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: Star Spangled Man (Cover) By Meg Bodun, Fortunate Son (cover) by Chase Holfelder, Born in the U.S.A. by Bruce Springsteen
Chapter 15: Born on the 4th of July
James squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. The bright light of the computer monitor was making his eyes water and his headache. He didn't like researching on the computer. There was something more satisfying working with hard copy documents and books, something about the tactile sensation of paper under his fingertips. Unfortunately, not all of his research could be conducted in hard copy books. One of the great and terrible innovations of the twenty-first century was digitization, which opened a wide range of opportunities for him to track down and record who the Winter Soldier had killed, and learn as much as he could about them. Many of his...many of the Winter Soldier's marks had been famous, people with extensive political, scientific, cultural, or strategic connections. These were the easiest to research. To his mind, those made the most sense. There was a logic to it, a reason, a sense of purpose as to why their lives had been taken. It was those caught in the crossfire, those whose lives were taken for no other reason than they were in the wrong place at the wrong that he had a harder time with. Not just uncovering information about the individual, but also wrapping his head around. The first lives and the last he'd taken as the Winter Soldier were hitting him the hardest as he searched in vain for scraps of information about the former. Three American servicemen in West Germany in 1954, almost a whole decade after Hydra had taken him. The details were fuzzy. It wasn't even so much a memory as a vague sense of recollection. He'd found the report, but hadn't been able to find anything about the men who'd died. Did it matter? No. They'd been dead now sixty years. But he needed to know, wanted to know who they'd been, what they might have been had they not been arbitrarily selected by Hydra, by the Winter Soldier, by him for a premature death.
The other name, the first name in his journal and the last name chronologically, the last person killed by the Winter Soldier, he knew it all too well. She had been killed in the crossfire of something bigger than she could even imagine, James knew where he could find the information but was avoiding it. It had been two months since he'd left her to die, and he couldn't get her out of his head. The way that she'd asked him to stay asked to help him. He couldn't help but wonder what would've happened to her if he'd never stumbled into her barn. Would she be throwing a Fourth of July cookout for her clients and volunteers? Of course, she would've, but without fireworks, it would have spooked the horses and everyone else for that matter. Would the people of Last Chance Ranch still gather? No. There was no reason to. What about Wilson? No, he was helping Rogers track him down.
James paused. The Fourth of July, the Fourth of July, it was Steve Roger's birthday. Steve Rogers, Captain America, born on the Fourth of July. He would've laughed at the irony of it all if not for the sharp pain in his shoulder and spine, and because he was in a very very quiet library.
Sarah Rogers had always tried to make that day special for Steve. The Barnes family had too. They'd always included both Mrs. Rogers and Steve in their Fourth of July celebrations whenever possible. But then, no matter what they'd been doing that day, he and Steve would climb up on the roof of their apartment building to watch the fireworks.
Well. He added sharply. Not you. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.
James shook his head. How would Steve Rogers celebrate today? Would he celebrate at all? Or was Rogers on his trail, closing in on him as he sat here?
Would Rogers celebrate the fourth with Becca? Becca had always loved the fireworks. She hadn't much liked the noise when she was younger, but she loved the colors and designs. He couldn't help but wonder how much time had changed his little sister. Could he still call her that? She was old and gray and married, twice married in fact with children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Will she be celebrating with her family? Celebrate the holiday with her kids and grandkids and great-grandkids?
There was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. Was that guilt? Anger? Regret? Or perhaps more likely it was his body reminding him to eat, he hadn't been good about that recently. His thoughts returned to Becca, to James Barnes's youngest sister. The last blood relative of James Barnes who'd known him as he'd been in life, before the war, before the fall, before the solider. Did she know he was alive? If she did, what did she think? What had Rogers told her? Did she think he was going to come to see her? Did she even want to see him at all?
James had looked her up shortly after his visit to the Smithsonian. It had been curiosity more than anything else at the time. He'd thought about going to see her. She'd have been able to give him the answers he was looking for, the closure he so desperately wanted. But then he'd started experiencing the withdrawal symptoms, and he'd headed north instead.
Besides. He reasoned. She wouldn't want to see me anyway, not like this, not after everything I've done. Why would she want to see the shade of who her brother had once been? It would only have brought her pain. She'd already lost her brother once. She'd grieved and moved on. It would be cruel to open that wound again for his benefit. In this end, this was more merciful, for everyone involved. He'd made a choice. Now he had to live with that choice and see it through to its conclusion. He needed to get his head on straight and piece together his past before he could drag anyone else into this mess with him.
It had been a little over two months since her life had ended, and a little more than one month since Maggie had found herself sitting on Becca Barnes-Proctor's couch, the youngest sister of James Barnes and the last surviving Barnes sister. It had been one month since Steve had dropped Maggie off on Becca's doorstep, and what had initially seemed like a once or twice occurrence had turned into a three or four times a week meet up. It was a surprising development, but one that broke up the monotony of sitting at a desk all day scanning files and scouring the internet for clues.
