Winter Soldier's Endgame (Stucky Version)

by WintersSunrise

POST Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Bucky finds himself in serious legal trouble. With his future looking grim, he decides to cross off one more of his amends and travel through time to try to save Tony Stark. This is a stand-alone (loose) sequel to a previous story of mine.

14. Family

Chapter 14: Family

---

Bucky stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel from the warming rack embedded in the wall. The bathing room was small but luxurious, with a high-pressure shower nozzle and steam jets in the walls. Even the temperature of the hard, stone-like floor could be adjusted.

He wrapped the towel around himself and stepped into a separate changing room area. Fresh clothes hung on a small rack in a small doorless closet. A pair of black lounge shoes sat underneath the clothes.

When he'd first arrived in Wakanda, the technology had almost overwhelmed him, but after he'd been freed from the code words, Shuri had delighted in showing him the ropes. He suspected she got a kick out of amazing some old guy from the 40s with the developments of her homeland. At the time, so much of it had seemed like magic to him.

Wakanda was also a land of contradictions. It wasn't lost on him that, in the world's most technologically-advanced nation, he'd lived for months in a hut on a sloping hill with a couple of goats and other livestock for companionship.

He slipped the clothes off the hanger. There were a pair of pants, some cotton boxers, and a blue shirt. He knew they'd fit, as would the shoes. Shuri knew his size, probably better than he did at this point, after all the ways she'd scanned and probed various parts of his body.

The shirt was dark blue, textured between silk and cotton, soft and breathable. The pants were similar to denim, but charcoal in color and softer. He slipped into the boxers and pants first, then the shirt. The arms on the shirt came exactly to his wrists. The shoulders were a perfect fit—roomy enough to be comfortable without extra material. His vibranium arm felt unrestricted in the sleeve.

He slipped his feet into the shoes and padded into the room. He heard Sam talking softly and made out the name "Clint" but made a point not to eavesdrop. It sounded as though Sam were on the phone with Barton. Sam gave a muttered, "talk later," and hung up the phone, slipping it into his pocket. Steve sat on one of the two beds in the room. They both eyed him as he entered, and he managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He met Steve's gaze only briefly, then he distracted himself with the assortment of food spread out on a wheeled buffet table against the wall.

He felt a bit embarrassed about crying like a toddler on Steve's shoulder. He knew he shouldn't. He and Steve had seen each other through good and bad times. Hell, Steve had drunk-cried all over Bucky's chest after his own mother had died. He was self-aware enough to realize that what Shuri had told him in the other timeline was true—his brain had undergone decades of conditioning. The Winter Soldier had had emotions burned, beaten, and programmed out of him—or, at least, to the best of Hydra's ability.

But he remembered enough to know that the emotions had still been there…that sometimes, they'd surface, and sometimes Hydra would find out and either force him back into cryo, if they were finished with him, or ramp up his sessions in the chair until he couldn't feel or remember anything for quite some time.

"You hungry?" Sam asked.

Bucky nodded. He was starving. He walked over to the spread of food. There was an assortment of local fruits and vegetables. There were also slices of seafood on a frosted, vibranium plate that Bucky knew kept the fish at the proper temperature, and a pot of hot root-vegetable stew sat next to it that immediately set Bucky's stomach grumbling.

A stack of plates, bowls, and utensils rested on the end of the buffet. He grabbed a bowl and filled it with the stew, then piled the fish and vegetables on his plate and took his meal to an armchair a few feet away, opposite the set of double beds on the far wall, and sat down. A side table was next to the armchair, and he set the plate on it, then held the warm bowl in his lap and sipped the stew's broth from the rim.

"I don't know what that is," Sam said, gesturing to Bucky's bowl, "but I had some while you were in the shower, and it's amazing."

"They usually make it from whatever's growing locally, in season," Bucky said. His eyes darted to Steve, who was sitting silently on the edge of one of the double beds, an empty plate next to him.

"Are you feeling better?" Steve asked him.

Bucky nodded. He did. He felt spent all around—physically and emotionally—but he was rested, clean, and on his way to a full stomach.

Sam walked up to the small chest of drawers against the wall, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a large yellow legal-style envelope.

"Here you go." Sam strode toward Bucky and held out the envelope.

"What is this?" Bucky took the offering.

The envelope was heavier than he expected. He set the bowl on the side table and opened the flap on the envelope, then dumped the contents onto his lap.

His cell phone and dog tags fell out.

He stared at the silver plates and thin chain of the necklace. His fingers closed on the cool metal and he read the familiar inscription—his name and serial number followed by R. Barnes and her address in Shelbyville, Indiana. He ran his thumb over the imprint of his sister's name. He'd put her down as his person to contact because he knew she'd do a better job of breaking the bad news to his parents than would a stranger reading a telegram.

He'd thought these had been lost…again. He blinked through the sudden heat in his eyes.

Damnit. He was a fucking bowl of gelatin these days. He cleared his throat, looked up at Sam, and managed a shaky "Thank you."

He slipped the chain over his neck and set the cell phone and envelope on the end table. The recognizable weight of the tags settled against his breastbone. From the periphery of his vision, he saw Sam sink down on the edge of the other bed. Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at his friends. They were watching him silently.

"Thank you both," Bucky began, "for getting me out, for…everything. Thank you."

Steve smiled softly at him. "You're welcome." He paused a moment, then tilted his head encouragingly. "I delivered the letter. I meant to tell you that earlier."

Bucky swallowed, remembering his dream. "I was thinking about that…when I was dreaming. Did you leave it on their door?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. How did you know?"

Bucky shrugged and managed a smile. "I guess my subconscious knows you well."

"I'm not sure I understand," Steve answered.

Bucky shook his head. "Just something in a dream."

"About your family?"

Bucky nodded, taking a deep breath. "I was home. Christmas, just before my 18th birthday. I was taking a batch of my mother's walnut chocolate chip cookies over to you and your mom."

Steve nodded with a smile. "I remember that Christmas. You kept trying to get one of your father's beers and your mother was always way ahead of you."

Bucky laughed. "Yeah. That was in the dream, too."

"That Christmas, you gave me a notepad and a set of colored pencils," Steve said, looking over at Sam. "They were expensive at the time, newer to the market. I remember it being one of the best gifts I'd ever received."

Bucky smiled. "I'd bartered with the shop owner's son. I paid half price, and I fixed him up with the friend of a girl I knew."

"Your mom sent you over with the recipe for her banana bread," Steve recalled.

"Yep. I miss that banana bread, even though we only ever got it because mom was too frugal to throw away overripe bananas." Bananas back then tasted different than what were in the stores today, and he missed the richer taste of the ones from his youth. "Her recipe was just a guideline. It never came out the same way twice because it always depended on what ingredients we had in the house."

Steve shifted on the bed, pulling his legs up and leaning forward. "Yeah, I remember one year she put canned pineapple in it."

Bucky laughed. "I'd almost forgotten about that. That was the worst batch she ever made. I didn't have the heart to tell her, but Becca did. She took one bite and spit it out." Bucky looked at Steve and shook his head. "We had you over for dinner and you ate every single bite, then asked for seconds."

Steve chuckled. "I didn't want to hurt her feelings."

"I thought you deserved a medal for that."

"So as the only person in this room who wasn't alive in the 40s-"

"Thirties," Bucky corrected. "I grew up in the 20s and 30s. Went to war in the 40s."

"Okay the thirties," Sam replied. "So, I know you had siblings."

"Sisters," Bucky confirmed.

"That must have been fun," Sam lamented.

"It had its moments. Sharing one bathroom wasn't fun. My father and I had to learn how to hold it really well, or go outside…even in the snow, and not get run in for indecent exposure."

Bucky grabbed the plate and picked up a slice of thick fish with his fingers, popping it into his mouth. It was white-fleshed with a meaty texture, and he was pretty sure it was swordfish. His stomach grumbled, and he shoveled a few more bites into his mouth.

He wondered how his parents had reacted to the letter. "I visited their graves," Bucky said, and the words rang softly in the silence of the room.

"When was that?" Steve prodded.

"After the helicarriers," Bucky answered. "After I visited the museum. I paged through a book about Captain America in the gift shop…read a brief biography of myself. Found out my parents' names. It was all jumbled, but familiar. I visited their tombstones shortly before I fled the country."

Bucky looked at his friends and then eyed the spread on the buffet table. As far as wakes went, this one was low-key but…just what he needed.

"I wish I'd been able to help you through that," Steve offered.

Bucky set his empty plate on the table and grabbed the bowl of lukewarm stew, taking another sip of the broth. He stared into the murky liquid and swirled it gently against the sides of the bowl. "I was a wounded animal," he admitted softly. "I needed to lick my wounds alone." His flesh fingers rubbed at the cool metal of the dog tags hanging against his chest.

Remnants of the dream came back to him…Becca's last few words played in the corners of his mind. "I think I need to see her."

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Becca?" Steve prodded.

Bucky nodded. "I saw her once, after the pardon. She was napping in her chair. I didn't have the nerve to go in. I didn't know what to say or even whether she'd know me…I think I kind of hoped she wouldn't." His gaze slid between Steve and Sam. "I know she's not in the best of health. Her memories come and go. I figured it was best to leave her be. But…"

His voice trailed off. He couldn't shake the feeling that the dream was a portent, even though he didn't really believe in such things. It was irrefutable, however, that if he didn't talk to Becca soon, he'd lose the chance forever.

"Okay, let's go see her," Sam said. "All we need is a plane. We can be there and back in a day. How old is she now?"

"She got caught in the Blip," Bucky answered, "so minus those years, she's almost ninety-five."

"We can get a plane," Steve said.

"Can I go back to the U.S.?" Bucky asked. He wasn't sure what his legal status was. He got the sense earlier that he was free. Steve had indicated the charges had been dropped, but he wasn't sure if there were any conditions attached, especially considering that they'd transported him out of the U.S. in chains.

"Absolutely," Steve answered. "All charges were dropped, the Louisiana Governor pardoned you for the jailbreak. There's nothing keeping you from returning."

He was surprised how much relief that news brought him. He could have dealt with having to spend his life outside of his homeland, but it would've hurt never to be able to see Brooklyn again, or realize he'd missed his chance to say goodbye to the one immediate family member he had left in the world.

"Where does she live?" Sam asked.

"A nursing home in Indiana," Bucky replied.

Steve tilted his head inquisitively. "Do you intend to come back here afterward?"

Bucky nodded. "For a couple of months, maybe. Now that I have the chance, and Shuri's offering, I think I'll take it. She figured out how to get the code words out of my head. If anyone can help me figure out this jumbled mess of bad memories and Hydra conditioning," he waved fingers at his head, "it's her."

Sam slipped off the edge of the bed and plopped his butt on the floor, leaning his back against the mattress. "So, you did it? Saved Tony. Saved the Universe. You wanna tell me about it?" He glanced over at Steve, as though he could barely believe the man was from another timeline.

Bucky drained the last of the stew broth. All that was left were bits of vegetables, roots, and leaves used for spice. "There's actually not much to tell." He set the bowl on the table next to his chair. "When I arrived, I made my way to New York. I went over the notes and footage, formulated a plan, got to the complex ground in advance and found a good spot to stay out of the fray until the right moment. It was right after Steve," he cocked his head toward the man in question sitting on the edge of the bed, "and Thor attacked Thanos, shortly before Tony got the glove."

"And you died?" Sam asked. "I saw the video," he shook his head, "but what happened after? Steve's told me a little bit…like that you got blackout drunk on high-end Vodka Tony managed to round up as a thank you for saving his parents."

Bucky looked quizzically at Sam, then at Steve. "What video?"

Steve cleared his throat and shifted on the bed. "From the Stark suits. Tony loaded various recordings onto a portable drive. I used the footage to show people what kind of man you really are."

"Oh." Bucky stared at Steve.

He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know what footage Steve had shared. Maybe later, he'd ask, but he trusted Steve, even after the debacle with Shuri and the memory scan. Steve had gotten him this far—out of a cell and back in Wakanda. Quibbling over the how would come across as ungrateful.

And he was grateful. He was grateful to be out of that cell and to be in Wakanda, where he didn't have to pretend to be a normal person while covering up a vibranium arm and avoiding questions about his age, family, and other casual inquiries people ask to make conversation.

He certainly didn't dare ask what kind of man Steve thought he really was. He knew Steve would say something nice, but the truth is, with all the conditioning Shuri had made him realize still affected him, he wasn't sure what kind of man he actually was. He knew who he used to be, and he knew who he wanted to be. Maybe, for now, that was enough.

And then there was the whole thing where he'd been shoved unceremoniously out of a very dark closet. Had Sam found out any of that? If so, the man wasn't letting on, and Steve thankfully seemed content to pretend as though he'd never found out Bucky had been in love with him for decades.

