shock lanced through his stomach, but he kept it from his expression. She smiled knowingly. "Yes, I know about the contract you put out on my life. Well, what are you waiting for?" She gestured at the handgun expectantly. "Shoot me, right here and now. You might find that you don't actually want to do that. Or rather, it's not in your best interests to do that."
"Oh, really? I don't?" he replied sarcastically. He raised the pistol again, training it right between her eyes. "Better start talking fast. You're a dangerous woman, Dr. Taylor. Some could argue the greatest threat to our society today. You might look sweet and innocent, but I don't buy it."
"Sweet, perhaps. I've never claimed to be innocent. What is so threatening about people asking to be treated with decency and respect?" she asked mildly. "I only represent a threat to the status quo. I suppose I see where that could be scary to you. But what has been set in motion will continue, with or without me. I'm just a figurehead at this point. Others have taken up the cause. Killing me will not stop it. Turn me into a martyr, and you ignite the powder keg. Do you really want a revolution on your hands? Especially one that starts with an unarmed blind woman and her dog found dead in your office?" He contemplated that for a long moment. She had a point, damn her to hell. He lowered his weapon, setting it carefully on the desk between them, the muzzle still pointing at her.
"Maybe not here," he admitted. "But there are many plausible… accidents… you could have. Particularly given your condition." She smiled thinly, her sightless eyes trained on his.
"My preferred method is usually to appeal to a person's better nature, but I also am aware that not everyone has one," she said flatly. "It is in your best interests to keep me alive, Tate." He raised his eyebrows at her.
"How do you figure that?" he scoffed. She smiled at him a moment, though there was no mirth or joy in her expression.
"There exists a series of envelopes with names on them," she explained cryptically. "One of the names is yours. In the event of my death or disappearance, should it be under suspicious circumstances, all the envelopes will be released to the press. I am quite certain you would prefer that this not happen."
"What exactly is in the envelopes, and why should I be worried about them?" he asked derisively.
"Mostly secrets," she replied. "Along with proof. For instance, I am certain the President would be interested to find out that you've been financing an apartment for your mistress with taxpayer dollars. Your wife might also be interested, but for different reasons." Tate grew pale.
"So this is blackmail," he said shakily.
"Did you hear me ask for money?" she contradicted him. "This is merely a warning." She stood up, the dark canine form immediately moving to her side. "Cancel your contract. You will only run out of assassins willing to work with the FBI, or with you personally. And stop your campaign of misinformation towards the Enhanced Persons Defense Coalition. You are only delaying the inevitable."
"And what do I get in return, if I do that?" he challenged with a bravado he didn't entirely feel.
"You get to keep your job, Director Wells," she answered. "And your mistress. You get to keep your secrets. A man in your position doesn't get to where you are without a few skeletons, in your closet… or elsewhere. I assure you, I make a much better ally than an enemy." With that, she turned and was gone. His attention was drawn to his desk. An envelope now covered the gun he had laid on it. With a shaking hand, he picked it up and emptied out the contents. His heart sank. There were receipts, pictures, email chains, financial statements, his sins laid bare. On top of it all, a handwritten note informed him that these were just copies, and the originals were in a secure location. The office phone rang, jarring him out of his horrified reverie. He absently picked up the receiver, his attention still on the papers in front of him. It was his wife, asking if he would be home for dinner. He guiltily flipped over the picture on top of the pile as he assured her he would be home shortly. After he said goodbye to her and she hung up, he turned to his computer and logged in.
They all took shifts in the control room on a rotating schedule. This morning, it was Bucky's turn. The controls were sophisticated, and did not need much interference, but someone still had to be present to monitor any incoming threats or alerts, as well as the multitude of monitors that kept track of everything on board, from hull integrity and engine function to cabin temperatures. Since they traveled in quiet waters far away from any major shipping routes, it wasn't the most exciting job on board Sanctuary. This morning, though, both Sam and Clint were expected back, one from a scouting mission and the other from a supply run. Laura opened the door to the control room and crossed to where she could watch the landing pad, Gracie in her arms.
"Clint should be back soon," she reminded Bucky. "Do you mind if we watch for him here?" He shook his head with a smile and gestured grandly to a seat by the window before turning his attention back to the sensor field.
"He's about ten minutes out," Bucky noted aloud. Laura nodded acknowledgement, bouncing Gracie on her knee as they both watched. The little girl giggled. Bucky smiled as he jotted down readings in the log. His smile widened to a grin as he noted that Sam's arrival was imminent.
