Author's Notes: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me!
Recommended Listening: Smile by Nat King Cole, You Learn By Alanis Morissette, Counting Stars by One Republic
Chapter 14: Tacos and Old Photographs
Maggie was having a hard time sleeping. To be fair, she'd been having issues sleeping long before Hydra had tried to burn her alive inside her own house, but it was sufficient to say that Hydra certainly hadn't helped the matter. Which was why she was lying on the couch staring up at the ceiling. The pain meds helped her sleep but gave her nightmares, or worse nightmares, so rather than braving the bizarre and horrible dreams, she opted for her whole body hurting. Her wrist was well on its way to healing, her hand, however, would take a bit more. Dexterity, strength, sensation, it was likely she would never regain full function of her hand, never mind the ugly surgery scars that would serve as a constant reminder. It was still unclear how bad it was going to be, only time and physical therapy would tell.
She adjusted on the couch, wincing as she did.
It was this time of night that was the most difficult. It was when she missed the ranch, missed Riley, missed her life the most. During the day it was easy. She had plenty to keep herself occupied with, learning several languages, following leads, following up with Sam and Steve about progress or lack thereof. However, while it filled and occupied her time, it wasn't a draining or exhausting kind of work, which meant that her mind was racing, filled with more information than it could process. On top of the heap was Sam's question. It had been there, festering silently since he'd asked it, almost a week ago. What do you think he's up to when he's not avoiding us?
It was a simple question, which was why it was so damn infuriating that she didn't have a damn answer. And she didn't have the first clue as to how even to begin to start to answer it. What was perhaps even worse was that Sam was right. She'd somehow managed to distill her time with Barnes down to its bare essentials, to the point that she had no idea how to conceptualize him as a person, as a man. How could she? He'd barely been human when she'd found him in her barn, and while they'd had all of two and a half conversations, real conversations, it didn't leave much for her to imagine him as an individual, as someone who had any motivations or desires beyond simple survival. That's what she'd seen that first day in the barn, and that last day in the outbuilding. Everything in between was just blurry.
How is that supposed to help anything? How is that going to help you get home?
Maggie reached for the chain around her neck, strung with two wedding bands. I'm going to fix this. I can fix this.
But what if she couldn't? That thought plagued her and clouded her mind. You're dead, remember? You've already failed everyone. There's no way you can make this right. You've done nothing but fail, done nothing but screw everything up.
"Nope." Maggie sat up. "No. No. No." She rose, staggering to her feet, dressed and pulled on her running shoes, and walked up the ten flights of stairs to the private gym. If her brain wasn't going to shut itself down, she was going to do a hard reset.
The gymnasium was state of the art, nothing less than she'd expect from a Stark facility. And since it was nearly three in the morning, Maggie had the place entirely to herself. Walking around the indoor track several times, she worked her way up into a jog. It was a nice release. She couldn't go much faster than a jog because she didn't want to jostle her hand and arm, but it was nice to work off some of her excess energy.
Pausing to attempt to tie her shoe, Maggie realized she wasn't alone. Steve was at the punching bag. How long had he been there? How many times had she passed it? Had he seen her and left her alone? She didn't know. Maggie looked back down, chewing on her lip as she tried to manipulate her shoelaces with one hand.
How is he handling all of this? She couldn't imagine. The man had been on ice for almost seventy years, lost nearly everyone he loved, saved the world, and now was trying to track down his best friend who'd been brainwashed by the very organization he'd fought to destroy back in the 1940s and had done his absolute best to try and kill him. Considering he was down here, he was probably handling this about as well as she was, which was not great, to say the very least.
"Need help?" She looked up to realize that Steve had stopped what he was doing and was walking toward her cautiously, almost akin to someone approaching a wounded animal.
"I-I-uhhh, yeah, actually." Maggie managed to get out before he stooped down beside her. They were close, face to face. She hadn't been this close to him before, and she couldn't help but marvel at how young he looked. Certainly, biologically he was in his 90s if his birth certificate was anything to go off of, but he didn't look any more than twenty-eight, twenty-nine. They looked almost the same age. Although, he certainly lacked the grey hairs that had begun sprouting at the crown of her head when she hit thirty. "I'm sorry to interrupt you. I didn't know anyone else was in here." She commented as he tied the laces with a tidy bow. Maggie paused, choosing her next words carefully.
"Trouble sleeping?" Steve asked as he rose to his feet.
"You beat me to the punch there, Captain."
