They were showered, fed, and packed. They'd brought a change of clothes since the round trip flight time would pretty much take up a day. Thankfully, the Wakandan jet was a lot faster than flying commercial. They'd be in Indiana in about ten hours. Wakanda was about seven hours ahead of Indiana, so they'd arrive midday just outside of Greenwood, Indiana. It was the bigger city just outside of Shelbyville where some of his sister's family lived, and where she currently resided in a private nursing home.
Bucky didn't know the logistics about the travel arrangements. He suspected this was an off-the-books trip and that the Wakandan plane would be cloaked to avoid any unnecessary attention. He wondered how happy the U.S. Government would be if it discovered that Wakanda was routinely sending aircraft to and from the United States without permission or even without anyone knowing.
As they approached the plane, he saw Ayo standing beside it. She was dressed in a regal black dress, the spear in her hand. The plane was slightly smaller than a quinjet. It's ramp was already deployed, waiting.
Ayo gave him a steady look as he approached. He stopped in front of her, a backpack slung over his right shoulder. She raised her chin, then said, "You smell better. Thank you. I had not looked forward to a long flight with the three of you in your previous conditions."
Bucky smiled at that. If she was teasing him, she couldn't be too pissed at him. "Thank you for the ride. It means a lot."
She bowed her head at him and stepped aside. They made their way up the ramp and into the small aircraft. It had a compact cargo area, but it was enough to hold four people. There were two bench seats on opposite walls that were long enough to each hold a single person stretched out. What looked like a shiny rubber mat was situated in between the benches. He suspected the mat was an unusual addition and figured Ayo was allowing them the option of sleeping during the return flight.
Ayo entered after them and sank into the pilot's chair. The ramp closed, and Bucky felt the plane vibrate slightly. He could barely hear the hum of the engine. The craft was almost silent. He hadn't even realized it was lifting off until he felt the tell-tale sinking of his stomach as the plane rose suddenly.
The sinking in his stomach wasn't solely caused by the plane's ascent. He realized that in just a few hours, he'd see his sister. This time, he would walk into her room and look her in the eyes. He had no idea what type of reaction or reception he'd get. He didn't even know whether seeing her was the right thing to do for her. He didn't want to upset or confuse her, but he also couldn't bare having his little sister pass away without taking the opportunity to speak to her one more time. With his Steve gone, she was the only real family he had left and his only connection to anything that felt like home.
-0- -0- -0-
The plane landed just after noon in Greenwood, touching down in an abandoned field behind an empty warehouse. The ramp opened.
Ayo swiveled toward them from the cockpit. "I will wait here." She tossed a Kimoyo bead, and Bucky caught it mid-air. "Contact me when you are on your way back, or if there are unexpected developments."
Bucky nodded, slipping the smooth round comm bead into the pocket of his jacket. He walked down the ramp. Steve and Sam followed him. The early March weather in Indiana was cool and mild.
The ramp rose with a soft hum. Bucky slipped the cellphone from his back pocket. "I guess we'll have to call a ride, but I haven't set up an account."
Sam pulled out his cell phone. "I've got this." He eyed Bucky. "And you think you're the worldly one?"
Bucky sighed. "I haven't exactly had much of a need for Lyft or Uber. I walk most places in Brooklyn, and anything else, I just hop in a cab or take the subway."
Fifteen minutes later, their ride arrived. They met the car on the corner. Bucky hopped quickly in the front passenger seat, beating Sam by a few seconds and shooting him a triumphant look. Steve slid in the back behind the driver.
Sam walked over to the driver's rear side, ducked his head down, and eyed Steve. "Hey, slide on over, will you?"
Steve gave him a quizzical look that Bucky noticed in the rear-view mirror.
"Okay." Steve didn't seem inclined to ask why, he just slid behind Bucky.
That was one of the things Bucky always liked about Steve. He asked questions when he needed to, but otherwise he was generally happy to go with the flow when it came to the small stuff.
Bucky stifled a smile as he asked, "You got enough room back there, Steve?"
"Well, if you move your seat up a couple of inches, I will," he answered.
Bucky looked straight ahead. "Sure thing, pal." Then he hit the button on the side of the seat and brought it up until his knees almost touched the glove compartment.
He shot Sam a smug look in the mirror and couldn't quite hold his smile when he saw the scowl on the other man's face.
As they drove toward the nursing home, Bucky was aware of the Lyft driver giving him the occasional curious look. He'd periodically look in the rearview mirror at Sam and Steve, as well. The man was obviously trying to look at him without looking like he was looking. It made Bucky uneasy. Decades of being a ghost and hunted had made him uneasy with scrutiny. His face had been all over the news recently, he knew, which meant that the tiny bit of normalcy he'd managed to find in Brooklyn was no doubt gone.
When the driver pulled up in front of the nursing home, Bucky got out quickly and wordlessly. Steve and Sam followed. Steve walked up to him and held out his hand. "Here."
Bucky held out his palm and Steve dropped one of the photostatic veil devices in it.
"I brought both," Steve said. "Let's find a little place out of view and put these on."
Bucky nodded. "Good thinking. Thank you."
They walked to the side of the building, away from the front door and away from prying eyes. Bucky fastened his device just behind the top of his ear and Steve did the same.
Sam sighed as he waited a few feet away. "You know, people recognize me, too."
Bucky smiled at him. He wasn't sure what face he was wearing since he didn't have a mirror. "Not without the outfit, so much," Bucky said. "How do I look?"
"Like a middle-aged Luke Skywalker with dark hair," Sam commented.
"That'll do," Bucky said.
He glanced at Steve, who looked about fifteen or so years older and bore a slight resemblance to Jo Biden.
They headed to the front of the building, and as they walked through the doors, Bucky felt his anxiety returning. He took a breath as he approached the front desk. A young woman with brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, looked up at them.
Bucky cleared his throat. "I'm here to see Rebecca, uh…. Proctor."
The woman smiled at him. "Sure. Just sign in here," she pointed to the visitor log on the desk in front of her. "What is your relationship to Rebecca?"
"Nephew."
"And your name?"
He'd had a hundred or so aliases, and at that moment, he couldn't think of a single one. He spat out the first thing that came to mind. "George Barnes."
Steve and Sam signed the book after them. The woman instructed them to wait, so they took seats in the small lobby chairs as she picked up the phone and called someone. After a few minutes, a woman came through a pair of double doors and walked up to them.
"Mr. Barnes?"
He smiled up at her and got to his feet. "Yes, Ma'am."
"We have a policy of escorting visitors to and from our resident rooms. Follow me, and I'll take you to see your aunt."
"Thank you." They followed her down a long hallway to a room with an open door.
"Here she is." She looked in. "She just finished lunch, and she's watching television.
Bucky nodded. "Thank you."
He walked in, his footsteps quiet, and pulled off the photostatic veil. He saw her sitting up in a bed on the far wall, near a window. He barely recognized her. The skin on her face was thin and wrinkled, but her cheeks were rosy. When her eyes shifted to him, that's when he knew it was Becca. Her eyes were his own. They'd both gotten them from their mother.
