Chapter 54: Apology
November 21, 2016
After the dust settled in her mind, after most of her memories returned to their places, after her brain and body finally healed from the terrible things Hydra inflicted on her, Luce remembered Thanksgiving.
It was early in the morning, and she was tangled up in the sheets and in Bucky's embrace. They hadn't slept like this since before, when they shared a tent and a flat with a tiny, tiny bed. But they slept like this now, after Shuri excavated the shit that Hydra planted deep in their brains. Bucky was actually awake first, which was an unusual occurrence, and when she shifted to fit more closely to him he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him, keeping her eyes on his as his hand came to rest on her cheek, then closing them as he leaned down to kiss her lips instead.
She adored these slow, tender kisses. They were the ones that made her remember the good times, and the good feelings. She kissed him a little deeper, but there was no rush to their movements, no fervor. It was as easy as breathing, and as comfortable as returning home after a long day. His hand slipped into her hair, holding her to him, and her arms drifted around his shoulders. She rolled back, pulling him with her, loving the way the weight of his body settled over hers. He still kissed her gently, savoring each moment. She ran her fingers through his hair, surprised when her ring didn't catch on it-
Wait, she didn't have a ring.
She used to have a ring.
Where was her ring?!
She remembered Bucky asking, back when he was Barnes, if he could give it to her. If she would wear it. She remembered nearly crying when she said yes. She remembered showing it off to the boys, to Steve, and remembered that night, when they made love and the ring kept catching on his hair and-
Thanksgiving. It had been Thanksgiving.
"When is Thanksgiving?" she asked suddenly, pulling her lips from Bucky's. He looked shocked for a moment, even a little dazed, as he tried to get his mind to catch up to what she asked.
"What?" he said, a very eloquent response from the former assassin.
"Thanksgiving. Isn't it soon?" she asked again. Peggy told them they didn't have time to celebrate it that year, but they made time. They were feeling homesick after four years abroad. Bucky sighed, burying his face in her neck.
"That's what you're thinking about right now?" he groaned, his voice muffled by his position. She shifted again, noticing that parts of him were more awake than others.
"I can try to multitask." she said, but he shook his head. He'd been patient with her, waiting for each and every step that they took. He was still waiting, and still patient, but she could tell when he was frustrated.
"I don't want you to multitask." he sighed, rolling off of her but staying next to her. Luce felt approximately like she'd been stabbed right through the heart, and she made to reach towards him before stopping herself, letting her hand fall onto the bed between them.
"I'm sorry. I did something wrong." she said. He sighed again, covering her hand with his own.
"No, you didn't. I'm sorry for being petulant." he replied. She let out a low whistle.
"A five dollar word."
"You're a five dollar girl."
"I'm worth much more than five dollars."
This was not an exchange that they'd had before, but it had the same feelings as before. She intertwined their fingers, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it.
"What made you think of Thanksgiving?" he whispered. His heart rate and blood pressure had returned to normal, and though clearly he'd been hoping for other activities that morning, he still looked at her with affection.
"Your hair." she said. At his confused face, she explained, "For some reason, I thought my hand would get caught in it. That's when I remembered the ring. And that Thanksgiving."
He smiled, looking like the old Bucky through and through. "That was the best Thanksgiving." he said, and she could feel herself grinning in return.
"I thought so too." she agreed. "By far the best one we spent together."
"The bar is pretty low." he said. His face turned serious again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything." she replied. He'd said those words before, followed by a proposal. She knew that was not what was happening now.
"Is there something that I'm doing, or not doing…to make you still be afraid of me?" he asked. His voice was soft, a whisper across the sheets.
"No, no you are the only person in this world that I trust, that I love." she said. Ever since that day in the market, they agreed that even if they did not know how to love anymore, what they had between them was the closest they would ever get.
"Did they…when you were back, did they hurt you?" he asked. He did not mean it in the literal sense; after all, that was an obvious and resounding yes. She might not be great with euphemism nowadays, but she understood what he was getting at. She remembered the scientists stripping her, a few of the guards discussing sordid things, but all it took was a blank stare to deter them. Even the basest of animals can sense danger.
"No." she said. "I have no excuse. I don't know what's making me stop."
"There doesn't need to be an excuse." he said. He was the last person to judge this part of her. After all, their records were arranged in a way that made sense to no one but him, and every time he went through the front door, he had to check to the left, and then the right. Parts of them were different after all this time, and it was a matter of recognizing and learning it. "Do you remember our first time?"