"I know that's probably not what you would have wanted me to do," Steve explained, breaking the silence, "but it was what I had to work with, short of staging a prison break and forcing you back to the other timeline. I couldn't do nothing and let you spend the rest of your life locked up."

Bucky smiled, but it was mostly for show. "I know. I'm not mad. It doesn't even matter, anymore."

Steve's brow furrowed and he leaned forward. "What do you mean? Of course, it matters."

"It's not like that." Bucky shrugged. "I just mean that so many people have already seen things about me. Madripoor. Shuri's scan. The stuff Tony salvaged from the bunker. I just…I have to accept that it's out there and there's nothing I can do about it….or at least I have to try to accept it." Acceptance wasn't a big thing in the 40s, but times had changed a lot. Maybe he could change a bit with them. "I can't go around wondering what deep, dark terrible things in my past people have seen or what images play in their heads when they look at me."

There was a knock on the door. Steve got to his feet and walked to it, opening it without asking who was there. Shuri and Ayo stood on the side. Ayo was stiff and formal as usual, a spear in her hand. Shuri smiled instantly, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as her eyes went to Bucky.

"Hello," she walked forward, and Steve moved aside to allow them entrance. "How are you feeling, Bucky?" she asked him.

He stood and gave her an appreciative nod. "Better." He managed a smile. "A little embarrassed, maybe." His eyes went to Ayo. He tried to read her expression, but she was inscrutable, though she met his gaze with an unyielding one of her own.

"You have nothing to feel embarrassed about," Shuri said, dragging his attention back to her. "It is normal to grieve the loss of loved ones. For you, it is a necessary step in your recovery, and that is what I have come to discuss with you."

"Would you like some privacy?" Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head. "It's all right. You can stay." They'd both already seen him at close to rock bottom.

He'd been mercifully alone when he'd actually hit rock bottom. He almost hadn't made it out of that hole.

Shuri nodded and gestured to the arm chair. Bucky sank back into the seat.

"As I mentioned earlier, you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you need. The other version of myself has provided some helpful information, and I believe that we have the resources and knowledge to help you. I will not promise a cure for all that ails you. However, I can help lessen your nightmares, or at least take some of the sting from them. I can also help you recognize and counter the decades of Hydra conditioning that still affect you. You may be free of the code words, and that is an excellent start to your recovery. Recovery, however, takes time."

He nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate that, and yes, I'll stay. How much time do you think?"

"It is hard to say. Perhaps a few months, at least to get you to a place where you can return to whatever part of the world you call home. Brooklyn? I can even reach out to other skilled neuropsychologists that I trust, now that Wakanda has opened itself to the world, and allow you to continue therapy outside of Wakanda. Or I can set up remote sessions. You do not have to stay here forever, White Wolf, though you are welcome to do so."

"I like it here," he smiled at her. "No, in fact, I love this place. But, I can't hide here forever. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet and find a way to live, not just survive.

She smiled brightly at him. "That is the first step in the rest of your recovery."

Steve shifted to lean against the wall. "Bucky would like to visit his sister. She might not have much time left. We are hoping to leave and return shortly.

Sam rose from the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'll reach out to Pepper about a plane."

Ayo tapped her spear on the floor. "That would be absurd. The Stark planes are slower and would require unnecessary trips to pick up and drop off. If you intend on returning, we can easily arrange transport."

Bucky swallowed. "We didn't want to be presumptuous…"

"I will speak with the King. I anticipate we could leave in the morning, if that gives you enough time to prepare."

Bucky looked at Steve, who nodded affirmation.

"Yeah, no problem," Sam said. "Not like I need much time to pack for a one-day trip."

Bucky cocked his head at Sam. "You're welcome to come, but I'm not sure how large the plane is, and I know you have other things…a life…"

"You think I did all this just to miss out on the good stuff?" Sam interrupted. "You have a living sister, and I've got to see her for myself—find out if that smoldering stare is genetic or you just perfected it by practicing in the mirror."

Bucky chuckled at that and was surprised to realize that he actually missed Sam's ribbing.

"There is sufficient room in the aircraft," Ayo assured them.

"Well then," Bucky began, "I guess we're going to Indiana."

-0- -0- -0-

They had some time to kill, and Sam was incessantly pestering him with questions about his time in Wakanda, so Bucky decided to show them the hut he'd stayed in. As they walked to the top of hill, the warm sun on their faces, Bucky was pleased to see that the hut still remained. Shuri had told him that the goats pretty much foraged wild, occasionally venturing into neighboring communities and rummaging for vegetables and fruits. They kept the grass at a manageable level and helped prevent brush fires.

"That's it?" Sam asked, a slight huff to his voice. It had been a bit of a trek.

"Yep," Bucky adjusted the small pack slung across his chest; it held his cell phone, a knife, a couple of bottles of water, and snack bars.

They'd caught the vibranium rail train to the outskirts of the city and walked the rest of the way, which provided a nice outing, but the day was warm. Steve, of course, was as unaffected by the hike as was Bucky.

Two goats came up to them, immediately descending on Bucky's pants pockets. He smiled, reached in to grab the dried carrots he'd stuffed in his pocket, and fed them to the two goats. Suddenly two more goats and a couple of Arado cattle were trotting up the slope toward them.

He was all out, and he showed his hands to the animals, but that didn't stop them from pestering him. The goats were inspecting his pockets while the cattle nudged his chest. He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him as he gently pushed them away. They apparently realized he wouldn't pay off and immediately moved on to Sam and Steve.

"Hey! Hey! Watch it!" Sam back-peddled, nearly tripping over his feet. He looked alarmed. "Ouch! Hey!" He jumped as one of the goats nipped his thigh.

"What the matter, Sam? You don't like it frisky?" Bucky teased.

Sam shot him a glare. "Tell me you didn't just make a sexual innuendo about the livestock, man? You were out here how long alone?"

Bucky laughed at that, and for the first time in a long time, he felt it deep in his gut. He decided to show mercy on Sam and clapped his hands, then gave a sharp "Ondoka!" The animals ventured away to munch on some of the taller grass near the tree line.

"How long did you live here?" Steve asked, moving ahead toward the hut. "It's a beautiful area."

"About ten months." Bucky took a moment to survey the land. "T'Challa offered me this place around the time Shuri removed the code words from my head. It gave me…peace."

The landscape hadn't changed too much since he'd left. The grass was a bit taller, and there were more weeds. The hut looked slightly worse for wear, worn by the sun and rain, and covered in parts by webs and dirt, but Shuri had said some of the children from the village often came out here to play, so it had obviously had some care in the approximately five years it had sat idle during the Blip. He could see a bit of the glistening lake above the tree tops. A gentle breeze caressed his face.

He didn't realize how much he'd missed the tranquility of this place until now. So much had happened after T'Challa had arrived with a new arm and told him about the impending alien attack. His time here seemed so long ago, even though it had only been about a year for him, thanks to the Blip.

Sam was at the hut, peering inside. "Whoa!" He leaned back immediately. "Something straight out of a Halloween display has taken up residence in the ceiling."

Bucky smiled. Africa had its share of large arachnids.

"Where did you go to bathroom? Did you shower?" Sam asked.

"The lake made a nice bathtub," Bucky explained.

"And you took a dump where?"

Bucky smiled and shook his head. "There's a compost basin in the ground a few yards that way." He pointed to toward the tree line to the right. "The most sophisticated compost machine you'll ever see."

Sam's face scrunched. "You pooped in a bucket in the ground?"

"A high-tech bucket," Bucky corrected.

"No wifi?"

Bucky sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I grew up without the Internet or television."

Sam actually rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you had to walk to school in the snow, uphill, both ways."

"Only one way, actually," Steve interjected as he passed Sam to peek curiously inside the hut.

Bucky smiled and took in a deep breath, enjoying the warm air and the soft breeze. After contemplating life in a tiny, windowless cell and spending too many hours over the past few days staring at a wall, being out in the open beneath an endless sky felt wonderful.

"You guys can head back if you like," Bucky told them. "I think I'll camp here tonight, meet up with you back in the city at first light."

"What?" Sam marched up to him. "You want to sleep out here tonight?" He jerked his head to the hut. "You should go look inside that thing, man? Nature isn't kind. There are more spider webs than I've seen in my lifetime. One of them is still in there, and it's about the size of my hand."

"I'll sleep out on the grass, beneath the stars," Bucky said. "It'll be a warm night. The night sky here is incredible. It reminds me a bit of our trek back across Austria. You won't find anything like it in Brooklyn or even Louisiana. Too many lights drown out the stars."

"Look at you, being all stargazy," Sam teased.

"Camping sounds fun," Steve came up to him and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "But we don't have any real food or mats, and we're low on water."

"The lake provides everything we need," Bucky said. "It's fed by rain and the river that snakes beneath the mountains. It's tested regularly for the villages, so the water's usually clean, but one of the bottles in my pack has a purification feature. As for food, we can fish for our dinner."

"We don't have fishing rods," Sam said.

"We don't need no stinkin' rods," Bucky retorted.

Sam gave him an incredulous look. "How do you know about that line? You saw the movie?"

"I read the novel. It was published in 1927, long before it ever became a movie," Bucky said. "And, no, I haven't seen the movie."

"How are we gonna fish without rods? Or bait?"

"Bait's easy." Bucky said. "Watch and learn."

"You can't be talking about noodling. That's for catfish holes. Are you telling me there are catfish here?"

"There's a sharp-toothed catfish that looks like an eel," Bucky informed him, walking past Sam and Steve toward the lake.

It would be a short ten-minute hike downhill. The sun would be setting in a couple of hours, so if they were going to eat tonight, he needed to catch dinner soon.

"Hey, you're not going in the water, are you?" Sam trotted after him. "Aren't there alligators in Africa?"

"Crocodiles," Bucky corrected with a shout over his shoulder.

-0- -0- -0-

"I can't believe I'm watching this," Sam told Steve as they stood on the lakeshore watching Bucky crouched still in the water several feet from shore. The man had stripped down to his boxers, using an insect he'd pierced with a thin stick as bait. "He's going to get eaten."

Steve's eyes scanned the lake surface. It seemed tranquil. "He obviously knows what he's doing. He lived here for some time, and nothing ate him."

A sudden explosion in the lake sent water into the air, and Bucky emerged with a medium-sized silvery fish in his right hand that looked something like tilapia. He gave a cocky grin at Sam and tossed the fish onto the shoreline. It landed a foot in front of Sam, a few feet away from Bucky's discarded clothes and hiking pack, and flapped wildly.

"Well, score one for enhanced reflexes," Sam muttered.

Twenty minutes later, another fish came sailing out of the lake. This one was long and slender, with the mouth of a catfish and a body reminiscent of an eel.

Sam looked down at the two fish that would make up part of their dinner and sighed. "I like fresh fish, but all things considered, I'd much prefer the buffet feast the Wakandan's laid out for brunch."

Another fish came sailing out of the lake and hit Sam square in the chest. His arms came up reflexively, too late to be of any use, and he stumbled backward as the fish dropped to the ground in front of him.

"Not funny, man!" he yelled at Bucky. "Not funny at all."

Steve laughed.

Sam shot him a look. "Oh, so you're teaming up with him, huh? It's gonna be two against one tonight, isn't it?"

Steve held up his hands. "I'm Switzerland."

-0- -0- -0-

They sat around the campfire a few yards in front of the hut. Steve held his makeshift spear with the cleaned fish at the end over the fire like a marshmallow. The scent of the roasting flesh made Steve's stomach grumble. They'd burned through the snack bars a couple of hours earlier, and while they wouldn't starve by any means, Steve was ready for real food.

"Man, you're right," Sam's voice broke the evening silence.

Steve glanced over at the man who now carried the shield in this timeline. Sam's head was tilted up, his eyes on the blanket of stars in the sky. He raised a hand and pointed to a dense streak among them.

"Is that the Milky Way?" Sam asked.

Bucky looked up and nodded, turning his fish over the flame. "It's something else, isn't it?"

"I thought we'd be too close to the city for it to look like this," Steve remarked, admiring the view.

"Nope, and Wakanda doesn't give off a light pollution," Bucky explained. "The forcefield blocks it the same way it has shielded Wakanda from the rest of the world, and we're outside of that."

Steve dropped his gaze to Bucky. His friend was looking up at the sky, turning the spear with his fish lazily over the fire. The glow from the orange flames danced over his features. A tiny smile hovered on his lips, and his shoulders were relaxed. All hint of the wounds around his neck had vanished. He looked at peace, and it was wonderful to see. Wakanda was definitely good for Bucky.

"So, Cap," Sam began, "how long are you planning to stay here?"

Steve saw Buck's gaze drop, briefly catching his before going to the fire. Knowing how Bucky felt about him now made the other Steve's abandonment….well, not exactly worse, but…

It hit differently, opening up a fresh ache inside him that was altogether different than he'd felt before. When he returned home, he'd have Bucky in his life, but he couldn't help but feel he'd be abandoning this Bucky all over again.