"Huh?" Steve frowned, furrowing his brow.
Maggie chuckled, hauling herself from the floor, and rising to her feet as well. "I was trying to figure out how to ask you the same thing."
"Oh."
"A bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?" She said, surveying him. The easiness in his expression was gone, and there was something decidedly pinched about his features. "I won't tell Sam on you if you don't."
"I get the feeling even if I did Ms. Ramirez there's very little Sam could do that might affect the situation."
"Now Captain, where on earth would you get an idea like that?"
"No clue." He shook his head, cracking a small, almost fragile smile.
There he is. Maggie realized suddenly. The Steve she was acquainted with was Captain America, but there, just a second ago, she'd seen something undeniably Steve Rogers, something unspeakably, something unfathomably delicate. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. Thanks for the assist."
"Any time." Steve nodded.
Maggie nodded in reply, turning she paused before turning back to his already retreating form. She didn't really want to be down here, alone with her thoughts, working through shit that had no right to be on her mind at three in the morning. Steve, it looked like was in the same boat or at the very least in an adjacent boat, and it seemed they were sharing a single paddle between them. "Hey, quick question." Steve stopped and turned back around. "Do you know of any good taco stands that are open at this hour? I have an itch that I can't scratch."
"I don't. But, the internet probably does." Steve said, digging in his pocket, removed his cellphone and started tapping something into what she assumed was a search bar. "I don't know what constitutes good tacos, but there are some options." He commented, extending the phone to her.
Maggie took it, surveying the search results. "Some of them aren't too far away, and have some pretty favorable reviews." She paused, "You up for an adventure, Steve?"
"What?" He surveyed her uncertainly.
"Do you wanna go get tacos with me at three in the morning? I'm technically not allowed off Avengers' property without an escort. Generally, Sam will go with, serving as an escort by proxy. But since Sam isn't here, I'd either have to wake Fabian or convince you to go with me." She explained quickly. "Since you're already awake and seem to be in the same mood I am, I figure tacos might be an easier sell for you than trying to explain to Stark Security that I have a three A.M. craving and that no delivery isn't the same thing." Maggie extended the phone back to him.
Steve took it, a contemplative expression on his face. "Sure. I'd be up for an adventure."
After a couple of false starts and about forty-five minutes of walking around Maggie and Steve found themselves sitting on a park bench with a spread of tacos across their laps, styrofoam cups of horchata between their knees.
"So, how do they stack up?" Steve asked as she took a bite of one of her tacos el pastor.
Maggie made a few non-committal noises as she chewed.
"Sorry."
Maggie shook her head as she finally swallowed. "Gave me a chance to think." She said. "Umm. It's not bad. Not the greatest El Pastor I've ever had, but it's hard to beat my grandmother's. It certainly scratches an itch since I can't make it myself presently."
"Sam says you're an excellent cook."
Maggie chuckled, "He would say that considering I am the sole source of consistently decent Mexican food he can find this side of the Mississippi."
Steve screwed his face up in a confused expression, and Maggie was almost sure he was going to cock his head to the side like a curious golden retriever. It was cute, but rather than torment him over it she decided to have mercy. "Sam got a taste for Mexican food when he and Riley were doing Pararescue indoc out at Lackland."
"Is that were you met?"
"Yes, actually."
"So you're former military, too."
"No, just a Texan out of her element." She smiled, taking a sip of her horchata.
"All of this must be an adjustment," Steve said, motioning vaguely to the city skyline.
"Well. The city, yes. Too many people, not enough open sky, but that's my problem with any city. It is nice that I can be out here at 4:30 nearly 5:00 in the morning and have my pick of tacos from at least five different taco traditions. How are you enjoying your carne asada?"
"Good. It's good." Steve nodded, taking another bite.
"So what about you? I imagine a lot has changed since you were last here."
"You could say that." He said shortly.
Shit. Maggie had hoped that their conversation and casual banter had loosened him up a bit, but that obviously wasn't that case. She had to reevaluate her strategy. "It's strange going home after you've been away a while. I went back to my home town a few years back before Riley passed away before I moved permanently to the east coast. I wanted to say goodbye to my family, visit their graves before I left, my grandparents, mom, and brother. It was strange. It was the same place, with a lot of the same people, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same because I wasn't the same." She said, finishing off the el Pastor taco, doing her best not to drip lime and grease drippings out the back of the tortilla onto her leggings.
"Yeah, it's changed a lot."
