1946

by WintersSunrise

When a mercenary presumed dead threatens to unravel a timeline, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson are thrust back to 1946 where the fates of Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, and S.H.I.E.L.D. hang in the balance. They navigate a painful past fraught with post-war shadows while deciding whether to preserve the timeline or remake it.

STORY NOTE: This story is complete, planned as a two-part series.

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Chapter 1 Agent Carter and Mr. Jarvis

Peggy stared into the freight box of glowing green Stark tech. Jarvis was right. She hated her current position, though it was of her own making, and hated that Jarvis was right even more.

The sound of footsteps told her that Jarvis had made quick work of his phone call to the SSR.

"That didn't take long." She spun on her heels, but the man she saw wasn't Jarvis.

He was large and underdressed for the evening, with a sleeveless white T-shirt and suspenders.

"Oh." She reached for her gun.

The smile he gave her was in no way comforting.

"I thought you were someone else." She kept her voice casual, but the fact that he was here, along with his questionable attire, indicated he was no innocent passerby.

With a grunt, he charged her, more like an animal than a man, and body slammed her into rolling backward over the crates. Pain blossomed in her back as she hit the floor. The gun in her hand went skittering across the floor.

Why was it that the only man she'd encountered of late who didn't underestimate her happened to be a brute working for the thieves who stole Howard Stark's technology?

"Brannis told me one of you would be coming."

"One of me?"

"And I'm not afraid to kill a woman."

Where was sexism when a woman really needed it?

She gave him a once-over, assessing his height and weight. It would not be an easy match. "Would it make a difference if I told you I won't make it easy?"

"Yeah, he told me that, too."

Lovely. It seemed the criminals were more astute than her fellow SSR agents. Just her luck.

He took a swing. She ducked just in time. His fist hit the metal wall, and she used all her strength to get in a few good blows, then a solid kick to send him stumbling backward. She had speed and training on her side, but he had the advantage of strength and weight. The blow he sent to her ribs stole her breath.

He sent her flying into metal canisters. That smarted.

He grabbed a pipe, breathing heavily as he swung. She kicked his kneecap, which slowed him down only enough for her to roll to her feet. His anger was palpable as she threw blow after blow into him. With a throaty half-growl, he lifted her and slammed her backward on top of the crate, pressing the pipe into her throat.

Clutching it desperately, using all her strength to hold it off, she glimpsed Jarvis swing a metal crowbar into the back of the man's head. The pressure on her windpipe vanished, and she gulped air greedily as Jarvis and the brute traded blows.

Jarvis was faring poorly against his much larger opponent, pinned up against the metal wall in real trouble. She reached into the shipping crate and grabbed one of Stark's constrictors. It might not work as a massager, but according to Jarvis, its unintended purpose would make it an effective weapon.

She activated it and pressed it against the right shoulder blade of the hired muscle. Strands of electric green energy snaked down his arm. His body shook as flesh and bone twisted, the wet crunches accompanied by screams and grunts.

She grimaced. When Howard's inventions failed, they did so horrifically.

"What did you do to my arm?" he gasped, falling to the floor.

She worked on catching her breath as she watched in grim fascination. "Well, that worked."

"Not if you want a massage." Jarvis was just as out-of-breath, the right sleeve of his suit hanging off his shoulder and his hair uncharacteristically disheveled.

Footsteps outside had her scanning the floor for her gun. "Did you call it in?"

"Unfortunately, the phone box was out of order."

She spotted her firearm on the floor near the far wall, but as soon as she made a run for it, the area was overrun by men just as large as the one currently writhing on the floor.

The man in front was even larger than the two-bit criminal with the disfigured arm. He wore his hair cropped unusually close to his scalp, and he barked orders in French at the men around him. She understood him, though she wasn't certain if Jarvis could.

"Secure the Stark Tech." He smiled at her. "I'll deal with these two."

She was only a foot away from her gun, but the men all had theirs leveled at her and Jarvis. They were sorely outnumbered.

"It's an honor, Agent Carter," the man said in English. "Taking you out of the equation should shape history in interesting ways."

He aimed at her head.

"Now wait just a minute," Jarvis, bloody fool that he was, stepped in front of her. "Surely, we can…"

The room erupted in flashes of sound and light, then filled with smoke. There were sounds of a struggle. She dove for her gun, coughing, her eyes watering as she searched frantically until her fingers brushed against metal.

She grabbed it, but if she fired, she'd be shooting blindly.

There were sounds of bodies being slammed at high velocity into the sides of the boat—bones snapping, terrified screams, and unsavory French with strings of profanity she hadn't heard even on the war front.

"Shit!" Someone cursed, and instantly there was another explosion, much larger this time and alarmingly close to her. The sound of it made her ears ring, but something muted the blast.

A mass slammed the ceiling, then hit the floor with a hard, metallic thud.

As the smoke cleared, she blinked away tears, gasping for breath, and struggled to make sense of the scene. Jarvis was just getting to his knees near the door. Bodies and guns were strewn on the floor.

She pushed to her feet, swaying as she struggled to clear her head and her vision, and made her way to Jarvis, keeping her gun at her side. "Are you all right, Mr. Jarvis?"

"I believe so." He took her hand and got to his feet.

She moved over each body, getting a look at the faces of the men, but the leader was not among them. The body in the middle had gotten the worst of it. He was dressed in an ill-fitting suit that had barely survived the blast. A piece of sheet metal lay on the floor next to him. His hair was singed and torn sleeves revealed a glint of gold. The side of his face was coated with blood.

She knelt beside him, putting her gun back in its holster. "Jarvis," she tore the sleeve further, inspecting the oddity, "have you seen anything like this?"

Jarvis dropped to one knee beside her and studied the unusual prosthesis. "Not even in Mr. Stark's lab." He touched one of the gold lines. "I believe he took the brunt of the blast. Had he not, I'm afraid some of the items in those freight crates would've created quite a situation."

She rifled through his pockets. Her fingers found a rectangular object, hard, smooth. She retrieved it. It was a device of some kind, with a glass surface that was cracked, no doubt damaged in the explosion. She saw no obvious buttons, but as she felt along the edge, she found two minuscule protrusions on one side and a smaller one at the top of the opposite side.

She held it up and gave a quizzical look to Jarvis.

He shook his head. "I've not seen anything similar to that device either."

Very curious. She looked back down. "Who is this man?" Pondering the oddities, she pocketed the device. "Help me."

Together they turned the unconscious man over.

His black and gold prosthesis flopped on the metal floor, but she barely noticed. It was the face that stole her breath. Even coated with blood, she recognized him.

"Sergeant Barnes." The name escaped her as barely a breath. How was this possible?

"Sergeant James Barnes?" Jarvis inquired, eyebrows flashing in surprise. "The leading member of the Howling Commandos. Captain Rogers' best friend? Are you referring to that James Barnes?"

She blinked down at the man and took a moment to breathe. "Indeed, Mr. Jarvis."

"Isn't he dead?"

"Apparently, not, unless…" She swallowed and reached out, feeling for a pulse, and gave a relieved sigh when she found it. "It appears he's adept at evading certain death."

Azzano, a few close calls with the Commandos, the train in the Alps, and now this explosion. How was it possible?

The glimmer of a chain around his neck caught her eye, and she reached for it, pulling until the pair of dog tags slid from beneath his collared shirt. The name on them confirmed it.

Oh, James, where have you been? What's happened to you?

"We need to call this into the SSR."

"Is someone gonna help me?" came a pained voice.

Peggy looked over at the T-shirt thug with the broken arm. "Help will be on the way shortly." She looked back to Jarvis, who was staring down at Barnes as though he were trying to solve a puzzle. "I'd normally say we need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible, but I'm not sure that's a good idea with the prosthesis he has on. That's no ordinary civilian prosthesis."

Jarvis pushed to his feet. "Do you think he's involved in the theft of Mr. Stark's inventions?"

Peggy remained kneeling, her fingers probing the side of Barnes' bloodied skull for any deformities. It all felt normal, except for a slight bump that she was sure would be uglier tomorrow. "I can't imagine he would be involved in such an endeavor. I knew him to be an honorable man, and Steve trusted him implicitly."

Steve.

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and felt a quick flash of shame as a wish presented itself to her despite the admonishments of her conscience.

Why couldn't it be Steve lying here, impossibly alive, instead of Sergeant Barnes?

"We need to move him before we call the SSR, but we can't leave this technology unguarded." She assessed various options.

The French man was still unaccounted for.

"Help me get him back to the sewer tunnel." It would be a difficult journey, but the tunnel the thieves had made to Stark's mansion wasn't far, and the SSR would be unlikely to discover it. She hoped. "Once we get him hidden there, perhaps you can look for another phone box in the area and call it in."

Jarvis nodded curtly and gave a surprised huff as he moved to lift Barnes. He cleared his throat sheepishly. "I'm afraid he's quite a bit heavier than he looks."

"I'm sure we can manage together," she said.

-000-

Thirty-two hours earlier….

Bucky felt it in his bones, inhaled it with each breath of air that carried subtle tones of sea salt, sewage, and…hot dogs. He smiled. He was home.

Home! In 1946 New York, if all worked as it should have. Steve was in the ice, and his parents were still alive.

His folks… His sisters. They were a few miles away. So close, and yet they might as well be on a different planet because a social visit wasn't in the cards.

Sam was staring wide-eyed at the head of the alley, and Bucky mustered a grin even as a pressure built behind his eyes that threatened to turn everything misty.

"Holy shit!" Sam exclaimed slack-jawed. "It's like out of a movie."

An older woman passing by gave them a curious glance.

"Yeah, and we need to get appropriate attire and, uh," he tapped Sam on the shoulder to ease the sting of his next words, "you should shave that beard."

Sam's head whipped toward him. "What?"

Bucky tilted his head and shrugged, offering an apologetic smile. "If we're gonna blend in, that thing you call a beard is going to have to go."

"I don't—"

"Look around." Bucky pointed to the pedestrians on the city street. "See anyone else with an overly manicured goatee?"

Sam straightened and rubbed at his beard. "What about Dizzy Gillespie?"

"I think they call that a soul patch, but hey, if you want to be turning heads everywhere you go."

"Like being black in 1946 isn't going to do that. Damn. Martin Luther King hasn't done his thing yet. He's just a teenager, I think." Sam huffed and crossed his arms. "Fine, I'll think about shaving for the sake of the mission, but if you're yanking my chain, there will be payback." He punctuated his threat with a pointed index finger. "Where are we gonna find clothes?"

Bucky grimaced. Sam was right, and race was no doubt going to be an issue at some point. New York wasn't anywhere near as segregated as the South, from what he'd read of the civil rights movement, but it was nothing like 2024—not for black people and not for women.

Bucky knew where he was and, if he took a cab, he could be at his folks' place in thirty minutes. His mom would wrap him in a big hug, cry her eyes out, and then feed him to within an inch of his life. He lost the battle against the mistiness and blinked, turning his face quickly away from Sam in a pretense of peering down the street.

"Follow me."

First, they needed clothes, then they'd work on locating Batroc, who surprised everyone by surviving bullets from both Sharon and Karli. Their biggest issue was making sure they completed the mission before they burned through all their cash. With the nature of time travel, they had time to prep for this mission, but still less than either of them would've liked.

Fortunately, it was a hell of a lot easier to print 1940-era paper currency using 21st-century methods than it was to make fakes of the real stuff circulating after the turn of the millennium, with all its anti-counterfeiting features.

-000-

On the dock….

"Bucky, goddamnit." Sam stifled a groan as he stuffed the binoculars into his pack. He hated being the lookout. He missed the suit and wings.

When Sam saw Batroc take off, he pursued. They tussled, and the asshole had gotten the better of him. Again.

Which meant Batroc knew they were in 1946. He hated to admit that his hand-to-hand combat skills were in need of an upgrade. They'd lost the element of surprise because of his screw-up. He could just imagine the ribbing he'd get from Bucky if he asked the guy for a few lessons, but if he kept finding himself in these situations, he might just have to swallow his pride.

And where the hell was Bucky? SSR agents were canvasing the place, and with the cluster of injured bad guys and mountain of recovered Stark Tech, they had their work cut out for them.

He saw no sign of Bucky among the men being carted off the boat, but his vantage point wasn't the greatest, and the cover of darkness interspersed with headlights made picking out facial features difficult.

The makeshift walkie-talkie transceiver of Bucky's cell phone wasn't working. Either the phone was off, broken, or he wasn't in range. Sam wished he had Redwing, but he couldn't exactly fly a drone in 1946 without catching a whole lot of attention. Hell, bringing their cell phones had been risky, but even without cell service, they were useful—acting as a camera, notepad, calculator, and a walkie-talkie, thanks to the blue-tooth enabled, radio-transducer earbuds.

Unfortunately, Bucky wasn't answering.

-000-

"Howard, you came back to New York City risking notice from every American intelligence agency. Why?" Peggy was so deep into her double agent role she scarcely saw a way out. They were still no closer to clearing Stark's name of treason for the black market sale of his technology to America's enemies, but at least the bulk of that technology was now in the hands of the SSR.

She hoped one Sergeant who was presumed KIA was hopefully still alive and resting in a bed back at the Penthouse. Leaving him unattended was inconvenient, but Stark hadn't exactly scheduled his clandestine return to the U.S. with convenience in mind. Someone needed to extricate the fugitive inventor from the clutches of his benefactor.

He was lucky to still be alive.

Howard Stark crouched in the back of the car. "Let's get back to my place. We'll have some sherry. I'll explain everything."

She hadn't yet told him about their guest. Jarvis had astutely determined that the least known Stark property was the safest. It was leased by a dummy corporation that itself was owned by another dummy corporation. The SSR was so busy interrogating the prisoners and going through the Stark tech that, for now, they had a modicum of breathing room to get Stark safely behind private doors. Hopefully, the SSR wouldn't come pounding those doors down any time soon.

Ten minutes later they walked through the front door of the Penthouse. Stark took off the hat he'd kept low on his face and hung it on the coat rack. Fortunately, the building was quiet given the late hour so they had few witnesses to deal with.

Jarvis locked the door behind them. Peggy set her purse on the entry table and hurried straight to the room. Sergeant Barnes had been unconscious when she left for work that morning. It had been a long day, culminating in breaking Stark free from the double-crossing goons of the smuggler, Mr. Mink.

She opened the door to see him wide awake, propped up in bed, reading a book. The wound on his head was already well on its way to healing. Remarkable. He looked up at her, closed the novel, and gave her a succinct nod. "Hello, Carter. You're still Agent Carter, right?"

"Yes. It's nice to see you awake…and alive." She closed the door behind her and crossed her arms. Just looking at him reminded her of Steve. They had truly been inseparable until that damn mission, and seeing Barnes alone with Steve gone felt wrong in ways she was only just discovering. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. "Where have you been all this time, Sergeant?" She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice, but the way his eyes softened told her she'd failed.

He got to his feet. "It's just Bucky now. I'm not in the army anymore. I have an associate that I need to touch base with, but I don't have my, uh, communication device and we hadn't settled on a place to crash, so I have no clue where he is." He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, looking at her with an expression she'd never quite seen before on his face.

So, he'd opted to evade the question. Odd. And what on Earth was he talking about? Was the item she'd confiscated a communication device? Did he mean a radio? If so, it looked like no radio she'd ever seen, and it was far too small to have any significant range. It didn't even have an antenna.

She studied him for a moment before answering. He looked older than she remembered, as though the past fifteen months had been extraordinarily unkind to him. Given what she knew happened on that train and the changes to his left arm, that was no doubt true.

"Peggy, I had a rectangular device on me with a glass face. Where is it?" His words were flat, but there was an intensity in his gaze that told her the item was of the utmost importance to him.

"What is it?"

"It's a communication device."

"It was damaged."

He took a step toward her. "Where is it?"

She tensed. Where did his loyalties reside? She'd known him to be an honorable man, and Steve trusted him without hesitation. Still, a lot could change in fifteen months.

"Come on, Peggy!" He sighed, rolling his eyes and plopping down on the edge of the mattress. "Look, I know this is weird. Just…I need the damn device. I can't explain what's going on. You'd never believe me, anyway. I was there to stop those guys from killing you and Jarvis and taking Stark's tech. I messed up." He took a deep breath, his shoulders rocking with something that wasn't quite a laugh. "Story of my life." His tongue rolled in his cheek. "I was supposed to be in and out. Instead, I got captured. Sort of. Again."

She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. "You sustained quite a nasty wound on that block head of yours. Remarkable how well it's healed in just a few hours."

He grimaced and shook his head. "Wow. You think a guy who almost died to help save the world would get a slightly warmer reception? I forgot how much fun you are, Carter."

Sudden anger sharpened her words. "You don't get to be flippant with me, Sergeant! Do you have any idea how devastated Steve was after—" her voice quivered again. Damnit, she wouldn't cry. "—he watched you fall. He thought you were dead. He blamed himself."

Bucky's head dipped. "I know."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason you're so hesitant to explain your whereabouts for the past fifteen months? Your family no doubt grieved you."

His head shot up and his eyes glistened with sudden tears. Instantly, she felt like a cad. Best to keep her mouth shut for the next few moments and let him mull over whatever turmoil was brewing behind those expressive eyes.

He said nothing. Rather, he got to his feet, found his shoes in the corner, and put them on. Without a word, he walked out of the room.

She couldn't let him go.

"Sergeant…Bucky…I must insist…"

He spun to face her. "The device isn't in the bedroom. I already checked. I searched the apartment, too, so I'm guessing you stashed it someplace, or you kept in on you." He headed toward the living room. "I don't want to have to search your purse, but I'll—"

"Holy Lazarus back from the dead. Barnes?!"

Bucky stopped inches away from Howard Stark at the head of the hallway. They were looking wide-eyed at one another. Howard's jaw was slack and, for once, he seemed speechless.

Bucky, on the other hand, lost most of the color from his already fair complexion. "Howard." He took a breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. "It's, uh, good to see you."

Hmmm. Howard and Bucky had always gotten along well, and the sergeant had usually been gregarious and almost as cocky as Howard. His was a curious reaction.

CHAPTER 2 Erroneous Death Assumptions

Sam stared at the luxury apartment building. He'd been all around the city, trying to boost his receiver. He was just about to give up when he picked up a weak signal. The transceiver was doing its thing, so at least Bucky's phone had enough juice to relay the signal.

It took him another hour of wandering around in the middle of the night to track the signal to this block. The apartment building was the likely source…but which apartment? This low-tech stuff was a pain in the ass. Twice, he'd caught himself trying to text Bucky before he remembered there was no cell service in 1946.

He went into the lobby, which was staffed by a sleepy attendant behind a desk. The man straightened and gave Sam a suspicious look the moment he walked in.

Great. Racism 101.

Sam plastered on his friendliest smile. "Good evening. A friend of mine lives here. Mind if I just head on up? He's expecting me."

The man looked him up and down. "Our guests don't accept visitors at this hour." He pointed to the double doors leading to the street.

Sam sighed. "I see. Thanks anyway." Now wasn't the time to get himself arrested for trespassing.

Twenty minutes and a distraction later, he was in the apartment's stairwell with his phone out, trying to source the signal. Ten minutes after that, he was standing in front of an ornate pair of doors that almost certainly led to a penthouse apartment.

What did you get yourself into, Bucky? He could think of two likely reasons why Bucky's phone was in a penthouse suit. Either it belonged to Stark, and that meant Carter and Stark were aware that Bucky was alive, or it belonged to one of the bad guys involved in this mess, and there were plenty to choose from, which meant they had Bucky's phone—not good!—and probably even Bucky, which was even worse.

And if they could manage to keep someone like Bucky contained, he was either gravely injured or…

Sam pocketed the phone and knocked. If some black market smuggler's henchman answered, he'd think on his feet, put up some "Excuse me, sir" 1946-black-servant bullshit and try not to let his anger show on his face.

A tall thin man in a suit answered. "I cannot imagine what anyone would want at this-" he stopped mid-sentence, one eyebrow flicking upward. "Who might you be?"

The guy was British. That put him as a likely candidate for Mr. Jarvis, which was mind-blowing. Sam had only seen one grainy photo of the man in the background of a photo of Howard Stark, but the build and suit style were similar. Sam decided to roll the dice and play it straight. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. His name is James. Any chance he's here?"

The man rubbed his ear and pursed his lips. "There is no one here by that name. If you'll excuse me, it's very late. My wife and I are retiring for the evening."

Sam placed his foot in the door as Jarvis began to close it. The next thing he knew, an arm reached around Jarvis and yanked him inside. He found himself flat on his back with the muzzle of a gun in his face.

"Who might you be?"

Holy shit. Peggy Carter was staring down at him with an expression that was all business and a firm grip on the Walther PPK pistol that was currently a foot above his face. He really needed to work on his hand-to-hand combat skills.

