A/N: Re: George and Gracie... yep, if either of them remember Vaudeville, then they'd know about Burns and Allen from that. However, Bucky still has partial amnesia, and yesterday was having seizures and flashbacks, and fell asleep at dinner, followed by MORE flashbacks. (Steve, on the other hand... has a had a lot on his mind and Burns and Allen didn't occur to him until last chapter.) Rebecca could have just as easily named the cat after the whales from Star Trek Four... who in turn were named for Burns and Allen.

A/N(2): It's been a running gag of "these were not the photo albums I was looking for"... and I finally did find the ones I was looking for, so yay. (There is a Sometime This Century update incoming... just as soon as I get it to behave.)

A year ago...

Hefting the heavy laundry basket with both hands, Aislinn entered the living room, only to pause at the sight of Jill, her open laptop on the coffee table, and two open boxes of old photo albums strewn around her. How had she done so much in the fifteen minutes it had taken to do the laundry? "Jill, when you asked if you could look through photo albums, I thought you meant recent ones. Those are old."

"This is research," she told her without looking up. "For a case that Rebecca gave me."

Aislinn moved, carefully avoiding the mess, and set the laundry basket down on the floor, and then sat down on the couch. "Oh?"

Jill nodded, still not looking up from her perusal. "I didn't get to know Grandma Colleen or Grandpa Thomas, and my patients would have been their contemporaries. Or... something like that. I want to understand the culture, to better understand them."

Folding a shirt, Aislinn frowned as she considered the implications of such a thing. "Your patient is my age?"

Now Jill looked up and Aislinn could see in her face how focused she was on the task at hand. She shook her head in the negative. "No. Older. He's a nonagenarian. Beyond that, I can't tell you very much."

"And this case was given to you by Rebecca?"

"Yes."

She looked down at the shirt in her hands, realized how badly she'd folded it, and re-folded it properly with a grimace. "So you're researching how to counsel a ninety-year-old?"

"Basically."

She set the shirt aside, reached for another. "Right. What you have to remember is to tread lightly on a given topic. Man or woman?"

"Man."

"That's a whole set of different variables, unto itself. Hearing difficulties?"

Jill paused, staring down at the album in her hands. "Not since his twenties, no."

"Poor eyesight?"

"No."

"Memory problems?" At Jill's very visible wince, Aislinn frowned again. "So this patient or patients of yours is a nonagenarian with good hearing and eyesight... and memory issues."

"Yes."

"Extreme Alzheimers or just dementia?"

Jill shook her head in the negative. "Neither. Patient had electro-shock repeatedly. Don't ask me for the particulars, because that part... awful."

Aislinn grabbed another shirt to fold. "It's too bad that Aidan passed before you got to meet him, hon. Toward the end, he was demented, but occasionally... open pathways."

Now she had Jill's attention. "Uncle Aidan had dementia?"

"No. Paul's father, not your uncle."

"Oh."

"He was in his seventies when Rob was born, and-"

"Wait," Jill interrupted as she turned to her open laptop and pulled some information up, then stared at it. "Oh... oh."

"Jill?"

"I've got... I'd forgotten that detail of Grandpa Aidan having been 50 when Dad was born."

Aislinn nodded, then studied the puzzled expression on Jill's face. "Jill?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you talked to any elderly lately?"

Jill shook her head again. "No, aside from Rebecca, Hannah, and sometimes going to see Rebecca's friend Peggy in DC."

That last name was sort of familiar, but Aislinn couldn't figure why it should have been. "When I'm done with this load, we're going to Woodlands."

Jill paused in mid-perusal, glanced at her. "What?"

Aislinn nodded to the open photo albums. "There is only so much you can learn from those, and you need some quality, practical time with the elderly. Woodlands also has memory care unit. So..."

Now...

Sitting down at the table, Steve watched as (a) Mason went and unplugged his cell phone from a charger on the counter and immediately started doing something with it, and (b) Bucky got an odd expression on his face at the sight of the plate of pancakes that Pepper placed in front of him. "Buck?"

Bucky blinked, startled, and glanced up at him. "It's nothing." The monitor on his wrist beeped and he stared at it.

Tony, leaning against the wall, shook his head. "Friday seems to disagree with you."

"Mr. Stark?" Mason spoke up without looking away from his cell phone. "Don't."

Rebecca frowned at the authoritative tone in Mason's voice and turned to look at him, just in time to see Mason flash four letters in ASL with his free hand at her. "Oh, good. Where is she?"

