Chapter 15: Getting a Life

Bucky stepped out of the sedan and tightened his grip on the duffel bag as stared at the white farmhouse with a black roof and detached garage. The residence sat in front of a cluster of trees on a few acres in Shelbyville, Indiana.

"It's nice." Steve carried a backpack over one shoulder and a round shield-sized leather satchel.

The sedan drove away, and still Bucky stayed planted at the edge of the grass, blood roaring in his ears. The family was expecting them, and Becca's son, Jimmy—his namesake, and that sent all kinds of warm, tingly feelings buzzing around inside him—had offered to pick them up, but he'd insisted on catching a ride. The man was getting up there in years, after all.

It felt weird to have a nephew that was more than twice his physical age.

"You're not gonna say a word?" he told Steve.

Steve sighed. "I promise. It's your decision who you tell and when, but I think she'd understand. You remember how she was. I don't think she'll care about this."

Bucky turned to look at Steve. This was too important for Steve not to understand. "She's an old woman, Steve, and you know what Jimmy said. Things can trigger her. Her mind is ill. The last thing I want to do is cause her any pain or confusion. Just leave it be." His 94-year-old sister had gone her entire life thinking he was straight as an arrow and died a hero. His being alive and looking as young as the day he left was a bombshell of its own. He didn't need to drop another one. "Besides," he added, "you're not exactly out publicly."

"I'm not not out," Steve said with a shrug. "It's just not anything that needs an announcement. That's a double standard, and I think it's time we just stopped fussing over it."

"Aha! So you admit, it is different."

"For some of the world, Bucky, yes. Now, stop stalling." Steve looked back at the house. "Besides, they're peeking at us through the curtains."

Ah, shit. Bucky looked back to see the flap close quickly on the white curtains in the front window. "Do I look okay?"

He straightened his black slacks and tugged on the sleeves of his blue dress shirt. Steve had talked him out of wearing a suit, but it didn't seem right to meet his extended family dressed in jeans and sneakers. Dressing up was a sign of respect. That's what his folks had always taught him, and that's what they'd taught Becca, too.

Steve gave side-eye and a lopsided grin. "You look good enough to eat."

"Don't start that."

"Come on." Steve patted him on the back. "Let's go meet your nieces, nephews, and grandnieces and nephews."

Bucky took a breath and walked to the front door. It opened before he could knock, and an older gentleman stood in the doorway. He had a full head of white hair and dark blue eyes. Bucky recognized him instantly from the social media photos.

"Uncle James!" James Barnes Proctor smiled brightly and pulled Bucky into a hug. "I hope you don't mind, but this is a dream come true."

"You can call me..." Uncle Bucky? Uncle Buck? Or maybe Uncle Jimmy? "Uh, Bucky."

"I'm Jimmy." He pulled back and nodded. "Okay, Bucky it is." Then his face scrunched. "Would an occasional Uncle Bucky be okay?"

Steve smiled. "Personally, I think Uncle Bucky suits him."

Jimmy turned to Steve. "It's a great honor to meet you, Captain." Jimmy extended his hand, but before Steve could shake it, he was almost run over by five kids who looked to be in their early teens and peppered them both with questions.

"Captain America! Is that your shield?"

"Are you my great uncle?"

"Did you really fight Nazis?"

"How the hell do I get superpowers?"

"Bobby, watch your language!" Jimmy berated. "I'm so sorry." He turned to the kids. "Back, you heathens!"

Jimmy stepped aside and waved them in. Bucky straightened, squeezing the straps of the duffel bag as though it contained his hopes and dreams, and walked into a large room full of people. They filled the two leather sofas, the armchairs, and some were even on the floor, but everyone stood to greet them. A large sign with huge letters colored in by hand hung near the ceiling and proclaimed, "Welcome home, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes!"

Bucky felt his face grow hot as he stared at it, and his vision blurred. Steve's hand came down on his shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge forward.