Becca had done a lot of research over the years, trying to find out exactly what had happened to her brother, going so far as hiking the Alps where he had allegedly fallen. In the process, she'd compiled a ton of data, and although some things were more useful than others, it gave Maggie something to work with. As a sort of bonus, and only adding to Maggie's delight, Becca spent a lot of time telling her stories from her childhood about Bucky, Steve, and the entire Barnes clan. Stories from better times, Becca always said, from before the war, before things had become complicated and their family had been fractured and broken. It was nice to hear about James Barnes from someone who'd known him and was willing (or otherwise able) to talk to her. As a side effect, Maggie was also learning about Steve Rogers from Becca as well, namely who he'd been before the celebrity that was Captain America and the Howling Commandos had taken over his life.
Maggie glanced up at the mirror, watching as Steve worked a section of her waist-length hair into a perfect victory roll. Steve had been quiet about her and Becca's budding friendship. He seemed to encourage their friendship. Yet he hadn't really didn't say anything about what he thought about his best friend's kid sister having lunch with one of the only non-hostile parties to interact with James Barnes in the last seventy years multiple times a week. It was a strange relationship dynamic to have. Her interactions, thus far, with Steve had been strange. They were perfectly civil and polite to one another, like a work friend who dropped in at all hours of the day and night. But that's really where their relationship stopped. They weren't friends, not real friends. Their conversations were mostly utilitarian, with the rare moments of interpersonal insight. However, the closest they'd been to acting like real friends had been the once at three in the morning, eating tacos on a park bench for reasons that more or less consisted of 'I couldn't sleep, and it's either this or working myself into exhaustion.' Yet, despite that, here he was, helping her get ready before they went to the Proctor Family's Fourth of July Barbecue, (although Maggie highly doubted that actual barbecue would be served.) Maggie wanted to be his friend. It was clear that he and Sam were friends (although she had suspicions that they might be a little more than that) and she couldn't help but feel that it was only fair that if she was going to spend an inordinate amount of time with the man looking for his best friend, then she should be friends with the guy she was helping.
"So where on earth did you learn to style hair like this?" Maggie asked, eyes closed, but acutely aware of Steve as he moved around her, spraying a fine mist of hairspray over her hair. "Was this a pre-war skill or something you learned through your USO days or something more recent?" She asked, hazarding a quick peek at what he was doing.
"Picked it up here and there." He answered with a shrug. "I suppose you wonder where I learned to paint nails too."
Maggie glanced down at her fingernails. They were now a "Victory Red" and would match the lipstick she was going to apply as soon as Steve finished her hair. "No. That makes sense to me. Becca says you were an artist, are an artist. One paintbrush seems rather like any other." She answered. "With hair, it just seems a little different. It's a different medium than say painting or drawing." Maggie paused. "What is your preferred medium?"
He chuckled shortly.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shook his head. "You can open your eyes now and take a look."
Maggie opened her eyes and surveyed her expression critically. Steve had taken her long, tangled mess of hair and had sculpted it into a work of victory roll art. "It's beautiful, Steve, thank you."
"Any time. Becca mentioned that you'd asked her about 1940s fashion, and she thought that I should help doll you up for the get-together today." Steve answered.
"That's very generous of you, Steve, but you didn't answer my question." Maggie turned on the barstool she was sitting on to look up at him.
"What?"
"Preferred medium."
"Oh." He paused, "I worked with whatever was cheap and available. I was always better at drawing, and pencils were cheaper and easier to get ahold of, so that's what I primarily worked in. If I had to pick a favorite, it would be watercolors." He explained. "Why?"
"Curiosity and birthday present ideas."
He tensed. "That really isn't necessary."
"Not a fan of birthdays or not a fan of attention?"
Steve looked her over warily.
Maggie sighed. "I ask in the spirit of genuine interest because I understand. Do you know how I spent my last two birthdays?"
"How?"
"Drunk. Very drunk." She said. "Not one of my better moments, but I don't like celebrating my birthday. Haven't for a very, very long time. I all but forbade Riley and Sam from celebrating or making me celebrate it." Maggie explained. "I know we're going to Becca's thing this afternoon, and then there is Stark's thing tonight. If you want or need me to run interference so you can run for the exit, I totally can." She commented seriously.
"You don't have to do that," Steve answered.
"No. But I can." She watched him closely at the way he looked at her. Something pained very nearly pinched in his features. "Just let me know," Maggie said quickly. She wasn't going to push the issue any further. The guy was clearly uncomfortable. She didn't want to make it any worse.
Her mind, however, not content to just leave well enough alone, immediately went to fixate on a different object of stress. Maggie was meeting Becca's children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, including an assortment of people Becca had fostered or adopted over the years. They want to meet you, dear. Was all Becca had said before she'd told Maggie that she needed to come dressed in theme. In all, there were supposed to be thirty-something people there. "Do you really think this is a good idea, Steve?" Maggie blurted out before she could stop herself.
