Author's Note: 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: Princess Leia's Theme by John Williams, Vienna by Billy Joel, Walk on Life by Dire Straits, Happy Happy Birthday Baby by The Fleetwoods, I'm Always Chasing Rainbows by Judy Garland, and Shut up and Drive by Rihanna


Chapter 19: A Non-Birthday Birthday Celebration

It had been quiet since September. They hadn't heard anything out of Barnes since Kyiv, and Sam had been working solo. Meanwhile, Natasha and Steve and the rest of the Avengers took on Hydra, cell by cell, to try to weed out the terrorist organization and hopefully find new leads on Barnes.

For her part, Maggie had been working on her coding, encryption, and Russian. She'd also been working on her physical therapy. It was slow going and painful, though not nearly as much as the search for Barnes.

She still hadn't crossed the point of no return. The files had remained sealed and locked in her bottom drawer. She wanted to ask Becca what she would do, what Maggie should do, but she hadn't had the nerve nor the opportunity to ask. Becca would probably think she was a coward, and anyway, they hadn't seen much of one another. The onset of cold weather hadn't been kind to Becca, who'd been dealing with colds and other respiratory problems. But as a side effect, Becca had been spending more time with her children and grandchildren, so Maggie couldn't entirely begrudge her time with her family.

Maggie glowered as she paced the length of the apartment, the floor to ceiling windows, giving her a spectacular view of uptown. She squeezed the Captain America stress dummy Sam had gifted her as hard as she could with her left hand in time with each step. It hurt, but the pain was cathartic, it meant the nerves were healing, but she was reasonably sure that the doctors didn't mean like this. She wasn't supposed to tire herself out, push herself too hard. Yet she worked the hand until she could feel the tension and pain stinging in her neck and jaw.

Wincing, she shook her head.

She should've gone with Steve and Sam to D.C. for Veteran's Day. Sam was going to lay a wreath, as he always did. He didn't lay one at memorial day. He just didn't have the heart. Maggie would argue because Riley was still with them, in their hearts and minds, but Sam would never admit that. So Sam was gone, spending time with Riley on Veteran's day, leaving her alone on her birthday. One of the many reasons she didn't like and didn't want to celebrate her birthday.

Maggie paused, glancing out the window to the city below. It was cloudy outside, but it wasn't snowing, sleeting, or even rainy. It wasn't the proper weather for the season or her mood.

We'd be having campfires regularly.

Maggie sighed, feeling more upset and angry at herself for allowing the thought even to pass her mind. She'd deleted the weather and news alerts for the Last Chance Ranch area and volunteers, mostly because Sam had seen it on her computer, and she hadn't wanted to explain. Unfortunately, he was right, it wasn't healthy or productive, and she needed to ween herself off checking on what was going on in her old life.

Maggie dropped the stress doll, swearing and muttering under her breath. Flexing her left hand, she stooped down to collect the little plastic Captain America and stopped at the sound of someone knocking politely at the door.

"Come in. It's unlocked." She called, standing upright.

There was a hesitant pause before the door opened, and Natasha Romanoff entered. "You really shouldn't do that."

"Come to lecture me, Agent Romanoff?" Maggie smiled, turning to face the approaching woman.

"Would you listen if I did?" Romanoff asked, arching a playful eyebrow.

"I am an excellent student." She shot back in mock hurt.

"Which is why you're still leaving your front door unlocked."

"True, true. But would you, Hydra, or anyone else I know with lethal capacity be deterred by a locked door?" Maggie asked with an exaggerated drawl.

Romanoff rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You make a compelling point."

"But I take it that's not why you're here."

"I brought you some intel and a gift."

"Gift?" Maggie narrowed her gaze, her expression hardening in a grimace.

"You've burned through the other coding books I gave you. So I found some in Russian for you to work on your reading." Romanoff removed both the file and the thick volume and extended it to her.

"Thanks. "Maggie said, stuffing the Cap' stress doll into the pocket of her cardigan and taking the file and book from her. "I'm just going to put them in the office if you wanna follow me over."

"Lead the way." Romanoff nodded, following behind as Maggie made her way to the office. "So you have anything planned for the day?" She asked cryptically.