He could only hope this Bucky would be in a better place by the time he left, and that Sam would be there for him.

"I don't know." Steve shrugged, his mind going back to the question Sam asked as he turned his fish again. It looked almost done. He decided to stay for a while. He hadn't been there the first time around for Buck's recovery. He hoped to be there for Bucky this time. "I have time on my side. I can stay here a few weeks, a couple of months even, and go back to my timeline moments after I left."

Steve studied Buck's face for a reaction but noticed only the slightest twitch of the edges of his mouth. He'd wanted to ask Bucky about the other Steve's decision to leave, but the right opportunity had never presented itself. Now was about as perfect a moment as he'd ever get.

"Bucky, did you know I was going to leave? The me from your timeline, that is."

Bucky's gaze slid to his and he nodded. "Yes."

"I told you?"

"Before you left, you told me what you were planning and that you figured Sam would be the right man to carry the shield. You asked me what I thought about that, and whether I'd be okay." Bucky looked back at the fire. The flames danced in his eyes. "I think I knew even before you said it that it had been going through your mind."

"What did you say?"

Bucky took a breath and looked back at him, pulling his fish from the fire. "I told you that you deserve to be happy."

"You didn't ask me to stay?"

"No."

"Why not?" Would it have changed things even if you had?

Bucky looked straight at him. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Of course, you wouldn't, Steve thought sadly. He visualized Bucky watching the man he was in love with leave and keeping that secret to put Steve's happiness above his own. The ache in Steve's chest expanded so suddenly that he couldn't breathe, and he thought his heart would stop beating.

He looked back to the flame as he pulled his fish out of the fire. He rested the blunt end of the stick on the ground so the fish could cool in the air and tried to think of a reply, but he was having trouble finding the right words.

He opted to just go with how he felt. "I wish I could punch the other me in the face."

Bucky gave him a faint, sad smile. "Maybe I should have said something. I don't know, but I know losing Peggy has affected you. There's a sadness about you that lingers. I wouldn't want to stand in the way of you being happy. I can get by on my own."

Those were the same words Steve had said after his mother died, except that Bucky saw the pain behind them and refused to let him. "I know you can, but you've been there for me my whole life," Steve said. "The thing is, there are two very important people to me, and they're in different times." He took a breath. "I wonder what the other me did. What kind of life he had."

Sam set his stick across his lap, letting the fish hang in the air. "He had a beautiful life. That's what you—he—told me."

"I'm glad, but it doesn't sound like me. I can't imagine I sat out the rest of history on the sidelines." Steve shook his head, trying to imagine what that version of his life had looked like. He had never been one to stand by and watch things go sideways if he could do something about it. "I really can't believe I would leave Bucky in the hands of Hydra, knowing he was alive, going through…" his stomach churned suddenly as he imagined himself in the past, living a happy, beautiful life, knowing that Bucky was thousands of miles away being tortured and broken.

"I'd rather not talk about this, anymore," Bucky said softly, raising his gaze once again to the sky, "if it's all the same to you."

"Of course." Steve felt like an ass suddenly for putting a damper on what had promised to be a nice evening by the campfire. "I'm sorry."

Bucky shook his head and gave that almost apologetic smile that reminded Steve of the old Bucky. "Don't be. I'd just like to enjoy the evening. There's no point in talking about a decision another version of you made."

Steve nodded.

"So, where are we sleeping tonight, exactly?" Sam said, then raised the stick and took a cautious bite of the freshly cooked fish. His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "Th'sant bad," he muttered around the mouthful.

Steve thought he understood that to mean that Sam approved of the meal. He looked at his own dinner. He'd ended up with the tilapia-like fish. With his finger and thumb, he tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth. It tasted very much like tilapia. The fish was fresh and warm, and although it had no seasoning, it was still pretty good.

"Near the fire. It'll keep animals away," Bucky answered Sam. "There's a large rolled up mat in the hut I'll pound out. Should get it pretty clean. We can lay on that."

"Okay." Sam acknowledged, then tilted his head and looked at Bucky. "So, exactly how much alcohol did it take you to get drunk? And what kind of a drunk are you?"

"Why," Bucky shook his head, "out of the whole story about me time traveling, saving Tony, stopping Thanos, and reversing global warming, is that the thing you keep focusing on?"

Steve smiled, grateful to Sam for changing the subject and interjecting levity into the evening once again. "He makes a sulky drunk. He went to the gym and pounded out his frustrations on a bag. He ended up sending it through a wall. Then he and Clint did some target practice on the compound grounds. Bucky passed out, and we carried him up to my room so he could sleep it off."

Sam chuckled and leaned back as he took another bite of his fish. "I wish I could've seen that."

"You were there," Bucky said.

"A different me." He shook his head. "It's just weird to think about."

Steve nodded. For a guy from the 40s, he'd been doing a lot of very weird things that he'd only ever read in science fiction—like fighting aliens and traveling through time. The world was, indeed, a strange place, and it was getting stranger all the time.

-0- -0- -0-

Bucky woke up to something nibbling his ear. He opened his eyes to see Wilson invading his personal space. The dark brown goat with the white patch on his nose huffed at him, spraying spit in his face.

"Uggh, come on," he closed his eyes, wiped a hand over his face, and sat up.

He heard laughter and opened his eyes to see Sam and Steve sitting by the dead campfire a few feet away, staring at him.

"She likes you," Sam said.

"He."

"Whatever floats your boat. It's 2024, after all."

Bucky shot him a glare and pushed the goat away from him, "Scooch, Wilson."

"Wilson?" Sam cocked his head.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, your namesake."

"Why? Because of his color?" Sam asked.

"No, because he annoys the shit out of me all the time."

Steve chuckled at that and slapped Sam on the arm. "You had to ask."

Bucky stared at them. How long had Sam and Steve been awake? It wasn't like him to sleep so soundly, not being rustled by their movements or even the sound of Wilson's approach. He glanced around. The sun was very low in the horizon. It was just past dawn.

He felt refreshed. He couldn't remember dreaming last night. In fact, he couldn't remember waking up once during the night. He hadn't slept so well in….a very long time.

"So, are we ready to head out of here?" Sam asked. "I'd love to get a real breakfast before we head off to Indiana."

Bucky got to his feet. Becca. Today was the day…if Ayo had managed to get them an aircraft. He'd see Becca in a few hours. He had no idea whether she would recognize him or what state of mind she'd be in, but he was determined to at least talk to her while he had the chance, before time stole her from him forever.

"Yep, let's go," Bucky said.

Chapter 19: Family

When they arrived back in the city two hours later, Ayo was standing in front of their door, spear in hand, disapproval on her face.

"The plane is ready. Neither it nor I am available at your leisure," she berated them as they stopped in front of her. Her dark gaze swept over them, and she crinkled her nose. "You all stink."

Bucky sighed. He still wasn't sure where he stood with her, and she was giving nothing away. "Could we get thirty minutes to shower and eat?"

"Bucky was showing us his hut," Steve explained. "We slept under the stars."

Ayo studied Steve's face for a moment, then her gaze went once again to Bucky. Her expression softened infinitesimally, and she nodded. "You may have forty-five minutes. I will have food sent to your room. Meet me outside, at the plane. Do not be late."

Bucky nodded. "Understood." As she turned to leave, he added, "Thank you."

She paused briefly, her back to him, and gave him a brief, acknowledging tilt of her head, then marched down the hallway and out of site. He supposed that was a good sign. The fact that she was apparently going to be their pilot was another good sign. Perhaps she was beginning to forgive him for breaking Zemo out of jail and interfering in the fight with Walker.

He'd already forgiven her for the arm. He knew she had been trying to make a point—literally with her spear and figuratively in every other way. The arm had been a gift. He had used it against her. They had given him the arm, and they could take it away. She was putting him in his place.

That still stung a little, but the fact that T'Challa had offered him sanctuary in Wakanda yet again, Shuri was still willing to help him, and Ayo was flying them to Indiana told him that perhaps he had found genuine friendship here. Maybe they didn't just see him as some broken animal they felt a moral duty to rehabilitate but would never fully trust.

"Come on," Steve put a gentle hand on his arm, and it was only then that Bucky realized he was still staring at the empty space at the end of the hallway where she had disappeared.

-0- -0- -0-

They were showered, fed, and packed. They'd brought a change of clothes since the round-trip flight time would pretty much take up a day. Thankfully, the Wakandan jet was a lot faster than flying commercial. They'd be in Indiana in about nine hours. Wakanda was about seven hours ahead of Indiana, so they'd arrive midday outside of Greenwood, Indiana. It was the bigger city just outside of Shelbyville where some of his sister's family lived and where she currently resided in a private nursing home.

Bucky didn't know the logistics about the travel arrangements. He suspected this was an off-the-books trip and that the Wakandan plane would be cloaked to avoid any unnecessary attention. He wondered how happy the U.S. Government would be if it discovered that Wakanda was routinely sending aircraft to and from the United States without permission or even without anyone knowing.

As they approached the plane, he saw Ayo standing beside it. She was dressed in a regal black dress, the spear in her hand. The plane was slightly smaller than a Quinjet. Its ramp was already deployed, waiting.

Ayo gave him a steady look as he approached. He stopped in front of her, a backpack slung over his right shoulder. She raised her chin, then said, "You smell better. Thank you. I had not looked forward to a long flight with the three of you in your previous conditions."

Bucky smiled at that. If she was teasing him, she couldn't be too pissed at him. "Thank you for the ride. It means a lot."

She bowed her head at him and stepped aside. They made their way up the ramp and into the small aircraft. It had a compact cargo area, but it was enough to hold four people. There were two bench seats on opposite walls that were long enough to each hold a single person stretched out. What looked like a shiny rubber mat was situated in between the benches. He suspected the mat was an unusual addition and figured Ayo was allowing them the option of sleeping during the return flight.

Ayo entered after them and sank into the pilot's chair. The ramp closed, and Bucky felt the plane vibrate slightly. He could barely hear the hum of the engine. The craft was almost silent. He hadn't even realized it was lifting off until he felt the tell-tale sinking of his stomach as the plane rose suddenly.

The sinking in his stomach wasn't solely caused by the plane's ascent. He realized that in just a few hours, he'd see his sister. This time, he would walk into her room and look her in the eyes. He had no idea what type of reaction or reception he'd get. He didn't even know whether seeing her was the right thing to do for her. He didn't want to upset or confuse her, but he also couldn't bare having his little sister pass away without taking the opportunity to speak to her one more time. With his Steve gone, she was the only real family he had left and his only connection to anything that felt like home.

-0- -0- -0-

The plane landed just after noon in Greenwood, touching down in an abandoned field behind an empty warehouse. The ramp opened.

Ayo swiveled toward them from the cockpit. "I will wait here." She tossed a Kimoyo bead, and Bucky caught it mid-air. "Contact me when you are on your way back, or if there are unexpected developments."

Bucky nodded, slipping the smooth round comm bead into the pocket of his jacket. He walked down the ramp. Steve and Sam followed him. The early March weather in Indiana was cool and mild.

The ramp rose with a soft hum. Bucky slipped the cellphone from his back pocket. "I guess we'll have to call a ride, but I haven't set up an account."

Sam pulled out his cell phone. "I've got this." He eyed Bucky. "And you think you're the worldly one?"

Bucky sighed. "I haven't exactly had much of a need for Lyft or Uber. I walk most places in Brooklyn, and anything else, I just hop in a cab or take the subway." He still hadn't replaced the motorcycle he'd crashed to launch himself at the supersoldiers.

Fifteen minutes later, their ride arrived. They met the car on the corner. Bucky hopped quickly in the front passenger seat, beating Sam by a few seconds and shooting him a triumphant look. Steve slid in the back behind the driver.

Sam walked over to the driver's rear side, ducked his head down, and eyed Steve. "Hey, slide on over, will you?"

Steve gave him a quizzical look that Bucky noticed in the rear-view mirror.

"Okay." Steve didn't seem inclined to ask why, he just slid behind Bucky.

That was one of the things Bucky always liked about Steve. He asked questions when he needed to, but otherwise he was generally happy to go with the flow when it came to the small stuff.

Bucky stifled a smile as he asked, "You got enough room back there, Steve?"

"Well, if you move your seat up a couple of inches, I will," he answered.

Bucky looked straight ahead. "Sure thing, pal." Then he hit the button on the side of the seat and brought it up until his knees almost touched the glove compartment.

He shot Sam a smug look in the mirror and couldn't quite hold his smile when he saw the scowl on the other man's face.