"Kinshasa International Airport, waiting for a flight on Royal Air Maroc to Casablanca," Mason said with a grin, and now he looked up. "Miriam called her yesterday, and she and Damian caught a lucky break and were able to leave on the MSF supply plane very early this morning. So... Mr. Stark, when I say don't? A psychiatrist is telling you that, and not to mess up." The phone beeped with a text alert, and Mason glanced at it. "Though more colorfully than Aunt Becca at her most manic..."

"I'm not-"

"Are so," Mason interrupted her, still smiling. "But we wouldn't have it any other way." He looked at Bucky, who had started eating and was relishing each and every syrupy and buttery bite. "Good?" At his nod, because he didn't stop long enough to speak, Mason grinned again. "Glad to hear it."

"Why is a psychiatrist telling me not to do something?" Tony looked at Steve and found that the man was silently laughing... and he never laughed like that. "What's so funny?"

"You'll find out when you meet her," Steve answered soberly. "Am I right that you're talking about Jill, Mason?"

"Yes, that's Jill," Rebecca confirmed before Mason could say anything. She chuckled when Pepper returned with another plate of pancakes, placed them in front of Steve with a mild glare, and then asked Bucky if he wanted more. At the affirmative grunt, Pepper smiled and returned to the stove.

"I ate already," Steve protested mildly, and frowned when Bucky grabbed the plate and pulled it over. "Never mind."

"It's a flashback," Mason supplied. "Only less severe than what we saw and heard last night."

Bucky stared down at the plate he snagged, then shook his head. "I... I..."

Almost in time with the wrist monitor, Mason was at his side and pulling Steve closer. "Stop. Where are you?"

Bucky's eyes went distant. "Some safe house. Don't know where."

Steve frowned at the emptiness of his tone, and Mason waved at him to keep quiet. "When are you, Soldier?"

"Don't know. No time frame of reference given for the mission."

"Who are you with?"

"Handlers."

"Describe what they're doing?"

"Agreeing to make me flapjacks."

At the stove, Pepper froze, then slowly turned around, astounded at the answers. "What-"

"Was this out of the ordinary?" Mason questioned, waving at her with his free hand to stop talking.

"Yes. Liquid nutrients, even on mission." Then Bucky took a deep breath and stared at Mason and Steve. "When did you move?"

Mason let out the breath he'd been holding in relief and laughed to release his own tension. "When you started to stutter and have trouble." He nudged the plate toward him. "Eat up. You're not on a liquid diet now."

"How did you know?" Steve asked.

Mason regarded Steve for a moment, then shrugged. "Aside from psychology classes and lectures from Jill? Several co-workers have PTSD and orientation is an important tool for getting someone back to reality."

"Why is Jill catching a plane bound for Casablanca?" Steve suddenly wondered, which prompted Mason to text out a question. "Aren't there any bound for New York?"

Mason waited, then shrugged. "According to her, and I believe it because I've been to Africa: no, there aren't any United States bound flights leaving from Kinshasa. You have to fly either to Paris, or Morocco, and Morocco was the shorter flight. Eighteen hours instead of a day and a half."

Tony frowned at that. "We could have-"

"Tony," Pepper interrupted. "I arranged for their flights. Stop." Now he looked at her funny. "You were occupied yesterday. So was I."

"Oh."

Just then, the elevator dinged and the doors opened to admit Miriam, Dan, and five others Tony didn't recognize, a man and three women, one of whom was in a wheel chair. "Um... Pep?"

Pepper smiled and went to greet them, bending down first to talk to the woman seated in the wheelchair, and then nodding to the rest. "Steve?"

"Yeah?" Steve tore his gaze away from Bucky, who was still contemplating the world while enjoying the pancakes, and realized... "Becca, why is Fran in a wheelchair?"

"Preterm labor," Becca explained. "Miriam, really?"

"My choice," Fran spoke up. "And I'll go lay down in Steve's apartment if I have to."

"All right, then." She shifted her gaze to Rob, who looked like he was trying to make up his mind about something, and then to Jane. "Bring her over here so she can meet him."

Rob leaned over to Daniel. "This is going to sound really odd, but I think I've met that guy."

At the sound of Rob's voice, Bucky looked up, finally noticing all of them, focused on Rob, staring at him. "Doctor Mackenzie?"