"Who told you?" Maggie groaned, placing her newest acquisitions on top of the mounting stack of paperwork and books piling up on her desk. "And don't lie to me." She added, turning back to face Romanoff, who was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Death certificates are open record."

Maggie rolled her eyes, "You can just say Sam and drop all the vague spy international mystery woman nonsense."

"He didn't say anything specific, just asked me to check on you today."

"I'm sure." She replied dryly.

"So, do you have any plans for today?"

"I'm having dinner with Becca this evening. I haven't seen her in almost a month. Otherwise, I was just going to hang around here for the rest of the day."

"So you'll have time to go to the gun range and the driving course," Romanoff said a matter of factly. "Go get dressed. I'll meet you in the shooting gallery in twenty minutes."

Maggie opened her mouth to protest, but Romanoff interjected before she could get anything out. "If you're going to hang around superheroes, assassins, and spies, you need to know how to shoot and drive."

"At the same time?

"Possibly, but not today."

Maggie sighed. "All right. Fine. You make a compelling argument, but this is strictly training, and I need to get back in time to shower and change."

"Of course." Romanoff nodded. "Shooting gallery, twenty minutes just ask Jarvis for my floor. Wear comfortable shoes."

Romanoff left before Maggie could come up with a reasonable excuse for why this was a bad idea. As the door shut and locked behind Romanoff, Maggie exhaled a long, strangled sigh. "Fine. Fine. Fine!" She muttered as she put away the new intel and secured the more sensitive information lying around before walking back to her bedroom to change.

"Stupid Sam, I hate my birthday, why did he have to say anything?" She grumbled as she pulled clothes from the dresser and closet.

Yet despite herself, Maggie found that she was both excited and nervous for the day ahead of her. She and Romanoff had been working together since she'd very nearly been intercepted by Hydra back in August, but they hadn't 'hung out' professionally or even socially. They had a strictly 'off the book' professional relationship. She hadn't told Sam or Steve what exactly she and Romanoff were up to, and she had the suspicion that Romanoff wasn't the most forthcoming either. Romanoff came and went with little to no warning and was gone just as quickly. Maggie didn't mind, much of her life since last chance had been devoid of structure and consistency, and Sam and Steve frequently dropped in without much warning and often had to leave mid-way through whatever they were doing. Yet, with Romanoff, it was different. Steve, for his part, was an open book, his emotions, and thoughts on his face even if he didn't verbally say anything. By comparison, Romanoff was like a book encased in three feet of concrete, locked in a safe that had been dropped into the Marianas trench or launched into space. It made it difficult to get a read on the exact nature of their relationship professional or otherwise. Now Romanoff was spending her free time with her, taking her out to a driving course, on her birthday none the less.

"Fuck!" Maggie swore as the closure on her skinny jeans slipped again. She flexed her left hand before attempting again. She really hadn't done herself any favors.

Finally getting the jeans buttoned, she slipped on flats and pulled an already buttoned plaid flannel button-down over her head, thankful that neither required fiddling with closures, and that the sleeves of the flannel had already been cuffed and didn't need further adjustment. She pulled her hair back into a bun using the one-handed technique she'd learned while her hand was in a cast, and surveyed herself in the mirror.

"You look like shit." Maggie grimaced. "Well onward and upward." She added, bleakly before she headed up to the shooting gallery.

When she arrived, Romanoff was waiting for her, an array of guns from a small handgun to large semiautomatic and automatic weapons laid out and ready to go. "No moss grows on that rolling stone, huh?" Maggie commented, dropping her bag on the bench against the back wall of the gallery, before approaching Romanoff and the arsenal.

"Have you handled guns before?"

Maggie raised an eyebrow, "I grew up in Texas. I've handled and am comfortable with a fair number of firearms."

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

There was a beat of silence as her question filled the room. "What?" Maggie blinked, unsure if she'd heard her correctly.

"Have you ever shot someone?"

"No. I have fantasized about it a fair bit." Maggie tried to laugh, but it was all bravado.

