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: Life is a Highway by Rascal Flats, Hotel California by The Eagles, You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet Bachman-Turner Overdrive, The Seashores of Mexico by George Strait, Wide Open Spaces by the Dixie Chicks, The Unforgiven by Metallica, Run Boy Run by Woodkid


Ch 29- The Deep Breath Before the Plunge

"Life is a highway. I wanna ride it all night long!" Maggie sang-shouted over the rush of the wind and the nearly maxed out volume on her little car's even smaller stereo.

It was cliche, but she didn't care. The sun was warm on her skin, the blue skies stretched on for miles in front of her on the open road, the wind whipped around her, blowing her hair in her face and around the car, and she was winding her way through small-town U.S.A. She was on her way to the McDonald's Observatory in Fort Davis, Texas.

Adjusting her sunglasses, she started humming along to Wide Open Spaces, glancing out at the road before her.

She smiled. She wanted to laugh. A sensation of captured air in her chest, waiting to be expelled welled and grew inside until she felt like she was going to explode. Her smile broadened into an even wider grin. She hadn't felt this good in months, probably even years. She wasn't sure if it was the weather, the change in scenery, or just the feeling of absolute freedom out on the open road.

This had been a good choice, and a long time coming.

Sometime in late February or early March, Maggie had announced she was going on vacation.

"I'm tired. I'm done, I need a break from this place. I just need to be out in the open air." She'd told Sam and Steve at the end of yet another one of their "Sad briefings." She needed a change of pace, she needed to step away from it all, and that wasn't going to happen if she was trapped in the Compound.

"What are you thinking?" Sam had inquired, although Maggie was reasonably sure it was only with half-hearted interest.

"I wanna take a road trip down to the Davis Mountains. And I want all three of us to go."

" A road trip, from New York to Texas in that rickety old Honda Accord you purchased last month? Really Mags?"

Sam had been skeptical. The idea of being trapped in the car with anyone for that long induced sweating and the shakes in Sam, but Maggie had been persistent.

"Come on, Falcon, it'll be an adventure, and it'll be a nice break where no one will be shooting at us."

Ultimately, Steve had been the deciding vote. "It'll be a nice change of pace. We should clear our schedule for a few weeks away from all of this."

So it had been decided, they'd go sometime in the second half of June. Just before it got too hot down in Texas, and so they'd be able to spend Steve's birthday together.

Then Lagos, Nigeria, had happened. She'd heard about it on the news long before they'd staggered single file into her office, collapsing on the grubby couch. Maggie hadn't said anything, and instead had locked the doors, and climbing onto the couch between them, allowed them to rest their heads on her shoulders, waiting for whatever was to come. They'd gone looking for Barnes, and they'd found Brock Rumlow. Not precisely the trade they'd hoped for, never mind the lives lost due to the bomb vest Rumlow had been wearing.

The media firestorm had been swift, terrible, and unrelenting. For good reason, but all the same, it seemed that it was never-ending. Ever since Sokovia, things had been different, and it didn't appear the Nigeria situation was going away any time soon. The UN was getting involved, and it looked like the Avengers weren't going to make it this time, not without serious intervention.

Maggie's suspicions had been confirmed when Sam and Steve had once again slunk into her office and sunk on the couch. "I don't think it would be a good idea for us to stray too far from the compound." Steve had finally announced after a good thirty minutes of dead silence.

"We can't afford to be off the grid that long." Sam had added.

"So should we cancel, or should I just go alone?" Maggie had ventured.

"You should go, we can even fly you down in one of Stark's planes if you want." Sam had offered.

"Kinda defeats the purpose of a road trip, Sammie. I'll drive, my phone has GPS, and I'll schedule check-ins."