Maggie didn't need to know the answer. She knew Steve thought it was a good idea. She also knew functionally, logically why Becca's kid's wanted to meet her. Vultures. Becca had explicitly told Maggie that she wasn't the first to come and ask about her brother, and although Maggie had the endorsement of Steve Rogers, she had no doubt Becca's kids were a little more than wary of anyone who might be in a position to take advantage of their mother.
"They just want to meet you. I'm sure Bec has been telling them all about you."
Maggie humphed. She hadn't so much as been told their names. Had Becca been talking about her? What was there to say? Other than perhaps, "This girl is trying to find your Uncle Jimmy,"? It was unfair to both her and Becca, but in all honesty, what was there to say about her? She was pretty damn boring presently. "What if they don't like me?"
Steve turned his head, a puzzled expression on his face as if the thought had never even crossed his mind. "Why wouldn't they like you?"
"I dunno? Something to do with taking advantage of an old woman in her advanced age?"
"But you're not."
"I mean, I know that, but do they?"
"No. But they will." Steve said firmly. "Now come on. We should get going."
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. You don't understand. She wanted to scream. This woman is the closest thing to a friend that I have at the moment. But she didn't, because Steve was very nearly in the same boat. He had the Avengers sure and Sam, but Sam was away constantly, and Steve couldn't even tell the Avengers that he didn't want a birthday party. Becca was one of Steve's last links to the past, yes, but she was also one of his only friends. Or at the very least, that's what Maggie had observed.
God, we're pathetic, aren't we?
Maggie nodded, grabbing her handbag, and they started to the elevator. "Have you met Becca's kids?" She asked as the elevator doors closed.
"I have, yes. They were all here for Passover."
"You're Jewish?" She asked.
"I am."
"And the Barnes family is too?"
"Yes." He nodded as the elevator doors opened, and they walked out toward the vehicle waiting for them.
"I can honestly say I feel like I should've known, but that is something that the documentaries never mention."
"They don't," Steve said dryly as they both settled into the back seat of a nondescript black sedan.
They don't mention a lot of things. Maggie had to bite her tongue. This wasn't the time or place to talk about what she suspected. The guy wasn't out as it would happen, even if she did suspect that he and Sam were a thing. If and when he was ready, he'd come out, then and only then they could talk about being of a similar inclination, stars and stripes as it would happen.
"Anything I should know about? Topics to avoid? Things to not bring up? Politics? Religion? The Dodgers?"
A smile quirked up at the corner of his mouth. "I think you should just be yourself."
"Well, as I have no idea how to be anyone else, that was generally the plan."
"You don't need to be nervous."
"Maggie smiled, "Appreciate it, Steve."
"I'm being serious."
"So am I."
"Oh. You're welcome."
They sat in silence the rest of the ride there, a churning in the pit of her stomach. Steve wouldn't lead me astray, would he? She couldn't help but wonder, her stomach twinging as the car came to a stop.
Steve gave some quick instructions to the driver that she didn't quite catch all of before helping her from the car. This was a bad idea. They were at a park, a large group congregated around a set of picnic benches, streamers, and balloons, and all sorts of decorations hung up. There was a grill, and coolers, and a gaggle of kids playing with bubbles, and kicking around a large blue ball, someone had also quite recently knocked down an oversized Jenga set. Presiding over it all was Becca sitting in a folding lawn chair, with a small child probably no more than six on her lap. She was stroking the girl's head and murmuring into her hair. Steve caught her attention, and she nodded, motioning with her chin.
"Come on. I have to introduce you to someone."
"But." Maggie stammered as Steve took her by the arm and started leading her over to a group of people.
"Steven. Glad you could join us." It was an older man who addressed them, breaking away from a group of adults chatting. He was probably in his mid-sixties, his hair while gray had flecks of color in it still, making it difficult to pin down a more precise age. His eyes were a sharp piercing blue, and they surveyed them as they approached.
"Always an honor to receive an invitation," Steve said, shaking the man's hand. "Good to see you."
"You as well." The man replied before turning to her. "You must be Ms. Ramirez."
"Maggie." She said, extending her hand.
"James Martinez-Proctor." He took her hand, shaking it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. You must be Becca's eldest child."
"Hard to get anything past her, isn't it?" James asked, glancing over at Steve.
"Just depends on what it is." She said with a quick smile.
"Steve. Can you come over and help me with something!" Becca called.
"Be right there." Steve called over his shoulder, "I'll be right back." He said before walking away.
Maggie stood there, uncertain if she should follow after or try to make small talk until Steve returned. James was apparently thinking the same thing as he observed her. "Mother has told us a lot about you." He began.
Maggie tensed. This was how it started. He was going to tell her they didn't like her hanging around their mother, and that she needed to stop immediately. That they didn't want her unburying and reopening old wounds by talking about her brother. "Good things, I hope." She managed weakly.