It was an encouraging answer, so she proceeded. "I bet. How was the nightlife back in the day? You ever do anything like this?" Maggie asked as innocently as she could manage.
"No. Not exactly, but Buck and I found more than our fair share of trouble."
"I can't imagine growing up in a place like this. All of the different people and things going on at all hours of the day and night."
"I take it Texas is a little slower-paced than this."
"A bit. Particularly in West Texas where I'm from."
"Do you miss it? Texas, I mean."
"I mean. Yeah. Not as much as I used to. When I first moved out to the ranch oh almost ten years ago now, I was so homesick. Snow sucks in general, but when you've never experienced it to that magnitude and then when the sun taps out at 3:00 in the afternoon in the winter, it was hard. But now…now that I'm not there anymore, I miss the ranch more than anywhere else in the world." She paused, glancing over at Steve, who was staring down at his tacos miserably. "I still wouldn't change anything. I don't regret helping him, even with how it ended."
Steve nodded, taking a small sip from his cup. "What was he like? I mean when he was you know on the ranch?" He managed after a moment.
Maggie looked down at tacos. She'd given him her polished initial evaluation on Barnes shortly after moving into the Avengers Tower. It had been nearly ten pages single-spaced when it was all said and done, but it hadn't given Steve the information he'd wanted, not in any real capacity. Was there anything of his friend left to save? That's what Steve wanted to know, and in truth, Maggie didn't know how to answer. It was why she hadn't included that sort of judgment call in her report. But Steve had been a good sport, particularly humoring her with their Taco excursion. She'd try to give him what he wanted, what he needed, which at the moment was the truth. "He was quiet, watchful, polite, but there wasn't much in the way of a personality." She paused, seeing a pained, pinched expression across Steve's face. "I take it that wasn't the norm for your friend."
"Then or now?" He scoffed, shaking his head.
Okay, change direction here, this isn't going to go anywhere good. "You know. Sam asked me a few days ago what I thought Barnes was up to when he wasn't, yanno avoiding us. I honestly couldn't answer, couldn't even hazard a guess." Maggie paused, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Suggestions?"
"I try not to think about it."
"It could help us." She hesitated. This wasn't about helping Steve. If anything this was about helping her understand the man she was tracking down. This was about understanding what made him human rather than just a phantom in her nightmares or a name on a piece of paper. She had to ask because she needed to know. "It would help me help you track him down." Maggie clarified.
"There's no guarantee of that." He bit out.
"Nothing's a guarantee, Steve."
They sat there in silence, Steve staring down at his tacos, while Maggie watched. He was struggling. Something was going on, just below the surface. He was fighting himself, over what Maggie couldn't be sure, but it looked painful, almost unbearably so. Maggie wanted to reach over and put her hand on Steve's shoulder, to reassure him he wasn't alone, but she couldn't. Nothing was reassuring about her presence. In fact, her presence was a reminder, constant and painful, Bucky Barnes was still on the run because she hadn't called Sam in time.
"I…uhhh...I guess what do you want to know?" Steve began slowly after a moment. "I mean you've read all the files, and from the sounds of it seen all the documentaries. There really isn't much to tell." He shrugged, taking a large bite of his taco.
Well, Steve wasn't wrong. She had read all the files she could get her hands on and watched any and every documentary, news real, and interview she could. But it wasn't enough. This was the howling commandos Captain America and Bucky. It was propaganda at it's very best and an outright lie at its worst. It frankly didn't tell her a damn thing about the man she was looking for. In fact, they treated Steve Rogers and James Barnes from before the war as an obligatory footnote, something they breezed through before the first commercial break. Their lives before the war were simply a prelude to the greatness that Captain America and his inseparable best friend would become. Maggie didn't buy it, because it was horse shit, and she was a verified horse shit expert. So she needed a reliable source, and Steve Rogers was the most reliable source she had access to.
Maggie looked him up and down. He looked like hell. Would it be worth it to drag out this man's trauma so that she could get her answers? What would the cost be? And could she possibly justify it to herself, Sam, and most importantly to Steve?
"Whatever you want to tell me." She said finally.
Steve made a sound that Maggie couldn't quite identify, somewhere between a scoff and a choked back sob. "I...I...I don't think I can give you the information you're looking for, Ms. Ramirez." He paused with the smallest of sniffles.
"I understand. But honestly, you're not obligated to tell me anything at all." Maggie said, but it felt hollow. What else could she possibly say? She'd knowingly dragged her and Steve into dangerous territory, and now she'd have to find a way to get her and Steve back out again.
