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!

TW: Mention of Suicide, Mention of death, PTSD,

Recommended Listening: Main Title/ Prologue by Warner Bro's Studio Orchestra; Airport Finale/ Here's Looking at you Kid by Warner Bro's Studio Orchestra; It Had To Be You/Shine (Medley)


Chapter 38: Casablanca

It was Tuesday again, and it had been exactly a week since they'd had their interaction at the fairgrounds. As Bucky approached Jelani's workshop and barn he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. He'd looked forward to Tuesday since last Tuesday. He wanted to know if Ramirez had come up with anything new for him to watch, and was equally as eager to share what he'd watched, read, and learned over the last week.

He rounded the final corner, leading to the village, and saw her spread out of on a blanket in their usual spot under one of the massive trees that were clustered around the workshop. Ramirez looked perfectly at ease, her lunch placed out in front of her, she sat crossed legged, a book open across her lap. Her face, while bent in focus and concentration, was partially obscured by a screen of hair. Her hair, rather than wrapped around her head in a braid, hung in a loose braid that ended somewhere around her waist. She brushed loose strands out of her face caught by the light wind, the bracelet around her left wrist glinting in the light.

So she's actually wearing it.

He felt oddly flattered. Bucky had continuously debated with himself on whether the bracelet had been too much if he'd overstepped the bounds of propriety by buying her something like that. In the end, he'd ultimately decided it didn't matter if it worked for her, and she wore it, great. If not, he'd done it out of an impulse more than anything rational, and there was nothing lost by her not wearing it. But she was wearing it. It made him happy.

"You wanna unload this now, Ramirez, or after lunch?" He called to her, as he arrived with the feed cart, announcing his presence.

"After. I've already started eating." She answered without looking up from her book.

Bucky nodded, unhooking the mule, whom he'd privately nicknamed Sally, from the cart and tying her off to one of the posts, he collected his satchel and walked over to where Ramirez was sitting.

Sinking down on his regular corner, removed his lunch, and his satchel from his bag, while she silently closed the book, she was reading and set it aside. With a heavy sigh, she looked up at him, "hi."

"Hi."

"How's your week been?" She asked pleasantly, diving into what looked like chopped chicken, mixed vegetables, and couscous.

"Uneventful."

"I take it that's a good thing."

"Yeah." He agreed. "You?"

"I think I can finally say I'm settling into a routine. Trying to find work/life balance. Yanno. Trying to find and maintain good self-care practices for the sake of my mental and physical health."

"How's that working for you?"

"Oh. It's horrible." She shook her head, chuckling lightly. "But, I have been looking forward to lunch today."

"You have?" Bucky asked, wincing internally at the surprise in his own voice.

"Absolutely. Been thinking through pop culture recommendations, and I realized I don't know what you've seen, what you've already been recommended, or what even you'd be interested in reading, watching, or listening to. Other than the fact that you're a huge nerd."

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Thanks for that one, Bec."

"Don't worry, your sister did not discriminate. Steve was...is according to her a huge art snob, who apparently had very strong feelings about Citizen Kane."

Bucky scoffed. "That's putting it mildly. Steve ranted for weeks about that film. 'Oh, boo hoo poor rich guy feels bad about his life, fuck off with your pro-capitalist propaganda.' He was ready to throw fists with Orson Welles, surprised he didn't, to be honest, considering the types of circles Stevie ran in during his showgirl days."

He stopped, looking up at Ramirez, who was watching him with an amused expression. "What?" He asked.

"Sounds like Steve's always been a little shit." She giggled.

"Only a little?"

Ramirez bobbed her head side to side, "Yeah, okay. You make a fair point."

"So why where you and Bec talking about Citizen Kane?"

"Oh. We were talking about the American Film Institute's list of 100 greatest Films."

"Oh yeah." He pulled out his journal and opened it to where he'd started writing out movie suggestions to one corner he'd written out, 'AFI (1998/2007?)' "Which list do you recommend?"

"Oh. Ummm. Jeeze. I've actually never made it through the list. Citizen Kane always hung me up, and I couldn't force myself to watch Casablanca or The Godfather. Riley really was the one to push me to watch things outside of my cinematic wheelhouse. It's a shame really, he would've had a thousand excellent suggestions. I'm far less sophisticated in my movie choices." Ramirez shook her head.

Right. Riley Underdhal, Sam Wilson's partner and Ramirez's husband, deceased. Bucky wasn't sure how to respond, mainly when it came to Wilson or her dead husband, so he pivoted slightly. "Any reason, in particular, why you don't want to watch The Godfather or Casablanca?"

"Eeehhh." She shrugged. "Godfather is hyper-violent, I've read the book, don't really have any desire to see the movie. As for Casablanca." She paused, surveying him. "I'm not entirely a fan of WWII media."

"Oh?" Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell Steve, he starred in a dozen or so WWII movies."

Ramirez chuckled, shaking her head. "I've seen them, they're terrible."

"They really are." Bucky agreed. "But Casablanca is supposed to be the second or third greatest film of all time."

"Forgive me and my cinema faux pas, but with Citizen Kane as the number one, I'm a little skeptical."

"Well. If you were to ask Steve, after he's calmed down about Orson Welles trying to make us feel sorry for some rich ass-hole, he would explain that Citizen Kane was innovative for how it was shot, the type of lighting, that sort of stuff."