"Only good things," James said. "Mother says you used to have a veteran's equine-assisted therapy facility."
"Yeah. Last Chance Ranch."
"Thank you for your service," James commented.
"Pardon?" Maggie stammered.
"Your service as a military spouse and widow, and for your service to the veteran community. That's no easy thing. We're not always the most outwardly appreciative folks." James explained.
"Oh. Thanks." She said, taken aback. No one had ever thanked her for her service. It just seemed like the thing to do, given the state of veteran's affairs and the severe lack of support system for most veterans. Then something clicked into place in her mind. "You served."
"Drafted, yes." He nodded.
"Vietnam?"
"Just out of high school."
She nodded. This wasn't what she'd expected at all. She's expected a shovel talk, a cease and desist at the very best, and while there was still plenty of time for their conversation to veer sharply in that direction, it didn't seem like that was going to be the case. "Your mother didn't really tell me anything about you or her other children." She said slowly.
"She wouldn't. She's an insanely private person. Do you know how long we've been trying to get her to tell us about her brother?"
Her Brother. The word choice was particular. It wasn't James Barnes, Uncle James, or even just "our uncle," but instead, her brother. "You mean...she doesn't talk about him?"
"No." James shook his head. "It's the past, and it's buried, is what she'd always told us when we asked."
But that didn't make sense. There were photos of him out and around Becca's apartment. Certainly, she must've told them something. Becca had mentioned that she hadn't given many interviews, but did that mean to her children as well did it? Well, apparently so. Maggie adjusted, uneasily, her stomach twisting and knotting. "You want to know why me." She said in a small voice.
"I think there's a very particular reason why she's talking to you."
"Because I've seen him."
"Partially." He paused, frowning thoughtfully. "You know some of my mother's story. You know her life hasn't been a particularly easy one. She's lost a lot of people she loved, but so have you."
"So you're saying that makes me an ideal candidate to talk to your mother about her brother?" Maggie said her voice clipped and sharper than she'd meant.
"No. I think she sees a lot of herself in you. At least that's what I've gathered. She doesn't have to explain why something matters, you understand, because you've been there, or been somewhere similar." He explained. "We don't want anything out of you, Ms. Ramirez. We just want you to keep doing what you're doing. Perhaps, try to convince our mother to share some of her past with us."
"I'll see what I can do."
"You're already doing so much. And my siblings and I are very appreciative of it. You make her feel young again, and I know we've all been able to see a difference in her mood since you've started coming for your visits."
Maggie paused, taken aback. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," James replied. "You are welcome here. We are glad you came, and we would be honored if you stayed."
"Thank you." She managed after a moment.
"Now, If you don't mind too much, I'd like to introduce you to the rest of the Barnes-Proctor family," James said.
"I'd love nothing more."
James led her around the park where they'd set up, introducing her first to his half-sisters, Mary, Jenny, Elizabeth, and Stephanie before expanding out to the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and all of those that Becca had fostered or adopted over the years. All of the adults embraced her warmly, echoing James's sentiments. They were glad she was there. They were delighted that their mother, their grandmother, their matriarch, the heart and soul of their family, had met her and had brought her into their family.
"So. What do you think?" Becca asked, sinking beside Maggie at the picnic bench.
Maggie set the hotdog down that she'd just taken a massive bite out of and chewed slowly as she thought of a way to respond. "They're all lovely." Maggie managed after swallowing.
"They worry about me," Becca said pensively.
Maggie nodded, taking a sip from her cup.
"They're glad you're here, but I don't think they quite know what to make of you." Becca chuckled.
"I don't think anyone knows what to make of me, including me," Maggie replied.
"You're a sweet girl, Maggie," Becca said, patting her arm gently.
They both looked over at the sound of shouts and cheers from the kids to find that a group of them had attached themselves to Steve's waist, arms, and legs and were giggling in delight as he dragged them around the grassy field. "Oh, poor Steven." Becca chuckled. "He never was much good with children. I can tell that hasn't changed much."
"I think he's doing just fine." Maggie smiled, returning her gaze to Becca, who was still watching the scene.
"You know he's 96 years old today if his birth certificate is any real indicator of actual age."
"So, he was actually born on the Fourth of July?" Maggie couldn't help but smile.
"Yes, and my parents would have him and Mrs. Rogers over every fourth for his birthday." Becca returned the smile. "This is the first year we've had him here since he came out of the ice. I suppose I have you to thank for that."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think he would've come had I not insisted that he bring you as well?" Becca asked. "If you hadn't been here, he probably would've closed himself off up in that ugly Stark building looking for my brother or been out there with Samuel Wilson."
Maggie nodded. Becca wasn't wrong, but she could also understand not wanting to celebrate. That was all right too. She'd spent many birthdays either alone or refusing to celebrate all together. That was just a fact of life. But he shouldn't be alone.
"I don't know." She sighed. "I'm glad that I was able to drag him out here today, but I get the feeling that I'm less of a friend and more of a painful reminder."