Everyone was on their feet except the old, thin woman with white hair and blue eyes seated in the corner of the brown leather sofa. Bucky couldn't pull his eyes away from her. He knew it was Becca, and not just because she was the oldest one in the room—physically, anyway. She had their mother's eyes, and as she looked at him, they welled with tears.

"Mom," Jimmy kneeled in front of her, "your brother is here."

"Jimmy?" She looked up and leaned forward.

"Yeah, Mom, right there."

Bucky knew she was talking to him. She'd never stopped calling him Jimmy, no matter how many times he insisted otherwise. "Becca."

He dropped the bag and hurried to her, dropping next to her on the couch. He wanted so much to pull her into a tight hug, but he was afraid of breaking her.

"You're back from the war?" She reached out one wrinkled, shaking hand and cupped his cheek with her palm. Her touch was cool and light as a feather. Her skin felt like rice paper.

"Yeah." He took her hand in his own. "I'm back."

Her eyes shimmered. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

She pushed to her feet, and he helped her up, mindful of his new strength. Then she hugged him, her embrace as light as a breeze. He closed his eyes. Tears spilled onto his cheeks as he slid his arms carefully around her, afraid to put even the slightest bit of pressure into the embrace.

"You look just the same," she said.

He sensed a shift in her tone. Before, he knew she was back in the 40s, thinking he'd just come home from the front, but now she sounded stronger, more certain.

He pulled back and gave her the crooked smile he'd always teased her with. "I can't say the same for you."

"You're still a jerk." She smiled at him, her cheeks wet and rosy.

"Yes, I am." He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her forehead. "God, it's good to see you, Becca. I'm sorry I didn't write more."

"You wrote us enough. I know they didn't let you say very much." She gazed at him, her head shaking slowly. "I can't believe you're alive. Mom never gave up hope and said she never would unless they found your body. She was right all those years."

The thought of his mom holding out hope for him somehow hit worse than the alternative. At least if she had been able to accept that he was dead, maybe she could've grieved and moved on. "I'm sorry. I wanted to make it home. Were Mom and Dad okay?"

"They were, after a while, but none of us ever stopped missing you." She gave him another hug, then lowered herself back to the couch. When she settled herself, she looked at Steve as if she'd just spotted him. Her eyes went wide, and she brought her hand to her cheek. "My God, Steve Rogers? You're all grown up!"

Steve grinned and crouched in front of her. "Hello, Becca. It's wonderful to see you."

She opened her arms, and he leaned forward into a hug made awkward from the angle. When he went to pull back, she grabbed his face with her hands and held his eyes. "How come you never came to see me?"

He folded his hands over hers and knelt. "It was one crisis after another, and…well…I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

Bucky took a deep breath. There was that Steve Rogers guilt complex again.

She dropped her hands. "Why on Earth would you think that?"

Steve sank to his knees in front of her. "Because…I'm the reason you lost him."

"Not true," Bucky said. "Cut that s-stuff out." He almost said shit but remembered that children were listening and caught himself at the last minute.

Becca's expression shifted, and her eyes went distant for a moment before focusing again on Steve. "Who did I lose?"

Jimmy leaned over and touched her arm. "Bucky, mom, but he's back. He's right there."

Becca looked over at him, her forehead crinkling, then she blinked. "Jimmy? What happened to you? I saw you on the news."

Crap. Bucky looked at Steve. He wasn't sure what she'd seen, or whether he should go into what would be a very long and confusing explanation.

"He was captured," Steve answered, "but we got him back."

Becca looked at Bucky's shoulder. "You were on the TV. They said you did bad things. You had a metal arm. What happened, Jimmy?"

"I don't know exactly. I…" He hesitated, not wanting to lie, but at a loss to explain something he still didn't fully understand himself. "I don't remember what happened."

"Oh… I don't always remember things like I used, either." She smiled again. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Yes, I'm staying for dinner and a couple of days after that."