"This is Falcon requesting clearance to land," came over the radio. Bucky hit the toggle.
"Clearance granted, but aren't you supposed to be going by your other name, in case someone's listening in?" he teased. A groan came over the comm.
"Oh, God, it's you. Why did it have to be you on duty today?" Sam groused. Bucky chuckled.
"I'm not God, but thanks. Must be your lucky day."
"You better not be playing High Speed Dirt again when I come in for a landing," Sam warned. Bucky scoffed.
"Why would I do that?" he asked innocently. "You're not even wearing the wings." For longer-range missions, Sam took the converted Alfa Romeo instead. It could fly hundreds of miles, dive underwater, cruise over land, and it had the same stealth technology that their ship did, giving it the ability to vanish from prying eyes. At the moment, it had no reason to hide. Bucky already had his music player hooked up and ready to go as the flying Spider came in for a landing. He watched Sam climb out of the aircraft and start walking across the deck. His gait slowed, then stopped as he heard the music playing over the speakers.
…And this bird you cannot change, oh oh oh oh oh…
"Free Bird, really?" Bucky saw him shake his head, his voice over the comm annoyed. "Man, I hate you sometimes." Bucky chuckled to himself as Sam sauntered off to find Steve and give him his report. The Lynyrd Skynyrd song was winding down as Clint glided in with the decidedly staider cargo plane they used for supply runs. Laura stood up with Gracie, rushing down to greet her husband. Bucky watched as she ran up to Clint. Grace held her arms out to her father, and Clint scooped her up, and spun her around over his head, then greeted Laura with a kiss. She snaked her arm around his waist, and he pulled her shoulders closer as they both strolled across the deck. Bucky sighed, for a moment feeling a pang in his heart, but then the moment passed as the monitor to his left started beeping.
"Did you get everything on the list?" Laura asked as Clint escorted her into the conservatory for a stroll amongst the greenery. He nodded.
"Plus a little extra," he added, flashing her a pair of salted caramel chocolate bars.
"Oooh," she cooed, taking the candy and giving him a peck on the cheek. "You sweet talker, you." Gracie squealed from her vantage point on Clint's shoulders and patted him with baby hands. "Don't you need to get the supplies unloaded?"
"Nah," Clint said dismissively. "It can wait until the next shift takes over. Too many suspicious items in this load. Do you think he suspects?"
"He hasn't said anything to me," Laura admitted. "But you know he's not stupid."
"True," Clint acknowledged. "Better not let Lila anywhere near him, then."
Natasha came to relieve him shortly after lunchtime. He gave her a civil nod. In the weeks they had been at sea, finding more people to rescue, the two of them had struck an uneasy truce. He was still slightly wary of her and her motives, but she had proven to be a reliable teammate so far.
"Anything exciting to report?" she asked. "Anything special going on today?" Bucky shrugged.
"Engines are running at 15% less efficiency than usual. Scott's going to run a diagnostic. Climate controls in the gym are going on and offline. It's about twenty degrees warmer than usual. Gretchen said she might start a hot yoga class if it isn't fixed. I haven't decided yet if I want to join the class or go fix the temperature." He smirked, half to himself. Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Not much else notable. The supplies that Clint brought back still need to be unloaded. I might head down and help with that," he replied. Nat shook her head slightly.
"I'm sure someone will get to it," she said breezily. "Steve wanted to go over some of the intel Sam brought back with you. I think we might be close to green lighting another mission. Oh, and I brought you lunch." She handed him one of Felsma's box lunches. He took it and hefted it, as if its weight could tell him its contents.
"It's not poisoned, right?" he said lightly. He was mostly joking. Natasha scoffed.
"If it was, do you really think I'd tell you just because you asked?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Probably not," he admitted. She sashayed over to the big chair and settled herself into it.
"For what it's worth, it isn't," she said casually. Bucky tucked the meal under his arm, still undecided about whether to trust her and eat it or not. In the seven minutes it took him to reach the strategy room, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. It would give her no strategic advantage to kill him right now, and at any rate, he was hungry. He flipped open the box, taking a big bite out of the sandwich he found inside as he stepped through the doorway. Steve and Sam were standing at the table in the middle, staring down at the display. The three-dimensional image of a facility hovered between them.
"There you are, Buck," Steve said in greeting. "Looks like we've got another mission shaping up soon."
"If you think you're up for it," Sam interjected. "It's thirty or forty this time. An isolated bunker on Severny Island, ten miles from the Kara Sea." Bucky's eyes widened, and his jaw set.
