Chapter 14

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Landing in New York was a whirlwind of people and noise. The war had been over for some time, so homecoming soldiers were no longer welcomed with the massive crowds of cheering onlookers that they once had been, but it was still a daunting prospect for a man who had been a prisoner of war for years.

Working together, the Commandos did their best to shield Bucky from the worst of the chaos of disembarking, but by the time they got Bucky through customs he had the wide-eyed expression of one who was totally and completely overwhelmed. His hand clutched Steve's coat with a white-knuckled grip. The metal arm creaked and twitched in its sling.

"Here," Dugan bellowed. He'd commandeered a cab somehow, and ushered Steve, Peggy, and Bucky inside. "We'll follow. See you at Howard's," he roared cheerfully above the noise of the crowd at the docks, and then the door slammed and they were left in blissful silence.

Peggy leaned forward to give the driver the address, and then sank back into her seat. Her fingers entwined with Steve's, and she squeezed his hand. When he looked up at her, she jerked her chin to direct his attention to Bucky, who sat on Steve's other side, staring out the window as the cab started off.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded jerkily after a half beat of hesitation. Then, "Where're we goin'?"

"Stark's place," Steve answered. "Do you remember Howard?"

A flicker passed across Bucky's face, and he dropped his eyes. He hesitated, words visibly hovering on the tip of his tongue—and then shook his head and shut his mouth tightly.

Peggy leaned forward to look past her husband. "Did you have somewhere else you wanted to go?"

Bucky started to nod once more, but then stopped, the creases around his eyes and mouth tightening. He was clearly desperately tired and struggling. Steve reached for the black case in his pocket, but stopped himself; he didn't want to risk using the kimoyo beads here in the cab.

"Did you want to see your folks first?" he asked as softly as he could. It probably wasn't the best idea, but if that's what Bucky wanted…

Bucky's face crumpled, and he drew a shuddering breath. For a moment Steve thought he would say yes, but then his friend's eyes fell. Silently, he gestured at the metal arm strapped against his body and fumbled for words. "Not like this," he said at last. "Not—not like this."

Peggy reached across her husband to lay a tender hand on Bucky's knee. When he looked up at her with eyes heavy and confused and ashamed, she smiled encouragingly.

"When you're ready, then you can see them," she promised. "But for now, let's go on to our friend's house to rest up. He can help you with your arm."

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For his own protection, nobody had told Howard much about the expedition into enemy territory. As a result, when two cabs full of Howling Commandos showed up at the front door of his Manhattan brownstone, bringing with them a man who should have been dead at the bottom of a canyon somewhere, he promptly dropped two bottles of expensive champagne and goggled in astonishment.

The next minute, Steve actually had to plant himself as a barrier between his friend and the excited inventor.

"Is that who I think it is?" Stark bobbed up and down, trying to get a good look at the man Peggy was escorting up the front steps with as much care as if he'd been made of glass. "Your friend—uh…" he snapped his fingers, "what's his name?"

"Bucky," Steve responded. "And yes, it's him. We need your help."

Sometimes it was nice having a rich friend. Within the hour, Howard had sent for a doctor to check Morita over, and Jarvis, his frighteningly efficient right-hand-man, had installed all the Commandos in their own rooms throughout the brownstone mansion.

"Don't mind the artwork," the British butler droned, as he showed the men to their rooms.

Dugan looked at the full-length portrait of Howard Stark in a toga, and raised one eyebrow. "Uh-huh. You call that art?"

Jarvis pointedly and sympathetically declined to comment, but the way he lifted his eyes heavenward spoke volumes.

The doctor arrived, a quiet and brisk little man. Morita was healing well, he reported after an examination, but would carry the scar for the rest of his life and might suffer lasting shortness of breath. "Take deep breathing exercises," the doctor admonished. "I can send you a list."

Morita, finally installed in a stationary bed for the first time in weeks, nodded gratefully. "Thanks, doc."

Bucky had flatly refused to see the doctor, and nobody pressured him. Instead, Steve helped him find his room.

"You got a room to yourself," he pointed out to his silent companion, who had barely said a word since they'd left the cab. "But Peggy and I will be right through that door, okay?"

Bucky looked at the door that led to the room Steve and Peggy had been given, but otherwise didn't make any sign that he'd heard. Instead, he methodically proceeded to search the entire place, looking under every piece of furniture and in every closet. Only when he seemed sure that nobody was hiding anywhere did the tight muscles in his shoulders release a little.

"It's okay, Buck," Steve promised, throat tight at this evidence of how unsafe his friend still felt. "You're safe here. And Peg and I are just a holler away. You need anything, yell."