He'd seen photos of her, of course. Steve talked about her a few times. Meeting her in the flesh was surreal. She wasn't just gorgeous. The tenacity in her expression matched Steve's. No wonder the guy had fallen head over heels for her.

"Hello, Sam. Nice of you to stop by."

Oh, hell no! Sam tilted his head to see Bucky leaning against the wall near the hallway, his arms crossed and his mouth pressed into a fine line that curved upward in obvious amusement.

"Man, do you have any idea how long I've been scouring the city, thinking you might be dead-?"

"Hmm." Peggy lowered the pistol. "Erroneous death assumptions seem to be a frequent occurrence where Mr. Barnes is concerned."

Bucky gave a tight smile and nodded. "Yeah, okay, I'll give you that."

Carter placed the pistol in her purse. Sam took that as a good sign and got to his feet. Bucky raised his eyebrows, his tongue playing at the inside of his cheek, a smug glimmer in his eyes.

"Shut up." Sam straightened his clothes. "It's not like I can throw it down with Steve's 'best gal.'"

"Throw what down, pray tell?" Mr. Jarvis asked.

"If you're referring to my getting the better of you a moment ago–," Peggy gave him a challenging look, "–don't hold back on my account."

"I'm kind of touched you went through all that trouble, Sam." Bucky pushed off from the wall and walked up to him. "I'm sorry, man, but I had to negotiate the release of my, uh, device from Carter here."

"He rifled through her purse," Jarvis interjected. "It was most unbecoming of a gentleman."

"She let you get away with that?" Sam threw her a look. If he'd ended up on the floor for simply putting a foot inside, how had she reacted to having her purse searched?

"He didn't give me much of a choice." Peggy sounded downright livid.

Bucky cleared his throat and gave her a look that was apologetic but with a glint of cockiness. "Back in the day, you probably could've given me a run for my money, if it's any consolation."

"No need to be so generous, Mr. Barnes—"

"Bucky," he corrected.

"I believe I demonstrated my ability to hold my own on several occasions."

Bucky nodded. A smart choice.

"You were just about to answer my questions about how you've come to be – this way – when your associate interrupted our conversation." Peggy gave Bucky a solid look up and down. "That head wound looks days healed. Zola experimented on you, and I take it those experiments were not as fruitless as we were led to believe?"

Bucky's shoulders dropped an inch, and he sighed, giving Sam a fleeting, resigned glance. "Yeah."

"You were holding back on us."

"I wasn't. I didn't know back then that I was any different. The little things I did notice I chalked up to adrenaline and just…trying to keep up with Steve."

"You have the serum?" Howard was there suddenly, his eyes bright and curious, looking at Bucky as though he were the finest slab of steak the culinary world had to offer. "Between that and the fancy arm, you're a walking miracle. Any chance you'll let me take a look at it? Maybe a few blood samples?"

Bucky's gaze darted to Howard. It was sharp at first but yielded quickly to an emotion Sam recognized.

Guilt.

Sam didn't need to be telepathic to know where Bucky's head was.

Still, Bucky's tone left no room for debate when he looked Howard in the eye and said, "No."

Howard grimaced and then actually pouted, his bottom lip jutting out like a toddler. After a moment, he raised his eyebrows hopefully. "How about that fancy communication gadget you have?"

"Again. No."

-000-

"All I can tell you is there were two guys fighting." The old man—the only witness Agent Daniel Souza could find that saw what happened on the docks—took another swig from the bottle of Scotch. "One of them was big, round head, bald. The other was a negro. Muscular. That's all I could see."

Souza leaned forward. "That's all? Would you be able to identify them?"

"Nah." He guzzled more from the bottle, then took a breath. "The negro had a beard. Jazzy or something."

-000-

"These scones are delicious!" Sam spread some more orange marmalade on the remaining half of the scone and took another bite, chewing happily.

Bucky had to admit their early morning breakfast was top shelf. It felt weird having Jarvis wait on them, but the man seemed to throw himself into his work happily.

Carter had been on and off interrogating him, trying to get him to reveal details about where he'd been and why he was suddenly back from the dead. In her shoes, he'd be doing the same thing. There was no way he could explain it to her in a manner that would make any kind of sense. She'd think he was crazy, even with the fancy cell phone. Sam and he had studiously avoided revealing any more details about the device.

Their mission here had been to preserve the timeline and stop Batroc from doing whatever it was he came to do. The best intel they had indicated he planned to steal a bunch of old Stark tech—Bucky couldn't figure out why anyone would want technology that was almost 80 years old—and kill Peggy Carter and Howard Stark.

Bucky could understand why Batroc wanted to kill Carter and Stark. Their deaths would result in a complete shift of power. What Bucky couldn't figure out is why Batroc wanted that shift in power. The man had only tenuous ties to Hydra. He was a mercenary through and through.

He did, however, have a grudge against Steve and Sam.

"The chef makes them fresh." Jarvis set a platter on the table teaming with the fluffiest scrambled eggs Bucky could ever remember seeing.

Bucky piled a generous helping on his plate, earning a questioning gaze from Peggy. He couldn't help it if his metabolism was ramped up thanks to the serum. At least he wasn't stuck on war rations. Those had been hard days.

"Peggy," Howard began, taking a sip of sherry, "I need a favor."

She turned that no-nonsense gaze to Stark, one eyebrow lifting. "Oh, just one? I was under the impression I'd already give you quite a few."

Sam threw a glare at Bucky as he sipped his sherry. "I can't believe I was wandering all around the city looking for you, while you were living it up here in the lap of luxury."

That was something of a misrepresentation. "More like nursing a headache in a bed."

"I don't understand how you and Steve managed without being able to—" Sam caught himself, glancing at Carter and Howard, both of whom were quietly riveted, obviously hoping he'd continue.

"Without being able to what?" Peggy asked, sitting as straight and proper as royalty.

"Um, you know, carry around…radios?"

Bucky suppressed a sigh, but he couldn't help but be amused by Sam's consternation at being cut off from the ability to instantly communicate with anyone, anywhere, anytime. "If we were out somewhere, we made a designated meet-up time and place. My folks and I would go to Coney Island and we knew to be in front of the Cyclone at a specific time if we got separated."

"How did you know Steve?" Carter asked, placing her chin on her clasped hands.

Sam cleared his throat and took another sip of his sherry. "Uh, we met jogging."

Bucky winced. Oh, Sam.

"You mean running? Like in boot camp?" Howard sounded as skeptical as he looked. "You were in the army?"

Carter tilted her head. "I was there when Steve was at boot camp. You weren't."

"No, I wasn't." Sam shifted uncomfortably.

Carter's eyes were unwavering, pinned on Sam. "Steve would hardly be running for recreation. He had asthma, but of course I'm sure you knew that, being his friend and all."

Sam nodded a little too quickly. "Right. I did know that. He was small and weighed less than a hundred pounds."

"So you've read the press," Carter replied.

She was being a good SSR agent. Bucky hated having to lie to Howard and Peggy, but the truth was not a viable option. However, she was relentless, and sooner or later whatever story they concocted would no doubt unravel. "Look, I can't really tell you the how or why, but for once, you're just gonna have to trust us even without knowing the full story. You know me, right?"

She gave Bucky a long stare that made him wonder if she was planning on phoning her SSR buddies. Finally, she sighed and nodded. "Steve trusted you with his life. You saved it a few times, and he told me what happened on the train. I read the report. I can't imagine you've changed all that much in fifteen months. What I can't figure out is why you're being so secretive. Surely you trust me."

"And me!" Howard piped up. "Remember I flew a plane under enemy fire to help Steve save your ass."

Bucky nodded. It was hard to look away from Howard and hard to look at him. He was just like Bucky remembered—confident, talkative, and a little too cavalier about risks. That night kept playing over and over again in his head. The crash. Howard asking for help, looking directly at him, recognizing him, just before Bucky bashed his skull in.

He shot to his feet. "Excuse me." Without looking back, he headed to the bathroom.

-000-

Batroc inspected the automatic pistol he'd taken from Mink. For its time, it was impressive. The two guys Mink called muscle were on the floor, staring empty-eyed at the ceiling. Mink was leaning up against his desk, putting on a brave front but obviously not used to being in such a vulnerable position.

Mink had a pasty white poker face beneath his platinum blonde hair. Either that, or he was a sociopath. Batroc hoped sociopath. He could use that.

"I understand you want to see Howard Stark dead?" Batroc stuffed the gun in his pocket.

"I plan on taking care of Stark and Agent Carter."

Batroc smiled. "We have the same goal."

-000-

Shit. Sam recognized that look on Bucky's face before he made his escape. What must it be like for Bucky to sit at the same table with the man who was once a friend and who he would kill in 45 years?

"So, Mr. Wilson, where are you from?"

"Louisiana." He figured he'd better stick as close to the truth as possible when it came to Peggy Carter.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me where Sergeant Barnes got that astonishingly sophisticated prosthesis? I know someone who could benefit from that type of medical intervention."

"It's a long story, and, no, I can't tell you."

Howard leaned forward. "That type of technology could benefit a lot of guys who lost limbs in the war."

That was no doubt true. Sam wasn't sure what kind of arm Bucky originally got or even the year he got it, but it was certainly more sophisticated than it had any right to be for the time. Howard Stark was practically salivating in his eagerness to take a look at the arm. Sam couldn't blame him.

"It's vibranium, isn't it? I used all I had to make Steve's shield, and that's gone now. Can you at least tell us where the vibranium came from?"

"Sorry."

"Can you tell me more about James?" Peggy asked. "He's different than he was when I knew him."

Sam had no doubt that was true as well, but he was as curious about pre-Winter soldier Bucky as Peggy was about them. "I didn't know him during the war like you did. In what way?"

"He was a lot more fun." Howard drained the sherry from his glass and waved Jarvis over to pour another. "The guy's barely cracked a smile since he's been here." Howard turned to Peggy. "But before we get too off-topic, Peggy, about that favor? I need to know which of my inventions you've recovered."

"Why?"

"If I know which ones the SSR has, I can determine how many are still on the black market."

"Don't tell me you came all the way stateside for this. Jarvis could've asked me."

Stark smiled. "Jarvis doesn't have one of these." He pulled a pen from his pocket.

The pen was slightly larger than normal, and Sam recognized what it must be instantly, but…in 1946? "A camera pen."

Stark's eyebrows shot up. "How'd you know that?

"A camera pen?" Peggy sounded less than impressed.

"A camera pen." Stark rolled his eyes. "I was expecting a bit more shock and enthusiasm. Any idea how long it took me to figure out lens miniaturization?"

-000-

Bucky gently touched his aching ribs, feeling the tenderness under the skin and the fading bruises. He tried to concentrate on the physical pain, desperate to escape the haunting image of Howard's face—aged and filled with a devastating blend of agony, dawning awareness, and disbelief.

He looked at the head wound in the mirror. It, too, was on its way to being healed. The piece of sheet metal he'd grabbed had made an effective shield against the blast, but he'd hit his head hard. The first hit on the ceiling didn't knock him out, but it did make everything spin. He saw the floor coming up fast, and that's when the lights went out.

Now Peggy and Howard knew he was alive. Things had already changed. How would that impact the future? If the changes created a new timeline, then he could warn Howard Stark about….

How do you tell someone you're going to murder them and their wife 45 years in the future? Then again, how could he not? If the timeline was already screwed, he couldn't leave without warning Howard.

How would revealing future events play out? If he told them he was from the future, then they'd know James Buchanan Barnes was alive in 1946…somewhere. What if they looked for him? What if someone got killed in the process?

Could he change things and still let himself become the Winter Soldier? It wasn't just his life. He'd taken so many others, good people like Howard and Maria Stark.

He'd have to tell them about Steve. Peggy would figure it out based on what they'd already said, and if they found Steve, what impact would that have? When Loki arrived with part of Thanos' army, would there even be Avengers to stop them, and if there were, would they succeed without Steve?

And what about the Blip? How would that go differently?

Shit.

He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose against the headache rolling behind his eyes.

There were too many variables for him to decide what to do, at least at the moment. He needed time to think about it. For now, he had to focus on the immediate problem.

Batroc had almost managed to kill Peggy last night. The explosion would've done her in and taken out half of the Stark Tech in the process. That bothered Bucky. If Batroc was after Stark Tech, why would he risk blowing it up? Was the explosion an act of desperation to cover his escape, or was he after something else? Or perhaps he'd already gotten what he was after?

What could possibly be in crates of obsolete technology that could be of interest to Batroc?

He and Sam had to get moving. He made his way back to the dining room. Carter was in a new outfit, her hair as impeccable as always, a purse over her arm. She gave Bucky a long glance, the edges of her eyes softening as they met his.

"I have to go to work. I've been remiss in my manners given all that's happened." She gave a slight bow of her head. "Too many good men died in the war. I'm delighted that you weren't one of them." Her eyes glistened and she glanced away. "I do wish Steve hadn't died thinking you did."

Before he could formulate a reply, she spun on her heels and left the penthouse.

Howard sighed and drained his sherry. "Yeah. Cap was in a bad place after he thought you died. He went hard, maybe harder than he should have."

Bucky was acutely aware of Sam's gaze and could almost feel the man's urge to tell the truth about Steve and where they were from. He met that gaze briefly and turned, heading to the room, listening casually as Sam excused himself and followed.

In the bedroom, he waited for Sam to get in, then closed the door.

"Man," Sam eyed the portrait of Howard on the wall, "it's surreal meeting Howard Stark, Peggy Carter…and Jarvis in the flesh!"

Bucky had never met Jarvis—either version—but he wondered what the A.I. version of the man had been like.

Sam stepped closer and lowered his voice. "So, that had to be rough." Sam had a penchant for understatement.

"Yeah."

"You know, I'm pretty sure we already broke the timeline, what with them knowing you're alive."

"I know."

"But there are some big implications."

"I know that, too."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Bucky bit the inside of his bottom lip. "If we tell them, we have to tell them everything."

Sam nodded. "Give them a fighting chance."

"Tell them about Hydra and SHIELD."

"Thanos."

"Loki."

Sam sighed. "The Snap. The stones. Ultron."

That I become a Hydra assassin and kill Howard and his wife. Bucky dropped to the edge of the bed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. The headache was getting better, but the conundrums involved in time travel weren't helping.

"Hey." The mattress dipped, and Bucky looked up into Sam's concerned eyes. "I can imagine what's going on in that reconditioned brain of yours, but that isn't going to happen for almost fifty years…if it happens at all. We can change it."

Bucky wanted desperately to change things—but in the right way. "What if we mess something up? What if Tony isn't born? If we tell them about Steve, where to find him, and even a little thing changes and Tony Stark isn't born—maybe Stark has another kid, conceived on a different day—then what happens to Earth when Loki comes or Thanos invades?" A heavy feeling churned in his gut. "What if we save one Stark only to end up killing the other before he's even born?"

"Tony's born way before you…well, you know."

"Yeah, but we've changed things." Bucky had read enough science fiction to understand the Butterfly Effect. "What if awakening Steve causes things to shift enough that Howard starts a family earlier, or later? Someone else will be born, not Tony."

"You know what, man," Sam jabbed his elbow gently into Bucky's arm, "you can't think like that. Maybe that'll happen in this timeline, but it's not killing Tony. Nothing we do here affects the Tony of our timeline. So what if it's a different mini-Stark in the future? Who's to say that one won't be just as smart? Or heck, maybe even less reckless. Maybe it'll be a girl, and she'll grow up to be a brilliant, level-headed genius who does things differently…better. Maybe Steve, Howard, and Peggy will have paved the way, thanks to the heads-up we give them about what's coming. Maybe Steve here lives a wonderful, happy life with Peggy and we rescue you, and you find a woman, or a guy, and—"

Bucky shot him a look that had Sam flashing a grin.

"—whatever floats your boat," Sam continued, "and you both have kids, and you're neighbors, and you both work in SHIELD and keep Hydra the hell out of it, and become famous heroes, and then someday a little Sam Wilson will be in the Smithsonian standing in front of the Captain America and Bucky Barnes exhibit in awe, never knowing that, in some other timeline, we were friends."

Well, shit. That image of a reality that could be made Bucky's eyes hot. He blinked and cleared his throat. "Imagine how low his car insurance rates will be."

Sam chuckled. "Asshole."

Bucky nodded, smiling at the insult, even though the memories of that day were sharp and heavy in his mind.

After a moment, Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "If Batroc is really after Carter, Stark, and the tech, we need to come up with a solid plan."

Back to business. Bucky nodded. "Carter's leaving for work, and Stark's staying here."

Sam nodded curtly, the mirth gone from his expression. "We'll split up."

"I'll take Howard." Full circle. In one life, he'd been Stark's assassin. In this one, he'd be the man's bodyguard. It was the least he could do.

-000-

Sam took off a few minutes after Carter left. He wasn't a spy, and Carter was, so Bucky bet him a nickel Carter would make him before the day was through. She wouldn't be happy about being followed, but with Batroc's whereabouts unknown, she was in danger—more than usual given her profession.

The SSR offices would be off limits, of course, but they'd be inaccessible to Batroc, too, without extreme measures. Though time travel was an extreme measure, so nothing was off the table.

Jarvis took off to run errands and have lunch with his wife, leaving Bucky in the penthouse with Stark. They didn't have television to occupy their time. Bucky tried to read in the living room, but Stark made that impossible.

"Come on, James, get your nose out of that book."

Bucky looked up yet again from the novel. Stark was on the couch with two ladies on either side, telling them about his last trip to France and how the swimsuits were so much more progressive over there.

Bucky couldn't believe a man who was a wanted fugitive invited two women over to entertain. He gave them his middle name—Anthony—and when one of them said he looked just like Howard Stark, he shot back "I get that all the time" with casual confidence. Bucky couldn't help being impressed with how unbothered he seemed by being Public Enemy #1.

Bucky's experience on the run had been far different. Apparently, rich, genius, playboys got a whole different experience on the wrong side of the law.

The brunette woman wearing a blue dress with eyes to match got to her feet and sat down in the armchair next to his. "So, James, has anyone told you you look a little like one of the Howling Commandos?" She turned to his friend. "Don't you think, Betty? What's the handsome one's name?"

Bucky shot to his feet, setting the book on the side table. "I'm sorry, ladies, but we'll have to cut this short. Anthony and I have a business lunch to get to."

Howard put up as much of a tantrum as he could without actually blowing his cover while Bucky ushered the ladies out and closed the door behind them. He took a breath and turned to Howard, who was standing in the middle of the room, drink in hand, glaring at him.

"Well, it's official. You are not the James Barnes I remember. Why'd you have to go ruin what was shaping up to be one hell of a double date?"

Bucky gave Howard a long look as he made his way back to the chair. "You're supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember? Do you want to get caught? You know they hang people for treason?"

"I'm aware." Howard drained his glass and sat down. "It's boring being cooped up here."

"No one ever died from boredom."

"You don't know that for sure, and there's a first time for everything."

Bucky grabbed his book and tried to read, but he felt Howard's gaze on him, just like he did in his dreams, on that dark road, when Howard looked at him and—

"What?" He looked up at Howard. "Don't you have anything to read or some invention to tinker with?"

"Most of them are in the lab at the SSR, although I do have a small workroom in the back here. Wanna come take a look at a little beauty I've been working on?"

That sounded more interesting than the book, and if it meant Howard would do something besides complain or stare at him, Bucky was all in.

He set the book down. "Sure."

-000-

Sam had read the same newspaper ten times over. It was midday when Peggy emerged from the New York Bell Company building that Sam assumed was the secret headquarters of the SSR. She looked both ways and crossed the street. He held the paper higher, peeking over the top, and saw her heading straight toward him.

Shit. Bucky would never let him live this down.

"Mr. Wilson, would you mind telling me why you've followed me?"

Sam folded the paper and stuck it beneath his arm. "Okay, so did you make me because I'm one of the only black guys in this area of town or because I'm a terrible spy."

"A bit of both. Now, the answer to my question, if you don't mind."

He tried what he hoped was a charming smile. "Since the French guy who tried to kill you is still on the loose, I'm keeping an eye out."

She raised her eyebrows, her shoulder straightening slightly. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Wilson, but I'm an SSR agent and more than capable of defending myself."

"Of that, I have no doubt. So, you off to lunch?"

"Just thought I'd get some air and say hello. You needn't skulk about all day. Surely you have something more productive to do than loiter in front of the Bank?"

"Look, Carter—"

"I shall be inside that building over there, which as you know, houses several highly trained and well-armed SSR agents. Understood?"

Sam sighed. "Okay. What time do you get off?"

She rolled her eyes and, without a word, spun on her heels and made her way back across the street.

CHAPTER 3 The Blitzkrieg Button

It was dark by the time Peggy returned to the Penthouse, with Sam Wilson in tow. She hadn't been surprised to find him waiting for her.

"I hope you did something productive," she said, stepping off the elevator.

"Tracked down some leads, came up empty, so no."

She knocked on the Penthouse door. Jarvis opened it, giving her a nod and a hint of a smile. "Long day?"