"Intimately." she replied. It was the first time she truly understood vulnerability with another person, and trusting them. It was the first time she felt truly cherished by someone. She waited for a saucy comment, or implication, or an offer. She got none of those.
"Then you'll remember that I will always wait for you." he said. "And when you're ready, I'll take care of you."
The words alone made her nearly come undone, and if it weren't for the dog scratching at the front door and the goats yelling from the barn, she might have taken him up on his promise right then. Even with those responsibilities, she considered it.
"Let's have Thanksgiving." she said instead. The psychologist that Steve recommended they see suggested schedules, and planning. After decades of someone else dictating their every move, it felt good to make these decisions themselves. And perhaps, if she had one thing dedicated to the day, then she could add something else. One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin.
"I'll make the turkey. You're in charge of the pie." he said. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead before getting up. He pulled a shirt over his bare chest and tugged his pants up over his boxer briefs, effectively ruining the beautiful picture he'd been giving her in the morning sunlight. He didn't look up at her once, but from the way his lips kept quivering as he suppressed a smile, he knew she was watching. What she would give to be able to be physical with him again, to unlock whatever part of her brain kept her from it. But she only got out of bed and helped him lay the shawl over his shoulder, protecting the raw, scarred skin from the harsh sun.
She got dressed while he fixed them a snack, just some toast and cheese that would give them enough energy to make it through the morning chores. She often tried to get out of these, citing that she could instead use the time to make breakfast. But Bucky only told her that more hands made for less work, and dragged her out onto the property.
The goats stamped their hooves when they pushed the barn door open, the two little ones already scampering about the stall and trying to knock down the walls. Luce went to the feed stores while Bucky opened the stall door, allowing them to run unhindered into the yard. She dug the bucket into the food, carrying the heavy bucket with one arm out to the pasture. The goats flocked to her, bleating loudly and nibbling at the hem of her tunic in an effort to get her attention, and therefore the best access to the food. She gently pushed them away with her knees, giving herself just enough space to lay the food out in a long line. Then it was back into the barn to help clean out the stall.
She remembered helping out with this kind of work, when she was younger and her family couldn't hire help after what they now called the Great Depression. She told herself, way back when she left for Hawaii, that she wouldn't do this kind of thing again. But being here, with Bucky, and taking care of all their little kids…she didn't mind it. Farm work was nicer when she wasn't forced into it. Everything was nicer when she wasn't forced into it.
After the stall, it was time to track down the cow and milk her. Following that, it was watering the plants in the garden and throwing a stick until Mario gave up and laid down. Then, finally, they could go back in, clean up, and eat. Another day living the dream.
"What if we had Steve over for Thanksgiving?" she asked over supper. That was supposed to be the point, right? Spending time with family? Neither of them had family anymore, but they still had Steve.
"We would have to invite Sam and Natasha as well. They're working together now." Bucky explained, choosing to keep his eyes on his plate. She lifted an eyebrow.
"'Working together'?" she asked, her tone laced with meaning. After all, she and Bucky had been working together since 1944. Bucky stopped chewing, his brows furrowing as he thought.
"As far as I know, it's just working." he said. "But I suppose there could be other implications."
"Hm." she said. More than likely, it was just what he said. But in the off chance it wasn't… "Then we should have all three of them. Steve has spoken very highly of Sam and Natasha."
"You've met Natasha before, actually." Bucky said as Luce gathered their empty plates, taking them to the sink. She waited for the water to get warm, using the time to wrack her brain. But while she could remember Steve mentioning Natasha on multiple occasions, she did not ever remember meeting her.
"I think you're mistaken." she said, starting to scrub the plates clean.
"We knew her as Natalia. When we were in Belarus." he said carefully. Based on his tone alone, she knew they did not have fond memories of Belarus. And as he said the names, the images came to the forefront of her mind, of the ballerinas and the redhead and the training on the bridge. Of the torture. Of the graduation ceremony.
"She may not want to see us, then." she said around the tightness in her chest. How many girls in the Red Room still lived? How many had turned out exactly like her? She shook her head, banishing the thought. It was not one she was ready to face.
"I'll ask Steve." Bucky said quietly. "All else fails, we'll have it anyway. Just the two of us."
"That's all I need." she said, giving him a smile. The statement was true, but she couldn't deny that in the past few minutes, she'd grown rather fond of the idea of a big family Thanksgiving, even if their family only consisted of five tortured super soldier pariahs. She'd always been about making her own family anyway.
