Operation Hindsight

by WintersSunrise

Bucky and Sam travel from 2024 to 2014 to thwart Hydra agents armed with knowledge of the future from changing the timeline. To do that, Bucky has to stop the Winter Soldier from assassinating Captain America.

8. Liquid Courage and Goodbyes

A week later, Bucky and Steve met with Simmons, Banner, Stark, and the psychiatrist Stark brought in to develop a plan to inactivate the code words inside Soldier-Bucky's head. Bucky told him everything he knew about how Shuri had freed him from the control of the activation sequence, though he left out the part about who she actually was and where she came from. Steve was the only one Bucky had told, and Steve promised to keep it a secret for now.

Eventually, the Avengers would have to reach out to Wakanda to prepare for Thanos. Until then, any contact they made with Wakanda would almost certainly be rebuffed. T'Chaka was the present King, and he wanted to keep Wakandan's technical abilities a secret.

They had a plan. With Stark's budding Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing technology—which was surprisingly similar to Shuri's memory-scanning technology, they had a shot. Simmons' neural scan device and Dr. Balesh's expertise would prove invaluable, as well. At least they had the benefit of Bucky's experience, and for that, he gave silent thanks to Shuri. She had taken the time, every step of the way, to explain the process, the risks and benefits, and give him hope during the failures.

He told them what had worked and what hadn't worked. Hopefully, that would make the process a hell of a lot easier on his 2014 counterpart. It wouldn't be easy, and it would likely take months, perhaps even a year, before 2014 James Buchanan Barnes was freed from those goddamned words.

"There are no shortcuts," Bucky told them, "but this will work. Eventually."

Steve's eyes always betrayed his emotions, and right now, they showed a mixture of hope and desperation. "Maybe there's a shortcut. Maximoff can touch minds. The sorcerers can do things I can't even comprehend—"

"No."

"Bucky…"

"No!" Bucky put every ounce of conviction he had into that word because he knew how little Steve liked hearing it. "That guy's had his mind messed with enough. No."

Steve looked at the others, but Stark simply shrugged and the doctors offered no opinions. "If they can help—"

"No, goddammit!" He slapped a hand on the table so hard it creaked, and Simmons jumped.

It was hard enough displaying all of his dirty laundry in front of people he barely knew, going over in detail how fucked up his brain was, but at least the doctors and even Stark took his lead. Steve, on the other hand, had to push. He was too emotionally invested, and that was the last thing Bucky or his younger self needed.

"I understand your reluctance," Steve said. "I'm not saying we jump into it, just consider the possibility."

Jesus, the guy didn't get it. Bucky's anger was bubbling, and he tried to get a grip on it. He should be able to talk about this calmly with Steve, but he was tired, and the three hours he'd already spent in this lab going over one of the most emotionally taxing periods of his life had taken its toll.

"This isn't your decision to make for him." Bucky's voice started out calm, but as he looked into those defiant, desperate eyes, anger drove his words. "What are you to him, anyway? You're not his next of kin, not his father, brother, or spouse. You'll leave, and when you do, he's going to be stuck with whatever decisions you make for him. You don't get to do that."

Steve's chin went hard, but his eyes were puddles. "I'm not going to leave."

You did. You will. This Steve was no different than the one who'd made that decision. This Steve loved Peggy just the same. "You don't know that. You can't say that."

Steve crossed his arms. "I damn well can."

There it was, that Steve Rogers' stubbornness. "You don't know what it means. You hate it here."

He walked to the black duffel bag on the floor. He'd brought it to let Stark look at some of the future tech to get a jump start against Thanos and build a better prosthetic arm for young Barnes. Inside was a vial of Pym particles. If the band-aid was coming off, faster was better. It was no use making either Steve or 2014 James Barnes suffer.

He held it out toward Steve. "Here. Take this and you can go back home—any time, any place. You could see Peggy tomorrow maybe. Have that dance. Get the life you always wanted. Marry her. Have children. You'll need a suit, but Stark can make you one, I'm sure."

Surprise flickered in Steve's eyes, and then everything on his face shifted to raw grief so powerful, it stole the anger from Bucky and left nothing but regret and guilt in its place.

Steve's expressive eyes had always been able to undo him.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat, and when he spoke, his tone was softer, filled with an apology he couldn't utter. "So here. Take it. Go home. It's real. It's not just an idea. You can actually go home, Steve. You can see her. You can hold her. Make love to her. The Avengers can deal with Thanos without you. They've got a head start this time, and if we contact Captain Danvers ahead of time, well, I'm pretty sure we'll have this in the bag." Bucky knew what it felt like to yearn for peace. It's why he let Steve go in 2023 without saying all the things he wanted so much to say. He wanted Steve to be happy, even if it meant losing him forever. "Don't worry about the other James Barnes. I'll hang out here for a bit, help that guy figure out who he is. I can take as long as I need."

In 2023, Bruce said Steve had as long as he needed to return the stones, but it would be only seconds for everyone else. The thought of staying in this timeline for months or years turned his stomach, but he could do it if needed. He could watch his other self go through hell again, relive it vicariously. It would suck, but he'd lived through much worse.

"Maybe I'll even stay long enough to see us through Thanos," Bucky continued, "and then go back to 2024 a moment after I left, looking a few years older, but no one will notice enough to care." The truth of that stole his breath for a moment, and he looked away, swallowing another lump before he could find his voice again. "There's absolutely nobody in 2024 who needs me. Not a single person. Sam doesn't, he's got Sarah, his nephews, and Torres. If I go back 10 years older, that's not gonna matter to anyone. So take it." Bucky pushed the vial closer to Steve. "Live your life. Don't worry about him. He doesn't want you sticking around out of pity or a sense of obligation. He's not the guy you used to know. He's messed up, and he's going to be for a long time, maybe forever, because what happened to him sure as hell isn't something a guy just comes back from one hundred percent."

Steve's eyes were oceans of pain, but he held the tears back. He always was too proud to cry in front of most people.

It hurt to look at, but it would hurt longer and harder if he didn't tell Steve the truth. "You aren't going to fix him, and when you accept that, you'll realize there's nothing here for you. But don't worry. He'll figure it out on his own, or he won't, but either way he's not your problem. He's no one's problem. . .except mine."

Steve's gaze dropped to the vial and Bucky's hand. Stark was fixed on it, too, almost hungry in his intensity. Bucky could see the shadow of uncertainty on Steve's face. He was thinking about it, probably envisioning his life with Peggy. It was one thing to be stuck in the future and have to learn to make the best of it, but quite another to have the option right in front of you to go back home, to everything you knew and loved.

"You'll create a new timeline, like we did here. You can even stop me from ever becoming the Winter Soldier. It won't affect either me or the other guy here, but you could have it all, just like the Steve Rogers of my timeline did. You could have Peggy, and the best friend you grew up with. You'll have the life you always dreamed of. You deserve that. I know I asked you to stay, but I shouldn't have." Those were almost the same words he said the first time, when Steve told him what he was planning. It was the only thing he could really do for Steve—set him free.

It still hurt like a son of a bitch.

"Fuck it." Tony bounced forward with almost manic energy. "You want to go back to 1940-whatever when there was segregation, people rounded up folks they thought might be queer, and women were second-class citizens? Swell time, wasn't it? Go ahead. Play house in Pleasantville, USA. I'll make you a suit if you want, but you know, we sure as hell could use you here, Cap, and just so you know, if you do go back, I guarantee you're gonna miss air conditioning, microwave ovens, and long, hot showers, not to mention washers and dryers, good movies without all that censorship, and the Internet."

"And," Bruce spoke up, fidgeting as he pushed his glasses up, "there's the small issue of, um, no one really knows what effect the serum has on, well, um, reproduction."

Tony raised a finger. "That, too."

"Oh, and modern refrigeration!" Simmons said with an anxious wave. "With your enhanced metabolism, Captain, you require the ability to store large amounts of food."

Steve's gaze swept the group, and as it did, his uncertainty faded to conviction. "I'm not leaving."

"Whew!" Tony bounced on his heels and pointed to the vial in Bucky's hand. "That's great news, but, uh, since you're inclined to give that little vial of wonderfulness away…"

Bucky pocketed it. "No. It was a one-time offer for Steve only." He pointed to the black duffel. "There's a bag full of future tech in there, including nanotechnology that you otherwise wouldn't have access to for about five years, but I'm not giving you the Pym Particles."

Stark eyed the duffel, grumbled under his breath, then shrugged. "Okay, fine. Nanotech is cool. I can work with that, but," he pointed to Bucky's pocket. "I'm not giving up on the Pym Particles, although I definitely have to think of another name. I'll wear you down. I can be unbearably irritating, so I'm told."

Steve was still looking at him with that unwavering, soul-piercing gaze. "Bucky…"

"The answer is no, Steve. You won't change my mind on this." He headed toward the door but stopped before leaving. "Wanda's powers are too new, too unstable and unpredictable. She's got her own trauma to deal with. The sorcerers—who knows what'll happen. I know the techniques I laid out will work. They already did. Why would you want to risk that just so you can reminisce about old times a little faster with your Bucky?"

"That's not fair, and you know it, but okay." Steve gave a small conceding nod. "It was just an idea. It's off the table."

"Damn straight it is." With a final glance at the group, Bucky left.

-000-

Steve found the bottle of Asgardian ale that Thor left behind the bar and slid onto a barstool to pour himself a glass. It burned going down and settled in his stomach like fire. He poured another.

He hadn't been able to get drunk in that war-torn bar in London after Bucky fell from the train, but this stuff would probably do the job if he drank enough of it. He mourned Bucky then, and he was mourning Bucky now— mourning the loss of his friendship and the memory of those two starry-eyed kids from Brooklyn who used to be inseparable.