The bed was raised about 45 degrees, and her eyes were staring at a television mounted on the opposite wall. Bucky glanced at it to see a show that looked like it was set sometime in the late eighteen hundreds or early 1900s. There was a little girl in a dress, skipping in what looked to be an old west town.
He moved to the bed, and her gaze slid to him. He stood quietly, not sure what to say or where to begin. He looked up quickly at Sam and Steve. Both of them hovered near the doorway. Steve gave him a subtle, encouraging nod.
Bucky swallowed and looked back down at his sister. Her eyes were studying him. Her brow furrowed.
He cleared his throat. "Hello, Becca. Do you know who I am?"
She shifted in her bed, her hand fumbling at her side. Bucky looked down and saw the remote just out of reach. He picked it up and placed it in her hand. Her hand was cold, thin, and so much smaller than his own.
She hit a button, and the head of the bed raised another twenty degrees or so until she was sitting more upright. Her hand came up, and her fingers touched his left cheek.
"I've seen you on the television."
He nodded.
"The news," she added.
He nodded again and took a breath.
"Are you really….?" She shook her head. "Sometimes I get confused. I don't always remember things like I used to."
"I'm Bucky," he blurted out, and as it left his mouth, his vision blurred. He pushed back the emotion. He didn't want to upset her.
She reached up again and cupped the side of his face. "Jimmy?"
Hearing her call him by the name he hadn't heard in over 80 years brought him right back to Brooklyn and almost made him feel like a kid again.
He took her hand in both of his gloved ones. "Yeah."
"You look just the same."
An overwhelming sadness filled his chest, but he smiled at her nevertheless. "I'm a little different."
"The war changed you?"
He took a breath and nodded.
"It's okay, Jimmy." She raised her other hand and put it over his. "We love you. Do mom and dad know you're back?"
He cleared his throat. "No."
"Mom cries a lot. She'll be happy to see you."
She blinked suddenly at him, and her brow furrowed. She glanced at Steve and Sam in the doorway. Bucky wondered whether she'd recognized Steve, but she gave no sign that she had. When she looked back at Bucky, something in her eyes was different.
"Jimmy?" she asked again. "Is that you?"
"Yes."
"You were on the T.V.?"
"Yes."
"Did you do those things?"
He struggled to take in a breath and forced himself to look her in the eyes. "Most of them."
Her eyes clouded with tears. "My brother wouldn't do those things."
He closed his eyes and sank into the chair next to her bed. His hands slipped from hers and he gripped the rail. "I didn't have a choice."
"They did things to you in the war?"
He nodded. "They took everything from me. I didn't remember who I was."
He felt her almost weightless hand on his arm, then her shaky voice said, "You remember now?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Tears spilled from hers, and she waved him closer. He leaned forward over the rail, and her hands cupped his face.
"Oh, Jimmy, my sweet big brother, what did they do to you?"
He lowered his head to the rail and let the tears flow silently. He felt her hand on his head, her fingers ruffling gently through his hair.
"It's your birthday soon," she said.
"What?" He looked up and blinked at her through the tears.
She smiled. "March 10th. I always have a drink for you every year on your birthday. How old are you now?"
"Every year?" He couldn't believe she kept that up for so many decades.
She nodded. "Every year. Last year, I tried some of that fireball whiskey. Jimmy brought me some."
"Jimmy?" the name almost caught in the back of his throat.
She smiled again. "My son. I have two sons and a daughter. Jimmy, Richard, and Gwen. Jimmy lives in town. Gwen lives in Hammond, and Richie…." Her brow furrowed again. "I can't remember."
He patted her arm. "You lived a good life?"
She nodded. "Yes." Then she shifted again and leaned closer to him. "Will you stay for your birthday. I'd like to have a drink with my big brother, and I'd love for you to meet your niece and nephews."
He cleared his throat. "I kind of have a ride…"
"That's only two days away," Sam spoke up.
"I'm sure our ride can wait," Steve said, "and if not, we can always arrange another way back. That is, if you want to stay."
The air in the room suddenly felt light. This was turning into a whole thing—a weird family thing that he wasn't sure he was ready for. Hell, he wasn't sure they were ready for it, either. No normal human being would want to lay claim to a psycho assassin as part of the family. Becca may remember him as her big brother from Brooklyn, and that was more than he'd hoped for. Her children and grandchildren, however, only knew him as the guy they'd seen all over the news.
He doubt they'd be thrilled to meet him in person. Plus, the longer he stayed in town, the more likely it was that someone—or the press—would find out. He didn't want the attention, and he sure as hell didn't want the attention shifting to Becca or her family.
"Can we celebrate a day early? I could get a hotel room for the night, and if you're feeling up to it, I can come back tomorrow."
He didn't know if she'd remember him tomorrow, but he knew her time in this world was growing shorter, and if she wanted him to stay a little longer, he couldn't say no to her. He rarely ever could.
-0- -0- -0-
Sam booked a room at the Holiday Inn. Bucky had spoken to Ayo and she agreed to wait another day. He'd offered her a hotel room, but she preferred to stay with the craft. It had all the amenities she'd need, she insisted.
They checked into their hotel and entered the suite. Steve and Bucky removed their photostatic veils once inside. The room had two queen beds and a pull-out sofa bed, along with a generously-sized bathroom, television, whirlpool bathtub and a decent kitchenette with a microwave and small refrigerator. To Bucky, it seemed a little excessive. He'd have been fine crashing at a Motel 6 for the night.
He told Steve as much.
"Your new best admirer Tony provided us with enough cash for the trip, and It's practically your birthday," Steve said, "I can't believe I didn't realize it. I hadn't even thought much about the date traveling through time. I was so focused on everything else."
Bucky shrugged. "I didn't realize it myself. I mean, come on. I haven't celebrated a birthday in over 80 years, man. It's really not on my list of priorities right now."
Sam set his bag down in the closet and closed the hotel room door behind him. "If you haven't celebrated your birthday in 80 years, then it's way past time that you did…Jimmy." Sam gave a short, teasing chuckle.
"No, thank you," Bucky said, kicking off his shoes and laying back on the bed, "and don't call me Jimmy." He'd tried to grow out of that name as a teenager, but now he felt protective of it, like it belonged only to that kid back in the 1920s and 30s and defined him as a son and brother.
"Okay, fine," Sam said, "I'll lay off the Jimmy thing for now."
Back in his youth, sure, Bucky had loved celebrating his birthday like almost every other person on the planet. He loved birthdays in general. Any chance to celebrate, and he was all over it.
These days, he didn't much like attention, and he really didn't feel comfortable in large gatherings…except when a crowd allowed him to become invisible. Then, he could sink into it and disappear. He'd had a lot of practice doing that. The only exception recently had been with Sam's friends. He'd started to feel comfortable around them, and he'd almost forgotten what that normalcy felt like.
It was only three in the afternoon. They'd have to start thinking about dinner soon. They'd skipped lunch.
"Why don't you want a party?" Sam asked. "It'll be fun."
"I just don't. Can we drop it, please?"
"A small celebration, man," Sam persisted.
Bucky sighed. "There's no one to invite, Sam, and even if there were, it's not my thing, anymore."
