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! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear' and is Part III of IV of my "Find Your Way Home" Series. So if you're confused, that's why.
Recommended Listening: One foot in Front of the Other by Emilie Autumn; Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree (With Anyone Else But Me) by Glenn Miller; Las Mananitas by Vicente Fernandez; Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller
Ch 44: World's Leading Expert
Steve Rogers was worried. That wasn't altogether a foreign sensation but weighed heavily on his mind. It had been two weeks since Sam had received a message from Ramirez from one of the Wakandan war dogs that had tracked them down.
He hadn't thought anything of it until a few days later, after they'd extracted themselves from a war zone, and Sam had had a chance to listen to the recording. Sam had pulled him aside and asked if they could talk.
They'd walked a safe distance away from camp out toward the perimeter before Sam had removed the kimoyo bead and had pressed play.
Ramirez's face had appeared in a hologram. Her features had been drawn, and grave and Steve imagined that if there had been any color, she would've appeared pale too. Steve's stomach had immediately sunk. Something had happened.
It was a short message, no more than a minute, maybe two. Maggie assured Sam that everyone was fine but that Bucky was in need of a sympathetic ear. 'But, he's going through some shit, Sam, and I might know how to talk to military guys. This is a little bit outside of my wheelhouse. If you have any suggestions for me, I'd gladly hear, but right now, I'm not sure how best to help him work through some of this.'
"I think that's your cue, Steve." Sam had said once the recording ended. Obviously, Steve had given him a perplexed look, and so the other man had continued without waiting for a response. "He needs you. He needs you more than we do. And you and I both know if you don't go check up on him, and something happens to him, you'll regret it."
" He's in Wakanda. I can't think of a safer place for him to be."
"You know what I mean, Steve. Go." Sam had squeezed his hand. "We'll be okay here. Mags wouldn't have sent a message if she wasn't worried. And that's a big thing for her."
Sam was right. Steve knew Sam was right. It just didn't feel right that after everything they'd sacrificed for him, and by extension for Bucky, that he was going to leave them to fend for themselves. So after talking it over with Sam, they'd brought the subject up with Natasha and Wanda, who'd all but threatened to kick his ass if he didn't go.
It had taken him a little while to get back into contact with the Wakandans, but now it was Bucky's birthday, and he was sitting downstairs in the lobby of the Royal Wakandan labs. He was fidgeting, his legs bouncing, his hands tucked between his legs.
He'd played it like he wanted to see Bucky for his birthday, a decision that had been apparently co-signed by none other than the Princess. But, mostly, he wanted to see what had worried Ramirez enough to send a message to Sam.
"Steve?" His head snapped up to see Bucky walking across the lobby from the elevators toward him, the princess trailing behind.
"Buck!" Steve shot to his feet and crossed the lobby to meet him in the middle, pulling the other man into a hug.
Bucky wrapped his arm around him, leaning into the hug. "Good to see you, Steve," He paused, pulling back to survey the other man's face, his hand going to Steve's shoulder, cupping his neck, "Is everything okay? Sam? Romanoff? Maximoff? They're all okay?"
"Everyone is alive and well, and they wanted me to come see you for your birthday." Steve managed. "I take it the Princess didn't mention I was coming."
Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the young woman who stood watching from the side and gave her a look that Steve couldn't quite decipher before turning back to him. "She didn't, but I'm glad you're here." He smiled.
It wasn't a grave or a forced smile, it looked to be genuine, yet something twisted in Steve's stomach as he tried to figure out what was actually going on. "Just finished up my usual scan. Everything looks good. You wanna head back out to my place?" He asked pleasantly.
"Yeah, sure." Steve nodded.
"Same time, same day next month, Barnes?" The princess called.
"Yes, thank you!" Bucky answered, a corner of his mouth twisting up in a smile.
"Anything for you, white boy! Be good!"
"You too, Princess. Thank you!" He said, gently leading Steve out of the Wakandan labs and out onto the busy streets. "When did you get in? You have a chance to eat something yet?" Bucky asked as he walked confidently, shoulder to shoulder through the streets.
"Oh. Yeah. About an hour ago. Did a quick debrief with Wakandan intelligence, then showered and changed."
"Good." Bucky wrinkled his nose before glancing over at him. "That suit of yours is getting really rank Steve, are you sure you don't wanna take The princess's offer up. She'll design you a new one. It may cost you something, but I know she wouldn't mind a challenge."
"I appreciate the concern, Buck. But I think I've already asked the Wakandans for a lot more than I can repay." Steve answered, giving Bucky what he hoped was an inconspicuous once over.
He seemed fine. Then again, Bucky had always put on a brave face for Steve. Steve knew that. He wasn't an idiot after all. He knew his best friend, and yet Steve couldn't help but get the feeling that he was missing something. There was a missing piece to the puzzle that he couldn't quite fit into the open jagged little hole that would make the whole picture come into focus.
"So, have you eaten? I have food back at my place, but there is a great Kebab place just around the corner from the feed transport if you wanna grab something for the road."
Before Steve could answer, his stomach growled loudly, and Bucky laughed. "Come on," He said, grabbing Steve's hand. "Let's eat. The transport won't leave for another thirty minutes anyway."
Okay, what the fuck?
He'd been prepared for a lot of things. He'd been prepared for Bucky to be withdrawn or angry that Steve was there. He'd been prepared for Bucky to be quiet and broody. He'd been prepared for bad news. That there had been degradation in the treatment, that something was happening with his brain, with his memory, with the physical aspects of what Hydra had done to him. Something. Anything! But Steve hadn't been prepared for this. For...for...well normalcy. He hadn't had normalcy since he came out of the ice, shit even before that, since 1942? Perhaps even before? And now...now this?
This wasn't even normal. Well, perhaps it was for Bucky, but not for him. He could feel his pulse racing as his eyes darted. Scanning the perimeter, making mental notes for where snipers could be hiding, aware of every set of eyes watching both him and Bucky as they moved through the market.
You've been on too long, Steve. Maybe you needed this.
He couldn't help but wonder at the ease with which Bucky moved as they appeared to arrive at the Kebab place. "You wanna look at the menu, or do you want me to order for you?" Bucky asked.
"Huh?" Steve stammered, glancing between the menu written in Wakandan with large accompanying pictures and Bucky, who was watching him, a line of worry starting to knit itself between Bucky's brows. "Oh. Umm, you know what's good. You can order for me." Steve managed.
Bucky said nothing but nodded. Then, letting go of Steve's hand, he turned to the vendor and ordered in crisp, clear Wakandan.
Bucky chatted amiably with the vendor while he prepared their food, and then removing money from a pouch on his belt, paid the man before collecting the first of the Kebabs. "Here, Steve. It's hot." Bucky said, handing off the Kebab gingerly before turning to collect the second one.
They ate contentedly in silence as they walked toward the transport back to the village. "I take it you enjoyed that." Bucky chuckled, watching as he practically inhaled the kebab.
"Yeah." Steve nodded, finishing off the last few bites.
"That's good." Bucky said, "Well, here we are."
It was a mule-drawn cart, noticeably empty. "We were dropping off animal feed to the capitol for further distribution around Wakanda." Bucky continued as if reading his mind.
"Oh." Steve managed, watching as Bucky situated himself on the back of the cart.
"We have a few minutes before the driver comes back. You wanna join me?" Bucky asked.
"Yeah. Sure." Steve winced internally. His voice sounded pinched, tight.