"No." He shook his head. "It only makes sense that you'd want to know about Buck- about the man you're tracking down. I just don't think I'm the one to do it." Steve said, removing his phone from his pocket.
"Which is totally understandable."
"But I think I know someone who might," Steve said face focused down on the phone.
Since they had been sitting there, the city had started to come to life—people already on their way to work. The sky was beginning to lighten up in preparation for dawn. Maggie let the light and the sounds of the city wash over her as she focused on the man sitting beside her, typing rapidly into his messenger. Who was Steve contacting? And did he really think that the person on the other end was going to answer at five in the morning?
"You up for an adventure?" Steve asked, looking from his phone as he stowed it back in his pocket, something light and easy melting his hardened features as if a weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders.
Maggie opened and closed her mouth, "Can I ask where we're going?" She answered uncertainly after a moment.
"No. But there will be coffee." He answered, scarfing down his last taco in two quick bites.
Maggie's gaze narrowed. On instinct alone, she knew she should be suspicious, but in a matter of moments, she'd gone from worrying about how she was going to get the two of them back to the tower if Steve Rogers had a meltdown here on the park bench, to now being promised answers and hot coffee. It was a pleasant change, but superficial at the very best. She'd have to talk to Sam later to see if there was any way they could get Steve talking about Barnes, it couldn't be healthy the way he was bottling all of this up.
And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? This wasn't about her. This was about finding answers to all of her questions and getting her life back. Then and only then would she start to process her shit. Until that time, any and all processing of her baggage seemed like a moot point.
"All right." She nodded. "Let me finish my tacos, and we can get going. Provided you buy me another horchata first."
"Sounds like a plan." Steve nodded, rising to his feet.
Steve let her finish her tacos and bought her a horchata, and Maggie found herself on a train to Brooklyn. Where she'd expected Steve to take her, she wasn't quite sure, but her confusion only grew as they wound through a back alley of one of the older Brooklyn neighborhoods.
The sun was up, and it was approaching 6:00 a.m. when they started toward the front stoop of a street-facing apartment. "You're not even going to give me the tiniest of hints of where we're going?" She asked as they approached the door.
"No. But don't worry, you're about to find out." Steve answered, knocking gently.
"Steve Rogers, you're-" She started before the door was answered by an elderly woman with a mess of curly white hair and round fire engine red spectacles.
Maggie took a staggering step back as the woman immediately crossed the threshold and dragged Steve into an embrace. "Steve! It's so good to see you." She said, hugging him tightly.
Steve returned the hug with extreme care. "You too. How have you been, Bec?" He asked as they pulled away from their embrace.
"Oh. Old." The woman shrugged, turning to Maggie. "Now who is this, Steven? Have you finally brought a girlfriend of yours for me to harass?" She grinned.
"Uh. No." Steve shook his head more than a little flustered before Maggie could get a word out. "No. Becca, this is Magdalen Ramirez," Steve explained, "Maggie, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Rebecca Proctor."
"Oh please, Steven," The woman rolled her eyes, extending a frail hand to Maggie. "Becca is just fine, dear."
"It's lovely to meet you," Maggie managed, taking the woman's hand, her brain kicking into overdrive as she tried not to slip into Southern Belle mode. It was the closest thing to a defense mechanism Maggie had when meeting new people, outside of a total shut down.
Becca held Maggie's hand tight. Pulling Maggie close, the older woman surveyed her with a critical eye, her electric blue eyes magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses. Maggie recognized a sizing up when she saw one and was simultaneously doing the same thing. This woman knew Steve. Like knew knew Steve from back in the day, and she knew Barnes somehow. Is she one of Barnes's old girlfriends? It didn't make sense. Who on earth was she talking to? Who had Steve brought her to meet, and why was he being all secretive about it?
"You're right, Steven," Becca said abruptly as she leaned around Maggie to look at Steve. "She is pretty." Maggie opened her mouth to protest but stopped when Becca winked, motioning with her chin to Steve, who had somehow managed to go a deep shade of pink. "Now come inside, dear, and get something to eat. Steve probably dragged you out here under the pretense of food and coffee." Becca led her into the apartment, Steve trailing behind them. "You know where the kitchen is, Steven, make yourself useful." She called over her shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am," Steve replied, a grin twisting at the corner of his mouth.
He peeled off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Maggie alone with the older woman. "Now, do you go by Magdalen, or by Maggie?" Becca asked as they emerged into the living room.