"Well. I'll have to try my luck next time I have a minute with Steve, and ask."

"Well, make sure I'm not around. I don't wanna have to sit through that again."

"Understood and duly noted."

"But really Ramirez. As a resident geezer of the 1940s variety, I gotta ask, what's your beef?"

She snorted, shaking her head."Believe it or not, it's not actually beef with the 1940s, per se. It's about how the war is remembered, and how all the horrible shit has been swept under the rug."

"Well, now, I'm curious."

"The short answer?" Ramirez asked hesitantly, looking him over. "I don't like what war does to people, and I don't like the romanticization of war. WWII get that a lot. It was the Good War, and the 1940s is often looked back upon with rose-colored glasses, despite everything that was actually happening, and the realities of that war on the lives of millions of people."

Like me? He would've asked. But he didn't. They both knew that she meant people like him, only he was an outlier to an already horrible situation. Beyond her present company, she'd spent years helping battle-scarred veterans back at the Ranch, before he came along and ruined it. She had a right to her particular feelings, and she wasn't wrong. It just didn't leave very much room for conversation.

He nodded. There was a long pause as they both tried to find something to say. "For what it's worth, Ramirez. I think you might like Casablanca."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Call it intuition."

She snorted, "Anything more substantial than that, James Barnes?"

"No."

"No? Come on, man, you can't just recommend it and then not explain why."

"I dunno. I think I just did." He shrugged. "It's been a while. Ask me again after you've watched it."

Ramirez paused. "Okay."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah. I'm willing to give it a shot, do you wanna come over tonight and watch it?"

Bucky blinked blankly as his brain processed what his ears had just heard. An invitation. From Ramirez? "I wouldn't want to intrude," He said, his brain immediately supplying the answer for him.

"Intrude? Barnes, I have absolutely no social life to speak of aside from our Tuesday lunches. Besides, if I'm going to watch this nonsense, I need the resident geezer of a 1940s variety to give me a little bit of context and background."

"I'm going to regret saying that, aren't I?" Bucky rolled his eyes.

"It's very possible." She said, barely containing a shit-eating grin. "Com'on Barnes. It'll be fun. I'll make sopapillas."

Bucky hesitated, thinking through the rest of his day. It wasn't like he was super busy, he did have his routine. He would be going to the capitol for his usual brain check-up with the princess after he finished the feed route. After that, the evening was more or less open. What had he planned to do to occupy himself? Well, he had some reading to do, he was working through suggested Wikipedia articles and memoirs, then whenever he got sick of that or couldn't concentrate, he'd maybe journal a bit. If he felt really ambitious, he'd watch a movie or listen to music, but that was only if his brain wasn't louder than what he was trying to focus on. All of this would be alone, of course, but that's what he was used to. He'd done that for two and half years, and in the month after he'd left cryo when Steve had returned to his life with the Secret Avengers. Alone was quiet. Alone was safe. Alone gave a relative amount of certainty to his life, where he otherwise struggled to achieve normality. Alone meant he wasn't bothering Ramirez any more than his presence already did. Yet, he found that Tuesday lunches were the highlight of his otherwise solitary life, and from the sounds of it, might be Ramirez's too. Perhaps he did need a friend more than he'd previously realized. Maybe they both did.

"Let me think about it." He answered finally.

"Sure." She shrugged, "movie starts at 7:30 with or without your sorry ass."

"Understood. With or without my sorry ass." Bucky replied in an exaggerated monotone.

Ramirez giggled, "Well when you say it that way, it sounds even sorrier."

"Thanks for that, Ramirez."

"No problem Barnes."

They spent the rest of the lunch hour talking through both of the AFI greats movie lists. They had others, such as the top 100 Most Inspiring Films of all time, 100 Greatest movie quotes of all time, 100 greatest Romance movies, but for now, the top 100 Greatest American films of all time list was where Bucky was going to start.

"So 7:30, Barnes." Ramirez commented as they finished offloading the feed. "If you'd decided to join me, that is," She added quickly.

"I'll be sure to let you know."

"Well, we need to exchange contact information. Do you have your kimoyo bracelet?"

"No."

"Okay. Well, do you know your number?"

"Oh. no." Bucky said.

"Naturally." She chuckled. "Stay right there. I'm going to get a pen."

"I actually have pretty good information retention."

"I have no doubt, James Barnes. But I'm not going to give you the excuse of 'I forgot,'" She chuckled as she walked back to the workshop.

She re-emerged a moment later with what looked like a felt-tipped pen and uncapped it as she approached. "Hand." She instructed firmly, putting her left hand out.

Bucky rolled his eyes but did as she instructed, and placing his hand in her left palm watched as she carefully wrote out her number on the top of his hand in neat and tidy print. "Did you ever have to memorize a girls' numbers back in the day?"

"No."

"Oh. So this would be a first," She chuckled, blowing gently on the drying ink.

"You could say that, sure."

"Good, good." She said, releasing her grasp on his wrist, and re-capping the pen.

"How's the bracelet working out for you?" He motioned to her wrist with his chin.