Steve hoped he could resurrect his friendship with the Bucky of this timeline. He hadn't yet blown things, and he wouldn't. He'd do his best to make up for the 70 years of hell Bucky had been through because Steve dropped his guard for a couple of seconds in 1945.

Sam entered, and Steve gave him a glance before taking another generous swallow. Sam settled onto the adjacent stool, Steve jerked his chin to the wall of alcohol. "I don't recommend you have what I'm having, but you're welcome to join me for a drink."

"You want to talk about it?"

"I failed him in 1945." Steve drained his glass and poured another. "The other version of me abandoned him in 2023. Every time I think I'm making headway with him, he pushes me away again. He resents me, and I don't blame him. I've brought nothing good to his life, even before the war. I was the anchor weighing him down. There were so many things he wanted to do that he didn't because he wouldn't leave me behind," Steve sighed and took a gulp of the ale, wishing it burned more, "but I left him behind twice. He knows that, and he knows I know it, too."

Sam shook his head. "You two have the most convoluted codependent relationship I've ever seen."

"What do you mean by that?" Steve took another drink. His head was beginning to feel light. The stuff was working.

"He's pushing you away because you're the most important person in his life, and he knows he's going to lose you again. It must be that Great Depression-era Brooklyn-tough antiquated macho coping mechanism that you both wrap around yourselves like a security blanket."

"Not exactly." Steve smiled despite the insult. "That coping mechanism involved not saying how you really felt about anything and pussyfooting around emotions with a wise crack. Bucky made it clear how he feels about me."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to leave. He offered me the Pym particles and practically demanded that I go back to 1945 and leave him and the Bucky from this timeline the hell alone."

He thinks I'm going to break my promise. He doesn't trust me, and why the hell should he?

"You're still here, so I'm guessing you turned him down?"

Steve pulled his gaze away from his glass and looked at Sam. "I promised him I'd be with him 'til the end of the line. I don't care what happens, or what your version of Steve Rogers did. I'm not going to break that promise."

"Can you be happy here?" Sam's eyes were studying him, searching his face. "I think that's Bucky's incredibly unhealthy way of telling you not to put his happiness above your own."

"Things are…hard here—just as hard as they were back in 1945, but in a different way. It's a little less lonely, though, now that he's here, even if he wants to punch me." He gave into a self-deprecating smile that faded as quickly as it rose. "Home is where your family is, and he's been the only family I have for a long time. He was always there when I needed him. I wish I'd been there for him, in your timeline, when he needed me. All I can do is be here for the James Barnes of this timeline, and I will."

Sam laid a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm only going to say this once, but don't you dare tell him I said it."

Steve perked up. There was both a seriousness and a glint in Sam's eyes that had Steve's full attention. "Won't say a word."

"Like I told you before, I've known this version of Bucky longer than you have. You mean more to him than I think you realize. Hell, I'm pretty sure you mean more to him than he wants you to. You broke through Hydra's conditioning. The day we found him in Bucharest was one of the most hellish days of my life, and it was even worse for him. Despite everything he'd gone through, the moment he regained consciousness in that abandoned machine shop, he followed you like a puppy—a scary ass puppy with a grumpy face—but a puppy nevertheless. When you left, yeah, it hit him hard. That's why he's pushing you away. You mean the world to him, and he knows his world is about to be destroyed all over again."

Steve let his gaze drown in his glass. "He's protecting himself. From me." He took another drink. Was the stool moving?

"Sam…" A familiar voice intruded, and Steve looked up a little too fast—slapping his palm on the bartop to steady himself—to see Bucky heading toward them, disapproval in the gaze he had fixed on Sam.

"Well, shit." Sam slid off the stool. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough." Bucky's gaze was like a glacier. "So when I ask you to do me a favor, I'd say you owe me one."

Sam grimaced uncomfortably. "What is it?"

"Go keep an eye on my slightly crazier self for a little while." He tilted his head toward the doorway.

Sam gave a heavy sigh. "Fine, but if he freaks out about something and kills me, I'm not gonna go to the light. I'm gonna stay and haunt your ass for the rest of your life."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Captain America, are you saying you don't think you can handle one World War 2 veteran with a prosthetic arm?"

Sam flipped him the bird as he left. Bucky took the stool. He reached over the bar and grabbed an empty glass, then poured it to the rim with ale. "Thor left this?"

Steve nodded and took another sip.

"He gonna come back for it?" Bucky asked.

"Don't know."

"I'm sure he won't miss it. Besides, he's the Prince of Asgard, right? I'm certain there's a ton of this stuff back in his castle, or wherever he lives." Bucky took a long drink. He went silent for several seconds, his eyes studying the rows of bottles on the liquor wall. "I know what it's like to feel out of place, to miss people you loved. That's why I didn't try to stop you—the other you—when you left. That's why I don't want you to stay, if you're not going to be happy here, even though I know how much that other guy is gonna miss you. I was kind of a jerk about it, though, back in the lab. Sorry."

Steve studied Bucky, taking solace in that familiar side profile, the one he'd seen gazing up at the stars on treks across Europe or on the fire escape outside their apartment. Just like then, Bucky's gaze was distant, but this time it was achingly sad.

Steve grabbed onto the olive branch. "Kind of?"

That made Bucky turn to look at him, and Steve smiled. It had the desired effect. The edges of Bucky's mouth turned upward, and a twinkle banished the melancholy in his gaze. "Old habits are hard to break." He drained his glass and poured another, flashing his eyebrows as he set the bottle down. "This stuff really packs a wallop."

"Well, it's strong enough for an Asgardian." Steve swirled the liquor in his glass. His limbs felt soft and heavy. "We should probably go easy on it."

Bucky nodded. "Probably." He took another long drink. "We never really got to talk like this before."

"Why not?"

Bucky sighed and looked back into his drink. "After the cluster-fuck in Siberia, we had about a week together. I spent a lot of that time in the lab getting patched up and undergoing more scans than I could count. Then I went back into cryo. You and the others left. You were on the run. We video-chatted a few times. You came to visit once. They helped me get the code words out of my head, but I didn't really know what to do with myself. I was a fugitive, too."

"So you lived on a hill with goats?"

Bucky smiled and nodded almost shyly. "And a couple of cows. I helped out in the village."

"That's where you got the name White Wolf?"

"Yeah. I was a curiosity to the village kids. They'd sneak into my hut in the morning, climb the tree and watch me work, a couple of the kids would beg to do my hair, and occasionally I'd let them. It's not like I could do anything with it with one arm."

"When did you get the vibranium arm?" Steve asked.

"Right before Thanos arrived." Bucky sighed, tilted his head, and raised his eyebrows. "I have photos, if you're, uh, interested."

"Photos from the future? Absolutely."

Bucky grinned, and his eyes crinkled as though he were embarrassed, but he slid out his phone and, after a few seconds of swiping, showed Steve the screen.

"This was my hut."

It was simple, but the landscape was beautiful. The shot was wide, with Bucky in the background standing near a cow and a fence. It looked like a peaceful place. There was a child beneath a tree wearing red. "Who is that?"

Bucky zoomed in on the child. "Abeo. He loved to climb the tree with Seye and watch me work. They're inseparable." He bit his lower lip and cracked a smile as he glanced up at Steve. "Kind of like we were."

A pang of nostalgia stole Steve's breath for a moment, and he took a drink to get his voice back. "Who took the photo?"

"Shuri, the lead scientist who helped me. She visited often." Bucky swiped to a photo of a breath-taking city nestled among green hills with towering conical buildings.

Steve had never seen anything like it.

"That's the heart of Wakanda." Bucky explained. "When Shuri took me around, I felt like I was in another world. It was overwhelming, like I'd stepped into a sci-fi novel."

Steve hoped he'd get to see it in person someday. "It looks like an amazing place."

"It is, and although it's still a place close to my heart, it was never my home. I was a guest there because I had nowhere else to go other than a prison cell." He paused to take another drink. "There's no place like home, Steve."

Steve reached out and put a hand on the crook of Bucky's neck, just like Bucky used to do when they were young, and suddenly he was that kid again, looking up to his best friend, the brother he never had. "Family is home, and you've been the only family I've had since I was sixteen."

Bucky dipped his head and smiled. "You're drunk."

"Not enough."

"Guess we'd better do something about that." Bucky grinned and raised his glass. "First time since 1943."

They clinked glasses. Steve wondered if Bucky was still a sappy drunk. A few more drinks in, Steve got the courage to revisit the rift between them.

"I wish you'd asked the other me to stay."

Bucky tilted his head as if that were a response all its own, and even before Bucky said a word, Steve knew what he was going to say.

"You would've stayed if you wanted to, but you didn't. I wasn't going to be the anchor holding you down, keeping you from the life you always wanted, from the woman you loved." He shook his head and took a long drink. "I wouldn't do that to you…not then and not now."

"You always look out for me. Sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. You broke free of Hydra and got your memories back on your own. You shouldn't have had to, but you did. You were the strong one before the serum, and you're the strong one now. I just wish you didn't have to be so strong." He ached knowing there was nothing he could do to change things for the Bucky staring at him with eyes that knew him in and out. "I'm gonna stick around. I won't let the Bucky of this timeline go through any of that alone."

Bucky smiled in a way that was full of both sadness and appreciation. "He'll be a pain in the ass for a while."

There it was—the wise crack that conveyed everything Bucky couldn't say. Steve smiled back. "Just like old times."

They drank and talked for hours. It turned out Bucky was still a sappy drunk.