"Maggie, please. Mrs. Proctor."
"Becca, dear, Becca is just fine." The woman said, releasing Maggie's hand. "Take a seat there." She waved at the couch.
Maggie sat obediently, watching the other woman sink into a plush armchair. She looked so fragile and frail. Her face was creased with lines from years of worry and care. Her hands were thin and bony and veiny. Yet there was something in her expression that was fierce and unrelenting. Something that age and time hadn't been able to touch. There was something familiar in that piercing blue gaze, and it gnawed at the back of Maggie's brain as she tried to place where she'd seen it before.
"So Steve tells me you're from Texas originally." Becca began.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Becca, dear. I already have Steve calling me ma'am, making me feel more ancient than I already am. I don't need it from you too." She corrected firmly.
"Sorry."
"And please don't apologize, dear." She smiled before continuing. "So, where from in Texas? I spent a little time there as a military wife, Lackland Air Force Base, near and around San Antonio."
"Midland-Odessa area, but I spent some time in the San Antonio area as well," Maggie said, trying to keep her eyes focused on the woman rather than the room around them, which was littered with photos and mementos that kept pulling at her attention.
"Well, of course, you're a Military Wife as well. Air Force, too, if I remember correctly." Becca said.
"Oh. Yes. Did Steve tell you that too?" Maggie asked, hoping that the edge of irritation wasn't seeping into her tone too much. Whatever Becca knew it wasn't her fault that Steve hadn't mentioned to Maggie that he'd been talking about her.
"He did. He's told me a lot about you, which I take it from the tone he didn't do the same for you."
Shit. So much for poisoned honey. Was it the exhaustion or the total lack of give a shit that was ruining her poker face. Maggie didn't know but figured that since she was just meeting Mrs. Proctor, honesty would be the best policy. "No." Maggie shook her head.
"I'm sorry about that. Steven can be a little protective of me. He's always been protective of me." Becca said with a healthy dose of annoyance.
"I understand. Sam can be the same way too."
"Annoying, isn't it?" Becca said conspiratorially.
"Oh my god, yes." Maggie sighed.
Becca smiled, nodding sympathetically. "They do it because they love us after a fashion. But it can be a little hard to remember that some times when they're being complete idiots about it."
Maggie chuckled. "I think that's a good way to put it." She paused. "So I guess in the name of the military wives club and good manners, I have to ask. Where did Mr. Proctor serve?" It wasn't the most invasive question she could've asked. It wasn't even the question she wanted to ask, but it was the most logical progression for where the conversation had taken them, which would hopefully lead to a more appropriate time for Maggie to ask what she really wanted to ask.
"Oh. It wasn't Mr. Proctor, Mr. Proctor was my second husband. My first husband, Gabriel, was Air Force and served in Korea." Becca answered. "In some godforsaken place, I've now forgotten the name of." She paused at the sound of a loud series of crashes in the kitchen. "Steven, are you all right in there? Do I need to send Ms. Ramirez on a rescue mission?"
"I'm fine," Steve called from the kitchen after a brief pause. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Black." Becca and Maggie answered in unison.
"Copy that."
Steve emerged moments later with a tray of food and coffee mugs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. "Here you are." He said, setting the load down on the coffee table between her and Becca.
Maggie surveyed the tray, two mugs, two plates, two sets of utensils. "You're not staying?" She glanced up at Steve, aware of the panic creeping into her voice.
"I had some things come up that I need to take care of. I'll be back in a little while," Steve answered. "Provided that's okay with you, Bec."
Maggie glanced over at Becca, a look of resignation on the older woman's face. "Sounds all right with me. I'm sure Maggie and I will find something to talk about." Becca replied.
"But. But. I'm not supposed to be out of Stark Tower without-" Maggie started.
"You'll be perfectly safe with me here. Steve has some of Stark Security watching the place." Becca cut in shortly. "Which, on that note, tell Tony Stark he can still kiss my ass." She said dryly.
Maggie almost choked. Glancing between Steve and Becca, looking for some kind of clue as to what the hell was going on.
"He's not all bad, but I'll be sure to pass the word along," Steve leaned down and pecked the old woman on the cheek. "You two have fun."
"I'm sure we will," Becca replied.
Maggie starred, uncertain of what she could say. "Have a good day. I'll see you in a little while," Steve said, patting her on the shoulder. And before Maggie could get a word in edgewise, Steve was gone from the apartment without a word. "Is he normally like this? And by this, I mean dropping people off on your doorstep in the early hours of dawn and then leave them?"