The clean pair of pajamas that Jarvis had dug up from somewhere fit Bucky well, though perhaps on the slightly larger side. He looked like a little kid, sitting up in bed like that with his hair all tousled up, hiding the burn scars from the chair. The pajamas were silk; Bucky fingered them curiously.

"Here," Steve said, rolling the kimoyo beads out into his palm, and Bucky reached for them. Before he applied them to his temples though, he paused, looking up at Steve.

"You said—you said Stark might be able to do something?" he asked hesitantly, gesturing at the motionless metal arm. The silk of the pajamas was already snagging on the bent metal plates.

Steve nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. "He could probably try to repair it," he offered, "or you could have it off altogether. I'm guessing those are your choices."

Bucky remained silent, clearly drawing into himself. Then he dropped one bead onto the pillow, laid his head down on it, and positioned the other bead at his temple, closing his eyes. "G'night, Stevie."

Steve lingered for a moment or two longer. When it became clear that the conversation was over, he quietly slipped out of the room. He'd return in an hour or so to collect the beads again.

Out in the hall, he ran one hand through his hair and heaved a deep breath. The days to come wouldn't be easy. He'd spoken confidently about Bucky's options, but the truth was that nothing was so clear-cut. It was quite possible that Howard wouldn't be able to repair the arm, and it was equally possible that they wouldn't be able to remove it entirely. This was an earlier version of the arm he'd known, but when Bucky had been taken to Wakanda, scans had shown that the thing wasn't just attached at the shoulder—it had been bolted to his skeletal structure in ways far too invasive to remove easily.

Wearily, Steve raised his eyes to the hall clock. It had taken longer than he'd expected to get Bucky settled for the night. The prospect of a soft bed and the chance to sleep at his wife's side in complete privacy for the first time in weeks was very attractive. Sounds of voices came from below, and he headed to the stairs, intent on finding Peggy.

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In hindsight, he probably should have suspected something.

Instead, he was completely oblivious until the moment when he walked into Howard's front room and the conversation fell completely silent. Looking around, he realized that every member of the Commandos was watching him wordlessly. Even Morita had come down, and was lying on the couch. Peggy and Howard were nowhere in sight.

"Hey, fellas," he began, a little awkwardly. Something was up—the air was so thick with tension that he could practically taste it. "Something doing?"

"Just one thing." Dugan stood, and put his hands in his pockets. "You're not the Steve Rogers we served with, are you?"

The straightforward question hit Steve like a thunderclap. He held his ground, on his guard, and glanced around the room. His friends' faces gave nothing away.

"I'm the same guy," he said carefully. "It's just been a few years, is all."

"We think it's more than that," Dugan said. He tilted his head, his eyes sharp. "You've been to the future, haven't you?"

Steve stayed very still, willing himself not to give anything away. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it." Dugan shrugged. "You were last seen in a plane with a source of power greater than any this world has yet known. You were gone for three years, and then suddenly you're back—but you're different. You fight different, you talk different…"

"You look older," Jones murmured under his breath, and then dodged away from Morita's elbow.

"It's been three years," Steve interjected, but Morita shook his head.

"You use fighting tactics the western world doesn't use," he pointed out. "The others didn't recognize them, but I did—some of them, anyway. My uncles are karateka."

"And those beads," Jones pointed out. "The ones that help Barnes. Those aren't something even Stark would dream up."

Dugan dug a crumpled paper out of his pocket and tossed it to Steve, who caught it reflexively. His heart sank as he realized it was one of the papers from Bucky's file. He'd guarded it so carefully, but apparently it hadn't been enough.

"Dernier sneaked it out of your bag back in France," Dugan said, nodding at the paper. "Most of it's redacted, but even I can see the year 1960-something-or-other through the ink."

"And you knew about my kid," Morita interjected.

Steve jerked his head up from looking at the paper. "We all knew about your kid, Jim. It was the first thing you told us off the plane."

Morita stabbed a finger into the air. "Yeah, but when I got shot you told me my wife and son needed me. My wife and son. The kid hadn't even been born yet, but you already knew he'd be a boy."

"Figure of speech," Steve tried, but the others were already shaking their heads. Morita flapped a piece of paper at him.

"A telegram from Michiko was waiting at the dock when we got off the ship," he said, and a delirious grin began to creep across his face. "Our kid came early. It's a boy."

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it. "You sure have been doing a lot of thinking," he said at last, not sure what else to say. "Why bring this up now?"

Jones shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Falsworth didn't think we should say anything. But he's not here now, and we are."

A sound from the doorway made Steve turn. Peggy was smiling at him in the way that always made his heart skip a beat. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You knew they'd come after me," he accused.