"As always." She stepped inside and set her purse on the entryway table. "The whereabouts of Barnes and Howard?"

"In the laboratory."

"Ah, yes." She shouldn't be surprised that even Stark's least known property had a work area.

Jarvis pointed down the hall. "Third room on the left."

She headed that way. Sam followed. She heard Howard's voice and pushed open the door.

"The transceiver's functional, but the sound's a little garbled. Think we can fix it?"

Barnes and Howard were clustered over the broken device Barnes called a cell phone.

Howard shrugged. "I'd love to try." He finally looked up at Peggy. "You're back already? Did you get it?"

"Of course." It was almost insulting that he asked.

Ten minutes later, the four of them were in a makeshift dark room in a bathroom.

Carter wasn't even shocked when she looked at the ribbon-thin strip of negatives. "Well, she certainly seems…uninhibited."

Bucky and Sam leaned closer just as Howard snatched the negatives from her hands and held them up to the light.

"The first ten or so aren't suitable for your eyes." He grabbed a pair of scissors, cut off a section, and handed the rest to her. "We need to move fast because I'll be in Rio in three days."

"Not a good idea." Sam crossed his arms. "There's a highly skilled mercenary after both of you, so unless you want to end up with a bullet in your head, I recommend you stay here."

-000-

Fifteen minutes later, they were eating supper in the dining room while Howard tried to convince Peggy she needed to steal one of his inventions from the SSR lab.

He described the Blitzkrieg Button that was capable of blowing out the power. Apparently, he was close to convincing Peggy to commit treason by stealing it from the SSR's lab to avoid an accidental detonation.

Sam thought the whole thing sounded crazy. "Won't it have to be near a central power plant for that to happen?"

Stark shook his head. "It was designed for wartime use and destroys the electrical grid. If that thing is activated in New York, the whole tri-state area will be plunged into Dark Ages for years to come."

How could 1946 tech be so primitive in some aspects and so advanced in other ways? A device of that nature could give 21st-century tech a run for its money. "So, a fancy EMP?"

They both turned to look at Sam. "What's that?"

Sam could understand Peggy not knowing, but Stark had to know. Did they have EMPs in the 40s? If not, what kind of device had Stark created that could wipe out multiple power grids from hundreds of miles away?

Bucky swallowed a mouthful of steak. "Why would you invent something like that?"

"It was designed to turn out the lights in populated cities like London so the Germans wouldn't be able to see where to bomb. Problem is, I couldn't figure out how to turn the lights back on."

-000-

That night, Bucky left the apartment to do recon. Sam stayed behind, acting as backup in case trouble arrived. Bucky didn't plan to be gone long, but he needed to check out the dock and talk to whoever might be around.

Surely, someone would notice a French guy with a shaved head. He walked, keeping up a brisk pace, enjoying the cool evening breeze and watching the occasional car roll by. They were massive, with curves and exaggerated features—in some ways, works of art with wheels.

He never had a car. He bought a motorcycle after Steve left in the future—but before the war, when he and Steve were on their own, they got around just fine using their feet and hopping buses.

His father owned a car. It wasn't the fanciest, but it had taken him and his sisters to Coney Island and on many family trips. Steve came sometimes, when he had a few extra bucks. He always insisted on paying his own way.

The streets of New York City were vaguely familiar. He had made it into the city a few times when he was young, sometimes for a date and sometimes for an event. He enjoyed walking its streets at night, when fewer people were out. He could pretend he was just Bucky Barnes on a night out, enjoying a stroll. He could almost convince himself this was his home, for good, and that he could stop by his parent's place tomorrow, kiss his mother on the cheek, and talk local politics with his dad.

Those thoughts kept his mind busy until he reached the docks. The place was quiet, except for some homeless men. When he woke them up and offered them a couple of nickels, all he was able to learn was that one of them saw a black guy and a big bald guy fighting and he'd already told that to the suits. Bucky had to assume he meant SSR agents.

Sam and Batroc. Great. So both were on the SSR's radar now.

There wasn't much useful information besides that.

Bucky canvassed the area. The SSR had already been over the place, so it was unfortunately clean. No useful evidence.

On his way back, he passed a theater. Great Expectations was on the marquis. He read the book but never saw the movie.

The ticket cost him a quarter. He smiled all the way to his seat.

-000-

"So, you got in late last night." Sam looked up from his breakfast plate as Bucky padded out of the bedroom. "Room service." He waved a hand toward the spread on the table.

Bucky's stomach grumbled, enticed by the aroma of food. "Yeah." He flashed a soft smile and scratched at his messy hair.

"Any leads?" Sam sipped on a Bloody Mary.

Bucky sank into a chair and made himself a plate. Of course, the entire building had room service.

It must be nice to be rich.

Carter was getting ready for work in the other room, which meant Sam would be leaving with her whenever she was ready.

"Just that the SSR saw you fighting with Batroc."

"That took hours?"

"I caught a movie. Cost me a quarter." He hadn't watched a movie in a theater since before he shipped off to England.

Sam choked on his coffee.

"Prices have become an abomination." Carter hurried out of the room, dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place.

"Oh, yeah, outrageous," Sam muttered, downing the rest of his coffee and shoveling a final forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"You might as well enjoy the rest of your morning, Mr. Wilson. I'm quite capable of making my way to the office."

Sam gave an exasperated shake of his head, shooting a look at Bucky as though he were peddling for sympathy, but Bucky had none to give. He was well-versed in Carter's sharp tongue. Seeing Sam on the other end of it was more entertainment than even last night's movie.

"She's got a point," Bucky said. "I mean, she literally wiped the floor with you, so—"

Sam crossed his arms. "You got your ass handed to you by a little girl, remember?"

"What?" Howard perked up. "This is a story I absolutely have to hear."

"Another time," Bucky muttered, matching glares with Sam until, finally, Sam was forced to look away when Peggy headed out of the door.

Releasing a heavy breath, Sam followed.

-000-

It was evening when they returned, and Peggy was vibrating with anger when she stormed through the door. Sam followed, and the grim look he gave had Bucky on full alert.

What the hell happened?

Peggy set her purse on the table and walked briskly up to Howard, who was hunched over some diagrams in the living room.

"What's in the vial, Howard?"

He stood up. "What vial?"

She spoke with a harder edge to her voice. "What's in the vial, Howard?"

Bucky moved close to Sam and whispered, "What happened?"

"She opened it."

"You opened it?" Howard glanced down, his shoulders slouching. "That was dangerous."

"What's in the vial?"

Vial? The hairs on the back of Bucky's neck stood straight.

Howard lowered his voice. "You know."

"No, I don't." She moved closer to him, her eyes fire and her back rigid. In the light, Bucky noticed the tear track on her cheek.

Shit. He had a sinking feeling about the vial. There was only one thing that would get Peggy that worked up.

"Steve's blood," Howard said. "I was lead scientist on Project Rebirth. Eleven vials went to the government, one was given to me."

Son of a bitch. Bucky wasn't surprised when Peggy's fist connected squarely with Howard's right eye, but he nevertheless winced from the sound of it. Howard staggered back from the impact. That had to have hurt.

They argued about the vial. The vial with Steve's blood. The vial containing a sample of the super soldier serum. The same serum Howard would successfully recreate in 1991.

The dark road. The crash. Howard's confused eyes when he looked into The Winter Soldier's face.

Bucky eased himself closer to them, the roar of blood in his ears. "Where is it?"

Peggy reached into her purse and pulled out a metal sphere. "I committed treason for this, Howard, so you could line your pockets!"

"Do you think so little of me?" Howard protested. "That sample can cure hundreds of ailments, save lives, and—"

"Make you even richer!" Peggy clutched the sphere close to her chest.

Bucky reacted before he even realized what he was doing. In the space of a breath, he had the sphere in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Peggy demanded.

Howard shifted on his feet, looking nervously between them.

There was a button on the front. Bucky pressed it, and the top of the metal ball opened. A glass vial lifted from a center tube with a whiff of liquid nitrogen.

Sam approached, standing next to him to look down at the sample. "That's Steve's blood, huh?"

"Hand it to me, Sergeant." Peggy thrust her hand out.

Howard gave her a wide berth as he walked closer to Barnes. "It's my property, Barnes."

Bucky's chin lifted. Property. Blood. Super Soldiers. It was all so goddamned fucked up. "It's Steve's property. Not yours. Not the government's. I don't care what any damn piece of paper says." He pulled out the vial and marched into the kitchen.

Peggy was right behind him and, as he dumped the contents down the sink, she made a grab for the vial, but it was too late. He dropped the empty vial into the sink and turned to her.

Sam and Howard were standing a few feet behind her, at the threshold to the kitchen. They couldn't see her face, but Bucky did, and he knew he would never forget that he caused that expression. Her eyes swam with tears, but there was something darker behind them. Anger. Grief. Disbelief.

"I…I…" she was breathing heavily. "How could you dump him down the drain like garbage?"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Howard shook his head and ran a hand across his face.

Bucky couldn't help it. The anger rose suddenly, fierce and hot, mixed with all the grief he'd bottled up since Steve stepped onto that platform in 2023.

"It's not Steve! Steve's gone." Bucky walked past her, putting her and those eyes he couldn't bear to look into behind him. "You won't use that sample to cure a damn thing, Howard. That serum is nothing but trouble." He stopped in front of Howard. "You have no idea what kind of misery it'll bring. It's nothing but a curse. When it falls into the wrong hands, people will die."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Howard said.

Peggy marched around him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shiny. "You may have been his best friend, but you had no right—"

"I had every goddamned right!" Bucky's chest was tight and his cheeks hot. A few more seconds, and he was bound to lose it and end up with his fist through a wall.

"Hey, man, it's done." Sam patted him on the arm. "It was the right call, even if they can't understand that." He gave Howard and Peggy a pointed look.

Howard's face was flushed, and he took a step closer to Bucky, looking up at him. "You destroyed the only sample of Steve's blood left in the world. That serum was worth—"

"It's not worth your life!" The truth escaped Bucky like shattered glass. It was pointless now. He might as well tell them everything. Too much had changed, and he was going to make damn sure it changed for the better.

He couldn't let it play out the way it had in his time, not for this version of Howard Stark. It was the only way he knew to make amends.

"Bucky, are you sure, man?" Sam's voice was a near-whisper.

He was past the point of no return. Bucky nodded and pushed through them, his legs carrying him to the dining table. He sank into a chair, braced his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands, resting his forehead on them so he wouldn't have to see their faces.

"You'll keep trying to recreate the serum, Howard." Bucky closed his eyes, seeing the car, the dark road, Howard on the ground, white hair, confused eyes... "You'll do it. You'll make more serum. Hydra will steal it. They'll kill you, and they'll take it. They'll use it to make more super soldiers."

"Hydra was defeated when…" Peggy's voice wavered, and she took a breath, "…Steve disrupted Schmidt's plans."

"No, they weren't." Bucky opened his eyes and sat back to look at them. Sam was leaning against the wall, his face a mask of sympathy.

"What are you talking about, Sergeant?" Peggy wiped at her cheeks, the grief and anger in her voice replaced by the SSR agent she was, through and through.

"Zola will revive Hydra."

"That mad genius is rotting in a cell," Howard said.

Bucky shook his head. "He finished what he started with me. When the Russians captured me, at some point, he was there. I don't know the date exactly, but he's still pulling strings."

Peggy leaned forward, placing her palms on the table. "Why are you only reporting this now, Sergeant?"

Sam stepped forward. "Hey, lay off."

Bucky looked up at her. "Because I couldn't. I was a prisoner."

"When did you escape?" she asked. "Why are you only just now making yourself known? What are you up to, Sergeant?"

She really was an SSR agent to her core.

"I was kept prisoner until 2014, when I escaped."

Silence followed. Peggy straightened, looking at him as though he were a pathetic thing. There was something like pity in her gaze.

"I'm not crazy…Well, not about this."

"I'm sorry, Sarge, but it sounds like you've been hitting the sauce a bit too much." Howard sighed heavily and pulled out a chair, dropping into it.

"He's telling the truth." Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone. A few swipes later, he turned the screen around to face Howard and Peggy.

A video of his nephews running around the dock in Delacroix played on the screen. In full color. Howard and Peggy were riveted.

"How the hell…?" Howard was on his feet again, closing the distance between him and Sam, studying the small screen of the cell phone with wide eyes. "Silly me, I thought lens miniaturization was a big deal."

Peggy dropped into the chair across from Bucky. "Continue." The subtle tremor in the word betrayed her poker face.

Sam pocketed the phone and took a seat next to Bucky. Howard dropped into one at the end of the table. Silence hovered heavily as Bucky tried to figure out how to explain it all.

The words came of their own accord, as though some other part of his brain had taken over. "I kill you, Howard."

Peggy stiffened, eyeing her purse—where she no doubt had her gun.

"In 1991," Bucky continued. "You recreated the super soldier serum. Hydra wanted it."

"You're working for Hydra?" Peggy's voice was dangerously flat.

He was doing a crap job of explaining it.

Sam scooted closer. "He's not working for Hydra. Neither of us are. He was a prisoner for almost 70 years. They brainwashed him, erased his memories, programmed his mind. He's not under their control now."

"You kill me?" Howard blinked at him. "Forty-five years from now? You're telling me you kill me and steal the serum?"

Bucky studied the sinewy grain on the mahogany table. "You and…your wife." His throat closed up. The dark swirls in the wood shimmered like they were cast on the surface of a lake.

The weight of Sam's hand came down on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky swallowed and looked up. Peggy and Howard were staring at him. Howard's face was more of an open book than Peggy's, but he saw a mixture of grief and suspicion in her eyes. Howard was wide-eyed, blinking, looking as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"Well," Howard took a breath, "I guess this means I'm not gonna be hanged for treason."

"I'm sorry, Howard." Bucky choked back a sob. He had to keep it together. "I didn't have a choice. I didn't even know who I was, or who you were. I'm so goddamned sorry. I think about that night all the time. You recognized me. You looked right at me and said my name, but it meant nothing to me."

Howard was still staring, but his gaze was unfocused. He shook his head slowly. "Time travel. That's…damn." His brow jumped upward and his eyes focused once again. "Did I invent it?"

Sam huffed. "Man, you really have quite the ego. No."

Bucky didn't bother adding that Howard's son was instrumental in that particular development. Should he even tell Howard he was going to have a son? Would that change things?

"Who do I marry?"

"I don't think we should tell you." Sam leaned forward. "If we tell you her name, then you might meet someone with the same name and think that's the person. We could change how certain things play out."

But that's what they were doing. Bucky wasn't sure how much of the beans to spill…or when. Was now the time to tell them about Steve? If he did, both of them would alter the trajectory of the next few months of their lives. They'd search for him, and that could change things in a significant way. He'd gotten enough information during his pre-mission research on what Carter and Howard had been doing in the 40s to understand that this was a critical time for both Howard and Peggy.

Peggy's voice was remarkably subdued when she spoke, with a slower cadence than usual, making it obvious she was choosing her words carefully. "Are we to believe, Sergeant, that you survived the fall from the train and were captured, held prisoner by Hydra for almost 70 years, brainwashed, and turned into their assassin?"

Bucky knew it was a hard pill to swallow. He wasn't sure he'd believe it in their position. "You can believe it or not. It's the truth."

"My God." Her gaze dropped for a moment, and when she looked back up, her eyes shimmered. "Sergeant…Bucky…It's impossible, or at least it should be. I can't imagine anything so horrible. Yet, here you are, in the flesh, undeniable. As fantastic as your story is, I have to admit it fits the facts. Your appearance—you do look older. The technology you've shown us. That arm that's like nothing I've ever seen—"

"Nothing I've ever seen, either," Howard interjected.

Peggy reached across the table and placed her hand on Bucky's. "The man I knew you to be would never kill Howard Stark. You most certainly would never shift your allegiance to Hydra. I can only imagine the horrors you've endured, the horrors they must have inflicted upon you to compel you to perform such an act. If Steve had known there was even a chance you were still alive…"

"I know." He'd have done the same thing if Steve had been the one to fall.

"He grieved you." Peggy squeezed his hand. "He tried to get drunk, but he couldn't."

A soft smile sprang on Bucky's lips as he thought about Steve drunk. He couldn't hold his liquor before the serum, and when he was drunk, he was either angry or sappy, sometimes both in the span of a few minutes. It was a good thing the serum meant the six-foot-two version of Steve couldn't get drunk.

"I can't believe time travel is possible." Howard Stark's voice held a hushed note of wonder.

"So where are you, right now?" Peggy asked. "The James Barnes that's a prisoner right now?"

He knew one of them would ask. He'd already decided to go all in. He'd tell them where he was being held and the coordinates to find Steve. It was just a matter of how and when.

"Right now, that's not important." Bucky glanced at Sam, seeing in the man's expression that they were both on the same page. They needed to talk. "We'll tell you more, I promise, but it's tricky with time travel."

"Yeah, it's a real headache," Sam chimed in.

Peggy was quiet for a moment, her eyes pensive, and her lips pressed into a tight line. Finally, she took a breath, her chin tilted up a fraction, and her eyes searched his. "Do we ever find Steve's…body?"

There it was. The question. "Carter, don't keep asking me questions. We'll tell you more, I promise, everything you need to know, but right now, we've got to deal with the immediate situation and see how it all plays out. Once that's done, we'll debrief and tell you everything we can to help make sure things here go better."

"I don't understand." Peggy leaned forward. "Sergeant, if you tell us where you are, we can mount a rescue mission. Those things need never happen to you, and you'll never be sent to kill Howard. You can change your entire future."

He shook his head and glanced again at Sam, this time for moral support. "It doesn't work that way."

"What are you talking about?" Howard prodded.

"I don't understand it completely, but from what I've been told, we can't change our own past. If things are changed in the past, those changes branch off and create a new timeline."

"Like in Back to the Future two, when Doc wrote on the—Oh, right." Sam clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. "Never mind."

Bucky had no idea what Sam was rattling on about. "Huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Jesus, man, one of these days, you and I are doing a movie marathon. We've got to catch you up."

"It's not been on my priority list, you know, between Hydra and…the other stuff." Aliens. The Blip. The pardon. The Flagsmashers. Trying and failing to find a way to numb the aching chasm that spread in his chest after Steve left.

The conversation took them round and round a few times until Peggy and Howard exhausted themselves. Even Sam looked beat. Finally, they all headed to bed, but lying there looking at the portrait of Howard Stark, barely visible in the darkness, Bucky couldn't help but think of that night, in 1991.

If only hearing his name had jogged something that night, things might have gone a different way. Maybe it was because Howard had gotten so much older and looked nothing like his younger self.

Who was he kidding? He knew Steve better than anyone and still looked straight into his eyes and tried to kill him.

He tried to banish the dark thoughts, closing his eyes and focusing on the mindfulness and breathing exercises he'd learned in Wakanda. When he finally drifted into sleep, he dreamed.

Cold. So very, very, very cold.

Pain.

Hot-icy pain.

Lungs that wouldn't work. Suffocation. Panic.

The crinkle of something in his ears.

His skin was hot. Burning. A knife twisted agonizingly in his left shoulder.

A fire. He was in front of a fire. The smell of burnt marshmallows.

He was breathing. In and out, air of fire with lungs that stretched like an old rubber band.

Help.

He surged upward into darkness, chest tight, his panicked breathing loud in the silence. It took him a few moments to orient himself as the dream faded and reality set in.

He was in Stark's penthouse. It was…it was… 1946. He collapsed back onto the bed and worked to get his breathing under control. The dream had felt real. He hadn't had one like that in a long time. The pain still lingered in his left shoulder. He rolled onto his right side and brought his hand up to rub at the aching joint.

The dream had taken him back to Siberia. That's where his younger self was now. What was happening to him at that exact moment? The dates were fuzzy. There were notes in the red book and some of the materials recovered from Siberia, but they were incomplete. If he was in the cryogenic chamber, then he was, thankfully, at peace. If not, he was in some concrete and steel hell wishing they'd fuck up and kill him accidentally.

Those days were muddled, full of endless stretches of time filled with pain, sleep deprivation, and types of torture he hadn't been able to imagine, even after spending weeks in Schmidt's weapons factory. And it was all happening in real-time to a younger James Barnes.

Hang in there, Sergeant. This time, someone will come for you.

CHAPTER 4 Rescue Mission

"You're going to Belarus?" Bucky couldn't believe his ears. "Jesus, Peg, you didn't see enough of Eastern Europe during the war?"

Peggy's expression was cool and sharp as she hovered in the doorway, about to exit the apartment for what might be the last time. "I have a job to do, and that's all the information you shall be privy to unless, of course, you want to tell me what you know about Leviathan." She raised a challenging eyebrow.

Leviathan. A swell of nausea rose in his gut and his hands went cold. He hadn't heard that name in…a long time. A face came to mind instantly, accompanied by a sickeningly gentle voice and weathered hands slowly twisting a gold band on a finger. "You're dealing with Leviathan?"