As they drove toward the nursing home, Bucky was aware of the Lyft driver giving him the occasional curious look. He'd periodically look in the rearview mirror at Sam and Steve, as well. The man was obviously trying to look at him without looking like he was looking. It made Bucky uneasy. Decades of being a ghost and hunted had made him uncomfortable with scrutiny. His face had been all over the news recently, which meant that the tiny bit of normalcy he'd managed to find in Brooklyn was no doubt gone.

When the driver pulled up in front of the nursing home, Bucky got out quickly. Steve and Sam followed, and Steve held out his hand. "Here."

Bucky held out his palm and Steve dropped one of the photostatic veil devices in it.

"I brought both," Steve said. "Let's find a little place out of view and put these on."

Bucky nodded. "Good thinking. Thank you."

They walked to the side of the building, away from the front door and away from prying eyes. Bucky fastened his device just behind the top of his ear and Steve did the same.

Sam sighed as he waited a few feet away. "You know, people recognize me, too."

Bucky smiled at him. He wasn't sure what face he was wearing since he didn't have a mirror. "Not without the outfit, so much," Bucky said. "How do I look?"

"Like a middle-aged Luke Skywalker with dark hair," Sam commented.

"That'll do," Bucky said.

He glanced at Steve, who looked about fifteen or so years older and bore a slight resemblance to Jo Biden.

They headed to the front of the building, and as they walked through the doors, Bucky felt his anxiety returning. He took a breath as he approached the front desk. A young woman with brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, looked up at them.

Bucky cleared his throat. "I'm here to see Rebecca, uh…. Proctor."

The woman smiled at him. "Sure. Just sign in here," she pointed to the visitor log on the desk in front of her. "What is your relationship to Rebecca?"

"Nephew."

"And your name?"

He'd had dozens of aliases, and at that moment, he couldn't think of a single one. He spat out the first thing that came to mind. "George Barnes."

Steve and Sam signed the book after them. The woman instructed them to wait, so they took seats in the small lobby chairs as she picked up the phone and called someone. After a few minutes, a woman came through a pair of double doors and walked up to them.

"Mr. Barnes?"

He smiled up at her and got to his feet. "Yes, Ma'am."

"We have a policy of escorting visitors to and from our resident rooms. Follow me, and I'll take you to see your aunt."

"Thank you." They followed her down a long hallway to a room with an open door.

"Here she is." She looked in. "She just finished lunch, and she's watching television.

Bucky nodded. "Thank you."

He walked in, his footsteps quiet, and pulled off the photostatic veil. He saw her sitting up in a bed on the far wall, near a window. He barely recognized her. The skin on her face was thin and wrinkled, but her cheeks were rosy. When her eyes shifted to him, that's when he knew it was Becca. Her eyes were older mirrors of his own. They'd both inherited them from their mother.

The bed was raised about 45 degrees, and her eyes drifted back to the television mounted on the opposite wall. Bucky glanced at it to see a show that looked like it was set sometime in the late eighteen hundreds or early 1900s. There was a little girl in a dress, skipping in what appeared to be an old west town.

He moved to the bed, and her gaze slid to him. He stood quietly, not sure what to say or where to begin. He looked up quickly at Sam and Steve. Both of them hovered near the doorway. Steve gave him a subtle, encouraging nod.

Bucky swallowed and looked back down at his sister. Her eyes were studying him. Her brow furrowed.

He cleared his throat. "Hello, Becca. Do you know who I am?"

She shifted in her bed, her hand fumbling at her side. Bucky looked down and saw the remote just out of reach. He picked it up and placed it in her hand. Her hand was cold, thin, and so much smaller than his own.

She hit a button, and the head of the bed raised another twenty degrees or so until she was sitting more upright. Her hand came up, and her fingers touched his left cheek.

"I've seen you on the television."

He nodded.

"The news," she added.

He nodded again and took a breath.

"Are you really….?" She shook her head. "Sometimes I get confused. I don't always remember things like I used to."

"I'm Bucky," he blurted out, and as it left his mouth, his vision blurred. He pushed back the emotion. He didn't want to upset her.

She reached up again and cupped the side of his face. "Jimmy?"

Hearing her call him by the name he hadn't heard in over 80 years brought him right back to Brooklyn and almost made him feel like a kid again.

He took her hand in both of his gloved ones. "Yeah."

"You look just the same."

An overwhelming sadness filled his chest, but he smiled at her nevertheless. "I'm a little different."

"The war changed you?"

He took a breath and nodded.

"It's okay, Jimmy." She raised her other hand and put it over his. "We love you. Do mom and dad know you're back?"

He cleared his throat. "No."

"Mom cries a lot. She'll be happy to see you."

She blinked at him, and her brow furrowed as she looked to Steve and Sam in the doorway. Bucky wondered whether she'd recognized Steve, but she gave no sign that she had. When she looked back at Bucky, something in her eyes was different.

"Jimmy?" she asked again. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"You were on the T.V.?"

"Yes."

"Did you do those things?"

He struggled to take in a breath and forced himself to look her in the eyes. "Most of them."

Her eyes clouded with tears. "My brother wouldn't do those things."

He closed his eyes and sank into the chair next to her bed. His hands slipped from hers, and he gripped the rail. "I didn't have a choice."

"They did things to you in the war?"

He nodded. "They took everything from me. I didn't remember who I was."

He felt her almost weightless hand on his arm, then her shaky voice said, "You remember now?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Tears spilled from hers, and she waved him closer. He leaned forward over the rail, and her hands cupped his face.

"Oh, Jimmy, my sweet big brother, what did they do to you?"

He lowered his head to the rail and let the tears flow silently. He felt her hand on his head, her fingers ruffling gently through his hair.

"It's your birthday soon," she said.

"What?" He looked up and blinked at her through the tears.

She smiled. "March 10th. I always have a drink for you every year on your birthday. How old are you now?"

"Every year?" He couldn't believe she kept that up for so many decades.

She nodded. "Every year. Last year, I tried some of that fireball whiskey Jimmy brought me."

"Jimmy?" the name almost caught in the back of his throat.

She smiled again. "My son. I have two sons and a daughter. Jimmy, Richard, and Gwen. Jimmy lives in town. Gwen lives in Hammond, and Richie…." Her brow furrowed again. "I can't remember."

He patted her arm. "You lived a good life?"

She nodded. "Yes." Then she shifted again and leaned closer to him. "Will you stay for your birthday. I'd like to have a drink with my big brother, and I'd love for you to meet your niece and nephews."

He cleared his throat. "I kind of have a ride…"

"That's only two days away," Sam spoke up.

"I'm sure our ride can wait," Steve said, "and if not, we can always arrange another way back. That is, if you want to stay."

The air in the room suddenly felt light. This was turning into a whole thing—a weird family thing that he wasn't sure he was ready for. Hell, he wasn't sure they were ready for it, either. No normal human being would want to lay claim to a psycho assassin as part of the family. Becca may remember him as her big brother from Brooklyn, and that was more than he'd hoped for. Her children and grandchildren, however, only knew him as the guy they'd seen all over the news.

He doubt they'd be thrilled to meet him in person. Plus, the longer he stayed in town, the more likely it was that someone—or the press—would find out. He didn't want the attention, and he sure as hell didn't want the attention shifting to Becca or her family.

"Can we celebrate a day early? I could get a hotel room for the night, and if you're feeling up to it, I can come back tomorrow."

He didn't know if she'd remember him tomorrow, but he knew her time in this world was growing shorter, and if she wanted him to stay a little longer, he couldn't say no to her. He rarely ever could.

-0- -0- -0-

Sam booked a room at the Holiday Inn. Bucky had spoken to Ayo and she agreed to wait another day. He'd offered her a hotel room, but she preferred to stay with the craft. It had all the amenities she'd need, she insisted.

They checked into their hotel and entered the suite. Steve and Bucky removed their photostatic veils once inside. The room had two queen beds and a pull-out sofa bed, along with a generously-sized bathroom, television, whirlpool bathtub and a decent kitchenette with a microwave and small refrigerator. To Bucky, it seemed a little excessive. He'd have been fine crashing at a Motel 6 for the night.

He told Steve as much.

"Your new best admirer Tony provided us with enough cash for the trip, and It's practically your birthday," Steve said, "I can't believe I didn't realize it. I hadn't even thought much about the date traveling through time. I was so focused on everything else."

Bucky shrugged. "I didn't realize it myself. I haven't celebrated a birthday in over 80 years, man. It's really not on my list of priorities right now."

Sam set his bag down in the closet and closed the hotel room door behind him. "If you haven't celebrated your birthday in 80 years, then it's way past time that you did…Jimmy." Sam gave a short, teasing chuckle.

"No, thank you," Bucky said, kicking off his shoes and laying back on the bed, "and don't call me Jimmy." He'd tried to grow out of that name as a teenager, but now he felt protective of it, like it belonged only to that kid back in the 1920s and 30s and defined him as a son and brother.

"Okay, fine," Sam said, "I'll lay off the Jimmy thing for now."

Back in his youth, sure, Bucky had loved celebrating his birthday like almost every other person on the planet. He loved birthdays in general. Any chance to celebrate, and he was all over it.

These days, he didn't much like attention, and he really didn't feel comfortable in large gatherings…except when a crowd allowed him to become invisible. Then, he could sink into it and disappear. He'd had a lot of practice doing that. The only exception recently had been with Sam's friends. He'd started to let his guard down around them, and he'd almost forgotten what that normalcy felt like.

It was only three in the afternoon. They'd have to start thinking about dinner soon. They'd skipped lunch.

"Why don't you want a party?" Sam asked. "It'll be fun."

"I just don't. Can we drop it, please?"

"A small celebration, man," Sam persisted.

Bucky sighed. "There's no one to invite, Sam, and even if there were, it's not my thing, anymore."

"Of course, there are folks to invite. You have a whole family you just discovered. There's also me, Steve, Sarah, Shuri, T'Challa…"

"They're all over the world, Sam." Bucky almost chuckled at the impracticality of such a celebration. He wasn't sure how Sam figured that would all work. "And even if they weren't, I'm just…I'm just not ready to celebrate my birthday yet."

Bucky felt the bed dip as Sam's weight settled next to him.

"Why not?" Sam asked, his voice low and suddenly much gentler.

Shit. Bucky wasn't really in the mood to be psychoanalyzed at the moment.

"I know that was rough back there with your sister," Sam continued. "You okay?"

Bucky rolled his head to look up and over at Sam. "Yeah, thanks." He closed his eyes and draped his right arm over them. He wasn't sleepy, but he was just overall tired of…emotions. They were draining.

"So what is this aversion you have to celebrating your birthday?" Sam asked again.

Having a birthday celebration just didn't feel right. He might have gotten another pardon and been set free, but a man was still dead, and it felt wrong to him to celebrate in the wake of that. He heard Steve's footsteps, and then the other bed squeaked with weight. Bucky hoped if he pretended that he was trying to sleep, Sam would leave him alone.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Sam said.

Bucky sighed. No such luck.

"That letter you wrote to Steve. There are some things in it that I think—"

Bucky lifted his head and looked over at Steve. "Really, man. I thought we agreed you were forgetting about the death letter.

"You agreed," Steve shifted on the other bed to face him. "I didn't. We're trying to help you here."

Bucky dropped his head back to the mattress and closed his eyes. He didn't have a fight in him right now.

"Stop changing the subject," Sam said. "Look, what I'm trying to say here is, one, you're not a burden. You never were, and if I ever made you feel that way, I'm sorry. You said in that letter the world would be a better place if you'd never been born. That's not true. You saved a lot of people in that other timeline, and you've saved people in this one. Hell, you and Steve helped win the war. And, yeah, Hydra made you do some terrible things. If it hadn't been you, those assholes would have found some other guy to be their Winter Soldier. Maybe that guy wouldn't have broken free. In fact, they made five more Winter Soldiers." He took a breath. "And don't think I've forgotten you went to that other timeline to kill yourself."

Bucky had hoped Sam had forgotten about that.

"Steve and I are going to celebrate your birthday with or without you," Sam continued, "because frankly, we're both damn glad you came into this world. I hope you are, too. You can choose to be with us, or not."

Bucky felt a sudden warmth flow through him as Sam's voice faded to silence. He opened his eyes and smiled up at him. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that. I do. I'm not suicidal. You don't have to worry about that. I'm just…getting used to all this again. I didn't have much time to process, and…I…" he took a breath. "I'd like to join you and Steve. But can we just do something low-key, please? I need to ease into all this normal life stuff again."

Sam smiled. "Normal life stuff, huh?" He slapped Bucky on the leg. "Sure, you can ease into the normal life stuff."

Chapter 20: Celebrating with Becca

The next day came sooner than Bucky would have liked. He was conflicted. He looked forward to seeing Becca again, but he didn't want it to become something bigger. It was the not knowing what to expect that had his stomach in knots.

