Chapter 16: Home is Home
When Steve walked into the room, he saw Bucky seated on the floor next to the record player, his head tilted against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling while Billie Holiday's 'I'll be seeing you' played on the vinyl.
The song brought Steve straight back home. He stood for a moment, soaking in the music from the past and Billie Holliday's sweet, sultry voice. Then, he sighed, and walked over to Bucky, sliding down the wall to sit a couple of feet away from him on the floor.
He waited until the song ended, then said, "I told them we could try again tomorrow."
Bucky kept his gaze upward. "She can see into my mind. I don't think I can do this."
"You don't have to, of course, but after what I just saw, she might be our best chance of getting that Hydra crap out of your head sooner rather than later."
A deep, shuddering breath escaped Bucky. "You know what's in my head. You heard Invanov. Do you really want a 15-year-old girl to see that?"
Steve closed his eyes against the images that conjured in his brain. Frankly, he hadn't thought about that. "We can tell her some things are off limits. I can be there, if you'll let me, and make sure we stop it if it goes…too far."
Bucky gave a quick, harsh chuckle. "Goes too far?" He pulled his legs up, dropped his head on his knees, and clasped his hands behind his neck. "You saw me as the Winter Soldier up close. It all goes too far. Everything they did to me. Everything they made me do. It all went too goddamned far."
Steve couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he just sat there as the song came to an end and listened to the sound of the needle thumping over the label for a few seconds. Then he pushed himself to his feet, looked through the record collection, and put on Glenn Miller & His Orchestra.
He sank back to the floor, a little closer to Bucky this time, and stayed there with him, listening to the music of home.
-0- -0- -0-
The next day, Bucky was back in the lab with Shuri, Steve, the doctors, and a contingent of Dora Milaje. He'd spent 30 minutes that morning being head shrunk by Dr. Abodon about how he was feeling and the images from the previous day's session.
"Let's talk about the memory yesterday. Your subconscious twisted it. When you looked in the mirror, you saw the Winter Soldier. Is that how you still see yourself?"
"Doesn't matter," he told the doc. "He's inside me. It takes ten words to let him out."
Today's session would be more of the same, Shuri told him, going over his earlier memories to try to establish a baseline for the magical mind reading system she used. He'd once heard a saying that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Shuri was full of magic.
The neural scanners were on his head, and Shuri activated them. He felt himself drifting into that light trance, hovering at the edge of sleep. He heard her voice, asking him about when he met Steve.
He remembered — Vinnie and Johnnie in the snow, stealing Steve's money. She asked him about his earliest memory. He wasn't sure. He thought maybe he was three, eating an ice cream cone and the scoop had fallen onto the sidewalk. Then they moved on to high school, the army, and, finally, the mission on the train, in the Alps.
Grabbing the shield, stepping between Steve and the Hydra solder. The energy blast. Falling. Seeing Steve's horrified face above him.
The image was carved deep into his mind. It was what he saw after the bridge, just before Pierce ordered his memory wipe. It was the same one he saw on the helicarrier when he'd almost killed Steve. It was one of the memories that brought him back.
His body slammed into rocks. He spun, tumbled, hitting again, landing in snow. He slipped in and out of consciousness. White surrounded him, a gray-blue sky. Trees. Russian voices. Being dragged. Seeing the bloody stump that was his arm. He didn't feel pain. It was so cold. His body was numb. At first, he thought the Russians were there to help him. They were on the same side—sort of—but he soon realized from the tone of their voices and the way they dragged him that they weren't there to help.
Not again, he remembered thinking. Please God, not again.
He lurched fully awake to find himself in the lab and realized the discs had been removed.
"Okay, that's all I need for now." Shuri's voice was soft, her eyes sad. "I'll review the data, and we can resume tomorrow."
Bucky looked at the clock. Five hours had passed. That seemed an impossibly long time. He would've sworn it was only half an hour.
Steve was hovering near him, and Bucky instantly regretted looking at him. The utter devastation on the other man's face made him look ten years younger, a bit like his old self in Brooklyn, before the serum.