"Of course, there are folks to invite. You have a whole family you just discovered. There's also me, Steve, Sarah, Shuri, T'Challa…"
"They're all over the world, Sam." Bucky almost chuckled at the impracticality of such a celebration. He wasn't sure how Sam figured that would all work. "And even if they weren't, I'm just…I'm just not ready to celebrate my birthday yet."
Bucky felt the bed dip as Sam's weight settled next to him.
"Why not?" Sam asked, his voice low and suddenly much gentler.
Shit. Bucky wasn't really in the mood to be psychoanalyzed at the moment.
"I know that was rough back there with your sister," Sam continued. "You okay?"
Bucky rolled his head to look up and over at Sam. "Yeah, thanks." He closed his eyes and draped his right arm over them. He wasn't sleepy, but he was just overall tired of…emotions. They were draining.
"So what is this aversion you have to celebrating your birthday?" Sam asked again.
Having a birthday celebration just didn't feel right to Bucky. He might have gotten another pardon and been set free, but a man was still dead, and it felt wrong to him to celebrate in the wake of that. He heard Steve's footsteps, and then the other bed squeaked with weight. Bucky hoped if he pretended that he was trying to sleep, Sam would leave him alone.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Sam said.
Bucky sighed. No such luck.
"That letter you wrote to Steve. There are some things in it that I think—"
Bucky lifted his head and looked over at Steve. "Really, man. I thought we agreed you were forgetting about the death letter.
"You agreed," Steve shifted on the other bed to face him. "I didn't. We're trying to help you here."
Bucky dropped his head back to the mattress and closed his eyes. He didn't have a fight in him right now.
"Stop changing the subject," Sam said. "Look, what I'm trying to say here is, one, you're not a burden. You never were. And, two, if I ever made you feel that way, I'm sorry. Three, you said in that letter the world would be a better place if you'd never been born. That's not true. You saved a lot of people in that other timeline, and you've saved people in this one. Hell, you and Steve helped win the war. And, yeah, Hydra made you do some terrible things. If it hadn't been you, those assholes would have found some other guy to be their Winter Soldier. Maybe that guy wouldn't have broken free. In fact, they made five more Winter Soldiers." He took a breath. "And don't think I've forgotten you went to that other timeline to kill yourself."
Bucky had hoped Sam had forgotten about that.
"Steve and I are going to celebrate your birthday with or without you," Sam continued, "because frankly, we're both damn glad you came into this world. I hope you are, too. You can choose to be with us, or not."
Bucky felt a sudden warmth flow through him as Sam's voice faded to silence. He opened his eyes and smiled up at him. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that. I do. I'm not suicidal, or anything. You don't have to worry about that. I'm just…getting used to all this again. I didn't have much time to process, and…I…" he took a breath. "I'd like to join you and Steve. But can we just do something low-key, please? I need to ease into all this normal life stuff again."
Sam smiled. "Normal life stuff, huh?" He slapped Bucky on the leg. "Sure, you can ease into the normal life stuff."
-0- -0- -0-
The next day came sooner than Bucky would have liked. He was conflicted. He looked forward to seeing Becca again, but he didn't want it to become something bigger. It was the not knowing what to expect that had his stomach in knots.
As they followed a staff member to Becca's room, Bucky kept his blue baseball hat low and his photostatic veil on. He'd gotten lucky the day before. Becca hadn't seen him turn it off, but he didn't want to press his luck twice. She'd already had a lot to deal with having him walk into her room. He could only imagine how much of a shock it would be for her to see him change faces.
He hovered outside the doorway with Steve and Sam, watching the young man who'd escorted them turn and leave them alone. With a quick flick of his hand, he removed the veil and slipped it into his pocket. Steve did the same. Then, with a breath, Bucky entered his sister's room.
He saw an older gentleman standing next to her bed. He looked to be in his 70s, with a full head of white hair and dark blue eyes. He wore jeans and a tan blazer and his gaze went to them as soon as they walked in.
His sister perked up when he entered the room. "Jimmy?" She smiled at Bucky. "I thought it might have been a dream. Sometimes, I get confused." She tilted her head. "When you got older, you were always trying to get us to call you Bucky. Mom refused." Becca chuckled. "I'll try to remember."
Bucky smiled at her and moved deeper into the room. "You can call me whatever you like, Becca."
The older man patted her arm and turned toward them. His eyes studied them, going from Bucky to Steve and Sam, then settling on Bucky.
"I know who you all are, but I can't believe my eyes." The man took a few steps toward them. "You're James Barnes, aren't you?"
Bucky took a breath and nodded. He assumed the man to be one of Becca's sons…one of his nephews. That idea felt strange as it rolled around in his mind.
"I'm, uh, Jimmy." The man extended his hand. "I guess I'm your namesake."
Bucky looked at the hand. His brain told him he needed to shake it, but he found himself frozen momentarily. A subtle shove from one of the guys behind him brought him out of his stupor, and his right hand came up reflexively.
"It's nice to meet you," he said automatically as he grasped the man's hand.
"Wow, that's some grip you have there," Jimmy said.
Bucky immediately opened his hand and dropped his arm. "Sorry."
Jimmy shook his head. "It's okay. I know you're…strong. Right?"
Bucky didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded.
Sam stepped forward and extended his hand. "Sam Wilson. I don't have a vice grip." He smiled and shook Jimmy's hand. "It's great to meet you."
Steve followed suit, giving Jimmy's hand a quick shake. "Steve Rogers."
"Steve?" Becca's voice intruded. "Steve Rogers?"
Steve walked closer to her and smiled, giving her a wave. "Hello, Becca."
"I thought you were gone. The news said..."
Steve smiled. "I'm back for a little while."
Becca nodded. "I hope you can stay." Then she looked at her son, "Jimmy, give my brother his present."
"What?" Bucky looked past Jimmy into Becca's grinning face. He hadn't wanted or expected her to get him a present.
"Come here, big brother," she waved at Bucky.
He couldn't help the smile that splayed on his face, and he hurried to her bedside. He took off his hat and set it on the table near her bed. He was glad to see that she was doing well again today. She was sharper than she had been when he'd dropped in on her months ago.
"I don't need a present," Bucky insisted. "I just came to share a drink with you and hang out for a little bit."
She waved dismissively in the air. "Jimmy!"
Bucky wasn't sure which of them she was talking to.
"Okay, Mom, okay." Jimmy walked to an armchair near the foot of the bed and reached into a large brown bag. He pulled out a rectangular gift-wrapped object that looked like it contained a large book.
"Here you go, Mr….uh…Barnes." He held out the present. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to call you."
"Bucky is fine." He took the offering and sank into the hard chair near the head of Becca's bed.
Bucky slid his fingers over the delicate blue wrapping paper. A small envelope was taped to the top. He pulled it off, and opened it, setting the gift on his lap. He removed the card inside. It was plain stock paper, folded into a small greeting card.
His name was handwritten on the front. He opened the card and read the slightly shaky writing. 'Even though you weren't here for most of this, know that you were always in my heart."
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He didn't dare look up. Instead, he tore open the wrapping paper and found a photo album. It had a rustic brown cover, and he opened it. The first page contained two photos. The top black and white photo showed him and the family on his 18th birthday in 1935. He was around the kitchen table, a cake in front of him. His mother was seated on his right, his three sisters clustered around him.