-000-

When Sam agreed to keep an eye on Bucky's soldier half, he expected it to be for an hour, two tops. It was going on five hours. He wanted to take a shower, relax for a bit, and head to bed. Falcon was watching the news in the rec room, so Sam deposited the Soldier there while he went to search for the other two super soldiers. Hopefully, they were still in the party lounge.

He ran into Natasha on the way. The way she looked at him — with a hint of a smile and a raised eyebrow— made it clear she had a sense of what happened.

"Are you sure he's safe with Falcon?" she asked.

He sure as hell hoped so. "I think he's over the murdery phase."

"If he falls asleep, has a nightmare—"

"My younger self is smart enough not to get too close. Hopefully, it's only for a few minutes."

She followed him into the party lounge. The scene they found stopped them both in their tracks.

Steve was laying on his stomach on one of the white sofas. His mouth was open and there was a puddle of drool on what had to be an expensive throw pillow. One arm dangled to the floor.

Bucky slept in the adjacent armchair, his legs sprawled out in front of him with his head tilted back. The empty bottle of Asgardian sat on the coffee table.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Natasha and he had the same idea because they both retrieved their phones and started snapping, making sure to get both portrait and landscape shots.

Sam grabbed a throw pillow from the other armchair as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He chucked it at Bucky. The reaction was instantaneous. Bucky was on his feet, ready for battle, and the throw pillow went sailing across the room.

"What—?" He blinked at them. His posture relaxed but his gaze threw daggers at Sam.

Steve groaned and rolled off the couch. His eyes shot open when he hit the floor, and a moment later, he, too, was on his feet. He rubbed a hand over his face, wiping drool off his chin with the back of his hand. "What time is it?"

Bucky gave a sideways glance at Steve and smirked.

Sam crossed his arms. "It's nine o'clock. You had me babysitting for five hours."

"Sorry." Bucky had the decency to look contrite. "We lost track of…" His brow furrowed. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's with the other me in the rec room."

"Christ." Bucky hurried past them.

Natasha smirked, which he ignored completely. Steve straightened his clothes and hair, then followed.

"He's fine!" Sam called after them, exchanging glances with Natasha.

He followed them to the rec room and almost ran into Steve. There were sounds of gunfire and commotion. When Sam moved around the mountain of Steve, he took a moment to process what he was seeing. Falcon and Soldier-Bucky were sitting in front of the TV, each working a game controller, eyes riveted on a screen where people were shooting each other.

"Is that Halo?" Natasha asked.

Falcon's gaze remained fixed on the screen as he jabbed a button. "Yeah." He grinned. "The Winter Soldier's on my team, and we're kicking ass." He almost bopped off the couch at a close call. "Hey man," he shot his game partner a look, "you're supposed to watch my back."

Soldier-Bucky's gaze didn't waiver as he calmly worked the control. "Be faster."

"I've been playing this game a hell of a lot longer than you. I…damnit!" Falcon shot the Soldier a hard glare as his avatar died and slowly came back to life. "Thanks a lot, man."

The Soldier's gaze remained fixed on the screen as his hands expertly worked the controls "Saving your ass is not my objective."

Sam almost couldn't believe his ears, but the surprised grin on Steve's face confirmed what he heard. That sounded a lot like James Barnes poking through. He watched in awe the way the Soldier's hands navigated the controls, as though he had been playing the game for years. He leaned closer to Bucky. "Hydra never had you playing this for training or anything, did they?"

Bucky glanced at him and shook his head. "No, but the serum enhances memory and coordination, and he's been conditioned to learn fast."

The way Bucky said the word conditioned sent a chill down Sam's spine. He got it. Failure was not an option. He looked back at Soldier-Bucky playing the game—his intense focus, fluid fingers, and stiff posture—and saw it in a whole new light.

He leaned closer to Bucky and lowered his voice. "Is he having fun, or…I mean…he knows this is a game, right?"

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. "He knows it's a simulation."

"He sees it more like a test, doesn't he?" Natasha interjected.

"Yes."

Steve's face grew serious as he studied Falcon and Soldier-Bucky. He walked in front of them, blocking the TV.

Falcon paused the game. "What's up, Cap?"

Steve gave an uncertain flicker of a smile. "Maybe we should call it quits on the game."

The Soldier shot to his feet. "The mission objective is not complete."

Steve's gaze flickered to Sam before he responded. "It's just a game. It's supposed to be fun. Are you having fun?"

The Soldier's brow furrowed, his eyebrows knit together in obvious confusion as he apparently mulled over an appropriate response.

When one wasn't forthcoming, Steve continued, "There's no mission."

Sam stepped closer. He wasn't sure this version of Steve or the Soldier really understood what modern video games were all about. "It's a videogame. Your opponents are a bunch of kids between the ages of 12 and 16 sitting in their parent's living rooms or their bedrooms until someone yells at them to go to bed."

The Soldier straightened, looking downright insulted, and peered down at Falcon. "You got killed three times by children."

"Hey!" Falcon dropped the controller and got to his feet. "Some of them play hours every day. They're hyper-focused, probably addicted." He raised his chin. "I'm a grown-ass adult. I have a healthy relationship with recreational activities."

The Soldier grimaced and set the controller on the armchair, then looked back at Steve. "There is no mission?"

Steve shook his head. "No, Buck, there is no mission."

The Soldier's eyes scanned the group before settling back on Steve. "What is my function here?"

Sam wasn't sure what the Soldier was asking, so he looked at Bucky, hoping for clarification.

Bucky sighed and walked up to the trio, stopping next to Steve and facing the Soldier. "Your function is to regain memories that Hydra stole from you. Your function is to recover."

The Soldier's brow furrowed again as he pondered that, then he tilted his head and asked, "What is my purpose?"

Bucky's voice was surprisingly gentle when he answered. "That's something you'll have to decide for yourself when you're ready."

Crap. It was suddenly clear to Sam where the Soldier's head was. He'd spent 70 years going from one mission to the next, frozen in between. He didn't know how to exist outside of a mission. Existing in the day-to-day with no orders and no objective to accomplish must be confusing as hell.

Sam ran a tired hand over his face. It was getting too late for an existential crisis.

Bucky straightened, looking around with a sudden urgency. "Where's Alpine?"

Sam's stomach dropped away. Had he closed the door to the bedroom? "Uh… Hopefully still in the room."

It was obvious from the look Bucky gave him that that answer did not go over well. "Hopefully?"

"I can't remember whether I closed the door."

The sound that rumbled from Bucky's throat was something between a groan and a growl.

They hurried off as a group to the bedroom. Sam bit the inside of his cheek when he saw that the door was, unfortunately, open. He hung back. It's not like it was a big deal. The kitten couldn't get out of the Tower.

Bucky, Steve, and Natasha disappeared into the room. Sam waited in the hallway with Falcon and the Soldier. The three emerged a few moments later, and the glare Bucky shot Sam told him the kitten wasn't in the room.

"She's fine. She's around here somewhere."

"This tower is 93 stories." Bucky marched past him. "She's barely bigger than a cotton ball. She can be anywhere."

That was an exaggeration. She was at least the size of half a dozen cotton balls. "She'll turn up." Sam tried for a reassuring tone, but Bucky simply glared at him again.

"You're awfully worried for someone who insists she isn't your cat," Natasha remarked.

Bucky gave her a long look, as though he were debating saying something. He didn't. Instead, he walked up to the Soldier. "You want to feel useful? The kitten is located somewhere on this floor. Find her. Keep her safe. Return her to me. Do not leave the lockdown area under any circumstances. Can you do that? And don't say you will comply. You can answer yes or no. It's up to you—except the part about leaving the floor."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. Bucky was just gonna let the guy waltz around unsupervised looking for a kitten?

The Soldier glanced away as though confused, but after a moment he nodded. "Yes."

As the Soldier turned and began to march away, Bucky called, "Don't hurt anyone, don't break into locked rooms, and make sure you knock and wait for permission before entering occupied rooms!"

"You think it's a good idea to let him do that?" Falcon asked, echoing Sam's thoughts, which made sense since they kind of had the same brain. "What if he just decides to take off?"

Bucky looked remarkably unconcerned, especially given his reaction to finding out Sam had left the Soldier with Falcon.

"He won't, and these upper floors are locked down, so we'll be alerted if he does," Bucky said. "He hasn't thought about trying to escape in a while. He likes it here. He gets real food, and as much of it as he wants, warm showers, a private bedroom, and no one has hurt him since he's been here. He's over the flighty stage for the moment."

"For the moment?" Steve prodded.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "He's remembering some things, but not enough. When he remembers enough…that's when you'll have to keep a closer eye. He won't pose a direct danger to others—not unless someone attacks him—but when he starts to remember who he was—who he really was—and the things Hydra did to him, that's when it'll get hard." Bucky had that thousand-yard stare all of a sudden. His mind was going to a bad place. When he spoke, his voice was flat. "Make sure he can't get access to a gun, and watch him around knives."

Shit. Suddenly, all sorts of scenarios careened through Sam's head—such as Bucky sitting at a table with a gun. How close had he come? And when?

Steve's face said it all. He understood the message, and he was obviously wondering the same thing.

Sam knew it was time to poke Bucky a bit, enough to pull his head out of that dark place. "Then why did you look so irritated when you found out I left him with my younger half?" He could unpack all that later with Bucky, if he wanted, but knowing him, he probably didn't.

Bucky looked at him, that faraway glaze gone. "Because you have no sense of self-preservation when it comes to super soldiers, and you seem to enjoy agitating him."

