"What're you working on?"
Bucky's head came up from his tablet to look at Sam who sat across from him in his so-new-the-shiny-hadn't-yet-rubbed-off-yet uniform. The Wakandans had come through yet again. "Reading," he answered as if it should have been obvious.
"Reading what? I gave you the mission plan."
Bucky sighed audibly. He knew damn well Sam would keep asking questions which would keep him from reading just as effectively as him stopping to respond. "The Children of Húrin by Tolkien."
Sam blinked. "Is Gandalf in that one?"
Bucky rolled his eyes. "No." He pointedly tipped his head back down to focus on the tablet in his hand in a failing effort to get Sam to leave him alone until they arrived at the rendezvous point. At least this time he wouldn't be jumping out of a plane two hundred feet in the air sans chute.
"Why? You forget how they ended?"
Bucky debated ignoring the question but knew Sam would continue to poke him with verbally sharp things until paid attention to. "I haven't read these. Just the original series."
"And what got you back into reading epic fantasy?"
Bucky shot him a look that suggested bodily harm would be occurring in the near future.
"What? We ain't seen each other in weeks, your responses to texts when they actually happen are monosyllabic, we're supposed to be part-"
Bucky's glare deepened.
"Co-workers. I just want to make sure you're doing okay. Okay?"
Bucky grunted in response. He actually appreciated Sam checking in on him given his continued tendency to isolate himself when they weren't together, however, Sam still managed to take it that one step too far which often left Bucky grouchy at best and downright pissed off at worst. Since they'd stopped the attack on the GRC they'd found that middle ground. Not just a couple of guys with a mutual friend, but actual friends and yeah, partners, no matter how much Bucky argued otherwise.
He couldn't let Sam think it had been that simple, or easy.
"You coming to visit Sarah after?"
Bucky nodded. "And miss her cooking? Not a chance." He actually enjoyed the post-mission visits to Louisiana, even if they did put him to work more often than not. He didn't really mind. In fact, he liked being able to help if only now and then, gave him an odd sense of purpose that he had yet to adjust to.
"So why the sudden interest in revisiting Middle Earth?"
"A friend got me copies of the movies and I wanted to reread the books before watching them, is all."
"Wait, you have a friend? Aside from me, that is?" Sam had this massive grin on his face so Bucky knew he would be in for it now.
"Wow. That was just... cold."
"But not wrong."
Bucky wanted to argue the point but couldn't, given exactly how much effort he'd put in to avoid doing so.
"So, how'd you meet?"
Bucky set the tablet aside, knowing damn well he'd get no more reading done until Sam's curiosity had been completely satisfied. "One of those dating apps," he admitted just waiting for the commentary about to begin.
Sam's eyebrows rose. "You and a dating app. Which one?"
"Does it matter?" Bucky groused, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.
"I guess not. So, who is she, or he? I'm not about to get all judgy about it."
"She. Her name is Nienne. We hang out a couple of times a week when our schedules allow."
"Define hang out?" Sam asked with what sounded like actual interest.
"We meet at this brewpub, drink beer, and talk."
"That's it? Just talk? Is she ugly or something? And why does her name sound familiar?" Sam's brow knit as he tried to figure out how he knew the woman Bucky had called friend.
"No, she's quite... nice. She runs her own business, but mostly contracts out at the moment," Bucky didn't feel entirely comfortable giving away even vague details about Ni, it seemed more something she should approve of before he exposed her life to this side of his.
"And she hangs out with you? Does she know who you are?" Sam questioned, the tone verging on concern.
"She knows enough for now," Bucky answered and instantly regretted it, absolutely certain Sam would have an opinion on the matter whether or not it was any of his business.
Sam shook his head in obvious dismay. "Why not tell her?"
"Why not? Who would want to spend time with me once they realized who I was? Pardoned or not, most people who discover the truth suddenly decide I'm not worth knowing. Or worse, they're now afraid of me. You want me to connect with people. I can't do that if the first words out of my mouth are 'Hi, I used to be the killing machine known as The Winter Soldier, want to get a drink sometime?' "
Sam's lips turned downward, the frown deepening with every word spoken. "I will admit you have a point, but if you want anyone to trust you you have to be honest with them. And that means telling them."
"And risk being isolated even more? Good plan there, Sam," Bucky sneered.
Sam shifted and Bucky could figuratively see him putting on that virtual counselor hat he carried around everywhere. It was part of why he excelled in his role as Captain America.
"Or you may just find someone who doesn't care who you were and is willing to discover who you are," Sam responded, not rising to the bait he'd thrown out on this occasion.