"Hey." Bucky wrapped a hand around the back of Steve's neck. "You okay?"
"I should be asking you that."
Bucky shrugged, giving only the briefest glance to the others in the room. "I see what you're thinking, and it wasn't your fault."
"We both know it was."
"Screw that." Bucky hopped off the table. "You don't need me here, anymore?"
Shuri waved him. "Go rest up. Tomorrow, 8 a.m."
He nodded, slid his arm across Steve's shoulder and guided him into the hallway. When they were out of earshot, Bucky stopped and turned to him.
"If it wasn't for you, I would have died in Azzano or been turned into Hydra's pet Soldier earlier. We both knew going into the mission to capture Zola that it was the most dangerous thing we'd done—and that's saying a lot. It wasn't your fault, and I need you to get over the guilt because I can't go back in there and let her dig through my mind and worry about your super-sized guilt complex at the same time."
Steve looked guilty again. "I'm sorry, Bucky, I don't mean to make things harder for you—"
Bucky punched him on the shoulder. "Cut it out, already!" He cocked his head and grinned. "I mean it."
Finally, Steve smiled and nodded. "Okay." He raised his hands. "I got it."
As he studied Steve's face, Bucky knew it wasn't that easy, but at least the raw guilt no longer lingered in those eyes, and Steve was smiling—even if forced, it was an improvement.
"I'm hungry, and I need about four beers." Bucky headed back to the room with Steve at his side.
"I have an idea," Steve said. "How would you feel about getting out of here for a bit and heading into the city?"
"What?" Bucky stopped again. "I don't know if that's a great idea. I mean, Hydra, for one, and the world doesn't officially know I'm alive. My face is plastered all over the Smithsonian. Someone might recognize me."
Steve grinned. "Natasha has something that can help with that. We'll invite the others. With a group of Avengers, I think you're safe from Hydra, even if they figure out it is you."
"What do you mean?"
"The same thing the Hydra agent used to impersonate Dr. Cho." Steve told him. "The photostatic veil. We'll set you up with one, and there will be no risk of anyone recognizing you. I think it'll do us all good to get out for a bit. What do you say?"
Bucky couldn't deny he was starting to get cabin fever, and there was one place he hadn't seen since 1943. The thought of standing on those streets again made his chest ache. "Can we go to Brooklyn?"
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky stood on the waterfront at Pebble Beach and stared in wonderment at the Brooklyn bridge. The skyline had changed, but there was still a familiarity about it. Some of the old buildings remained.
The cool wind caressed his cheeks and tickled his nose. It was almost three in the afternoon, and the day was cool but comfortable, the air unusually dry. Steve was to his right, Natasha and Sam to his left.
Bucky put his hands in his jacket pocket and blinked against the sting of memories. "The city has changed, but the bridge looks almost exactly like I remember it."
"We lived just south of here," Steve reminisced, glancing at Natasha and Sam.
Bucky smiled. "We roamed these streets like we owned them."
"Do you remember Mr. Carter's nickel candy shop?" Steve leaned into him with his shoulder.
"You liked the saltwater taffy," Bucky grinned at him.
"You hated it." Steve replied.
Bucky chuckled. "Yeah, you never had to worry about me sneaking any from your stash."
"Well, it's getting late. Should we find a place to eat?"
Bucky nodded. His stomach approved. It took them 20 minutes to find and agree on a place, and they ended up in a little pub a few blocks away.
Walking those streets filled him with awe and gave rise to an ache in his chest as he thought of times long ago when his feet had tread on the same ground, past brownstone structures and concrete or metal steps. Some buildings he recognized—they were newer, upgraded, but the bones were the same. Others that should be there were gone, replaced by modern brick and glass.
Natasha, Steve, Wanda, and Sam crowded around a table with Bucky in a corner of the pub. Wearing the photostatic veil, Bucky didn't recognize the face reflected in the window. The eyes were hazel, the jaw squarer.