Slowly, they all turned and looked at Rob. "What? All Miriam told me last night when Jill was helping me get oriented over Skype was that her Uncle James had been found. There were no pictures. Hello, Sargent. I'm very glad to see you've gained weight since that time in Catonsville with Sally at the diner I like to visit on my way home from conference. Are you armed?"

"Wait," Rebecca interrupted before Bucky could reply. "You met my brother at a diner?"

"You'd be surprised who I meet that way, Rebecca," Rob told her humorously, then shifted his gaze to Bucky again. "Well? You armed?" Bucky held up his left hand which was holding a fork. "Aside from that."

"No, Steve made me leave my knife in his apartment."

"Point for Captain Rogers, then." Rob nudged Jane. "You can take Fran over there now."

"Armed?"

"He pulled a knife on a waitress when she startled him. I still have it."

Now Kristy chuckled. "So that's where you got the combat knife. Makes sense, now. But really, Rob?"

"In my defense, he was underweight, swearing and having a fit in at least three different languages over fruit, and really didn't look like the clean-cut guy from Rebecca's photo albums," Rob explained. At Steve's interested frown, Rob shrugged. "Sally gave him her basic nutrition book, and I gave him my business card. I have to ask, though, because it's bothered me since... what are D-Rations?"

Steve smirked. "Tony, have Friday show Rob what D-Rations are. And trust me when I say this: you're better off NOT finding out what they actually tasted like."

"I liked 'em," Bucky pointed out. "And in a pinch, they were better than nothing."

"True."

The center of the table suddenly lit up with a hologram of picture of a D-Ration Logan Bar, along with what had been the requirements of one Colonel Logan who had been involved in their production, along with the version produced for the pacific theater. Tony studied that, glanced at Steve. "That has to be the worst excuse for chocolate I've ever seen."

"There was a war on," Steve reminded him. "And a depression before that. And... really, Buck, what sparked a memory of D-Rations?"

"Fortified chocolate shake," Rob answered. "Cook's idea, when Sally told him about the veteran who looked like he'd recently gotten out of a VA hospital."

"I hadn't," Bucky said honestly. "You didn't ask particulars. And really, what the heck is a Whipple?"

At that, Rebecca laughed, surprising them all, and tapped the table. "Whatever you do, Stark, do not let your computer show him that right now. Bad idea. A Whipple, James, is a surgical procedure involving the removal of the Pancreas. Normally not done unless there is a specific reason to do so." She frowned mildly at Rob, who ducked his head. "I can only imagine how that came up at all in conversation."

"Sally's studying nutrition," Rob explained. "She has an interest in surgical things and knows I'm an Endocrinologist."

"Ah. I would love to meet her sometime," Rebecca told him as Jane wheeled Fran up to Bucky's side of the table on his right side. "Welcome to breakfast, Fran. Pancakes were interesting."

Fran smiled, then slowly touched Bucky's right hand. "Hello, Uncle James. I know others have said it, but I would like to reiterate, so... welcome home?"

Bucky glanced at Rebecca, who smiled and nodded, and then he took Fran's hand in his. "Thank you. Who are you?"

"This," Rebecca explained, motioning to Jane. "Is her daughter, Fran. Jane is Abiah's daughter. Do you remember Abiah?"

For a moment, his eyes went distant, and then he nodded slowly. "Hazel's daughter. She wasn't very old when..."

"No. She wasn't," Steve broke in. "And I wish she could be here to see you. Thank you, Fran."

Fran grinned, then tugged at Bucky's hand, guiding it to her abdomen, where he blinked in surprise at a kick from her rounded belly. "Someone else wants to greet you, too. But he'll have to wait until July for that like he's supposed to."

"Speaking of," Jane spoke up gently. "Nap in Steve's apartment, or go home?" She nodded to Bucky when he looked at her.

"We can go now, Mom. I did what I wanted to do." Fran squeezed Bucky's hand one more time, then let go. He lingered for another minute, smiling at how active the baby was under his hand, then pulled away.

Bucky regarded her, his head tilted slightly. "Is it always that active?"

"More so in the middle of the day and late at night when I'm trying to sleep," Fran explained. She motioned to Rob. "And that has to be the craziest ships in the night incident I've ever heard of, Rob."

"Oh, get," Rob said playfully. "Back to bedrest with you."

"You are not my doctor," Fran told him, just as humorously as Jane wheeled her to the elevator.

"No, but if I were, I'd tell you the exact same thing!"

Fran's laughter carried as the elevator's doors closed, making the atmosphere in the room that much lighter.