Bucky looked completely at ease, his legs swinging gently. He was watching him closely, the crease between his brow deepening. "What's going on, Steve?"
"Nothin'," Steve shook his head, shoving his hands into the front pockets of the pants T'Challa had given him when he'd first arrived in Wakanda.
"Nothing. Right." Bucky said dryly. His face remained still and impassive as he looked around. "Who told you?" Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off. "Don't try to lie to me, Steve. We both know you're shit at it. Just tell me who told you."
Told me what, Buck? Steve wanted to ask. Ramirez's message hadn't told him anything, not really, but now Steve was so wound up he wasn't sure what she even meant by anything she'd said.
"Was it The Princess?" Bucky asked. "Or The King?" There was nothing hostile in Bucky's tone. It was all matter of fact.
"Ramirez sent a message to Sam. All she said was you were going through some shit and needed a sympathetic ear," Steve said in one rushed breath, afraid that if he didn't get it all out at once, it might never come out. And then, in the silence that followed, he found himself bracing for the worst.
Why was he concerned? Did he think Bucky was going to be upset? Perhaps. Yes. But what mattered. Or rather, what was important was that Bucky was healthy and in the process of healing. So if Ramirez was concerned about Bucky enough to send a message, it was worth investigating, and furthermore being honest with Bucky about why he was here.
Steve looked over at Bucky, whose expression had morphed from one of concern into one of shock and confusion. "She what?" He asked, brows furrowed together as he tried to puzzle through what he'd just heard.
"Ramirez...she...she sent a message to Sam. She was worried about you, didn't say why exactly, just that you were going through a rough patch and that she thought you could use a sympathetic ear. It took a while for it to get to us, but I'm here now if you want me to be. If you need me to be." It felt corny and cheesy and stupid even as he said it, but he meant it.
Bucky didn't say anything, didn't look at Steve, didn't so much as move a muscle. But Steve could see the inner mechanisms working in the other man's head. What it meant, Steve didn't know, but he was willing to wait it out, willing to let the other man formulate his thoughts, willing to be whatever Bucky needed him to be in this particular situation.
"About a month and a half ago, I had a significant backslide in my mental health. Paranoia, PTSD, guilt." He said slowly. "I cut off contact with Maggie. I guess it freaked her out, which is why she contacted you."
His word choice, tone, and facial expressions were all deliberate, every muscle twitch, every sideways glance. But, there was something else that Bucky wasn't telling him. Something more to the story.
"I understand." Steve managed. And he did understand from all perspectives involved. Steve had experienced a fraction of what Bucky had. There were going to be some residuals. He could understand not wanting others to have to experience all of that. He could also understand how Bucky suddenly severing contact would be off-putting, if not downright alarming. "Whatever you need, Buck," Steve added.
"Yeah." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I was trying to avoid this."
"What?"
"Getting you involved."
"What do you mean? You're my friend. I love you. There isn't anything I would do for you." Steve protested while doing his best to be gentle.
Bucky chuckled, but it was devoid of all humor. "I know, Steve. I know. And I love you too." He shook his head and sighed again.
"But?"
"I've been trying to figure you two out."
"What? What do you mean?"
"You and Maggie. You're a couple of strong-willed, stubborn, self-sacrificing morons." He said. "I...uh..." Bucky looked down, his hand fiddling with a loose string on his pants. "I-"
"Buck." Steve put his hand on Bucky's, stilling its anxious movement. Bucky immediately tensed but then relaxed almost instantly, adjusting his hand to take Steve's hand. "You don't have to say anything. You don't have to explain anything to me. I'm here because I wanna be here for you, because people who care about you are worried about you and what to make sure you're okay."
Bucky took a deep breath, nodding. He looked as though he was going to say something but stopped as the driver approached. Bucky's expression changed again, a smile spreading over his face. Then, exchanging a quick burst of conversation, the cart driver climbed up into his seat, and they started back, Steve guessed, to the village.
Whatever was going on, Bucky clearly didn't want to talk about it. Perhaps he'd get a chance to speak with Ramirez...Maggie, about it. At the very least, Bucky didn't seem upset that Steve was here. He seemed perfectly at ease, but he was holding something back. Was he afraid of what he might think?
You're a couple of strong-willed, stubborn, self-sacrificing morons. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time that Steve had been called that, specifically by Bucky. He was, however, intrigued by how he'd been grouped with Ramirez, whom Bucky had referred to as Maggie. Steve had known Ramirez for almost two and a half, nearly three years, and it struck him as odd somehow that Bucky had referred to her by anything other than her last name.
He didn't know, but he needed answers, if not from Bucky, then from Ramirez. Glancing up at Bucky, Steve opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. So instead, he edged himself closer to Bucky, stopping only as they brushed shoulders.
Then, without saying a word, Bucky leaned against him, setting his head on Steve's shoulder, released a long, contented sigh.
Something was wrong, that much was true, but Steve wasn't entirely sure if things could be altogether bad. He'd enjoy the ride back to the village, and who knows, maybe after a nap and a little bit of downtime, Bucky might feel like talking. Or perhaps not. Whatever the case, they were together, and at the moment, that's really what mattered.
Bucky was glad that Steve was here. Really he was. He had rather dreaded the thought of spending his hundredth birthday alone. Sure, if he'd asked, the entire nation of Wakanda would've shown up to throw him one hell of a party. It was just the idea that he'd allegedly lived for 100 years while only having memories for about a quarter of it that he wanted to take with him. So a birthday party wasn't a subject he'd broached with anyone. Not the Princess, not Omondi, not even to his therapist, though he knew he probably should bring up that whole only wanting to remember a quarter of it thing at some point.
His therapist. Right. That was the real reason that Steve was here. Maggie had gotten a message to Sam, who'd then diligently passed the word along to Steve, who'd decided the best course of action was to drop everything and travel hundreds, if not thousands of miles to make sure he was okay.
It was a romantic gesture, to be sure, but one that Bucky knew had been needlessly spent. And he wasn't sure how he was supposed to tell Steve that. The only thing he knew was that it meant unpacking a whole lot of really unpleasant things, and on his birthday too.
He turned his gaze to Steve, who was currently curled up on the reed mat, fast asleep in the middle of Bucky's dwelling. It wasn't a deep sleep, but it was restful. That was good, at the very least. Steve looked like he needed the rest. He never had been able to sleep well when they'd been on patrol, and from the looks of the bags under the man's eyes, that was one thing that hadn't changed.
His face looked peaceful, despite the evident exhaustion. Locks of sandy blonde hair fell across his face, and the scraggly beard smushed ever so slightly against the pressure of his face in the nook of his arm.
Bucky smiled, and though he knew he should've resisted the urge, leaned over to brush the strands gently out of his face.
Steve jerked awake, eyes flying open, darting around, searching for signs of danger. He settled slightly when he registered where he was after a few seconds, but now he was awake, and Bucky couldn't help but feel more than a little guilty to have roused him from what had looked to be restful slumber.
"I'm sorry." Steve stammered out after a moment, catching his gaze.
"Don't be. I didn't mean to wake you or startle you. You looked peaceful." Bucky paused, a slight smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. "Like a greasy, hairy, little angel."
"Little?" Steve snorted, easing himself wincingly into a seated position. "Thanks, Buck."
"Of all the descriptors I just used, that's what you're going to take offense at, Steve?"
"Been a while since anyone has called me little, Buck."