"Believe it or not, he used to be worse." Becca smiled. She paused, shaking her head, picked up her mug of coffee. "Poor man. The 21st century has not been very kind to him."
Maggie didn't know how to respond. Becca wasn't wrong. The 21st century hadn't been kind to Steve Rogers. He'd lost nearly everyone he cared about, and two of the most important people in his life that were still around didn't remember him or were unable to remember him long enough to realize he was alive. Never mind waking up seventy years after crashing a plane in the middle of the ocean.
So who was Becca Proctor? Maggie's mind felt fuzzy from a lack of sleep, and likely the depression she'd been fighting with that was doing shitty things to her memory as she tried to recall if she'd seen that name before and then of course in what context. Obviously, they'd known each other before the war, but how exactly was still eluding her. Maggie's gaze wandered the room, trying to absorb her surroundings, and trying to deduce anything she could from them before she dove in and started asking more pointed questions about why the hell Steve had dragged her here at six in the morning under the pretense of answers. The walls of the living room were covered with photos, both black and white, and full-color. At the far end of the room was a fireplace. Placed on the mantel was a case holding the American flag folded neatly into that all too familiar three-point fold. She'd given Riley's flag to Sam. At the time she hadn't been able to bear the thought of looking at it, but now she was thankful that she had, otherwise it would have also been lost to the fire. The flag sitting on Becca Proctor's mantel must have been Gabriel's flag, but it looked older than that. Beside the flag was a yellowed piece of paper in a frame and a black and white framed photograph. "Go ahead and take a look." Becca's voice made Maggie jump.
"Pardon?" Maggie asked, bashfully meeting the woman's unrelenting gaze. Had she been watching her look around? Was she waiting for the questions? What did she know that Maggie didn't? Well. A lot more than Maggie did, obviously, but what precisely did Becca Proctor know that Steve thought might help Maggie?
"Take a look around." Becca urged.
"May I?" Maggie motioned to the flag.
"Please."
Maggie rose slowly to her feet and approached the mantle, her eyes fixated on the black and white photograph sitting beside the folded flag. She picked up the frame carefully and turned to face the woman who was watching her. Maggie glanced between the picture and the woman, trying to keep the shock from washing over her.
"You're Rebecca Barnes." Her voice was small as she said it.
"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to make that connection," Becca said, cracking a small, sad smile.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know...I mean, I didn't think..." Maggie stammered, looking down at the photograph. It was James Barnes, in full uniform standing with his arm slung around a young woman in a plain cotton dress. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. They were both laughing, their smiles broad, their eyes bright. The eyes, they had the same eyes, how had Maggie not seen it before? "Now, I just feel stupid."
"Don't. You've had a lot on your plate from the sounds of things. The fact that you didn't already know is sort of..." she paused. "...nice."
"It's a beautiful photograph," Maggie said, returning the frame to the mantle.
"I was sixteen when it was taken. It's the last photograph that I have before he died...well disappeared." Becca shook her head. "It's strange to think that he's been alive all this time. The military said he'd been KIA. All they sent us was a flag, that letter, and medals, for my brother's sacrifice and valor," She scoffed at the last word, a stinging bitterness in her tone. It was a bitterness Maggie understood all too well. "It all seemed hollow, considering what we'd lost. But we were at war, and we weren't the only ones who lost people. It hit my father hard. I'm convinced it killed him. Losing his only son to the second world war, he'd seen in his lifetime. My mother was a fighter, though. She packed away that flag, letter, and medals, and we moved on. We didn't have a choice. I don't think I ever did quite wrap my head around the idea that he was gone. Then, of course, a few months later, I lost Steven as well. It seemed natural, poetic, almost that one couldn't survive without the other. They'd been inseparable for as long as I could remember."
Becca paused to clear her throat. "When they pulled Steven out of the ice a few years ago, it felt like vindication. My brother wasn't dead, not all of him, at least. If I couldn't have all of my brother, my Bucky back, then at least I could have a part of him." Becca paused. "Steve didn't come to see me until after he got out of the hospital this April. I wish he'd come sooner. But it would've been unfair to Steve to ask such a thing of him. I've had almost 70 years to process everything, to grieve. For Steve, it's still raw as if it had happened yesterday." She trailed off.