They spent the rest of the day in a whirlwind of introductions—Gwen and Richard were Becca's other two children—and bonded over food, stories, photos, and videos. He caught up on 80 years of Barnes' family history and had so much food shoved at him, he regretted not bringing a baggy pair of sweatpants.

Amelia, it turned out, idolized Steve. It was both cute and hilarious. She followed him around like a puppy, with curls like Ruth that bounced with her. When Steve let her hold his shield, her face got bright red, then pale, and she looked like she was about to faint.

When the day faded and everyone was sitting around, stuffed, having laughed and cried over old photos and stories, Jimmy came down the stairs with a box in his hand. Bucky was sitting between Steve and Becca on the couch, and as soon as Jimmy approached, he pushed to his feet.

"Sit." Jimmy waved him back down and set the box in his lap. "This is for you, if you want it. We figured you probably don't have anything from home."

It was an old, square box, the kind a pair of boots might come in, and he lifted the lid. The first thing he saw was his birth certificate in a plastic bag. It was unfolded and kept straight by a piece of cardboard behind it. It filled the entire box almost, covering the other contents.

"Wow." He lifted it gently. "This really comes in handy." He looked up at Jimmy, then Becca. "Thank you."

"Mom never gave up hope," Becca said. "She saved that, and when she passed away, I got some of your things."

Beneath the certificate were three medal boxes. He knew one of them was the purple heart with a bronze oak leaf cluster. He'd received that one after Azzano. The other two were new to him. One was a World War II Victory Medal and the other a Distinguished Service Cross. Both had to have been awarded posthumously.

It was the Distinguished Service Cross that he focused on. The second highest honor award for military valor. He was touched. He looked up at Steve. "What was this one for?"

Steve gripped the back of Bucky's neck and squeezed, his eyes bright. "Saving my life and ensuring the success of Zola's capture. Without his intel, we wouldn't have known what Schmidt was planning, and millions of people would've died."

His throat got tight. He dropped his gaze and set the medals gently next to his leg so he could inspect the rest of the items. There was one of his old wooden train toys with a wheel missing, a baseball he caught from a Dodger's game signed by Lou Fette, and a 1931 Amazing Stories quarterly encased in a clear plastic sleeve.

"Wow." Steve peered over Bucky's shoulder at the magazine. "I know it's old, but looking at it makes it seem like we were kids just yesterday."

"I practically was a kid just yesterday," Bucky shot back with a grin, hoping no one noticed the wetness in his eyes. He put everything back into the box and set the lid on top. "Thank you. Actually, I have some things I brought, too." He handed the box to Steve, went to his duffel bag, and retrieved the leather envelope-style case, then dropped back onto the couch and pulled out the letter from his folks and the photo of Ruth with her newborn son.

"This was when I became an uncle, and I carried this and the letter from home with me in my jacket."

"Oh my God," Becca's shaking hand took the photo. "Ruth…"

"The photo's in mint condition," Jimmy said. "No cracks, no fading."

"Well, it's not physically that old. You have Dr. Strange to thank for that. It was in my pocket when I fell off the train, and it tagged along with me for the ride."

Jimmy shook his head. "I still don't quite understand what happened other than a sorcerer kind of set back the clock for you."

"Unfortunately, we're limited by how much we can say exactly, at least until the big wigs in Washington work through it more," Steve explained.

"Can you read us the letter?" Gwen asked.

Bucky unfolded the letter, scrawled in his mother's hand, and cleared his tight throat.

"Dear Bucky,

We miss you, and we love you. Your father and I are doing well. Ruth is a wonderful new mother and little Johnathan almost said 'mama' yesterday. Maggie is missing you and Paul. We're not sure where he's stationed, but when the war is over and you're both home, they plan on getting married. Ruth has already been tapped as the maid of honor.