"Hey!" Falcon protested. "I held my own against you." He said it with all the confidence in the world, but his eyes betrayed self-doubt.

Bucky looked down his nose at the younger Sam. "You made an effective distraction, but it took me less than 15 seconds to remove you from the equation on top of the helicarrier, and you were wearing the suit and flying. You're good, but you still have a few things to learn."

Sam couldn't argue with that. He was good. Now he was better. He smiled at the flustered look on Falcon's face.

"Play nice, gentlemen." Natasha's eyes danced with amusement as she looked at Bucky. "I'll help your surlier twin look for the kitten. I'm interested to see what he does."

She followed after the Soldier, and when she was out of sight, Steve finally interjected himself into the conversation. "Are you sure he's safe? He's not gonna hurt anybody?"

"I was on my own for two years after I walked away from the riverbank." He winced, apparently bothered by a memory "—I might have caused injuries to a few innocent people who got in my way, but I didn't kill anybody who wasn't Hydra. He won't, either. James Barnes is still in there, and every day that he's not drugged, shoved into a chair that scorches his brain, or put under with those ten words, he takes more of the reins."

"Oh really?" Sam crossed his arms. "You did a number on the special forces in Berlin, not to mention that guy on the motorcycle."

"They were trying to kill me, and no one died."

"Thanks to Steve," Sam reminded him.

Bucky sighed. "That was an accident. As for the guy on the motorcycle…he had a minor fracture, but he was okay. I don't feel great about that, but I saw an opportunity, and I took it. The—" he glanced at Falcon "—guy with the claws had almost ripped my throat out a few minutes earlier, and he was impossible to get rid of."

"That was Berlin?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Bucky answered, as though the word was almost too heavy to get out.

-000-

"Here, kitty kitty!"

He looked back at the Widow. She was not a soldier like he was, but as a Black Widow, he expected her to have more understanding of the benefits of stealth. If the target did not wish to be found, it would easily evade them given how loudly she was telegraphing their position.

"Quiet," he told her.

She raised her eyebrows at him but wisely said nothing.

The most effective search pattern was to go room by room, clearing one room before moving on to the next.

"She likes you. If you call her, I'm sure this will go a lot faster."

He placed his hand on the knob of one door, then remembered the instruction and knocked. When no one answered, he tried the knob. It turned, and he pushed the door inward. It was a storage closet.

He systematically searched each shelf, checking all crevices where Alpine could hide. Search completed. He left the room and closed the door, then moved to the next room. It was Wilson's bedroom and it, too, was devoid of one tiny kitten.

He continued room by room, section by section. He knocked on another door and was just about to enter when he heard a voice. "Who the hell knocks?"

The voice was that of Tony Stark, but the reply gave neither permission nor rejection. Romanoff sighed and, with a shake of her head, pushed the door inward, revealing a spacious work area unlike any he could recall seeing.

Once inside, he resumed his search, striding past Stark to begin the search at the workstation against the far wall.

"Uh, hello," Tony swiveled on his stool in that direction. "Can I help you with something?"

"Have you by any chance seen Alpine?" Natasha asked.

"And who or what, pray tell, is that?"

She grinned. "The kitten."

"You've lost the kitten in my Tower? If that thing pees all over the place, somebody's gonna be on cleanup duty for a month." Tony sighed and glanced at the ceiling. "Jarvis, where's the little menace?"

There was a pause longer than Jarvis' usual prompt reply, then, "Current whereabouts are unknown. Surveillance footage showed the feline in the party lounge fifty-five minutes ago."

"That's where Steve and other Bucky were sleeping." Natasha tilted her head. "Let's go, uh…What do you prefer? Bucky? James? Barnes?"

The names rolled around in his head. The other one was called Bucky. The name felt…familiar. Right. He heard it in his dreams.

But he had a mission, and this was a diversion. He walked past her without answering. He would search the party lounge, and if the feline proved elusive, he'd resume the systematic search.

Romanoff followed him. Stark grumbled something and resumed his work.

-000-

Bruce was looking forward to some down time. He poured himself a cognac and tucked the book on modern meditative techniques under his arm. He was halfway to the seating area when Natasha and the Soldier walked in.

"Hey there, fancy meeting you here."

Natasha smiled at him in a way that made him feel self-conscious. "We're on a mission to find Alpine. Have you seen the little fuzzball?"

"Nope." He sank into the armchair. The sudden mewl had him springing back up, drink spilling and book toppling from his grip.

He barely got straight when the Soldier bulldozed past him, shoving him to the nearby couch and scooping up the fuzzy ball of indignation in one meaty palm, promptly inspecting the creature with surprisingly gentle fingers.

Bruce took a few deep breaths. Calm down, big guy. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

The Soldier looked at him, and though there was little actual expression on the man's face, Bruce could swear it was accusatory.

"I'm a medical doctor, not a veterinarian, but I can take a look if you like. I'm sure she's okay. I barely put my weight down."

The Soldier glared outright this time, eyes narrowing as he clutched the kitten to his chest and marched out of the party lounge. Natasha lingered for a moment, tilting her head and eyeing the wet floor. "Want help cleaning up?"

He waved a hand. "Nah, I got it. You've got more important things to tend to." He jerked his chin to where the Soldier had vanished.

She sighed, and with a final glance over her shoulder at him, left.

-000-

Steve came through on the plane. Finding a place to land clean that wouldn't draw attention, even in stealth mode, hadn't been too hard, but it did require Bucky to park the Quinjet a few miles away from his destination. He hadn't eaten in hours, but his stomach was in knots. Both Steve and Sam had offered to come with him, but this was something he wanted to do alone.

He wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, but when would he ever have the opportunity again? Maybe he was being too selfish, but he would do that guilt later. He zipped up his jacket, put his gloves on, and grabbed the bouquet of daffodils before securing the jet.

He headed out on foot.

The serum gave him stamina, so he was able to keep up a solid pace. In half an hour, he could see the white, mid-century house nestled on a sizable piece of land with the nearest neighbor 10 acres away. Now that he was there, he wasn't sure he could go through with it. He'd spent the entire plane ride rehearsing things he might say, but now his mind was blank.

He kept his distance for a while, watching the house. He knew she lived alone at the moment. Her family was around often, but there were no cars in front of the house. There was a small detached garage that housed a 1978 Buick even though its owner no longer drove.

Sucking in a lungful of the brisk Indiana air, he approached the house, walking up the driveway and onto the porch. He straightened his jacket and hair and knocked on the door. A dog barked. He wasn't sure she was home, but he waited, and after a minute, rang the doorbell. The barking was louder—the dog was small, close to the door.

There was rustling inside the house, then an old woman's voice. "Annie, get back."

A moment later, the door opened, and he got his first look at his sister. Her frizzy white hair was down to her shoulders. She stared at him with wide blue eyes that looked just like their mothers. Her mouth dropped open. The little black dog with a graying muzzle wiggled and tried to jump on his legs, but its body looked too ancient to do so.

He cleared the lump from his throat, blinked away the blurriness in his vision, and smiled. "Hello, Becca. I made it back from the war…a little late."

She shook her head. "I don't…I…You can't be…. Who are you?"

"It's me. Jimmy. Your big brother."

She went white and folded forward. He dropped the flowers and caught her. "Oh God, I'm sorry. Becca?"

He looked around and then scooped her up in his arms. She weighed almost nothing. The little dog was barking and circling his legs in her ancient, gimpy way, stomping all over the flowers. He hooked the door with his foot to close it behind him, then walked carefully to avoid stepping on the dog.

"Becca, please be okay." He set her on the couch and, when he saw her blinking at him, he breathed a heavy sigh, his head hanging forward with relief. He should have called first, but he figured she wouldn't believe a phone call. She'd have to see him with her own two eyes.

Her hand was soft, her skin as thin as paper. She touched his wet cheek, and he looked up at her. The pink was beginning to come back into her cheeks. Her eyes were wet, and tears streamed down to snake below her chin and onto her wrinkled neck. "You haven't wanted to be called Jimmy since you were a teenager."

He laughed and sobbed at the same time, then covered her hand with his own. "That never stopped you, Mom, and especially Ruth."

"You look the same. Just like….Steve. How?"

"It's a very long story, but like Steve, I got frozen, just in a different way. You can't tell anyone I've visited. Are you expecting anyone home?"

Great, now he sounded like a serial killer…which, technically, he was.

"Not for a few hours. Jimmy and my grandkids are coming over for dinner." She smiled, studying his face, and her hands cupped his jaw. "He's your namesake"

"I know." Her hands were cool against his skin. He hadn't been touched like that—gentle, intimate—in a long time, so long, he wasn't sure he remembered the last time. Before he left for war, no doubt. Certainly not after.

"Oh…Bucky. Why can't I tell anyone?" Her voice crumbled, and when she leaned forward, he scooted onto the couch next to her and took her into his arms, wrapping them carefully around her. The dog settled at her feet, whining and looking worried.

"It's top secret for now, and I'm not sure if you'll see me again, but if you do, I…may not remember the details of this visit." All he could do was encourage his younger self to visit Becca as soon as he was well enough.

He wished he had the chance to see Becca before she became ill. By the time he'd gotten his mind back and had the chance, she was in a nursing home. He'd regained his memory, but she'd lost much of hers.

When she regained her composure, she straightened and stared at him again as though she were still having a hard time believing her eyes. "How long can you stay?"

"I'll leave before dinner."

Her face took on a note of sorrow. "Can't you stay?"

He wanted to, but for the sake of the James Barnes that belonged in this timeline, it couldn't yet become public knowledge that he was alive. "No one can know I'm here, but if you've got some alone time tomorrow, I can come back for a few more hours."