She'd been around guns all her life. She was from Texas after all and had worked on a ranch for most of her life as well. Firearms were a tool and a fact of life in the same way that a nail, hammer, and file were. What Romanoff was asking was had she used the gun as a weapon, which no, she hadn't, and the thought made her stomach twist. It was strange really, she'd been around military personnel all her life and had been inundated with that culture yet had never thought of herself within the context of being the one who wielded the gun to kill people. She was the one who talked people back from those experiences

"I hope that you never find yourself in that situation, but if you do, you need to know how to use your weapon and be prepared to kill, because whoever it is trying to kill you will likely have more training and won't hesitate," Romanoff said gravely.

She wasn't trying to scare her, Maggie knew better than. Romanoff was being honest, which was perhaps even worse.

"So." Romanoff continued, "Wherever you'd like to start, let's get you comfortable."

"Start small and work out way up."

Natasha nodded wordlessly, and they began. Proceeding through each gun, Natasha explaining the pros and cons of all the weapons, working up from a Glock 26 to the M60. 'We have bigger guns if you'd like. But you shouldn't need to be comfortable with those' Romanoff had commented when Maggie had gotten all giggly with the larger weapons.

There was an undeniable adrenaline rush that came from firing guns that Maggie tried to quash, particularly with Romanoff standing behind her. This was serious and could potentially save her life one day. Yet still, she giggled and reveled in the rush that came with the whole experience.

"Not a bad cluster," Romanoff commented as Maggie brought the paper target back to where they were standing.

Maggie had moved away from the rifles and higher caliber weapons and was now getting familiar with a SIG-Sauer P226 and a Glock 19.

"You'll need to keep practicing to tighten it up, but not a bad start." She said, surveying the target. "You're welcome to come down while Clint and I are practicing. We do that every morning around five before the morning brief."

"I-I-" Maggie faltered before clearing her throat. "I'd like that, thank you."

"It's approaching noon, time for lunch before we head over to the driving course," Romanoff commented, as she started collecting up the mini arsenal.

"But. I. I mean." Maggie stammered.

"You'll want to eat before we go driving. Driving on a full stomach is important for focus," She said.

They returned the guns to the locker, although Maggie protested that she should clean them first, and they headed down to the garage.

Walking past the flashy hotrods, Romanoff stopped at the little black Honda Civic. Maggie frowned. "Yes. Really." Romanoff commented, answering Maggie's unasked question. "Get in. Traffic is going to be terrible."

Maggie felt like a fish out of water, opening and closing her mouth as she climbed into the passenger's seat, feeling off-balance, uncertain of what was going to happen next. "So, where are we going?" She asked as they pulled from the garage.

"Have you ever had Ethiopian food?"

"No."

"There's a place in Hell's Kitchen I've been meaning to try."

"I'm up for an adventure." Maggie shrugged.

"Glad to hear it."

They arrived at the restaurant and were immediately seated and served by the owners who chatted excitedly with Natasha in Arabic. Maggie felt slightly lightheaded.

"Do you know them?" She asked as they started eating.

"Yeah, I helped them out a while ago." Romanoff supplied obliquely.

Helped them out? Maggie had questions, lots of questions but knew that she was unlikely to receive anything more substantial than that. She was still perplexed and confused and uncertain when it came to Romanoff, namely, why? Why was she doing this? Any of it. Helping her, but also helping in the search for Barnes. There were too many things that didn't add up. However, this was neither the time nor the place to think about that. Romanoff, in her way, Maggie supposed, was trying to be friends. While Maggie had more than her fair share of misgiving about the situation knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if it did mean she was sort of kinda celebrating her birthday.

"So why an equine therapy ranch?"

"Pardon?" Maggie blinked, looking up to meet Romanoff's gaze.

"Just wondering why equine therapy."

"Oh." The question surprised her. "Well." Maggie began slowly. "A bit of personal experience combined with intersecting professional interests."

Romanoff nodded.

"Have you spent any time around horses, Romanoff?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well, when this all blows over, and I get to have a life again, I'll have to show you the ropes."

Maggie said, wincing as she did, waiting for Romanoff to chastise her for still thinking she could go back to the ranch.

"I look forward to the opportunity." She paused as a thoughtful expression passed over her features, but before she could say anything, the server came over to check on them.

