February, 1948

Bucky wasn't ready. He leaned heavily against the bathroom sink and stared himself down in the mirror. He looked ready. His hair was neat, had been cut just the day before. The black suit he'd donned was immaculate, pressed and tailored to perfection—the nicest set of clothes he'd ever owned. After this was over, he thought he might burn it so he never had to lay eyes on it again.

Nothing could make him ready for what he was about to endure.

He wasn't sure how long he stood at the mirror. He'd been there for a while and would've stayed there, frozen like a statue, for a while longer, maybe forever, if there hadn't been a knock on his door. Forcing himself into motion, he straightened and let go of the porcelain—oh hey, check that out, didn't crush it at all. Go me. When the knock came again, Bucky wondered if they'd been at it for a while, trying to break through the turmoil inside his mind.

When he opened the door, there was his sister, Becca, and her new fiancé, Bill Proctor. Becca wore head-to-toe black from her hat with a demi-veil down to the new leather boots Bucky had given her for Christmas. Bill's own suit was more charcoal than black, but it got the point across just fine.

"Hey," Bucky murmured to them.

Becca sniffed and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I've been crying all morning."

Bucky closed his eyes and hugged her tightly with just his right arm. Though he hadn't crushed the sink and he actually rarely had accidents with his metal arm anymore, he wasn't overly confident in his control this morning. "I've got about ten hankies in my pockets." He tried to inject some levity into his voice, though he didn't feel it. It did have the desired effect, though. When she pulled back, there was a slight smile on her face.

"Ma?"

"She's already at the cemetery," Becca answered. "She said she wanted to make sure everything was right." Sounded like Winnie Barnes alright.

"I've brought my car," Bill said quietly. "I thought I could drive all of us?" Bucky had his own now, had expected to drive, but he felt relieved that he didn't have to.

Bucky nodded gratefully then reached out to shake Bill's hand in a belated greeting. "Thank you." He liked the man that Becca had found for herself. The fella was smart (he planned to go to law school after finishing his pre-law courses), good to Becca (he was fully supportive of her medical school aspirations), and, if Bucky said so himself, easy on the eyes (he had thick, tawny hair, hazel eyes, and a smile that could definitely melt hearts). They'd met their first year at university in the fall of '45 and been inseparable ever since.

"Of course. Anything I can do to help."

Bucky sighed. "We should go."

After locking up, the three of them walked down to the car in silence. Bucky and Becca both slid into the back by unspoken agreement. She reached over and took his flesh hand, squeezing tightly. When she started to sniffle, he took out one of the hankies—he really had stuffed his pockets full—and offered it to her.

She gave him a watery smile and dabbed her eyes. "I feel so silly. Steve died three years ago. I've mourned already."

Pain lanced through Bucky's chest. Had ever stopped mourning? Some days were easier than others, he supposed, but had a single day passed where he hadn't thought of Steve?

"It's not silly," he said gruffly. "We're all going to be a mess today." This day had already ripped open all the wounds Bucky had tried so hard to heal. They weren't just having Steve's funeral, now that he'd been officially declared KIA instead of MIA by the army. Bucky had planned it for the three-year anniversary. Because he liked to torture himself, he supposed.

This would be the second funeral for Steve's that he'd attended, but it would definitely be the one that cut him the deepest. Several months ago, the government or army or whoever was in charge of making those decisions had buried an empty coffin in Arlington under a big monument to Captain America. Bucky had been there with all the Howlies, Colonel Philips, Peggy, and Howard. But there had also been several hundred other people, faces he mostly didn't recognize, politicians and big brass and service men and civilians. Everyone gathering to listen to speeches about Captain America's heroism and dedication to his country. It had burned Bucky up that most of the people who spoke, aside from the Colonel and Peggy, had never even met Steve. It hadn't been about Steve Rogers, though his name was emblazoned on the headstone, too. Bucky had become shockingly detached throughout the affair, even Peggy's speech had left him dry-eyed but most other people had been openly crying by that point. Of course, she had been asked to speak—the great love of Steve's life. Bucky hadn't been.