"Even I don't know who I am," Bucky muttered before he could censor himself, and this time Sam jumped on it.
"Which is why you need to make connections. As you pointed out you haven't really had the opportunity to live your life as James Barnes. Now is the time to start. Figure out who you want to be and work for it." Sam shook his head, more in dismay than anything else it seemed. "When you come to Delacroix with me, you're completely different, you know that? Relaxed and, dare I say it, happy. But then you go back to Brooklyn and seem to lose something. That's not how you should be living, Bucky. From my perspective, you go back into hiding when you're home. Why is that?"
He wanted to argue with Sam that he didn't do that. That he just tried to live a quiet life while he figured out how to fit into the world. "Because I don't know how else to be?" he finally answered.
"You get a day job yet?"
Bucky shook his head.
"Why not?"
"Aside from not really needing one? No one has been willing to hire a former assassin with PTSD on the off chance I might have a psychotic break and start killing everyone near me," Bucky responded in a sneering tone. The response was not nearly as serious as his tone made it seem.
Sam shook his head realizing Bucky hadn't exactly lied with his answer. "Then volunteer. That Parker kid, Spider-Man, doesn't wait for there to be a major battle, he sees a problem and does what he can to fix it. You can do the same."
Bucky sighed softly. "I get it." He lifted his hands, the dark Wakandan metal gleaming in the lighting, hands that had dealt a lot of death over the decades, but more recently had been put to better use, saving lives where possible. Yeah, he'd hurt people, but that's what happens in a fight, intentionally killing them… that he'd avoided where possible. Sometimes that just wasn't how events played out. "So, rescue cats in trees when I can."
Sam snorted. "Exactly. Just because you finished your list of names doesn't mean you can't continue to be of service. Yeah, some will turn you away because of your past, but others won't. The whole damn world got to see us save the day-"
"You more than me," Bucky interjected.
"You did no less," Sam insisted. "You're not The Winter Soldier any longer and everyone got to see it. That matters."
"To some more than others," Bucky muttered.
Sam shook his head. "That's how it always will be." He pondered for a moment then said, " 'A person is smart. But people are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it.' "
Bucky narrowed his eyes. "I know where that's from."
"So? Doesn't mean it's wrong. Start with one person, your friend Nienna, and if it doesn't work out try another. You'll find the ones willing to give you a chance." Sam settled back into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. "End of lecture."
"Oh, thank god," Bucky groused, feigning irritation no matter that every word had hit its intended mark. He knew he needed to still work on being Bucky Barnes, to live that life he'd lost and been granted a second chance at. If only to honor Steve and his efforts to prove to the world his friend Bucky was not Hydra, not the terrifying ghost that had haunted the world for decades. Steve had given everything to the world, the least Bucky could do was the same.
"You gonna see her again?"
Bucky nodded. "That's the plan."
"So what you're telling me is that a one-hundred-and-six-year-old managed to get a girlfriend before me."
"She's not my girlfriend," Bucky argued, the eyebrow raise on Sam's forehead, all the commentary he needed to add, "Okay, she's a girl and friend, but that's all."
"And you're not looking for more?"
Bucky didn't quite know how to answer that. "I guess we'll see where it goes. I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of relationship. My bad days still outnumber my good ones."
"Has being with her given you some good ones?" Sam questioned all seriousness for the moment.
Bucky thought about it for a minute. He hadn't really put those two factors together but once he had the answer could only be obvious. "Yes."
"Then just keep doing what you're doing."
"Whatever that might be," Bucky grumbled softly, not willing to admit out loud that he might be in over his head. He wanted to keep seeing her, Nienne but remained uncertain exactly how to go about it.
"I imagine it's been a while since you... dated."
Bucky snorted. "Before the war, really. Though even then I didn't really have a serious relationship."
"Aside from Steve."
Bucky conceded the point. "Aside from Steve. Did I want to settle down and get married? Sure, but I wanted us to do it together."
"I don't imagine the girls ever looked at him twice." The whole world had seen pictures of pre-serum Steve. His stature had been less than stellar, but the heart, the man inside, had been exactly the same as the giant who'd become the original Captain America.
"They didn't look at him at all. I had to set him up, double dates usually, and he ended up being ignored most of the time. Until..." Bucky let the rest of the sentence trail off.
"Until Peggy Carter," Sam finished.
While Steve had never confirmed it, Bucky knew Sam suspected their mutual friend had gone back to marry Peggy. Bucky knew with certainty Steve had because he'd told him before going on that trip to return the Stones.
"You ever consider going back?"