They passed lunch in the polite conversation akin to workaholics on a first date, and when they finished, Romanoff left a roll of twenties tucked discretely under one of the plates. "Won't take it, otherwise." She said, spying Maggie's inquisitive look. "Come on. We need to get to the driving course."

"Don't worry about it."

"Romanoff, please."

"My treat."

Maggie sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'll have to get you back, you know."

"Doubt it."

Maggie opened and closed her mouth, trying to come up with a comeback, but in the end, just sunk back into the seat, arms crossed. "You know that's not fair. Right, Romanoff?"

"I never said I'd play fair, and you can call me Natasha. We've crossed that threshold, I think."

"Fine. Natasha. I'm going to get you back. And there's no way you can stop me."

"Good Luck with that."

There was no possible come back Maggie could come up with that would be sufficient, and so they rode the rest of the way to the driving course in silence. When they arrived, Natasha drove the course a couple of times, explaining the different maneuvers without pause before making Maggie get into the driver's seat to traverse the course herself.

Maggie surprised herself by how quickly she was able to pick the different driving maneuvers. Then, once Maggie had mastered a less challenging course in reverse, Natasha brought out a Ferrari, and they spent the last hour and a half of their track time doing laps, drifts, and doughnuts.

"You okay?" Natasha asked, glancing over from the driver's seat at Maggie, who was laughing breathlessly, clutching her side.

"I'm-fine-why-would-you-ask?" She managed between gasps for air.

"No reason." Natasha shook her head with a small chuckle. "Come on. We have to get you to Brooklyn, wouldn't want to keep Mrs. Proctor waiting."

"Shit," Maggie swore, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. "Shit. Shit. Shit." She scrabbled from the Ferrari and started back toward the little black Honda.

"Relax. I prepared for this eventuality." Natasha commented. "I'll drop you off and make sure your security people know where you're at."

Maggie leveled her gaze on the other woman. "You're acting really nice. Why?"

"Aren't I allowed? To be nice?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Now come on, or else we're going to be late."

"I mean, you don't have to be nice to me. Just because I'm Sam's friend, and I'm helping Steve." Maggie continued as they returned to the road and toward Brooklyn.

"Is it so impossible to think that perhaps people enjoy your company?"

"Do you?"

"It's not outside the realm of possibility."

Maggie snorted. "Well, whatever the case, thank you for taking me out today. Both lunch and the tactical practice shooting and driving. It's been a while since I've shot firearms of any kind, and I've never driven a course like that, so thank you for being gentle with me." Maggie replied.

"Of course." Natasha nodded. "Any time you want to brush up on driving or shooting, just let me know, and if I'm not available, I know some people who'd be more than willing to assist."

They drifted off into silence and arrived promptly at 6:00 pm to Becca's front door. Natasha got out and retrieved a duffle from her trunk, before escorting Maggie to the front door.

Becca greeted them at the door. "Hello, Ms. Romanoff, lovely to see you again."

"Hello, Mrs. Proctor, good to see you as well." Natasha nodded.

"Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"Afraid I can't stay, just here to drop off Ms. Ramirez," Natasha said before switching into Yiddish.

Becca replied likewise in a rapid burst of Yiddish. Maggie glanced between them, feeling, once again, slightly lightheaded at what was occurring. The duo chatted back and forth a moment before Natasha cleared her throat. "I'll leave you two to it, have a good evening," Natasha said, extending a duffle bag to her. "In case you wanted to change for your evening in. Call if you need anything."

"Thank you, Natasha." Maggie stammered as she took the duffle. "For everything."

"Any time." Natasha nodded with a small smile.

Becca and Maggie watched as Natasha returned to the car before Becca spoke. "Did you two have fun today, dear?" She asked, escorting her into the apartment.

"Yeah, of a sort," Maggie replied, shutting and locking the front door behind her. She paused. "How do you and Natasha know each other?"

"Oh. She's a lovely girl. She came by shortly after D.C. back in April. Wanted to know if I'd seen James and to make sure I was safe. As far as I'm aware, she's personally overseeing my security detail. Doesn't talk much, but she has a good heart." Becca paused, turning to her. "Now. Why don't you go shower and change while I order us some food."