As they followed a staff member to Becca's room, Bucky kept his blue baseball hat low and his photostatic veil on. He'd gotten lucky the day before. Becca hadn't seen him turn it off, but he didn't want to press his luck twice. She'd already had a lot to deal with having him walk into her room. He could only imagine how much of a shock it would be for her to see him change faces.

He hovered outside the doorway with Steve and Sam, watching the young man who'd escorted them turn and leave them alone. With a quick flick of his hand, he removed the veil and slipped it into his pocket. Steve did the same. Then, with a breath, Bucky entered his sister's room.

He saw an older gentleman standing next to her bed. He looked to be in his 70s, with a full head of white hair and dark blue eyes. He wore jeans and a tan blazer and his gaze went to them as soon as they walked in.

His sister perked up when he entered the room. "Jimmy?" She smiled at Bucky. "I thought it might have been a dream. Sometimes, I get confused." She tilted her head. "When you got older, you were always trying to get us to call you Bucky. Mom refused." Becca chuckled. "I'll try to remember."

Bucky smiled at her and moved deeper into the room. "You can call me whatever you like, Becca."

The older man patted her arm and turned toward them. His eyes studied them, going from Bucky to Steve and Sam, then settling on Bucky.

"I know who you all are, but I can't believe my eyes." The man took a few steps toward them. "You're James Barnes?"

Bucky took a breath and nodded. He assumed the man to be one of Becca's sons…one of his nephews. That idea felt strange as it rolled around in his mind.

"I'm, uh, Jimmy." The man extended his hand. "I guess I'm your namesake."

Bucky looked at the hand. His brain told him he needed to shake it, but he found himself frozen momentarily. A subtle shove from one of the guys behind him brought him out of his stupor, and his right hand came up reflexively.

"It's nice to meet you," he said automatically as he grasped the man's hand.

"Wow, that's some grip you have there," Jimmy said.

Bucky immediately opened his hand and dropped his arm. "Sorry."

Jimmy shook his head. "It's okay. I know you're…strong. Right?"

Bucky didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

Sam stepped forward and extended his hand. "Sam Wilson. I don't have a vice grip." He smiled and shook Jimmy's hand. "It's great to meet you."

Steve followed suit, giving Jimmy's hand a quick shake. "Steve Rogers."

"Steve?" Becca's voice intruded. "Steve Rogers?"

Steve walked closer to her and smiled, giving her a wave. "Hello, Becca."

"I thought you were gone. The news said..."

Steve smiled. "I'm back for a little while."

Becca nodded. "I hope you can stay." Then she looked at her son, "Jimmy, give my brother his present."

"What?" Bucky looked past Jimmy into Becca's grinning face. He hadn't wanted or expected her to get him a gift.

"Come here, big brother," she waved at Bucky.

He couldn't help the smile that spread on his face as he hurried to her bedside. He took off his hat and set it on the table near her bed. He was glad to see that she was doing well again today. She was sharper than she had been when he'd dropped in on her months ago.

"I don't need a present," Bucky insisted. "I just came to share a drink with you and hang out for a little bit."

She waved dismissively in the air. "Jimmy!"

Bucky wasn't sure which of them she was talking to.

"Okay, Mom, okay." Bucky's namesake nephew walked to an armchair near the foot of the bed and reached into a large brown bag. He pulled out a rectangular gift-wrapped object that looked like it contained a large book.

"Here you go, Mr….uh…Barnes." He held out the present. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to call you."

"Bucky is fine." He took the offering and sank into the hard chair near the head of Becca's bed.

Bucky slid his fingers over the delicate blue wrapping paper. A small envelope was taped to the top. He pulled it off, and opened it, setting the gift on his lap. He removed the card inside. It was plain stock paper, folded into a small greeting card.

His name was handwritten on the front. He opened the card and read the slightly shaky writing. 'Even though you weren't here for most of this, know that you were always in my heart."

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He didn't dare look up. Instead, he tore open the wrapping paper and found a photo album. It had a rustic brown cover, and he opened it. The first page contained two photos. The top black and white photo showed him and the family on his 18th birthday in 1935. He was around the kitchen table, a cake in front of him. His mother was seated on his right, his three sisters clustered around him.

He studied his mother's face—her brown hair, blue eyes, full bottom lip, and delicate nose. He remembered what she looked like, but the details had gotten fuzzy. Now, looking at her photo, he committed those details to memory. It was one of the effects of the serum—most of the time a curse, but sometimes, in this case, a blessing.

His father had taken the photo. It was one of the first cameras they'd owned. Photos were rare because film had been expensive. He figured Becca couldn't have many photos of the family from that time…of the ones that had been taken, he imagined many just hadn't made it into the 21st century. They must have been lost or damaged at some point after all that time.

The second photo was on the same day. It was him, Steve, and Steve's mother Sarah in his folks' apartment. Sarah had her hand on Steve's shoulder and smiled awkwardly at the camera. She was only a few inches taller than her son, but her shoulders were noticeably wider. Bucky was on the other side of Steve, giving him one of the shit-eating grins he often did back then. Bucky remembered that photo. Sarah wasn't sure how to pose and Steve wasn't a fan of photographs, but they'd indulged his father because it was Bucky's 18th birthday.

Bucky turned the page, there was another black and white photo of him in uniform, giving a salute, just before he left for the war. It was the last time he'd seen his mother, father, and two oldest sisters.

Shit. He felt the sting of tears, and he did not want to lose it in front everyone, so he sucked in a breath and turned the page. There were two more smaller photos, both black and white. The first one was of Becca in her youth, a newborn infant in her arms. She was in a living room. Bucky recognized the man as her husband, Daniel. Becca had just gotten married before Bucky had joined the army. She'd been too young at the time, he'd thought, but they'd all liked the guy she picked to move to Indiana with. Bucky's parents had lived there, moving to Brooklyn around the time he was born.

A caption was scribbled on a piece of paper to the right of the photo, beneath the protective plastic. It read. "James Barnes Proctor, October 6, 1945."

Bucky smiled, pushing back the tears that threatened, and rubbed his hand over the photo. This would have been a little over nine months after he died.

The photo below that one was another birth. This one Gwen Proctor, August 30th, 1949. She was bundled in a white blanket in her father's arms. This year was etched deeply in his soul. It was the year he'd put a bullet in that girl's head, after watching Hydra rape and torture her. It was the year he'd ripped his metal arm from his flesh to kill the commander in charge.

He pushed the memory aside and turned the page again. The next photo stole his breath. A funeral. He saw his mother standing at a grave, dressed in black. She looked young still, maybe in her early 50s. Her eyes and nose were red, her face lined with grief. The date read February 1, 1950, with the words, "George Barnes' funeral" next to the date. That was a little over five years after Bucky had been captured by the Russians.

He remembered the date from the tombstone he'd visited shortly after running from Hydra. Now, he had an image to put to that date. He wished he could've been there for his mother. Instead, she'd lost the only two men in her life within the span of a few years.

This time he couldn't stop the tears, and he brushed quickly at his eyes, then looked at the next photo. It was taken shortly after the birth of his second nephew—Richard Proctor—and showed a baby bundled in a yellow blanket on Becca's lap. The photo was in color. The paper to the right of the photo had the date as January 3, 1952. Becca's hair was pulled back in a red polka dot bandana, and she wore a dress that looked like something out of an I Love Lucy episode Bucky had seen once.

He'd been in North Korea at that time getting his arm replaced after losing it in Goyang. As punishment, they'd let him linger injured for days with no left arm, then strapped him down and performed the attachment surgery without anesthesia. Five days after the surgery, they'd sent him on one final mission in South Korea before shoving him back into the cryo chamber. Each time, the cryo chamber was new to him. As the Winter Soldier, they'd wiped him every time he came out of the chamber, and each time he went back in felt like the first time…until he heard the noise as the machine came to life. Then, he remembered. The terror lasted only the briefest of moments before the flash of pain and then, nothingness, until, some time later—months or years—they revived him.

Coming out had been so much harder even than going in. His body fought to survive each time, his organs struggled to resume function, his neurons flared, sending a chaotic symphony of signals to his brain that were interpreted as fire. Each time, coming out, it was like burning alive. Then, they'd stick him in the chair and make him forget everything.

But he remembered it all now, and his serum-enhanced brain wouldn't let him forget.

He realized his right hand was shaking as he gripped the book, and he pushed the thoughts to the far, dark corners of his mind, then continued to page through the album. He let the images in the photos replace—at least for the moment—the ones in his brain. He saw birthday parties, a vacation at Disneyland, a trip to a beach. He recognized Coney Island. Becca must have taken her family back at one point—probably to visit.

He turned the page again and saw his mother, Becca, and Becca's husband Daniel clustered around the head of a table. Children mingled nearby. It looked like Thanksgiving. His two other sisters were in the background, standing in a kitchen over a large pie.

He paged slowly through more life events—a graduation, then got to his mother's funeral. November 29, 1963. He remembered that date, too from the Tombstone. It had been just after Thanksgiving, a week after he'd put a bullet through President Kennedy's head.

He paged through the rest, taking in the weddings and the births of Becca's grandchildren, and then, finally, got to the last few photos. The funerals of his two sisters, Margaret and Ruth. He closed the book and stared at the back cover for a few seconds. His breath hitched in his chest, and he struggled to get control over his emotions. He didn't want to upset Becca.

He cleared his throat, wiped quickly at his wet eyes, and forced a smile on his face, then looked up at her. She was watching him with eyes that seemed to hold a mixture of joy and sadness.

"Thank you," he said huskily. He spared a quick glance at Steve and Sam. They both looked about as supportive and empathetic as he feared they would. It almost did him in.

"She had me working on that all afternoon and evening last night," Jimmy said softly. "You'd be surprised how hard it is to find a place that will do high quality copies of photos with a short turnaround. It was fun going down memory lane, though. I can't imagine what it's like for you. That photo of you before you headed off to war…you look young, yeah, but not that much younger than you do now." He took a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."

Bucky smiled up at him. "It's okay. This is…weird. I know." He looked over at Becca. "Thank you again. I don't have any photos of…anything." He almost choked on the last word.

She grinned at him. "I wanted you to see some of what you missed. I know it doesn't make up for lost time." Then she waved at Jimmy. "Get me the bottle, Jimmy!"

Bucky almost rose from his chair before realizing she was talking to her son. Every time she said "Jimmy," it brought him back home. Her voice, even in her old age, reminded him of his mother's.

Jimmy chuckled. "Okay."

Her son reached into the bag on the chair and pulled out a large box and a bottle of Crown Royal Whiskey. He set the box on the chair next to the bag and lifted the top, revealing a set of six shot glasses. One by one, he lifted a glass and poured a hefty shot into it, then handed the shot out.

Bucky took his, and Becca grasped hers with both hands. She raised it and said, "Happy almost birthday, Bucky," then, with shaking hands, she lifted it to her lips and swallowed it in two gulps, giving a short burst of coughs, then laughing.

Bucky downed his in one swallow. It was smooth, gliding effortlessly over his tongue. The others all downed theirs at the same time, and Bucky held his glass out to Jimmy.

"Another?" Jimmy asked.

Bucky nodded. "Yep."

Jimmy smiled and filled the shot glass, then asked, "Anyone else?"

Steve and Sam held their glasses out, too.

After that shot and another, Bucky rose form his chair and set his glass back in the box. The others followed suit.

"You all can really drink," Jimmy commented.

"These guys can!" Sam said, a little too loudly.

Steve smiled. "Benefits of the serum." He looked over at Sam, and added, "We should have stopped him at two."

Bucky chuckled at that.

"I'm going to go round up some chairs," Sam said, leaving the room. He came back a moment later with two more chairs.

Sam and Steve sat down. Jimmy moved the bag and box and plopped into the armchair. They spent the next few hours reminiscing. Jimmy told them all about his family and growing up in Indiana. Bucky told a few harmless war stores—mostly about close calls and getting drunk with the Howling Commandos while out for R&R. Steve talked a bit about his adventures with Bucky, eating too many hot dogs, throwing up on the rollercoaster, and Bucky running away the bullies even though Steve had them on the ropes every time.

It was late in the day when a woman entered. She looked to be in her late 60s, with gray hair and pale blue eyes. She stopped in the doorway. Her gaze went first to Becca and Jimmy, then drifted around the room, coming to rest on Bucky.

"You must be James Barnes," she said, her voice neutral.

He got to his feet and nodded.

"Gwen," Jimmy rose, "we were going over some old times. Mom wanted a drink to celebrate Bucky's birthday."

"Bucky, huh?" Gwen glanced around the room again.

"Come on in, Gwen," Becca said, waving her hand.

"In a moment, Mom," Gwen smiled, but her eyes were anxious. She looked at Jimmy. "Can I speak to you out here for a moment?"

Jimmy took a breath and nodded. He looked at Bucky and said, "I'll be back in a moment."