True to his word, Bucky went to the market the next day and purchased a large fowl that could be considered a turkey, if no one looked too closely. While he found that, Luce obtained flour, and butter, and a basketful of beautiful apples. They were a mix of pink and gold; she'd never seen anything like it, but they felt like the right thing. When they returned home, he did not ask her to help or even watch as he slaughtered the bird and removed all the feathers, though her hands definitely would have made for less work in that scenario. All she knew was that, by that night, there was a large bird dry brining in the ice box. She spent the next day using the tablet to search for recipes; she remembered everything from her time before, but even back then she couldn't say the exact quantities of everything required for pie crust. It wasn't like pasta, where the volume of ingredients could vary. It was a science.
So Bucky let her have the morning off, leaving her in the kitchen with her butter and flour and salt. She'd read the instructions enough times to have them memorized, but she still kept the window up in front of her, reminding her of all the steps. Really and truly, it had been almost eighty years since she made pie. Luckily her fingertips still ran a little cold, and she was able to slowly work the butter into the flour, being careful not to completely smash it with her strength. The texture was so achingly familiar, transporting her back to her mother's kitchen, where they celebrated a good year of crops with a good dessert. Her mother had been so happy that day, and so was she. It was before George proposed, before Luce left, before she knew that her parents had plans for her that did not involve her opinion.
She had very few happy memories from Virginia, but that was one of them.
The smell, the distinct scent of flour and butter together, made her feel a nostalgic warmth in her chest. She took the water from the fridge, adding just a couple tablespoons of it and mixing it all slowly. These movements she took extra slow, feeling how the dough came together, making sure she didn't overwork it. It wouldn't do to go through all this and end up with rubbery pie crust. That was her problem, when she was little. She always wanted to knead it and knead it until all the flour was perfectly incorporated and the dough stuck together. But that wasn't the point.
She wrapped the dough and put it back in the ice box to rest and chill, then began the steady, beautiful tedium of washing, peeling, and slicing the apples. Her brain, still stuck in Depression-era cooking trends, told her she got too many. She readied them all anyway, figuring they could eat the extra. Faced with a massive bowl filled with paper-thin slices of apple, her brain finally turned off and her hands knew what to do. A pinch of salt. Dashes of cinnamon, and nutmeg. A pinch of clove and allspice. A heavy handful of sugar, and the juice of a lemon. And then it was time to mix.
She had to be careful, so very careful, so that she wouldn't end up bruising all the apples. Pieces kept threatening to fly from the bowl, but she was able to turn her hands just right to keep them in their place. The smell of the spices seemed to fill the entire room, but instead of overwhelming her, she felt like basking in the warmth of them. The sugar scratched against her skin and she could feel as it stuck there, but she didn't mind the sensation. Her hypersensitivity was improving, she noticed. Or perhaps, she was just able to tolerate this.
Bucky came back inside, going to wash up before joining her in the kitchen. He twitched his nose a little at the smell but didn't comment, just getting the bird from the ice box and rinsing it in the sink. While he did that, Luce got her dough out, carefully rolling it and laying it in the pie dish. Then, while the ovens preheated and Bucky stuffed and seasoned the bird, she started placing the apple slices. The instructions on the website said that she could just dump them all in a pile, but she'd also seen the picture of the rose-apple tarts, and couldn't quite let them go. She could, of course, use her superior muscular attributes to lay the apples down quickly, but that would risk bruising them, or tearing the dough, or upsetting the whole line. And so, she placed them slice by slice, one by one, until the whole thing was filled in a beautiful, spiral sculpture of apple.
She felt very accomplished, putting the pie into the second oven. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing she'd ever created with her two hands. If it tasted half as good as it looked, she would consider it a success. Until then, she could just snack on the leftover apples, and hope for the best.
"What did Steve end up saying?" she asked, taking one from the bowl. Bucky checked the bird, then came to join her. He didn't like sweets, but if she took sugar and spices and threw them over apples, then he was a more than willing participant.
"We'll have a full house tonight." he said. Luce nodded sharply; it was easy, just having Steve over. That didn't bother her anymore. But now, there would be two more people in the house, two people that she didn't know. Well, one and a half people she didn't know. But Sam had helped Bucky escape, and Natasha had helped Steve escape (at least according to his wild stories), so perhaps they could start one step ahead of normal strangers.
It helped that she still had a lot of preparation to focus on, getting vegetables from the garden and helping Bucky cook them up. The pie finished first, and she actually remembered to use mitts whenever she took it out of the oven, laying it carefully on the island to cool. Mario padded into the kitchen to sniff experimentally at it, his nose not quite reaching the counter height. Bucky tried to shoo him out of the kitchen, but Luce snuck him a slice of apple, apparently a good enough consolation prize.