"Jesus, I still can't get over how much things cost these days." Bucky eyed the menu with disbelief as he held it in his gloved hands. "Almost ten bucks for one beer."
"How the hell did you manage on the run?" Sam asked from across the table.
"I ransacked Hydra safe houses, stole, swiped leftovers from restaurant patio tables." Bucky tilted his head at Sam. "What do you think? I got a job at Starbucks, or something? Gave them my social security number from 1936 when the government first started issuing them?"
"Geez," Sam put his hands up, "just asking."
Natasha smiled lightly as she looked at them over her menu. "How much was a beer in 1944?"
"Well prohibition screwed everything up." Bucky shrugged. "About thirty cents most places in the forties."
"Simpler times, my friend." Steve set his menu down. "Everything's on me today."
"Actually, it's on Hydra," Bucky said. "I have cash in my backpack from the last Hydra safehouse I raided." Bucky cocked his head at him. "But, as I recall, Steve, you owe me that five spot from when I floated you part of the rent money. With interest," he glanced up at the ceiling and pretended to do the math, "that's gotta be at least a thousand bucks by now."
Steve shook his head with a grin. "I think your math's off. How much did you steal from Hydra?"
"Enough," Bucky said. "Let's just consider it backpay."
"When we first found you, I searched your backpack and counted about three grand in various currencies," Natasha said with a cocky smile.
"Yeah, I was running low."
"Save the money," Steve said, "I got this."
Bucky didn't like being dependent on Steve and Tony for his necessities, but there was little choice for now. He wanted to give something back.
"What else am I going to use it for? An apartment in Brooklyn?" Bucky gave Steve a hard look. "You've already been paying for my meals. This one's on me—or, rather, those Hydra assholes."
"Okay then." Steve took another look at the menu. "Appetizers?"
Bucky grinned. "Since it's on Hydra, let's get dessert, too."
A waitress walked up, pad in her hand, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Are you folks ready?" She gave Steve a huge smile.
It was obvious she recognized Captain America. Bucky saw the slightly bashful smile on Steve's face and found it absolutely ridiculous that Steve still had a hard time talking to a woman who was interested in him.
They each placed their orders and Bucky added a pitcher of beer for the table.
"Oh, and nachos and chicken wings for appetizers," Bucky added with a grin.
The woman scribbled it down, then walked away.
"So, Barnes," Natasha leaned forward toward him, "what was Steve like before he became Captain America?"
Bucky stifled a smile and threw a cocky glance at Steve. "Stubborn. Determined. Never ran from a fight." This time Bucky didn't bother hiding the smile. "He used to put newspapers in his shoes, and when it came to dancing, he was a dead hoofer."
Sam laughed. "I'm not even sure what that means, but I think I get the gist."
Steve looked suitably embarrassed. "You danced enough for the both of us."
"I had to dance with the girl I brought and her friend…until Peggy. She only had eyes for you."
Bucky saw the flash of pain cross Steve's face and regretted bringing up Peggy. He opted for a quick change of subject. "Do you remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway beach in the back of a freezer truck because you used our train money to buy hot dogs?"
Steve smiled. "Hey, you blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead."
Ah, right. Bucky remembered her face. "What was her name again?"
"Delores," Steve answered. "You called her Dot." He chuckled. "You were always doll dizzy for red…" Steve caught himself before he finished the sentence, casting a quick glance Natasha's way.
Bucky threw Steve an incredulous look and tried to salvage the conversation. "I was equal opportunity for a good dance partner."
Natasha raised an eyebrow and gave him a crooked smile. "Is that so?"
"Doll dizzy?" Sam interjected, shaking his head. "I'm going to have to bookmark a 40's slang site on my phone to keep up with your conversations."
"I strongly recommend none of you use the word doll again unless you're talking about a child's toy," Natasha said.
Steve cleared his throat. "Duly noted."
"Here you go." The waitress arrived with a tray of glass mugs and a pitcher of beer.
She set the pitcher in the center of the table, then put Steve's mug in front of him, flashing a bright smile before distributing the others.