"That's okay, actually, I have to be going." Bucky turned to Becca, leaned over, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Thank you for the photo album, and the drink."

She reached up a hand and touched his face. "You'll write us as much as you can?"

He wasn't sure about writing. "I'll…call."

"Stay safe, Bucky. Come home."

He swallowed, realizing she was somewhere else—back in the 40s. He smiled reassuringly. "I'll stay safe. Don't give Mom a hard time."

She smiled. "No promises."

He straightened, put the album under his arm, and turned toward the rest of the group. He nodded at Jimmy. "Thank you for telling me about some of the stuff I missed, and for the whiskey."

Jimmy held his hand out, and Bucky shook it, gentler this time.

"It was really nice to meet you," Jimmy said. "Oh, wait." He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to Bucky. "I know, cards are old-fashioned, but I'm old that way. It has my home and cell on it, and my email address."

Bucky nodded and slipped the card into his jacket pocket. "Thank you again." He shifted toward Glen. She was blocking the doorway. Her eyes were locked on him, and he recognized the distrust in her gaze. He didn't want to cause a scene, and he certainly couldn't blame her for being wary of him. She was protecting her mother, and he wouldn't fault her for that.

"If you'll just…" He waved at the door.

"Oh, right." She moved aside stiffly.

He passed her, giving her a quick glance. Steve and Sam were behind him. He realized halfway down the hallway that he didn't have his photostatic veil or hat on. Quickly, he ducked his head and hurried his steps. He was aware of a few curious glances, especially since Steve didn't have his veil on and Sam was broadly recognizable as of late.

When Bucky finally pushed through the exit doors, he breathed a sigh of relief. He heard the footsteps behind him—Steve's and Sam's, and then a third pair.

"Mr. B—uh, Bucky, wait a minute, please." It was Jimmy's voice.

Bucky took a steadying breath and turned to face the man. Jimmy slowed to a halt, slightly out of breath, Bucky's blue hat in his hand, and looked apologetically at Bucky.

"I know you picked up on Gwen's discomfort back there. I'm sorry." Jimmy held the hat out.

Bucky took the hat and slipped it on his head. "Don't be. She's smart." From the periphery of his vision, he saw Sam scowl at that comment.

Jimmy looked like he wasn't quite sure what to say in response. He shifted on his feet, then tilted his head. "Look, I haven't seen Mom that…well, that much like herself in a while. Seeing you was good for her. I think it brought her back to herself, more than she has been lately. Thank you."

"I'm just happy I had the chance to spend some time with her," Bucky said.

Jimmy held out his hand again and shook Bucky's. "It was really good to meet you. Mom's told me a lot stories about you and her growing up in Brooklyn before she moved to Indiana with Dad. Thank you for your service to our country. I'm proud to be named after someone who fought the Nazi's in World War II. You were a POW, and Gwen knows that, deep down. This is all just a bit…disconcerting for her. She got caught in the Blip with Mom and, well, it's been a bit of an emotional roller coaster ride for all of us, but I know she's curious about you. You're her uncle after all. I hope you'll keep in touch."

As Bucky stared at a nephew who looked old enough to be his father, it all felt unreal. He gripped the photo album tighter under his arm and managed a smile. "I'll text you my number. If anything changes with Becca, let me know. I'm heading out of the country soon, but I'd still like to know."

Jimmy nodded. "Of course. Goodbye, Bucky." Then, he turned and headed back into the building.

Steve walked up to Bucky. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just a little…" Bucky struggled for the right word, "…overwhelmed right now." He lifted the book. "There's a whole life I missed out on in here." A lump rose in his throat, and heat flushed in his cheeks. His legs suddenly felt unsteady.

He could have been there for his mother when his father died. He could have been at his sister's weddings, watched his nieces and nephews grow up. Maybe even had children of his own. He could have had a real life.

He fucking hated Hydra.

He spun on his heels and marched quickly away. He didn't even know where he was going, he just needed space—space from prying eyes, from people who might recognize him, and from the sympathy he saw in the two pairs of eyes boring into him.

He was aware of the footsteps following him, picking up the pace. He waved them back, hoping they'd get the message, even as his breathing came quicker and the rage boiled in his chest. He found a cluster of trees. It provided him some measure of privacy, and he submerged himself within their protection. He leaned forward against one, placing his forehead on the rough bark and cradling the book under his vibranium arm.

The crunch of footsteps told him Sam and Steve were nearby. He could hear them breathing, shifting on their feet.

"Bucky, you have a nephew who wants to know you," Steve said. "I'm sure your niece will come around. Just give it time."

"It's not that," Bucky managed to get out between the tightness in his gut and the fire in his chest. "They stole my life. They stole everything from me." He slammed his right fist into the trunk but had the presence of mind to pull his punch at the last minute to avoid toppling the tree. Then, he spun around and grabbed the book in his hand, holding it up. "Births, weddings, my parents' funerals, my sisters' funerals…all of it. They stole it all. I couldn't be there for Ma or my sisters when they needed me. I couldn't even die a hero. They stole that from me, too. Becca had to find out I was alive on the news…and what she saw was some psycho with the face of her brother."

"I know." Steve's voice was rough and hoarse. He moved close enough that Bucky could hear each breath that moved through those lungs and pick up the faint rhythm of a heart that would never love him the way he loved Steve.

Having Steve so close but not close enough was torture. "Can you just give me a few minutes, please?" He slid down the trunk of the tree, his knees bent, and set the photo album gently on the ground next to him.

"Come on, Steve," Sam said, putting a gentle hand on Steve's arm.

With a sigh, Steve turned and followed Sam out of the cluster of trees. Bucky breathed a relieved sigh, grateful to Sam for the reprieve, and dropped his head on his knees. After a few moments, he reached for the album and, this time, went through it more slowly, soaking in the details of each photograph and allowing the tears to fall freely.

-0- -0- -0-

The sun was fading in the sky. Steve had donned his photostatic veil to avoid scrutiny as he and Sam hung out a couple of blocks from the nursing home adjacent to the park-like field in which Bucky was currently taking shelter. Bucky had been there for him when his mother passed away, and now, with Bucky grieving his family, Steve wanted nothing more than to ease that pain. He knew from experience that nothing could, but at least he could share it, if Bucky would let him.

The Steve of this timeline should have been there for this… for all that Bucky has gone through after fighting alongside him so many times to save the world and sacrificing his life more than once in the process. He knew, without a doubt, that if their situations were reversed, Bucky would have never left him alone in this time that wasn't their own.

The firm rhythm of footsteps sounded from a distance, and he recognized the gait. He turned as she approached. "Ayo?"

She was dressed in a long-sleeved, neck-high black dress. Her face was stoic, but her eyes were disapproving. "The day is fading, and you have not answered my hails." Her gaze swept the area. "Where is James?"

"It's been a bit of a rough day," Sam explained. "He's back there," he jerked his head to the cluster of trees.

"I am not at your disposal," she chided.

"We realize that," Steve said. "We appreciate the ride here, and your indulgence."

"We're trying to figure out how to celebrate his birthday. It's tomorrow," Sam explained, "It's been a while for him, obviously, but he's not feeling it."

Steve heard Bucky's footsteps, and Ayo's gaze shifted past him, irritation flashing quickly on her features. It faded instantly, however. Steve turned to see Bucky behind them, the album held under his left arm and the blue cap slanted low over his face. Even with the ballcap, Steve could make out Bucky's face. His face looked a shade paler, highlighting the red-tinged puffiness of his eyes.

Bucky's gaze went to Ayo. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he muttered.

She cocked her head at him, her eyes studious. "I understand the anniversary of your birth approaches."

Bucky ignored her comment. "We can leave whenever you're ready, Ayo. Thank you for bringing me here and giving me the chance to spend time with my sister."

"No, no, no," Sam said. "Look, it may not officially be your birthday for another few hours, but we said we were celebrating it, and we are. There's gotta be a bar or pub or something around here where we can get some good food."

Ayo nodded her head. "We can stay a few more hours. I am curious about the manner in which such anniversaries are celebrated in your culture. I would like to attend."

"About time!" Sam said. "It's better than you staying holed up in the plane."

She glared at him, but there was a hint of mirth in her eyes.

-0- -0- -0-

They found a place called Main Street Grille and caught a quick ride to the restaurant. The wait was short, and they sat at a table near a large window. Sam asked for a table for five, and Bucky shot him a quizzical look.

"Who else is coming?"

Sam didn't answer as he followed the server to the table. Bucky and Steve took the seats on opposite sides of the table closest to the window. Bucky placed the photo album carefully at the edge of the table, closest to the window. Ayo and Sam sat across from one another on the end. Several televisions hung high on the wall in the restaurant, most tuned to news or sports replays, with captions. It was dark outside, and the streetlights and headlamps gave the town a homey feel.

"Your menu is the QR code on the table," the server informed them. "If you'd like a physical menu, just let me know."

"I would like a menu," Ayo replied.

Bucky managed to find some amusement in that. He knew the Kimoyo beads could read QR codes, but he imagined what the folks of Greenwood, Indiana would think if a holographic menu popped up over Ayo's palm. As it stood, they were already getting curious glances, even with the photostatic veils shielding Steve and Bucky's faces. Ayo and Sam stood out like sore thumbs in the establishment. Not only were they the only two dark faces in the place, but Ayo's elegant outfit and regal demeanor set her apart from the rest of the casual diners.

Bucky saw a familiar figure approaching. He almost did a double take. "Barton?"

Clint slid into the empty chair next to Sam toward the end of the table, across but slightly askew from Bucky.

"I hear it's your birthday, Barnes," Clint said.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky didn't bother asking how Barton knew which of the two veiled faces belonged to Bucky. Steve's physique no doubt gave it away.

"It's nice to see you, too." Clint's eyes went to Steve. "And you, Cap. That is you, right?"

"Yes, it's me," Steve answered.

Clint gave a big smile. "It's…well, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Although, I understand you're not exactly the same guy I knew."

Steve smiled. "Close enough. It's good to see you, too, Barton."

"Why are you here?" Bucky asked again.

Barton leveled his gaze on Bucky. "Hey, we saved the world together, remember that? I can't drop by?" He shook his head. "Okay, so I saw the news…and Natasha. When Sam told me you guys were visiting your sister in Indiana, well…it's only a five-hour drive from the farmhouse. I thought I'd crash the party and take this chance to say 'thank you' for Natasha. I know she's a different Natasha, and she's still…gone…here, but it helps knowing that somewhere she's alive." He cleared his throat hard. "So, I'm crashing your birthday, and I'm buying you a drink." He took out his phone and scanned the QR code on the table. "Plus, I kind of have to hear the story about you taking the stones and kicking Thanos' ass while reversing global warming. And Stark's parents? I've got to know how that reunion went."

"It's a long story," Bucky said with a sigh.

"How did you bring back Nat?" Clint leaned forward, his eyes suddenly misty. "Bruce tried."

"He made a copy of her," Steve interjected.

"What?" Clint looked flabbergasted as he leaned back in his chair.

"Like on that show Star Trek," Bucky explained. "They have a transporter. It kills a person and makes a copy of their pattern, right? It gave me the idea. When I had the stones, I made an exact copy of Natasha the millisecond before she hit the ground."

"But what about her soul?" Clint asked.

Bucky took a deep breath. He'd had this conversation before back at the battleground. "I don't know. I don't know if there is a soul. She said she felt…normal. She seemed normal. It's the best I could do."

"Banner said an exact copy is as good as the original," Steve added. "She was Natasha, through and through."

"So the person you brought back into that other timeline was exactly the same Natasha that I watched…" Clint's voice caught, "…die?"

Bucky nodded. "As far as I know, she was."

Clint's eyes glistened with a hint of tears. "So, she's not dead. You resurrected the same Natasha, but in a much better world than this one. She's living in a posh universe while we're over here in the rough part of town."

"Well, it still has its challenges," Steve interjected.

"But climate change, a clean planet, Tony Stark…" Clint shook his head, then extended his hand.

Bucky reached over and shook it. "I was just trying to push my ledger into the black."

"Way to hit it out of the park, man," Clint commended. "I'm really glad I picked Steve's side all those years ago to help save your ass."

Bucky gave into a small smile. "The other you said something very similar."

"I'm glad." Clint looked at Ayo. "It's nice to see you, too. Been a while, not that we did much chatting last time."

She bowed her head at him.

The server approached. It was a young man who looked barely out of his teens. He set a menu in front of Ayo, then asked, "Can I get you started on something?" His gaze lingered on Sam.

They ordered a round of beers, except for Ayo, who opted for a Pepsi, stating that she had always been curious what the beverage tasted like.

"So," Sam began, "are you going to let us see the album?"

"Album?" Clint perked up, his eyes going to the book near the window.

"This was a birthday present from his sister," Steve explained, his finger running along the outer edge of the book.