"Sounds like a plan." Maggie agreed, veering off to the small guest bathroom.

Stripping down and jumping in the shower, Maggie let the hot water stream over her face, through her hair and down her back, providing a brief respite to contemplate everything that had happened. First and foremost being that Natasha and Becca knew one another apparently. Why hadn't Natasha told her? Why hadn't Steve said anything? Why hadn't Becca brought it up before? The wheels in her head continued to turn as she tried to work through the questions that continued to haunt her. Why was Natasha doing any of this? What was the motivation? Now, Natasha's brief interaction with Becca had only complicated everything that Maggie thought she knew. The answer felt so simple, yet was just out of her reach.

Maggie sighed, letting the warm water soak into her aching muscles. This certainly wasn't how she'd expected she'd be spending her birthday, but it had been a pleasant one thus far, and she hoped that it would continue through the evening. When inevitably the water ran cold, she climbed out and dried off.

Wrapped in a towel, Maggie opened the duffle and started removing the items that Natasha had included inside. Basic toiletries, toothbrush, comb, toothpaste, lotion, tiny shampoo, and body soap. Then Maggie removed a pair of leggings, a knit shirt, a chunky cable knit cardigan, and an equally chunky pair of socks. Tucked further inside the duffle was a sensible pair of skinny jeans, ankle boots, shirt, and scarf. At the very bottom of the duffle was a note. 'Always smart to have a go-bag packed and ready. Let me know if something doesn't fit. -Nat.'

Maggie put the note down and exhaled slowly, a wave of emotions overcame her, both overwhelmed by Natasha's kindness and angry that she was surprised and that it was affecting her this way. She didn't celebrate her birthday. She hadn't in a long time. It was too painful. It was also one of several reasons she'd started the monthly birthday cookouts. She'd wanted to focus on celebrating other birthdays, other people's ability to survive another revolution around the sun. It also alleviated the question of 'what are you doing for your birthday?' She hated spectacle and being the center of attention. She hated the expectation that she was supposed to be happy when more often than not, she had more than her fair share of reason to be less than jovial.

So this…this was different. Maggie wiped at the tears that had started to stream down her face. She'd been grateful that Sam and Steve hadn't forced the issue of her going with them to D.C. Sam inevitably would've dragged her out for dinner, and it would've become a whole big ordeal, even if he hadn't intended it to be that, it would've become that. With Natasha today, well, it had been about as low key as one would imagine spending the day with a super-spy could be. Maggie would even venture to say it had been fun. Now, Natasha has given her a wonderful gift, the proper clothes for an evening in, without fanfare. It was a simple sort of kindness, and it was touching in a way that Maggie had not expected.

Maggie paused at the sound of knocking at the door, and the muffled exchange between Becca and the delivery man. Dressing in the leggings, knit-t and chunky sweater and socks, Maggie emerged out into the living room, hair wrapped in a towel. "So, what's the verdict?"

"Pizza," Becca answered. "And I took the liberty of pouring you some wine." She added, motioning to the coffee table, which had the pizza box and glass of wine sitting on it.

"Thank you," Maggie sighed, sinking onto the couch beside Becca, who was already nibbling on a slice of veggie delux pizza. "So, what's the plan? She continued as she grabbed a slice of pizza and picked up her glass of wine. "What are we going to talk about tonight?"

"Aren't you tired of listening to me talk yet?" Becca chuckled.

"Never." Maggie paused, surveying the other woman. Becca looked tired and frail, practically fragile. It was startling in comparison to Becca's ordinarily bright and vivacious attitude. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh. Yes. Just tired. Old." She smiled wearily. "I hope you haven't been too lonely without our little luncheons."

"Well, I have to say no one compares with your company." Maggie tried to smile, but again, something felt wrong. "If you're not up for company, I can call Natasha or Fabian to come to pick me up," Maggie said quickly.

"No, no. I've been looking forward to this. I have missed our little chats." Becca said. "Just a little surprised you wanted to have dinner with me on your birthday."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Who told you it was my birthday?"