And yet—And yet, then, right at the end, he'd been sucker-punched. He'd known what was coming when the flag was taken from the empty casket. He'd known where it was going as they folded it up into the tell-tale triangle of stars and stripes. He'd been prepared for it. Knowing what would happen hadn't made it any easier in the end. The officer had knelt in front of Peggy Carter and offered her the flag, she had accepted it, and Bucky had felt like his arm just got ripped off again. He'd held it together until he was alone in his hotel room. Then he'd allowed the sobs to pour out of him.

The car stopped down the street from the cemetery, and the three of them climbed out. With a nudge, Bucky sent his sister into the arms of her fiancé. He needed space now. Walking just ahead of the pair, he entered through the gates and wound his way among the stones, following the trail of footprints in the snow until he reached the small gathering of chairs arranged around the new headstone. Unlike the monument in Arlington, this one was simple.

Steven Grant Rogers

July 4, 1918 – February 10, 1945

He stood up to bullies.

Bucky thought Steve would've approved of the epitaph he'd chosen. It was simple but wholly Steve. He knew with certainty he'd prefer this to the grand thing the army had erected to celebrate Captain America.

Peggy joined him after a while, her small hand slipping into his. "He would've approved," she said quietly, eyes on the stone. "You're right; this is what he would've wanted." He squeezed her hand in answer.

Over the next half hour, the rest of their small, solemn party arrived. Tim Dugan, Jacques Dernier, Jim Morita, Gabe Jones, and Montgomery Falsworth all trickled in within a few minutes of each other. Bucky had told them that none of them had to fly in just for the memorial—that Steve would've understood that some of them had a long way to travel for it and so soon after the last one. They'd each given him a variety of responses that all meant the same thing, "Are you stupid? Wouldn't miss it." Howard arrived looking as neat and polished as he ever did, though Bucky didn't fail to notice the redness of his eyes. Finally, Colonel Philips took up a chair, dressed in a simple suit rather than his dress blues. This wasn't a military service, after all.

They all took their seats as the minister from the old neighborhood shuffled up in front of them to speak. His sermon wasn't long nor overly religious. He'd known Steve well, so he spoke about the boy he'd known for two decades. He'd performed last rites on Steve three times before the boy turned twenty, yet, he said, the boy had always pulled through, as though God's plan for him hadn't been fulfilled yet. Bucky wasn't sure how true that was—his relationship with God was rocky to say the least—but the sentiment was all the same, really. Steve had been too strong-willed to let himself die. He'd had more to do.

After a while, Father O'Malley stopped and offered Bucky the chance to speak. He took a deep breath and stood, turning to face the small gathering.

"As some of you here know, I met Steve when I was thirteen, and I did it by saving his skin from a fight." Lips curled in sad smiles. Bucky could practically hear those who hadn't heard the story thinking, well, of course. "From that day on, that's what I did. Steve never found a cause that wasn't worth fighting for, and I was right there with him. He fought hard to live, despite all the ailments he had. He fought to have a good life, despite the poverty and the discrimination he and his Ma faced just because Sarah was Irish. He fought just to be able to fight—I lost count of how many fake backgrounds he gave himself as he ran around to different enlistment centers trying to find somebody who would turn his 4F into a 1A." Bucky smiled a bit when the Colonel visibly rolled his eyes. "I've always admired Steve Rogers. Long, long before he was Captain America. He was strong and resilient and the bravest man I've ever known. Nobody but him, super soldier serum or no, could've saved us—" Bucky gestured to himself and the rest of the Commandos "—from Azzano. He never let fear stop him or slow him down because he always saw the bigger picture. He never did anything because of how he thought it'd make him look, never cared about fame or glory or having more money than he needed. Steve Rogers was the greatest man I've ever known, and the best friend I could've had." Bucky cleared his throat as it started to close up from emotion. "The world is a darker place without Steve in it."

Feeling drained, he collapsed heavily back into his seat.