She shrugged, unphased, and leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes danced. "If you're determined to keep the company of intelligent people, they're bound to start suspecting something sooner or later."

"So we're right?" Dugan's face was a study between astonishment and glee.

Steve hesitated. "You're not far off," he admitted, and then winced at the chorus of whoops that erupted as the Howling Commandos lived up to their name. He only hoped Howard wouldn't hear and come running. If there was one person he didn't want to know about this, it was a Stark.

"And you'd best keep it to yourselves," Peggy's voice cut through the mayhem as she crossed to his side, silencing the Commandos with the sheer force of her glare. "If I hear any of you have been blabbing, we will have words."

"Won't you tell us anything?" Jones asked, face alive with interest, but Steve simply shook his head.

"No," he said. He felt Peggy's hand slide into his, and squeezed it gently in silent appreciation of her support. "But it's good to be home."

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Much later, as he brushed his teeth in their en-suite bathroom, Steve frowned at his wife. Even rubbing cold cream into her face, she still managed to look so utterly bewitching that he could barely keep his accusatory expression in place. "You knew they suspected something," he said flatly.

Peggy arched a teasing eyebrow at him. "If you hadn't been worrying so much about Barnes, you'd have noticed too," she countered. "Also, you need to stop calling Jones 'Sam.'"

Steve sighed and then rinsed out his mouth. He hadn't noticed that particular name slip, but he wasn't really surprised either. "You could've warned me."

Peggy smiled at him, wiping her face clean with a washcloth. "They tried to warn me," she confessed. "Came to me all concerned that I'd married an impostor. It took some talking, but they decided to believe me."

Steve leaned over to kiss her, soft and sweet. He was weary, and running on euphoria from finally getting Bucky back on American soil in one piece.

"I love you," he said very quietly, looking down into her face. Every night he got to fall asleep feeling like the luckiest man in the world, and every morning he woke half-convinced that it had all been a dream. "I love you, Mrs. Rogers."

She beamed, and stood up on her toes to return his kiss, dipping her finger into the jar of cold cream and playfully dabbing it on the end of his nose when she drew away. "And I love you, my darling."

He took her in his arms, hands drifting across the smooth satin of her nightgown. "You find this in Stark's closet?"

"Ugh, not on your life." Peggy wrinkled her nose and then slapped at his chest as he laughed. "I borrowed it from Mr. Jarvis's wife."

"Mmm." Steve kissed her again, leaving a dot of cream on her cheek from the dab on his nose. Then he nodded toward their bed just visible through the half-open bathroom door. "Shall we turn in, Mrs. Rogers?"

Peggy fished the washcloth out of the sink and wiped first her cheek and then Steve's nose clean—a process somewhat hampered by how close he was holding her. "What about Bucky?"

He understood what she was asking. "We got about an hour before his program ends, and I go back for the beads," he said. "After that, I figure sometime during the night he'll probably wind up sleeping on the floor in our room."

Bucky's mattress would be too soft, Peggy knew, and his room far too large and empty for the lost and tortured soul who had spent every night since his rescue with his brothers-in-arms surrounding him. She nodded, chucking the washcloth over her husband's shoulder in the general direction of the bathtub.

"Then," she said, taking Steve's hand and dimpling as she drew him willingly after her, "we'd best make good use of our time, Captain."

Because even if the mattresses in Stark's house were far too soft, she nonetheless had every intention of enjoying this one to the fullest.

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Heh heh - the Howling Commandos get to play detective in this one! Did any of you catch Steve's slip when talking to Morita so many chapters ago?

Thank you all for your wonderful comments and for your support! It's been a difficult albeit good few months, but supportive readers like you help me want to write. :) Just a couple chapters left!

Guest Reviews:

DBZFAN45: Awww, thanks for reading! Cheers!

Guest (Oct 31): I don't think I knew that about the "brothers-in-arms" meaning-thank you for sharing! And that fits Steve and Bucky so well, I think. :)

my-secret-garden: ahaha, you're not the only girl who's not really into the Rose-Jack Titanic romance. Though I've never seen the movie myself, so I guess I'm not really the person to ask. But the flying scene IS cute. :D Oh, and the ending of the chapter is my favorite part of the chapter too! Thank you for reading!

Guest (Jan 9): Awww, I love Dame Vera Lynn! Her "When The Lights Go On Again" is one of my favorites. Thanks for reading!

CHSHiccstrid: Haha, I'm so pleased you're enjoying it! And yeah, Bucky's one of my favorites too-I just had to rescue him faster in this timeline. He deserves a chance at happiness. Thank you so much for reading!