When she left, Bucky sighed. "I don't even get the time of day now. You seriously put a crimp in my prospects, man."
Not that he was dating material, Bucky mused inwardly. Those days were pretty much over.
Steve smirked. "Don't feel so bad. I'm sure she has a friend. Besides, you don't look like yourself right now."
"Hey, she wasn't smiling at me, either," Sam said. "It's hard to compete with Captain America."
"Well," Bucky sighed, "it doesn't much matter. The last time I went on a date was 1943. It's not really in the cards for the foreseeable future."
Sam filled his mug with beer. "So, we know a little of what Steve was like." Sam glanced at Cap. "What was Bucky like?"
Bucky filled his mug with beer and eyed Steve over the rim as he took a sip. He recognized the mischievous glint in the other man's eyes and groaned inwardly.
Steve filled his mug. "Well, let's see. He was good in school, star athlete, charmed most of his teachers, and popular with the ladies, but always a gentleman." He took a sip. "Of course, he saved me from getting my ass handed to me a few times by guys much larger than me. He even tried to teach me to box a few times. It didn't go well."
Bucky chuckled. "You could always take a punch, but there was nothing behind yours…back then, anyway. Now you hit like a freight train."
I should know. You did a number on me twice back when I tried to kill the three of you. He eyed them awkwardly and wondered how often they saw the Winter Soldier when they looked at him.
He couldn't help but think back to the fight on the bridge. People died that day—innocent bystanders who had nothing to do with anything. More victims to add to his roster. He remembered being surprised at how well the three targets evaded him and how fast Steve moved.
It wasn't until Steve said his name that a glimmer of recognition stopped him. He remembered the confusion. The uncomfortable sense of familiarity. Then the mission prerogative took over, and he raised his gun, aiming…
If not for Sam and Natasha having Steve's back, Bucky would have fired. Steve had been stunned, frozen—an easy target. It would have been a headshot…
Bucky drained half his beer in one go.
"I think I remember reading that you used to be a boxer," Sam said, eyeing Bucky and the now half-empty mug.
"Just something I did in my spare time." Bucky drained the rest of his beer, filled it again. They needed to order another pitcher.
Natasha studied him discreetly. He wished for nothing more than the food to arrive. After a few seconds of her eyes on him, he asked, "What's on your mind, Romanoff?"
She cocked her head and gave him a look like she figured something out and was keeping it to herself. "Oh, now that's a loaded question." Then she gave a soft smile that seemed genuine. He never knew for sure. "It's weird. If someone told me a few years ago I'd be sitting in a pub having a beer with the ghost of the Winter Soldier, I wouldn't have believed them."
He held her gaze. He shot her twice. He didn't expect her not to see the Winter Soldier in him. Few people survived him—much less twice. He was glad she did. He tried not to think too hard about the ones who hadn't.
"But," she continued as she took a sip of her beer, then set the mug down, "I'm glad I finally got to meet James Barnes."
That was the last thing he expected. He caught the flicker of pleasant surprise on Steve's face. Truth be told, he wasn't sure she'd met that guy. He wasn't the man he used to be. Sometimes, he felt himself stirring inside, like the person he was still existed somewhere, at least as a shadow. Other times, he felt cold and dead—watching the world through the lens of suspicion, assessing the gait and body language of every passerby, looking for hidden weapons, scanning rooftops.
He knew exactly how many people were inside the pub. He tracked each of the wait staff and studied the patrons. The man seated at a booth across the room with a woman had military experience. The woman in the red jacket two tables away carried herself in a way that said she was a police officer.
He didn't even realize he'd been doing it. It was automatic—some program in his brain that ran in the background.
"Are you okay, Buck?"
Steve's voice shook him out of his thoughts. He realized he was sitting there, staring silently. That wasn't something normal human beings did.
He managed a lopsided smile. "I'm good."
The appetizers arrived, giving him something to focus on instead of the faces around him. The moment the waitress left, everyone started in on the appetizers.