"Oh," Ramirez said shortly, massaging her left wrist with her right hand. "I've had no fewer than three people ask we're engaged, which I don't think will be helped by writing my number on your arm. But the bracelet has helped some. See look." She held both her hands up side by side, the left one had a tremor to it, but it wasn't nearly as pronounced as it had been the weeks before. "Not so bad as before. Plus I have more feeling in my fingertips, and not feeling quite as achy. I can't thank you enough."

"I'm glad it's working for you." Bucky nodded. "Lunch was fun, thank you for your recommendations."

"Of course. See you tonight?"

He hesitated, looking her over. "I dunno quite yet." He admitted.

If she was disappointed or relieved, Ramirez's expression didn't show. "Well, if not, see you next week, same time, same place?"

"You can count on it."

"Have a good one, Barnes."

"You too, Ramirez."

"Thanks," She smiled, turning away and walking back to the workshop to return to her tasks for the day.

Taking his mule cart, he started back down the path and returned to his route and the rest of his day.


Maggie watched Barnes disappeared down the path that led him back to his feed route out of the corner of her eyes, and silently cursed at herself.

Now, why did I do that? She wondered as the sound of his cart faded out of earshot. I thought I was going to let him control the parameters of our interaction, and now I've gone and invited the guy over to watch a movie.

Things had changed. They'd changed the moment they'd decided to hang out at the midwinter festival over a week ago. They'd moved from work friendship into an ambiguous, precarious state where it could either stay at impersonal work-friendship or they could find themselves develop an actual factual friendship.

Maggie didn't mind the work-friendship. Your friendship began and ended when you clocked in and out. You were happy to bitch about your manager together, but you aren't going to invite them to your weekend cookout. It limited topics of discussion to decidedly safe things, there was no real commitment, and you eventually parted ways when you left your position with the given company.

You pathetic, sad little woman.

She didn't like to admit it, but she was lonely and sad. The fact that she'd enjoyed and thought about last week almost constantly was a testament to that fact.

No man should be an island, and even when she'd been at her lowest, she'd always had people there to help her carry her load. On Last Chance Ranch, she'd had her friends, volunteers, clients around that gave her a sense of normalcy and routines. With the Avengers, she'd had Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Becca, with their meetings, briefings, workouts, and lunches. They had all kept her from going completely out of her skull, even if she had been very close a few times.

Now she was here in Wakanda, and she had her work but not much else. That wasn't to say she wasn't grateful. She was. The King, Jelani, Teela, Sisay, and the Princess Shuri, they allowed her to have this little bit of normalcy. But she didn't have friends. The Wakandans had been nothing but kind and generous, and she enjoyed Jelani and Sisay and Teela's company, but they had their lives with their friends and social networks. She was a guest at best, she wouldn't inflict her presence on them any more than she already had. She worked with Jelani and Sisay, and Teela had been tremendously gracious with her time and energy, helping her adjust to life in Wakanda and the village. They were only doing it because their King had asked it of them. Not exactly the best basis to create friendships.

So she worked, and kept her head down, and tried not to make waves. It wasn't much of a life, but it was better than being dead.

It might have even been doable if not for James Barnes.

It wasn't his fault, it was the situation, the circumstances, it was the fact they had a history together, a number of mutual friends, and both knew a shit ton about one another without really knowing the other person.

It was a recipe for disaster, but she was bored and lonely, and watching an old movie with the guy didn't mean anything.

In context, it made sense.

Which is why you're thinking through the entire conversation you just had with him and analyzing everything.

Well, what else was she supposed to do? She had a lot of time on her hands. She had a safe, beautiful little house, a job, and a routine, but she didn't have a life. Sometimes all you could do in that scenario was to analyze every interaction with the only other American in at least 1,000 square miles.

Which is why you've invited James Barnes over to watch a movie.

She'd invited, he had yet to accept her invitation, but Maggie knew with some certainty she'd be a little disappointed if he didn't show and she might be forced to watch Casablanca by herself.

That was a strange revelation. She wanted to be around him. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to watch this stupid movie with him. That, like it or not, there was a strange type of familiarity between them. Steve, Becca, and even Sam had created a common ground for them to explore. It connected them in a way that neither of them could deny. They were still on strange, and at times even awkward territory, but he had a quiet type of humor about him, and Maggie could admit that she had more than a little fun giving him shit.

Yeah, a little shit, which is why you were being cutesy with the whole writing down your number on his hand, you may as well have signed it with little Xs and Os.

It had been the practical thing in the circumstances, and anyway, it wasn't as if Barnes had minded.

Right, like you could tell.

What did she expect him to do? Wrench his hand away like her touch physically pained him? It was always possible that he'd refrained from doing exactly that, that he'd go home and scrub the writing off.

Would he actually confirm with her one way or the other? It was anyone's guess.

Maggie paused outside of her empty hut and sighed. Her brain was getting away from her. Whatever had happened, it ultimately didn't matter. Whatever Barnes decided she'd abide. For better or worse. Which option was which, Maggie wasn't entirely sure. Still, she had the nagging suspicion that despite herself, the company of James Barnes would be infinitely preferable to spending yet another evening alone.


Bucky found himself on his back yet again, starring at the ceiling of the Royal Wakandan Laboratory, the vaguest sensation of pine and mint lingering in the edge of his recollection as The Princess worked around him, the only sound in the lab was the Wakandan hip hop she liked to play, though mercifully turned to low.