Father O'Malley rose once again and addressed them as Bucky struggled to hold himself together. "Thank you, James. Ms. Carter, I believe you wished to speak as well."

Bucky leaned over, looking past his mother over at Peggy. She was pale and drawn yet looked oddly…happy? He frowned.

"Yes, thank you," she answered softly, her own voice tight with feeling. She leaned over and withdrew a bag from under her chair. Sliding a hand into it, she pulled out—Bucky's heart stuttered. Why had she brought that here?

Graceful as ever, Peggy rose to her feet. Cradling the triangle of the flag in her arms, she said, "When the military honored Steve with the grave in Arlington, they asked me to accept the flag. It's no secret that Steve and I cared deeply for each other. If things had ended differently, I think it's fair to say we would've married each other." She swallowed, her throat visibly working as she contained her emotions. "But things did not get the chance to develop that way. Even before I accepted this, I felt wrong about it."

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath that he hoped nobody else heard as Peggy moved to stand in front of him. "You were his family, Bucky. You knew him from the time you were children, stood by him through every joy and struggle, loved him as deeply as any of us ever could've." She was so carefully choosing her words, Bucky realized. So carefully trying to convey the depth of his feeling without calling him Steve's brother, as Bucky's family thought of them, or insinuating that there was ever more than friendship between them.

Peggy extended the folded flag to him, held between her hands—one below, one above, just as they'd done at the military service. When Bucky reached out, his left hand was ever steady but his right shook madly. He placed his hands on the flag, fingers stretching over hers. He looked up into her eyes and hoped everything he was feeling, all his grief and gratitude and love, was plain for her to see. Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears, but she smiled at him as she withdrew her hands.

Bucky clutched the flag to his chest and could no longer contain his tears.

A short while later, Bucky stood alone in front of Steve's empty grave, piled with flowers and wreaths. They were all going to meet at a bar a few blocks over; Bucky had promised to be there soon. He just needed a few minutes.

He hadn't expected Peggy to give him the flag. He'd known she accepted him as he was and that he'd loved—did love—Steve, but, as much as it had hurt, it had seemed fair for her to have the flag. After the service had concluded, Bucky had taken Peggy aside and tried to give it back.

She'd just shaken her head. "You were his family, Bucky. Take out all the other feelings—you were his family. He was willing to die to save you when he thought there was just the slimmest chance you might still be alive. If we'd had a chance to marry, perhaps then I'd feel I deserved the honor they decided to give me, but we both know it was just a show. For all intents and purposes, you really were his next of kin, Bucky."

And, well, that had been hard to argue with. She was right. If he pretended his romantic feelings didn't exist, he'd still been the closest person to Steve since his mother had died. Steve had had no other biological family. The Barnes's had been his family.

So, Bucky stood in front of Steve's grave and hugged the flag. "I shoulda saved you," he said hoarsely into the cold air. "It was what I did, wasn't it? Steve gets into fights too big for himself, and Bucky comes in to get him out of it. You weren't supposed to get yourself—" He cut himself off. Took a number of deep breaths.

"I love you, Stevie. I always have, and I know that I always will. You're part of me, part of my very soul. I know that I can never say 'goodbye' to you because you'll always be with me, no matter where I am or how long has passed." Bucky knelt in the snow and pressed his right hand to the cold headstone. "I'm gonna try to do things you woulda done. Maybe that's part of why I'm getting government clearance and background checks and a bunch of other shit you wouldn't believe. I'm gonna be some kind of spy, or at least the boss of them. We're calling it SHIELD, and we even figured out what all those letters stand for." Bucky's lips curled a little. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Ain't that a mouthful? SHIELD is a good name, though. I've never been a hero, but I think I've got some practice standing up for the little guy. So, I'm gonna do my best, and you watch my back from up there, alright?" Bucky ran a finger over Steve's name, etched into the stone. "I promise, I'm gonna be okay. I'm gonna get by. And one of these days, I'm gonna see you again." Bucky straightened and took a steadying breath. "'Til the end of the line, pal."