She folded her arms. "What do you know about them?"

Leviathan and the Red Room were two sides of the same coin. Zola recruited Hydra members from Leviathan, and some of them ended up on the Winter Soldier program.

"They're bad news—a Soviet science and espionage organization much like Hydra. Evil. Not above experimenting on humans to turn them into weapons. Intent on world domination."

"If I'm to help clear your name," she looked at Howard, who was standing a few feet to Bucky's right and being unusually quiet, "then I must go on this mission."

"Agent Carter," Sam began, "the man who attacked you in the boat—"

"Won't be following me to Russia. I'll be surrounded by armed men." She looked back at Bucky. "Care to join your old unit?"

"The 107th or the Commandos?"

She rolled her eyes. "The Commandos. Dugan is leading them now. I imagine the look on his face if he laid eyes on you without being forewarned would make the trip all that more worthwhile."

She knew he couldn't go. Appearing publicly in the flesh, alive and well, wasn't in the cards and he wasn't going to leave Stark. He was determined to keep Howard safe this time.

He rubbed a hand across his brow. Things were bound to go badly when dealing with Leviathan. "Be careful, Peggy. Stay with the agents and the Commandos at all times."

She tilted her head with an expression more suitably directed toward an irritating child. "I assure you, Sergeant, I will, as always, exercise the utmost caution and discretion." With a nod of her head, she stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

"Well, damn." Howard grabbed a bottle of sherry from a small liquor cabinet near the dining room and poured himself a drink. He took a sip and turned back to them. "So, gentlemen, since I'm imprisoned in this luxury penthouse, what shall we do to pass the time?"

Sam sighed heavily and took out his phone. "Where the hell is Belarus?"

"Is that thing really going to tell you?"Howard blinked wide-eyed at the device.

Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "Give him a minute."

Sam grumbled something unintelligible and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"No signal?"

"Shut up." Sam disappeared into the kitchen. "I'm gonna make us something to eat."

"There's no microwave! Don't burn the place down."

"Stuff it, man!"

Bucky smiled. Then he thought about Peggy's upcoming reunion with Dugan and the Commandos and his chest went tight for a moment. God, it would be so nice to see some of his old war buddies again. It wasn't possible— well, it was technically possible but not in the cards.

"What's a microwave?" Howard asked.

-000-

There was no sign of Batroc. Sam and Bucky took turns babysitting Stark while the other pounded the pavement, but finding someone in 1946 who didn't want to be found wasn't easy. Bucky slipped back into that tech-free world, pounding the pavement, talking to guys on the docks and in alleys, even shaking up a few of Mink's associates, but there were no leads on Batroc.

Peggy returned from Russia buzzing with energy unusual even for her. Sam ventured out to pound the pavement on their cold case while Bucky played bodyguard to Stark, and then everything went to hell.

Jarvis burst through the door, out of breath, bangs unusually disheveled, his complexion pale. "I'm afraid I have dreadful news."

Thirty-two minutes later, Bucky was standing outside the SSR building, dressed in a suit and hat to blend in with all the other office workers, gloves covering his hands. Sam and Peggy were in that building, under arrest for treason. His phone was in his pocket with an active link to Sam's device.

He had full audio, and thanks to his enhanced hearing, he could pick up the sound even with the phone in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

-000-

"Fighting crime is like fishing." Chief Dooley placed a stick and carrot on the table in front of Sam, next to the cell phone. "The little fish helps catch the big fish. You give me the Big Fish, and you get a deal."

Sam leaned back the best he could given the cuffs tethering him to the table. "Look, man, I told you, I can't help you."

"Witnesses saw you on the dock."

"Me, or just some other black guy? We don't all look alike, you know."

"You don't all have those crazy beards, either. Quite distinctive."

Damnit. Bucky was right about the beard. He was going to get around to shaving it. Probably. But then there was Batroc at the dock, Bucky went missing, and, well…

"What do you know about Stark's inventions being sold on the black market? Is this one of them?" Dooley pointed to the cell phone. "What does it do?"

Sam stared at him, keeping a straight face and his eyes directly ahead.

"Are you going to sing? Or does Thompson here have to make you?" Dooley pointed to a cocky young agent with fair skin and light hair whose eyes were focused on Sam with an unnervingly eager expression.

"If I'm under arrest, I want a lawyer. I'm not saying anything without a lawyer." No one had even read him his Miranda rights.

Wait. When was the Miranda case? After the 40s. Had to be. Maybe the 60s? Shit. He was so screwed.

"That's funny." Dooley chuckled. "You want a lawyer, huh?" The Chief shook his head and took the carrot. He jerked his head to the stick. "You're gonna need that to bite down on."

Dooley glanced at Thompson, giving him a nod, then left the room.

Fuck. Were they really gonna beat the crap out of him? The expression on Thompson's face was one of smug anticipation. He picked up the stick.

"Come on, man." Jesus, how far were they gonna go? Did the SSR torture people in the 40s?

"You really are going to want to bite down on this."

"Fuck you, man." Sam clenched his jaw and tilted his chin up.

Thompson sighed. "Have it your way, but if you bite your tongue off, it's going to be harder to sing. I guess you can write, though. Are you right or left-handed?"

Sam glared at the man. He wasn't going to be singing or writing, and he sure as hell wasn't going to say another word. He saw the punch coming, and it landed square on his jaw, whipping his head to the left so fast that he was sure he'd be feeling that in his neck the next morning…along with whatever else Thompson was going to do to him.

-000-

Every muscle in Bucky's body went tight as he listened to the beating. Rage—hot and bright—swelled in his chest, rising upward. He took a long, slow breath as he calculated his options.

There weren't many. He wasn't going to waste time formulating a plan. In a few minutes, Sam could be a bloody mess, and even the best 1940s hospital was nowhere near 2024 standards. If the agent seriously injured Sam, they'd have to abandon the mission and go back home, leaving Batroc to do who knows what.

The grunt of pain emanating from the speakerphone had Bucky moving almost without thinking. The SSR offices were highly secure…for 1946. Not caring who saw him, he ran across the street, darted around a car, and leaped up the side of the building, using the windowsills and decorative crevices for hand and footholds until he made it to the sixth floor and crashed through the window.

He rolled to his feet. There were two men, one he pegged immediately as the Chief. The other was older, and—

He froze when he looked into the man's face. "Fennhoff?"

The man's eyes went wide, but there was no recognition there. Of course, there wouldn't be. Fennhoff wasn't part of the Winter Soldier program yet.

The Chief drew his gun. A cluster of SSR agents stormed the office. Bucky had to get through without killing them. The Chief barked orders, but Bucky was listening to the phone. Thompson was still in the interrogation room, and even while orders were being barked at him behind raised guns, Bucky could hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

He grabbed Fennhoff and launched him at the incoming agents, then kicked the desk into the Chief hard enough to pin him to the wall for a few seconds. The man got off one shot. Bucky deflected it with his vibranium arm, then crashed through the windows of the office into the bullpen, using one hand to slide a desk into the doorway as a temporary barricade. He spotted Carter and…Jarvis?... through the glass of another room.

"Where's Sam?"

Carter pointed and held up three fingers, mouthing 'third door.'

Bucky was off, a hail of bullets behind him, but he had enough practice in his life dodging them. He moved fast, too fast for anyone to take proper aim. He just hoped none of them fell victim to friendly fire with the idiotic way they were peppering bullets around.

He heard the sounds coming from behind a closed door. It opened before he could get to it. A young agent with blonde hair was there, gun drawn. "What the hell?"

Bucky was on him before he could fire a shot, his metal hand turning the firearm into a pretzel, his right one around the man's throat. He drove him into the interrogation room and kicked the door closed behind them. When he had the man pressed against the wall, struggling for air, Bucky looked at Sam.

His friend was in a chair, arms chained to the table, blood pouring down both sides of his face. There was a nasty gash beneath his already swelling left eye.

"Took you long enough, but man." Sam's words were breathy and tight with pain. "You can't do anything subtle, can you? It sounded like a war zone out there."

Bucky released the agent, letting him drop, gasping, to the floor, and snapped the cuffs off Sam's wrists. "Subtlety doesn't benefit from speed, so unless you like getting punched, I had to move fast."

Sam grabbed his cell phone from the table and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

Footsteps pounded down the hall as the blond agent made a move for the door, but Bucky grabbed him from behind and wrapped an arm around his neck. The agents would be coming in hot, and an SSR hostage would make an effective shield—one they wouldn't shoot, he hoped.

"Are you—?" the agent wheezed, but Bucky tightened his grip, cutting off the man's words just as a swarm of agents arrived, one of them with a crutch.

All their guns were drawn.

"Hey guys," Bucky positioned himself in front of Sam, keeping his hostage as the shield, "I don't want to hurt anyone, so I'd appreciate it if you'd lower your weapons, and we can talk this out."

If he had to make a hole in the wall to escape, well, the SSR would be forced to do some redecorating.

"Hey, hey!" The agent with the crutch came forward, holstering his gun and holding up one hand while studying Bucky's face. His eyes widened then narrowed as though he were having a hard time believing his eyes. "I know you. You're…Are you James Buchanan Barnes?"

Bucky couldn't remember meeting the man, so he had no idea how the guy knew him. "Yes, I am."

"I'm Agent Daniel Sousa. Why don't you release Thompson, and we can talk about why you attacked the SSR?"

"You were torturing an innocent man." Bucky jerked his head backward at Sam. "I've done the torture thing. I'm not a fan of letting it happen to my friends."

"Lower your weapons, gentlemen, please." Peggy's voice filtered from behind. "This is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, ranking member of the Howling Commandos, best friend to Captain America."

Bucky couldn't see Peggy from his vantage point, but her voice was loud and strong.

Sousa glanced behind him. "You're in no position to be giving orders, Carter, and breaking out of the conference room isn't helping your case."

Peggy pushed her way through. "We can explain all of this if you'll just give me a chance." She looked around. "Where's Chief Dooley?"

Bucky's stomach twisted as something heavy settled in his gut. "Where's Fennhoff?"

"Who?" Sousa asked.

"The doctor. The older man. Psychiatrist with a ring that he's particularly fond of?"

"That's Dr. Ivchenko." Peggy tilted her head. "What are you saying, Barnes?"

"He's Hydra, or he will be. Right now, probably Leviathan. Long story short, he's a bad guy."

Peggy spun on her heels and ran.

Bucky eyed Souza. The other agents still had their guns trained on him, but Souza's remained lowered, his eyes narrow and his body rigidly propped up on the crutch. It was obvious he didn't trust Bucky, but he was intrigued. Bucky could use that.

"You're supposed to be dead," Souza said. "It was in the papers."

Thompson gurgled something. Bucky eased his grip, deciding that a show of good faith would earn him a few points, when suddenly there was yelling from down the hall.

Bucky released Thompson, who stumbled forward, sucking in greedy gulps of breath. That left Bucky and Sam facing half a dozen guns.

Bucky raised his hands. "It sounds like your Chief's in trouble. You can shoot me, or we can deal with the situation and you can try to arrest me later."

"Damnit." Souza gave Bucky an irritated look and eyed one of the agents. "You wanna watch him?"

"Let's go." Thompson stumbled forward, looking back at Bucky. "We're not done here."

His new guard was a younger man who looked at Bucky with wide eyes, gun held steady. His quick, shallow breaths betrayed his nerves.

Bucky gave the man what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let's make a deal. You don't shoot me or my friend, and we don't hurt you. Now, you can hold that gun on us while we go see what's happening."

He gestured for Sam to take the lead, then followed his friend out of the room. The agent took up the rear, gun still held high, and Bucky followed the sounds of strained, panicked voices into the Chief's office.

There was no sign of Fennhoff, and that wasn't a good thing. Neither were the cluster of agents in the Chief's office. The desk was sitting askew near the wall, and the Chief was leaning against it wearing a glowing vest. There was a scientist in a white lab coat near him, and Jarvis seemed particularly agitated.

Bucky looked to Carter for answers. "What's going on here?"

"We don't need your help," Thompson barked. "Someone arrest this guy!"

"The vest is a prototype for armor designed to keep soldiers warm in cold environments," Jarvis explained, "but—"

"It's unstable," Peggy interrupted. "It's going to explode, and an attempt to remove it will accelerate the reaction."

"He got in my head, made me steal something for him," the Chief grunted between pained breaths. "You can't let him talk to you."

"It's searing his skin!" the scientist said.

Bucky glanced at Sam. If they had the benefit of Sam's drones, they could made short work of the vest, but they didn't.

Damnit, Stark! Howard should've taken more care with his failures and destroyed them. Instead, one of them was now burning a man alive.

"I don't know what to do!" the scientist said.

The Chief was breathing heavily, sweating, "I do." He eyed the window.

Fuck. "Clear the room!" Bucky yelled.

"Like hell—" Thompson objected.

"Now, goddamnit." He nodded at Peggy and Souza.

The two agents exchanged glances, and Souza ushered people outside. "Thompson, come on. He's a Howling Commando."

That seemed to do the trick, and with an uncertain glance at Bucky, Thompson left the office. The room was clear except for Sam, Bucky, and the Chief.

"Go." He told Sam.

"Like hell."

"Sam just go. I can take a hit, but you can't." He didn't have time to waste and shoved Sam through the doorway.

Turning to the Chief, things didn't look good. The glowing sections of the vest were blinking. It was likely within seconds of detonation.

The Chief backed away from the window to get a running start. "Just catch the guy. The doctor. He's—"

"Shut up. This is gonna hurt." He grabbed the Chief's arm and dragged him toward the window, sliding it open.

Seconds counted. He didn't have the luxury of being gentle. He grabbed the vest with both hands and yanked the front of it hard, breaking the fasteners and ignoring the heat scorching its way through his right glove.

He simultaneously spun the Chief around, body-chucked him across the room, and used his vibranium hand to send the vest flying upward through the window as high as he could get it.

It exploded in mid-air, still too close, shattering windows. The force of the blast sent Bucky backward. He hit the floor and rolled with the landing.

The Chief was on the floor near the desk, groaning. Agents flooded the room, and in an instant Sam was there, hands on Bucky's shoulders, guiding him to the chair.

"Shit, Bucky, that was some stunt you pulled." He pushed gently and Bucky collapsed into the chair.

Not his best plan, but no one could argue with success. "Yeah, well, just be glad it worked." Hopefully, no one on the floor above was standing too close to the windows. "We've gotta check on casualties."

"I know." Sam turned over Bucky's palm. "Man, your glove took the brunt of it. Looks like a second-degree burn."

Bucky looked down at his hands and realized part of the glove on his vibranium hand was burned, but it wasn't obvious since both the glove and the vibranium were black. Only a few flecks of gold showed. Still, he shoved it into his pocket.

Souza, Peggy, and the others were helping the Chief sit up against the wall. Sam picked up the phone that was on the floor and lifted the receiver. "I'll call an ambulance." He brought the receiver to his ear, then looked at it and tapped the phone. "I think it's dead."

Peggy grabbed the receiver and dialed something, talking so quickly that it was obvious her brain was outpacing her mouth.

"Stop hovering and give me some air!" the Chief hissed.

The agents parted, except Thompson, who knelt next to the Chief. Souza waved the others back.

Bucky took the opportunity to assess the man. His shirt was destroyed, hanging around him in smoking, charred strips. The skin on his chest and torso was red—blistered and peeling.

"Hey, guys!" Sam raised his hands. "Will you let me take a look? I have medical training."

Thompson's head came up, gaze tight with skepticism as he looked Sam up and down. "You have medical training?"

The Chief waved him over. "I'll take anything I can get right now."

Bucky bit his tongue. Sorry, Sam. He hadn't quite forgotten how racist—and sexist—the 40s were, but living in the 21st century gave him a new perspective on things that seemed normal when he was growing up.

Gabe and Morita talked about it sometimes around the campfires, and Bucky sure as hell witnessed it, but on the battlefield, everyone bled red, as the saying went.

Sam didn't seem bothered by the slight as he knelt next to the Chief. His expression was all business. He didn't touch the injured skin, but he gave it all a good look.

"Can you lean forward?" Sam asked.

With a pained sigh, the Chief grabbed Thompson's arm and pulled himself forward. Sam inspected the man's back. His brow furrowed, and he gave Bucky a concerned glance. "The good news is most of these look like second-degree burns, but there are a few that are third-degree. We're not going to remove any clothing stuck to it. That's best left to a doctor at the hospital. Can someone get me a cool, wet towel? I'll do what I can for the second-degree burns. Best we can do for the worst of the burns is leave them alone for now, unless anyone can get a clean sheet or sterile gauze?"

"I'll see what I can find!" Peggy headed for the door.

"I'll get some cool, clean rags." Souza hurried away, crutch careening in his haste.

The Chief pointed at Carter. "Not so fast!" You're still under arrest."

"I know," she said and hurried out of the room.

"If we can lay you on your back and elevate your legs, that'd be best, but with your back, I don't want to cause any more pain, and we'd need something sterile to go under you." Sam's voice was gentle and matter-of-fact. There was an authority of know-how in it that the others obviously sensed because no one was interfering. "In the meantime, we should loosen your belt and undo the top of your pants."

"I found some clean lab coats." Peggy was there suddenly, arms full of white jackets.

"Thanks." Sam took one and spread it on the floor.

"Just help me ease down," the Chief said, twisting on his rear until he was clear of the wall. He kept a firm grip on Thompson's arm as he lowered himself onto the lab coat, hissing when his back made contact.

"I've got the wet rags." Souza appeared, setting down a bucket full of white rags. "They're clean. Water's cold."

Sam gave a grateful nod. "Thanks." He reached in and grabbed a towel, wringing it out firmly until no more water escaped, and then he looked down at the Chief. "Sorry to say, this is not going to feel good."

The Chief nodded and gritted his teeth. "I survived the war. This ain't nothing."

With that permission, Sam set to work.

It was a few minutes later when the ambulance arrived and the Chief was loaded onto a stretcher. Before they carted him out, he waved Bucky over.

"Are you who I think you are?"

Bucky gave a lopsided smile. It felt strange being on the flip side of fame. Even though he'd participated in many of the army PR efforts, he'd been too busy on the frontlines to have any idea that strangers back home knew him. "That depends on who you think I am."

"You're the spitting image of Sergeant Bucky Barnes. Howling Commando?"

Bucky pulled his dog dogs from beneath his shirt collar. "That's me."

The Chief nodded. "I don't know why you broke in here like a tank, but you're a Howling Commando and you saved my life, so I'm gonna give you a pass," he took a pained breath, "assuming you have a good explanation."

"I was trying to stop your man from beating the crap out of the guy who just helped you." He gestured toward Sam, who was holding one of the clean rags to the cut under his eye.

Dooley craned his neck upward to look at Thompson and it was obvious there was an unspoken message between them.

The agent nodded, giving Bucky a quick glance. "Understood, sir."

The medics wheeled the Chief out. An awkward moment of silence followed, with everyone obviously contemplating what almost happened and figuring out next steps.

Bucky took another look at Sam's face and steered him to the chair. "Your turn."

"I'll be fine," he said, but he dropped into the chair and pulled the rag away, soaked in an alarming amount of blood on it.

"I think you might need stitches." Bucky took the rag and worked on gently cleaning the wounds on Sam's face.

"Look," Agent Thompson walked up to them, "maybe I went a little hard on you, but all you had to do was answer my questions."

That was the shittiest non-apology Bucky ever heard and, by the flash of anger in his eyes, Sam thought so, too.

"Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" Sam glared up at Thompson.

Bucky tossed the bloodied towel on the floor.

"Our Chief almost died because of one of Stark's inventions." Thompson took a step toward Sam. "Imagine how many other people could get hurt if we don't figure out what else might still be out there."

Bucky kept his eye on Thompson. Sam was perfectly capable of handling himself, and Bucky resisted the urge to step in between them. He had to resist that urge a lot with Steve before the serum.

Part of him itched to give Thompson a taste of his own medicine. That wouldn't go over too well, considering he'd just launched an assault on the entire SSR. Even Dooley's "free pass" wouldn't go that far.

"Gentlemen," Peggy stepped forward.

"Not now, Carter. You should be back in that room." Thompson pointed to the meeting room across the way. "You don't get your deal until Stark shows his face."

Peggy and Jarvis exchanged glances that told Bucky they weren't sure that would happen, but Bucky didn't think Howard would let Peggy take the fall for helping him. Though Stark was arrogant and self-centered, that wasn't in line with the guy who risked his neck to fly Steve over enemy lines, against the Colonel's orders.

"It's obvious there's more going on here than we know, and after what just happened here, I hope you'll be straight with us." Souza looked directly at Peggy as he pointed to the hallway across the room. "I'm willing to listen." He shifted his gaze to Bucky. "To you and Mr. Wilson, too. You're somehow involved in all of this, and I can't believe you're helping Leviathan."