"Well, what about punk, jerk?"
Steve shook his head, chuckling lightly.
"You want some coffee?"
"Yeah. That would be nice."
Bucky nodded, moving around the small space. He prepared the pot, aware that Steve's eyes were following his every move.
Is he checking out my ass, or is he still trying to figure out what's wrong?
Bucky knew that neither option was entirely out of the question but that one was far more likely than the other. "You still take yours black, right?"
"Correct."
"I have some fresh goat's milk and local sugar. If you're interested."
"Just black is fine."
Bucky poured coffee into two mugs, heaping an ample amount of sugar and milk into one, before handing Steve the unadulterated mug. They sat in silence, both sipping the coffee, and their minds both wrapped around a single thought, a single connecting thread. Why had Maggie sent the message?
He hadn't spoken to Maggie in about a month and a half. Since he'd told her that he thought it was a bad idea for them to associate with one another, and since she'd given him a simple choice.
"Chose what role you want me to play in your life." That had been the basic gist of the situation.
So he'd decided that the role he wanted her to play was alive, and he'd elected to stay away. It had been hard, mainly because they still saw each other every Tuesday when he delivered feed to Jelani. They nodded at one another, Maggie would help him offload, and then he'd go about his business. If that particular arrangement had been difficult for her, she hadn't let on, playing the role perfectly, like an indifferent observer.
Yet, obviously, she hadn't been that indifferent. She'd played indifference but had felt strongly enough to send a message to Sam. A strong enough message to prompt Steve to come check on him when Bucky knew he had more important things to do.
"Steve." Bucky's voice shattered the silence, punctuation hard like an ice pick. "What exactly was in Maggie's message?"
Steve surveyed him a moment before slowly setting down his coffee mug and retrieving a single Komoyo bead from his pant's pocket. "See for yourself, Buck."
Bucky likewise set his coffee cup down and slowly took the bead from Steve's outstretched hand.
Well fuck.
This certainly was unexpected, but he'd asked for it, and now he'd have to face whatever came next. He pressed the center button and watched as the holographic image of Maggie appeared between them.
She looked like she had that day. Her hair was wrapped around her head in a tight, tidy coil. Her face was still and calm as it had been. Yet, the moment she opened her mouth and spoke, Bucky knew that she'd been crying, with just the slightest hint of a ragged edge on her voice, barely audible but there nevertheless. And it stabbed at his conscience like an angry tiny splinter of glass, like a thorn dug in deep under a fingernail.
"Hey, Sammie. I hope you're doing well. I miss you. It's been a bit since the holidays. I hope you and Steve, Nat, and Wanda got a chance to spend them somewhere warm, safe, dry, and comfortable. I hope you're taking care of yourself, drinking lots of water, moisturizing, practicing proposer hygiene, and the like. I know what Steve's beard looked like the last time I saw him. I better not find out you've been doing something horrible to your facial hair as well." Maggie chuckled, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "Things have been a little hectic for me here, but I'm good. Everyone's in good health and doing well." At this, she paused, inhaling a sharp breath. "I'm worried about Bucky. He's fine. Like, physically, everything is fine. But he's going through some shit, Sam, and I might know how to talk to military guys, but this is a little bit outside of my wheelhouse. If you have any suggestions for me, I'd gladly hear them, but right now, I'm not sure how best to help him work through some of this." She sighed, shaking her head. "He needs a sympathetic ear. While we certainly have a history together, at this point, I don't think I'm the best candidate for that job at the moment. I don't know. I guess I need a sympathetic ear, too, huh?" She chuckled again, but this time there was little humor in it. "I'm going to work on that, but if you have any advice in the meantime, I'm more than open to suggestions. Or even if you don't have a suggestion and just wanna drop a line, I always enjoy hearing from you."
Then with little fanfare, she signed off, and the hologram ended.
That's it? He wanted to ask. That's what had caused all of this trouble? But before he could even form the words, it struck him. That was the point. That was the whole point. She hadn't wanted to create trouble. If she had, she would've told Sam everything would've laid out every fact, every gory detail. If she'd really wanted to cause trouble, she would've gone directly to the Princess or even to the King. Yet, Bucky knew from the expression Steve was currently leveling on him, her message had been effective. It had done its job.
"Yeah. I was going through some shit." Bucky said slowly after a moment. "And she told me before she sent that message that I shouldn't try to parse through it by myself." He took a deep breath. "It took me a bit, but I figured out she was right. So I've been seeing a therapist to work through everything that happened to me."
"That's good. I'm glad." Steve said, haltingly, "But that's not all of it."
"No." Bucky shook his head. "Steve, you know some of what I've done and what I'm capable of-"
"Buck, that wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."
"I know. But I was in there, Steve. I saw what I was doing. I was in there." Bucky wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him senseless if it meant getting him to understand that basic fact. But he couldn't, and so he wouldn't and instead picked up his coffee mug and stared down into its depths, trying to find his way through what he wanted to say. "Since Hydra. Since everything that's happened, D.C. Last Chance, Vienna, Romania, Berlin, Siberia, I've hurt people. Intentional or not. That fact remains. I've hurt people, Steve, and I don't want to hurt people." He shook his head, blinking heavily as tears started to pool in the corner of his eyes.
Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He'd promised himself he wouldn't cry. He promised himself he'd be able to get through this entire explanation when it came to it. "I don't want to hurt the people I care about," was all he could manage to get out.
"So you pushed her away. To protect her." It wasn't an accusation. Not exactly. It was merely a statement of fact, a fact that Steve knew and understood, perhaps all too well.
"Yeah." It sounded stupid out loud.
It was something he'd been struggling with ever since he'd done it, trying to convince himself that this was the right thing to do. He'd thought distance would help. He thought by making other friends and by filling his time, it would be easier to keep his distance. Yet, he found he still wanted to talk to her. Wanted, no practically craved, her friendship. She was funny and sarcastic and gave him shit about stuff. She was also unflinchingly honest, which Bucky respected and admired about her. She wasn't honest to the point of cruelty, but she certainly wasn't afraid of the truth. She made it look so easy. It wasn't easy. Bucky knew that. If he'd learned one thing over the past month, honesty with another human being wasn't easy, even being honest with yourself was an eternal struggle.
Bucky knew he should've gone to her. He should've gone to her and told her that he wanted her as his friend. He should've told her that he was going to therapy. He should've relieved some of the concern that was so very clear and apparent in her message. But she'd seemed so indifferent. She'd been so calm, and cool, and collected.
Should—what a horrible word.
"I've messed this up, haven't I?" Bucky admitted, feeling a sense of shame rise in his chest and constrict his lungs. He looked up, meeting Steve's expression, which was twisted in concern. "Steve?"
"I don't think I'm the one you should be asking, Buck," Steve answered after a long pregnant pause. He sighed, settling further into himself, clasping the coffee mug in both hands. He looked down. "But since you're asking me. I'll say this." He glanced back up at him. "If she cared enough to send a message halfway around the world to make sure you weren't alone. I think she'll understand. Provided you're the one to talk to her about it." Steve shook his head. There was a story there, but now wasn't the time to ask.
"When?" He managed, voice leaden with audible dread.
At this, Steve chuckled, "You and I both know I have the absolute worst timing." He looked around the small space, examining the scene with the trained eye of a tactician. "What do you have planned for your birthday?
"Huh?" Bucky did a metaphoric double-take at the sudden shift in perspective.