There had been a lot of long, very stern conversations, but ultimately Sam had relented with Steve's blessing, and she'd packed and headed out on the road by herself, with her time table and scheduled check-ins. Now she'd been on the road for about four days and had enjoyed every minute of it. Eating and sleeping when she wanted to, pulling over to check out stupid roadside attractions. She'd gone through Ohio to see the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame and was disappointed that she didn't have any plausible way to map her route out to see the World's Largest Ball of Twine. Next time though, definitely going through Kansas and I'm taking Sam and Steve with me, damn it.

"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." She sang along with the Eagles, even mimicking the sound of the guitar solo.

Boy isn't that the truth.

Since she'd headed out on the road, she'd tried not to think about work, about Barnes, about the Avengers, about all of the stuff that had dragged her into a mess so big and massive and complicated that spending time driving around in a janky 1997 Honda Accord counted as a vacation and well deserved time off.

The song ended, and she pulled off at a rest stop to fill up with gas. Pupping gas, she looked through her phone and found she had a text message from Sam. 'call me when you get the chance.'

Her stomach turned and returning the gasoline nozzle to the pump, she typed in Sam's number and put the phone up to her ear.

"Hey, Mags," Sam answered. His voice was low and even. Nothing to indicate that there was anything wrong, yet her mind was still reeling, as she waited for the shoe to drop.

"Hey, Sammie."

"How's the drive going?"

"Good. In Oklahoma, I have a few more hours before I get to Tulsa." She answered, her eyes scanning the gas station, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that might mean trouble. Her senses were on high alert. Maggie paused, waiting for Sam to say something, anything that might prove her wrong. "What's happened, Sam?" She asked. There was no response. "Sam?"

"I'm here." He said slowly. It was a heavy sound, weighted with everything he was getting ready to say. It was the same tone he'd used the first time they'd spoken after Riley was KIA, and Maggie could feel herself holding her breath, waiting for the world to collapse around her.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"Things are looking bad, Mags. Sokovia is biting everyone in the ass. For good reason, but uh," He paused. "Yeah, until we figure this thing out, you might wanna make yourself scarce, stay in Texas for a little while. When we get back from England, I'll get ahold of you."

"England?" Her mind raced.

"Carter passed."

Maggie's heart stopped altogether. "Oh shit." She breathed, sinking onto the hood of the car.

"Yeah."

"How's Steve?"

"As you might expect. Don't worry. I won't let him get into anything too stupid." Sam said as if that was supposed to reassure her.

"Famous last words." Maggie shook her head. "How are you holding up?"

"Just trying to take care of the people I love." He replied.

It was a cop-out bullshit answer, and they both knew it, but as Maggie wasn't physically present to help out, she wasn't in any sort of position to lecture him about anything without it devolving into hypocrisy. "Okay." She began slowly, measuring her words. "Take care of yourself, Sam. Steve's your partner, but your health and happiness are important too." Maggie said as gently as she could.

"I know, Mags." Sam sounded exhausted.

Maggie could feel her chest constricting. She wanted to hug Sam. She wanted to give them both hugs. All of the excitement and joy and happiness she'd been feeling had seeped away, leaving a hollow pit in its wake. Guilt surged into the chasm, filling her up, threatening to consume her entirely. She should be there. She should be there with them to help them through this. She should never have gone away. What could you do? You're not an Avenger, you're not a lawyer, and you certainly don't have any powers over life, death, or Alzheimer's.

"You still with me?" Sam's voice called out.

"Yeah, sorry." She stammered, "I'll let you go and text you when I get to my checkpoint."

"I'll be on my way to England by then, but will still have access to text messages."

"Sounds good." She paused, a lump in her throat. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful, okay?"

"I'll be alright, Mags. We'll talk soon. I gotta go."

"Alright, Bye."

Maggie hung up and closed her eyes, squeezing the bridge of her nose. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, even as she tried to keep her mind from racing. Make yourself scarce.

Rising to her feet, she shoved her phone into her back pocket before walking around to the back of the car. She popped the trunk and peered inside. There was the duffle that Romanoff had given her for her birthday, packed with her clothes and toiletries and other incidentals, beside it was her go-bag.