Becca and Daniel are doing well. She's taking classes and he's working in the factory, but he hasn't gotten over the 4F designation he received on account of his leg. He's having a hard time. People can be so cruel, but I don't need to tell you that.

I wish I could tell you that Steve is doing well, but I don't know. He stopped by and gave us some cash. He said it was the rent money you'd sent him and he was heading to bootcamp. That's the last I heard from him. I can't imagine anyone gave him a 1A designation. I hope not for his sake. He's too young to be reunited with dear Sarah, may she rest in peace.

I hope you're safe, warm, and they're feeding you enough. I hear about the rations and the terrible conditions on the front lines. I don't know where you will be when this letter gets to you. I've included a few pairs of new socks. I hope they reach you, but if they don't, hopefully some young man will get the benefit of them.

Please be careful. I know you're brave, strong, and kind, and you'll do what is required of you and more. You always have. Just know that I love you, and I miss you, and I pray to God every night for an end to this terrible war, and I ask him to bring you safely back home.

Your loving mother (and your father, too. He wants me to tell you to keep your feet dry and clean so you don't get trench foot. The socks should help with that)."

Silence hovered over the room when he finished.

Finally, Jimmy said, "I was a kid when grandma passed away, and I never knew my grandpa George. It's strange seeing that letter and the photo, so pristine, and having you here, looking young enough to be my son or possibly even grandson."

Imagine how weird it is being thrust into a whole new century, Bucky thought, with talking raccoons and aliens. The world knew about aliens. He's seen that much on the news, but there had been no mention of the talking raccoon or tree creature, so he opted to keep that to himself. "It's no weirder, I imagine, than half the world vanishing and reappearing five years later."

"We have you to thank for that, Captain," Gwen said, pulling a few strands of her ash brown hair behind her ear.

"Doctor Bruce Banner is the real hero on that front, and Tony Stark."

"And you," Richard said, Becca's other son. He looked a lot like Bucky's father, with light brown eyes that were a shade darker than his grandfather's.

Amelia yawned, and that got Bucky yawning.

"It's getting late." Jimmy glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Wow, it's eleven already. If you're tired, I can show you to your room. I set up the foldable."

"That would be great. I'm beat." Bucky gathered up the box and letter, grabbed his duffel bag, and said goodnight to everyone, giving Becca another long, careful hug, then followed Jimmy to the stairs.

"Wait!" Amelia went up to Steve and shyly asked, "Can I hug you?"

Bucky held back a smile as Steve stooped so she could wrap her arms around his neck, then she planted a kiss on his cheek and ran off squealing.

Bucky laughed and said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Steve Rogers, charming the Barnes' family since 1923."

That got a round of laughter, and they followed Jimmy up the stairs to the room at the end of the hallway. Since Jimmy Proctor was hosting a full house, he and Steve insisted they could bunk together "just like in the old days."

"This is you. It's got its own bathroom, and I put two new toothbrushes on the sink." Jimmy lowered his voice and added, "Thank you for coming. It means the world to us, and I think it did wonders for mom to see you. Today was a really good day for her."

Bucky smiled and scrubbed awkwardly at the back of his head, trying to keep himself together. One minute, Becca had been a girl—barely old enough to qualify as a woman—and now she was a frail old woman in the final days of her life. He didn't know how much time he'd have left with her, but he was glad he hadn't missed the chance to spend see her.

"Goodnight," Jimmy said, giving Bucky and Steve a quick pat-hug, then heading back downstairs.

Inside the room, there was a queen-sized bed and a foldout mattress in the room. With as many people as they had visiting, Bucky wondered if someone else could use the foldout mattress, but he wasn't ready to out them to the family, so for now, he'd play along.

He set down his things and locked the bedroom door.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, it's just….I mean. Wow."

"I know."

Things were getting entirely too heavy, so Bucky decided to change the subject. "No funny business tonight," he whispered. The walls were no doubt thin enough for others to hear.