Her eyes brightened and she nodded. "I'm not expecting anyone tomorrow, and I had one errand to do, but it can wait."

"Okay then." He felt lighter knowing he'd have a little more time with her than planned.

Her gaze shifted to the mutilated flowers on the floor near the door, and she smiled.

"Were those for me?"

"Uh," he grimaced, scrunching his nose. "Yeah."

"You remembered I like daffodils."

-000-

On the way back, Bucky took a detour. It was a long detour, and he spent the time thinking about Becca, the stories she told him, and the photos she reminisced about. He smiled, even though there was an ache in his chest after leaving her.

He'd gotten to spend this time with her, and he hoped the memories would carry him through the rest of his life.

When he arrived at his destination, he scanned the bunker from the Quinjet, and finding it all clear, he landed the aircraft a hundred feet away.

He hadn't brought warm clothing, but the trek took him only a few seconds. He punched in the code and opened the door, his senses on alert. The place should be abandoned. He made his way to the storage room. It took him an hour to find the boxes he needed. In one, he found an old envelope and tilted the contents onto his palm.

He stared at the dog tags, identical to the ones hanging around his own neck, then slipped them into his pocket. The next item was the videotape. Tony knew what happened, but there was no good that could come from the videotape, so he smashed it and reeled out all of the film inside, scooped up the pieces, and dumped them into the old envelope that had held his dog tags.

It took him a few hours to rifle through the rest of the boxes. He gathered anything he thought would be helpful to Dr. Banner and whoever else would be part of the team getting the code words out of the other James Barnes's head. He separated the stuff he didn't want anyone to see.

Outside he piled all of the items not fit for anyone else's eyes into a pile and set it on fire.

-000-

Steve was waiting with Sam when the Quinjet settled onto the landing pad of the Tower.

"I wonder how she took it," Steve mused. He wished he could've seen her face when she found out her brother was alive.

Sam shook his head. "I can't imagine."

The ramp lowered and Bucky walked out with two boxes under one arm. His eyes found them immediately, and when he smiled, his face crinkled with new and familiar lines that made him somehow look both older and younger at the same time.

Steve hurried forward. "You had a good time?"

"I did. It was nice to see her, talk to her." His grin widened and he glanced at the boxes beneath his arm. "I've got some things for the other James Barnes that I hope will help his memories. Speaking of…"

"In Tony's lab getting another scan." Tony had all kinds of ideas for a new arm, and even though it would probably be months before the younger Buck was mentally capable of making such a crucial decision for himself, Tony couldn't help himself. "Your vibranium arm impressed him enough that he's made it his personal mission to outdo it."

"Well," Bucky raised his metal arm, his grin melting to a smirk, "good luck finding something that'll hold up as well as vibranium. I'll still have the better arm."

It felt almost like old times seeing Bucky in such a good mood. The visit with his sister seemed to do wonders for his mood.

"How's he doing?" Bucky asked.

"He had a nightmare—a bad one—but we got through it. As usual, he's not talking, but he spent most of the day in the room writing in his journals before Tony called him to the lab."

Bucky smiled faded and he took a deep breath. "It'll get worse before it gets better."

"I know." Steve looked over his shoulder at Sam, who had been hanging back but took the silent invitation to join them.

"I can tell you enjoyed yourself," Sam said.

"I did. Staying the extra day was—" he smiled again, almost shyly, "—nice."

"What did you tell her about, you know…?" Sam jerked his head back toward the interior of the Tower.

"I told her she can't tell anyone she saw me, and that if she sees me again, I may not remember the details of the visit. I didn't think laying time travel on top of the shock of her finding out I'm alive was the way to go."

"Don't blame you there." Steve slapped him on the arm. "I hope he gets to see her sooner rather than later. Maybe you can update him enough that, when he does see her, he'll know the gist of your visit."

Sam jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "If you're hungry, we're ordering from the Taco place you raved about."

"I'm starving," Bucky said. "Are you talking about the mom-and-pop taco place I mentioned discovering shortly after the Potomac?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. The one that went out of business during the Blip."

"Let's go collect you." Steve tapped Bucky on the shoulder blade and got a smile in return that made him feel sixteen again. It was nice seeing Bucky relaxed and happy.

They made their way to Stark's lab. The younger Barnes was sitting on a stool looking at a series of holographic arms that immediately vanished as Tony spun to look at them. "How'd the trip go? Not a scratch on the jet, right?"

Bucky gave an insulted flash of his eyebrows. "Not a scratch. Thanks for lending it to me. The trip went well." He walked up to his 2014 counterpart. "Do you remember your sister Rebecca?"

The other man nodded. "Her face, I think. She was the youngest?"

Bucky grinned. "Yes. Well, she's an old woman now who lives in Indiana. When you're…further along the road of recovery, she'd like to see you. She doesn't know there are two of us, but I'll write down as much as I can remember from the visit, so when you're ready, you'll know what we did and what we talked about." He set the boxes on a table and patted the smaller one. "Until then, I've got a stack of family photos and a USB drive with videos on it that I hope will help you get there sooner. And this…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a chain with dog tags.

The younger Barnes reached out and took them, eyeing the inscriptions for several seconds.

Tony cleared his throat. "Speaking of videos, do you still want to see the stuff from the bank?"

Steve gauged the reactions of the two Buckys, but neither version of his friend gave anything away. He remembered Tony mentioning it when he delivered the upgraded arm. He'd followed up on it, but Tony was neck-deep in something in his lab, and he grumbled a reply that was obvious stalling.

It seemed the stalling was over.

"Cap hounded me a couple of times—"

Steve gave him a hard look. One time, and considering the subject, he thought he was being particularly patient.

"—but I wanted to wait until you were healed, I had some free time, and Cap had some time to sit with it because," he shot a pointed look Steve's way, "I don't want to clean up after a super soldier temper tantrum."

"I have an idea what it shows," Bucky said, eyeing his younger twin. "Do you remember going to the Smithsonian and seeing the Captain America exhibit?"

"No."

"Well, then, I'll guess you don't remember going back to the bank for a combination of payback and resource gathering—information, weapons, money, that kind of thing?"

The younger Bucky's brow furrowed as though he were struggling to find the memory, and after a moment, he shook his head.

The older Bucky sighed. "Well, you did, and they knew exactly when you would show up. They were ready for you. I have a pretty good idea how it went down. You fought, but they won. They put you back in the chair and rebooted you."

Steve winced. Rebooted was a nice way of saying tortured.

"What's the point of even watching it?" Sam asked.

"No point at all." Tony gave Steve another long look.

He got the message.

Tony shifted his gaze to the long-haired version of Bucky. "You fought. Hard. You almost made it, too. If you ever have to escape from evil people again, here's an idea—maybe don't walk back into their lair."

The older Bucky grimaced. "It worked the first time around, but they weren't expecting me. I coerced one of the doctors to tend to my arm, took what I needed by way of cash and weapons, trashed the place, and left."

"You kill them or leave them alive?" Sam asked.

Before the senior Bucky could answer, the younger one spoke up. "Show me."

Tony's eyebrows bopped in surprise. "The footage from the bank?"

Steve shook his head, looking at the older Bucky and seeing confirmation there. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Soldier-Bucky's gaze swept across the group. "Show me."

"I probably should've kept my big mouth shut, huh?" Tony said.

That would've been a first, Steve mused. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the older Bucky. "Well…?"

"Look," Bucky sighed, turning to his younger twin, "it's not advisable, and it's likely to be upsetting, but if you want to see it, we'll show it to you."

"But if you get the desire to punch anything," Tony interjected, "go out that door, make a right, then another right, and go into the second door on the left. There's a gym with a sturdy long bag hanging from the ceiling that Cap likes to pummel. Punch that. Nothing in here," he swept a hand to indicate the room. "Understand?"

The Soldier nodded. "I will c…" He glanced at Bucky. "I understand."

Tony took a breath, crossed himself, which Steve figured was more for show than any genuine belief in a deity, and said, "Hit it, Jarvis."

A display came to life above a console table a few feet away. Steve braced himself for what he knew he was about to see. Alexander Pierce stood in the bank vault with over a dozen men. The chair they used to wipe Bucky sat unoccupied in the center of the room.

"He's engaged level one," Rumlow said.

"Jarvis, show the cameras on Barnes," Tony instructed.

The feed changed. It showed Bucky entering the bank and then engaging Hydra agents. He cleared each level, leaving behind a collection of bloodied bodies. Steve couldn't tell whether they were alive.

Bucky took a few hits from batons and tranquilizer darts, but he kept going. He deflected bullets with his metal arm, but it looked like they weren't shooting to kill. They wanted him alive.

When he got to the lower level, he was breathing heavily. The Hydra agents descended on him. He fought most of them off as Pierce stayed on the periphery until one man went sailing into him, sending him crashing onto the floor.

Pierce picked himself up. "Secure him, goddamn it!" He shouted, his voice breathy and pained.

Bucky took more tranquilizer pellets—Icers, they looked like—in his neck, legs, and right arm. A baton connected with the base of his skull. He went down, still struggling, but obviously getting weaker. Someone jabbed a needle into his neck.

The Strike team members left standing lifted him and shoved him into the chair. The restraints closed around his arms, and the metal halo came down. It activated a second later. Bucky arched away from it, his screams filling Tony's lab.

"That's enough," Steve said.

"No," the younger Bucky spoke, but his eyes remained fixed on the display. "Keep it on."