"Oh, don't roll your eyes at me. Steve did. And I was expressly told that no ordeal was to be made of it."

"I see he is learning."

"Oh, we never made a big deal over birthdays back when we were growing up, so he can certainly respect and understand your desire to not celebrate."

"Oh." Maggie felt the tension slip from her shoulders.

"But I have been told that you're going to stay overnight and we'll have brunch in the morning."

Maggie moaned, falling back into the couch cushions. Her wine sloshing wildly in the glass.

"Don't be so dramatic, and don't you spill wine on my couch, Magdalene Ramirez." Becca scolded gently.

Maggie grumbled, taking a long draw of her wine.

"They do worry about you. We all do, you know." Becca said after a pause.

"I know." Maggie sighed, taking a large bite of pizza. "But seriously, I haven't celebrated my birthday in years, and I'm not about to start now."

"I understand," Becca said firmly. "But brunch tomorrow isn't for your birthday. It's just a group of friends breaking bread together."

"Fine." Maggie relented, as a sudden wave of exhaustion came over her. She shook her head, trying to shake herself out of the funk she'd suddenly found herself in.

"You all right?"

"Would you be?" Maggie replied.

"Point taken," Becca said, cracking a small smile. "Why don't we put on a movie. I don't think either of us is in a particularly chatty mood this evening."

"Sounds perfect."

They rose, adjusting the seating accordingly, and went through the laborious process of selecting a movie. Since they didn't really want to watch anything contemporary, they settled for the original Star Wars trilogy and ate in silence.

The evening passed in mutual silence, and as Maggie polished off the pizza and bottle of wine, sunk into the couch, before eventually putting her head in Becca's lap. "Is this okay?" She murmured weakly.

"Of course it is, dear," Becca said as she gently stroked her hair.

Maggie swallowed hard as sudden tears lingered near the surface. There was no need for that, yet they persisted, and she did everything she could to hold them out. She should be proud of herself. She'd made it through the day, made it through the day without sobbing, and without anyone wishing her happy birthday. If she was honest, growing up and through her twenties, she'd never thought she'd make it to thirty, and now over six months after she'd nearly died at the hands of Hydra Nazis, she felt just as lucky to have made it to thirty-one. Yet, despite all of that, could this really be considered living? Or was she the walking dead, laughing and smiling and doing her best to convince herself and the world that she was okay? Tears were warranted, but not necessarily appropriate in the given circumstances.

Wordlessly, Becca started running her fingers through Maggie's hair and over her scalp, and she could feel the tension slip from her body, and her defensive barriers come down. It was like Becca, without anything at all, was telling her that it was okay, that she wasn't alone. Maggie leaned into the other woman's gentle caress. When was the last time she'd been touched in such a gentle and intimate way by someone like this? She couldn't help but wonder. It had been a while. Long enough that she couldn't remember the last time. She exhaled a long breath, the movie played softly in the background, and Maggie drifted away on a soft white gossamer cloud of wine, pizza, and the gentle touch of someone who cared about her.

Maggie found herself on a green, grassy lawn flat on her back, basking in the warm glow of the sun. She felt safe, warm, and content, without a care in the world.

"You know, doll. You shouldn't fall asleep out here alone like this."

She opened her eyes to see James Barnes standing over her. The sun was at his back, and she couldn't see his expression, but she could tell there was a broad grin on his face.

" James Barnes. Do you have a habit of sneaking up on sleeping women? Or am I just particularly special?" She laughed, pushing herself into an upright position. "Besides, it's a beautiful day why shouldn't I lay out here in the park in the sun."

"There are all sorts of weirdos around." He said, extending a hand to her. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

She accepted his hand. He helped her to her feet and took her by the arm as they started walking through the park. "Were you dreaming?" He asked gently, the cool breeze mussing his warm chestnut hair.

" What do you think I should dream about, Mr. Barnes?" She asked, glancing up at him.

" Mr. Barnes?" He shook his head, face scrunched with an expression of distaste. "That's my father."

" All right. So what should I call you? Bucky? James? Jim? Jimmy?" She laughed, wrinkling her nose at the last suggestion. "And anyway, I can honestly say that I wasn't actually asleep. I was daydreaming. And anyway, Mr. Barnes, how'd you know where I'd be?"