He studied his mother's face—her brown hair, blue eyes, full bottom lip, and delicate nose. He remembered what she looked like, but the details had gotten fuzzy. Now, looking at her photo, he committed those details to memory. It was one of the effects of the serum—most of the time a curse, but sometimes, in this case, a blessing.
His father had taken the photo. It was one of the first cameras they'd owned. Photos were rare because film had been expensive. He figured Becca couldn't have many photos of the family from that time…of the ones that had been taken, he imagined many just hadn't made it into the 21st century. They must have been lost or damaged at some point after all that time.
The second photo was on the same day. It was him, Steve, and Steve's mother Sarah in his folks' apartment. Sarah had her hand on Steve's shoulder and smiled awkwardly at the camera. She was only a few inches taller than her son, but her shoulders were noticeably wider. Bucky was on the other side of Steve, giving him one of the shit-eating grins he often did back then. Bucky remembered that photo. Sarah wasn't sure how to pose and Steve wasn't a fan of photographs, but they'd indulged his father because it was Bucky's 18th birthday.
Bucky turned the page, there was another black and white photo of him in uniform, giving a salute, just before he left for the war. It was the last time he'd seen his mother, father, and two oldest sisters.
Shit. He felt the sting of tears, and he did not want to lose it in front everyone, so he sucked in a breath and turned the page. There were two more smaller photos, both black and white. The first one was of Becca in her youth, a newborn infant in her arms. She was in a living room. Bucky recognized the man as her husband, Daniel. Becca had just gotten married before Bucky had been inducted into the army. She'd been too young at the time, he'd thought, but they'd all liked the guy she picked to move to Indiana with. His parents had lived there, moving to Brooklyn around the time he was born.
A caption was scribbled on a piece of paper to the right of the photo, beneath the protective plastic. It read. "James Barnes Proctor, October 6, 1945."
Bucky smiled, pushing back the tears that threatened, and rubbed his hand over the photo. This would have been the year after he died.
The photo below that one was another birth. This one Gwen Proctor, August 30th, 1949. She was bundled in a white blanket in her father's arms. This year was etched deeply in his soul. It was the year he'd put a bullet in that girl's head, after watching Hydra rape and torture her. It was the year he'd ripped his metal arm from his flesh to kill the commander in charge.
He pushed the memory aside and turned the page again. The next photo stole his breath. A funeral. He saw his mother standing at a grave, dressed in black. She looked young still, maybe in her early 50s. Her eyes and nose were red, her face lined with grief. The date read February 1, 1950, with the words, "George Barnes' funeral" next to the date. That was a little over five years after Bucky had been captured by the Russians.
He remembered the date from the tombstone he'd visited shortly after running from Hydra. Now, he had an image to put to that date. He wished he could've been there for his mother. Instead, she'd lost the only two men in her life within the span of a few years.
This time he couldn't stop the tears, and he brushed quickly at his eyes, then looked at the next photo. It was taken shortly after the birth of his second nephew—Richard Proctor—and showed a baby bundled in a yellow blanket on Becca's lap. The photo was in color. The paper to the right of the photo had the date as January 3, 1952. Becca's hair was pulled back in a red polka dot bandana, and she wore a dress that looked like something out of an I Love Lucy episode Bucky had seen once.
He'd been in North Korea at that time getting his arm replaced after losing it in Goyang. As punishment, they'd let him linger injured for days with no left arm, then strapped him down and performed the attachment surgery without anesthesia. Five days after the surgery, they'd sent him on one final mission in South Korea before shoving him back into the cryo chamber. Each time, the cryo chamber was new to him. As the Winter Soldier, they'd wiped him every time he came out of the chamber, and each time he went back in felt like the first time…until he heard the noise as the machine came to life. Then, he remembered. The terror lasted only the briefest of moments before the flash of pain and then, nothingness, until, some time later—months or years—they revived him.
Coming out had been so much harder even than going in. His body fought to survive each time, his organs struggled to resume function, his neurons flared, sending a chaotic symphony of signals to his brain that were interpreted as fire. Each time, coming out, it was like burning alive. Then, they'd stick him in the chair and make him forget everything.
But he remembered it all now, and his serum-enhanced brain wouldn't let him forget.
He realized his right hand was shaking as he gripped the book, and he pushed the thoughts to the far, dark corners of his mind, then continued to page through the album. He let the images in the photos replace—at least for the moment—the ones in his brain. He saw birthday parties, a vacation at Disneyland, a trip to a beach. He recognized Coney Island. Becca must have taken her family back at one point—probably to visit.
He turned the page again and saw his mother, Becca, and Becca's husband Daniel clustered around the head of a table. Children mingled nearby. It looked like Thanksgiving. His two other sisters were in the background, standing in a kitchen over a large pie.
He paged slowly through more life events—a graduation, then got to his mother's funeral. November 29, 1963. He remembered that date, too from the Tombstone. It had been just after Thanksgiving, a week after he'd put a bullet through President Kennedy's head.
He paged through the rest, taking in the weddings and the births of Becca's grandchildren, and then, finally, got to the last few photos. The funerals of his two sisters, Margaret and Ruth. He closed the book and stared at the back cover for a few seconds. His breath hitched in his chest, and he struggled to get control over his emotions. He didn't want to upset Becca.
He cleared his throat, wiped quickly at his wet eyes, and forced a smile on his face, then looked up at her. She was watching him with eyes that seemed to hold a mixture of joy and sadness.
"Thank you," he said huskily. He spared a quick glance at Steve and Sam. They both looked about as supportive and empathetic as he feared they would. It almost did him in.
"She had me working on that all afternoon and evening last night," Jimmy said softly. "You'd be surprised how hard it is to find a place that will do high quality copies of photos with a short turnaround. It was fun going down memory lane, though. I can't imagine what it's like for you. That photo of you before you headed off to war…you look young, yeah, but not that much younger than you do now." He took a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."
Bucky smiled up at him. "It's okay. This is…weird. I know." He looked over at Becca. "Thank you again. I don't have any photos of…anything." He almost choked on the last word.
She grinned at him. "I wanted you to see some of what you missed. I know it doesn't make up for lost time." Then she waved at Jimmy. "Get me the bottle, Jimmy!"
Bucky almost rose from his chair before realizing she was talking to her son. Every time she said "Jimmy," it brought him back home. Her voice, even in her old age, reminded him of his mother's.
Jimmy chuckled. "Okay."
Her son reached into the bag on the chair and pulled out a large box and a bottle of Crown Royal Whiskey. He set the box on the chair next to the bag and lifted the top, revealing a set of six shot glasses. One by one, he lifted a glass and poured a hefty shot into it, then handed the shot out.
Bucky took his, and Becca grasped hers with both hands. She raised it and said, "Happy almost birthday, Bucky," then, with shaking hands, she lifted it to her lips and swallowed it in two gulps, giving a short burst of coughs, then laughing.
Bucky downed his in one swallow. It was smooth, gliding effortlessly over his tongue. The others all downed theirs at the same time, and Bucky held his glass out to Jimmy.