"Your birthday, Buck. You are turning one-hundred-years-old today, old man."
"Yeah. No. No. I get that, but what does that have to do with...well...with any of this?"
Steve looked at him like he might roll his eyes but thankfully refrained. Instead, he nodded, clearing his throat before continuing. "I thought that it might give you a strategic reason to go speak with Ramirez."
"Oh. Oh." Bucky felt like an idiot, but again, thankfully, Steve didn't say anything. "Like? Right now?"
"You're not going to feel any better until you go and talk to her. Invite her to dinner, and we can watch a movie. What's next on your list?"
"High Noon, I think." Bucky stopped as he actually processed what was being said. "Wait. No. I don't think this is a good idea."
"Why not?"
Bucky spluttered and stammered a stream of incoherent noises a moment before his brain started functioning. "Do you really think it's a good idea to drag her back into this mess? When she has a chance to-"
He stopped at Steve's incredulous but not unkind expression. "Buck." He said gently, "You have to give her that choice." Bucky didn't say anything.
What was there to say? Steve was right. Bucky knew he needed to make right with her. He knew he needed to give her the choice, the option to either accept his friendship or reject it, on her terms rather than his.
Why give her the option? Why let her walk back into the mess when you know damn well that giving her this option will be a front-row ticket to the shit show of the century. Bucky Barnes un-fucks his life, a thousand-part series, limited run.
It just didn't seem fair, to her, to him, to any of them, that she should be allowed back into the mess.
Back into? She's never been out of this mess, James Barnes, and you know it.
There it was. There was the truth of it.
"Don't you think I should wait? Until I have my shit in order?" It was a useless and rather pathetic excuse, but it was the only one that Bucky could come up with at present as he grasped at straws.
"By giving her a choice, you also give her a choice to walk away."
"Moment by moment exercise in consent." He murmured.
"Do you want her as your friend?" Steve asked.
Bucky took a deep breath. But it's not about what I want! He wanted to scream, but he knew that was his brain playing unkind tricks on him. They'd been working on that. At least now, he was recognizing it was his brain being unfair.
"Yeah." He managed, exhaling the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah, I do."
He wanted to be her friend. Shit, he'd settle for the mere opportunity to maybe get to be her friend, but that meant doing something difficult and likely painful.
"Then I think you should go over there, say your bit, ask her to come over for your birthday, and then let her make her choice." Steve paused. "As the world's leading expert in waiting too long, I'd ask, after all the waiting Ramirez has done, are you willing to ask her to wait longer?"
Bucky surveyed Steve. He wanted to say something clever, or at the very least tease him a bit about still being terrible with women after all this time, but there was something pained in his expression as he said it, and so Bucky wasn't going to push.
"I know, Steve. I know." He was right. Bucky knew he was right. He needed to make right with her.
Some part of Bucky knew that this was not just for her but also for him and Steve for that matter. It would give them all a bit of certainty and a firmer sense of where solid ground was. He only wished he felt ready. He only wished that he had more of his shit together.
"Com 'on Buck. How many times does a guy turn one-hundred?" Steve chuckled, smiling into his coffee mug.
"I'm still not sure how that's entirely relevant to the conversation, but I take your point. Y.O.L.O. that's what the kids say, right?"
"Back in about 2012," Steve said dryly.
"The Princess has been very diligent about catching me up on internet slang," Bucky replied by way of an explanation.
Yes. You only live once. And if there were any day to remember that, it would be on your birthday. "Okay, Steve, okay." He finished off his coffee and set it in the basin to wash later. "I'll be back. Do you need anything before I leave?"
"I think I'll manage." Steve watched as he moved around the small hut, collecting his sandals and bag. "You gonna be okay?"
Bucky paused, standing over Steve. He wasn't sure. Yes. Eventually, everything would be all right, but every cell in his body at the moment was screaming at him not to do the thing he was getting ready to do.
"Come here." Steve rose, pulling him into a hug, which Bucky returned. They stood that way for a long moment as Bucky leaned into Steve's embrace. When they finally broke apart, Steve cupped his face. "One way or another, it's going to be okay, Buck. I'll be here when you get back. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." He nodded.
They kissed, and Steve sent him on his way, down the long footpath toward Jelani's village. He'd walked the path what seemed like hundreds of times, day or night, rain or shine, and he knew where all the little dips and troublesome rocks and holes were, and he could avoid with ease. Yet, today felt like he was finding each one with his foot, as if for the first time, as his stomach twisted into knots, and his mind raced, creating every possible stumbling block.
By the time Bucky approached the village, he could feel the sting of bile on the back of his throat. His mind was battling itself as it tried to talk him out of what he knew he needed to do.
Steve was right, of course. He needed to make right with her. If not for his sake, then for hers. It was the least he could do.
Then as he rounded the last turn leading up to village dwellings, he could hear the sound of laughter. Among them was Maggie. The sound was loud and full and joyous. Bucky hesitated. She sounded happy. She sounded content. She sounded like she was doing just fine without him in her life.
You need to give her a choice. This is giving her a choice and allowing some closure, one way or another. Bucky repeated that over and over to himself as he tried to hold onto his sense of calm and purpose.
Walking up to the grove of trees at the center of the village, he found a dozen women and half a dozen young girls gathered around participating in a variety of weaving, spinning, and dying activities. There was pleasant conversation as they worked, punctuated with peals of laughter. There were wizened old women with their grey and white hair twisted neatly into long dreads, further braided and arranged on their heads who sat beside the young girls no more than nine or ten, working the various fibers into thread. The middle-aged women had their hair wrapped, and their scarves were arranged in magnificent knots, and they worked both the looms and the dying vats. The young women and teens with their hair twisted and beaded in the latest fashions worked the drying racks or received instruction on the massive looms. Situated in the mix of this intergenerational activity was Maggie. She was focused on her work at the loom she was sitting in front of while repeating phrases the women supplied to her. Tongue twisters, from what Bucky could manage. Not a nice thing to do to someone learning the language, but she seemed to be taking it in stride, a broad smile on her face.
Then, a hush came over the group, and as if by silence consensus, all eyes turned to him.
"Ahh! White Wolf!' Teela addressed him in English, breaking the increasingly awkward silence. "I'm afraid my husband is away on business, is there something I can help you with."
His mouth went dry as he glanced around at the collected expectant gazes he was receiving from every pair of eyes. Well, nearly every pair.
Maggie was focused down on her loom, her gaze intent and expression intense as she worked, aware of his presence but doing her best to keep from acknowledging it.
If you chicken out now, you have to face Steve when you get back to your place. You've made it all the way here. You can't back out now. Then, taking a deep breath, he managed, "I was hoping I could have a word with Maggie if she can be spared."
All eyes volleyed from him to Maggie, whose busy hands had stilled. Her smooth, even expression formed a wrinkle as her brows furrowed. "I mean, if you don't mind, Maggie." He added, trying to catch her eye.
There was a pause as everyone around them held a collective breath, and what must have only been seconds stretched out into eternity while they waited for her answer. Then, wordlessly, she nodded. Then, rising, she brushed herself off before turning to address him directly without meeting his gaze, "Sure, we can talk. I have something back in my hut that I'd like to give you."
Without waiting for him to respond, she started walking, "Oh. Okay." He stammered as he followed after her, aware of the eyes that followed them as they walked away.