"We're not," Sam said.

Thompson moved closer to Bucky, giving him a critical once over. "Did you really fall off a train in the Alps saving Captain America's life?"

"Yes." Bucky glanced at Peggy, seeing the flash of pain she tried to quickly hide. What had the papers said? He never thought about what news made it back home. He figured his parents had gotten a telegram, and that was that.

Thompson's eyebrows revealed his awe. "How on Earth did you survive that?"

"It's a long story." If they saw the hand he was keeping in his pocket, they'd have even more questions, ones he couldn't answer without sounding like a nutcase. "I know you're working a case here. I get that. You want to save lives, but you don't do that by beating up potential witnesses and benching one of your most valuable agents." He tipped his head toward Carter. "I trust her. Captain America trusted her. Every one of the Commandos trusted her with their lives. She's not a traitor. Neither is Howard. Something else is going on here."

"Why don't you tell us?" Souza asked.

He wasn't in any position to be in the middle of the SSR's investigation, yet here he was. They weren't listening to Carter because she was now a suspect. They didn't know Sam. They saw Jarvis as another accomplice. That left him, and the only thing he had going for him was his apparent fame, the good kind, and the good grace caused by saving the Chief's life.

He could capitalize on those attributes to help Stark and Carter. "If you listen to her, I'm sure she will."

Souza nodded slowly, throwing a furtive, pained glance at Carter. "Look, I'm not sure what's going on here, but what I do know is Peggy could've escaped during the commotion, and she didn't. She stayed to help."

"I don't want to believe it, either," Thompson added, turning toward Peggy. "You saved my skin in Russia."

"So let's go chat." Souza gestured again to the room across the way.

Peggy exchanged another look with Jarvis and, with a soft sigh, nodded.

-000-

It took longer than it should have, but an hour later, they were making headway. They'd learned more about how Fennhoff compelled the Chief to steal something from the lab. Bucky and Sam waited in the bullpen while the others inspected the lab and discovered that "Item 17" was gone. Unfortunately, they didn't know what Item 17 was.

Jarvis had left, hopefully to talk to Howard and get his ass in there, fugitive or not.

"Hey, um," a young agent with dark hair shuffled up to him, a comic book in his hand, "would you sign this?"

Bucky looked down at the comic book. A cartoon version of Captain America was on the cover, punching Adolf Hitler, with an equally cartoonish version of himself behind the Captain's right shoulder, a gun aimed at a Nazi. The other Howling Commandos took up the rear, all holding guns on Nazi soldiers who had their hands raised.

"You keep that in your desk?" Sam asked, incredulous.

The guy glanced away. "Um, well, no, but I live a few blocks away. Ran home." He looked at Bucky. "The way you blew through here," the agent shook his head, "I've never seen anybody move like that. I thought the stories of Captain America and the Commandos were exaggerated, but not anymore."

Bucky's cheeks flushed. He threw a self-conscious look Sam's way, noting the smirk on the man's battered face. He'd no doubt look worse in the morning.

Turning his attention back to the young agent, Bucky asked, "What's your name, kid?"

The man straightened and extended his hand. "Agent Kyle Boone."

"Agent Boone, do you happen to go around pounding the faces of people you take in for questioning?"

Boone shifted on his feet and lowered the comic. "Well, no. I mean, I haven't interrogated anybody, yet. I'm a rookie."

"Don't get into the habit." Bucky jerked his chin to the comic. "Let me see that."

Boone smiled and held it toward him. "I appreciate it. My little brother's a big fan. Steam's going to be comin' out of his ears when I show him this."

Bucky signed the bottom corner of the comic's cover. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread the word too much yet. I'm trying to avoid attention right now."

Boone nodded. "I got it. I'll keep this under my belt, well, for a little bit, anyway. I can't believe the papers haven't reported your return."

"Yeah, well, it's just a matter of time, I suppose." If the Bucky Barnes currently in a Russian base was rescued, of course.

"Thanks, Sergeant." The man hurried off toward his desk.

Bucky turned away from the curious gazes of the other agents to check in with Sam. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think I know what Item 17 is."

He hadn't put it together because getting access to old, classified files in the future had proven difficult, and the ones they got were heavily redacted. Most of their research involved public records and news clippings. One of the major news stories was about a gas attack on a theater that would result in 47 deaths.

Sam nodded, speaking equally low. "Theater?"

Bucky gave a curt nod. They needed to warn the SSR about the attack, and they needed Howard's expertise in case something went wrong. If there was a counteragent to the gas, he would know, and if there wasn't, well….

Shit.

The only problem was he couldn't outright tell Thompson or Souza he knew what Item 17 was without bringing suspicion on himself. Howard, on the other hand, could, which was all the more reason they needed him here. Peggy and Jarvis were still protecting Stark. Bucky could understand their desire to protect the man, but they were putting lives in jeopardy.

So was he. He knew the time and place of the pending attack, and he was holding back to avoid bringing suspicion on himself and, by proxy, Sam. But he could save those lives, consequences be damned.

When everyone returned from the lab, he spoke up. "I know what Item 17 is, and I know what Fennhoff—Ivchenko—is planning." Bucky swept his gaze across the faces in the room. "There's going to be an attack at the Cinema Theater tonight. The gas causes people to become violent. He's going to test it on civilians."

Thompson placed his palms on a desk and leaned forward. "How the hell do you know that?"

Peggy cocked her head at him.

Sam eyed Thompson. "That bald guy I was fighting on the docks bragged about their plans. I told him." He tilted his head toward Bucky. "We didn't think it was a viable plan since the SSR had all of Stark's tech, but now that Fennhoff managed to steal it from you, it's a real concern."

Bucky suppressed a smile. Thanks for saving my hide, Sam.

"Imagine that—someone being able to steal dangerous technology from a highly secure facility." Peggy raised an eyebrow at Thompson.

"She's got a point." Souza leaned back against his desk, a ghost of a smirk on his lips as his gaze darted from Carter to Thompson. "Inventory shows there were 10 canisters of whatever Item 17 is, so if it really is a dangerous gas, he's got enough to do a lot of damage. Why? What's he planning?"

"Why would he go to all this trouble?" Peggy asked.

Thompson sat on the edge of the table. "Because he's a Russian jerk with a chip on his shoulder."

"No, it's got to be something else. He lured us to Russia and tricked us into bringing him to this country." Peggy rose to her feet and paced. "I believe he's working with Dotty Underwood, who escaped under your noses, in plain sight."

"Who?" Sam asked.

"In Russia, we encountered a program that trained young girls for espionage. They slept chained to the bed. I believe one of the women at my boarding house is such a spy."

Bucky gritted his teeth at that image. Maybe in this timeline, they could stop the Red Room before it got too powerful. "A Black Widow."

"A what?" Thompson asked.

"Highly trained assassins and spies," Bucky explained. "Young girls stolen or bought from their parents and placed against their will into a specialized Russian training program." If they stopped the Red Room here, this timeline's Natasha Romanoff might lead a normal life.

Peggy shifted to face him. "You've encountered one before?"

He nodded. "I have." It was best to leave it at that.

Peggy shook her head. "That's alarming, but potentially useful given the present circumstances." She turned her attention to Thompson. "If he's working with one of these Widow's, there's something specific he's targeting. We just have to find out what it is."

"The target is me." Howard's voice filled the bullpen, and everyone turned to face him.

Guns came out.

"Hey!" Thompson hurried forward, firearm aimed directly at Howard. "Get your hands up!"

Jarvis threw both of his arms straight up. Howard, hands casually in his pockets, gave his assistant an incredulous look.

"Told you," Jarvis whispered.

Bucky raised his hands, turning his left one so the vibranium palm wasn't visible to the agents. "Ease up, fellas, will ya?" He placed himself strategically between Howard and the agents just in case one of them got trigger-happy.

Howard turned his attention back to them. "What kind of welcome is this?"

Souza shifted on his crutch, gun held in his free hand. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"You know who designed the SSR security system?" Howard asked.

Souza kept his eyes and gun fixed on Howard. "Yeah, the same outfit that secures the White House."

Howard nodded. "Exactly. They stink." His gaze swept the agents, seemingly unconcerned with the number of firearms pointed at him. "You should have hired me."

Thompson cocked his gun. "As of this moment, you're under arrest, Stark."

Souza holstered his gun and made his way to the conference room, opening the door.

Jarvis picked up a box sitting at Howard's feet and followed his boss. As Stark passed Souza, he gave the agent a once-over. "You know, I could help you with that."

Peggy followed, pausing briefly as she passed Souza. Something unspoken passed between them. Now that Bucky was paying attention, he could see in the way Carter shifted her shoulders toward Souza, her expression softening. There was a warmth in her eyes when she looked at him that made it obvious she felt differently about him than she did the other SSR agents. He'd spent enough time around her during the war to become familiar with her repertoire of looks—from subtly reproachful to affectionate—to tell that whatever she felt for Souza was more than just professional respect.

Were they sweet on one another? Steve spent years pining over her, never truly moving on, and in less than a year she was falling for another man?

A familiar hot pang rose in Bucky's chest, just like when he saw some back-alley bully beating the crap out of Steve and he had to fight the urge not to rush in too hot. Whatever was between Souza and Carter couldn't have gone very far. If Steve had traveled back to find her in a happy relationship with another man, he wouldn't have stayed.

Sam was giving Bucky a curious look, which meant Bucky's thoughts were showing on his face more than he'd like. A swell of shame made him look away. He wasn't being fair to Peggy or Steve, and he was leaping to conclusions. The anger he'd never let himself acknowledge had been simmering since Steve left, and he wasn't proud of them.

Souza gestured inside, and Carter walked after Howard, eyeing the box Jarvis set on the table.

Thompson followed, shoving Stark into a chair. "Chief Dooley almost died."

Souza leaned against the table. "People's lives are in jeopardy. Stark industries. That's on you. You got something funny to say about that?"

Stark threw Souza an uncharacteristically dark look. "I know! That's why I'm here."

Bucky leaned against the door, with Sam just behind. Thompson looked over, glanced at Peggy, and pointed to the bullpen. "This doesn't concern you, Barnes, Wilson. Wait out there."

Bucky glanced at Sam and tilted his head toward the bullpen, acquiescing. He stayed close, keeping his ears tuned to the room, and hoped they didn't kick him out completely. With all the glass, it was easy for him to pick up what they were saying, even with the noise of the bullpen. Sam might even be able to hear what was going on.

Through the blinds, Bucky saw Stark point to the box. "That's everything there is to know about the Battle of Finow."

Thompson leaned into Howard's face. "I really don't care about some old war story."

"Well, you should," Howard got to his feet, "because those deaths are on me, too. It's called midnight oil."

Peggy turned to him, face incredulous. "You designed a poison gas, Howard?"

"No!" He ambled up to her. "Well, not intentionally." He opened the lid. "The army wanted something that would keep soldiers awake for days at a time. It caused symptoms similar to sleep deprivation."

Bucky grimaced. He knew what that did to a person. It was one of the tactics the Russians used.

"Anger, hallucinations, psychosis," Howard continued.

Illusions, delirium, anxiety. Bucky's memories of that lengthy period of his captivity were distorted and confusing.

Souza looked down at a file that Howard placed on the table. "If you knew all that, why use it in Finow?"

"I didn't!" Howard grabbed the edge of the table. "My lab was raided. They took my samples, my research, all on the orders of General McGinnis. The next day they dropped it on the Russians to help them take Finow. I flew there afterward to see with my own eyes." Howard's voice went low, and Bucky shifted a little closer to hear. "What those men did to each other…you can't imagine."

"We cannot permit this atrocity to happen." Peggy walked to the door, meeting Bucky's gaze through the glass as she pushed it open. "You two claim to know where and when the attack is going to occur?"

Bucky nodded. "Tonight at the showing of a movie called The F Stands for Freedom."

CHAPTER 5 Mayhem

They made it to the theater an hour before the show started. Bucky played the part of a moviegoer in the back row. Carter, Thompson, and Sam did a sweep inside while other agents kept the lobby and streets under surveillance.

It was a bust.

Neither the doctor nor the Widow showed, and as the moviegoers filtered out of the theater, their excited chattering filled the lobby.

Bucky met Sam in the lobby. "This isn't good." He winced at the unfortunate implication that 47 people not dying was a bad thing. "You know what I mean."

Sam looked grim. "We've changed things."

"Which means they made us, and they're going to strike somewhere else."

"Damnit." Sam scratched at the back of his head.

Carter, Thompson, and Souza walked toward them.

"Sergeant," Carter gave Bucky a long look. "Fortunately, your prophecy didn't come to fruition."

"They made us," Bucky said.

"Which means they're going to strike somewhere else." Sam jerked his chin toward the exit. "We need to—"

The sound of distant screaming and the screech of tires followed by a crash had them all running outside.

The commotion was a block away. It looked like a small mob. Bucky ran, leaving the others behind, weaving around cars and pedestrians at a speed no one else could match. He was there in seconds, in the middle of the fray.

Men and women were crazed, violent, attacking one another on the sidewalk—clawing, biting, screaming. Glass windows of a nearby diner were shattered, its interior trashed. That had to be the source.

Fennhoff and Underwood had set off one of the canisters in the diner, and crazed patrons had broken the windows and taken their mayhem onto the street.

An affected man charged his way, and Bucky sidestepped the assault. He didn't want to hurt these people, but they were killing one another. Several bodies were already littering the diner and the streets.

A man was on top of a woman, strangling her. Bucky yanked him off, sent a right hook that dropped him, and turned to the woman just as she launched herself at him. He grabbed her in a bear hold.

Sam arrived, punching, twisting, and kicking in the fray, just as other agents arrived. Sirens screamed in the distance. Bucky adjusted his hold on the woman and wrapped one arm around her neck, cutting off the blood flow to her brain. The moment he felt her weaken, he let go, easing her to the sidewalk.

She'd only be woozy for a few seconds, but it was long enough for him to take off his belt and tie her hands behind her back. He attached the other end of the belt to her ankles, immobilizing her. Unfortunately, it also meant she was a sitting duck for the psychotic victims.

He opened the back seat of a stopped car. The driver was still behind the wheel, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "Lock all your doors." Bucky tossed her into the back seat and locked the door just as the driver lunged for the other locks.

He caught sight of Sam, holding his own against two men when a third came from behind.

The SSR agents and police arrived, doing their best to contain the violent diners.

"Sam! Your rear!" Bucky leaped over a parked car and made it there just as Sam hit the ground, punching and kicking against three assailants.

Bucky grabbed the men one by one and flung them. He couldn't be gentle. He tried not to hurt anyone, but it was unavoidable given the urgency of the situation. Hopefully, they landed hard enough to knock the wind out of their delirium but not hard enough to kill them.

He helped Sam to his feet.

"Thanks." Sam brought a hand to his bloody temple, looked at his red palm, and crumpled.

"Shit!" Bucky caught him.

"Don't shoot!" Peggy's voice carried through the chaos.

Bucky set Sam gently on the ground, looking up to see a police officer with his gun aimed at a man brandishing a chair from the diner above his head as he charged the officer.

Ripping a hubcap off a tire, Bucky sent it sailing through the air like a frisbee. It hit the man squarely between his shoulder blades, sending him crashing forward. He and the chair hit the ground, rolling and bouncing hard. One of the man's legs snapped at a bad angle. Bucky winced, but a broken leg was better than a bullet.

He caught a glimpse of Howard and Jarvis tussling with a crazed woman across the street. Jarvis managed to get her into a bear-hold.

'My God,' Bucky read on Howard's lips.

When it was all over, the total count was 9 dead and 27 wounded, some so bad they might end up on the fatality list.

-000-

His head was a throbbing mass of pain. "Oooow."

"Sam?"

Bucky? It took Sam a few seconds to convince his eyelids to lift. The figure hovering over him was blurry, outlined by a soft, shimmering aurora. He blinked, and Bucky's face came into focus—even the furrowed lines of his brow.

"My…" he cleared his throat, "…head hurts."

"You have a concussion." Bucky disappeared from his field of view for a moment and returned with a glass of water. "Apparently, it's inadvisable to take two beatings in a single day."

Sam lifted his head, which was a mistake. The room spun, and when he sank back to the pillow, a wave of nausea threatened to undo his stomach.

"Take it easy." A hand slid beneath his head, lifting gently, and the rim of the glass touched his lips. He took a sip of the cool water. Then another.

It came back to him. The theater. The people in the streets, murderous. The bodies. Men and women who had just been grabbing a bite to eat…. "How many?"

"Nine confirmed deaths." Bucky sank into a chair at the side of the bed. "A lot more injured. Some critical." A sigh. "We fucked up."

He took a breath and rolled onto his side to look at Bucky. "What kind of people target civilians like that?"

There was no answer. Bucky had a look on his face, pensive, brooding. He was blaming himself.

"A lot more died the first time around." Sam eased himself up, bracing his back against the metal headboard. "We made a difference."

"If you ask the people in the diner, not good enough…not for them."

"My head hurts too much for this conversation."

"So stop talking." Bucky handed him the glass of water.

With a grateful smile, Sam wrapped his hands around it and took a few more sips. He focused on the sensation of the cool water sliding down his throat and tried to ignore the pounding in his skull.

Bucky opened a drawer on the side table, grabbed a glass bottle, and poured two white pills into his palm. "Take these."

"What is it?" Sam plucked the two pills into his hand.

"Aspirin."

Sam popped them in his mouth and washed them down with the rest of the water. "I'm glad I wasn't bad enough to end up in a 1946 hospital."

"I'd have taken you, but the hospital is overwhelmed with victims and, besides, it's not like they have MRIs."

Sam looked around the simple room. He was on top of a blanket in a single bed in a sparsely furnished small room. "Where am I?"

"The SSR. Everyone's in the bullpen planning next steps. Howard's decided to be bait for Fennhoff and Underwood. He's blaming himself for what happened."

Sam was just getting to know Howard Stark, but he saw a lot of similarities between Howard and Tony. "He kind of is. I know he didn't mean to create a poisonous gas, but he's kept a lot of dangerous failed inventions around, like canisters of the gas and the vest. He should have destroyed them."

"Yeah, he should have."

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his aching head. "You know, in all this, we've gotten sidetracked. We're no closer to Batroc, and now we're chasing two Russians who aren't even from our time. Maybe we should let the SSR take on Fennhoff and Underwood and get back to tracking Batroc."

"Batroc's in the wind." Bucky pushed to his feet and looked out the window. "We've turned up empty. For all we know, he's gone back to the future."

"That's a real sentence you just said." He rubbed his temple. Time travel sucked.

A hint of a smile grew on Bucky's lips. "Yeah."

-000-

Howard Stark stood between Agent Thompson and Jarvis on the steps of the government building, next to the Bank building the SSR used for its headquarters. Reporters clustered around, the clicking of their cameras and the chatter of voices underlying Thompson's speech announcing all charges against Stark had been dropped.

Bucky was on the roof, surveying the area through a rifle scope. Two blocks away, a buzz of activity began. People carried flags. Some type of event was happening.

Bucky's gut clenched around a knot of worry. The timing was suspicious. He pushed his unease aside to focus on the buildings.

He expected to find one sniper. He didn't expect two. He activated the com on his phone as he looked through the scope, focusing on the hotel window across the way. There was a rifle, but no one behind it.

"Sam, there's a rifle in the hotel across the way. Top floor, window immediately to the right of the balcony. No visible shooter."

"On it," Sam's voice came.

"If it's Underwood, remember, she's a Widow. Take backup."

"Are you saying she'll kick my ass?" Sam asked.

"I didn't say it." Bucky smiled as he shifted his binoculars to the second shooter in the adjacent building. It was Batroc.

Gotcha.

Bucky leveled his scope on the right side of Batroc's chest, just inside his shoulder. It was more difficult than a headshot and it might deflect off the rifle. Even if it hit the mark, it might kill him.

But it probably wouldn't. Not if Batroc got medical attention quickly. They'd be able to question Batroc and take him home where he belonged, turn him in to the authorities, and be done with the present mission.

Or at least, Sam would. Bucky intended to stick around for a little longer.

He squeezed the trigger. There was a spray of blood, and Batroc dropped out of sight.

Screams filtered from the street, and Howard was rushed away by agents just as another shot rang out, this time from the hotel window.

Bucky packed up quickly before he had unwelcome company. Only Carter and a handful of SSR agents knew his position, and he didn't want to end up the victim of friendly fire, or worse, having to hurt someone to defend himself.

As he was running down the staircase, he heard Sam's voice from the phone in his pocket. "The shot was a distraction. Rifle was rigged to fire by itself. If Underwood was here, she's long gone."

"Understood. I shot Batroc. Heading that way now. Building to the east, fifth floor."

He got there ahead of Sam, but Batroc was gone. There was blood beneath the window and the rifle was still there, but the only sign of Batroc was the trail of blood.

Bucky heard the running footsteps. "Sam, that you?"