Bucky stared at Sam in confusion for a long moment. "What? Going back where?"
"Back there." Sam waved his hand vaguely about. "To the forties, or whenever. Pick up where you left off. Find a girl to marry and have your two point five. See your family again."
"That's not-" He stopped himself. He had been about to say it wasn't possible, except it was. The quantum tunnel and the program for time travel still existed. He could go back. Back to his family. Live his life in a world he understood and felt safe in. "I don't think I could."
Sam tipped his head slightly. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not like Steve. I would try to change things. Maybe... maybe even save myself, that other me, from Hydra and to hell with the consequences."
Sam made an 'oh' of understanding. "Which means you could change the outcome of... of everything."
Bucky nodded. "Steve was strong enough to resist, to let events play out as they had for us to end up here." Bucky shook his head lowering his gaze to the steel flooring beneath his booted feet. "I don't think I'd be strong enough to do that."
Sam sat thoughtfully for a couple of minutes before responding. "Time travel is clearly too messy for the likes of us."
"Change one thing in the past and all this could vanish in an instant to be replaced by some other version of reality. Possibly one where we never came back. Better to not risk it."
"You may have a point there," Sam agreed. "Maybe I should invite your girl to Delacroix. Give her a chance to see you outside your natural habitat."
"No. Fuck no," Bucky responded quickly, too quickly based on the smirk that appeared on Sam's face near instantly. "No, Sam. We're... we're not there yet, okay?"
Sam's smile wavered, plainly not wanting to nip the potential at a something more relationship in the bud. "Okay. For now."
Bucky refused to sigh in relief and instead simply rolled his shoulders to ease the surprise tension that had gathered between them. "Can I go back to reading now?"
Sam laughed. "Of course." He waved magnanimously at the tablet. "Enjoy."
Bucky picked up the tablet, tapped it awake, and dove back into the world of elves, wizards, and men.
. . .
"So, how was your week?" Nienna asked as he handed her the beer and sat down in the chair kitty-corner from her.
"It was," he told her with a shrug of one shoulder. He'd already decided to pull the bandaid off right away. Might as well get it over with and say goodbye before they ended up any deeper than they already had become.
"Oof, that bad huh?" She sipped her beer, her brows knit together in what appeared to be concern for him.
"You could say that." He drank down nearly half his beer watching her over the top of the glass. "I need to tell you something and if after you want to leave I'll understand."
"James, what-"
He shook his head, cutting off the rest of her sentence. It seemed clear that she understood what he wanted to say was big and that she needed to listen. "I told Sam- my friend about you, about our dates, and he thinks I need to be honest with you about who I am... who I was. I... I..." Unable to just say it, he fell back onto the asinine script Dr. Raynor had given to him for when he made his amends. "I am James Bucky Barnes, I am no longer the Winter Soldier and you are part of my efforts to make amends."
Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped, which he suspected meant this little interlude in his life would be about to end, but instead of expressing fear or concern, she laughed softly.
He watched her wondering which one of them had gone quietly insane. "Uh, I don't think I said anything funny."
"Sorry. I find it amusing that you think I didn't know who you were. You are kind of famous, you know."
"And you still said yes?" The question slipped past his lips in his astonishment.
"Have you looked in a mirror?"
He snorted and tipped his head down to stare at the glass of beer he rolled between his hands. "Why then, especially if you knew?"
She reached out and set a hand on his forearm. "Because it didn't matter. I wanted to get to know you, James Barnes." She gave him a smile. "Besides, I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
He gazed at the hand upon his forearm then up at her face. "And here my… friend was concerned you'd hate me if I waited any longer."
She patted his arm and sat back. "You haven't given me a reason to yet."
Bucky tried to contain the sigh of relief, more than a touch shocked at how thankful he was that she had no plans to abandon him. Not yet, anyway.
"I take it you told your friend the details about our dates?"
He nodded. "He seems to think I go into hiding when I come back to Brooklyn and wants me to try to make… connections. Which I... I think we did... are doing." He ducked his head again. "I enjoy talking with you but I'll probably have to keep telling him just to convince him I'm moving forward." Bucky sighed softly, understanding where Sam was coming from, but at the same time, he lived in trepidation of those proverbial torches and pitchforks carried by the fearful rabble coming after him and demanding reparations for the harm he had caused as the tool of Hydra.
She held out her hand. "Your phone, please."
He looked at her in confusion but handed it over. She swiped it open, tapped the screen a dozen times, after which her phone chimed and she handed it back to him. "There, now you've progressed from a dating app to an official friend. If that's all right with you?"