As they walked, Bucky wasn't sure if he was glad for the silence or not. He only knew that it gave no relief to the tension that was building as he desperately tried to find the courage to say what he'd come to say in the first place. Is that was she was waiting for? Does she want me to just start talking? Is she angry with me? He didn't know, and that was the worst of all.
Then as they began down the hill toward her dwelling, her pace slowed from a brusque walk to a more leisurely stroll, and she adjusted to match his pace so that they walked side by side.
"How have you been?" She asked, breaking the silence.
"Good. I've been good." He managed.
"I'm glad." Maggie paused, and Bucky braced for what he knew what's coming next. "I take it you've reached a decision," she said plainly, nothing more, nothing less.
This wasn't unexpected, or in Bucky's view, unwelcome. This was a good lead into what he needed to say, but now that he was here, he didn't know how to say what he needed to say. "Yeah." Bucky started, but as soon as he did, his mind panicked, and everything he'd wanted to say flew out the window, leaving him grasping for straws, trying to pull words out of thin air.
She stopped and looked up at him, making eye contact with him for the first time. there wasn't anger or frustration or hurt in her expression, though he would've almost preferred that to the calm, almost placid look of understanding on her face. "It's okay, Bucky. Take your time." Maggie said, her voice gentle, almost timid as if she was afraid if she spoke too loudly, he might spook.
This isn't about you, you moron. This is about her. This is about making sure that she's okay about giving her a choice in what she wants from you.
Bucky took a deep breath before charging on. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I should-" He cut himself off. Then, collecting his thoughts and his courage, he took another deep breath and continued. "I have made a decision, and I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I wanted to come talk to you sooner. I just didn't think it would be appropriate, considering what happened." He winced. This wasn't going well, but what was worse was the way she was just standing there, watching him with those big, dark, understanding eyes. "I've been seeing a therapist." He blurted out. Then, when she didn't say anything, he continued. "About three times a week, for about a month now."
Maggie nodded thoughtfully, "About two weeks after your dream?" She inquired, more as conformation than curiosity as they started walking down the path again, slower than before. Still, the forward momentum felt like a reasonably good sign that things weren't going horribly.
"Yeah." He breathed. The words were coming easier now, although he still wasn't sure what her reaction meant. "The Princess practically made it compulsory after my last brain scan. She was appalled at my brain chemistry. All but threatened to tell Steve and her brother."
"Read you the riot act, huh?" There was amusement in her voice now, which was encouraging, but still, his stomach twinged. He wasn't done yet. There was still so much more that needed to be said.
"She was right. You were right." Bucky said. His thoughts felt all choppy, coming in bits and pieces. At this point, he was just glad they were coming at all. "I've been talking through some stuff. It's been helpful." He added.
"I'm glad."
"That's part of the reason why I waited to talk to you. I wanted to try to get my head on right. Trying to find ways to trust myself. Find ways to forgive myself." The last sentence came out small and not at all confident, but at the root of it was the truth. If he couldn't trust himself or find ways to forgive himself, then how could he ask others to trust or forgive him. It was a process, incomplete and shoddy at the moment, but it felt important, vital, to say to someone who he felt he'd done wrong in so many ways. "I've been trying to make friends." So that you don't feel obligated to be my friend or think that I'm alone, he didn't say it, but that's what it meant. That's what he hoped she understood.
"That's good. Me too," she said lightly.
He felt relief wash over him, which was unexpected yet pleasant. So she hadn't been alone worrying about him all this time. Good. That was good. "The weaving circle?" He hazarded.
"Yeah," She nodded. "Oh, Bucky, I'm dreadful at it." She giggled, shaking her head. "But they've been tremendously kind, and I have to say it's been nice to have a group of friends again. How about you?"
"Bao." He said, watching her brow wrinkle. "A type of Mancala game," He clarified quickly. "A board game. Some of the men in the village get together and play it in the evening. They roped me in shortly after all this started. They're very competitive."
"Oh. You any good?"
"After a fashion."
"Oh?"
"Once they've all had a few."
Maggie burst out laughing. It was a full-chested laugh. Bucky wouldn't call it beautiful, or pleasant, or melodic, but it was undeniably happy, and he couldn't help but crack a small smile as he waited for the laughter to subside. "Yeah, that would do it." She agreed, wiping at her eyes.
"But it's fun. Or when we don't play Bao, they give me lessons in Wakandan epics."
"Really?"
"Well yeah. Most of Wakandan history is oral. They have written records, but the true mark of a learned Wakandan is being able to recite all the old stories from memory. So they have contests to see who can remember the most stories. It goes on for hours and often devolves into some aggressive heckling if someone gets something wrong. They're very competitive."
"That seems to be a running theme, but it sounds beautiful and fascinating. I'd love to hear some of it at some point."
"I'll have to ask, but next time Omondi hosts a contest, you should come and listen with me."
"That sounds wonderful. You'll have to translate for me. My Wakandan hasn't improved much."
"Those tongue twisters are no joke." He commented.
Pink tinged her cheeks."You heard that?"
"You were doing admirably."
"I don't believe that for a minute, James Barnes." She shook her head bashfully.
"And why would I lie?"
"Doll?" She raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"Hey, I wasn't going to presume." He raised his hand in mock surrender.
Maggie nodded with a bright little smirk. "Well, here's looking at you, kid, huh?"
"Kid?" Now it was his turn to raise a skeptical brow.
"Well, I guess it doesn't quite work when addressing the resident geezer."
"I'll have you know I'm only the third oldest in the village."
"Oh. Only. And the country?"
"Haven't asked."
"Well, I would warrant you're the best looking for your age." She laughed, "Happy birthday, by the way."
"Thank you."
They padded down the path in companionable silence a moment before she sighed. "Ugh. I've missed this."
"Me too."
"I forgot how hard it is to make friends."
"Jeeze, right?"
"It was so easy as a kid. I don't know how we managed it when we were kids."
"Being trapped together eight hours a day will do that for you."
"I hear the military is good for that, too," Maggie added.
"Yeah," He agreed.
"So, any big plans for the big One-double-O?"
"That's part of the reason I've come. Steve and I wanted you to join us for dinner."
"Oh. Steve's in-country?" Bucky couldn't help but notice how her tone pitched upward ever so slightly.
"Yeah. He mentioned you sent Sam a message."
At this, she stopped dead in her track and turned squarely to face him, an expression of horror and shock, gripping her features as the blood drained from her face. "Bucky—I—I'm sor—I shoul-"
"You did the right thing, Maggie," he interjected before she could stammer on any further. "It should be me thanking you for caring enough to do that for Steve and for me. You don't have any reason to apologize."
"You're not angry?" She asked, still tense as if waiting to waylay an oncoming maelstrom.
"A little late to worry about that, isn't it?" He asked in what he hoped was a playful manner.
A flush rose on her cheeks, her face reddening as if in a rush to replace the previous blood loss."I mean—I—"
"I'm not angry, Maggie," Bucky said firmly. "A month ago, I probably would've been pissed. Chalk it up to time and distance, giving a bit of perspective, but I understand why you did it, and I'm grateful."
He felt stupid admitting that, but the look of relief that washed over her was worth any amount of discomfort on his part. "You didn't do anything wrong." He added, for good measure.
Maggie surveyed him a moment, and Bucky was almost sure she was going to say something. But, instead, she just nodded firmly, and they resumed the steady march down toward her dwelling.