The voice filtered from his phone. "Yeah."

"Room's clear."

Sam arrived a second later, out of breath. Instantly surveying the room, his eyes settled on the rifle and the blood on the floor.

Bucky pointed to the trail. They went out the door Sam had just come through. It ended in the alleyway. With that much blood, Bucky was surprised Batroc made it as far as he did. He'd need medical attention quickly.

Sam turned to Bucky. "We need to check hospitals."

They made their way to the street. He wanted to report to Peggy and find out if Howard was okay when Peggy almost ran into him. She stumbled when she saw him and he caught her, instantly recognizing the fear on her face.

"It's all clear, Carter. They're gone."

"So is Howard." She was breathless. "They took him. We think Times Square will be a target. It's V-E day."

"What?" He asked her.

"Victory in Europe Day," she explained. "Don't you know?"

"I missed the whole V-Day thing."

"We've got to find them." Carter hurried away, shoes clacking on the pavement as Bucky and Sam followed. "Two police were found shot in an alley." She looked over her shoulder at them. "I don't suppose either of you can look into your crystal ball and tell me where they've taken him?"

That wasn't in the news, and the reports were too heavily redacted to make any sense, but one thing tickled Bucky's brain. "All I can tell you is reports mentioning an attempted aerosol dispersion of the gas."

"That would make sense."

They followed her into an alley with an abandoned police car, its driver-side door hanging open. Souza, Thompson, and Jarvis were on the scene.

"All the airports have been shut down," she glanced at Bucky and Sam, "private ones as well."

Souza closed the notepad in his hand. "You think they're planning on releasing the gas by plane?"

Thompson shook his head. "Everything's shut down, like you said."

Jarvis looked ill. "If the doctor wishes to place the blame on Howard Stark, what better way than to disperse the gas using one of Mr. Stark's planes?"

"We confiscated them all," Thompson said.

Jarvis looked away, shifting on his feet. "Not…all. There is a vault…significantly larger than the other."

-000-

They arrived just in time to see a glimpse of Howard Stark in the cockpit of a plane as it started on the runway. Bucky and Sam were in the car behind Carter's and watched as she ran after it, futilely screaming Howard's name as the plane gained speed. Bucky jumped out before the vehicle came to a stop. He hit the ground running fast, in pursuit of the plane.

He closed on it fast, pushing himself faster. Its wheels left the runway, and a frustrated growl left his throat as he leaped for the tail. The plane tilted out of reach, climbing into the sky as he crashed to the pavement.

Damnit. He caught his breath and picked himself up, watching the plane become smaller in the air. Somehow, the SSR had averted this disaster the first time around, but things were different now. There was no guarantee anything would happen the same way.

He made his way back to the agents. Peggy was standing over an open trunk handing out shotguns to her fellow agents while Sam ogled what had to look like ancient firearms to him.

"How long until he reaches New York?" Peggy asked.

Souza answered. "Twelve minutes, maybe less."

Thompson checked his shotgun. "Maybe we can talk him down."

"You think he'd listen?" Souza sounded doubtful.

"Chief did."

"It's our best bet," Sam said.

Peggy turned to Jarvis. "Radio room?"

Jarvis looked upward. "Second floor of the hangar."

"I need someone to take one of those planes up." Peggy's gaze swept the agents.

Thompson tilted his head at her. "Why?"

"Shoot him down, with a plane full of poisonous gas?" Souza leaned forward on his crutch.

Thompson gripped his shotgun tighter. "We'd have to do it over the water, before he reaches land."

"Well, I'm not your guy." Souza shook his head. "I've never flown a plane before."

"Likewise," Thompson said.

Jarvis took a breath. "I have."

Peggy's head whipped toward him. "Mr. Jarvis, I cannot ask this of you."

Bucky heard enough. "Ask it of me."

They all looked at him, and Peggy gave him an approving nod. "So, you've learned to fly a plane?"

Sam was at his side instantly. "Are you serious, man?"

Jarvis said. "Mr. Stark would want to be stopped by any means possible. We have little time."

"If it comes down to it, I'll stop him." Bucky turned toward the hangar. "But I'm not killing Howard Stark." Not again.

Peggy nodded at him, but her eyes betrayed her turmoil as she looked at her fellow agents. "Help him get off the ground."

They hurried inside. Inside the massive space was an impressive collection of vintage planes and cars—or rather, state-of-the-art for 1946.

"I'll be in the radio room." Peggy trotted toward the stairs.

Sam followed, shotgun held steady.

"This one will do." Jarvis went up to a sleek fighter plane. "It's fast."

Why did Stark even have a fighter plane? Bucky hoped he'd have the chance to ask the man. He settled into the cramped cockpit as Thompson worked the external crank to start the propellers.

"This has a full tank of gas and plenty of ammo," Thompson yelled over the propeller. "You gotta leave now."

Bucky nodded, lowering the glass over the cockpit. In less than a minute, he made his way to the runway and into the air. He could hear the doctor talking to Stark over the radio, urging him on.

"Focus, Howard. You are doing very well."

There was silence for a few minutes. Bucky pushed the plane as hard as it would go, and soon he saw Howard's plane. A moment later, Peggy's voice came over the radio.

"Howard, can you hear me? You must come back!"

"I know this sounds crazy," Stark answered, conviction in his voice, "but that…that guy Fennhoff, he actually helped me. He showed me how to do this. I'm bringing Cap back, Peg!"

Oh, Howard… Bucky maneuvered directly behind Stark's plane, using the reduced air resistance to gain speed.

"Howard!" Peggy's voice was desperate. "Turn the plane around. Come back, and we'll talk about it."

He never knew this happened. Did Steve ever find out how desperately Howard wanted to find him?

"I can't do that." Howard's voice was calm, assured. "I'm done talking."

Bucky could see the light of New York ahead and glanced at the dashboard. He was one mile from land.

"W-Wait!" Peggy stammered.

"Carter, we're one mile from New York." Bucky angled the plane, taking advantage of the draft, and gained enough speed to close the distance. In another second, he was directly on top of Stark's plane.

"Howard!" Grief infused Peggy's voice. She was crying. "Howard, Steve is gone. He died over a year ago."

"There's something up ahead," Stark said.

It's not working, Peggy. Bucky wished he could communicate directly with Howard. Maybe he could get through to him.

"There's something up ahead!" Howard sounded awe-struck. "It's him! I can fix this!"

It wasn't working. Bucky popped the canopy of his plane. It was now or never. He didn't come in the past to kill Howard Stark, but he couldn't let thousands of people die.

Sorry about your plane, Howard. He gauged the drop to Howard's plane below. He was in the perfect position to jump.

"You don't have to fix anything," Peggy pleaded. He could barely hear her over the sound of the wind.

"Peg, all I've done my whole life is create destruction. Project Rebirth was…. He was the one thing I'd done that brought good into this world."

Bucky worked the buckle of his harness.

"Howard, I know you loved him." Peggy wasn't giving up. "I loved him, too, but this won't bring him back." Peggy's voice faltered. "Howard, you are the one person—"

Her transmission cut off abruptly.

"Carter!" Bucky's mind went through a dozen terrible scenarios. "Carter, come in! Are you there?"

Damn. Please, don't be dead. It would kill him to rescue Steve from the ice only to have to tell him that Peggy was dead. The more pressing matter, however, was Howard Stark's approach to New York.

This was going to be…crazy. He stood up, battling the wind and using one hand to keep the plane as steady as he could, until it was in the right position, and then he jumped.

He landed just behind Stark's canopy as the unmanned plane above veered down and away, almost clipping the wing of Howard's plane in its descent. He punched with his right hand as he hit, making a hole in the metal that acted as a handgrip—just in time, as the rest of him slipped off, pushed by the air current, and he found himself dangling like a kite string, tethered only by his vibranium arm.

New York was directly ahead. They'd hit it in seconds. The frustration bubbling from his throat was swallowed by the roar of the engine. He pulled himself up, kicking footholds into the side of the plane, and ripped off the canopy with his free hand.

Howard looked up at him, wide-eyed and pale-faced. "Barnes, what the hell?"

"You're loaded with Midnight oil," Bucky yelled, using both arms to swing himself forward and down into the cockpit next to Howard. He grabbed the controls and took the aircraft into a hard left turn.

"What?" Howard tried to take the controls back, but he didn't have anywhere near the strength to make a difference.

Bucky lost his headset in the jump, so he grabbed Howard's, using one hand to put it on and keeping the other on the controls. "Peggy. Peggy, are you there?"

"I'm here." She sounded breathless. "We found your French mercenary. Wilson's dealing with him. Status?"

Relief rushed from his lungs in a hard sigh. "I've taken control of Stark's plane. We're heading back."

"Thank, God."

Stark looked at him, wide-eyed, obviously not quite sure what was going on. "He was good before I got ahold of him, huh?"

It took Bucky a second to realize Howard was talking about Steve. He smiled, thinking back to that small, scrappy, punk he grew up with. Yes, he was, Howard.

"I'm in a plane?"

"Yes."

"How in the blazes did you get here?"

Bucky glanced at the controls, making sure they were on course. "Sorry about your other plane."

"Damnit, Barnes."

-000-

They landed without incident. When Howard had his feet on the ground, he took a look at Bucky. One eyebrow came up.

"Do you have any idea how much that plane cost, Barnes?"

"Just be thankful I didn't shoot you down."

"You were gonna shoot me down?" Howard's eyes went wide.

"I killed you once already, Howard." Bucky grimaced at the memory. "I sure as hell didn't want to have to do it again."

Howard shook his head as Peggy walked out of the hangar, her eyes still shimmering. The moment Howard saw her, he cleared his throat and walked up to her.

"I owe you another one, pal."

She smiled, giving him a reproachful look. "To be honest, I've stopped counting, Howard."

Howard chuckled, giving her a hug and a peck on the cheek.

Thompson, Susan, and Sam emerged from the hangar. There was another figure with them, hands behind his back—Fennhoff.

The doctor had a white gag around his mouth.

Sam walked up to them, a large book in his hand. He exchanged a glance with Peggy that was full of something unspoken. "Batroc was here. When we foiled his original plans—which was to kill Howard and Peggy, then get his hands on a few canisters of Midnight Oil and the formula for an implosive chemical called nitromene—he teamed up with the doctor. Thought he could use someone with that skillset."

In our time, Bucky saw the unspoken words in Sam's eyes and glanced at the other agents in earshot.

"Where is he?" Bucky asked.

Sam glanced at the agents who were at the edge of earshot and lowered his voice. "Back where he belongs. In custody."

Ah. "You had a busy night."

Sam nodded and sighed. "You have no idea." He held up the thick book. "I figured, if we're making things better here, we can't leave the other you to 1946 psychiatry."

Even in the darkness, Bucky could read the cover. Comprehensive Guide to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorders.

He was touched that Sam thought of that. "Thank you." He took the book and flipped to the table of contents.

"Wait." Howard looked between them. "Did you…?" He pointed to Sam and jabbed a thumb in the air like he was hitchhiking.

Sam gave a quick nod.

"And you came back to give me this?" Bucky kept his voice low. With the mission done, Sam didn't need to still be in 1946.

"Are you kidding me? I want to see the rest of this play out." He gave Bucky a long look.

"What are we doing with him?" Howard gestured to Fennhoff, who was cuffed with a gag in his mouth, being manhandled toward a car.

"We should put Fennhoff in the trunk," Carter said, wistfully. "Make sure he can't talk."

Bucky waited until Thompson and Souza were far enough away, loading Fennhoff in the backseat. He took a step closer to Peggy and lowered his voice. "Whatever you do, make sure he's not in the same prison as Zola."

Bucky wasn't sure even that would work. Zola had been able to come and go from the prison and became part of Operation Paperclip, which allowed him to develop the Winter Soldier program. Even with hazy memories, Bucky remembered Zola there, in the Russian facility.

Carter gave him a steady look that gradually softened as she studied him. It was obvious she understood what he wasn't saying.

"When we have a moment," her tone was soft, "you and I really need to talk."

"Yes, we do."

CHAPTER 6 Heart, Home, and Family

They all had a long night and retired to Howard's primary residence—now that he was no longer a fugitive. Bucky slept through most of the next morning. It was afternoon by the time he got himself out of bed.

He heard voices and followed them through the opulent residence.

"You know," Sam's voice carried down the hall, "my toaster at home isn't all that different. Over 80 years and toasters really haven't changed all that much."

Bucky turned a corner into a room of elegance and windows. Howard, Sam, Peggy, and Jarvis were in what looked like a breakfast nook that was the size of a full dining room.

"He's alive!" Sam grinned over a cup of coffee. He looked annoyingly cheerful, even with the remnants of his earlier beatings peppering his face.

Peggy shifted in her chair to look at him. "I imagine you two will be on your way soon?"

"Soon." Bucky stretched and made his way to the table, dropping into a chair. There were platters of food in the center of the table. He was starving. "I need to run an errand, and then we'll talk."

Jarvis made him a plate and poured a cup of coffee. It felt weird being waited on, especially by the guy who would, in a roundabout way, end up as an advanced, sentient android.

"What errand?" Sam asked.

"I need to go into town and get a few supplies." A couple of notebooks were on the list. There was a lot they needed to know, a lot Steve would need to know, too… If the Bucky of this timeline had any hope of not ending up institutionalized.

"Whatever supplies you need–" Howard waved a hand in the air, "–I can have Jarvis collect."

"It would be my pleasure," Jarvis stated.

Bucky took a sip of his coffee. It tasted expensive, but it still needed milk and sugar. He added both. "That's okay." This was his last chance to spend some time in the only place that ever truly felt like home.

"Very well. Can I drive you?"

"That would be helpful." Bucky gave an appreciative nod.

Sam picked up a buttery-looking scone from his plate and eyed Bucky. "I'll go with you if you don't mind. It would be nice to spend some leisure time in 1946. What's the point of time travel if I don't get to gawk a little?"

"That would be great." Bucky found himself meaning it more than he thought he would. It felt like showing off. This was his chance to share some of the things that he missed with Sam. He wished he could take him to Brooklyn and show him all the old haunts he and Steve used to hit, but too many people knew him there.

Manhattan should be safe. He and Steve rarely got into the city. Everything had been too expensive for them. His parents sometimes ventured in for a show or special occasion, but he was unlikely to run into anyone who knew him. If he wore his hat low, he'd probably pass unnoticed. Being famous in 1946 wasn't quite like being famous in the 21st century.

People might have seen his face a few times in the film reels and newspapers, but that was a far cry from the saturation of celebrities after the onset of social media. Even if he was recognized, it wouldn't be by anybody he knew, which meant it wouldn't get back to anyone he knew.

Not until he was really home.

He was happy to be able to give them good news as soon as he had everything in order. He watched Howard push eggs around on his plate. Despite his casual demeanor, Bucky could tell his mind was heavy.

"Howard, Steve knew you cared about him."

Howard looked up, eyes widening in surprise, and he smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well…I just wish I could've found him."

"Why? He's at peace." That was true.

"It seems wrong to leave him there, wherever he landed, all alone. I wanted to bring him home."

"I see." With all the focus on Steve, he was trying not to take things too personally. "Did you ever look for me?"

"Huh?" Howard's chin came up.

Peggy took a long sip of her tea.

"Uh…I mean, Steve did," Howard stammered. "A little. You know how it was. It was war, and then we found out that Schmidt was going to bomb the U.S., and, well…."

"Uh-huh." Bucky looked at Peggy and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"He very much wanted to take a full expedition." She set her teacup on the saucer. "Colonel Phillips approved only a short excursion. We all thought you were dead, and the Colonel did not see any benefit in risking lives in an unlikely quest to recover a…corpse."

"I see." He looked back at Howard. "And, uh, if you'd known then that I had the serum, would you have searched harder?"

"Oh, hell, yeah!" Howard nodded enthusiastically. "The opportunity to get blood samples from a similar serum would've been invaluable."

Sam coughed on his coffee.

Bucky glared at Howard. "I should have shot your ass down."

"Oh, come on, Sarge." Howard grinned and tilted his head. "I don't remember you being so touchy." He looked at Carter. "Did you know he's this sensitive, Peg?"

One edge of her lip quirked upward. "I'm as shocked as you are, Howard."

"Speaking of blood sample…" Howard's eyebrows rose as he looked at Bucky.

"No."

Stark slumped in his chair like a pouting toddler. "You destroyed the only vial left of—"

"No, Howard." He smiled. "You missed your chance when I was helpless at the bottom of the ravine. Too bad."

He was laying it on thick, but the dejected look on Howard's face was worth it.

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone sipped their hot beverages and finished breakfast.

Finally, Peggy set her empty tea cup aside—which Jarvis promptly carried away—and looked at him. "So, are you going to tell us where the Russians are currently keeping you? The other version of you, of course."

He nodded. "Yeah, but tomorrow. I need to get some supplies and write a few things down. Then I'll help you plan any rescue mission. I'll give you what I remember of the layout and how much resistance you can expect to encounter."

The first facility they housed him in was over a hundred miles from the missile bunker they'd partially destroyed in 2016. It was more primitive and less heavily guarded from the outside, but still just as isolated. It should be a doable mission with the information he'd give them.

They'd have to wait until they had Steve out of the ice, of course. Having two supersoldiers leading the fray would minimize the chances of casualties on their end. He'd never forgive himself if anyone else lost their lives trying to save him. He'd never say it out loud after yanking their chains so hard, but he understood Phillips' decision not to authorize a full-scale recovery mission.

He knew Steve would've mounted one on his own, if he'd had time.

-000-

"This is insane!" Sam was like a kid in a candy store as he browsed the general store in Greenwich Village. He held up a soda bottle with a label Bucky hadn't seen since before he left for war. "What the hell is Nehi?"

Bucky shook his head, smiling at Sam's incredulity. "Soda pop. Try it." He grabbed a stack of notebooks and put them in his basket. "It was all the rage."

"Oh, at five cents, you know I will." Sam tried to twist off the cap.

Bucky laughed as he watched him try to work it for a few seconds until the Gen-Xer realized it wasn't a twist-off.

They took forever in the store, with Sam ogling candy, shaving kits, and even cigarettes, which were offered on shelves like other merchandise, while the bell at the entrance rang with the swinging of the door. It was little things like that—the sound of a physical bell—that he didn't realize how much he missed.

They got a few curious glances from the store clerk and fellow shoppers. Bucky barely paid them any notice. He was having too much fun watching Sam's reactions and answering questions about things that he hadn't thought about for a long time. The bell rang again, accompanied by the soft shuffle of fabric and footsteps.

They finally decided it was time to get going. His stomach was grumbling, and he figured Sam had to be hungry, too. Peggy had invited him and Sam to dinner at her favorite diner, and he wasn't going to be late. Not with Carter.

"We've got to get going, Sam." He grabbed a candy bar from the end of the aisle to hold him over and headed toward the front of the store. He heard a voice, accompanied by an achingly familiar scent, just as he turned the corner.

"It just happened again, George. I forget for a moment, and I think I hear his voice, but of course it's never him."

Mom? Bucky stopped, lowering his head and tipping the edge of his hat down. Sam bumped into him from behind.

"Me, too, Winnie. It was the same way for my mom when my Dad died."

Bucky's heart drummed so loudly in his ears he was afraid everyone could hear it. He turned abruptly, coming face-to-face with Sam.

"I'll be only a moment," she said.

"The toothbrushes we have are still perfectly good."

"You've been using the same one for almost three years, George! You heard what Doc Callens said. I'll just be a minute."

Her footsteps approached. She breezed past him, and in the corner of his eye, he saw the turn of her head his way. He twisted to keep his back to her. Her perfume drifted over him just like it used to whenever she'd hug him. He blinked against the sting of tears.

What were his parents doing in Greenwich Village?

"Hey," Sam leaned closer, dropping his voice, "what's wrong?"

Bucky shoved his basket at Sam and whispered, "Pay for this, will ya? I'll be outside."

Before Sam could get off another question, Bucky fled the store. He walked at the fastest pace he could without drawing too much attention until he found an alley. There was a metal trash can, much like the one Steve ended up being punched into the night before Bucky shipped off. He leaned against the wall. If anyone saw him they might think he was hanging out for a smoke instead of struggling to keep himself together–trying not to hyperventilate and turn into a sobbing mess.

He hadn't heard the voice of his mother or father since the day he shipped off to England. He could still smell her perfume, as though it lingered on him. Maybe it did. How long would it stay on his shirt if he never washed it?

Sam appeared a few minutes later with a generously-sized brown bag in his hands. He set it on top of the trash can lid. Bucky sucked up his tears and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Sam bent to pick up Bucky's hat from the ground. When had he lost it? He ran his fingers through his hair as Sam brushed off the hat and handed it to him.

"Were those your parents?"

Bucky nodded.

"George and Winnifred. I know the basics of your biography. That was… unexpected."

Bucky swallowed twice and cleared his throat before he trusted himself to speak. "They don't usually come out this way."