"Another?" Jimmy asked.
Bucky nodded. "Yep."
Jimmy smiled and filled the shot glass, then asked, "Anyone else?"
Steve and Sam held their glasses out, too.
After that shot and another, Bucky rose form his chair and set his glass back in the box. The others followed suit.
"You all can really drink," Jimmy commented.
"These guys can!" Sam said, a little too loudly.
Steve smiled. "Benefits of the serum." He looked over at Sam, and added, "We should have stopped him at two."
Bucky chuckled at that.
"I'm going to go round up some chairs," Sam said, leaving the room. He came back a moment later with two more chairs.
Sam and Steve sat down. Jimmy moved the bag and box and plopped into the armchair. They spent the next few hours reminiscing. Jimmy told them all about his family and growing up in Indiana. Bucky told a few harmless war stores—mostly about close calls and getting drunk with the Howling Commandos while out for R&R. Steve talked a bit about his adventures with Bucky, eating too many hot dogs, throwing up on the rollercoaster, and Bucky running away the bullies even though Steve had them on the ropes every time.
It was late in the day when a woman entered. She looked to be in her late 60s, with gray hair and pale blue eyes. She stopped in the doorway. Her gaze went first to Becca and Jimmy, then drifted around the room, coming to rest on Bucky.
"You must be James Barnes," she said, her voice neutral.
He got to his feet and nodded.
"Gwen," Jimmy rose, "we were going over some old times. Mom wanted a drink to celebrate Bucky's birthday."
"Bucky, huh?" Gwen glanced around the room again.
"Come on in, Gwen," Becca said, waving her hand.
"In a moment, Mom," Gwen smiled, but her eyes were anxious. She looked at Jimmy. "Can I speak to you out here for a moment?"
Jimmy took a breath and nodded. He looked at Bucky and said, "I'll be back in a moment."
"That's okay, actually, I have to be going." Bucky turned to Becca, leaned over, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Thank you for the photo album, and the drink."
She reached up a hand and touched his face. "You'll write us as much as you can?"
He wasn't sure about writing. "I'll…call."
"Stay safe, Bucky. Come home."
He swallowed, realizing she was somewhere else—back in the 40s. He smiled reassuringly. "I'll stay safe. Don't give Mom a hard time."
She smiled. "No promises."
He straightened, put the album under his arm, and turned toward the rest of the group. He nodded at Jimmy. "Thank you for telling me about some of the stuff I missed, and for the whiskey."
Jimmy held his hand out, and Bucky shook it, gentler this time.
"It was really nice to meet you," Jimmy said. "Oh, wait." He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to Bucky. "I know, cards are old-fashioned, but I'm old that way. It has my home and cell on it, and my email address."
Bucky nodded and slipped the card into his jacket pocket. "Thank you again." He shifted toward Glen. She was blocking the doorway. Her eyes were locked on him, and he recognized the distrust in her gaze. He didn't want to cause a scene, and he certainly couldn't blame her for being wary of him. She was protecting her mother, and he wouldn't fault her for that.
"If you'll just…" He waved at the door.
"Oh, right." She moved aside stiffly.
He passed her, giving her a quick glance. Steve and Sam were behind him. He realized halfway down the hallway that he didn't have his photostatic veil or hat on. Quickly, he ducked his head and hurried his steps. He was aware of a few curious glances, especially since Steve didn't have his veil on and Sam was broadly recognizable as of late.
When Bucky finally pushed through the exit doors, he breathed a sigh of relief. He heard the footsteps behind him—Steve's and Sam's, and then a third pair.
"Mr. B—uh, Bucky, wait a minute, please." It was Jimmy's voice.
Bucky took a steadying breath and turned to face the man. Jimmy slowed to a halt, slightly out of breath, Bucky's blue hat in his hand, and looked apologetically at Bucky.
"I know you picked up on Gwen's discomfort back there. I'm sorry." Jimmy held the hat out.
Bucky took the hat and slipped it on his head. "Don't be. She's smart." From the periphery of his vision, he saw Sam scowl at that comment.
Jimmy looked like he wasn't quite sure what to say in response. He shifted on his feet, then tilted his head. "Look, I haven't seen Mom that…well, that much like herself in a while. Seeing you was good for her. I think it brought her back to herself, more than she has been lately. Thank you."
"I'm just happy I had the chance to spend some time with her," Bucky said.
Jimmy held out his hand again and shook Bucky's. "It was really good to meet you. Mom's told me a lot stories about you and her growing up in Brooklyn before she moved to Indiana with Dad. Thank you for your service to our country. I'm proud to be named after someone who fought the Nazi's in World War II. You were a POW, and Gwen knows that, deep down. This is all just a bit…disconcerting for her. She got caught in the blip with Mom and, well, it's been a bit of an emotional roller coaster ride for all of us, but I know she's curious about you. You're her uncle after all. I hope you'll keep in touch."
As Bucky stared at a nephew who looked old enough to be his father, it all felt unreal. He gripped the photo album tighter under his arm and managed a smile. "I'll text you my number. If anything changes with Becca, let me know. I'm heading out of the country soon, but I'd still like to know."
Jimmy nodded. "Of course. Goodbye, Bucky." Then, he turned and headed back into the building.
Steve walked up to Bucky. "Are you okay?"
"I'm just a little…" Bucky struggled for the right word, "…overwhelmed right now." He lifted the book. "There's a whole life I missed out on in here." A lump rose in his throat, and heat flushed in his cheeks. His legs suddenly felt unsteady.
He could have been there…for his mother, when his father died. He could have been at his sister's weddings. Watched his nieces and nephews grow up. Maybe even had children of his own. He could have had a real life.
He fucking hated Hydra.
He spun on his heels and marched quickly away. He didn't even know where he was going, he just needed space—space from prying eyes, from people who might recognize him, and from the sympathy he saw in the two pairs of eyes boring into him.
He was aware of the footsteps following him, picking up the pace. He waved them back, hoping they'd get the message, even as his breathing came quicker and the rage boiled in his chest. He found a cluster of trees. It provided him some measure of privacy, and he submerged himself within their protection. He leaned forward against one, placing his forehead on the rough bark and cradling the book under his vibranium arm."
The crunch of footsteps told him Sam and Steve were nearby. He could hear them breathing, shifting on their feet.
"Bucky, you have a nephew who wants to know you," Steve said. "I'm sure your niece will come around. Just give it time."
"It's not that," Bucky managed to get out between the tightness in his gut and the fire in his chest. "They stole my life. They stole everything from me." He slammed his right fist into the trunk but had the presence of mind to pull his punch at the last minute to avoid toppling the tree. Then, he spun around and grabbed the book in his hand, holding it up. "Births, weddings, my parents' funerals, my sisters' funerals…all of it. They stole it all. I couldn't be there for Mom or my sisters when they needed me. I couldn't even die a hero. They stole that from me, too. Becca had to find out I was alive on the news…and what she saw was some psycho with the face of her brother."
"Bucky," Steve began.
Bucky cut him off. "Can you just give me a few minutes, please?" He slid down the trunk of the tree, his knees bent, and set the photo album gently on the ground next to him.