"You and me, both dear," Becca said sweetly.
"Oh," Maggie said shortly, her mouth forming around the word more than making an actual sound.
She looked at Becca. There were so many things that she wanted to ask. So many things she wanted to know, but now wasn't the right time.
"I think he needs a friend. I think he needs to be reminded that there is a life to be had after all of this, finding my brothers, and even the Avengers nonsense."
"Are you saying I should volunteer?" Maggie asked, chuckling lightly.
"I'm saying that you're halfway to it already." Becca smiled. "He likes you and respects you. It won't take much for you to be friends."
"I think he tolerates me because I'm useful."
"Do you think he would introduce you to his best friend's only living blood relative if he only tolerated you?" Becca asked.
Maggie opened and closed her mouth a few times.
"Finish up your hot dog, dear, Steven is headed this way." Becca grinned.
Maggie took the largest bite she could manage without choking as Steve walked up. "You almost ready to go?"
"Don't rush the poor girl, James had her running around talking to everyone most of the afternoon. Sit down, have another hot dog." Becca said, waving him into a seat across from them.
"We have to go soon, Bec. Stark is having a charity event tonight at the tower in honor of my birthday and the 4th of July."
Becca rolled her eyes. "You're really going to let Anthony Stark tell you what to do on your birthday?"
"He's my friend, Bec."
"You know I don't like him, didn't like his father either for that matter. Can't you just say you forgot?" Becca asked pointedly.
Maggie glanced between Becca and Steve. One of Becca's parting comments to Steve was always, 'You can tell Tony Stark he can kiss my ass.' There was a history there. What exactly it was Maggie couldn't be entirely sure, but she couldn't wait to see what was going to happen next.
"He's a damn warmonger from a family of warmongers ." Becca bit out.
"Only his father was involved in the industry, can't blame all of them." Steve corrected before glancing over at Maggie. "Becca was an anti-war activist during the Vietnam War, and an anti-nuke activist during the 80s, amongst other things," Steve said shortly as if that was supposed to explain anything.
Maggie opened her mouth, but the flow of conversation had already rushed past her before she could comment.
"Can you blame me, Steven?"
"No." He said, rising to his feet, he rounded the picnic table and stooped to kiss her gently on the cheek. "I don't. And as much as I'd love to give Stark the slip this evening, it's for a good cause.
Becca humphed, but nodded.
Steve chuckled, putting his hand on the woman's shoulder. "That trick never worked on me when we were kids, it's not going to work now." he leaned back down and kissed her on the forehead.
"Always worth a shot." She pecked him on the cheek. "Well, if you have to go, Ms. Maggie here is far too pretty to get away without taking a few photos," Becca said, as she started rummaging through her purse for her digital camera.
Maggie glanced at Steve uncertainly. "She knows she's not allowed to post any of them anywhere," Steve said, taking the camera from Becca.
"All right, tell us how you want us," Becca said.
They sat patiently as Steve adjusted and directed them. Once Steve had gotten the shot he wanted, Becca beckoned over the rest of the group. "Family photo." She told Maggie with a smile. "No arguing."
After arranging everyone, Steve took several shots. It had been forever since Maggie had posed for a group photo, never mind a family photo. There was the general joking, teasing, and laughing, and the awkward shuffling as they tried to get everyone into the frame. It was familiar, and a type of group solidarity only experienced during these types of things. Then as soon as Steve got his shots, it was over, and everyone dispersed. "All right, now we have to go and get ready for Stark's thing," Steve said, handing over Becca's camera.
"Oh no, not yet." Becca shook her head. "James, dear. Can you do me a favor."
James approached and took the camera from Becca, while Becca grabbed Steve's shirt and practically dragged him down on the bench beside her. "All right. Hold still." James chuckled, before snapping a few photos.
Maggie focused on the camera, but she managed to catch Becca murmur," Happy birthday, Stevie." before pressing a small gift-wrapped package against his chest.
"Thanks, Bec," Steve replied, his voice was so low that it was more of a rumble as he slipped the gift into a pocket.
I'm invading this moment. I'm an outsider. Maggie couldn't help but think, but she also couldn't help but be touched by the simple, honest emotion behind what she was witnessing.
"I think I got the shots," James said, handing the camera back to his mother.
"And now we really have to go," Steve said.
Maggie wanted to protest, but she knew Steve was right. He had to go, and due to Hydra being a huge bag of dicks, she couldn't be out alone without an escort, which might take forever to acquire. Besides, she'd told him she'd run interference at the Stark thing, and as Becca had said, Steve needed a friend. "It was wonderful, thank you so much for inviting us," Maggie said, giving Becca a quick hug.
"Of course, always happy to have you. See you for our regular Monday lunch?" Becca asked as they hugged.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Maggie smiled as they broke apart. She turned to James, who was watching her closely. "It was lovely to meet you. I hope we get a chance to talk again soon." She said, extending a hand.