Bucky was just pulling the bird out of its oven when they heard the SUV in the distance, barreling towards them. The initial flush of panic dissipated with a touch of his hand and a few gentle words in Italian. He did not speak the language often, but it was her favorite when he did.
"We just need to finish everything up. It's going to be fine." he said. She took in a calming breath, centering her mind. She helped birth baby goats, and haggled with farmers at the market. She made a friend at the bakery, who made her special treats on occasion. She could handle a meal with Steve and two of his colleagues.
The car doors slamming was their final warning of incoming allies, and if she doubted trusting them beforehand then Mario's reaction blew all that away. He waited at the door with his tail wagging, despite the sounds of more than one pair of boots on the porch. There was a careful knock that Bucky answered as Luce stayed in the kitchen, making sure everything was fixed the way it needed.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Steve boomed, holding one arm out to embrace Bucky. Luckily Bucky only had one arm himself, so that he didn't bump into the shoulder that Steve had evidently dislocated.
"The fuck is this?" Bucky asked, gesturing to said shoulder.
"Figured I'd bring Luce an early Christmas present." Steve said, sending a smile her way. She could tell he was hurting pretty good, but he kept the brave face as she left the kitchen to join them.
"Neither Sam nor Natasha knows how to reset it?" she asked, looking behind him at the two companions. Sam gave her a pleasant smile, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline.
"Sam can do it, but Sam may throw up." he said, reaching out to shake her hand. It only took her one moment of hesitation before she reached for it. "Cap's told us a lot about you." He glanced over at Bucky, a slice of derision on his face. "I know you."
"It's unfortunate for both of us." Bucky deadpanned. Sam stepped aside, letting in the last of their little group of misfits. Though she was older, and her hair was short and blonde, Luce would have recognized Natalia - or Natasha, as she said now - anywhere.
"Uh, hey." Natasha said, glancing between Luce and Bucky. It wasn't nerves leading her to do this; she was gathering intel, seeing exactly what she was working with. "Do you guys remember me or is this gonna get weird?"
"It's already weird." Sam said.
"We remember." Luce said. She didn't know what emotion betrayed her with those two words, but apparently Natasha did.
"Good, everyone knows everyone." Steve said, pulling their attention back to him. "Luce?"
"Right." Luce said, tenderly touching the joint to see which direction it went.
"I tried to reset it, but he's a big baby. Said I'm too rough on him." Natasha said. Everything she said always sounded like it had a double meaning, but Luce wouldn't know what else that could imply.
"I don't know why he wanted to wait for me then." Luce said, gently grabbing his upper arm and quickly distracting it, allowing the ball of the joint to slide back into the socket. Steve let out a short, strangled cry, silencing it as the relief set in.
"Thank you." he said, taking a deep breath. Luce nodded, patting him on the shoulder and ignoring the wince he gave.
"Food is ready." she said, gesturing back towards the kitchen. She was proud of their spread, plus it was easier to socialize when everyone was putting food in their mouths.
"Oh shit, we're doing like, real Thanksgiving. Okay." Sam said, dropping his bag by the door and going towards it. He seemed much happier than a moment before.
"I was hoping to shower." Steve muttered, watching as Sam investigated everything.
"Tough luck on that one." Natasha said, also patting him on his injured shoulder. She earned herself a glare, but ignored it dutifully. Ah, so some of Summer's lessons had stuck, back in the day. She joined Sam in the kitchen, taking a look at the food. Beside Luce, Steve sighed heavily.
"I have to stop hanging out with such unsympathetic blondes." he murmured, shaking his head and going to join them. Bucky put his hand on Luce's back, his touch heavy and comforting.
"Okay?" he asked quietly. If Steve, the only one with super senses, heard them, he didn't show it. He was washing his hands, getting mad at Natasha for picking little bits of the food with her fingers to sample it.
"I think so." Luce replied, and she meant it. They joined their guests in the kitchen, and while she thought that having so many people in the house would overwhelm her (it did just barely), there was something that also felt right about it. Her heart tripped as she realized that this was how their life was supposed to be the whole time. They were supposed to have their home, with their friends over for the holidays. They were supposed to have a family, whether it was one that they made biologically or in another capacity. Suddenly, the feeling overwhelming her wasn't anxiety, but sadness. Sadness for Bucky, who wanted to move back to New York and live in the same building as Steve and have as many kids as they could. Sadness for Steve, who'd been so helplessly in love with Agent Carter but always had the wall of duty between them, and now lived in a world that wasn't his own. Even sadness for Natasha, who should have been another girl in Russia, who didn't deserve the things that happened to her, things that Summer and Winter did to her. She felt sadness for herself, for missing out on all these things, for enduring the pain for so long.