"Come on, Steve," Sam said, putting a gentle hand on Steve's arm.
With a sigh, Steve turned and followed Sam out of the cluster of trees. Bucky breathed a relieved sigh, grateful to Sam for the reprieve, and dropped his head on his knees. After a few moments, he reached for the album and, this time, went through it more slowly, soaking in the details of each photograph and allowing the tears to fall freely.
-0- -0- -0-
The sun was fading in the sky. Steve had donned his photostatic veil to avoid scrutiny as he and Sam hung out a couple of blocks from the nursing home adjacent to the park-like field in which Bucky was currently taking shelter. He heard the firm rhythm of footsteps from a distance and recognized the gait.
He turned as she approached. "Ayo?" He gave a quick tilt of his head in greeting.
She was dressed in a long-sleeved, neck high black dress. Her face was stoic, but her eyes were disapproving. "The day is fading, and you have not answered my hails." Her gaze swept the area. "Where is James?"
"It's been a bit of a rough day," Sam explained. "He's back there," he jerked his head to the cluster of trees.
"I am not at your at your disposal," she chided.
"We realize that," Steve said. "We appreciate the ride here, and your indulgence."
"We're trying to figure out how to celebrate his birthday. It's tomorrow," Sam explained, "It's been a while for him, obviously, but he's not feeling it."
Steve heard Bucky's footsteps, and Ayo's gaze shifted past him, irritation flashing quickly on her features. It faded instantly, however. Steve turned to see Bucky behind them, the album held under his left arm and the blue cap slanted low over his face. Even with the ballcap, Steve could make out Bucky's face. His face looked a shade paler, highlighting the red-tinged puffiness of his eyes.
Bucky's gaze went to Ayo. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he muttered.
She cocked her head at him, her eyes studious. "I understand the anniversary of your birth approaches."
Bucky ignored her comment. "We can leave whenever you're ready, Ayo. Thank you for bringing me here and giving me the chance to spend time with my sister."
"No, no, no," Sam said. "Look, it may not officially be your birthday for another few hours, but we said we were celebrating it, and we are. There's gotta be a bar or pub or something around here where we can get some good food."
Ayo nodded her head. "We can stay a few more hours. I am curious about the manner in which such anniversaries are celebrated in your culture. I would like to attend."
"About time!" Sam said. "It's better than you staying holed up in the plane."
She glared at him, but there was a hint of mirth in her eyes.
-0- -0- -0-
They found a place called Main Street Grille and caught a quick ride to the restaurant. The wait was short, and they sat at a table near a large window. Sam asked for a table for five, and Bucky shot him a quizzical look.
"Who else is coming?"
Sam didn't answer as he followed the server to the table. Bucky and Steve took the seats on opposite sides of the table closest to the window. Bucky placed the photo album carefully at the edge of the table, closest to the window. Ayo and Sam sat across from one another on the end. Several televisions hung high on the wall in the restaurant, most tuned to news or sports replays, with captions. It was dark outside, and the streetlights and headlamps gave the town a homey feel.
"Your menu is the QR code on the table," the server informed them. "If you'd like a physical menu, just let me know."
"I would like a menu," Ayo replied.
Bucky managed to find some amusement in that. He knew the Kimoyo beads could read QR codes, but he imagined what the folks of Greenwood, Indiana would think if a holographic menu popped up over Ayo's palm. As it stood, they were already getting curious glances, even with the photostatic veils shielding Steve and Bucky's faces. Ayo and Sam stood out like sore thumbs in the establishment. Not only were they the only two dark faces in the place, but Ayo's elegant outfit and regal demeanor set her apart from the rest of the casual diners.
Bucky saw a familiar figure approaching. He almost did a double take. "Barton?"
Clint slid into the empty chair next to Sam toward the end of the table, across but slightly askew from Bucky.
"I hear it's your birthday, Barnes," Clint said.
"What are you doing here?" Bucky didn't bother asking how Barton knew which of the two veiled faces belonged to Bucky. Steve's physique no doubt gave it away.
"It's nice to see you, too." Clint's eyes went to Steve. "And you, Cap. That is you, right?"
"Yes, it's me," Steve answered.
Clint gave a big smile. "It's…well, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Although, I understand you're not exactly the same guy I knew."
Steve smiled. "Close enough. It's good to see you, too, Barton."
"Why are you here?" Bucky asked again.
Barton leveled his gaze on Bucky. "Hey, we saved the world together, remember that? I can't drop by?" He shook his head. "Okay, so I saw the news…and Natasha. When Sam told me you guys were visiting your sister in Indiana, well…it's just a little over a five-hour drive from the farmhouse. I thought I'd crash the party and take this chance to say 'thank you' for Natasha. I know she's a different Natasha, and she's still…gone…here, but it helps knowing that somewhere she's alive." He cleared his throat hard. "So, I'm crashing your birthday, and I'm buying you a drink." He took out his phone and scanned the QR code on the table. "Plus, I kind of have to hear the story about you taking the stones and kicking Thanos' ass while reversing global warming. And Stark's parents? I've got to know how that reunion went."
"It's a long story," Bucky said with a sigh.
"How did you bring back Nat?" Clint leaned forward, setting his phone on the table. "Bruce tried."
"He made a copy of her," Steve interjected.
"What?" Clint looked flabbergasted as he leaned back in his chair.
"Like on that show Star Trek," Bucky explained. "They have a transporter. It kills a person and makes a copy of their pattern, right? It gave me the idea. When I had the stones, I made an exact copy of Natasha the millisecond before she hit the ground."
"But what about her soul?" Clint asked.
Bucky took a deep breath. He'd had this conversation before back at the battleground. "I don't know. I don't know if there is a soul. She said she felt…normal. She seemed normal. It's the best I could do."
"Banner said an exact copy is as good as the original," Steve added. "She was Natasha, through and through."
"So the person you brought back into that other timeline was exactly the same Natasha that I watched…" Clint's voice caught, "…die?"
Bucky nodded. "As far as I know, she was."
Clint's eyes glistened with a hint of tears. "So, she's not dead. You resurrected the same Natasha, but in a much better world than this one. She's living in a posh universe while we're over here in the rough part of town."
"Well, it still has its challenges," Steve interjected.
"But climate change, a clean planet, Tony Stark…" Clint shook his head, then extended his hand.
Bucky reached over and shook it. "I was just trying to push my ledger into the black."
"Way to hit it out of the park, man," Clint commended. "I'm really glad I picked Steve's side all those years ago to help save your ass."
Bucky gave into a small smile. "The other you said something very similar."
"I'm glad." Clint looked at Ayo. "It's nice to see you, too. Been a while, not that we did much chatting last time."
She bowed her head at him.
The server approached. It was a young man who looked barely out of his teens. He set a menu in front of Ayo, then asked, "Can I get you started on something?" His gaze lingered on Sam.
They ordered a round of beers, except for Ayo, who opted for a Pepsi, stating that she had always been curious what the beverage tasted like.
"So," Sam began, "are you going to let us see the album?"
"Album?" Clint perked up, his eyes going to the book near the window.