"So, any plans for this evening?" The princess inquired, breaking their customary silence while she scanned his brain.

Bucky paused, the peculiar innocence of her question, raising several alarms. "Not particularly, why?"

"You have Magdalene's number written on your hand, and you seem to be thinking of her with relative frequency."

"Oh." Bucky glanced down at his hand, where Ramirez had indeed written her number. He frowned. "Wait, I thought you said you couldn't see my thoughts."

"I can't. I've been mapping your brain activity. Certain areas of your brain light up in specific ways when you're thinking about her. Same with Captain Rogers. Although, I only assume the thoughts are about Ms. Ramirez because you had your weekly Tuesday lunch with her."

She wasn't wrong, and yet it took Bucky everything he had not to roll his eyes. 'Is there some sort of betting pool I'm unaware of,' Ramirez had asked in jest. At the moment, Bucky was beginning to think that she wasn't too far from the truth.

"We aren't trying to put you two together, singing songs in the grass so that you'll kiss, Barnes." The princess commented, shaking her head.

"Little mermaid?" Bucky ventured uncertainly.

"No. I mean, yes, I mean any number of Disney movies, but yes, close enough." She said brusquely. "I only ask, because I'm glad you're having regular human interactions with someone approximating your own age, and with key things in common."

"Key things in common?"

"You're both living and working as guests in my country. You're both friends with Steve Rogers. I'm sure there are other things which you'll only be able to find out if you spend more time together." She commented.

"I thought you said I should minimize stimuli to allow my brain to heal." He said lamely. Knowing that it was a cop-out, at the very best.

"Yes, for like three weeks to a month. I did not spend all that time putting your mind back together for you to isolate yourself from other people forever. If you wanted that, we could just stick you back in the deep freeze. You need to be around people and interact with people, not spend your free time moping. You need to live."

"I'm not moping,and besides, who says she wants anything to do with me?" Bucky protested though he knew it was a losing battle.

"She wrote her number on your hand, James Barnes." The princess said crossly. "That obviously indicates at least some interest on her part."

This was true, yet he couldn't help but get the feeling that Ramirez was only being hospitable out of some obligation to his sister and to Steve. Yet, the princess made a good point. Ramirez had been fairly adamant about why she didn't want to watch Casablanca, or rather particularly why she didn't like WWII era media. Then, she'd agreed to watch the movie shortly after he'd told her that he thought she might like it. He did believe that she would like it, but for her to agree to give it a shot, and then invite him over to watch it with her, it did indicate a certain willingness to be in his presence beyond their Tuesday lunch hour.

"Would it be so terrible to try to make friends with her, Barnes?" The princess continued when he didn't respond.

No. It wouldn't. "I don't think that's entirely up to me, Princess." Bucky managed after a moment.

"Well, I think you should go watch the movie with her and find out." She replied firmly.

"I'll take that under advisement, provided you all stop trying to make Ramirez and me friends," Bucky said blandly.

"Okay, okay. But I stand by what I said, you shouldn't be isolating yourself. Go out, live a little." She replied.

They finished up the scan, and The princess sent him on his way after declaring that his brain was still fatty, wrinkly and that everything still looked just fine.

Bucky walked home engaged in a silent debate with himself the entire time.

He should go watch it with her. He had to admit, beyond the simple question of watching a movie with Ramirez or not watching a movie with Ramirez, he was curious. Curious to know what she thought, curious to unpack her little rant about WWII, curious to know her as a person.

Was that strange? Bucky wasn't sure. It should be strange, or at the very least it should feel strange, but it didn't. He didn't. In fact, he appreciated the very fact that he didn't feel strange when contemplating a friendship with Ramirez, namely because she didn't treat him like an oddity, like some kind of sideshow. Not that the Wakandans really did that. Sure, the kids asked their nosy questions, but otherwise, people were polite. There was a level of separation and a silent curiosity that shaded every interaction he had with people, but nothing that was unbearable or otherwise unexpected.

Bucky knew all about that, but from a lifetime ago and from a different perspective than the one he now inhabited. He'd grown up, after all, in the shadow of The Great War. His father had served and had invited some of his war buddies over to the house for dinner on occasion. He'd worked alongside veterans. He'd grown up seeing Veterans of The Great War, missing limbs, or some of their features. That had been easy for young Bucky to understand why people spoke their names in hushed, often pitying tones.

It was when those same tones were used when discussing Veterans who didn't have a scratch on them that Bucky, as a child, hadn't understood. He remembered the horrible, empty, hollow expression that one of his father's friends from the war had always given Bucky when he'd visited. Wally. His name was or had been. Wally had ended up hanging himself. Winifred Barnes had sent over meals for a month to Wally's widow after the fact.

Shell-shock or War Fatigue, that's what they'd called it and had only started to understand. They had a better name for it now and were starting to develop better treatments for it now, too. As a small child, Bucky had always wondered what could happen to a person to make them like that. Now he didn't need to wonder. Instead, he struggled to remember a time he hadn't been plagued by memories of battlefields, of blood and screaming, of death. Now, he was one of those people, one of those people that got whispered about, because of what had happened to him. One of those people who would've been talked about in sad, mournful tones, normally reserved for those in the past tense.

I don't like what war does to people.