"Well, you know how Bec gets."

"She and Steve are the worst gossips." She rolled her eyes.

"It's a compliment. They like you, you know. They both do."

" Then I've managed to trick them both, have I?"

"Now, I hardly think that's fair." He replied. "You're charming and beautiful and funny-."

" And it appears that somehow I've managed to trick you too, James Barnes." She interrupted with a laugh.

" Well, I wouldn't say trick per-say." He chuckled, patting her arm with his hand. "So what sort of misadventures are we going to have today? Coney Island? The Movies? They're playin' Snow White. We could get an egg cream, go dancing, whatever you want. It is your birthday, after all."

" And who on earth told you it was my birthday?"

" I have my sources."

"Well, what if I were to tell you that I was happy laying in the grass on my back and sun myself before I was woken up by a strange man who wants to celebrate my birthday."

" Then, I would say, let me buy you a snow cone, and then I'll return you to your preferred state." He said, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. "No birthday celebration. Promise."

Soon enough, they were sitting in the grass occupied with the sugary frozen treat. She'd gotten red, and he'd gotten blue, and they both munched contentedly in silence.

" Your snow cone matches your lipstick." He commented after a moment.

"So it does. How convenient."

"How do I look?

"Very blue." Maggie laughed.

"Perfect!" He paused a moment before he proceeded cautiously. "Tell me something doll. Why are you out here, alone, on your birthday?"

"Never been one for parties." She admitted before taking another bite of her snow cone.

"Now, we both know that's not true. He turned to look at her, his expression earnest.

Maggie rolled her eyes, "And you're just the expert, aren't you?"

"Com'on. You can be honest with me. I'm not a gossip like Steve and Bec."

" Fine." She huffed in a feeble attempt to blow an errant strand of hair out of her face. "I don't like celebrating my birthday. I dunno, There's an expectation that you're supposed to be happy, and for a lot of my life...well, let's just say that I didn't expect to get this far. I don't like keeping score, and that's all birthdays are. I've just found it's easier to avoid dealing with other's expectations on how you're supposed to be feeling than confront them about it." She shook her head, "That's stupid, isn't it? I'm stupid."

" I don't think so. That feeling of being crushed under the weight of everyone else's expectations of you while you just smile and pretend it's all fine." He replied a note of seriousness in his voice that hadn't been there before.

" You wanna talk about it?" Maggie asked uncertainly.

" Nothin' to talk about, just observations." He said, shaking his head, finished off his snow cone, and set the paper down in the grass.

"You know they love and admire you, no matter what, right?" She commented haltingly as she tried to feel her way through what could potentially be a minefield.

" Yeah." He said, combing his hands through his hair. "What if I'm not the person he thinks I am? What if I can't be" He flopped back. "What if I'm a completely different person now?"

She didn't know how to answer and just took another bite of her snow cone. The syrup was too sweet and sticky, the ice had already started to melt, and the red syrup was running down her hand and dripping off her elbow onto her yellow dress. She felt slightly dizzy, something in her stomach telling her that this was all wrong. She set the snow cone aside. Her hands stained red from the syrup.

" You know you have to find me, doll."

Maggie glanced over at Bucky, his eyes closed. "What?" She stammered.

" Well, you don't want to disappoint Steve, do you?" He adjusted, reaching out blindly grabbed her arm and pulled her down into the grass.

"Find you?" She asked as she lay beside him, "But you're right here."

" No. I'm not. You have to find me." He said emphatically.

"What if I can't? What if you don't let me?"

"You don't have a choice. Steve and Becca are counting on you."

"Then you have to let us find you."

"Wake up."

"What?"

"Wake up!"

She jolted awake, sitting bolt upright, momentarily disoriented as she tried to figure out where she was. Focusing on her surroundings, she met the stern gazes of the Barnes family portrait from across the room. Winifred, George, James, Abigail, Rachel, and Rebecca Barnes all stared at her with their firm, unrelenting expressions.

Right I stayed the night over. She exhaled, dropping back into the couch. Maggie chuckled to herself, basking momentarily in the last of the lingering sensations of laying out, sunning in the warm grass. With James Barnes. She tried to ignore that bit.