At least not while I knew them.

"Hey." Sam wrapped an arm around Bucky and tugged.

Bucky gave in, sliding his arms around Sam and letting himself indulge in the comfort of Sam's embrace.

"You two better cut it out," a gruff voice intruded. "This isn't that kind of neighborhood."

They both straightened. A man in a work shirt and apron was at the head of the alley, one hand on his hip and a cigarette in the other.

Bucky's face went hot and he was rushing forward before his brain registered what he was doing. He was inches from the man when a hand yanked him back.

Sam stood in front of him immediately, hands raised. "It's not like that, not that it's any of your business. His brother went missing in the war, and he just found out the army listed him KIA."

"Oh." The guy glanced down and took a puff of his cigarette. "My condolences," he muttered, hurrying away.

"Good save." Bucky's anger drained away from him, and he turned to grab the bag and put the hat on his head. "Thanks."

"There's a lot of charm to this time period, but the racism, sexism, and homophobia dampen it quite a bit."

"I know."

"You okay?" Sam straightened Bucky's hat.

Bucky tipped the brim lower to be on the safe side. "Well, I got to see them again. That's something I never thought could happen."

"Come on." Sam patted him on the arm. "Let's not be late meeting Peggy, though I wouldn't mind a tongue-lashing from her."

"Watch it."

Sam grinned. "You have it all wrong. I just love the way she talks!"

-000-

"I've only seen this in the movies." Sam stood awe-struck in front of the wall of glass cabinets that held pies, pastries, and sandwiches. "Twenty cents for a pie and ten cents for a cup of coffee." He looked at the coins in his hand. "You can't beat that."

Bucky plucked a penny out of Sam's palm and slid it back into Sam's jacket pocket. "Hold on to that one."

Before Sam could ask why, a woman's voice intruded.

"You've only seen this in the movies?" The waitress passing by stopped and gave him a quizzical look. "You don't get out much, I take it, except to the movies?"

Carter smiled. "You'll have to forgive my friend here, Angie. He's not from around here." She gestured toward them. "These are my friends, Sam and…James."

Angie gave a nod. "It's nice to meet you both." She jutted her chin out and gave Bucky a closer look. "You look awfully familiar."

"That's not surprising," Peggy said. "This is James Barnes, best friend of Captain America, one of the Howling Commandos."

Sam was shocked. They were trying to keep things on the down low. "Um…"

Peggy waved a hand in the air. "Oh, she would have put it together in a short while." She looked at Angie. "He'd prefer to keep the news of his homecoming quiet for the time being."

Angie used her fingers to close an imaginary zipper across her lips. "Mums the word. It's an honor to meet you." She bowed her head slightly. "I'm sorry about your friend."

"Thank you." Bucky gave Peggy a quick side-eye. "A lot of people lost people."

"Yeah, but it doesn't make it any easier. He was a national treasure and a real dish."

Sam laughed so suddenly that he almost snorted.

"So, English, since you're in here, I take it things have let up at work?"

Peggy nodded. "Yes, they have, and as a thank you, I have a proposition for you."

Angie's eyebrows arched upward. "Ooh, a proposition. That sounds scandalous. Actually, I have one, too. Do any of you ever go dancing?"

Peggy's eyes grazed Bucky as a smile played on her lips. "It's not something that has fit in my schedule as of late."

Sam bounced on the balls of his feet. "I love dancing."

Angie's eyes lit up. "You should come to the Roseland tonight. They're having discounted drinks all week in honor of V-E Day."

Peggy shook her head, "Oh, I—"

"Well, I'd love to!" Sam grinned. "Come on, I gotta see a dance hall before I… head back home."

"Where's home?" Angie asked.

Sam figured the truth was best when possible. "Louisiana."

"Well," Peggy sighed, "I suppose we're going dancing."

Bucky was quieter than usual, hands in his pockets and giving the selection of pies more scrutiny than was merited. Sam had never seen Bucky dance, but Steve told him, back in the day, Bucky could really let loose. He doubted he'd see that tonight, but when would he ever get the chance to soak in a 1940s dance hall? Besides, they had both earned a night out.

Sam slapped Bucky on the elbow. "Hey, you gotta show me how to do the foxtrot before tonight." He headed over to the wall of cabinets, reaching into his pocket for change. "I think I'm going for a key lime pie."

They ate and chatted, keeping things light, but occasionally Peggy would prod Bucky about details of his captivity, which he evaded, stating he wanted to have a good chunk of it written down first, so he could hand over all they'd need to know.

A radio program played over the speakers. "Welcome to another episode of The Captain America Adventure program, brought to you in part by the good folks who make the Singer Featherweight 220. It makes sewing so easy!"

Sam's face lit up.

"At the conclusion of our last episode, Betty Carver, the battalion's pretty triage nurse, was captured once again by Nazis." A woman's voice sounded overly effusive. "Oh no! Nazis have tied me up in a secret location! If only Captain America were here to rescue me."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Oh, God."

"My sentiments exactly." Peggy set her fork down. "Well, gentlemen, I've got to finish up some work." She eyed Barnes. "Chief Dooley is out of the hospital, sooner than he should be. He stopped by the SSR, says he'll be back at work tomorrow, and he'd like to see you."

"Why?" Bucky's eyes narrowed.

Sam couldn't blame Bucky for not wanting to walk back into the SSR. Even if he had saved Dooley's life–he'd also invaded and trashed the place.

"You should stop by," she said with one raised eyebrow and a coy smile.

"Not me, obviously." Sam rubbed at the healing cut beneath his eye, courtest of Agent Thompson.

Bucky had ordered a full meal and offered to pay for everyone. When they left, he took care of the bill and threw down an extra dollar in tip. Carter's eyebrows rose as she walked with him and Sam out of the diner.

"With a tip like that, you're going to be Angie's favorite customer."

"Holy smokes!" Angie exclaimed behind him. "Thanks, Sarge!"

Sam gave him a side-eye. "Such a big spender."

Bucky leaned in. "The whole thing cost me a little over three bucks, and that's with tip." He looked over his shoulder at her and gave her a three-finger wave.

"Show off," Sam whispered.

-000

"This is amazing." Sam sipped at his whiskey, eyes wide as he surveyed the room.

A jazzy number was playing, and there were already a few couples on the dance floor. They'd picked a table away from the band so they'd be able to converse without shouting. Although Bucky and Peggy had both given him a few pointers, he wasn't sure he was ready to make a spectacle of himself.

He wasn't even sure what the rules were. If he asked Angie to dance, would that be taboo? As much as he would love to make a statement for civil rights, being a time traveler, it wouldn't be a great idea to draw that kind of attention to himself.

He looked around and only saw two other black people. One of them was a waiter, the other a sharply dressed woman seated at a table with what Sam assumed to be friends—a mixture of men and women. He felt out of place and self-conscious. Determined to enjoy the evening, he took another sip of alcohol and hoped a light buzz would take the edge off.

Peggy and Angie sat across from them, each one sipping a drink and dressed for the occasion.

Angie held up her glass to Peg. "To being roomies, and to Howard Stark owing you one."

"One of many." Peg clinked her glass against Angie's.

The Roseland was a far cry from the clubs Sam was used to. Here, men wore suits and the women's dresses were a sight to behold, full of movement and color.

Peggy was dressed in blue. Angie wore emerald green. They were both stunning, but Peggy carried herself in a way that put everyone else—men included—to shame.

Howard and Jarvis were around, somewhere. Jarvis had driven them. As soon as Howard's feet hit the ground, he was mingling.

Angie bopped in her chair, occasionally eyeing Bucky, but the man seemed oblivious. His attention was focused on the dance floor, something sad and wistful in his gaze. Seeing his parents earlier had shaken Bucky, and it was obvious he was having a hard time.

Still, the man looked sharp. Stark had gotten them both fancy suits for the evening, a thank you, he said, for not shooting his ass down and saving New York.

"I love this song." Angie swayed to the music and looked at Bucky. "What type of music do you like?"

"Forties…"

Sam cleared his throat, and Peggy took a long sip of her gin.

Bucky scrunched his nose and winced. "Uh, I mean, I like this kind of music. Swing. Jazz."

Angie leaned forward. "Do you ever dance?"

"I haven't danced since…" Bucky bit his lower lip and glanced at Sam and Peggy, "Uh, it's been a while."

"Oh, well, horse, getting back on, and all that." Angie smiled and sipped her drink.

This was painful to watch. Sam was on the verge of kicking Bucky under the table.

Angie looked hopefully at Bucky for a few seconds, but Bucky had already gone back to surveying the room. The man couldn't possibly be this oblivious. He'd flirted with Sarah within a minute of seeing her. The thing with his parents had to have him smarting, and Sam had learned that Bucky had an aversion to feeling his feelings, or at least letting others know he was feeling them.

That was either a 1930s-40s thing—as everyone around him seemed to be all bravado, including Carter—or a Hydra-Winter Soldier thing. Maybe both.

Angie sighed, seemingly losing patience, and stood up. "Sergeant, I came here to dance. If you care to dance, I'd love to, but if not, I'll go find myself another partner."

Bucky blinked and straightened. "Oh." A slow smile spread on his face, and the corner of his eyes crinkled. He stood and nodded. "Of course, I'd love to dance." He extended a gloved hand, taking hers, and walked around the table. "Anyway, it would be—" as he passed Peggy, he leaned closer to her, "—rude to ignore a dance request."

Peggy rolled her eyes, a fond smile brightening her face. "You're a child!"

Sam wasn't sure what that exchange was about. "Inside joke?"

"In a way." Her smile turned coy, and she turned to watch Bucky and Angie on the dance floor.

The band was playing a fast-paced number Sam recognized. He was astonished to see Bucky transform when they hit the dance floor. At the party in Madripoor, Bucky hadn't so much as tapped his foot to the music. Now, Bucky was matching Angie's steps, swinging her around, smiling, and even laughing, their lips moving as they traded bits of conversation.

"Wow." Sam shook his head. "I haven't seen him like this. Ever." He wished he could take out his phone to record it, but that would not go unnoticed in the crowded establishment.

"So there you are!" Howard dropped into the empty chair next to Carter, drink in hand, while Jarvis stood nearby. "Hey, Peg, care for a dance?"

She eyed him up and down. His suit must have cost…well, Sam wasn't sure what a fortune was in 1946, but whatever it was, Stark's suit had to cost it.

"Perhaps after a few songs in." She took another sip of her gin. "Mr. Wilson was just about to provide some insights into the Sergeant." She raised her chin in the direction of the dancing couple and looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow. "Go on. You were saying?"

"Well, he looks like he's having a good time." Sam wasn't sure what Peggy was fishing for, or maybe fishing was just a habit SSR agents developed.

"He certainly does." Howard drained his drink. "That's the Bucky Barnes I remember. I wondered where that guy went. You know I brought over two of the prettiest dames, and he kicked them out…of my apartment!"

"Is that so?" Carter's expression relayed surprise and a hint of approval. "Barnes has been through a lot. I can only imagine the ways it changed him." She gazed back at Bucky, who was still leading Angie around the dance floor. "Is he happy in the future?"

That was an odd question since their relationship had seemed mostly business, with Steve being their mutual connection. "Why do you ask?"

She took a breath, and her smile faded. "Barnes was important to Steve, and Steve was important to me. I suppose, in a way, I'm asking for Steve, because he can't, but he would want to know that his friend was doing well."

Sam knew Peggy loved Steve, that was obvious, but he was beginning to realize just how deep her feelings went. It was important to answer honestly, but he wasn't sure he knew. Not really. Bucky held things so close to the vest.

"Bucky is doing better than he was. He got some good help, and although Hydra made him do terrible things—things that still haunt him—he received a full pardon. He's a free man."

"I'm glad…even though he killed me." Howard gave a wry grin, swapping his empty glass for a full one as a waiter passed.

"He killed a lot of people," Sam continued, learning that Howard, just like Tony, sometimes talked just to hear his own voice. "He had no choice, which is why they pardoned him. Now, he's working on getting a life, or at least figuring out what kind of life he wants."

He watched Bucky and Angie on the dance floor. The music had shifted to something a little mellower, but still lively. "I've never seen him let loose like this, though. Maybe it's because in our time, when people recognize him, they think of the horrible things he's done. Everyone has a camera in their pocket, and I think Bucky is self-conscious. He's private. Very private. Here, however, people don't know that he was turned into a killer against his will. They only know him as a hero. They respect him." Sam shook his head. It was starting to make sense as he said it out loud. "People see him as a good guy and only a good guy, and because he was a Howling Commander and Cap's best friend, he's something of a celebrity, but in a good way. I think the way others are seeing him is helping him see himself differently. Maybe it makes him feel more like the guy he was before…well, before the Russians did their best to erase that guy."

Suddenly, it hit Sam in a way it never had before—the complete and utter violation, the gutting of a human being, the tragedy of it all. As he watched Bucky in his element, dressed in a suit, smiling, laughing, and dancing, he understood things from a new perspective. Like he was on the outside, looking in, seeing a bigger picture.

He was sad. Instantly. Deeply. For everything that was taken from Bucky. For what was done to him that should never have been done to any human being.

How much worse had it been for Steve, who grew up with Bucky, loved him, respected him, admired him, and knew the kind of man he really was? Sam understood now. Before, he could imagine what he might feel if it had been Riley or his sister, but applying that to the guy he'd first seen on a freeway looking like something out of a nightmare was a whole different story.

That nightmare was just a guy who fell off a train and had unimaginable things done to him. And no one except Steve really understood that.

Until now. Because he did. And it wasn't pity he was feeling. It was grief…and anger. Steve lived with that anger tenfold. It was a miracle he'd shown such restraint during all that time—finding out SHIELD was Hydra, that they'd stolen Bucky's memories, and then the Accords. Berlin. The shoot on sight order.

Steve had to be seething with rage that whole time, and he kept it under control. Sam had only known Bucky for a short time, and if the people who had done that to Bucky were in front of him, he wasn't sure he would be able to hold back. Because all he wanted to do was tear those motherfuckers apart with his bare hands.

"Are you all right, Sam?" Peggy was staring at him with obvious concern.

Embarrassed, he nodded, glancing up at Jarvis to see an equal level of concern. Howard looked at him, almost curious, but casual before his gaze wandered back to a blonde woman in a red dress across the room.

"I'm fine." Sam realized he was breathing a bit too fast. "I just…He saw his parents earlier today. By accident. They came into the same shop we were at."

Her expression was all sympathy and there was a glimmer in her eyes. "Did they see him?"

"No, but it shook him. You can imagine. He lost his entire family. I knew that before, of course, but seeing them in the flesh makes it a whole lot more real. They stole who he was, and he had a slow awakening all alone in a new world that hated him. It shouldn't have happened, but it did, and I'm getting a glimpse into what—" he almost referenced Steve. "Well, I'm getting to know him in a way that hits hard."

Howard rose. "This is all too depressing for me." He kept his gaze on the woman in the red dress. "If you'll excuse me. I think I see a dance partner."

Peggy gave a long-suffering sigh and an insincere smile. "I'm astonished you tolerated a meaningful conversation this long."

He raised his glass and gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah, well, thought I'd try something new. Now I know it's not for me." He drained his glass and took off toward the blonde.

Sam clocked a tall dark-haired man heading their way with his eyes on Carter. A moment later, he was standing at their table. "Excuse me," there was a happy slur to his words, "but would you care to dance?"

She looked up at him. "No."

"You sure? Because it would be a shame for a pretty dame like you to sit out the night alone."

Sam knew trouble when it was towering over him. Great. If Steve could control all the rage he must have felt those years, Sam could get through the night without punching an inebriated asshole. Probably.

She kept her eyes on Sam. "I'm not alone. I'm enjoying quality company."

"You're with him?"

"I am indeed, at the moment, as you can see."

The man looked down at Sam. "I can't believe they even let your type in here."

Sam took a breath to quell his rising anger and got to his feet. "Look, how about I buy you another drink and you go away?" It would be the best twenty-five cents he ever spent.

Bucky and Angie were heading their way, and Bucky had his gaze on the asshole.

"I don't need you to buy me a drink."

"Hey." Bucky, who had a good two inches on the guy, tapped him on the shoulder. "How 'bout you learn some manners and take 'no' for an answer?"

The guy spun to face Bucky and looked him up and down, apparently thinking twice about starting something. The alcohol won out.

"Why don't you mind your own business?" The asshole poked Bucky in the chest. "It ain't right a proper dame like her being with a jigaboo."

That was a term Sam hadn't heard before, but he could tell what it meant. As he straightened and gave the guy a hard look, he wondered…Would the Sam Wilson of this timeline's future ever run across his 1940s doppelganger's mugshot?

"Look," Sam took a challenging step closer to the man, "if you want to take this outside, let's go." At least then the only person whose night would be ruined was the asshole's.

"Hey!" Bucky grabbed the guy's collar with both hands and lifted him off his feet. "If you don't leave, I'll throw you out."

Peggy shot to her feet, her eyes fire. "Mr. Wilson." She stood next to Bucky and looked the drunk guy in the eyes. "Would you care for a dance?"

Oh, hell. This was turning into a whole thing. All eyes in the place were on them, and he didn't understand the nuances of race issues in 1946. All he knew was – New York wasn't the South, but it wasn't the 21st century, either. The civil rights movement wasn't going to happen for a couple of decades.

Peggy practically dragged him to the dance floor. He tried to keep up with the beat and remember the practice session, but anger fueled her steps, and all Sam could do was stumble around and hope he didn't accidentally take her or someone else out.

She was shooting daggers at the drunk guy the whole time. Sam could see Bucky exchanging harsh words with the guy, who finally staggered off in an obvious huff, heading for the exit.

One disaster was averted for the evening. After a few moments, Peggy noticeably relaxed, and Sam got into the swing of things with her. He managed to enjoy himself, despite the unwanted attention.

CHAPTER 7 Capsicle

The next morning, Bucky slept late again. They'd turned in just after 2 a.m., so he figured everyone probably slept in. He dressed in lounge pants and a long-sleeve shirt and made his way to the breakfast nook. There was no one there, but platters of scones and fruit were on the table.

He shoved down three buttery scones and held himself back from wiping out the entire platter, then grabbed a banana. He unpeeled it as he meandered around the mansion, and the moment he bit into it, he stopped.

He missed these bananas. Nothing in the stores in the future could compare. He took another bite and closed his eyes. It was like candy.

The patter of footsteps had him opening his eyes. A woman with curly red hair was smiling at him. "Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I didn't mean to interrupt the moment you were having with the produce." She had an odd accent with elements of Hungarian and Dutch.

He smiled sheepishly and shoved his vibranium hand in the pocket of his lounge pants. "These are really good bananas."

"Indeed. You don't need to hide your prosthetic arm from me, Sergeant Barnes. It's nice to see someone taking the time to enjoy the small pleasures. I'm Anna Jarvis. I suppose you're wondering where everyone is?"

"You can call me Bucky, and I figure I'll find them eventually, assuming I don't get lost in this place first."

She chuckled. "They are outside near the pool."

He gave her an amused, assessing look. "Are you Jarvis's wife?

With a mischievous smile, she put her hands on her hips. "I'm certainly not his sister."

Ana Jarvis was delightfully animated and cheerful, a stark contrast to her husband. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand, and she did an adorable bend at the knees as she shook it.

"You can find everyone that way." She pointed.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He headed in that direction, spotting a group of women chatting around the pool in one-piece bathing suits. He munched on his banana as he padded out to the deck. Howard and Sam lounged on chairs while Jarvis picked up empty glasses from the table and gave Bucky a nod before heading inside. Howard's gaze alternated between the ladies and an open newspaper on his lap.

Bucky looked down at Sam. "Comfortable?"

Sam gave a bright smile and nodded. "It's about time you woke up. You're missing all the fun." He tilted his chin up. "Those bananas are amazing."

"I know." Even its smell was more intense. "Can't get these in the stores, uh, back home."

Howard peered over the edge of his newspaper. "Oh? Why not?"

"Some kind of disease nearly wiped out this variety." Bucky held up the banana. He'd be doing generations a huge favor by giving the heads-up. "I Goog—uh looked it up when I couldn't find the bananas I grew up with."

"I see." Howard nodded, his gaze distant. "Do you know about when this happened?"

"The fifties."

A curvaceous brunette walked by, throwing Bucky a lingering glance and a smile as she passed, her eyes barely flickering toward his metal hand. He smiled back and watched her walk away.

He was surprised she didn't show more interest in the metal hand. It was unusual for the 21st century, much less 1946, but perhaps being one of Howard Starks' guests, she was used to the unusual.

"Yep, he's definitely back!" Howard said, throwing an arm toward Bucky.

"Watch it, Buck." Sam leaned back, obviously enjoying the sun. "Fifteen minutes is all it takes to leave a little Barnes behind."

That wiped the smile off his face. What a thought. Not that he had any intention of following through on anything. Still, it was nice to flirt. He'd forgotten what it felt like being around people who just saw him as a regular guy.