"You all packed and ready to go?" Romanoff had snuck up behind her while she was loading her stuff into the car.

"Yeah, I think so?" Maggie had responded, once she'd recovered from Natasha's sudden appearance in the garage.

Nat had inspected the contents of Maggie's trunk with her critical and ever vigilant gaze. "Prepared for anything, huh?"

"Never know what might happen out there." Maggie had paused dramatically before a wide smile had crossed her face. "I'll even make sure my doors are locked."

"You are learning." Nat had chuckled, pulling her into an embrace. "Be safe out there, and if you need anything, you know how to get ahold of me, Steve, and Sam."

Maggie had thought it had been kinda stupid at the time, bringing her go-bag, but now she was wondering if it was coincidence or clairvoyance that had compelled her. It's the training.

Make yourself scarce.

That's what Sam had said. What had he meant? Did he know what sort of alarms that would set off in her brain? She wasn't an idiot. Something was going on, more than Carter's death. If Sam weren't concerned, he wouldn't've told her. If Sam wasn't worried, he would've been more direct than that. Sam hadn't been able to talk freely, which meant they were being monitored, and that the person listening in wasn't entirely friendly.

So Maggie had a decision to make. It didn't matter what Sam's intentions or double meanings were, she was alone out here, in the middle of nowhere, and she was going to have to make a judgment call, no one else could make it for her, not Sam, not Steve, not Nat.

No one around to get you out of the crossfire this time.

It was a vicious little voice, but a good and sharp reminder. Something was going on that had shaken Sam up. That was more than enough reason to be on high alert. If the Avengers were involved, if the UN was involved, then Maggie had more than enough reason to want to get out from under big brother's eye. She had valuable information, sensitive information, and she wasn't going to be left holding the bag, she wasn't going to be caught in the crossfire, she had come too far to be the victim this time.

Goddamn it, and I'd been having such a good time.

Maggie shut the trunk of her car, and walked back around to the driver side, climbing in, she took several deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.

One thing at a time. One step at a time. Don't run, walk.

Turning over the ignition, Maggie knew she had to make a decision. She didn't want to. It meant that whatever her choice, she'd have to follow through and live with the consequences.

Am I jumping the gun on this?

Things hadn't gone sideways yet, but if she waited much longer, it was likely her hand was going to get forced. The mere implication was enough to put her on edge.

Listen to your gut, but then remember your training.

Sam, Steve, and Nat could take care of themselves, and she was going to do the same. The wheels and cogs were already turning as each step of the plan she had started forming began to click into place.

George Strait started to play in the background as she drove away from the gas station, and Maggie knew what she had to do.

Carry it as far as you need to, but not an inch further.

She'd done everything she could to rectify what had happened back in April 2014. She'd done everything she could to bring Barnes home. She'd done everything she could so that she might be able to go home. She'd dedicated her energy, her time, and her life for the past two years chasing that end. Now she could go no further.

Maggie arrived in Tulsa a quarter to seven, and by lunchtime the following day, she was off the grid.


The morning air was cool and damp, and the fog and the dew still hung in the air as he walked the streets, winding his way through the open market. There were only a few vendors out this early, but he knew them well. He bought all of his produce from them, and they'd started to recognize him, asking him how he was doing and giving him good deals on their most recent harvest.

Today, his usual vendor had a good selection of Plums. "How are they? Are they good?" He asked, in the easy Romanian he'd acquired since he'd settled here.

"They're very good. Best we've had in a while." The stall owner responded, responded as he picked up a few, and giving them a gentle squeeze to test for their ripeness.

It had been forever since he'd had plums, they'd been a special treat back when he was growing up, along with oranges and other fresh fruit. He liked the tartness of plums, and couldn't wait to get them back to the apartment, washed, and then eaten.

"Give me six, thank you." He offered what he hoped was a kind, non-threatening smile as he paid and collected his small purchase.