Maggie paused at the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. It was Becca and Steve, talking in low, hushed, edging on urgent tones. Pulling the blanket back over her, she closed her eyes, focusing on the voices, but they were too hushed for her to be able to tell what they were actually saying.

Turning, she cracked one eye open to see that someone had left a glass of water out for her. Reaching out for the glass of water, Maggie misjudged and knocked it over.

"Shit." She snatched up the glass, its contents already spreading across the table.

The door opened, and Steve rushed out, followed by Becca, concerned etched in their features.

Turing on the living room light, their expressions softened when they saw what had happened. "Go grab a towel, Steven," Becca instructed firmly. "And the Brita."

Steve nodded obligingly and went to the kitchen. Becca walked out and sat down on the couch beside her, helping pick the miscellaneous papers, magazines, and knick-nacks on the coffee table out of the water. Then there was a knock on the door.

"That'll be Sam," Steve said, quickly darting to the door.

"What did you do now, Mags?" Sam laughed as he emerged into the living room behind Steve.

"Nothing," Maggie said flatly.

"You must be the Samuel Wilson I've heard so much about." Becca rose, extending her hand to Sam.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mrs. Proctor. Mags and Steve say nothing but wonderful things." Sam said, taking Becca's hand. "Thank you for looking after her while we were away."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam. And of course, She's a pleasure to have around," Becca replied.

Maggie rolled her eyes, but a grin had already spread over her face. "You two can stop it now."

"Well, it's true." Steve cut in, pouring her another glass of water, which Maggie took from him and drank.

"Well take a seat, Steven and I were just discussing brunch." Becca said, before turning back to Steve, "Back into the kitchen with you!" She shooed.

Sam chuckled as he sat down beside her on the couch, watching as they disappeared back into the kitchen. "You have a good day yesterday?" Sam asked in a low voice.

"As good as could be expected," Maggie answered. "How was it?" She said after a brief pause.

"Crowded. It usually is, but he knows he's loved, knows that we haven't forgotten about him." Sam replied.

Maggie grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly, three times, but said nothing.

"I'm glad you weren't alone on your birthday."

"You saw to that, didn't you." She scoffed under her breath.

"What Nat did? Nah. That was all her. And you were the one that planned dinner with Becca."

"And brunch?" She mumbled, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"That was Steve."

Maggie looked up at him, her expression skeptical.

"Hey," Sam said, putting his hands up defensively. "I know how you get about your birthday." He leaned over, kissing the top of her head. "One more year around the sun, huh?" He murmured.

"And not for lack of trying." She replied.

"Well, let's try to work on that over the next year."

"What avoid being nearly killed by Hydra Nazis? I'll see what I can do." Maggie chuckled humorlessly.

"Sounds good." Sam smiled.

They both turned at the sound of pots and pans crashing in the kitchen. "They're probably about to burn the place down, aren't they?"

"Yeah, probably. Come on. Let's go supervise. Otherwise, we might be making a run to get take out," Sam said, standing up.

"I think I'm gonna change first. I'll be right in." She smiled.

"Don't you even think about leaving me alone for too long with those two," Sam warned, leaning down kissed her on the forehead.

"I'll be right behind you." She assured him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Maggie sighed, rubbing her face, she glanced back over at the Family portrait on the mantelpiece, her gaze focused on James Barnes, meeting his piercing gaze, unaltered by time, but without the fierce anger that she'd seen in those eyes back on Last Chance.

A sudden anxious feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. You have to find me, doll. That's what he'd said in the dream. But the way he had said it. It had been urgent like she was running out of time. But that couldn't be right, could it?

Maggie shook her head, rising off the couch, picked up the duffle and retreated into the bathroom to change and freshen up. James Barnes could wait another day. For today, she was going to eat brunch with her friends, have mimosas, and try to work on being thankful that she was still here, along for the ride, prepared to live and fight for another day.


Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed! Look Forward to hearing what you all thought! A little slow on the Bucky content (I mean we are seeing a saucy 1940s Bucky which is kinda fun).

As always, Happy Reading!