Bucky sighed and pushed the book across the table so that the three men could satisfy their curiosity. Sam spun the book around and opened the cover.

"Holy crap." Clint leaned forward, then looked up at Steve. "Sorry, Cap. I've seen the photos, of course, but it's just… seeing you next to Bucky and that woman really shows how, uh, well…small you were before the serum." He flashed an apologetic grin, then looked back down at the photo. "Who is she?"

Steve's eyes were fixated on the photograph. "My mother," he said softly.

Bucky saw the grief behind Steve's eyes even through the camouflage of the veil.

"Take the photo. It's yours," Bucky said. "We'll keep it safe in the album until we get to Wakanda, but take it back with you when you go."

Steve looked up at Bucky. "Are you sure, man?"

"Yeah." Bucky nodded. "I'll take a photo of it with my phone. That's all anyone really needs these days, right?"

Steve smiled, but a hint of sadness lingered. "Thank you."

"Look at you!" Sam pointed to Bucky's deployment photo.

Ayo leaned forward, her eyes on the photo, then she turned to Bucky and said, "I do not believe I have ever seen you smile like that."

"I was putting on a brave face for my folks," Bucky said.

Truthfully, he'd been terrified, but he couldn't let it show—not to his parents, his sisters, or even Steve. He hadn't even admitted that to himself until he was on the transport, saying goodbye to New York.

Sam turned the page, and Bucky listened with half an ear as Sam asked "Who is that?" periodically. Steve would answer, usually with the name of one of his sisters.

The server returned with drinks, setting the beers in front of the men and the soda in front of Ayo. "Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"

Bucky hadn't even opened the menu on his phone. He looked around at the tables, spotted a burger that looked good, and pointed to it. "I'll have whatever burger that is over there."

The waiter nodded. "Great choice." He looked at Sam. "Are you…Captain America?"

Sam looked suddenly embarrassed and glanced quickly at Steve, who remained incognito thanks to the veil. "Yes," Sam said, somewhat awkwardly.

"That's so cool! I'm a huge fan. Your suit is awesome!"

Ayo straightened. "It is significantly better than its predecessor."

"Oh, way better," the server agreed.

Ayo seemed genuinely pleased.

The server looked at Clint next. "Aren't you one of the Avengers, too?"

Clint shook his head. "I'm retired."

"Ah," the waiter nodded. "So, what can I get the rest of you?"

Ayo slid her menu across the table, and the guys scanned it quickly, then placed their order. It pretty much ended up being burgers all around, except for Clint who ordered a chicken sandwich and Ayo, who opted for a salad.

When the waiter left, Ayo eyed her tall glass of soda. A straw encased in paper was next to her glass, but she ignored it. Instead, she picked up the glass, put her lips tentatively on the rim, and took a sip.

Her brow furrowed and she scrunched her nose. "This is absurdly sweet, but I like the bubbles."

Bucky gave a quick smile. "Welcome to the land of processed food and beverages."

"I am aware," Ayo declared. "This is not my first visit to your homeland."

"So, how old are you now?" Clint asked, then took a chug of his beer.

"Tomorrow, I'll be a hundred and seven," Bucky answered, "technically."

"How old are you biologically?" Clint asked.

Bucky shrugged. "I'm not sure exactly. Late thirties." He felt so much older than that.

"Are you going to keep in touch with your nephew?" Steve asked from across the table, looking up briefly from the album to meet Bucky's gaze.

"I don't know." Bucky took a sip of his beer. It was a German brew, and the irony of that wasn't lost on him.

"He's your family," Steve said. "Even has your name, and it seems like he really wants to get to know you."

"Crazy tends to follow me," Bucky replied. "I don't want to taint their lives with it."

"Consider it," Steve suggested, his voice firm.

"I am." Bucky glanced at the page Sam was currently looking at. It was his mother's funeral.

"What did your mom die from?" Sam asked. "Do you know?"

"A car accident," Bucky said. "I looked up her obituary."

Sam shook his head. "That's a shame. 1963. What a year. If I remember my history right, this is just after Kennedy died. Man, to be alive during that time…." He looked up at Bucky, then asked, "You were, at least for some of it, right? Do you remember what it was like then?"

Bucky looked down at his beer. "It's not like I did any sight-seeing. I was sent on missions. That's it." His tone was harder than he meant it to sound.

"What's the next photo?" Steve asked, reaching over and turning the page as he gave Bucky a sympathetic look.

Thank you, Steve. Bucky glanced up at his friend, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude for the change in subject. Steve nodded curtly—message received.

"So, what was the other timeline like?" Clint asked. From his tone, it was obvious he'd picked up on Bucky's discomfort.

"I was only there for a few days," Bucky said. "But the Avengers are together, except for Vision. I didn't have time to bring him back. The world gets a reboot on global warming, and…Tony Stark's alive. His parents got to meet their granddaughter."

"He even restored the Avenger's complex," Steve said.

"Damn." Clint smiled. "I wish I could've seen that."

"You did," Bucky answered, then tilted his head, "just a different version of you."

"Well," Clint raised his glass, "here's to the alternate versions of ourselves and, especially, to Natasha. I'm glad she got the better timeline. She deserves it."

Bucky and the others raised their glasses and gave a solid clink all around.

"And," Clint continued, "here's to the man who made it happen. Happy birthday, Barnes." He took a large gulp of his beer.

Bucky managed a genuine smile at that and drained half his glass. He was in no danger of getting a buzz from beer, no matter how quickly he downed it.

Their food arrived, and Sam finished going through the book, then closed it and set it back where Bucky had placed it, safely out of the way of crumbs and dripping sauces.

Bucky took a bite of his burger. The meat was juicy, cooked medium, piled with cheese, lettuce, pickles and bacon. It was perfect, much better than the bland, paltry meals they'd served him in the detention center, though it sat much heavier in his stomach than the Wakandan cuisine. After spending most of the day visiting his sister, he was hungry. He didn't realize how hungry until the scent of the food filled his nostrils and the meat hit his stomach.

He heard Sam chuckle. "I take it you like the burger?"

Bucky looked up, only then realizing that a tiny, satisfied grumble had just escaped the back of his throat. He smiled self-consciously at Sam, then nodded, swallowed his mouthful, and said, "Sure beats prison food."

Ayo took a bite of her salad and tilted her head. "I prefer the food of Wakanda. The vegetables are fresher."

"That they are," Bucky agreed.

She looked over at him as if she were considering saying more, but she took another bite of her salad and let her gaze drift to one of the televisions on the far wall.

Bucky glanced at the display. A reporter was standing on concrete steps in front of a familiar building. The caption, "James Barnes, former Winter Soldier, transferred to Wakanda. Federal charges dropped."

Bucky took a gulp of his beer.

The image on the screen cut to his Louisiana booking photo.

Ayo turned her head to look at him. "It is a good thing that Stark provided you with the photostatic veil."

"Tell me about it," Bucky muttered.

"It'll die down." Steve looked at another television set somewhere on a wall behind Bucky. "It always does."

"Yeah," Sam said, taking a sip of his beer. "They'll be all over this for five minutes, then on to something else."

The image cut again, this time to Bucky acting the part of the Winter Soldier in Madripoor.

Bucky took a breath and drained the rest of his beer.

"So, what was that all about?" Clint asked, eyeing the screen.

"We were undercover," Sam explained. "Trying to get in touch with a fence named Selby to find out who was making the supersoldier serum."

"And this required you harming people?" Ayo asked.

Bucky cleared his throat. "I didn't -" he stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. He'd almost said he didn't have a choice, but he had that time. He wasn't brainwashed or programmed. He'd made a decision for the sake of the mission and zoned out partway through the performance, muscle memory taking over. "I didn't want to do that, but Zemo decided to put on a show, and it was either that or blow the mission and have the bar turn on us." He could've handled the people in the bar, if it had come to that, but likely not without casualties. Sam would've been in the thick of it, as well, and without his wings. "It wasn't just my life on the line." Bucky glanced quickly at Sam, then dropped his gaze to his empty glass. "Zemo knows how to push buttons. He enjoys it."

"Look, neither of us liked what we had to do. The whole situation was messed up. Bucky did what he had to do. He had my back, even when we barely knew one another." Sam looked at Bucky and said, "Don't think I didn't realize that you could've left me in the dust back at the airport in Berlin or in Madripoor when the shooting started. I know how fast you can run. I was slowing you down. You hardly knew me in Berlin, but you still stayed with me."

Bucky felt the heat rise to his cheeks and managed a self-conscious smile. "Well, I nearly killed you three times, and you were still willing to stick around me, so I figure it was the least I could do."

"Damn straight," Sam nodded, then returned his attention to Ayo and continued, "Besides, Zemo ended up being helpful." Sam continued. "Selby knew who was making the serum. We found him."

Ayo looked steadily at Sam. "And Zemo murdered him."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah. That went badly."

"It's not like Nagel was a saint," Bucky said. "He may not have deserved to die, but he knew the crowd he was involved with. He used to work for Hydra. He was working for the Power Broker, creating an army of people like me." He looked over at Ayo, meeting her gaze. "I don't think there needs to be anymore of me in the world, do you? I did enough damage as Hydra's only Winter Solder…then they made five more that were even worse."

He watched as something shifted on Ayo's face. He wasn't quite sure how to read the expression, but she held his gaze a moment longer.

Finally, she said, "The world does not need more Winter Soldiers, but it will always need warriors willing to defend it against such adversaries. You now have a choice as to which role you will play."

Bucky figured that was as much of an olive branch as he was going to get, but while he knew he didn't want the former role, he wasn't sure he wanted the latter one, either. "Maybe I don't want either role. I didn't volunteer for the serum. I've been fighting my whole life. I'm tired of it."

Ayo nodded her understanding. Bucky saw Steve and Sam eyeing him uncertainly, and he realized he'd managed once again to put a damper on what had been shaping up to be a decent evening. The newscast had changed to something having to do with the GRC.

Bucky spotted the waiter and raised his glass. The man gave him a nod and hurried off.

"Anyway," Bucky said, forcing a smile to lighten the mood, "right now, there's nothing to fight about, right? I'm out. Zemo's locked up. Thanos is dead. The supersoldiers aren't a problem, Nazi's are pretty much a thing of the past, I'm sitting here in Indiana having just finished drinking a German beer, and as far we know, there's no more serum. I call all that a win."

"Damn straight," Clint said.

The waiter returned with another beer and Bucky took a sip.

"Can I get anyone else more beers?"

Sam, Steve, and Clint all nodded. Then the waiter looked at Ayo.

"I will have another soda."

Bucky eyed her. "I thought you said it was too sweet?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I like the bubbles."

He chuckled. "I see."

"Hey," Steve began, "do you remember that time you and I were going to the carnival, and we didn't want to bring Becca along, so we tried to sneak out of the apartment?"

Bucky laughed. "Yeah. She came paddling out barefoot with a box of macaroni and asked us if we'd like some for dinner." He shook his head. "I felt so bad."

"She played you."

"I know!" He laughed again, and it felt like a breath of fresh air.

Steve smiled. "You told her to come on and she ran into the apartment and came back out with her shoes and jacket so fast they had to be ready to go by the door."

"She was always in the middle of things."

"I have no idea why that just came to me right now," Steve said. "But seeing her today really brought back a lot of memories."

"It must have been something to see her again and meet your namesake nephew," Sam said. "I guess this means we can call you Uncle Buck."

Clint laughed at that. Bucky wasn't sure he caught the joke. He looked at Steve, who shrugged.

"Uncle Buck!" Sam said again.

Buck shook his head.

"It's a movie," Clint explained.

Sam pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen, and then, after a few seconds, turned the screen to face Bucky.

"Here's the trailer," Sam said. "Now you're gonna have to watch it."

Bucky watched the trailer as he sipped his beer. The large guy was Uncle Buck, and he seemed to be deficient in the smarts department and an overall inadvertent catastrophe.

"I think I'll pass." Buck said when the trailer finished.

-0- -0- -0-

Since Clint had driven in, they decided to spend one more night in the hotel and leave at first light for Wakanda. Clint crashed with them in the room, and they spent a good several hours shooting the breeze and catching up. When it came time for sleep, Bucky took the floor. Steve gave him a look and Clint protested, but Bucky was already grabbing a pillow and calling for an extra blanket from downstairs.

"I'm used to the floor," Bucky had told him. "I slept on the ground for a year and a half in Wakanda."

"I'll take the floor, too," Steve said with a smile that looked almost shy. "It'll be just like old times."

Old times. Bucky wasn't sure whether Steve was talking about their sleepovers with the couch cushions on the floor or huddling together for warmth on treks through rough terrain during the war.

"What was that about? I know they have beds in Wakanda," Clint asked.

"I preferred it," Bucky explained.