As Bucky took a few of the chicken wings, two girls—not yet teens—came to the table. They had blonde hair and blue eyes. Sisters, Bucky thought. One looked about eight, the other a few years older.
They smiled bashfully at Steve, a phone in the older girl's hand. "Are you Captain America?" she asked.
The deer-in-the-headlights look Steve gave them lifted Bucky's mood. He got a kick out of watching his friend squirm under attention.
Steve smiled brightly, showing off his perfect white teeth and shedding his momentary awkwardness as he shifted into playing his role. "I am."
"Can we get a photo?"
Bucky suppressed a grin by biting his lower lip. He caught Steve's embarrassed glance his way and waggled his eyebrows at him.
"Here." Sam held out his hand. "You two stand behind him, and I'll take the picture."
"Thank you!" The older girl handed him her phone, camera ready, and they took positions behind Steve as he shifted his chair toward Sam.
"Okay, one…two…three." Sam took a few photos, then handed the older girl the phone.
They hopped off, giddy. The older girl was already typing something on the phone.
Bucky chuckled. "Aww, how cute."
"Shut up." Steve threw a mock glare at him, then popped a loaded chip in his mouth.
That comment earned Steve more ribbing. Bucky pointed to the event calendar posted on the far wall. "You should come back for Karaoke Night, Steve. That's up your alley."
Steve shot him a 'cut it out' look.
"Come on, man, you always had a set of pipes. You used to be in a barbershop quartet every Saturday. Let's not forget your stage experience as Captain America before you single-handedly rescued all our asses in Azzano. What did they throw at you, exactly? I heard about it after we made it back."
Sam chuckled. "Well, Cap, you'll have to join a caroling group come Christmas, spread a little Captain America holiday cheer."
"My performing days are over," Steve insisted.
"Well, that's a shame." Natasha turned her head to Steve and quirked an eyebrow. "I remember you mentioning a barbershop quartet, but I wasn't sure you were serious."
"He's always serious," Bucky threw in.
Steve sighed and shook his head. "Thanks, Buck."
"Anytime, Pal."
They finished their meal, dessert, and another pitcher of beer, then Bucky settled the check. The tip he left was more than a week's wages in his day.
On the walk back to the car, Bucky sensed something wasn't right. He heard quiet footsteps half a block behind them, caught movement on a rooftop ahead. Romanoff was to his right, closest to the building. Steve and Sam walked a few feet ahead.
He was being followed. He was almost positive, yet there was a sliver of doubt. Was this just the paranoid part of his mind Hydra turned into the Winter Soldier?
"I think we have company," he told Natasha, his voice low.
"Guy behind us?"
Bucky nodded. "And at least one on the roof across the street."
He saw the glint of a scope from the roof. "Down!" he lunged, knocking Sam and Steve forward.
The bullet shattered a window. Bucky scanned for casualties. It was a hair salon. Everyone inside dived for the ground. There was broken glass. Crying. Women with their hands over their heads, terrified.
Bucky raced across the street, sailing over cars, up the side of the three-story building, using window ledges and uneven portions of brick for footholds and handholds. He made it to the roof, saw the guy heading toward the staircase into the building.
He reached the sniper as he tried to open the door. The man spun too late, and Bucky punched the back of his head, sending him face-first into the door jam. The man crumpled, his face a bloody mess, the gun clattering to the roof.
Bucky crushed the rifle with his metal hand and kept low, scanning adjacent rooftops, listening to his surroundings in case more lurked nearby. Footsteps clanged on the metal staircase below, and he moved through the doorway, carefully peeking over the railing.
Another man, gun in hand, descended quickly. Bucky launched himself over the rail silently. The guy never saw him coming. He landed on the gunman hard, knocking him out instantly, and grabbed the firearm, pointing the barrel at the man's head before stopping himself.
The Winter Soldier was still there, in the dark recesses of his mind. Bucky took a breath and flicked on the safety, then slipped the gun into the rear waistband of his pants.
There were sirens outside. He needed to avoid the police. He couldn't be detained or questioned, certainly not arrested and fingerprinted.