Steve smiled and crossed his arms. "Well," he looked at the bathroom door, "there's always the shower."

Bucky held a finger in Steve's face. "No." The bathroom really was the most dangerous place in the home. No way was he going to risk a repeat of last time.

"When you get knocked off the horse, you gotta get right back on," Steve said, almost vibrating, his face going red until, finally, he doubled over laughing.

"You may be almost 40, but you have the mind of a thirteen-year-old," Bucky retorted, determined not to crack a smile as he headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Fifteen minutes later, he and Steve were in bed with the lights off. The soft murmur of voices and the low background noise from the television downstairs filtered into the room. He shifted onto his side and stared into the darkness, thinking about his mother and father, and how they must have reacted when they got the news of his "death."

There was a subtle shift on the mattress, and Steve's warmth pressed against him, arms snaking around his waist. His chin rested on the back of Bucky's shoulder.

"What do you think of them?" Steve whispered.

"They seem like nice people. I like them." He slid his feet in between Steve's and closed his eyes.

"I like them, too."

Bucky heard something melancholy in that tone and reached up to grab Steve's arm. "Good, because they're your family, too."

Steve tightened his hold. "Goodnight, Buck."

"Night, Steve."

-0- -0- -0-

The next day, Ruth's granddaughter Joni arrived, a woman with shaggy blonde hair and kind hazel eyes. She was Jonathan's daughter and Bucky's grandniece. Bucky and Steve spent a more relaxed day eating and playing a game of flag football, with Steve and Bucky on opposite sides for fairness.

Becca and Jimmy spent most of the late afternoon in the kitchen shooing Steve and Bucky away. Becca sat on a stool and barked orders at Jimmy and sometimes Gwen, who apparently hadn't developed the same culinary skills as her brother. Bucky's nose told him what it was an hour before the food was ready.

The family was too big for one table, so they spread beyond the main table to makeshift tables in the nearby living room. A few people ate at the kitchen counter, and the kids were in the living room.

Bucky and Steve shared one side of the table with Jimmy. Becca and Richard sat at opposite ends, and Gwen was elbow to elbow with her niece and nephew, Lorelei and George. Steve's eyes fixed on the covered porcelain casserole dish. "That's your mother's chicken casserole, isn't it, Becca?"

Jimmy gave a huge smile and lifted the lid. "If it smells the same, we must have gotten it right."

"I swear this brings me right back home," Steve said in awe, transfixed.

Bucky knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he'd been missing his mother's cooking for almost two years. His cheeks tingled in anticipation. Seeing Steve so dumbstruck made him almost giddy.

"Thank you, little sister." He met her clear, glistening eyes, and she gave him a smile and a nod.

Today seemed to be another good day for her. He wondered what a bad one was like, but he was grateful that he had this time with her.

When it was time to leave the next morning, she gave him a long hug, her head pressed against his shoulder. She turned her head up and whispered, "I'm happy for you and Steve. Please come visit again soon."

He stopped breathing for a moment, his heart drumming a few fast beats, and blinked down at her. She was smiling, eyes crinkled. He wanted to ask her how she knew. Was it something in their body language, or the untouched fold-out in the bedroom?

He decided it didn't matter. The only thing that did matter is that she knew, and she looked genuinely happy for him. He kissed her forehead. "I love you. We'll visit again soon. I promise."

He kept it together until they were in the Stark jet at the executive airport.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve spent more time at the hotel—the temporary Avengers' HQ while the complex was being rebuilt—than he did at the apartment. Sometimes Bucky accompanied him and trained with the Avengers, helping out where he could and testing out his new abilities. Eventually, Steve hoped they might work out the Accords thing and the Avengers could become a unit together, with Bucky as their newest member, if he was willing.

Steve wasn't sure that would happen. He sensed hesitation in Bucky when he trained with the Avengers, and whenever he'd broach the topic, Bucky brushed him off. More often than not, Bucky did his own thing, like exploring the city, volunteering at the repatriation shelter for displaced Returned, or hanging out with David and his friends.