That's what she'd said, and of course, it only made sense to Bucky that she wouldn't. She'd lost a husband, and friends, and clients to war and it's lingering after-effects. She'd spent her professional life, up until the point that he'd ruined it, helping people like him. Was that was she was doing this? Was that why she was extending the hand of friendship to him? She knew in vivid detail what he was and what he'd been through. Was she trying, in her own way, to fix him out of perhaps some obligation to Steve or to Becca?

It didn't feel that way. And he hoped, perhaps against all hope, that it wasn't the case.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head.

He didn't know and knew he wasn't likely to find out unless he accepted her movie invitation. The problem was he was tired. It wasn't just that he'd not been sleeping well, which he hadn't, but this was a sort of exhaustion, a sort of weariness of the soul. An exhaustion that he felt in his bones. He wasn't sure if he could manage human interaction, at least not where his headspace was at the moment.

If I could just get one good night's sleep, then maybe I might have the energy for human interactions.

Bucky almost snorted at the very thought, although he wasn't sure at what part of it. The prospect of getting a good night's rest, or the idea that any amount of sleep might enable him to function like a "normal" human being. Both were totally laughable, but he knew Shuri was right. He needed regular interactions, but he didn't want to insert himself into Wakandan social circles, where he would be a guest at the very best and an outsider at the very worst. Which left Ramirez. Was she in the same situation? Is that why she'd invited him over?

The only way to find out is to accept the invitation and find out.

He arrived home and slipped on his kimoyo bracelet. Opening and carefully typing in Ramirez's number, he hesitated.

It's not that hard. It shouldn't be this hard.Bucky silently chastised himself.

Taking a deep breath, he typed in the message, "I'm on for a movie 7:30. Should I bring something?" And he hit send before he could second guess himself and delete the message.

The message read as delivered, and Bucky held his breath, watching the "typing" bubble in the corner until her message came through. "Something to drink if you want something other than water. Otherwise, just yourself. 7:30 sharp, Barnes."

He exhaled slowly. Well, that was that. He was socially obligated now, and it would be even worse to cancel plans he'd confirmed than actually going. It was settled he was going to watch Casablanca with Ramirez.


Maggie stood over the pan, eyes fixed on the frying dough, her ear trained for the sound of approaching footsteps, doing her best not to think about what she had done to herself. This was a mistake, you should never have extended the invitation.

Barnes had accepted her invitation at a quarter to six, and Maggie had spent the entire hour since then panicking.

Why, exactly, she wasn't sure, but as soon as she'd received his message, her heart rate had soared and she'd more or less decided that she'd rather be back in Juarez facing down the cartels, than hosting a social event. Sure it was just Barnes, and sure they had regularly been meeting every Tuesday for lunch, but it didn't matter. Besides, Tuesday lunches were different. They were on neutral territory for a fixed amount of time, which was far different from an open-ended invitation to hang out and watch a movie.

I'm making sopapillas for christ's sake. I wouldn't do that for a Tuesday lunch get together.

She flipped over the dough and watched the golden-brown dough crackle and glisten with grease in the evening sun. The torches that illuminated the small area around her hut would turn on soon, the night would take over, and it would be time.

Maggie checked the time, 7:45. He's late. She wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed. Anyway, if he didn't show up, what the hell was she going to do with all of these sopapillas? She'd made six of them, but would probably only eat two or three, at the very most.

I wonder if Tee or Jelani would be interested...had something happened? Why had he changed his mind? Would he call? Text? Or just wait until next Tuesday to explain. Would he show back up at all? Or have I overstepped some unknown, unseen boundary, and now he never wanted to talk to me again?

Maggie shook her head, removing the golden-brown squares of dough from the oil, set them aside to drain and cool. She'd even found some Wakandan honey for the occasion. Oh well. More for me, I guess.

"What happened to starting the movie at 7:30 sharp, Ramirez? With or without my sorry ass, I believe was the expression you used."

It took Maggie everything she had not to jump out of her skin, but she hadn't heard his approach.

Damn. How the hell did he do that? Well, He's the Winter Soldier you moron.

Maggie turning around, she found James Barnes strolling casually up the path toward her hut. "I lost track of time, what's your excuse?" She said, doing her best to sound light-hearted and as much at ease as she could manage.

"I was on a mission." He admitted hesitantly. Stopping as he reached the fire pit where she was working he, opened the satchel he had slung across his chest and removed a small little pouch, which he extended to her carefully.

Wordlessly, Maggie took it in both hands, and untied the drawstring, glancing inside. "Corn kernels? You found popcorn?" She asked, glancing between Barnes, who wore an uncertain expression, and the small little bag of kernels she was holding.

"Not indigenous to Wakanda. Apparently, King T'Challa's father, King T'Chaka, was a fan of American Cinema, and imported popcorn plant specimens and had some of the farmers carefully cultivate some, so as not to introduce any sort of invasive species. I had to ask around a bit, but was able to procure some kernels for our movie night, this evening." He explained seriously. "Because what's a movie without popcorn?"

Maggie opened and closed her mouth, totally stunned. How fucking thoughtful. This is unbelievable. What the hell?

"Thank you, Barnes."

"So, I hope that excuses my tardiness."

Maggie surveyed his expression. Was he joking? Was he being serious? Was he being aloof? She couldn't be certain, but a smile spread across her face. "It will. Only if you agree to make the popcorn. I'm a tad rusty."