"You're in our family portrait, Ms. Ramirez. I think we can hug."
"Absolutely." Maggie chuckled as she was brought into an embrace.
The rest of the family gathered to say goodbye, and it was another forty-five minutes before she and Steve managed to pull themselves away, and Steve waved at the group as they drove away.
"So. How was that?" Steve asked breathlessly, glancing over at her.
"They're wonderful," Maggie answered. "I am ready for a drink, though." She admitted, rubbing her forehead. "It's been forever since I've been around that much family."
"Yeah. Me too."
"Wonderful, but a handful." Maggie sighed, sinking into the seat.
"And they like you."
"I dunno about like." She smiled. "But, it is nice to know I have the kids' blessing." Maggie paused.
She wanted to ask if he knew that Becca hadn't told her kids anything about their uncle. It made sense. She understood why Becca hadn't. She was right, for one. The past was dead and buried, sometimes that was the only way to cope with the pain. She looked up at Steve's face. Was that what he was doing? Burying the past inside of him? Bury it deep enough, and you don't have to act like it's there. That's why he'd introduced her to Becca and had the old woman pour her soul out to Maggie rather than having to do it himself. How had Steve known that Becca would open up to Maggie at all? It had been one hell of a hunch.
Maggie paused, thinking about James's words. You've been there or at least somewhere similar. They were fractured and broken in all the same ways: dead husband, dead brother, one loss after another. Yet, there was hope in this story, hope that perhaps this wasn't going to be her life forever. Becca had managed to overcome so much loss to achieve what Maggie had seen today, a loving, wonderful family, both of blood and bond gathered together in celebration. It felt like it had been forever since she'd had anything like that, and from the looks of it, it had been a long while for Steve too. I'm going to make him my friend if it's the last damn thing I do.
"Becca really is a phenomenal woman. Thank you for introducing us." Maggie commented, breaking the amicable silence that had settled in around them.
"Of course." He nodded, glancing up and out the window toward their destination.
"Back to reality, huh?" She said dryly.
"If you wanna call this reality."
"Well, Steve. The offer stands. If you need me to run interference, I totally can." She tried to smile. The weight of the real world pushing down on them.
"I appreciate it," Steve said, politely.
"Of course, any time." Maggie smiled, feeling like she was beating against a plate of glass between her and Steve.
Then suddenly, for no reason at all, all of the goodwill, all of the happiness that she'd just experienced and felt seeped away, replaced by a dark, black, overwhelming grief. She'd been holding it back even the thought of it all day. She missed her friends. She missed her family. She missed her ranch and everything that entailed. She missed Bill and his hard-headed bullshit. She missed Suzanne's firm and sometimes unfriendly advice. She missedMike's gentle teasing, and the bad burgers and hotdogs he would've undoubtedly have made. She missed the songs around the campfire, played on her brother's old guitar, lost in the fire (not that she'd be able to play guitar any time soon for that matter either). She missed all of them so much that it felt like a hole opening like a chasm in her chest. What would they be doing today? Maggie didn't know.
But there's hope. She tried to remind herself as she glanced back over at Steve. There is always hope.
The car stopped, Steve helped Maggie out of the car, and they walked toward the elevator in silence. Entering the elevator, she waited until the doors closed before she turned and looked up at him. "Happy Birthday, Steve."
"Happy 4th of July, Ramirez," Steve replied.
And they rode in silence the rest of the way up to the chaos that awaited them.
For Steve, it had been a decent day so far, which was saying something, considering he hated celebrating his birthday. It wasn't so much that he disliked his birthday. It had just become more of a thing since he'd become Captain America. The Proctor Family Cook Out had been a success. Bec hadn't made a big deal out of his birthday, and it seemed like Ramirez had enjoyed herself as well. As a bonus of sorts, Becca's children and assorted family had taken to Ramirez right away. It only made sense. People liked her. She was likable, friendly, and smart.
A knot twinged in his stomach. Am I doing the right thing? That question loomed, ever-present, in the back of his mind. Particularly as it pertained to the presence of Magdalene Ramirez in their hunt for Bucky and now her involvement with Becca Barnes-Proctor. Ramirez's involvement with the case was unfortunate at the very best. The woman had lost her home, her business, her identity, and had been tortured by Hydra because she'd allowed Bucky to sleep in her barn. Then, when she'd still been recovering in the hospital, she'd volunteered to help track him down, for reasons that were still unclear to him. She'd said she wanted answers, wanted closure and had wanted her sacrifice to mean something.
At the time that had made just about as much sense as anything else, and with a fresh trail leading northward, her assistance on the case had seemed the logical thing to do. Sam had been pissed when he'd found out that Ramirez had volunteered and that Steve had accepted, but as she'd stated, Sam wasn't the boss of her, and she'd firmly stood her ground. It'll only take a few weeks, a month tops. Steve had reasoned, they'd been hot on his trail, and they'd had several promising leads.