In many ways, Bucky was the more resilient of the two of them. He always had been. Steve wasn't sure how many other people could've escaped Hydra, spent two years on their own recovering from amnesia and battling intense nightmares, and then headed seamlessly into one fight after another without breaking. Steve wasn't sure he could've.

Nevertheless, that resilience didn't make up for 80 years of lost time. Bucky had a lot of catching up to do, and he seemed to be adjusting a lot faster than Steve had—more evidence of his resilience, but also probably because he had the benefit of a better support system and actual friends. Steve had been given a debriefing and orientation after he came out of the ice but was otherwise left to his own, without a friend in the world. So, even though the world was in chaos, Steve did his best to make sure he was there for Bucky.

Today was a day without Bucky. He was chatting with Clint, Laura, and Sam over the holodisplay about repatriation efforts and human rights issues. Clint was semi-retired, but he and Laura were happy to work with their local politicians on repatriation efforts with the council.

Walking up the steps to the apartment later that evening, shield satchel in one hand and mail in the other, Steve slipped the mail under his armpit and reached for his keys. He heard Bucky before he got to the door.

"You were supposed to be watching my back…. Oh, is that how it is? Okay, the gloves are off, kid."

Steve entered the apartment to see Bucky in the middle of the living room, the VR headset on and swinging a controller around with his right hand as though it were a sword. The tantalizing aroma of meat and cheese filled the apartment.

"Goddam…darnit, I need a better weapon!" Bucky yelled.

A tiny voice came from the headset. "Mom says if you're gonna curse…."

"I didn't curse! Hey!" Bucky dodged something and grinned. "Gotcha! How's that feel, huh?"

"Awww, damn….sorry, Mom!"

Steve rolled his eyes and set the mail on the table near the door. There was a large, official-looking envelope that he assumed contained Bucky's identity documents. Finally.

"Who are you playing?"

Bucky swiped through the air. "Sam's punk little nephew, AJ!"

"Oh, okay, that's it!" another hollow-sounding voice said, and Steve recognized it as Sam.

"Gimme the headset, AJ," Sam said, louder. "I'm going to show you how to humble an old man."

Steve left Sam and Bucky to battle it out while he hit the shower.

"Don't flip your wig when I kick your ass!" he heard Bucky yell, then, "Sorry, Sarah!"

With a chuckle, Steve turned on the shower and stripped, then stepped under the hot spray. He'd spent his life going from one fight to the next. Finally, he had a chance to catch his breath and get some of that life Tony kept telling him about.

It was wonderful.

When he came out of the shower, mostly dry with a towel around his waist, he found Bucky singing to Elvis Presley's All Shook Up while he pulled a pyrex dish out of the oven. It looked like lasagna with white sauce.

"I hope you're hungry. Pepper gave me a recipe to try. Lasagna with bechamel sauce." Bucky placed the hot dish on the stovetop.

"Starving."

He went to his room to change into sweatpants, and by the time he came out, the table was set with plates and beers. Bucky was already piling a helping onto the plates.

"This looks amazing." One of the benefits of Bucky having time on his hands was he'd taken up learning to cook beyond the basics, and Steve got to try the culinary experiments.

"I sure as hell hope it tastes as good as it smells," Bucky says. "The sauce was complicated."

"I'm sure it is." Steve took a bite and gave a slow, grateful nod. It didn't disappoint. A knock at the door surprised him. They never got visitors. "Are you expecting someone?"

"Nope. Delivery, maybe?" Bucky got up just as Steve was about to.

He looked through the peephole and then shot Steve a quizzical look as he opened the door.

"So this is your place!" Tony breezed in, dressed in an impeccable suit and sunglasses, which he popped off and put in a lapel pocket. "I've been meaning to come check it out." He eyed the dinner table and gave an exaggerated sniff. "Smells good," he muttered as he strolled into the small kitchen and began casually opening cabinets. "You keep it minimal. Interesting."