"I'll see what I can do." He nodded firmly. "Do you mind if I?" He motioned to his bag.

"Not at all, make yourself comfortable. As promised, I made sopapillas and even found Wakandan honey for the occasion."

"I look forward to trying them." He replied as he set his bag down and glanced around. "Pot with lid, oil, and salt?"

"Yeah, sure. Let me get this pan off the fire." Maggie said, moving quickly replaced the pan with a pot, setting out the oil and salt on the small preparation table beside the cooking fire.

"You excited?" Barnes asked as he worked, diligently adding the oil, kernels, and salt to the pot, covering it, and placing it over the fire.

"About?"

"Casablanca?" He answered without looking up at her.

"Oh. Yeah. Right. Yes." She managed. That. She'd nearly forgotten that they were going to be watching a movie together, mostly she'd just been hung up on the idea that he was coming over to hang out with her after working hours.

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, Ramirez."

"Was still a little hung up on the idea that you brought popcorn for us." She said, "And If I'm honest, I'm probably more excited about the popcorn than I am the movie. But that's just because I love food. And the combination of the sweet sopapillas and the salty popcorn is going to be AMAZING." Maggie caught herself before she could outright giggle, but the sound she made was somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and Barnes looked her over with something between curiosity and amusement.

Mercifully he didn't say anything. "I was thinking about the last movie I saw in theaters. What was the last movie you saw in theaters?"

"Oh. Jeeze, you would have to ask that." Maggie chuckled. Pausing, she closed her eyes, straining to remember the sound of popping from the pot, making it hard to focus. "Disney's Brave, I believe." She stopped. "Oh."

"What?"

"Suzanne dragged me out of the house to see it." After Riley died. She had to stop herself from saying it. Maggie opened her eyes and shaking her head.

"Should I add it to the list?" Barnes asked uncertainly as he removed the popcorn from over the fire and set it down on the table beside the sopapillas.

"Oh. It's a fun little movie, but not one of my favorites. What about you?"

"Laura. I think." He answered.

"Oh. I've seen that one! It's great!" Maggie said.

"Really? I thought you didn't like 1940s media."

"I didn't say that. I don't like WWII media. If I'm remembering the same film, it's not WWII related, at all. Is it the one where Laura is "killed," and the detective is trying to find out who killed her, and then she ends up not actually being dead?"

"That would be the one."

"It has one of my favorite lines. 'You ever known a woman who wasn't a doll or dame detective McPherson?'" Maggie said in her best Clifton Webb impersonation. She giggled, shaking her head. "My girlfriend, at the time, Margaret convinced me to watch it. For Halloween, actually."

Barnes opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, closing his mouth promptly.

"Didn't expect that one did you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You didn't both go by Maggie, did you?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before shutting it.

"Didn't expect that one did you?" Barnes echoed, also raising an eyebrow.

Maggie chuckled, "No. Actually. But to answer your question, she went by her full name, and I was either Maggie or Mags. But I can imagine how confusing it would've been if we'd both gone by Maggie."

"I can imagine." He paused, a look of hard contemplation crossing his face. Maggie braced for whatever was next before he spoke. "And the line is 'did you ever know a woman who wasn't a doll or a dame?' I do remember that much."

She smiled, the tension in her chest easing slightly. "Okay, okay. I defer to you as to the accuracy, but I'll maintain my version is superior. Did you like the movie at the very least?"

"I did."

"Well. Let's find out if you're right."

"Right?"

"See if I'm going to like Casablanca."

"Right."

"Come on. Bring the popcorn. We're going to sit inside if that's okay. I set up a screen and will project it from one of my kimoyo beads. I've made sopapillas as promised, and have Wakandan honey to put on top. Otherwise, you're just going to get a wad of fried dough." She explained picking up the plate of sopapillas and honey, and he followed her into her small hut with the popcorn. "Provided you don't mind sitting on my mat." She commented, sinking down easily onto the floor.

"Not at all." He shook his head, pausing he glanced her over.

From her vantage point on the floor, Maggie watched Barnes struggle as he contemplated where exactly he should sit. Doing the same algebra, and reaching similar conclusions, Maggie moved the plate of sopapillas to her left, and following suit, Barnes sat down to her left, setting the pot of popcorn between them.

"Pillows and blankets can be provided upon request. Let me know." She commented as she set up the kimoyo bead and began to project the film.

"I should be fine. The movie isn't that long." He replied, picking up a spoonful of honey and drizzling it over one of the sopapillas.

"Well, here goes nothin'." She said as she pressed play.

The Warner Brother's logo came up and then the 1940s black and white map. Maggie couldn't help but watch Barnes out of the corner of her peripheral vision. He was here. They'd had a relatively normal conversation. They were going to watch a movie while eating homemade snacks, and somehow despite herself, she was having a lovely time. Was he having a good time? She could only guess. Were they becoming friends? Only time would tell. But the whole thing hadn't felt awkward, even though it probably should. Instead, it had felt natural, had felt almost normal. What it meant, Maggie would discover later, but for now, Casablanca.

But the others wait in Casablanca...and wait...and wait...and wait.


"Louie, have your man go with Mr. Lazlo, and take care of his luggage."