Jesus! Steve wasn't sure how much of this he could take. It was bad enough watching, but listening to the screams was torture. He distracted himself by looking at Sam, but that didn't help. Sam was doing an admirable job keeping himself together, but the horror was obvious on his face. The older Bucky's expression was as stoic as Steve had ever seen it, except for the muscle twitching in his jaw and the deep crevice between his eyes. Tony had the worst poker face of them all, and from the shimmer in his eyes, Steve suspected the scene was bringing up bad memories.

The screaming continued for ten excruciating minutes until finally the halo retracted and Bucky sagged in the chair, his chest heaving.

The code words came next. Tony knew, apparently, because he made a slicing motion with his hand and said, "Jarvis, cut it!"

The display faded.

Soldier-Bucky stared at the empty space above the console table, his expression was blank, but there was a suspicious shine in his eyes.

The older Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath and ran a hand over his face. "Do you remember any of that?"

The Soldier looked around the room and, without a word, dropped his dog tags and marched out of the lab.

"I'll go." Steve scooped up the dog tags and shoved them into his pocket before following. He stayed a few feet behind as Soldier-Bucky took a right and headed into the second door on the left.

Steve entered the room to see Bucky standing in front of the long bag, staring at it.

"You can punch it if—"

Steve didn't get a chance to finish before Bucky's metal arm swung through the air with such speed, power, and precision, that it punched a hole into the bag, ripping it off the chain and sending it into the far wall. Bucky stood there, chest heaving, silent as he stared at the bag laying askew against the cracked wall, bits of fabric from the stuffing all over the floor.

Steve remembered how he felt when he came out of the ice and stood in a gym pummeling the hell out of a reinforced bag until he couldn't feel his arms.

"Here." He grabbed another bag from the storage closet and hung it from what was left of the chain, then held it from behind. "Have at it, just maybe ease up on the metal arm."

He planted his feet as Bucky started on the bag, each powerful blow sending him skidding a few inches. He kept readjusting his stance, his blows getting less precise and more frenzied, until he was a wild thing, all hair and limbs and grunts.

His grunts turned to angry yells, as though he were furious with the bag for not yielding until, finally, the bag gave way completely, ripping open and spilling its contents onto the floor.

Bucky folded onto his knees, a god-awful sound tearing from his throat. Steve hurried forward, but the second his hand made contact with Bucky's arm, his friend lashed out, one arm slicing through the air as Steve tilted away just in time.

"Don't, Steve." The older Bucky stood in the doorway, looking as sad as a man could without actually crying, as the wounded wailing filled the room.

The sound tore Steve up from the inside, bringing the sting of tears to his eyes. He'd do just about anything to make it stop. The damn video.

They never should have let him see it.

"It finally hit him," senior Bucky said softly. "All the little pieces, coming together. Who he was…is….that's starting to sink in, and the weight of what he's done and what was done to him is too much."

Steve listened to the older Bucky as he watched the young one kneeling on the floor, hands around his head, trembling, tears streaming down his face. Finally, that horrific sound faded to weeping. Steve watched, feeling as though his guts were being sliced open, as his friend dug his fingers into the strands of his hair and rocked back and forth, shaking his head.

He pulled the metal arm away and stared at it, eyes overflowing with tears until his expression turned dark and angry. He curled the metal hand into a fist, raised it, and smashed it into the floor. The cement cracked.

He hit it over and over again. Chunks of the floor flew away as Bucky's fist pounded a crater in the floor. Any longer and he'd break through to the next level.

Steve couldn't stand watching and do nothing. He moved forward, slowly, cautiously, half expecting the older Bucky to stop him, but he didn't. Instead, he followed, and as Steve lowered himself to the floor next to his young friend, Bucky did the same.

"You're not a monster," Bucky said, eyes shimmering as he stared at his twin. "Stop." He reached out and grabbed the metal hand.

Soldier-Bucky tried to pull away, but the older one held on.

"You fought. Hard," Bucky told his younger self. "For years. The things they made you do aren't your fault. This was done to you. No one could have resisted any better….Not even Steve."

The air rushed out of Steve as though he'd been punched in his gut. What if it had happened differently and he'd been the one who fell from the train? Is that what Bucky thought all these years? That he just wasn't strong enough?

Bucky had been Steve's rock growing up, the stronger of the two of them. Steve knew Bucky's self-blame was normal. Victims tended to blame themselves. He knew that.

But goddamnit. Bucky blaming himself for falling, for getting captured, for being brutalized, tortured, and brainwashed by Hydra was too much.

Soldier-Bucky was breathing heavily, chest heaving, staring wide-eyed at the older one, until finally, his expression crumpled, and he folded forward, sobbing, trembling. Bucky held him, his own eyes shimmering until silent tears spilled onto his cheeks.

Steve inched closer. What must it be like for Bucky to relive this, to see himself from the outside? He reached out and placed a hand on the back of the older Buck's neck. There was a surprise glance his way, then Bucky wiped at his face and draped the vibranium arm across Steve's shoulder, keeping the other around his younger self.

-000-

By the time Soldier-Bucky exhausted himself enough to let Steve help him to his feet and get him cleaned up back in the room, Steve was sure everyone had already ordered the tacos. The older Bucky had left them alone since the crisis passed, probably to fill his stomach with the tacos he'd raved about.

They showered and changed, and the grief and rage that had simmered in the younger Bucky's eyes was muted. When Steve offered him the dog tags, he looked at them for a moment and slipped them over his head.

"Are you hungry? There should be food in the lounge, if you're up for that, or I can bring it to you."

Bucky's eyes were still red and puffy, but he seemed to be settling into an emotional equilibrium. The other Bucky's warning came back to him, giving rise to an icy tingle in the base of his neck. 'Make sure he can't get access to a gun, and watch him around knives.'

Steve didn't want to leave Bucky alone at the moment. He could call down and have food brought up.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Bucky seemed to study him for a moment, then nodded. "I'll go."

When they made their way to the lounge, almost everyone was there, except Clint who was with his family and Thor who was no doubt on Asgard. The only other face missing was the senior Bucky. Sam and Falcon were picking at take-out boxes on the coffee table in the seating area while Tony and Bruce chatted at the bar with Natasha.

Steve and Bucky went to the seating area. There were untouched bags on the coffee table, and he gestured to them. "Are any of these for us?"

Sam grimaced. "There's a lot left, and when you try them, you'll understand why. They're cold, but help yourself. I think there's a microwave over by the bar."

Steve looked around the room one more time. "Where's the other Bucky?" He wouldn't miss the tacos he'd raved about.

Sam shrugged. "He said he wasn't that hungry, but if there was anything left over, he might eat later. He said he had something to do, but he should be back in a bit."

Bucky not hungry? That was unusual. Was Bucky more affected by the video than he let on? Or perhaps by what happened in the gym? "I'll go check on him." He pointed to the empty armchair. "Sit down and help yourself, Buck. I'll be right back."

Steve headed for the suite, but Bucky wasn't there. He went to Bucky's actual room—the one he rarely used—and knocked. There was no answer, but he heard something. It was a shuffling and a snap of something that sounded like electricity. He pushed the door open, and his jaw went slack at the sight before him.

Bucky was standing in the middle of the room, looking exactly as he had in 1943, holding a shiny, vintage Hills Bros coffee tin. His hair was slicked back, and he was dressed in slacks with a button-up shirt. He wore a fedora, which was new. Bucky rarely wore hats except when in uniform.

He looked young, just like he had the day he left for England in June of 1943, and there was the same suspicious sheen in his eyes that had been there then, when he'd said goodbye to his folks.

"Bucky?"

"Hey, Steve," Bucky said, his words laced with sadness.

He pulled at something near his right ear, and his face changed, growing instantly older, with a few lines that hadn't been there before.

Steve wasn't sure what was going on, but the shimmer in Bucky's eyes grew brighter. "What did you do?"

-000-

When Bucky, in a fresh set of clothes, followed Steve into the lounge, the aroma of spices and chocolate overwhelmed his sense of smell and piqued the interest of his stomach, which was already digesting an earlier impromptu meal. Still, he had a super soldier metabolism, and he remembered that smell. Hell, there was always room for more, especially when tacos and chocolate were involved.

There were bags and boxes of food from two different restaurants. Bucky recognized the logo on the brown bags and went for one, pulling out one of the small tacos. The others were eyeing him curiously, and even Tony, who was slicing the cake and doling them out, stopped to watch.

The younger James Barnes was already halfway through a piece of cake, with bits of chocolate around the edges of his mouth.

"What's up?" Bucky asked as he shoved the entire mini-taco into his mouth and began to chew.

It took his taste buds a second to process what was happening in his mouth, but these were not the tacos he remembered. They tasted like something that had been regurgitated and left to sit in the sun too long. Spitting it out would be rude, so he forced himself to swallow, then snagged a beer and guzzled it to get rid of the taste.

The room erupted in laughter.

"Jesus Christ." He retrieved a napkin and wiped his mouth. "I'm sorry, everyone. I swear I remember these tasting better."

Sam was grinning. "You said they were one of the first tastes of real food you'd had after Hydra?"

"I'd say your taste buds have adapted," Bruce commented.

"Well," Bucky looked at the bags full of untouched tacos, "at least he'll like them." He gestured to his counterpart, who was on his last bite of chocolate cake.

"Um, no." Sam shook his head. "We tried. I had to convince him we weren't trying to poison him."

"He's had plenty of time to get used to good food," Tony said, a touch of pride in his tone.

"It's a good thing you're not hungry," Steve said.

"We ordered Thai after the taco fiasco," Falcon said. "There's plenty left over."

"Or chocolate cake." Natasha gestured to the platter.

"I think I'll have cake." He gratefully accepted a plate.