Steve got to his feet. He was as confused as Bucky looked about Tony's visit, but his mother raised him with manners. "You're always welcome." He gestured to the open seat at the table. "Care to join us?"

Tony waved a hand in the air. "No, no, Pepper and I have plans, but I was passing by. Been meaning to give you this, Barnes." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a penny, holding it up in the air as though it were a diamond ring.

Bucky gave Steve a quizzical glance, as if he thought Steve might have an idea why Tony was presenting him with a penny. "Um….thank you, but why?"

"You left it on top of your dresser when you moved out."

Bucky took it, brow furrowed, mouth twisted in a bemused smile. "And you stopped by to give me a penny? I appreciate it, but you really didn't have to."

"Oh, but I did." Tony strolled over to the bathroom door and peeked in. "Hmmm. Blue and white. Predictable."

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes. "Tony, is there something else you're here for?" Tony wouldn't have stopped by just to deliver a penny. Heck, even if the penny mattered in some way, Tony had half a dozen opportunities to give it to Steve over the last few weeks.

"Nope. Just thought I'd stop by on the way and see your place, drop off the penny." He headed toward the front door and opened it. "Oh, and," he turned, hovering in the doorway, and pointed at Bucky, who was standing in the middle of the room with the penny in the palm of his hand, his brow crinkled, "that's a bronze penny. From 1943."

"Yeah." Bucky shrugged. "Okay?"

"The US was making steel pennies in 1943," Tony said.

"Yeah, steelies. Copper was needed for the war."

"Exactly. Look it up. Don't spend it all in one place." Tony gave a wave and closed the door behind him.

The dinner was getting cold, but it could wait. Steve had a tight feeling in his gut as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and typed '1943 Bronze Penny' into the search bar.

"Holy shit."

"What?" Bucky walked up and peered at the screen. He blinked a few times and stared at the mint-condition coin that had to be the most expensive U.S. penny on the planet. "Tell me that's as much money as I think it is?"

Steve nodded. "Uh, yeah."

Bucky's mint condition 1943 copper penny was worth somewhere between one and two million dollars.

Steve's phone dinged, and a text message popped up from Tony. 'You're welcome. I expect a really nice Christmas present.'

"Wow, so does this mean he officially doesn't hate me anymore?" Bucky asked.

Had that been what was holding Bucky back from feeling part of the group? "He hasn't hated you for a long time, Buck, and he doesn't blame you for his parents. If he did, he wouldn't have let us stay at the hotel, helped Bruce with your procedure, or gotten lawyers to help you when Ross arrested you. Tony's actions have always spoken louder than his words."

"I don't know. Maybe. I get a lot of mixed signals from him."

Steve sighed and smiled at that. "Yeah. That's Tony." He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. Now that money wasn't a concern and Bucky seemed to be warming up to the idea that his mere presence didn't make Tony automatically think of his parents' murder, it might be the perfect time to broach the subject. "We're working on modifying the Accords. If that happens the way we hope it does, what would you say to joining the Avengers?"

Bucky stared at him flatly for several seconds, long enough to make Steve prepare for rejection. The last time he'd asked Bucky to join his team, it ended with a mission gone bad and 70 years of hell.

"Follow you into the jaws of death again?" Bucky asked finally.

"I hope not." This time.

Bucky pocketed the penny. A smile played on his lips. "We're in this thing together, so yeah. I'm in."

A rush of warmth filled Steve's chest, rising into his cheeks, and he smiled as he sat down at the table and took a swig of his beer. It gave him the few seconds he needed before he could trust his voice.

"After all," Bucky said, sinking into the dining chair, "You were right."

Steve stabbed the lasagna with his fork. "About?"

"I did take all the stupid with me."

Author's Note

Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I love hearing your thoughts and reactions.