Bucky glanced over at Ramirez, her eyes were glued to the screen, the flicking light of the screen reflecting in her eyes. She absently chewed on the popcorn as she watched, seemingly totally engrossed. He'd forgotten quite a bit of the film since he'd first watched it, and it still held up even now over seventy years later, but what made the whole thing worthwhile was Ramirez's reactions to the movie with her eye-rolling and frustrated groaning at all the key moments. They'd eaten the Sopapillas in the first act, and now they were working through the ample supply of popcorn, but mostly, Bucky was watching Ramirez.

He'd felt bad about arriving late, but apparently, Ramirez hadn't minded. She'd been very enthusiastic about the popcorn, more so than he'd expected, but the whole exchange about her ex-girlfriend had been, strange, to say the very least. It had taken him off guard how open and blasé she'd been about mentioning a girlfriend. Yet, Bucky found that logically it made sense, she hadn't made a fuss or a big deal over the fact that he'd had relationships with both Steve and Natasha, and the way he'd understood it, through Steve, Ramirez and Sam had been in a polyamorous triad with Riley, prior to his death. Still, the fact that she'd felt comfortable enough to out herself, to him, in such a relaxed and casual way, there was something about that made Bucky's chest warm.

Other than their briefly awkward exchange, the evening was going well, he would argue. He'd even made her laugh. She had seemed a little tense when he'd first arrived, but that had quickly dissipated, and now her whole demeanor was relaxed. Her braid had almost completely unwound itself, and her hair fell over her face. Her rigid posture had melted into something softer, her shoulder's less tense, her jaw not quite as clenched, her eyes and mouth bent in natural smiles and laughs.

"You're saying this only to make me go!"

" I'm saying it because it's true. Inside of us we both know you belong with Victor, you're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it."

"Lord," Ramirez said, her Texan twang thick with sarcasm.

"Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life."

" But what about us?"

"Oh, Honey." Ramirez rolled her eyes before taking another handful of popcorn from the bottom of the pot.

" We'll always have Paris. We didn't have, we'd lost it, until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night."

" I said I would never leave you."

"Oye." She scoffed.

" And you never will. But I've got a job to do too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Now, now...here's looking at you, kid."

"Jeezus Christ." She muttered. She glanced over at him, catching his gaze. A faint blush rose on her cheeks, and she quickly fastened her eyes back on the screen.

Bucky smiled to himself. As he'd said before, it wasn't a bad bit of propaganda. He'd watched it, and generally enjoyed it when it had come out in theaters. He could certainly see how people would continue to like it even after the war ended. People loved a rogue, and Rick was undoubtedly that. Ramirez's reactions, however, had added a whole new element to the viewing process. What she reacted to and why were surprising, compared to what he thought might draw a reaction from her.

"Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." The music swelled La Marseilles blared, and "THE END" came up on the screen.

Ramirez stopped the film, the hut dropped into silence, and the dim lights of the hut flickered on, giving everything an orange tinge. She starred at the wall a moment, chewing the inside of her mouth. Bucky watched her expectantly. "So...?"

"Give me a minute," She answered distantly. After several beats of silence, she turned to him, her tone all business. "I think all of this could be solved with Polyamory. Understanding that Ilsa was both in love with Lazlo and Rick, in different ways, would've solved the whole situation, with, of course, the exception of the Nazi problems. "

"Yeah. They tend to be a little more difficult to deal with."

"Historically, a bullet has been a pretty good solution."

"Well, you're not wrong."

Ramirez chuckled. "But yeah. Otherwise, it was a fairly compelling plot. I personally couldn't wear Ilsa's wardrobe, but I am seriously envious of it." She paused, glancing over at him. "So I gotta ask, why you'd think it'd like it?"

"Oh." Bucky should've expected this, and had an answer prepared. He had thought she'd like it this afternoon, but he really had just had a hunch, now he had to come up with something more substantial. "Because it's about people making the best out of a shitty situation." He blurted out.

"And that's something you think I'd know all bout, huh?"

"I wasn't going to say that. I just figured you'd appreciate it."

"True. Although you have to admit, it was some good ole' fashioned American anti-isolationist propaganda."

"It is. Does that tarnish your opinion of it?"

"Not entirely. I'm not about to tar all WWII movies with the same brush...well not completely. It was a good movie, but I'm not sure if it's something that I'd watch repeatedly." She paused, thinking a moment. "You're obscenely old, right?"

"In theory, yes. What's your point?"

"What does 'here's looking at you kid' actually mean? Other than being terribly condescending for Rick to be calling a grown woman kid. I mean, like I get that, it's a toast, but what does it mean, like really mean?"

"It means what it means." Bucky shrugged.

"That's not a real answer, and you know it, Barnes," Ramirez said, her face scrunched up in a playful frustration.

"You said it yourself, it's a toast. A way to commend someone. What do you want me to say?" Bucky paused and cracked a small, almost maniacal smirk. "I'll have to use it so you can see how it works, 'contextually,'" He said as he made air quotes with his hand.

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both?"

"Oh no, I can't handle that level of cheesy nonsense in my life, James Barnes." Ramirez shook her head, wagging her right pointer finger at him, a broad grin on her face.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"I see."

Ramirez giggled, "You're a menace, Barnes." She shook her head, freeing her hair from the last remains from the braid of the day, allowing it to fall freely over her shoulders and down her back. The ends of it landing near her waist.