"So, did the tech I lent you come in handy?" Natasha asked him with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Steve gave them a look, which he ignored as he focused attention on Natasha. "Yes. Thank you. I'll get back to you after I download it."

She leaned forward across the bar from him. "You're not going to tell me what you needed it for, are you?"

"Nope." He took a bite of his cake and a swig of beer.

The cake went quickly, and Bucky was eyeing the last piece on the platter. He looked around, and both Steve and Natasha were eyeing it. They could get this culinary wonder whenever they wanted. For all he knew, whoever made this cake might not even be in business in 2025. He was willing to fight for it.

Steve gave a nod toward Natasha and offered a gentlemanly smile. "Ladies, first."

Natasha shook her head. "I don't want to have to work it off."

Bucky decided some good old-fashioned ribbing was just the thing to distract Steve. "1945 called, Steve. It wants its gender roles back." Bucky delighted in the flicker of shocked amusement that crossed Steve's face and used the moment to grab the cake server just as Steve started to reach for it. Steve's hand grabbed the base while Bucky held tight to the top of the handle.

Steve always won these things, but not today. The stars and stripes big shot could have this cake any day, wherever it came from.

"Hey, Buck, remember that time I single-handedly went behind enemy lines to rescue you and hundreds of other men?" Steve's voice carried a note of lighthearted challenge, a subtle competition woven into his words as he tugged on the utensil.

So, it was going to be like that? Two could play that game. Bucky gave a playful bop of his eyebrows and a cocky smile. "Remember that time I followed you into the jaws of death, took a hit from a Hydra soldier meant for you, fell off a train, lost my arm, got captured and tortured by the enemy, then spent 70 years as a brainwashed slave?"

Steve dropped his gaze and released his grip. "Vaguely."

Checkmate.

Tony winced. "Ouch."

"Too soon, man," Sam said.

As far as Bucky was concerned, he was the one who fell from the train, so he got to decide when to joke about it. The only way to get Steve to swallow his guilt was to rib him about it, and that was a task Bucky was more than up for. With a gloating grin, Bucky grabbed the handle and slid the last piece of the cake onto his plate.

Steve looked up at him hopefully, fork in hand. "Can I at least have a bite?" He was giving the best version of his puppy dog eyes, as if this would still work on Bucky.

But, damn, he really did look pathetic.

"One bite."

Steve's face brightened, and he sent his fork toward the crust that held hidden treasures of chocolate chips.

Bucky intercepted, skillfully blocking Steve's advance with his own fork. "Not a chance, Pal." He jerked his chin toward the other end of the plate. "You can take a bite from the tip. The crust is the best part."

Steve's eyes widened, then narrowed into a mock glare. "I don't think I like this side of you."

"I let you have all the good stuff when you were 90-some pounds, then you got big, and you got triple rations in the Army while the rest of us dog faces had to make do with the regular slop." Bucky took another bite from the crust. "So quit your bellyaching."

Steve laughed. "Okay, Buck, point conceded."

"Hmmm. First time for everything." Bucky looked over at his counterpart deliberately, giving Steve another chance to swipe a bite, but he watched from the corner of his eye, prepared to defend the crust.

-000-

With a full stomach, Steve followed the two Buckys back to the room.

"Come with me," the older Bucky said with a tilt of his head to his younger counterpart as he veered off and opened the door to his room.

Steve wondered whether Bucky was finally going to explain why he'd borrowed a photostatic veil and dressed in vintage clothes. Steve had his suspicions, of course, but what had Bucky done exactly?

Once in the room, Bucky opened the coffee tin and pulled out three brown cookies. With a crooked smile and a glint in his eye, he handed them out, keeping one for himself

The smell was familiar, and it immediately took Steve back home. "Where did you get these?"

Bucky's grin got wider. He jerked his chin at his younger counterpart. "Go ahead. Try it."

Soldier-Bucky took a bite. He chewed it tentatively, as though analyzing its taste and texture, then he swallowed and dropped onto the end of the bed, his gaze going distant.

Steve took a bite, and once he tasted it, there was no doubt in his mind. "You used the extra Pym particles?"

Bucky nodded. "I couldn't resist. Smell and taste can prompt memory. This sure as hell should rattle something in his brain." He tilted his head toward Soldier-Bucky.

Sure enough, the younger Bucky's eyes were glistening. He looked down at the cookie in his hand and took another bite—almost tentative in nature, chewing it slowly, blinking a few times, his eyes growing mistier with each bite until finally, he finished and looked up at the older Bucky.

"The woman who made these…" his voice trailed off, and his gaze went distant again.

"She's your mother," the older Bucky finished.

-000-

The day came much sooner than Bucky wanted. He'd done everything he could do, and Sam insisted on staying until they both left together. It wasn't fair to keep Sam away from his family much longer.

So there he was, standing in the middle of Tony's lab, staring at Steve Rogers, Falcon, Tony, Bruce, Natasha, and a younger version of himself, getting ready to say goodbye all over again, with their unwilling travel companions––Jack Rollins and Pierce's daughter—in a Pym suit and cuffs. He'd finally learned her name.

Alexandria.

Whatever happened next in this timeline, the Avengers would face it together. They were planning an operation to take down the Red Room and save the unwilling Widows under Dreykov's control. Fury had signaled Danvers to get a head start against Thanos. Bucky hoped it would work out better than it did in his timeline.

Saying goodbye was as hard as he feared. There was a finality about it that stole his breath. It was one thing to miss somebody but know they were still in the world and that you could see them again, or video chat with them. It was something else entirely to know that you would never talk to them again, never put your arms around them, or laugh with them.

He had a few parting gifts to hand out, the first one to his younger self. It was all the footage taken of his mother and father during his brief visit. He walked up to his counterpart and handed him a USB drive. "This will help you remember them. It'll hurt, but I think you'll appreciate it in the long run."

Soldier-Bucky held the small drive in the palm of his hand and stared at it quizzically. Finally, he looked up and nodded. "It always hurts."

Bucky blinked at the unexpected reply, and the way Steve's face twisted in grief drove a spike of pain into the center of his chest. "Yeah, it does, but it'll get better."

The goodbye was getting far too depressing. He needed to do something about that. He grabbed the flat square box wrapped in brown paper and handed it to Falcon. "Consider this my olive branch."

Falcon raised one of his eyebrows to his hairline and took the box. When he tore off the paper, he glared at Bucky and grimaced. "Real funny, man. You're a jerk."

Sam chuckled, and Bucky nodded in agreement. "Yes, I am, but," he gestured to the photo of the steering wheel cover on the front of the box, "it's got extra grip."

Finally, Bucky turned to the one that was going to hurt the most. "Goodbye, Steve." He held back the tears, just like he had the last time. "I'd tell you not to do anything stupid, but the last time I said that, you let a German scientist experiment on you." He forced his lips into a smile that couldn't possibly look convincing.

Steve huffed and nodded, then shook his head and pulled Bucky into a hug so forceful that the air rushed from Bucky's lungs. "Take care of yourself, Buck," Steve whispered into Bucky's ear. "I hope you can forgive the other me."

That almost undid Bucky, but the sudden mewing at his feet saved his composure. He pulled away from Steve and looked down at the white fluff ball clawing at his pant leg.

"Hey, you." Bucky scooped up Alpine and held her against his chest as he looked down at her. "You can't come with me." He'd already looked into the feasibility of taking Alpine, but neither Tony nor Bruce were sure what the effects would be of removing something from one universe and putting it permanently into another. He'd already done enough harm in his life. He couldn't risk inadvertently doing more.

He approached the younger James Barnes and handed him the kitten. "You named her. Take good care of her. She needs you, and I think you might need her more than I do." Leaving her behind was harder than he thought it would be.

He walked back to stand alongside Sam, ignoring Alexandria and Rollins and giving the group a final look before glancing at Sam with a nod. They activated their suit. Alpine meowed something long and sad, as if she knew he was leaving, and before he could change his mind, he touched the activation button. The lab vanished and they were back on the platform in 2024.

It was quiet. He deactivated the Pym suit and looked around at the unconscious bodies and toppled equipment. If it worked like it should have, only five seconds had passed in 2024.

"What are you doing with me?" Alexandria asked.

He didn't have it in him to deal with her at the moment. Fortunately, Sam answered. "Nothing compared to what your father did to him," he pointed to Bucky, "and so many others."

"It's futile, you know," Rollins said. "Hydra always rises again."

Bucky suppressed the urge to send a vibranium fist into the man's face. Instead, he stepped off the platform, and the world already felt bleaker. Going back to his lonely studio apartment was suddenly unbearable. He shoved it all down. Now wasn't the time. They still had the two prisoners to deal with.

Sam called the feds. Bucky took off before they arrived. Pardon or not, he preferred to keep a low profile when government agents were around. He walked the mile to his motorcycle and started the long ride home.

It was night by the time he made it home, and when he stepped into his dark apartment, the silence hit him like a fist in the gut. He kicked the door closed, his gaze going to the piano against the wall.

That goddamned piano. Now, it was a reminder of something he wished he'd never remembered. He stood in front of it for a few seconds, gazing at the keys, thinking of that day, that man, the woman, the boy….

His metal arm sliced through the air and broke the keyboard into two pieces. The entire instrument caved into the center in a cacophony of angry musical notes. The neighbors probably heard that. In the morning, he'd dispose of the damn thing.

He looked around the apartment and sucked in a lungful of stale air. This was his timeline. His life. Tomorrow, he'd do the things he was supposed to do. Shower. Buy groceries. Check the mail.

But right now, it was all too much. The loss was fresh. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to the floor. He just needed a moment.