Maggie could feel a tightness in her chest form at the woman's words. The pain, though old and muted, was still very much present almost 70 years later. Her hand went to the chain around her neck, her thoughts went first to Riley, but then also to the brother she'd lost almost twenty years ago. It still hurt. Riley hurt more, certainly, but she could still remember when Antonio had died. The denial that somehow her brother wasn't gone, that had persisted even though she knew, logically knew that her brother was dead. She couldn't imagine what Becca was going through, living for almost seventy years not knowing precisely what had happened to her brother, then to one day wake up and be told that he's alive. Maggie couldn't imagine, didn't want to imagine. Yet, looking into the woman's face, Maggie knew the pain, that particular aching in her chest.
"You've seen my brother."
"Yes." She nodded. "I have." She wasn't going to lie to this woman. If Steve hadn't wanted her to say anything, he wouldn't have left, but Maggie had a feeling that was exactly what this little meeting was about and exactly why he hadn't wanted to be here.
"Steve told me all about it. Thank you." Becca said gently. Her expression was softer, more tender somehow than only a few minutes before.
"For what?" Maggie asked.
"Steve was concerned he was going to come here, you know. After what happened in D.C. He thought my brother might come to me looking for answers." She explained. "Little did they know he was just an hour or two north of here with you. You looked after him for two weeks before those bastards that hurt my brother came to hurt you. Thank you for being there with him." Becca surveyed her with those intense blue eyes.
Maggie nodded, unsure of what she could say. Your brother ruined my life, but cool, yeah, no problem. No. Maggie wouldn't say that, even if she did feel it, even on the best of days.
Fortunately, Becca didn't expect her to respond. "Now come here drink some coffee, I get the feeling that we have a long day ahead of us," Becca said.
Maggie obliged and returned to the couch and her coffee.
"Now, Steve told me you wanted to know about my brother," Becca said as she picked a grape from the fruit salad and popped it in her mouth.
"Yes."
"Why? You're sitting on top of one of the most technologically advanced buildings in the world, I can't say best intelligence gathering, but you certainly have access to a lot of information. Why do you want to hear Steve or me for that matter reminisce about the 'good ol' days'?" The woman asked critically
Maggie looked down, focusing on the mug in her hand. This was a test. Maggie knew that instinctively. But why? To see if she was worthy? To see if she was deserving? It made sense. It was one thing to talk about the death of her brother, but another to talk about his life. That was hard, very hard, and Becca wanted to know if Maggie was worth the effort. Why did she want to know about James Barnes? Well. She wanted to find him. She wanted to find him to get her life back, which at the moment looked like getting to know him as a person. Would that be enough for Bucky Barnes's sister? How much had she endured because her brother had, by chance, been best friends with Captain America? How many people had come knocking on her door asking about her brother? How many since Steve had been pulled from the ice? What about since the events in Washington, D.C.? What would make her any different? Because you can bring her brother home, and provide closure for a seventy-year-old wound.
"I won't lie, Mrs. Proct-"
"Becca, dear, Becca." Becca interrupted.
"Right. Sorry." Maggie took a sip of the coffee and took a deep breath. "I won't lie, Becca. Some of this, some of my motivations are selfish. Your brother was on my ranch for two weeks, and I lost everything because of it." She paused, evaluating the other woman's expression. Becca's expression was flat, if not slightly critical, but not hostile, which was enough for Maggie to continue. "I don't blame him for that. I just...I want to know who that man was...is...and I feel that knowing who he is will help me not just to find him, but to understand why he's worth finding. Which I know sounds terrible, but I think when you read too much about a person, no matter how engaging and humanizing, it's difficult to imagine that person as well...as anything more than just a name on a page. I just want to make him more than just a face in a picture or a name on a page." Maggie stopped, licking her lips. "I want to make him real so that I can find this real person." Maggie felt light-headed, her words bunched together and twisting as she spoke. "I'm sorry, I haven't been sleeping well, I have no idea if that made any sense whatsoever," Maggie said breathlessly, blinking slowly, even as she was aware that Becca was watching her.
"I can see why Steve trusts you," She smiled softly before taking a sip of her coffee.
Maggie shook her head, "No. No. I don't think he trusts me." That was true enough. It wasn't trust so much as the circumstances that had brought her and Steve together as unlikely partners in tracking down the elusive Winter Soldier. Yet, for some reason, Becca thought differently.
"Really?" Becca raised her eyebrows. "You think he'd leave you alone with the kid sister of his best friend if he didn't trust you? He hasn't even brought Samuel Wilson to see me."
