Sam was headed back to the group, shield on his arm—it looked right on him—and that left the two of them face to face. "Rogers, you stupid asshole."

Steve smiled back. Scrawny little kid, super soldier, or very senior citizen, the smile was always the same. "Let's take a walk."

Bucky crossed the distance between them and fell into step beside his friend. "You sure you can keep up?"

"You wanna race around the lake?" Steve challenged.

"I don't wanna kill you at a funeral, old man."

"You've tried before; I could still take you."

"Sure thing, pal. You look like shit, by the way."

"Get back to me when you're 180 years old."

"You're double counting some of that to make it sound more impressive."

"It all counts, my friend. Believe me."

Bucky picked up a stone from the shore with his left hand and slung it at the lake. They paused to watch it skip across the surface, all the way to the other side. "Show-off," said Steve, and they moved on.

"So… how was it? Your normal life. Everything you hoped?"

He looked distant for a moment, only a flash of wistfulness under his contentment. "And more. No regrets."

"Good. You deserved it."

That troubled him somehow, and he said, "Actually, I do have one regret. And an apology to make." He turned the full Steve Rogers sincerity on him, and it was somehow even more powerful now. "I tried to find you."

Bucky nodded. "Of course you did."

"For years. But…"

"You stopped for Peggy."

"She never would have asked me to. She helped. She's the reason S.H.I.E.L.D. started tracking you in the eighties. But with the kids… It was too big a risk. We both had to retire from field work, official or unofficial. And then time just...passed. I'm so sorry, Buck."

"Sorry for what? Not putting your family in the crosshairs? It was the right call. Maybe it happened how it had to happen, ever think of that? You already saved me once. What were you looking for, extra credit?"

"You deserved it, too, Bucky. The normal life, the wife and kids…"

Bucky laughed. "The picket fence? The nine-to-five? I don't know if that was ever gonna be me. But I'm happy for you, buddy. I really am. Kind of steamed I missed the wedding, though. Who was your best man? You know what, don't tell me."

"I missed you, too." That resolved, Steve said, "It's not too late, you know."

"For what, a stag party? I already said I'm not trying to kill you."

Steve elbowed him. Old-man elbows were pointy. "Not too late for you to find someone, idiot."

"There aren't a lot of Peggy Carters to go around out there. Dummy."

"No, there are not. But I'm an old man, and I'm allowed to be sentimental—"

"Oh, now you're allowed, what was your excuse before?"

"I don't want you to be alone." If he thought the sincerity was intense, the earnestness sure packed a wallop.

"I've been alone a long time. It makes sense to me."

"I know. It makes me sad, Buck."

"Jesus. The hard sell." He tried to keep it light. "You got a granddaughter you want to set me up with?"

"I have a great-granddaughter, and she's way too good for you."

"So what, you want me to join a whaddayacallit, an app? What goes on the profile first, the cybernetic arm, or the long list of political murders? Or maybe there are S.H.I.E.L.D. mixers, I'd be a real hit there."

"Okay, smartass. I'm just saying… miracles happen."

He tensed up and glanced away from Steve. "Yeah, well. It would take a miracle."

"Oh, come on, you're not that ugly."

"I'm prettier than you now," he smirked.

"Debatable."

They walked along in quiet a little longer, just the birds and the rustling leaves, before Bucky said, looking at his feet, "There was someone, once. A while back. Not that long ago, considering. It didn't last long. And it ended...badly."

"Did you love her?"

Direct, as always. If he was pulling it out of him, he might as well get it all. "Yeah. As well as I could, I guess. I wasn't quite myself, but with her, for a little while… at least I was somebody."

After just the right amount of silence, Steve said, "I'm glad. I'm glad you told me."

"You really did rack up a lot of grief counselor hours, didn't you? Are you gonna just keep listening at me with that kindly old grampa face?" When Steve did just that, he continued. This part was harder. "It took a while for all of it to come back to me. I was hoping to talk to her, after I got my head straight. Apologize for some things."

"What happened to her? Do you know where she is now?"

"Yeah. She died." He stopped and looked his best friend square in the eyes, still the same damn eyes. "On Vormir."

Steve hung his head and said, "Jesus, Buck."

He shrugged, stuffed his hands into his jacket. "She probably didn't remember me, anyway. They fucked with our heads pretty good."

Steve looked out at the lake, pondering, before he finally sighed and said, "She remembered. She told me."

Bucky just stared at him, fists clenching inside his pockets. "Well. Fuck."

378 DAYS AFTER THE SNAP

Steve walked in on her doing what he thought of as her ritual: looking down the List of the Lost. She would sit there, sometimes for hours, ghost after ghost floating above the desk as she scanned through the files. He sat down across from her and joined the vigil.

She had stopped on the photo of one James Buchanan Barnes.

It was still a sharp hurt, on top of all the others, that he'd barely had a chance to know his oldest friend again before losing him. But they'd lost so many, sometimes mourning one person in particular felt strangely selfish.

Natasha was still staring at Bucky—the Winter Soldier, to her—wearing an expression he couldn't interpret. Nat could be very open with her thoughts and feelings, but when she wanted to, no one was more expert at concealing them. Finally, she made eye contact, and he could tell she'd made some kind of decision.