"This was a birthday present from his sister," Steve explained, his finger running along the outer edge of the book.
Bucky sighed and pushed the book across the table so that the three men could satisfy their curiosity. Sam spun the book around and opened the cover.
"Holy crap." Clint leaned forward, then looked up at Steve. "Sorry, Cap. I've seen the photos, of course, but it's just… seeing you next to Bucky and that woman really shows how, uh, well…small you were before the serum." He flashed an apologetic grin, then looked back down at the photo. "Who's the woman?"
Steve's eyes were fixated on the photograph. "My mother," he said softly.
Bucky saw the grief behind Steve's eyes, even through the camouflage of the veil.
"Take the photo. It's yours," Bucky said. "We'll keep it safe in the album until we get to Wakanda, but take it back with you when you go."
Steve looked up at Bucky. "Are you sure, man?"
"Yeah." Bucky nodded. "I'll take a photo of it with my phone. That's all anyone really needs these days, right?"
Steve smiled, but a hint of sadness lingered. "Thank you."
"Look at you!" Sam pointed to Bucky's deployment photo.
Ayo leaned forward, her eyes on the photo, then she turned to Bucky and said, "I do not believe I have ever seen you smile like that."
"I was putting on a brave face for my folks," Bucky said.
Truthfully, he'd been terrified, but he couldn't let it show—not to his parents, his sisters, or even Steve. He hadn't even admitted that to himself until he was on the transport, saying goodbye to New York.
Sam turned the page, and Bucky listened with half an ear as Sam asked "Who is that?" periodically. Steve would answer, usually with the name of one of his sisters.
The server returned with drinks, setting the beers in front of the men and the soda in front of Ayo. "Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"
Bucky hadn't even opened the menu on his phone. He looked around at the tables, spotted a burger that looked good, and pointed to it. "I'll have whatever burger that is over there."
The waiter nodded. "Great choice." He looked at Sam. "Are you…Captain America?"
Sam looked suddenly embarrassed and glanced quickly at Steve, who remained incognito thanks to the veil. "Yes," Sam said, somewhat awkwardly.
"That's so cool! I'm a huge fan. Your suit is awesome!"
Ayo straightened. "It is significantly better than its predecessor."
"Oh, way better," the server agreed.
Ayo seemed genuinely pleased.
The server looked at Clint next. "Aren't you one of the Avengers, too?"
Clint shook his head. "I'm retired."
"Ah," the waiter nodded. "So, what can I get the rest of you?"
Ayo slid her menu across the table, and the guys scanned it quickly, then placed their order. It pretty much ended up being burgers all around, except for Clint who ordered a chicken sandwich and Ayo, who opted for a salad.
When the waiter left, Ayo eyed her tall glass of soda. A straw, encased in paper, was next to her glass, but she ignored it. Instead, she picked up the glass, put her lips tentatively on the rim, and took a sip.
Her brow furrowed and she scrunched her nose. "This is absurdly sweet, but I like the bubbles."
Bucky gave a quick smile. "Welcome to the land of processed food and beverages."
"I am aware," Ayo declared. "This is not my first visit to your homeland."
"So, how old are you now?" Clint asked, then took a chug of his beer.
"Tomorrow, I'll be a hundred and seven," Bucky answered, "technically."
"How old are you biologically?" Clint asked.
Bucky shrugged. "I'm not sure exactly. Late thirties."
"Are you going to keep in touch with your nephew?" Steve asked from across the table, looking up briefly from the album to meet Bucky's gaze.
"I don't know." Bucky took a sip of his beer. It was a German brew, and the irony of that wasn't lost on him.
"He's your family," Steve said. "Even has your name, and it seems like he really wants to get to know you."
"Crazy tends to follow me," Bucky replied. "I don't want to taint their lives with it."
"Consider it," Steve suggested, his voice firm.
"I am." Bucky glanced at the page Sam was currently looking at.
It was his mother's funeral.
"What did your mom die from?" Sam asked. "Do you know?"
"A car accident," Bucky said. "I looked up her obituary."
Sam shook his head. "That's a shame. 1963. What a year. If I remember my history right, this is just after Kennedy died. Man, to be alive during that time…." He looked up at Bucky, then asked, "You were, at least for some of it, right? Do you remember what it was like then?"
Bucky looked down at his beer. "It's not like I did any sight-seeing. I was sent on missions. That's it." His tone was harder than he meant it to sound.
"What's the next photo?" Steve asked, reaching over and turning the page as he gave Bucky a sympathetic look.
Thank you, Steve. Bucky glanced up at his friend, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude for the change in subject. Steve nodded curtly. He'd gotten the message.
"So, what was the other timeline like?" Clint asked. From his tone, it was obvious he'd picked up on Bucky's discomfort.
"I was only there for a few days," Bucky said. "But the Avengers are together, except for Vision. I didn't have time to bring him back. The world gets a reboot on global warming, and…Tony Stark's alive. His parents got to meet their granddaughter."
"He even restored the Avenger's complex," Steve said.
"Damn." Clint smiled. "I wish I could've seen that."
"You did," Bucky answered, then tilted his head, "just a different version of you."
"Well," Clint raised his glass, "here's to the alternate versions of ourselves and, especially, to Natasha. I'm glad she got the better timeline. She deserves it."
Bucky and the others raised their glasses and gave a solid clink all around.
"And," Clint continued, "here's to the man who made it happen. Happy birthday, Barnes." He took a large gulp of his beer.
Bucky managed a genuine smile at that and drained half his glass. He was in no danger of getting a buzz from beer, no matter how quickly he downed it.
Their food arrived, and Sam finished going through the book, then closed it and set it back where Bucky had placed it, safely out of the way of crumbs and dripping sauces.
Bucky took a bite of his burger. The meat was juicy, cooked medium, piled with cheese, lettuce, pickles and bacon. It was perfect, much better than the bland, paltry meals they'd served him in the detention center, though it sat much heavier in his stomach than the Wakandan cuisine. After spending most of the say visiting his sister, he was hungry. He didn't realize just how hungry until the scent of the food filled his nostrils and the meat hit his stomach.
He heard Sam chuckle. "I take it you like the burger?"
Bucky looked up, only then realizing that a tiny, satisfied grumble had just escaped the back of his throat. He smiled self-consciously at Sam, then nodded, swallowed his mouthful, and said, "Sure beats prison food."
Ayo took a bite of her salad and tilted her head. "I prefer the food of Wakanda. The vegetables are fresher."
"That they are," Bucky agreed.
She looked over at him as if she were considering saying more, but she took another bite of her salad and let her gaze drift to one of the televisions on the far wall.
Bucky glanced at the display. A reporter was standing on concrete steps in front of a familiar building. The caption, "James Barnes, former Winter Soldier, transferred to Wakanda. Federal charges dropped."
Bucky took a gulp of his beer.
The image on the screen cut to his Louisiana booking photo.
Ayo turned her head to look at him. "It is a good thing that Stark provided you with the photostatic veil."
"Tell me about it," Bucky muttered.
"It'll die down." Steve looked at another television set somewhere on a wall behind Bucky. "It always does."
"Yeah," Sam said, taking a sip of his beer. "They'll be all over this for five minutes, then on to something else."