It had become a sort of habit, wake up early, collect groceries and necessary items for the day, toiletries, batteries, newspapers, extra pens, and papers, amongst other things, before he returned home to read, write, or cook. He didn't have a job, he didn't need one quite yet, but had thought about getting one, just to be out amongst people. It wasn't that he was comfortable around people, not really, but being out and about amongst others going on about their lives, made him feel normal. Being out of the apartment also meant that he was out of his head. He tensed at the sound of sirens in the distance.

Well, almost out of his head.

He waited, waited for the world to come crashing down, for the screech of tires, for the blaring roar of sirens, for the sound of armed men drawing their weapons on him.

His heart pounded at the sound grew closer, his whole body coiled and ready to fight off whatever might come.

The emergency vehicle passed, and he exhaled, trying to relieve some of the tension that had collected in his chest. He hated that. How long would it take for him to lose that edge, lose that instinctive reaction at the barest indication of trouble?

It's what's kept you alive this long. It's what's going to keep you alive.

Then he saw it, across the street, the man at the newsstand was starring from his post, watching with active interest.

It's your imagination.

He looked away, waiting for the moment to pass, for the man's eyes to wander away to something or someone else. Glancing back at the newsstand, he found the man was still watching him, eyes boring into him.

That's not good.

Propelled by equal parts curiosity and terror, he crossed the street and made for the newsstand. The noise of the busy street roaring behind him. Noticing his approach, the man abandoned the booth, practically tripping on himself as he ran into the crowd and disappeared from view.

That's really not good.

But he was already there. He needed to know what was going on, needed to know what had caused such a reaction. Picking up the newspaper the man left behind his stomach dropped.

"Winter Soldier Căutat Pentru Bombardmentul Din Viena." The Winter Soldier Wanted for Bombing in Vienna.

Everything fell away, the city, the sounds, the thoughts of what he was going to do for the rest of the day. Everything normal, everything human that had occupied him only moments before, dropped away as the words, and the meaning behind them sunk in.

Oh fuck.

It was his first and gut reaction, and it did a damn good job of explaining his thoughts on the matter.

But it wasn't me.

That was the second thought that occurred. If he had some part in it, sure, yeah, he deserved to be on the front page, but he hadn't. He hadn't been involved. He'd been here, buying fresh apricots and pears, making stew, and writing in his journal. It was a setup. He'd been framed. But what did that matter? Who would believe him?

Steve.

Would Steve believe him? It didn't matter. What could Steve do? He wasn't an Avenger any more. That had been all over the news, he and Wilson, they'd retired rather than sign the Sokovia Accords.

I have to move now.

The panic, disbelief, and terror reduced to a faint hum, as training and instincts took over. The truth of the thing didn't matter, and wouldn't matter if he didn't get out of here now. If the man at the newsstand was any indication, he didn't have long. Hours to minutes, if he was lucky. He'd be lucky to get to his apartment and to his go-bag before some special ops team dropped on his head.

My go-bag and my journal. Everything else in the apartment was secondary.

He dropped his plums in the lap of a homeless man, begging for change, and continued without stopping.

Mounting the twenty flights of stairs, he kept his breathing regulated, his ears open, and his eyes swept this way and that looking for any oncoming threats.

Walk, don't run. Walk, don't run.

He stopped as he reached his apartment. The door. It was open.

So he'd had less time than he'd thought. It was Steve. No Spec Ops team would be that sloppy. How had he managed it? Who had tipped him off?

You have to run. You have to go now.

The only way was forward. The only way he was going to get out of this was if he had his bag, and that was in the apartment, past Steve. He slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him without a sound, all of the locks and hinges well oiled and maintained for this very reason.

Holding his breath, he walked silently toward the other person occupying his apartment. He'd mastered the art of moving silently and quietly, which made Steve, by comparison, sound like nothing short of an entire platoon of heavily armed men. Steve had always been louder than Bucky. From their childhood, when Steve would be wheezing or coughing because of a combination of asthma and walking pneumonia, to his inability to properly regulate the level of his voice in the field, he'd always been noisy. Nothing, it appeared, had changed.