"I knew him," she said.

He leaned forward, confused. "Yeah, I know, you told me about—"

She shook her head. "No, before that. In Russia. We knew each other."

He needed a minute to absorb this, and she waited him out silently. "You knew Bucky?"

"I knew someone. Not the guy you knew. Not exactly. I don't think. It's hard to say…" She trailed off, her discomfort rising, as if she regretted bringing it up.

The chair wobbled underneath him. "How?"

"They brought The Soldier in to train us. We...ran a few ops together."

Stunned at her matter-of-factness, he said, "Wow. You're good at keeping secrets."

She looked at him apologetically. "Well, I was a spy, so…"

He thought back; she had gotten the file on him so fast. "Were you keeping track of him?"

"I tried to. Steve, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But it didn't seem relevant to the mission. And then Sokovia, and then the Accords…"

"You helped us get away. Put everything on the line…"

"Because it was the right thing to do."

An awful intuition crept up on him. "Was that the only reason?"

She deflected. "He didn't remember me. I could tell. That's why I never brought it up. Every time we fought, I looked for something, but it was never there. Of course it wasn't. They would have taken...all of it." The image on the holographic display shimmered between them. "I'm glad he remembered you, though. I'm glad he got that back."

We'll get him back. We'll get them all back, he wanted to say, but even if in that moment he meant it, he couldn't lie to her. "You could have talked to him in Wakanda."

"There wasn't time. Or maybe I thought there would be time. I don't know." Her expression softened, revealing something raw underneath. "I don't mean to upset you."

"No, you're not," he reassured her. "I just… I guess we have something else in common now."

"I guess so." She stood and gestured at the interface, and Bucky's image shrank and became one of hundreds filling up the display. "I'm going for a run. Can you man the desk?"

"Yeah. Sure." Apparently the conversation was over, before his head had even had a chance to stop spinning. "Hey, Nat." She turned, mid-tying her hair back. Something told him it was his last chance to ask...or not to ask. "It was more than just running a few ops, wasn't it?"

Natasha only smiled sadly.

Whatever it was, it was in the past. Along with everything else.

"I don't know why it makes a difference," Bucky said, hearing his voice come out with static in it.

"Do you want to sit and talk for a while?"

"And what, feed the ducks?" he said sharply. "No. Unless you're saying you need to sit down."

"I get it, I'm old. Are you all right?"

Bucky forced himself to relax. "Yeah. Sorry. I don't know why I'm—. It doesn't change anything."

"Kind of sounds like it does."

"She's still dead, isn't she?"

Steve took the harsh words placidly. He'd had more time to get used to it. "And I still miss her. A lot of people up there do, too. You've got family, if you want it."

"That's your family, not mine."

"You're here, aren't you? Anyway, it was Nat's family, too. You know, she never gave up on getting everybody back. That includes you."

"What did she tell you, exactly? About us."

"Hardly anything. I think she just needed me to know there was a connection. We were all doing whatever we could to feel less alone back then."

Bucky wasn't sure what that meant. "Did you two ever…?"

"What? No! Geez, no. I wouldn't. I mean, we kissed once, but that was spy stuff. And it was her idea."

"Okay, relax, you're off the hook. I wasn't accusing you of stealing my girl."

After a few seconds, Steve asked gently, "Is that how you think of her? As your girl?"

Bucky sighed. Lisichka, zvezda moya...That's how he'd thought of her once. The last time he'd seen her, which was also the first time since the truth of who she was to him had re-emerged, was as a furious flash of now-blonde hair through the fray of the battlefield, dealing more damage than she took. He'd grinned at the sight of her, and yes, thought for a second, That's my girl. "Nah," he denied. He hadn't earned that. He never would, now. And he'd been dealing with it, accepting it as just another shitty turn of the cards, until Steve had started digging. Her death shouldn't have anything to do with him or how he felt; she was more important than that. But knowing that she had still cared, even a little, he could suddenly feel the absence of whatever piece of him she'd taken with her. It fucking hurt. On top of his oldest friend now being his oldest friend… "I kind of wish you hadn't told me, buddy." Before Steve could apologize, he said, "Let's go back."

Though it felt like miles from where they'd started, they hadn't actually walked very far. When the Stark house came into view through the trees, there was some kind of commotion going on outside. He couldn't pick anything out of the chatter, but it seemed excited, not alarmed. Everyone was gathered around some buzzing hub of activity, with a gesticulating Hulk towering over the center of the crowd. Bucky shot a questioning look at Steve, who shrugged. As they got closer, he recognized Shuri's bubbling laugh among the voices. A kid ran into the house and ran out again with Barton, who shoved his way through the throng, and whooped. Hulk stooped over, lifted a woman off the ground, and tossed her high in the air—a grand jeté and a flaming banner of hair, graceful and bold against the blue sky.

Bucky stopped as if he'd walked into a wall. Something inside him cracked, and whether it was a break or a repair, he didn't know.

Behind him, Steve whispered, "Now that's a miracle."