"So," he dropped into an empty lounge chair next to them, "is Carter at work?"

Howard shook his head. "She and Angie are moving into their new place." He smiled and straightened proudly. "A little thank you from me. I always pay my debts, and as I said, I owe her."

"Think she's available after work?" He finished his banana. Jarvis was there instantly with a tray for him to set the peel on. "Thanks," he looked up at the man, who merely gave a nod. "I met Ana, by the way. Nice woman."

Jarvis nodded, eyebrows arching. "The best."

"So," Bucky caught Sam's eye before directing his attention to Howard, "think we can chat tonight?"

"Oh?" Howard leaned forward. "Are you finally gonna tell us future stuff?"

"Something like that."

"I'm sure she's available, then."

"Good." He needed to spend the day writing. He had half a dozen notebooks to fill up for Howard, Peggy, Steve, and young James Barnes.

But it was nice being outside, in the sun, near a pool, with women who smiled at him. He decided another hour wouldn't hurt and leaned back, relishing the feeling of the sun on his face.

Howard looked up from his newspaper. "So, Barnes, how do you like Century Textiles as a stock?"

"Don't know a thing about them."

"Any idea who wins the next World Series?"

"Aren't you rich enough, Howard?" Bucky sighed.

"There's no such thing." Howard lowered the paper. "I'll make you a deal Barnes. You give me any good tips on stocks or the World Series, and I'll split the profits with the other you after we go find him. We are going to go find him, right?"

Bucky pondered the deal. Steve would probably disapprove, but his younger self could sure use a financial boost. It could take him years to recover with 1946 medicine, and from what Bucky remembered of the first arm, it wasn't anywhere near as functional as later models. It would probably need to be removed, and 1946 didn't have disability protections.

He saw firsthand how hard a time Steve had with his limitations. Being a one-armed veteran with a severe case of PTSD would be one heck of a disability. A financial cushion could help, and it could buy him access to the best doctors of this time.

"I'll think about it," Bucky said, ignoring Sam's look of surprise.

Howard's eyebrows popped up. "Sixty-forty, in your favor, okay? Final offer. You drive a hard bargain, Barnes."

"I said I'll think about it, Howard."

-000-

Bucky made his entrance the proper way this time. He stared at the fake telephone operators who were really SSR agents, feeling self-conscious with their eyes and smiles directed at him. There was a time when he would have basked in this kind of attention.

"Thank you, ladies," he said when the elevator doors opened.

"Sure thing, Sergeant," the first lady called to him.

He hurried into the lift and, as the doors closed, caught her leaning over to watch him.

He made his way to the bullpen. Carter, Souza, and Thompson were at their desks. Peggy stood when she saw him. "Sergeant." She was as polite and proper as always, with barely a hint of a smile.

"Hey there." Thompson walked up to him and slapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for using the elevator this time."

Handymen were painting the wall and glass leading into the Chief's office. It looked like most of the damage had been repaired. Bucky could see the man sitting behind his desk and when he made eye contact, the Chief pushed himself out of his chair.

He walked gingerly, wearing a white shirt and tie but no suit jacket. Bucky could see a few inches of white bandage sticking out from his shirt collar. Dooley opened his office door and looked Barnes up and down.

"So, you decided to grace us with your presence, huh?"

Bucky threw a questioning look at Carter, but she gave nothing away.

"I heard you wanted to see me?"

"Damn straight!" Chief Dooley broke into a huge smile and walked up to Bucky, slapping him on the back. "You saved my life." He extended his hand. "Thank you."

Bucky shook it. "You're welcome. It coulda gone either way, though."

"But it didn't." Dooley tilted his head and took a step back. "And you know what the best part is? One day, I'll get to tell my grandkids the story of how Bucky Barnes crashed into my office, tore up the place, and saved my life." He gave Bucky another slap on the back. "I've never seen anyone move the way you did. I thought the stories were a bit exaggerated, but obviously not. After what I saw, I'm a believer."

Souza started clapping, and soon everyone was applauding, even Carter.

Bucky's throat went tight, and he looked around, his face growing hot. He hoped he wasn't bright red. What was he supposed to say in the face of all this? He wasn't used to it. This was Steve's thing. He knew how to do this. What would he do?

"Thank you." Bucky nodded at Dooley. "I was just doing what anyone would've done if they could."

Dooley leaned forward. "No one could've done what you did. I still don't quite believe it myself. I've never seen anyone move that fast. And the way you body-chucked me." He shook his head. "I read somewhere that you were a boxer before the war. I pity your opponents if you hit them like that."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be! I'm alive, and I have a story that'll best anything those FBI guys can come up with."

-000-

After leaving the SSR, Bucky headed back to the mansion and spent the rest of the day writing in the notebooks. When Carter got off of work, Jarvis picked her up and brought her back to the house. They gathered in the sitting room, which was as opulent as the rest of the place, with high ceilings and tall windows draped in velvet curtains. Table lamps cast a soft yellow glow over everything, adding a soothing atmosphere to the room.

Howard leaned forward with a glass in his hand and elbows on his knees, eyeing Bucky expectantly. "Okay, so get on it. We want to hear all about the future, any stock tips you like to give, who wins the World Series, who's the next president… Oh, yeah, and where you're being held so we can arrange a daring rescue."

Peggy threw Howard a long-suffering glance. Sam leaned back on the couch next to Bucky, a glass of sherry in his hand.

There was no easy way to start the conversation, so Bucky dove straight in. "I know where Steve is."

Peggy and Howard straightened. A suspicious shimmer instantly rose in Peggy's eyes, and all the mirth and arrogance drained from Howard's face.

"We can go get him. He's frozen in the ice, but he can be revived. The serum protected his cells. Originally, he stayed in the ice for almost 70 years, until 2011. They assumed he was dead when they found him, of course, but when they thawed out his body, they realized he was still alive."

"Steve's alive?" Peggy's voice quivered.

"In a manner of speaking. We can revive him once we find him."

"He's alive." Howard stared into space, mouth slack with shock. A slow smile spread on his lips. "He's alive!"

Peggy was on her feet. "We have to leave right away." She turned to Howard. "We can bring him home."

Howard nodded. "Of course, we will." His gaze focused on Sam, and he tilted his head. "So, in the future, you know Steve?"

Sam nodded. "Yes, I met him in 2014." He glanced over, shifting his leg so his knee was in contact with Bucky's.

It was a show of support for all the things unsaid in that statement.

Bucky appreciated the gesture. "That's when Steve discovered I was alive. Hydra sent me after him."

The memories of that day were still vivid but his mind stuttered through the others spoke over each other.

"—didn't kill him, right?" Peg asked.

It was like remembering a movie. His brain knew what happened, but there was little emotion when he thought back to that fight. He remembered bits and pieces after he returned to the bank base, enough to know his memories started to surface in chaotic flashes.

"—alive in your time?"

Then Pierce showed up, and they shoved him back into the chair. It was just starting to happen to the James Barnes who was alive right now, across the ocean, in Russia. Bucky couldn't remember the dates, but they were written down by the scientists.

"Sergeant?"

This was the month—May—when the Russians started their "electrotherapy" experiments to wipe his memories.

"Peg."

They'd be trying a combination of drugs and electricity to erase James Barnes and replace him with their Soldier. It would take years of trial and error before they succeeded.

Years of torture.

"Hey, Buck." A hand on his knee brought him back. Peggy was staring at him. They all were.

Peggy's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, focused on him, her body rigid. He could tell her thoughts were racing. She wanted a million answers. She wanted to leave this second.

"Carter." Sam raised a hand placatingly. "Steve's not going anywhere. He's safe right now. Just take a minute." He leaned closer to Bucky. "You good?"

Bucky cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah."

Peggy blinked, and her face softened as her shoulders relaxed. She lowered herself into the armchair and leaned forward, studying him. "Sergeant, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, well, you look like you ate bad fish," Howard said.

Bucky took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. Activate the parasympathetic nervous system. That's what Shuri had taught him. "Sorry. I'm going over things in my head. The timeframe. I'm trying to work out what happens after we rescue Steve, because we have to get to him first and give him time to recover before we consider launching a rescue mission for the other me. We'll need him to make sure we can get in and out with zero casualties…on our side. That's the goal."

"What's happening with you, the one in Russia?" Sam asked.

Bucky shifted to look over at him, focusing on Sam's eyes and ignoring the other two staring at him. "It's fuzzy, but they kept notes, and I eventually got access to some of those notes. It's May, um," he tried to piece together the memories in his head with the notes he'd read. "I could be in cryogenic suspension, or they just took me out. They froze me because what they were doing wasn't working. I'd attempted an escape. I was strong after they activated the serum. They gave me the prototype of the metal arm. They've just started to experiment with electroshock in an attempt to wipe my memories. They'll keep doing that, combined with high doses of experimental drugs and severe sleep deprivation. That's what's happening to James Barnes right now in Siberia."

"My God." Peggy blinked, wiping at her cheeks as tears spilled. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what this is like for you. It's quite a lot to take in, but that's no excuse for my inquisition. The thought of Steve being buried in ice…I can't stand to leave him there a second longer, but I didn't consider how much worse it is for you. Time is of the essence, you're right. Days won't matter for Steve, but every hour for you is another hour of torture."

Howard drained the alcohol in his glass and shot to his feet. "Give me the coordinates, Barnes, and we can leave in the morning. We get Steve first, and then we get you the hell out of Russia."

-000-

There was only one Stark plane suitable for the trip—a modified Avro Anson aircraft. Bucky gave Stark a list of equipment they'd need, along with the coordinates. Their estimated flight time was six hours.

They left just after sunrise. Despite Howard's insistence that his baby could pilot itself, Bucky and Howard took turns babysitting the autopilot in the cockpit and sleeping. Sam caught up on sleep, since everyone had been up most of the night prepping.

They had everything set up for Steve in the body of the aircraft—a slab, medical equipment, a warming blanket that Howard insisted would not blow up, and a handful of other items that would be necessary to extract Steve from the plane and the frozen tundra and bring him back to life.

Bucky tried unsuccessfully to convince Peggy to sleep. She spent hours checking and rechecking equipment. When she exhausted herself, she sat quietly with him in the cockpit to stare at the view below.

It was daylight when they landed, and thanks to the long arctic days this time of the year, they had plenty of sunlight left. After suiting up, Peggy was the first out of the aircraft. She had no idea which direction to go.

Bucky led the way, carrying two packs of heavy equipment in each hand.

The Valkyrie had sunk beneath the terrain, but Stark brought a device to help locate it. Bucky knew the general location, but getting a precise location in the frozen terrain would be almost impossible without specialized equipment.

They found the buried plane within an hour.

-000-

Steve's body was laid out stiff and frozen on the makeshift bed—a rectangular work table from Howard's lab. Peggy had given up the battle against her tears and let them flow freely, standing over his body, her arms crossed, unable to touch him.

Bucky moved to comfort her, but Howard was a split second ahead, wrapping one arm around her as he gazed down at Steve. The machine was blowing warm air over the block of ice that encased his friend. Water dripped onto the floor, collecting in puddles beneath their shoes.

Someone needed to be in the cockpit. Steve most likely would not completely defrost and become conscious until after they landed. Bucky lowered himself into the pilot's seat and thought about how he was going to break the news to Steve about what happened to his friend—James Barnes.

Sam dropped into the copilot's chair. "It's surreal seeing him like that. He looks so helpless."

"He is."

"It's hard wrapping my brain around Steve Rogers being helpless."

"Not for me." Before the serum, although Steve was full of spit and fire, there were many times when he was helpless- helpless against asthma and when tuberculosis stole his mother.

Steve hated feeling helpless. He pushed help away, but Bucky never let him. When it was Bucky's turn to push help away, Steve had given as good as he'd gotten.

Sam's eyes were probing. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The hard part came next.

"You're unusually quiet, even for you."

It wasn't fair. Bucky knew what needed to be done, but now that he was faced with that next step, guilt gnawed at him. When Steve woke, he should have time to recover. He should get to celebrate the end of the war and marry Peg, go on a honeymoon.

He shouldn't have to wake up and be told his best friend was being tortured in Siberia, and they were planning a rescue mission. He shouldn't be saddled with a guy who would be a heaping mass of trauma for months or even years—and he would. Steve would take on that responsibility.

And Bucky would let him because Steve was the only one who could. He had the strength to match Bucky's if the nightmares got too bad. Without Steve, the messed up James Barnes of this timeline would end up in a 1940s institution.

Or worse. His family would try their best, but they'd be ill-equipped to deal with his level of trauma. He could hurt one of them, and if that happened, he'd never be able to live with himself.

He'd be better off with a bullet in his head—a quick end to his suffering.

So, it came down to Steve, and that was a burden no one should have to bear.

-000-

"It has always seemed strange to me."

A voice.

"The things we admire in men…."

He knew that voice.

"…kindness and generosity, openness…"

He was warm.

"…honesty, understanding and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system."

What happened?

"And those traits we detest…"

Where was he?

"…sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness…"

Bucky?

"…meanness, egotism…"

The plane.

"…and self-interest…"

Was he dead?

"…are the traits of…"

Oh, God.

"Steve?"

Bucky?

He opened his eyes. There was bright light filtering in through a window framed by lavish curtains. He was on something soft.

A face came into view. A face that was impossible. Blue eyes he knew better than his own. A soft smile that he thought he'd never see again.

"Buck?" It escaped as a whisper from a throat that wasn't ready to work. "Mmmm. Is this…heaven?"

One edge of that achingly familiar mouth curved upward into an actual grin. "Well, aren't you presumptuous? I have bad news for ya, Pal. It isn't."

For one horrifying moment, nothing made sense. He looked around and realized he was in a room—a very large room. There was an open book on a chair next to the bed he was on. Peggy was asleep in an armchair. A few feet away a black man was slouched, eyes closed, snoring softly.

He was alive. How? He looked back at Bucky… That grin. Lines in his brow that hadn't been there before. How long had he been out? And how was Bucky here?

Everything started to shimmer.

"Hey, don't do that." The edge of the mattress sank under Bucky's weight. "That was a crummy joke."

Steve's arms felt like lead, but he forced the one closest to Bucky to move until his hand found Bucky's wrist. The flesh was solid beneath his fingers.

"You're alive?" He pushed himself up. The room spun for a second, and Bucky's hands gripped his shoulders to steady him.

He reached out and placed his palm on the side of Bucky's face. It was warm. Real.

Bucky's hand cupped his. "Yeah, I am."

"How?" Warm tears cascaded down his cheeks. "I saw you—"

"I know."

"Steve?" Peggy's voice.

He looked at her as she sank onto the edge on the opposite side of the bed. "Hey." He smiled as more tears flowed. "Did I miss the Stork club?"

She crumpled forward against him, sobbing, her arms wrapping around him. "Oh, Steve."

He held her gently at first. She was trembling, a hitch in each of her breaths. He tightened his grip.

"It's okay." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm okay." He looked back at Bucky. "Where am I?"

"One of Howard Stark's properties," Bucky answered.

"The war?"

"It's over, pal."

"Who—?"

"We did."

It was too good to be true. His brain took a moment to process everything, and his face split into a huge smile so wide it hurt. "Is it over?"

Peggy tilted her head to look up at him. "It's over."

"Well, hello."

Steve looked at the stranger in the armchair who was now awake and smiling at him. "Hi." He glanced at Bucky, then back at the man. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "Sam Wilson."

Peggy pulled away. "How are you feeling? You had some injuries. Cracked ribs. A few cuts and bruises."

Bucky smiled, shaking his head. "I don't know how you got so lucky."

He took stock of the aches and pains. His ribs. His right knee. His left elbow. He'd had worse.

"Ribs ache a bit, but not bad." He pushed the covers away and looked at Bucky again. This felt like a dream. "You're okay? How are you okay?"

Bucky cleared his throat and glanced at Sam. "It's a long story."

This was impossible. A gift from God. He didn't think he'd ever get the sound of Bucky's fading scream out of his head.

"God, Buck." He reached out and yanked Bucky close. A woosh of air rushed from Bucky's lungs in surprise as Steve wrapped his arms tightly around his friend.

"I watched you die." Steve took solace in the steady rhythm of Bucky's heart a few inches from his own.

"No, you didn't." Bucky's voice was muffled against Steve's shoulder. One of his arms slid around Steve's torso. "I survived. It was hell, but I survived."

Steve pulled back and took another look at Bucky. He was different, but the same. The face had a few more lines, but the eyes and the expressions were the ones he'd grown up with. Steve ran his hands over Bucky, needing to confirm with his own senses that what he was seeing was real.

The left arm was solid. Too solid. Bucky was wearing black gloves. Why? "What happened to you?" Steve gripped the left arm tighter and nodded toward Bucky's gloved left hand.

Bucky's smile grew crooked. "I lost the arm in the fall. Got a fancy, high-tech one."

Everything shimmered again. Heat rose in Steve's cheeks, and his throat went tight. Bucky had survived, but how long did he lay at the bottom of the ravine, bleeding, his arm gone?

Ripped off?

The image was more of a horror than anything else he'd seen in the war.

"I'm sorry," Steve croaked, reaching out to grab Bucky's shoulder. "I didn't know, Buck. I couldn't…I left you…"

"Hey, don't sweat it. It's fine. You couldn't have known."

"It's all right, my darling." Peggy ran her fingers through his hair. "You both made it. You saved millions of lives. Your sacrifice ended the war. You're a national hero."

A hero who left his best friend for dead at the bottom of a ravine. His best friend who took a hit meant for him.

"How am I here? Who found me?"

Peggy smiled and looked at Bucky. "He did."

How? Nothing made sense. "Buck?" He looked back at his friend. "You? How did you know?" His stomach suddenly felt weighted with rocks. "God, Buck. I left you, and you came for me?"

"Well, since you put it that way," Bucky gave a shy smile, looking at him through long lashes, "you owe me one, which is good because I'm going to ask you for one hell of a favor."

"This is going to be interesting." Wilson leaned forward, hands clasped between his legs.

Steve looked between Bucky and the newcomer. They seemed familiar with one another, more than acquaintances. "There's something you're not telling me, Buck."

Everything was too good to be true. He was waiting for the bottom to fall out.

"If I look older, just a tiny bit," Bucky said, biting his lower lip, "it's because I am."

Steve glanced at Peggy. She barely looked a day older. He couldn't have been out that long. He turned his gaze back to Bucky and waited for him to continue.

"There's no easy way to say this, Pal, so I'm just gonna come right out with it. I'm from the future. The tail end of 2024, to be exact."

What? He couldn't process those words. Was this a joke?

He looked at Peggy again. She nodded. Bucky might be pulling his leg, but Peggy probably wasn't. She was always a straight shooter.

What the hell?

"I know it's hard to believe," Bucky continued. "It'll take a little bit to explain, so get comfortable."

Steve scooted back so he could lean against the headboard. He couldn't formulate words, so he just listened.

Bucky told a story—a long, impossible story of unimaginable horrors. Torture. Brainwashing. A cryogenic chamber. A chair that stole memories. Words that controlled a mind. Steve waking up almost 70 years in the future. Aliens. A group of heroes called the Avengers. Hydra. The Winter Soldier. More aliens.

And a battle for the universe that they won. Barely.

When Bucky finished, he looked out the window. The light filtering into the room was softer, bathing everything in a quiet warmth.

Steve lingered in the silence that followed, pushing air in and out of his lungs as blood roared in his ears. It was all too much.

Bucky.

Right now, somewhere in a bunker in Siberia, Bucky was being tortured. He was scared. Alone.

While Steve was safe in a soft bed with pretty windows, Bucky was being brutalized.

Because Steve left him for dead.

And they found him.

They were doing things to him that were beyond comprehension. And the man before him–Bucky from the future–had already lived it and worse. Steve slipped out of the bed and pushed to legs that wobbled at first when they supported his weight.

Bucky turned to him, and for the first time in all the years Steve had known Bucky, he saw something unguarded and fragile in the depths of his eyes—eyes that were older and sadder. He'd lived those horrors for seven decades, without hope, with everyone believing he was dead.

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Bucky's neck.

A worn, crooked smile twisted Bucky's mouth. "It's okay." His eyes shimmered.

"No, it isn't."

Seventy years.

Steve pulled him close, resting his forehead against Bucky's and squeezing his eyes closed against the images swirling in his brain and the agony of knowing this was too little, too late.

Bucky melted against him, wrapping his arms around Steve with a grip so strong it paid testament to the story Bucky told. He had the serum, too.

What was happening to the younger Bucky at that very moment? Were they hurting him? Using that chair on him?

Hang on, Buck. I'm coming.

When Bucky eased away from him, wiping at his eyes, Steve looked at Peggy. "How soon can we leave?"

THE END OF PART 1

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I appreciate reviews/comments of any kind. As mentioned, I planned this as a two-part series. The sequel is already in the works.