The image cut again, this time to Bucky acting the part of the Winter Soldier in Madripoor.
Bucky took a breath and drained the rest of his beer.
"So, what was that all about?" Clint asked, eyeing the screen.
"We were undercover," Sam explained. "Trying to get in touch with a fence named Selby to find out who was making the supersoldier serum."
"And this required you harming people?" Ayo asked.
Bucky cleared his throat. "I didn't -" he stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. He'd almost said he didn't have a choice, but he had that time. He wasn't brainwashed or programmed. He'd made a decision for the sake of the mission. "I didn't want to do that, but Zemo decided to put on a show, and it was either that or blow the mission and have the bar turn on us." He could've handled the people in the bar, if it had come to that, but likely not without casualties. Sam would've been in the thick of it, as well, and without his wings. "It wasn't just my life on the line." Bucky glanced quickly at Sam, then dropped his gaze to his empty glass. "Zemo knows how to push buttons. He enjoys it."
"Look, neither of liked what we had to do. The whole situation was messed up. Bucky did what he had to do. He's had my back, even when we barely knew one another." Sam looked at Bucky and said, "Don't think I didn't realize that you could've left me in the dust back at the airport in Berlin or in Madripoor when the shooting started. I know how fast you can run. I was slowing you down. You didn't even really know me in Berlin, but you still stayed with me."
Bucky felt the heat rise to his cheeks and managed a self-conscious smile. "Well, I nearly killed you three times and you were still willing to stick around me, so I figure it was the least I could do."
"Damn straight," Sam nodded, then returned his attention to Ayo and continued, "Besides, Zemo ended up being helpful." Sam continued. "Selby knew who was making the serum. We found him."
Ayo looked steadily at Sam. "And Zemo murdered him."
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah. That went badly."
"It's not like Nagel was a saint," Bucky said. "He may not have deserved to die, but he knew the crowd he was involved with. He used to work for Hydra. He was working for the Power Broker, creating an army of people like me." He looked over at Ayo, meeting her gaze. "I don't think there needs to be anymore of me in the world, do you? I did enough damage as Hydra's only Winter Solder…then they made five more that were even worse."
He watched as something shifted on Ayo's face. He wasn't quite sure how to read the expression, but she held his gaze a moment longer.
Finally, she said, "The world does not need more Winter Soldiers, but it will always need warriors willing to defend it against such adversaries. You now have a choice as to which role you will play."
Bucky figured that was as much of an olive branch as he was going to get, but while he knew he didn't want the former role, he wasn't sure he wanted the latter one, either. "Maybe I don't want either role. I didn't volunteer for the serum. I've been fighting my whole life. I'm tired of it."
Ayo nodded her understanding. Bucky saw Steve and Sam eyeing him uncertainly, and he realized he'd managed once again to put a damper on what had been shaping up to be a decent evening. The newscast had changed to something having to do with the GRC.
Bucky spotted the waiter and raised his glass. The man gave him a nod and hurried off.
"Anyway," Bucky said, forcing a smile to lighten the mood, "right now, there's nothing to fight about, right? I'm out. Zemo's locked up. Thanos is dead. The supersoldiers aren't a problem, Nazi's are pretty much a thing of the past, I'm sitting here in Indiana having just finished drinking a German beer, and as far we know, there's no more serum. I call all that a win."
"Damn straight," Clint said.
The waiter returned with another beer and Bucky took a sip.
"Can I get anyone else more beers?"
Sam, Steve, and Clint all nodded. Then the waiter looked at Ayo.
"I will have another soda."
Bucky eyed her. "I thought you said it was too sweet?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I like the bubbles."
He chuckled. "I see."
"Hey," Steve began, "do you remember that time you and I were going to the carnival, and we didn't want to bring Becca along, so we tried to sneak out of the apartment?"
Bucky laughed. "Yeah. She came paddling out barefoot with a box of macaroni and asked us if we'd like some for dinner." He shook his head. "I felt so bad."
"She played you."
"I know!" He laughed again, and it felt like a breath of fresh air.
Steve smiled. "You told her to come on and she ran into the apartment and came back out with her shoes and jacket, so fast they had to be ready to go by the door."
"She was always in the middle of things."
"I have no idea why that just came to me right now," Steve said. "But seeing her today really brought back a lot of memories."
"It must have been something to see her again and meet your namesake nephew," Sam said. "I guess this means we can call you Uncle Buck."
Clint laughed at that. Bucky wasn't sure he caught the joke. He looked at Steve, who shrugged.
"Uncle Buck!" Sam said again.
Buck shook his head.
"It's a movie," Clint explained.
Sam pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen, and then, after a few seconds, turned the screen to face Bucky.
"Here's the trailer," Sam said. "Now you're gonna have to watch it."
Bucky watched the trailer as he sipped his beer. The large guy was Uncle Buck, and he seemed to be deficient in the smarts department and an overall inadvertent catastrophe.
"I think I'll pass." Buck said when the trailer finished.
-0- -0- -0-
Since Clint had driven in, they decided to spend one more night in the hotel and leave at first light for Wakanda. Clint crashed with them in the room, and they spent a good several hours shooting the breeze and catching up. When it came time for sleep, Bucky took the floor. Steve gave him a look and Clint protested, but Bucky was already grabbing a pillow and calling for an extra blanket from downstairs.
"I'm used to the floor," Bucky had told him. "I slept on the ground for a year and a half in Wakanda."
"What was that about? I know they have beds in Wakanda," Clint asked.
"I preferred it," Bucky explained.
The solitude had given him a sense of calm. He didn't have to worry about his nightmares disturbing others, or deal with curious stares, sympathetic glances, or expectations of any kind. Most importantly, he didn't have to engage in the exhausting work of learning how to interact normally with other human beings again, or worry that he might somehow unintentionally hurt someone. For the first time in 80 years, he'd felt free…if a bit lonely. But he'd take the loneliness over the alternative.
Now, they were back on the plane. Clint was on his way home in his truck, and Ayo was in the cockpit. They were somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, a couple of hours away from Africa, and they were making good time.
He sat down in the copilot's seat, which was somewhat superfluous. The plane could fly itself if need be.
"You're really punching the engines," Bucky commented. "In a rush to get back?"
She merely glanced at him but offered no other response.
Back at the restaurant, he thought maybe they were on course to patch things up. It looked like he might have been mistaken. "You can take a break if you like," he looked over at her. "I can babysit the controls for a few minutes. Stretch your legs."
She glanced at him. "Thank you for your offer. There is no need." She stared at the open sky in front of her and, after a moment of silence, said, "I regret our encounter in Latvia. I should not have disengaged your arm. You did not wish to fight, only to talk, and though I do not agree with your actions, I allowed my anger to guide my actions."
Bucky stared at her, relieved that she was, in fact, interested in mending things between them. She finally looked over at him.
He offered a smile that he hoped she took as genuine, then replied. "Thank you. I regret some of my actions during that time, as well." That was a colossal understatement.
"I know that you do." She tilted her head toward him. "We need not discuss it again unless you wish to."
"I…don't wish to." He looked out the window. "Thank you, Ayo."