Only now it had been two months, and not only had they not found Bucky, but Ramirez was taking on a more substantial role in their effort to find him. She had informed him a few weeks ago that she considered herself 'on-call,' and so if he ever needed anything, she'd be around 24/7.
'You really think I have anything better to do, Steve?' She'd teased when he'd protested.
The comment stung. She was here, indefinitely, at his disposal until they found Bucky, or until it didn't matter if they did find him. But he wasn't going to think about that.
Steve shoved his hands in his pockets, his fingers fiddling with the wrapping paper of the gift that Becca has given him. He hadn't opened it yet. He hadn't had the time or the mental energy to prepare himself for whatever it was that Becca had given him. When they'd been kids, they'd had a no gifts policy. Mostly because they'd been poor, but still, Steve could sense Ramirez's hand in all of this.
That was another thing. One of the unexpected results of Ramirez's presence was that Becca was, in some small part, involved in the process to bring Bucky home. Had he made the right decision, introducing Ramirez to Becca? How would Bucky feel about Steve getting his little sister involved in all of this? How would Bucky feel about Steve introducing Becca and Ramirez? It was difficult to know, and besides, it was too late now. The only way to find out was to find him. Then they could sort everything else out afterward.
Steve's phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket to find a text from Ramirez.
'Hey, I know I'd said I'd run interference, but the music is a little loud for me. I'm up on the roof if you'd like to join me. ~MR'
It was a simple invitation. There was no threat of coercion like there'd been for the party. Instead, it was an open offer with zero expectations. That was usually the case with their interactions, now that he thought about it. From the first day they'd met, Ramirez had expressed zero expectations. Not about how long this was all going to take, not about what her role was going to be, not about what she was going to get out of this whole thing. Zero expectations. Was that her way of avoiding disappointment? Have no expectations, and you won't be disappointed?
The music spiked, and Steve winced. It was loud, there were too many people, most of them he didn't know, or didn't want to talk to presently, and the air felt hot and stifled. He could go back to his apartment. It would be quite there and highly unlikely that there would be people he'd have to talk to.
Yet, the very thought of going back there made Steve's skin feel clammy, as the feeling of walls closing in settled around him.
Ramirez mentioned needing a drink. Steve slipped through the party, silently knicking a rather expensive looking bottle of champagne and a couple of champagne glasses before taking the elevator to the roof.
The doors opened, and he was greeted with a gust of warm night air and the sounds of the city far below them.
"So I see you decided to join me!" He turned toward the sound of Ramirez's voice to find her reclining comfortably on one of the two chaise lounge chairs, a small table between them. Ramirez had kicked off her shoes, and her purse was beside her. Her dark eyes were watching him intently, but a small smile graced her lips, which still had lingering traces of red lipstick that had long rubbed off.
"It was getting loud. Could use the fresh air." He said as he approached. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all. I did invite you up here." She said and watched as he sat down, straddling the chaise lounge chair and set the bottle of champagne and glasses down. The chilled champagne flutes immediately fogged up in the muggy night air. "You read my mind." She commented.
"Would you like some?"
"I'm not going to be drinking alone, am I?"
"I did bring two glasses."
Ramirez nodded, and he went about the business of opening the champagne and poured them both glasses. She took hers and nodded appreciatively, taking a sip. They sat a moment in companionable silence as they both sipped from their glasses. "Any word from Sam?" She asked, breaking the silence.
Steve hesitated. What exactly did she know about him and Sam, or what Sam had even told her to begin with? Steve knew that Sam and Riley had been partners in a polyamorous relationship that involved Ramirez, but what would she think of Sam being involved with someone like him?
He decided not to risk it. "No update." He said finally.
"But he did text to wish you a happy birthday, right?" She asked.
"Yeah." Steve nodded.
"That's good. I'm glad." She paused, taking a quick drink from her glass. "He's a good man. A good person."
There was something pained about her expression as she said it. Something that she was holding back. 'Besides, I have plenty of shit I could hold over his head that I don't like that he's involved with. You, for instance.' That's what she'd told him the first time they'd met. Did she know? Had she figured out that something was going on between him and Sam? Did she disapprove? Of course, she did, she was Riley's widow, the widow of Sam's former partner, of Sam's lover.
Steve braced himself for the addendum, for the 'but' for the 'you're lucky to have him,' the 'you hurt him I hurt you' speech, but it didn't come. No, she'd been professional thus far, and if he knew her, she wouldn't change that now, regardless of her personal feelings.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rocket fire, and Steve flinched, eyes draw up to the overcast sky, his body preparing for whatever attack was going to come.
Ramirez's voice brought the rooftop back into focus. "Huh. I thought it was too overcast for them to shoot off fireworks."
Damn it. He winced, glancing over at Ramirez, who was pouring herself another glass of champagne. "Top off, Steve?" She inquired
"Sure." He extended the glass to her, watching as she poured.