"I do my best."

"I'm sure."

There was a pause in the conversation as they both surveyed one another. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling, her expression open and honest, her dark eyes warm and kind as she watched him, her pupils larger than usual because of the dim light. They looked darker than the night sky, and the lights of the hut reflected in them like stars. Her dark hair framed her face and ended near her waist so that it looked like a dark shawl in the dim light. Realizing he was staring, Bucky cleared his throat, glancing around. "So. What's next on the list?"

"The Godfather."

"Which you said you didn't want to watch."

"Yes, well, but given I just sat through number two, I should, for the sake of completion, watch number three," Ramirez faltered. "I mean if that's okay. I mean, if you want to include me in your watching marathon." She stammered, a blush only further flushing her cheeks.

"Well," Bucky said slowly in contemplation while his brain silently screamed 'She wants to watch another movie with me?' "I guess we should decide what list we're going to use. The 1998 or 2007 one?"

"Well, we've started the '98 list, technically."

"Technically, it doesn't matter."

"True." She laughed, "Umm, the newer one would have more films I'm familiar with."

"Should that be a bonus or a detractor."

"Yanno, I don't know, I watched like five movies on rotation for years, and old tape recorded telenovelas."

"Which five movies."

"Oh, no, I'm not outing myself like that." Ramirez shook her head.

Well, now he was even more curious, but Bucky knew better than to push his luck. "Okay. So. I propose a more holistic approach."

"All right. I'm down for being more holistic. What's the plan then, Barnes?"

"We switch off between lists, cross off what one list covers if we've watched."

"Okay, sounds reasonable. We counting Citizen Kane done?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to put anyone through that again. If I'm feeling nostalgic, maybe, but I won't inflict it upon you."

"Well, don't hurt yourself, Barnes." She snorted. "So, our next one is The Godfather?"

"It would appear so."

"So. When and where?"

"Friday? My place?" Bucky suggested.

"That sounds good. You'll have to give me co-ordinates unless you plan on extracting me from the jungle again."

"Yeah, I'd rather not."

They tapped their wrists together, and the kimoyo bracelet buzzed, indicating the data exchange. "Awesome. So what time do you want me?" Ramirez commented as she pulled up the coordinates to his hut, and programmed them into her bracelet.

"7:30 pm works for me."

"Okay, so it's a date." She stopped. "I mean, not a date. I mean-"

Was he making her flustered? It appeared so. And against his better judgment, he enjoyed watching her being more awkward than he felt constantly. Still, it felt a little mean to let her continue like this. "I'll see you then." He interrupted her mid stammer.

"Yeah. Is there anything you want me to bring?"

"If you want to make sopapillas again. Otherwise, I think I can handle popcorn."

"Understood."

Then without further discussion, they both rose, brushed themselves off and collecting the dirty dishes headed back out into the night air.

"This was fun, Ramirez. Thank you for entertaining 1940s media." He said as she took the popcorn pot from him.

"Thank you for entertaining my asinine questions." She nodded appreciatively.

"They weren't asinine." Bucky protested. "Although Steve would've been able to answer them better than I did."

"I thought you did just fine, James Barnes." She chuckled and they both paused.

"I should head back. Thank you again, this was fun."

"Thank you. Let me know when you make it back."

"Why?"

"So, I know if I should send out the Wakandan National Guard or what have you." She smiled. "It's a long walk back, it'll help me sleep better to know you've made it and haven't been eaten by panthers or anything."

"I appreciate your concern, Ramirez. I'll be sure to let you know."

"Sounds good."

"Night."

"Night." She called after him as he walked away.

Bucky could sense her watching him as he walked down the path and out of sight. So she'd enjoyed the film. That had been a relief, on a personal and social level. The entirety of the evening had been less socially award than he'd expected. He'd enjoyed himself, but that seemed the going trend with him and Ramirez, or at least how it appeared.

Whistling the La Marseilles's as he walked back under the clear Wakandan night sky, Bucky wondered what Steve was doing. Was he safe? Was he sleeping, or was he awake on first or even second watch? He certainly wasn't watching movies from the "good ole days" in a remote corner of Africa. Bucky wondered what Steve, or Romanoff, or even Wilson would've said in response to what had just transpired. They'd probably give him shit, Steve especiallywould've given him shit, since he and the other commandos had entertained long rambling conversations about the movie during the war. But that was okay, Bucky decided, he wouldn't mind being given a little shit.

He paused outside, overlooking the lake, taking in some of the warm evening air. He was going to be seeing Ramirez again, and soon. They were going to watch The Godfather. There would hopefully be more opportunities than just the one on Friday, but it was a start. It was a start, a chance, an opportunity for friendship.

A broad smile passed over his face, it came fast and was gone just as quickly, but nevertheless, for a fraction of a moment, it had existed. "Well." He chuckled to himself. "Here's looking at you, kid."


A/N: Well, that's fun! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it! The AFI lists are available online for anyone who is interested. I took a film class back in high school, and my instructor referenced the AFI lists. I think it is fascinating to see what is on the list v.s. what didn't make the cut. What movies are your favorite? What Films do you think Bucky and Maggie would enjoy? Or would dislike for that matter? As always, comments are welcome and pleasing to the plot bunnies. Until Next time, Happy Reading!