She had a point, and it left Maggie speechless. Opening and closing her mouth as she tried to find a way to respond, Maggie realized that she was out of her depth, with no idea of what to say or do next. When Steve had asked her if she was up for an adventure, she wasn't entirely sure what she had imagined, but it wasn't this. She'd known James Barnes had sisters, she'd looked it up, it was written down in her journal, but she hadn't followed through with that because...well...why would she? What possible information could one of Barnes's sisters have that would lead to them to finding Barnes? "I don't think Sam's thought to ask." Maggie managed after a moment.
"And neither did you. But you asked Steven to tell you about my brother, and now here you are." Becca paused, surveying her carefully. "Do you know how many people I've had look me up and try to sit me down for an interview about my brother since his disappearance in 1945?"
"No." Maggie shook her head.
"More than a thousand. It could possibly be in the multiple thousands by now. Do you know how many I've given?" Again Maggie shook her head. "About three, possibly four. Do you want to know why?" Maggie nodded, prompting Becca to continue. "Because most of them wanted something. Wanted to take a bit of the fame, a bit of the legend that was and is Bucky Barnes, Howling Commando, Best friend of the famous Captain America for themselves." Becca paused, "But I get the feeling that you're not interested in the fame or the fortune. If that were the case, Steve wouldn't have brought you to me in the first place. I think rather than taking, you're more of the giving type, sometimes a little too much if what you've exhibited over the past month, and a half to Steve and in some small way to me as well is anything to go by." Becca glanced meaningfully at Maggie's arm, all tied up in its sling.
Maggie wanted to say something, wanted to protest, wanted to argue somehow, that no she wasn't worthy of Steve's trust or the trust of Rebecca Barnes Proctor. She only wanted to find Barnes to be able to go home. But the words wouldn't come. Personally, Maggie couldn't imagine how worn down the woman had become over the years, of people asking her to talk about her brother, to talk about something so personal and painful with no regard for the effect that it might have on her. Yet she wanted to talk to Maggie, wanted to help Maggie so that she could find James Barnes and bring him back to her. Maggie didn't understand why Becca and Steve trusted her with this, but perhaps their trust was enough.
"So. Shall we get started?" Becca asked.
"Sure." Maggie nodded.
Becca rose unsteadily to her feet and went to a box sitting on top of the record player. Maggie made a move to stand up, but Becca waved her off. "Sit down. I've been told you're on a strict no lifting order while your arm and hand are still like that. I may be old, but I'm not that old, dear." She said, proceeding back over to Maggie, sat down on the couch, and put the box between them. "Now. Let's see." She said, pensively brushing the dust off the lid, she opened the box.
Maggie leaned in to see the contents inside. It was crammed full of files, newspaper clippings, and old letters. "That's what I've got," Becca said. "Everything from 1943 when he shipped out to this April when he-" The lump in her throat kept her from finishing. "Poor, Steven." She sighed, shaking her head, blinked back tears.
Maggie reached out to touch the woman's shoulder. She wanted to say it was going to be alright. She wanted to say that she was going to find her brother and bring him home, but she couldn't and so she wouldn't. Maggie swallowed hard, pulling her hand back. She remembered screaming her brother's name until her voice was raw, she'd practically collapsed from the exhaustion. The pain was still there fresh and bright, just like yesterday, pain reflected in Becca's expression.
"So." Becca's cleared her throat, looking up she met Maggie's gaze. "What do you want to know?"
Maggie swallowed, trying to find the right words. "Tell me about Bucky Barnes." Becca raised an eyebrow. Maggie took a deep breath before proceeding, "Tell me about your brother."
Becca and Maggie talked and sifted through her box of letter, clippings, and documents until about four in the afternoon when Maggie's body finally gave out, and she fell asleep, curled up on Becca's couch. She woke long enough for Steve to call them a cab, but only after she'd promised Becca that she'd return to finish their conversation as soon as they both could. Returning to the tower, Maggie opened her journal and jotted down what she'd seen and heard that, before collapsing into bed.
That night, for the first time in a long time, she didn't dream about falling or about dying in her smoke-filled kitchen strapped to a chair. Instead, she dreamed for the first time about Bucky Barnes, friend of Steve Rogers, brother of Rebecca Proctor-Barnes.
This was a bit of a longer chapter, but there was a lot I wanted to get through! So what did you think? Personally, I love Becca and Steve's relationship. Poor Maggie has no idea how to handle the two of them!
Love to hear what you thought. Comments are always welcome!
Happy Reading!