Bucky watched her out of the corner of his vision. This was not how he'd expected this conversation to go, but he wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected, or furthermore, even now where he stood with her. Yet, as they walked, he got the feeling that there would be no further conversation. He'd made his decision, and that was all that needed to be said between them.
"I've missed you, Bucky." She admitted in a small, soft voice, almost out of earshot.
It was a small admission, but it made his heart pound and his mind race. I've missed you too. He wanted to reply. He wanted to grab her hand and hold it as they walked, wanted to tell her about all of the movies he'd watched and books he'd read and for them to launch into their usual banter, but it wasn't the appropriate time or place for it, not yet.
Before he could summon the courage to say anything, they arrived outside of her hut, and she turned to him. "I'll be right back." She stammered hurriedly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Nodding, she rushed into her hut and disappeared. The only hint to her activities was the sound of shuffling, muttering, and a number of low crashing noises before she emerged a moment later with a square of folded fabric in both hands.
"I would've had it with me, but I didn't think I was going to see you today." She beamed proudly, extending the square to him.
"Thank-Thank you." He stammered, their fingers brushing as he took it in hand. "You didn't have to get me anything."
"It's a scarf. I cut it from the remnants of the fabric you bought for me back New Year's Eve when we ran into one another at the market."
"I do remember." He paused, glancing up at her. "You...you made it for me?"
"Mhh, Hmm." She beamed proudly.
"Thank you, Maggie. For everything." It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Yet, it was all he had to give. For now, that would have to be enough until he could make it up to her, somehow.
"Of course."
There was a long pause, and he drew in an even longer breath. "But, Maggie." He continued. "I do want to be your friend, seeing as they're hard to make when you're not in grade school. Provided that's something you want, after everything."
Maggie surveyed him a moment, "I would." She smiled gently. "I've missed our movie nights."
"Me too." He admitted, feeling bashful in his admission. "Steve and I were going to watch 'High Noon' this evening after dinner if you'd care to join us."
"I wouldn't want to intrude, particularly since you don't get to see Steve very often."
"It is my hundredth birthday. I'd like you to be there to celebrate. It's not every day someone breaks into triple digits."
"No. I suppose not." She agreed.
"As long as that's something that you want." He rushed out, the words running together.
Maggie gave him an understanding look and nodded. "It would be my absolute pleasure to spend your birthday with you, James Barnes."
Bucky didn't have a response to that. Instead, he glanced away and down at the scarf. The fabric was a dark brown chocolate color with brown patterns, dotted with ornate, blue designs on the face of the scarf. It was folded neatly, but the hem that he could see was done inexpertly, yet he couldn't help but note the way that his throat seized at the very thought that she'd spent time on him. Time enough to measure, cut out, and then hem something, just for him.
"Do you like it?" Maggie asked, hesitantly breaking the silence between them.
"Yeah." Bucky cleared his throat, "Yeah. Could you tie the knot for me?" He asked, glancing up at her. She was watching him. Her expression was soft.
"I can." Maggie extended her hands to him, and he set the scarf in them.
Bucky watched as she unfurled the fabric square and marveled at how much allegedly extra fabric she'd used for the scarf. She gathered two of the corners and knotted them expertly. He could've fumbled his way through trying to knot the thing or have asked Steve to do it for him, but he'd wanted to see what she would do and wanted to both be able to wear it right now and show her his appreciation for her gift.
"Ta-da!" She announced, holding the scarf up by the knot in a triumphant pose.
"Just a minute." He said, pulling the scarf he was wearing over his head. He tucked it into his satchel before donning the new one.
"Looks good."
"Thanks."
There was a long pause as they stood, facing each other, neither apparently sure of what they wanted to say.
"I won't keep you. I know you probably want to get back to your weaving circle."
"Yeah, I need to get a few more inches on my patterns before Teela lets me quit for the day." She admitted playfully.
"I look forward to seeing what you manage to create."
"Yeah? Me too." Maggie chuckled lightly. She paused, "Thank you for dropping by. It was nice to see you."
"I'll see you tonight, right? I know Steve would like to see you too." He would've cringed at the near hopeless desperation in his voice but didn't if only not to embarrass himself further.
"I'll come by for dinner. I'm afraid I have some work things to attend to later tonight and won't be able to stay for the movie. Is there anything you'd like me to bring?"
Well, it was better than nothing, and although he couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was only coming to be nice, it would be nice to have both Steve and Maggie there to celebrate his turning one-hundred. "We have everything covered, but if I think of something between now and then, I'll let you know."
"What time?"
"Six." He said firmly.
"Excellent. I'll be there." Maggie smiled. "Well, I guess I better head back. What should I tell the others when they ask?"
Bucky hesitated, frowning. "I...I uhh, I don't know...know what you mean by that..." He admitted.
"They're going to ask what we were talking about? Should I say birthday stuff?"
"Whatever you think is best."
"Okay." She nodded with a widening grin. "I'll do my best to add positive grist to the rumor mill."
"Rumor mill?" He echoed.
"Oh, of course!" Maggie laughed, shaking her head. "It's a universally acknowledged truth. Particularly when it comes to the Maggie-Bucky betting pool."
"Ah. That. Right? How could I have forgotten." He chuckled dryly.
"Yeah. That."
"See you later, then?"
"Yeah. I'll see you later." She nodded. "Let me know when you've made it safely back to your place and send Steve my best."
"Of course."
"Bye!" She waved before turning and marching back up the hillside to where she'd left her work.
Bucky waited until she'd disappeared before turning back down the path toward home, where Steve was waiting for him. He was still feeling perplexed as he walked home, but now there was far less turmoil. He and Maggie were going to be friends, she was going to come over and celebrate his birthday, and things, it seemed, were going to be okay. That was all he could ask for today or any day, for that matter.
One foot in front of the other, bit by bit, things were going to be okay.
She'll come to dinner but not the movie. Bucky had announced when he'd returned from where Ramirez was staying.
Bucky hadn't seemed particularly upset by this announcement, but he also hadn't let on how their meeting had gone otherwise. Ultimately, Steve knew it was none of his business, and if Bucky was choosing to play this close to his chest, that was his right. But Steve was a nosy gossip. He'd learned from the best and had undoubtedly given Becca a good primer back in the day. While he would never admit it, he was dying to know what Bucky had said to Ramirez, what Ramirez had said in return, and why exactly Bucky had returned with a different scarf than the one he'd left with. Bucky hadn't offered any answers, and so Steve hadn't pushed.
Then Bucky had been called away on an errand for Omondi. Giving him brief instructions on what to do for dinner, Bucky had then departed, leaving Steve alone.
Steve was glad bucky was keeping busy and evidently doing well, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that Bucky was still withholding information. He was worried.
So he set to chopping vegetables and preparing dinner for Bucky's hundredth birthday party celebration. He paused in his activities only at the sound of footfalls and looked up to see Ramirez standing at the edge of camp.
"Hey, Steve." She smiled, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. Her hair was down in a long braid that hung around her waist. She wore a halter top jumpsuit in the same fabric as Bucky's new scarf, Steve couldn't help but notice, and sturdy leather sandals on her feet. She looked perfectly at ease, as compared to the last time they'd seen each other. Had she made the jumpsuit and then the scarf? The scarf and then the jumpsuit? Was it a mere coincidence? Steve didn't know.
"Hey, Ramirez." He said as he rose to his feet.
"I'm not early, am I?" She asked almost nervously as she glanced around, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand, a set of delicate bracelets around her wrist.