"I know the place. I was there once… about forty years ago," he said softly. "I thought it was destroyed."
"Well, my intel says otherwise," Sam replied. "So either your memory is off, or they rebuilt it. Forty years is a long time." Bucky nodded.
"Who'll be in on this one?" he asked. Steve shrugged.
"Standard complement. The three of us. Clint. Wanda - if she hasn't disappeared to go see Vision again. Natasha. Maybe Felix if Wanda's there and his mom's okay with it. Scott."
"Maybe we should iron out who before we decide exactly what," Bucky suggested.
"Or you could tell us everything you remember about this place," Sam rejoined. "I couldn't get a lot of details on the interior layout or security measures they might have."
"I'll give you what I have," Bucky replied. "But like you said, forty years is a long time. No guarantees it's still the way I remember. If I'm even remembering it right." He still didn't entirely trust his memory all the time. Much of it was nightmarish and surreal. Sometimes it was difficult to sort what had actually happened and what his brain tortured him with at night. But there were bright spots. And most of the places were real, at least. That knowledge had served them well over the past weeks and months. There was something… vindicating… about taking the knowledge he had accumulated as the Winter Solder, Fist of Hydra, and using it to wrest Hydra's victims from its grasp.
Their strategy session lasted for most of the afternoon. Sam was the one to remind them that they had plenty of time to plan and didn't have to iron out all the details right away. They agreed to take a break for the day, and the atmosphere in the room immediately shifted.
"What do you have planned for the rest of the day, Buck?" Steve asked. Bucky shrugged.
"Probably just a quiet night in my quarters. Why?" he asked.
"You have no idea what day it is, do you?" Sam asked, an odd expression on his face. Bucky frowned.
"It's Saturday," he said pointedly. Steve chuckled softly and clasped Bucky on the shoulder.
"It's March tenth, Bucky," he prodded. Bucky could tell from his tone there should be a significance to the date, and it did seem to him like it was an important date in his memory, but he couldn't remember how.
"Yes, I know," he replied. Steve looked at him a moment longer, then glanced at Sam.
"Are they ready?" he asked cryptically. Sam nodded.
"Laura messaged me. Everything's set," he answered. Bucky looked from one to the other with a wary expression. They were acting strangely, and he had an uncomfortable feeling something was going on that they had purposely not told him about. Surprises had never meant anything good for the Winter Soldier.
"What are you guys talking about?" he asked guardedly, trying to ignore the rising panic in his stomach. Steve gestured with a jerk of his head and pulled Bucky towards the door.
"There's something we want to show you," Steve explained.
His anxiety seemed to ease slightly when they seemed to be going in the direction of the mess hall. Maybe Felsma had created a new entrée and wanted some victims, er, volunteers to try it out. It wouldn't be the first time, but they usually weren't so enigmatic about it. Steve glanced over at him, the excitement on his face turning slightly concerned.
"You okay, Buck?" he asked.
"I'm not a huge fan of not knowing what's going on," Bucky admitted.
"Don't worry, you'll figure everything out in another minute or so," Sam said reassuringly. "Unless you're even dumber than I thought." Bucky shot him a dirty look, but before he could respond with a retort, they reached the mess hall, and Steve opened the door. It was dark inside, and Bucky's hand automatically dropped to the empty holster on his thigh, tensing in anticipation of an ambush.
"SURPRISE!" Bucky stopped dead as all the lights went on, revealing the hall packed with the ship's inhabitants. It had been decorated with balloons and streamers. One table to his left was overflowing with cheerfully wrapped packages, and a double set of tables to his right were covered with food, filling the hall with enticing fragrance. A magnificent four-tier cake was the centerpiece, a hundred and one candles aflame. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Bucky, happy birthday to you!" everyone sang. He stood frozen, jaw slack, overwhelmed. It wasn't often that the ship's occupants all gathered together in one place at the same time. As far as he could tell, everyone was there: everyone who had joined them or had been rescued, the ragtag band of Hydra rejects. There must be over three hundred of them there. Even Lorelei was present. Someone must have helped her into her portable tank and moved her upstairs for the party. Birthday party. His birthday party. He hadn't had a birthday party in so long that he'd forgotten today was his birthday. Sam poked him in the ribs.