She took a shaky breath, blinking back the heat in her eyes. Luckily their guests were still too distracted by the food to witness this moment of weakness, but Bucky saw it, staring at her from the corner of his eye while he carved the bird. She nodded, wanting to go and join them, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She turned quickly and silently, instead stepping out onto the back porch to breathe the warm fresh air. Everyone in that room had struggled, everyone in that room had been through terrible things. And yet, here they were. Celebrating.
They were still alive, and still together.
The back door opened behind her, and she turned, expecting Bucky. But it was Natasha who greeted her, a half smile on her face and two open beer bottles in her hand.
"You looked like you could use one." she said, holding it out to her. Out of habit she took it, the glass cold and condensation already forming on it.
"I can't get drunk." she replied, because if she couldn't counteract social situations with scientific fact, then she'd have no speaking skills whatsoever. Natasha shrugged, going to sit down on the porch steps.
"Sometimes old habits die hard." she said. There was likely an underlying meaning to her words, but Luce didn't want to ask, didn't want to think about it. She stayed rooted to the spot, gripping the beer until she could feel the glass starting to shift under her strength.
"It's Natasha now, right?"
"Yea. Felt like I outgrew Natalia." she explained, gazing out over the land. Luce felt something behind her sternum, threatening to choke her.
"I was surprised. That you wanted to come." Luce said quietly. Natasha glanced up at her, then back out to their pasture.
"I made peace with my past a long time ago. Plus, Rogers made sure I understood exactly what the situation was." she said, chuckling lowly. "We've all done things we didn't want to do. And I think you have a better excuse than any of 'em."
"I'm sorry, for what happened." Luce said, coming to sit next to her. She couldn't adopt the casual pose that Natasha had, but it was better than standing there like she was waiting for a fight, forcing the girl - no, woman, to look up at her. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Couldn't protect you." This was the only victim she could apologize to, the only chance she would get.
"Thank you." Natasha said. If she was surprised by the apology, she didn't show it. Luce knew then that Natasha was tougher than she could ever be, keeping her face a perfect mask, her pose easy and relaxed. Luce had more brawn than her, yes. But Natasha had much more brains. "You don't have to say that though-"
"I do." Luce insisted. "Just because I wasn't in control doesn't mean I can't be sorry for it. What happened to you was terrible. And I am sorry for my part in it."
The half-smirk returned. "You know, you were the only one that was honest with me." she said. At Luce's confused face, she continued, "I asked you if the graduation ceremony would hurt. You said yes, but that I would heal quickly. No one else had answered a question directly, in all the years I'd been asking them."
"They shouldn't have done that to you."
"They shouldn't've done it to you either." she pointed out. Luce took in a sharp breath, letting the words sink in. She didn't know what to say at that point, whether to thank Natasha or ask how she could help her or see if she wanted to hug. The last one happened in the movies a lot, but it felt wrong now. Luce was never a huge on physical affection, and Natasha was Russian. So they settled for a friendly smile, which suited both of them just fine.
Heavy footsteps sounded from inside the house, and while they heard Bucky say something from further in, he was too far away for them to make it out. "Nah, nah, I got it." Sam said, nearly throwing the door open. "Y'all coming in to eat? Or is this some weird meeting that we weren't aware of?" He gestured between them, and a moment later an irate looking Bucky appeared behind him. Bucky was glaring daggers at the back of his head. Sam didn't notice or care.
"Yea, sorry." Luce said, standing up. Natasha joined her.
"It's the first time I've gotten to hang out with another woman in six months, Wilson, give me a break." she chided, pushing his shoulder so he turned into the house.
"Well you can hang out after dinner." he said. Luce filed in after them, Bucky waiting for her and meeting her as the door closed.
"Alright?" he asked again. This time, she felt a little more confident in her answer.
"Alright." she said. They couldn't right all their wrongs, but hey, they'd do the best they could.
Aw, they're happy! I'm trying to keep things fluffy in this timeline, cause we all know what's coming soon in the other one.
I'm really sorry about not updating last weekend. A coworker got COVID, so there was extra work to be done, and then my dad came to visit, which was fun! I've got a new setup as far as my writing goes, so hopefully it won't happen again for a long time.
All that to say, thank y'all for your patience! I really hope you like this chapter, please let me know your thoughts!
-XM