"Seems strange they're still launching fireworks off. I never could stand them, and I never would've dreamed of using them during Last Chance's 4th of July and New Year's celebrations." Ramirez commented, voice distant as she set the bottle back down and picked her glass of champaign back up. Her gaze wandered to an unknown vantage point, frowning before she muttered "Fuck." under her breath before she downed the entire glass in a single, long draw.
Steve starred, opening and closing his mouth a few times before looking down into his glass and then back up at her.
"Sorry." Ramirez shook her head, blinking rapidly. "I think a part of me is still there, thinking through what I would be doing if I were there today."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Steve replied, doing everything he could to not wince again at the sound of another firework launching.
"It is a shame you never got to see the ranch in its heyday. You were only there long enough to pull me out of a burning house." She said, setting down the glass she reached for the champagne bottle, her handshaking.
"Let me help you with that," Steve said, picking up the bottle before she could grab it, poured her another, much smaller pour.
"You cutting me off, Captain?" Ramirez asked sharply, shooting him a look.
He made a vague consolatory gesture and poured a little more. "I'm sorry that we missed your April cookout. From what Sam has told me, they were a lot of fun." He commented, setting the bottle down.
"He…he mentioned them?" She stammered her expression somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief.
"You did invite us, didn't you?"
"Well, yes, but do you know how many times I'd asked Sam to come and visit the Ranch since Riley passed?"
Steve shook his head no.
"A lot. Something always "came up." I assumed the same thing happened in April."
Zero expectations.
She took another sip before continuing with a bright, brittle smile. "Can you imagine if you had shown up at the April cookout? How different things would be?"
You wouldn't be here, and Bucky might not be on the run. Then there was the guilt, ever-present, and always just below the surface. She was here because of him because he'd failed.
Steve wanted to say something. What could he say? I'm sorry? That was hardly sufficient for the sacrifices she'd made for Bucky, and by extension for him.
"This isn't your fault, you know." She commented, taking a small sip of champagne.
"What?" Steve again found himself staring. Had she read his mind, or was it that obvious?
Maggie opened her mouth to speak but paused at the sound of fireworks. She waited for them to pass before she continued. "What happened to me…what happened to him, it's not your fault."
If I'd stopped him in D.C., we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Steve wanted to protest, wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes, the fierce expression told him that he would lose. Several more fireworks went off, illuminating the sky in a fog.
"Steve." Ramirez began slowly in a break in the barrage of fireworks. "I think this whole situation would be a whole lot better if you and I could somehow find our way to being friends."
Steve hesitated. "What do you mean?"
"I mean. I dunno. Sam's gone a lot, and when you're not doing your Avenging gig, you're in the gym beating up punching bags." She said, clutching her left hand to her chest. "Meanwhile, I'm involved in this extreme difficulty level "Where is Waldo" game without much contact with the outside world, beyond having lunch with a very ornery 84-year-old Brooklynite. I think it would be nice to be able to see some of the city, visit some of the museums, some of the sights with a local I don't have to get security clearance to leave the tower with."
"Sounds like you have this all thought out." Steve managed dryly.
"Well, I have had a lot of time to think, Steve." She paused, chewing on the corner of her mouth as if deciding if she wanted to say what she was going to say. "I've been pretty miserable recently, and I'm doing my best to find ways to not be so miserable. I thought maybe we could find a way not to be miserable together."
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. She wasn't wrong. "What did you have in mind?"
There was another explosion overhead, and Maggie's eyes went from the sky to him. "We could go downstairs, watch some telenovelas, and eat ice cream. No loud noises, no parties, no one drunkenly singing you a happy birthday. Or I can pop some popcorn, and we can watch a movie. Something quiet."
That sounded nice. It sounded really nice, actually. "Sure," He nodded. "That sounds like a plan."
Ramirez rose to her feet and started collecting her stuff. "I'll go down before you, just to avoid too much attention. And so I can get stuff ready."
"I'll meet you down there in twenty minutes."
"And I'll hold you to is Steven Rogers." She smiled, patting him on the shoulder as she passed him on her way to the elevator.
She wants to be my friend. And for whatever reason, the thought made him smile.
Waiting for the elevator doors to close, Steve dug the small gift-wrapped package from his pocket and opened it on his lap. There was a note with a set of watercolors and a gift card to one of the local art shops. The note read 'Happy Birthday Stevie. I don't know if you paint anymore, but I know these used to be your favorite. Go, make something beautiful. Love, Bec.'
Carefully rewrapping the gift, he returned it to his pockets and looked up at the sky, stars obscured by clouds, flashes of Red, White, and Blue in the air, feeling both 29 and 96 at the same time. A strange place to be, and yet here he was.
A/N: Wasn't that fun? I hope you all enjoyed! A little bit of Steve and Maggie, a bit of Bucky doing research, a bit of family, a bit of fun. (This chapter had EVERYTHING). Look forward to bringing you the next chapter, and hope to hear what you all thought!
Until Next time, Happy Reading!