Bucky, you've known me your whole life.

Nothing had been disturbed, the room hadn't been ransacked, and Steve moved gingerly as he surveyed his surroundings, as if afraid to disturb anything.

It looked like their first apartment. He hadn't done it by design, but one day he'd looked around and realized that this was the closest to home he'd ever come again. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. Did Steve recognize it? Did he know that's what he had done?

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

The man's shoulders were broader than he remembered. Then again, he'd always remembered the Steve before the serum before the world had taken him and made something else of him before the world had transformed them both into something totally beyond their control.

Steve went to the fridge where he'd carelessly left his journal this morning between breakfast and doing a quick clean up of the small, grubby apartment.

What was Steve expecting to find? What would he expect to find if he was standing in Steve's place? He didn't know. Any second he would turn around, and they would be face to face for the first time in over two years. He'd done his best to stay away, to try to protect Steve from what he was, from what he'd become, yet there he was, standing in his kitchen.

I'm not going to fight you. You're my friend.

He wanted to tell him to run, wanted to tell him to get away, to get out of here, to get out of his life before the shit storm that was about to hit, finally arrived. Would Steve see it that way? Or was Steve ready to fight him, prepared to capture him, detain him, and bring him in for his alleged involvement in the UN bombings? Was that his purpose? Was that why he was here?

He didn't know. He didn't have time to find out. He had to go, had to leave, had to get as far away from this place before anyone could get their hands on him.

Steve picked up the journal and cracked it open.

He knew. Bucky, the Winter Soldier, James, James Buchanan Barnes, knew that he wasn't going to get that chance. His back was against the wall with only two choices, run or fight, and he'd been running for over two years now. So the only option open to him, the only option left to take, was to fight. It was going to end in a fight. It always ended in a fight.

He'd have to fight Steve, have to fight the Avengers, and whatever was going to come after him.

He didn't have a choice. He'd never had a choice. Did Steve think that by coming here, he'd be able to convince him that he'd get a fair shot, that he'd get heard out, that he wouldn't be locked away or worse? That he deserved anything other than being shot on sight? This was going to end in a fight. It was the inevitable and unavoidable conclusion to his story. He'd known that two years ago when he'd left Last Chance Ranch, and he knew that now.

So what choice was left to him? Now that he was committed to the fight before him? Would he be reduced to what Hydra had made of him? Would he maim and kill to advance his own aim? Did he have a choice?

No one wakes up a villain or a hero, a good parent, or a bad parent, a good person or a bad person. It's the choices we make that define us, each and every day.

That's what she'd said, Ramirez. He hadn't thought about her, about the obituary, about her and his sister, about any of it, in months, and now, here she was, back again in his head with this idea of choice. He didn't want this life, he'd never wanted this life, but he didn't have a choice. But, it didn't mean he had to choose to be what Hydra had made him.

He would make it out of this, and he wouldn't resort to being the Winter Soldier to do it. He didn't want to kill anyone. He didn't want to hurt Steve. He didn't want to be the person that everyone, the world, and probably even Steve thought he was.

It was a choice, and ultimately it was the only one he had.

Steve paused in his evaluation of the apartment, a voice buzzing in his earpiece. "Heads up Cap' German special forces approaching from the south."

"Understood," Steve said. Closing the journal, he stopped as if he'd heard something. Then, he started to turn.

Whatever he'd wanted, whatever he'd intended, it didn't matter he'd have to stand and face it. Bucky Barnes was out of time.


BUCKY! MAGS! My peeps not going to lie when I was finishing the last portion of this chapter I got the writer shakes. I'm so excited to be able to share this with you! This is one of those chapters that underwent so many tweaks. I hope you guys liked the end result.

Thanks for sticking with me through this! Happy Reading!