He slipped out the back of the building, taking advantage of his enhanced speed to make it six blocks away before the sirens silenced, indicating they'd arrived on the scene. He left a wake of stunned pedestrians behind him and, when he figured he'd covered enough distance, ducked into the first store he saw—a small bookstore—then made his way nonchalantly to the bathroom.
It had what he was looking for—a window big enough to fit through.
-0- -0- -0-
"Where is he?" Steve asked after giving his statement to the officers.
"I don't know," Sam said. "We checked all the buildings. He's just gone."
"This was a stupid idea." Cold dread filled Steve's gut.
What had he been thinking risking an outing like this? He wanted to get Bucky out of the complex, cheer him up. He thought they'd be safe. How the hell had Hydra—he assumed they were Hydra—find them? And how the hell were there still so many of them around after the Triskelion plus the two bases the Avengers had taken out?
Natasha held up her phone. "Hashtag, Captain America on Twitter."
On the screen, Steve saw the photo he'd taken with the two girls. It had the pub location tagged.
"They had to be after Bucky, but how would they know it's him?" Steve asked.
The only good thing was it had been a sloppy hit. They'd found four guys—the two Bucky had taken out, the one following them Natasha had neutralized, and another around the corner that tried to take off before Steve stopped him. All four were alive, though one had a serious enough head wound that he might not make it. No immediate fatalities made dealing with the cops a lot easier.
"At least we know they're running low on resources," Natasha said. "They had a small group, it was a hastily-organized assault, I'd say."
"Unless they managed to grab him and we don't know about it," Steve lamented.
Steve hoped Tony had installed a GPS in Bucky's arm. He was about to dial Stark when a text message popped up.
I'm fine. Head back. I'll catch up.
Steve called the number. It went to voice mail. He texted back. Where are you?
Several seconds passed without a response. He sighed and looked at Natasha and Sam. "I guess we're heading back." He hoped that was really Bucky sending the text.
Who gave you bloody knuckles with a ruler? Steve texted.
A second later. Mr. Anderson.
Steve sighed. That was all he was going to get for now. If he didn't see Bucky in the flesh within two hours, he was going to tear New York apart. They made it back to the car. Natasha drove while Steve took the passenger seat and spoke with Tony.
No GPS—not yet. Stark said they'd had a conversation about Bucky not wanting anyone to be able to control the arm, but Stark and Bucky hadn't yet discussed another tracker on the new arm. They thought the Hydra threat was eliminated after taking out Invanov and the remaining super soldiers.
As they turned onto 4th street, heading back the way they'd come, they stopped at a red light. Steve spotted Bucky in the rear-view mirror and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Natasha unlocked the door, and Bucky slid in next to Sam. He was wearing a blue baseball cap. It was clean, but otherwise slightly worn around the bill. Likely borrowed. Even though his photostatic veil was still in place, Bucky was taking extra precautions. He'd made a stir with the super-human leap over cars and effortlessly scaling a building. Witnesses had given his description to the police.
"Are you okay?" Sam turned to look at Bucky.
"Yeah." Bucky took off the cap and the veil, pocketing them.
"I'm sorry, Buck," Steve said, checking out his friend in the rear-view mirror. Bucky didn't look any worse for the wear. "This was a bad idea."
"Didn't we agree you'd cut out the guilt trip?" Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. "Besides, that makes four fewer Hydra agents around. At this rate, they'll take themselves out completely in a few weeks."
"I wish I could believe that." Steve knew Hydra wasn't so easily eliminated. It lingered, growing quietly, until ready to strike.
"Anyone figure out how they found us?" Bucky asked. "I'm pretty sure they didn't track us from the complex."
"Twitter," Natasha said. "The girls posted their photo."
In the mirror, Steve saw Bucky's eyebrows furl upward. "The bird app on the phone?"
Natasha's lips twitched. "Yeah, that."
"Gotta love social media," Sam said. "It's a blessing and a curse…by the way, man," Sam slapped Bucky on the arm. "That Batman thing you did up the side of the building was pretty cool."