Footsteps thudded outside, soft and steady. He recognized Sam's gait. There was a knock at the door.

Bucky didn't have it in him to get up. "Come in. It's open."

When the door opened, he didn't look up. He knew he presented a sight—a broken piano and an equally broken man—cluttering up his tiny, lonely apartment.

"I miss him, too." A palm gripped his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. "You should think about getting a cat, something to keep you company. You wouldn't have to walk it, and it's easy to find pet sitters for a cat. On the other hand, you'd have to walk a dog, that would get you out, and women like dogs, so you'd have a chance to strike up conversation, and—"

Sam was rambling about ways to make Bucky's life less sad, and it wasn't helping. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Shut up."

"Right." There was a moment of silence, then Sam sighed. "I think we earned some downtime," Sam said, lowering himself to the floor next to Bucky. "It's Sarah's birthday next week. Please come hang out with us in Delacroix."

It was a pity invitation, but he'd take it. He looked up at Sam as he pushed to his feet and nodded with a grateful smile, not trusting his voice. He'd said goodbye to Steve…again. He'd gotten the chance to see his parents one last time. Somehow, that would have to be enough until the raw pain faded to something more tolerable.

He wasn't sure he'd be good company for the Wilsons, but he knew if he retreated into his sanctuary of solitude, he'd end up back in that dark hole. He wasn't sure he'd have the strength to pull himself out of it a second time.

He thought back to his detour to 1945, and his hand went to his inside jacket pocket where the flash drive was nestled securely. At least this time, he had a little piece of home.

He hoped, in another timeline, somewhere in the universe, there was another Bucky Barnes who made it home from the war, got to spend holidays and birthdays with his folks, found someone, grew his family, and lived a normal, ordinary life.

End (Credits) Scene

2024

Standing in the room Tony had provided him, Bucky adjusted the spy pin on the collar of his button-up shirt—something he'd borrowed from Natasha—then touched his wrist controller and, instantly, the nanotech-suit covered him from head to toe. Another touch, and the room disappeared.

He was standing in a back alley. The suit vanished, leaving him in the clothes of the time period. He tilted the fedora low and took a breath.

The air was crisp. It wasn't snowing, but it might at any moment. It was December 27th, and across the globe in Europe, another James Barnes was in a tent preparing for a mission with Steve and the Howlies.

It would be his last mission as Sergeant James Barnes. A week later, his parents would receive a telegram.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped, taking it all in—the understated holiday decorations and oversized cars clambering along the street. Women wore dresses, a few with hats, and men were in slacks and jackets. It was a far cry from the casual, leggings-jogger-jeans worshiping culture of the 21st century. His chest went tight, and his heart felt as though it leaped into his throat.

He was home.

He put the hat on his head and tipped it down, hoping to hide as much of his face as he could. He wasn't ready to be recognized yet, and it wasn't out of the question that he'd run into someone he knew.

He forced his legs to move, blinking back tears as the cool wind whipped against his face. He walked on autopilot, the way home engraved in his mind. More often than not, Steve would be at his side, sometimes lagging a step or two behind. He smiled at that image. He could almost pretend Steve was right there, just behind his left shoulder, all five-feet-four-inches of him.

He tried to keep his pace steady and unhurried, but the closer he got, the faster he walked, and when he saw the brownstone apartment building a few blocks away from the apartment he shared with Steve, his limbs took on a will of their own, and he found himself running.

He practically skidded to a halt at the front door of the ground-floor apartment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, placed his gloved hand on the doorknob, and walked in.

The apartment was just like he remembered, and he stopped breathing for a moment as he took it in. The modest living room. His father's brown armchair. The plaid couch. The smell of jasmine and rose, laced with lye soap.

His mother was folding laundry on the kitchen table, her back to him. "You're home early, George."

Her voice… God, her voice. The room blurred, and he looked at her shimmering figure as she placed a folded shirt on top of the pile. He shook off his stupor and hung his hat on the coat rack as she turned toward him with a shirt in her hand and a smile on her face that vanished the moment she laid eyes on him.

Her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open. She dropped the shirt on the floor and covered her mouth. "Jimmy?"

He tried to sound cool and casual, but his voice wavered, and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He couldn't believe he was staring right at her. She was a few feet away. It felt like a dream. "Hi, Mom."

"Oh God, Jimmy!" She rushed forward, practically body-slamming him as her arms wrapped around him.

He breathed in her jasmine and rose perfume and took her petite figure into arms that suddenly felt too heavy. "I've missed you, Ma."

"I can't believe you're here! Are you really here?" She pulled away and looked at him, her eyes traveling up and down as her hands glided over his arms and chest, then worked their way up to his face, cupping his jaw with her palms. He hoped the photostatic veil held firm.

"Are you okay?" She asked, looking him up and down again. "You look okay, but I swear you grew another couple of inches. Did you get discharged?"

"No, Ma." At the look of horror on her face, he added quickly, "I mean I'm fine, but I'm not discharged. I've only got a few hours, and then I'm leaving. No one can know I was here. I'm not supposed to let anyone know, it's, uh, secret, but I had to see you. I can get in hot water if you tell anyone, so I need you to promise you'll keep it to yourself."

"They brought you all the way back and won't let you stay a while? They didn't even let you spend Christmas at home?"

"It's complicated. My transport leaves in a few hours. I gotta be on it, but no matter what happens in the future, you can never tell anyone I was here."

"Oh, I won't say a word, but your father will be home in less than an hour. Oh, please say you'll stay until then. You have to see him."

He didn't travel decades through time to not see his father. "Of course, I'll wait, Ma. I want to see him, too."

She squeezed him again, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. "I've prayed for you every night." She shoved away suddenly, her eyes wide again. "Oh, my dear, adorable boy, you must be starved! Those rations I've heard about sound just terrible. Here…" she guided him over to the kitchen table, moved the piles of laundry to the couch in the living room a few feet away, then pulled out a chair. "Sit down. I'm gonna fix you something special. How about I make you a spam sandwich and whip up a wacky cake?"

God, he hated Spam.

"Ma, really, I'm fine." Food was still being rationed, and he couldn't let her use any of it on him. He was well-fed. "You know I don't like Spam. Besides, they fed me good American food when I got stateside."

She gave him a stern look. "You need protein!"

He smiled and shook his head. "How about you sit down, relax. Let me finish the laundry?"

"Absolutely not! I know they've been working you to the bone. I hear about the conditions over there. You sit down and let me take care of you." She tugged at his jacket sleeve. "Hang this up and sit down."

He unzipped the jacket and hung it on the rack but kept his gloves on, hoping she didn't fuss about that. He turned back to her. "I insist, Ma. Let me help around here while I'm home."

He swallowed hard on that last word. Home. The room blurred, and he took a steadying breath. Keep it together.

"James Buchanan Barnes, I don't care how old you are, when I tell you to do something in my house, I expect you to respect me." She grabbed his nose and gave it a tug and a wiggle. "Now sit down."

He felt like a kid again. His cheeks went hot, and he plopped into the chair as though someone swiped his knees out from beneath him. "Okay, Ma."

She busied herself in the kitchen, opening the ice box and cabinets, getting out a mixing bowl and putting together a huge sandwich.

"I said just cake," he reminded her. "Don't use your food on me, Ma!"

She shot him a glare, but the edges of her eyes crinkled with joy. "Hush! I'll whip up some cookies, too, and you can take them with you. I think I have what I need around here."

He watched her work, and as she prepared the ingredients on the counter, he tapped the pin on the collar of his shirt.

"So, Ma, how are the girls?"

She turned to him with a bittersweet smile. "Ruth had her baby. Did you get the letter and photo?"

"I did." It was in the inside pocket of his jacket when he fell off the train. He never saw it after that.

"They just got a phone. Let me call her and have her come over so you can see the baby…" She turned to the black phone sitting on a small roundtable near the wall of the living room.

"No, Mom. You promised."

"But she's your sister—"

"No, and that'll cost a fortune." He ached to talk to his sisters and see the nephew he never got the chance to meet, but he made a decision not to change the timeline, and that meant keeping things quiet. "Only you and Dad can know. No matter what happens. Even if I don't make it back."

Her eyes welled with fresh tears and he felt like an ass. He shot up out of the chair and hugged her. "I'm sorry. You know that I'll do my best, but if anything happens, I just want you to know that I love you. I…" He swallowed another lump in his throat. "I never said it enough." Why hadn't he?

She wiped at her eyes and nodded, then patted his chest. "I love you, too, sweetie. Now sit back down and let me finish feeding you."

"Yes, Ma." He adjusted the spy pin on his collar and sat down. He wanted to record as much of this as possible. He had no videos of his folks or sisters when they were young, and there were so few photos. The ones that Becca showed him were faded and cracked. This was an era mostly lost to time—an era before cell phone cameras, when film was expensive and color film even more so. Photos were taken with care. Too many of them were lost to the decades of time—of people moving and roofs leaking into old photo albums.

He heard the knob of the front door turn, and his heart almost jumped into his throat. He pushed to his feet and straightened his shirt.

When his father walked in, he stopped in the doorway and blinked at him. "Jimmy?"

"Hi, Dad. I've missed you."

THE END

---

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading (and to my one consistent reviewer, a special thank you!)

I'd also like to thank Fictitious for beta-reading another novel-length story. As I've mentioned before, my primary fanfiction account is on AO3 (almost all gen, and all of it Bucky-centric). There are a few things I've posted over there that I haven't posted here (mostly the short works), and I'm not sure whether I'll continue to post to FFN (the interface takes a bit more time for me). My account is open to guests, so anyone can read without an account.