The solitude had given him a sense of calm. He didn't have to worry about his nightmares disturbing others, or deal with curious stares, sympathetic glances, or expectations of any kind. Most importantly, he didn't have to engage in the exhausting work of learning how to interact normally with other human beings again or worry that he might somehow unintentionally hurt someone. For the first time in 80 years, he'd felt free…if a bit lonely. But he'd take the loneliness over the alternative.

In Wakanda, he had free time for the first time in almost a century, and more of it than he knew what to do with. There had been no such thing under Hydra's thumb. He was either being prepped, wiped, ordered to fight, or put into cryo.

Now, with Steve snoring softly at his back, he couldn't sleep. Steve's time here was growing shorter, and Bucky wanted to soak up every second of his presence.

When morning came, they headed back to the plane stop. Clint was on his way home in his truck, and Ayo was in the cockpit. They were somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, a couple of hours away from Africa, and they were making good time.

Bucky sat down in the copilot's seat, which was somewhat superfluous. The plane could fly itself if need be.

"You're really punching the engines," he commented. "In a rush to get back?"

She merely glanced at him but offered no other response.

Back at the restaurant, he thought maybe they were on course to patch things up. It looked like he might have been mistaken. "You can take a break if you like," he looked over at her. "I can babysit the controls for a few minutes. Stretch your legs."

She glanced at him. "Thank you for your offer. There is no need." She stared at the open sky in front of her and, after a moment of silence, said, "I regret our encounter in Latvia. I should not have disengaged your arm. It is part of you, not a thing, and removing it was a violation of your bodily autonomy. You did not wish to fight, only to talk, and though I do not agree with your actions, I allowed my anger to guide my actions."

Bucky stared at her, relieved that she was, in fact, interested in mending things between them. She finally looked over at him.

He offered a smile that he hoped she took as genuine, then replied. "Thank you. I regret some of my actions during that time, as well." That was a colossal understatement.

"I know that you do." She tilted her head toward him. "We need not discuss it again unless you wish to."

"I…don't wish to." He looked out the window. "Thank you, Ayo."

-0- -0- -0-

They arrived just past dark in Wakanda. Ayo exited the craft first, but Bucky was close behind her, the album tucked under his vibranium arm. Steve and Sam took up the rear. Bucky heard Sam give into a yawn.

Okoye and Shuri greeted them on the landing pad. Shuri smiled brightly at them and walked up to them.

"Welcome back," Shuri greeted. "I understand you were able to celebrate your birthday with family."

Bucky nodded. "It was…nice." He wondered if he'd have the opportunity to see his sister again. He pondered the feasibility of reaching out to Jimmy and asking to video chat with her once in a while since he didn't know how long she had left.

"Happy birthday, White Wolf," Shuri said. "This way. One stop before you settle in your quarters."

"If it's the lab, I'm fine," Bucky said, but he and the others followed her into the Citadel, which told him they were not, in fact, heading to her lab.

They walked down a long hallway with smooth, hard floors. It was an area he was somewhat familiar with, though he hadn't been in the Citadel very often during his previous stay. She approached a set of double doors and pushed them open. Ayo and Okoye followed her inside.

Bucky entered behind them, but the sight that greeted him brought him to a halt just inside the doorway. Sam and Steve stopped behind him.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

Bucky stared at the long banquet table filled with cups and silverware. In the center was a low profile decorative vine with purple and white flowers. T'Challa, Nakia, Ramonda, and Amwerri were seated around the table.

T'Challa rose from the head of the table, a smile on his face, though he looked slightly paler than usual, as though he were under the weather, if that were at all possible. "I understand today is your birthday, White Wolf."

Oh, hell…Bucky took a breath. He didn't want a….He wasn't sure how to… This was all a little too much.

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder, pushing him forward. "I'm hungry, and I can't wait to find out what royalty dines on here."

Bucky forced his feet forward. T'Challa gestured to a trio of empty seats on the opposite end of the table. Bucky sank into one of the chairs, and Sam and Steve took the empty seats on either side of him.

Bucky scooted his chair in and set the album on the floor, propping it vertically against the leg of his chair.

Everyone else took their seats, with Ayo and Okoye sitting across from Bucky and Shuri taking the seat next to her mother. T'Challa waved a hand in the air, and four servers entered the room, pushing two large hovering carts filled with food.

"It is customary in both of our cultures to bestow gifts to celebrate the anniversary of a birth," T'Challa began.

Bucky shook his head. "I don't—"

He felt a foot slam into his shin and shot a glance at Ayo, who gave him a hard stare. Bucky cleared his throat and shut up. T'Challa smiled, giving Ayo a curious look, then he waved again and a server placed a small item wrapped in a thin blue fabric in front of Bucky. Bucky carefully unfolded the fabric to reveal a small black box. Carefully, he lifted the top off the box and saw a bracelet made of Kimoyo beads.

"Since you plan to stay for some time, these will be useful for you. Whether you choose to return to your hut or stay in the city, these will allow you to function as a full member of Wakandan society and, of course, to communicate with Shuri, Ayo, myself, or anyone else, should you desire to do so."

Bucky lifted the bracelet and rolled it over his right hand. It felt light and comfortable on his wrist.

"I will show you later how all the beads function." Shuri said. "You are already familiar with the A/V and Comm beads, but there are many others."

Bucky ran his fingers over the side of the smooth beads, being careful not to activate any of them. His throat went tight and a warmth rose in his chest. He knew the meaning of the gift. He hadn't completely ruined things with T'Challa over Zemo. T'Challa was telling him that he was genuinely welcome and their helping him wasn't just out of pity or some sense of lingering duty.

He took a breath and looked up at T'Challa. "Thank you."

T'Challa nodded as a server carefully set a large plate filled with food in front of him, then he said, "Ayo informed me about the album your sister gifted you. She mentioned she had never seen such a smile on your face as the one you wore prior to joining your allied forced in battle."

An arm appeared in front of Bucky, setting a large plate on the table. He glanced upward at the server, a young woman with short black hair and a round face.

"Thank you," he told her.

She nodded briefly, then shifted to grab another plate. She set that one in front of Sam.

Bucky looked back at T'Challa. "I told her I was putting on a brave face for my folks. My mother was…worried about me."

He was glad, in a way that twisted something inside him, that she hadn't lived long enough to find out he'd survived. She passed thinking he'd died a hero. That was one small blessing for which he was grateful.

"I'm also informed that there's a photo of Captain Rogers before he took the serum."

Bucky grinned at that, glancing over at Steve and saying, "Yeah, and his mother Sarah." He nodded at Steve. "Don't forget to take that photo before you leave."

Steve nodded with a smile. "I won't, but I intend to hang around for a bit."

Sam reached down and picked up the album before Bucky could stop him. "It's in here. Bucky, his family, Steve when he was…" Sam held a hand up, palm downward, a few inches below his shoulders.

"Thanks, Sam," Steve shook his head.

"He was small," Bucky said, giving a quick side-eye to Steve, "but he had the attitude of a scrappy terrier—too dumb to run from a fight against someone twice his size."

"And Bucky was always the big dog backing me up to make sure I didn't get myself killed."

Bucky saw something like dismay flicker quickly over Steve's face after the words left his mouth, but it didn't linger, replaced instantly by a smile once again. Bucky wasn't sure what had gone through Steve's mind at that comment, but if he suspected it had to do with the train and the mission to capture Zola.

"I wouldn't mind seeing some of the photos of your youth and your family," T'Challa said. "Perhaps after dinner, if you are willing to share."

Bucky took the album from Sam and set it carefully back on the floor. "Of course."

T'Challa picked up his fork and dug into a perfectly square piece of mutton bathed in a dark red sauce. They ate and chatted for an hour. T'Challa was curious about what had happened in the alternate timeline after the battle with Thanos, so Bucky and Steve gave him the recap.

"You mean to tell me that I worked out of a World War II tent?" Shuri asked.

Bucky grinned at her. "Well, you spruced it up quite a bit. Inside, it looked like a scene out of Star Trek—one of the newer ones."

T'Challa took a sip from his cup, then set it down and said, "Captain Rogers, I am glad that my counterpart gave you a new shield. Do you like the design?"

Steve nodded. "It's perfect, and with the vibranium straps, it's slightly lighter than the other one."

"I am sure that my sister designed it," T'Challa said.

"Oh, most certainly," Shuri agreed.

-0- -0- -0-

They retired to their quarters for the evening. Steve and Bucky shared the double room that held two beds, and Sam took the adjoining room. After quick showers, both of them were too amped to sleep. It was a little passed 10:30 p.m. Wakandan time, but only about 3:30 p.m. Indiana time.

Bucky sank into the armchair and withdrew his phone and the card Jimmy had given him. Steve walked slowly around the room, as though burning off excess energy. Bucky looked at the number on the card and typed it into his phone, then drafted a brief text message. He struggled a bit about the wording. He wasn't sure whether he should be brief or say something more substantial. In the end, he opted for the middle ground.

Jimmy, Bucky here. This is my number. It was nice to meet you. I hope Becca is still doing well. Thank you both for the photo album, the whiskey, and the birthday.

He re-read the text a final time before sending it. It sounded normal enough. He read it again, then thought that the phrase "is still doing well" might sound to morbid, like he expected her to die the moment he left. That was too grim.

His finger hovered over the backspace icon on the screen's keyboard, but then Steve's hand appeared suddenly, his finger tapping the SEND button.

"Hey!" Bucky looked up at him. "That was uncalled for, man."

Steve looked completely unapologetic. "Being a friend sometimes means saving you from yourself. Remember that time I tried to sign up for the war and you sent an MP in to change my mind?"

Oops. Did Paulie squeal? Bucky grimaced. "How do you know about that?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Um…"It was the look on his face that gave it away.

"Shuri?" Bucky asked incredulously. "The scan, back in the compound."

"Yeah." Steve leaned against the wall. "Again, how that whole thing went down. I'm sorry."

Buck sighed and waved a hand in the air, hoping his face didn't betray the rising knot in his stomach as he thought about the other thing the scan revealed—the thing that he and Steve hadn't spoken about since it happened. "It's fine. I can't exactly hold something like that against you after everything I've done. You and Shuri were helping me. I know that. I'm just not happy about not knowing everything people saw."

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you like me to go through it all?"

Bucky thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Except for the…things…I already know about." He wondered just what part of his life revealed his undying love for Steve. It was something he'd kept close to the vest his entire life, and yet, somehow, Shur's scan had broadcast it in front of almost everyone who knew him.

Steve obliged, going through it all, scene by scene, and when he was finished, Bucky actually felt better. It wasn't so bad. His imagination had made the whole thing out to be so much worse. Many of those memories he'd have preferred to keep private, but he could live with those ones having been out on display. Hell, he could even live with being shoved out of the closet. He'd lived through much worse.

He took a measure of relief in knowing that the deeper, darker parts of his memories remained private. There were things he hadn't told anyone. Not Steve. Certainly not that therapist. Things he was pretty sure not even Shuri knew, although to be fair, he wasn't certain about that. He hadn't been conscious for the last scan she'd performed in Wakanda, but he was pretty sure that if she had watched those memories with her own eyes, he'd have seen it on her face.

He tried not to think about Tony Stark and the footage he'd found in the bunker. What was done was done. He couldn't change it. Time to move on.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

Bucky gave a gentle, reassuring smile. "Yeah. Thanks. It's okay. We're good." His smile widened, and he cocked his head. "Besides, the MP didn't work. You still managed to get them to let you in."

Steve smiled. "You told Natasha I was stubborn…twice. You were right. It paid off, didn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess. That stubbornness saved our asses after Azzano," Bucky acknowledged.

Bucky's phone beeped, and he looked down. Jimmy had returned the text. It was a photo of the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and the text said, "It was an honor to meet you. Hopefully, we can share a drink on your birthday next year. Mom is doing well. She slept on and off after you left."

Bucky smiled.

Steve leaned forward. "You going to take him up on that offer?"

Bucky shrugged. Maybe. He'd like to see Jimmy again, and if he was really lucky, Becca might make it another year. The rest of the family…Bucky wasn't so sure about. He didn't want to cause a rift in the family, especially during whatever time Becca had left.

"We'll see," was all he managed to say in response.

Steve slapped Bucky's knee gently, his touch lingering a moment longer than usual… Or was that just Bucky's hopeful imagination? "I'm going to try for sleep," Steve said. "Might as well get back in sync to the local time."

Bucky nodded and rose from the chair, stripping down to his boxers and hitting a button on the wall. A bin jutted out, and he dumped his clothes in it.

"What is that?" Steve pointed to it.

"The fanciest hamper you'll ever see."

Steve shook his head. "This place really is amazing."

"Yes, it is."

---

author's note: One more chapter to go, but FYI, this story is posted in its entirety on Archive of our Own, under the same title (if you can't wait). Chapter 14 here corresponds to Chapter 18 over there.