He stared at his phone for a long moment, her name and number on the screen before him, and a swell of thankfulness filled him. He'd expected her to run away when he told her the truth and instead she had done the exact opposite and extended a trust he probably didn't deserve. "Yeah," he managed to respond then stuffed his phone back into his pocket.
"How are you? Any adventures with Captain America recently?"
I guess now that the cat was out of the bag the gloves had come off and all questions were fair game. "The latter is classified," he told her, which made her snort. "The former... I'm okay. Doing what I can to keep busy."
"Do you have a job? Aside from your classified adventures that is."
"Why, are you offering me one?" He watched her over the rim of his glass.
"Well, given I partially work from home..." Her brow knit as she seriously thought about it.
"Ni, I'm kidding," he told her to let her off the hook.
"I figured, but I could use some help now that I think about it. You any good at parsing neural signals in a synthetic matrix?"
He blinked at her. "I'm gonna go with no since I'm not certain what you said was even in English."
She laughed. "What are you good at?"
"You mean besides killing people?"
"James..." she shook her head. "I mean if that's your go-to I'm certain a local mob boss or three could find a use for you as a mechanic."
He stiffened. He knew she was teasing, but even thinking about going back to that life made him balk. "I don't do that anymore."
She quickly realized this. "Hey, I didn't mean it, promise," she said contritely.
He met her eyes. "I know. It's like I have to keep reminding myself of it, is all."
"And here I am poking sticks at you." She tapped a fingertip against the side of her glass. "Well, we should definitely lean towards your strengths." She set down her glass and grabbed her bag, out of which she pulled a fancy tablet. "So, Army, infantry with a specialty in sniper skills, yes?"
He nodded, staring at her as she tapped away on the keyboard. "What are you doing?"
"Creating a resume for you."
"I have a resume, it doesn't seem to help any."
"For one, I suspect you have a rather limited work history and I bet you're using the exact same one for every job you apply for."
"Well, yeah. What else would I use?"
"Can I presume you know a variety of martial arts?" He nodded, the confusion just growing deeper. "Think you have the patience to teach them?"
"If it pays, I'll teach Swahili."
"Ooooo, you speak multiple languages. That opens a whole list of other options."
"What are you talking about?"
She waved at the screen and he shifted over to sit beside her to discover she'd been putting together a far more comprehensive set of resumes, plural not singular, for him as they talked. "You any good with computers?"
"Yeah."
"Programming or just using?"
"Both to one degree or another."
She glanced over at him then rubbed her hands together in obvious glee. "Excellent."
He watched the words form on the screen as she efficiently created three different resumes and cover letters for him. "You need to cater them to the job you want," she explained. "The one heavy on the martial arts you use for jobs in gyms, training centers, hell, bouncers at nightclubs."
He nodded slowly as he looked over what she had written. A lot of it included sanitized descriptions of his more violent skills. She'd also best guessed some of the skills, which languages he knew, specific fighting styles, and left space for him to fill in the specifics. "Okay, I get it but aren't you... fudging the truth on these."
"Nothing on here is a lie, but these days getting a job is more about selling them a product they want than about the actual skills you have. Although in truth you have these skills, I'm just not mentioning how or where you got them."
"And if they ask?"
"You were in the military, tell them special ops and they'll believe just about anything after that."
"It can't be that simple."
"It is and isn't. These will get your foot in the door. You have to do the rest." She turned to face him directly. "I mean if you want to make an impression apply at one of the docks and if they seem dismissive just pick up something stupidly heavy. You'll probably get hired on the spot."
"When people realize who I am..." he trailed off, shaking his head.
"Ah yes, the big scary Winter Soldier who spends evenings with me drinking hipster beer and coffee. James, someone will take a chance on you. I did and I have no regrets so far." She gave him a friendly shove with her shoulder. "You could try private security companies. Professional bodyguard-type jobs. You quite literally have the exact skill set they look for."
"Huh. I hadn't even considered anything like that."
"Well, you should." She dug into her bag again and came up with a business card. "And when they ask for references you can give them my name."
"Ni, you don't have to do that," he said as he took it from her.
"I know I don't, but I will."
"I owe you for this," he told her as he tucked the card away, fully intending on using it should the opportunity arise.
"Dinner, when you get your first paycheck, is all you'll owe me. Deal?" She arched a single eyebrow at me.
"Deal," he told her. "You might have a long wait though."
"I'm patient."
"You're insane, but that's okay, I am too most days." He finished off his beer. "Now put that thing away, you can email me the files later. We have books to talk about."
She snorted, but did as he asked and then settled back into the cushion with him still beside her.