"No. Not at all." Steve shook his head, "Bucky had an errand to run."
"Oh, okay." She paused, "It's good to see you, Steve."
"You too."
"Oh, come here." Ramirez smiled. Crossing the yard, she went up on her toes and gave him a quick hug which Steve had to lean into to accommodate.
He'd forgotten how small she was. How physically fragile she was in comparison to him, Bucky, Natasha, or even Sam. Yet, Steve was always struck by her tremendous strength of will and spirit and how big in their minds she'd managed to become despite her physical size.
"I'm glad you're here." She said as they drew apart.
"Yeah, me too. Thank you for your message."
"I apologize if it caused you any un-due alarm, but I was concerned."
"Yeah. No. I get that." He paused. Ramirez's expression was so earnest and sincere. He had so many questions, and he wasn't sure where to start. But if something terrible had happened, she would've told them, right? She wouldn't keep that from him? She'd been very clear that she and him were both fine, that they were both in good health. This feeling that Bucky was holding something back was all in his head, wasn't it? "But you two, you're, you're all right? Right?" Steve asked breathlessly.
"I think so." She surveyed him before continuing. "Bucky didn't tell you what happened, did he?"
"No." Steve shook his head. "I mean, sort of. He told me that his mental health was in a spiral and that he pushed you away."
Ramirez nodded and waited a beat before meeting his gaze again. "He had a dream, and I'd be willing to bet my non-existent life savings, that there were multiple dreams, where he was triggered by Hydra and forced to kill people. Me, in particular. He didn't give specifics, but it was bad enough to freak him out."
"Yeah." Steve nodded. He knew the nightmares he had. He could only imagine the types that haunted Bucky in his sleep. "Thank you for telling me."
"I just wanted you to know that no one was physically harmed. He didn't try to hurt himself, or me, or anyone else for that matter. He just really needed a sympathetic ear. Hence my message. And now you're here, and we're having a birthday party!" She said lightly.
But I should've been here all along, with him, helping him with this. I should've been with him while he was trying to figure all of this out. But he'd been needed elsewhere. Sam needed him too. Sam was on the run because of him and because of Bucky. Sam needed Steve to be present and focused. Nat and Wanda were doing their own thing, but Sam had been the firm and steady hand that Steve had relied upon when they'd been tracking down Bucky, and now on the run, Sam deserved all of Steve's support and comfort. Not just as his partner but as his teammate. He just couldn't justify sitting comfortably warming himself in the Wakandan sun while his team while his boyfriend mopped up the mess he'd made.
"Don't beat yourself up, Steve." She said, squeezing his arm tenderly. "Bucky is well looked after. And now that he's going to therapy, he's learning how to manage his stressors and triggers. It's a process, but he's made a good step forward."
"You sound so sure."
She smiled demurely. "I was a therapist before I became a Private Superhero Investigator, turned vigilante gun runner. Recognizing you need therapy and actually going to therapy are two very different things. The fact that he's made a decision means he's building the networks of support that he needs to aid his recovery along."
"Good. That's good." Steve said. "Thank you, Ramirez."
"For?"
"Caring. Or caring enough to reach out."
"Of course." She nodded, smiled warmly. "Now, we have a birthday dinner to prepare." Ramirez walked to the table where he'd been sitting and sunk down opposite, opening her satchel began removing ingredients. "So, how's Sam? I hope you're not having him do anything too stupid while you're away?"
"Oh no, Sam gets into plenty of stupid without me around to help that along." Steve chuckled.
"Trust me, I know, but you certainly have helped broaden the depth and variety of stupid he's able to get up to."
"Okay. Fair. But he's good. He and Nat and Wanda are lying low. They're supposed to call me if they get into any sort of trouble."
"So what's the going rate? 24-48 hours?"
"For what?"
"Before you call to check in on them."
"I trust them." Steve protested.
"But do you trust them to call you if it means interrupting your best friend and long-time squeeze's hundredth birthday party?" She raised a playful eyebrow.
Steve froze. The thought had occurred to him, but now that Ramirez had vocalized it, his mind started to spin with the possibilities.
"Steve. I'm kidding." She laughed.
"Oh. Right. Yes, of course." He stammered as he joined her at the table and resumed preparing vegetables for dinner. Steve stopped a moment watching as she added and mixed the various ingredients she'd brought. "Cake?" He ventured.
"Actually, no. Sopapillas." She answered. "Bucky and I normally have those when we do movie nights. However, I'm doing something slightly different with them on account of it being his birthday."
"What's that?"
"Rather than just honey, I'm going to top them with sliced mangos, chocolate, and homemade whip cream."
"Sounds delicious."
"Should be." She nodded. "So. All kidding aside, how long do you plan to stay in country?"
"24 to 48 hours. I don't want to be away too long."
"I understand. I appreciate you both letting me encroach upon your time together. I know leave time is all too precious."
"Of course," Steve replied. He paused, glancing around. "Do you think? I mean. I don't know if you could answer this, but," Steve could feel his breath hitch in his chest. "Do you think he's happy here?"
Ramirez didn't answer immediately. Her eyes maintained their focus, even as Steve could see the wheels behind them working while she formulated her response. "I think he's trying to be. Though I think the change of pace is a little jarring. I know it was for me, and I haven't been through a fraction of what you or him have been through. Why? You thinking about picking out real estate and settling down in the Wakandan countryside?"
"No. No. I couldn't leave Sam to clean up my messes."
"I was saying bring Sam with you, but your point stands." She smiled.
"Yeah," Steve said. A sharp knot stabbed at his chest, and he looked back down at the cutting board.
Every day. He'd thought about that question, thought about retiring nearly every day since he'd gotten out of the ice. He wanted to, but what would he do? He couldn't imagine himself settling down and living the slow life. Life wouldn't let him. There would always be another fight, another battle that would call him away. But he would fight every day if it meant that Bucky could live here quietly, with his goats in his hut away from the fray. Even though it meant they were apart and that they had to steal moments together. It was worth it to Steve to continue to fight if it meant Bucky didn't have to. How long that would be tenable, he didn't know, but he'd do it as long as he needed to.
He needed to make sure that Bucky was going to be safe in the long run, that the world was going to be safe without him. He needed to find a way to make right with Tony so that he, Sam, Nat, Wanda, and everyone else would have a chance for civilian life. He'd want Sam to come with him, of course, but even then, he wasn't even sure how that would work at the moment. Or what Bucky and Sam would think about that sort of proposition.
"But to answer your question, Sam's good. " Steve said, clearing his throat.
"I'm glad to hear it. He's a good man. You're lucky to have him."
"I know."
"Good." She said without skipping a beat.
There was no further admonishment, no lecture, no 'you hurt him, I hurt you' lecture. Yet, Steve knew that all those things had been contained in that single syllable. Strength of will, not of size. Sound familiar, doesn't it?"
"You mind if I turn on music?" She inquired.
"Not at all. What did you have in mind?"
"I was going to ask for your preference." Ramirez paused, her mouth twisting into a mischievous smile. "Although, I have to say, Steven Grant Rogers, you've been holding out on me. You ran into Glenn Miller while on tour with the OSC and failed to mention that to me the entire time we were living on avengers property together? I am hurt and offended!"