"You gonna blow your candles out, or are you waiting for that cake to burn the whole ship down?" he asked, eyes bright with humor. Shaking his head, Bucky stepped closer to the cake, took a deep breath, and blew out all of the candles. The crowd cheered. Bucky stared in fascination at the cake. It was covered in painstaking detail, and at first glance, it reminded him of illustrations from ancient Greek art, depicting heroic acts of legend. As he looked closer, he realized each scene was a picture of something that had happened, and each one featured him. There he was rescuing Gretchen and the rest of the Stormbringers, here was the successful mission in Pripyat, there was the rescue of Lorelei, and on and on. They even seemed to be in chronological order, like a graphic story of everything he'd done since coming on board.
"What do you think?" Steve asked from behind his right shoulder. Bucky grinned and shook his head.
"This is incredible. Is this your handiwork?" he asked. Steve grinned sheepishly.
"Felsma made the cake, I just did a little painting on the outside. It's not a medium I'm used to working with, but I think it turned out okay." Bucky snorted.
"Turned out okay? It's too pretty to eat," he retorted. "I hope there's another boring cake somewhere, because I don't think I can cut into this one." Steve chuckled and slung his arm over Bucky's shoulder.
"We'll have someone else do it, then. You won't even have to watch. We just wanted to remind you of everything you've done here. There isn't a single person aboard this ship who doesn't owe you their life."
"Speak for yourself, Steve," Sam retorted. "He still owes me a car." Bucky chuckled. He had been close to welling up at Steve's words, but Sam diffused the moment. "Now, are you going to go first for the food, birthday boy, or do I have permission to go ahead of you?" Bucky raised an eyebrow at Sam, but then realized everyone was waiting for him, so he grabbed a plate and loaded up. Some of it was very familiar – produce from their own trees and plants in the conservatory – but some were rare treats that Clint must have brought in on his supply run. Things that were usually in short supply on board, like chocolates and soda pop, featured alongside chicken skewers seasoned with Wakandan traditional spices and pasta dishes that he had never seen Felsma serve before. There were even bottles of Clint's homebrew off to the side. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered his sandwich had been several hours before. He sat down at his customary spot at the usual table and began to devour the delectable fare. Sam sat down next to him, one item conspicuously missing from his plate.
"You don't want to try the chicken?" Bucky said incredulously, waving a piece. "It's delicious."
"Barnes, you know I don't eat that anymore," Sam responded. "I can't eat something I've had a conversation with. Unlike some assholes."
"Well, that's where you're doing it wrong," Bucky countered. "You're not supposed to eat with your asshole."
"Sam, elbows off the table," Mutt chided as he sat down across the table from them. Sam shifted his indignant glare from Bucky to Mutt but did move his elbows. Their table was quickly filling up.
"Man, I cannot believe I am getting lectured on my table manners by a guy who licks his own balls," Sam complained.
"Not at the dinner table, I don't," Mutt replied mildly. "Besides, I still maintain that you are just jealous."
"What?" Sam spluttered. "Why would I be jealous of that?"
"Why would you not be?" Mutt fired back.
"Don't forget, there are women and children present," Steve warned, though from the pink in his cheeks, it wasn't just the women and children he was concerned about.
"What's wrong, Steve?" Natasha interjected from down the table. "Are you afraid the women will be jealous, too? I mean, I might be. What about you, Felsma?" she asked as the reptilian woman strolled by the table. She always liked to see how well her food was received.
"Me? Jealouss?" Felsma contemplated the question for a moment, tilting her head to the side. "Not exactly jealouss, no." A long, thin tongue darted out from her mouth and moistened her ever-unblinking eyes. Most of the table erupted in laughter.
"Guys, seriously…" Steve's face was turning scarlet. Bucky threw his head back and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and his sides hurt. He didn't stop grinning the entire evening, and his face was starting to hurt from the unaccustomed expression. Everyone had kind words for him, and he found himself overwhelmed by the gifts they had brought. For him, all for him. The party lasted late into the night, and he was tired and still somewhat dazed by the time he returned to his quarters. Balaur greeted him with a chirrup, curling up on his chest after Bucky flopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, absently scratching behind Balaur's tympanum. The warmth that still lingered in his chest had little to do with the balmy weather or the three bottles of Clint's homebrew he had consumed. After more than seventy years as soldier, captive, prisoner of war, brainwashed assassin, fugitive and refugee, Bucky Barnes was finally home.
Thanks to DarylDixon'sLover, NotMarge, Qweb, karina001, the very lovely Guest, and Zoe Avery for your reviews! I apologize for the long delay in posting, but hopefully the long chapter makes up for it!
This kind of does sound like an ending, but it's not. We aren't there yet!