Steve could feel a flush rising on his cheeks. "Whatever Bucky told you, it wasn't that big of a deal." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Not a big deal. Right, like plowing Glenn Miller down in a hallway in Georgia and not recognizing him isn't a big deal." Bucky's voice cut in sarcastically, and Steve looked up to see Bucky walking toward them. "Next, you're going to tell her that working with Hedy Lamarr, Lana Turner, and Judy Garland on a Bond Sales Campaign together wasn't a big deal."
"It's been over seventy years, Buck. Are you ever going to let me live that down?" Steve glanced up at Bucky, who stooped down and pecked him on the check.
"On my hundredth birthday? No. I don't think so." Bucky chuckled. Shaking his head, he stood back upright. "Glad you made it, Maggie." He cracked a smile. "Do excuse him. I trust he's been on his best behavior."
"Only his best," Ramirez said brightly. "And as the birthday boy...man...elder...has arrived, he gets to pick the music."
"Well, Steve knows I'm more than a little partial to Miller, but as you are both my guests, I'm going to let you fight it out," Bucky answered.
Ramirez glanced over at him with a broad grin. "So. How 'bout it, Rogers?"
Steve exhaled a strangled sigh and chuckled. "Miller."
"Sounds good." She nodded seriously. Queuing up the music, she chuckled to herself as the first notes of "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree (With anyone else but me)" started playing softly from a speaker somewhere out of Steve's direct line of sight.
"Everyone happy?" Bucky asked.
"I can't believe you told her about that." Steve shook his head.
"Oh, come on, Rogers. Cut the guy a little slack. I did get unrestricted access to all of the stories from you and Becca when I was living with you."
"Oh yeah. Fanny McGregor?" Steve questioned, watching as Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a fond smile.
"Yeah. But my favorite is Becca's retelling of how she and Bucky did a dramatization of Little Red Riding Hood."
"Because the woodsman was hacking up a lung?" Bucky provided as he stoked the coals and added more fuel to the fire.
"I distinctly recall that you got in trouble for ripping your mother's nightgown." Steve interject before adding in the best falsetto he could conjure, "All the better to see you with my dear."
"Which was immediately preceded by Becca hitting me, not so gently over the head with a brick, yes." Bucky winced, rubbing the back of his head, for, Steve was sure, the purposes of dramatic retelling.
Ramirez laughed.
"So. What can I help with, you two?" Bucky asked, towering over them.
"Absolutely nothing, James Barnes." Ramirez cut in before Steve could answer. "It is your hundredth birthday. You will make yourself a drink and relax."
Bucky turned opened mouthed to Steve, who shrugged, "You heard the woman."
"It seems I'm outvoted. Can I get either of you anything to drink while you work?"
"If you could put on a pot of coffee. I wouldn't mind a mug. Steve?"
"Coffee sounds perfect." He agreed.
Bucky set to work on the coffee while the music played, and they all talked and told stories and laughed as they made and then consumed dinner.
Ramirez's sopapillas followed, and they were sugary and perfect, and they brewed two more pots of coffee, chatting late into the evening.
"So. Movie?" Bucky suggested as there was a decided lull in the conversation. "Before it gets too much later?"
"I'm afraid I can't stay. I told Jelani I'd be by to check on one of the horses." Ramirez shook her head, quickly draining the rest of her mug.
"Oh. okay." Bucky said, and Steve couldn't help but note the palpable disappointment in Bucky's tone as if he'd rather hoped he'd changed her mind throughout the evening.
"Sorry. Sick horse. We're all taking rotations. Jelani has a couple of other things he's dealing with," Ramirez said apologetically as she rose from where she'd been situated. "Otherwise, I would."
"Nothing serious, I hope," Steve said, glancing between them, trying to get a read for what was going on.
"No. Thankfully, he just needs to be checked on and possibly given another round of medication."
"Before you go," Bucky began hesitantly as he also stood up.
"Oh yeah. I was going to help with clean up before I went." She commented before starting to the washbasin.
"No. We have that handled." Bucky shook his head.
"Oh?" Ramirez's stopped and turned to him, brows knit in confusion.
"Could you sing, Las Mananitas? For my birthday?"
His voice was so small that Steve was almost convinced that Ramirez hadn't heard him because, for a long moment, she didn't make a sound as they stood, facing each other in silence. "It's been a while, Bucky."
"I know." He nodded, his voice no more than a low murmur. "Please?"
At this, Steve looked down, unwilling to intrude upon what was clearly an intimate moment that he had no part in.
Then, without fanfare, introduction, or prelude, Ramirez started to sing. Steve remembered her singing during the Day of the Dead celebration she'd invited him to. It had been a sad song that she'd sung then. While still slow and haunting when sung a capella, this one was about life, about celebration, about starting a new day with all of its promises and blessings. Steve glanced up only once as Ramirez sang to catch a glimpse at Bucky's face. There was nothing immediately telling about the other man's expression, but there was something tender and soft in his features as if some weight that had been lifted since this morning when Steve had first arrived.
The song ended, and Ramirez cleared her throat, chuckling as she tucked that same errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Maggie," Bucky said. "Have a good night. Let me know when you make it back safely, okay?"
"Of course." She answered, closing the gap between them, went up on tiptoes to give bucky a hug, which he returned and held. "Happy Birthday. Here's looking at you, old fart." She chuckled softly.
"Thanks, doll." Bucky returned in an exchange Steve was almost sure he wasn't supposed to be witness to.
When they broke apart, Ramirez turned to him. "Steve, thank you so much for letting me intrude on your time. Let me know if you need anything while you're here, and if I don't see you before you leave, be safe, and give Sam my best." She said as she met him in a quick hug.
"Of course. Good night Ramirez."
"Good night Steve." She replied, collecting her things.
"Night, Maggie."
"Good Night, Bucky. Don't give each other too much of a hard time while I'm gone, all right?"
"No promises with this one," Bucky said, motioning to Steve with the top of his head.
"Behave you two. Night!" She laughed, waving as she started down the dark path back toward her village.
They stayed silent a moment as they watched her go, Bucky's eye's following her down the path until it bent, observing her from sight. "She going to be okay, walking back by herself?" Steve asked.
"Oh, yeah, she'll be fine." He said breathlessly as he turned to Steve. "Thank you. For making me go talk to her."
"Of course. I'm glad she agreed to come to have dinner with us tonight." Steve nodded.
"Me too."
"So. movie?" Steve asked.
"Actually. Steve." Bucky began hesitantly. "Dance with me?"
"I'd love to, Buck." Steve breathed.
"Good. Okay." He nodded.
"Anything in mind?"
"Only one of my favorites." He answered, a wry smile twisting at the corner of his mouth.
Moonlight Serenade started over the speakers, and wordlessly, Steve took Bucky in his arms, and they danced. They danced like they had in their shitty apartment back in Brooklyn, danced like they had in stolen moments during the war. They danced in the flickering light of dying coals with no certainty of what tomorrow would bring, and only the knowledge that they loved each other, deeply, unconditionally, and without regard for the rest of the world. As he held Bucky tight, knowing that he could be called away, back to whatever fight that needed to be fought, he was comforted in the knowledge that, at the very least, they had now. They had tonight. That while everything might not be okay, it seemed like it was going to be. And although he might not be able to be here for him one hundred percent of the time, there were people here that cared deeply for Bucky. People, it seemed, Bucky likewise cared deeply for too, whether or not either of them knew it, yet.
A/N: First of all, thank you, everyone, for your patience. It's been super busy for me, but I hope this super long chapter makes up for it (at least a little bit!). I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope to hear what you think!
