Chapter 9. Waiting
As Joyce went up the steps to her home Bucky watched the street, checking for anyone that seemed out of place or unnaturally curious about their arrival. Nothing triggered his senses, and he was satisfied that they weren't followed. He was worried that Morgenthau and her associate had shown up at the coffee shop that both he and Joyce frequented, wondering how they may have found out they both went there. As soon as Joyce was inside, he followed her and closed the door, locking it for good measure. He also drew the curtains on the main floor, blocking anyone from seeing through to the inside of the residence. The sound of breathing difficulties reached Bucky's ears and he hurried to the source. In the living room, Joyce was hunched over, hyperventilating. Grabbing the nearest thing that would help, a folded-up paper bag from the pantry, Bucky opened it and brought it over to her.
"Place this over your mouth and nose, breathe into it," he said gently, guiding her to sit. "It will bring your CO2 levels back to normal, so you don't feel so lightheaded."
As she did what he asked he rubbed her back, watching her with concern. Gradually, her breathing returned to normal, and she finally removed the bag, sitting there and staring across the room. Bucky waited for her to say something, anything.
"How did they ...?" With a shake of her head, Joyce covered her mouth with her hand then looked at Bucky. "Would they have hurt me?"
"Honestly, I don't know anymore," he said. "John Walker intervened at a very sensitive moment that destroyed any chance for Sam to get through to her. Now that he's out of the picture I don't know if she'll trust us enough to talk to us again. Certainly, them showing up at the coffee shop makes me concerned. I don't want to risk them finding out where you live."
His blue eyes were focused solely on her face, mirroring the apprehension that she felt. The Flag Smashers had many supporters in those people who hadn't disappeared in the Snap, people with legitimate concerns about being displaced and returned to their countries of origin, countries where they had suffered. But they had also killed people, decent people who were just doing their job. Bucky mentioned they had threatened Sam's sister and her children and now they had shown up almost at her doorstep. She still remembered the darkness in Karli Morgenthau's eyes, the darkness that chilled her into asking Bucky to come to her.
"I don't know how soon I can arrange to go anywhere," she said, finally. "I'm going to phone my friend Paula and talk to her." She stood up and went to her bedroom door. "I've never been so afraid, Bucky. Not even when I got diagnosed with leukaemia."
While she was in the bedroom, he phoned Sam.
"Did Torres call you?" he asked.
"Yeah, it was definitely her, right? With one guy?"
"Two more were watching the coffee shop," said Bucky. "I tried to draw them away, but they stayed in place, so I got a cab driver to wait in the back alley and I texted Joyce to come out the back door. So far as I can tell they didn't follow us."
"Damn," muttered Sam. "They were going to take her."
"She's a senior citizen, lives alone, and they must know that she's my friend. Right now, she's on the phone with her friend trying to arrange a last-minute trip somewhere, anywhere. That should keep her safe for a week or two."
"You think Karli has more followers in New York?"
"Almost guaranteed, Sam," replied Bucky. "It's not cheap living here and after the Snap, landlords likely had to reduce rents to keep their properties full. Once everyone returned the rents were probably increased, sending those who could least afford it back out onto the streets."
"How do you afford it?"
"The Army pays it as part of my monthly stipend. Keeps me where they can see me. I'm pretty sure that Army Intelligence keeps tabs on me, making sure the Winter Soldier doesn't re-emerge." An intake of breath from Sam signalled how unimpressed he was with that strategy. "I'm going to stay here with Joyce until she can leave. I have another friend I should check on as they might go after him as well."
"Probably a good idea," said Sam. "Do you want company? Say the word and I can be there in a few hours."
"Let me figure out what's happening on this end, first," replied Bucky. He heard the sound of Joyce's bedroom door opening. "I'll call you later."
Standing up as Joyce entered the living room, Bucky tried not to read too much into her face as she approached him. A wan smile greeted him, and she sat on the couch, still looking somewhat worried as he sat next to her.
"An Alaskan cruise," she stated. "I didn't tell her about the problem, just said I was ready to go at any time. She's going to call her travel agent and see if we can get one as soon as next week." Nervously, she rubbed her hands together. "I'm afraid, Bucky. Even in my own home, I'm afraid."
Putting his arm around her he drew her in close, trying to offer what comfort he could. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "It never occurred to me that they would approach my friends. Listen, I called Sam and told him what's going on. He's offered to come here as well. I can stay with you, here in the house, but with Sam here as well we can make sure you're never alone. Would that be alright?"
She looked up at him, her eyes still a little sad. "You would go to all that trouble for me?"
"Yeah, I would," he smiled. "I care about you, a lot. What do you say? Can you handle two big men in your home?"
"Is he as handsome as you?"
He beamed at her then shook his head with a cheeky grin. "No. Don't tell him he's handsome. It will just go to his head."
"Alright, I'll get the other bedroom set up," she said, accepting his offer. "You'll sleep in a bed this time?"
"Floor probably," he answered. "Even the couch is a little soft for me." Her eyes teared up a little and she tried to smile but she couldn't. "It's alright, really. Maybe when I meet the right girl a bed will feel better. Until then ..."
She went to check the two bedrooms. Even though the beds were made she had used them to store other things and wanted to get them out of the way. He phoned Sam while she started working on them, and told him to come up to Brooklyn, giving him the address. After hanging up on that call he joined Joyce in the one room, offering to help. It had a double bed, dresser, mirror, armoire, and nightstand. It was rather generic in appearance, but he didn't say anything. In fact, she beat him to it.
"It was my son's room," she said. "After he came back from his first year of college, he cleared out a lot of his sports things like his trophies, posters and such. The following year he got a summer job with the parks department, planting flowers and plants, mowing lawns, that sort of thing. He really only used the room to sleep. Then he met his girlfriend, who became his wife, and her dad offered him a summer job, working in his factory in Baltimore. They got married right after graduation and the summer job grew into his career. He took over as manager and they live there. That was 20 years ago. Their oldest is in college."
"Is he happy?" asked Bucky.
"Yeah, Melanie is a good wife and mother," replied Joyce. "They're kids are respectful and stay out of trouble. I just thought I would get to know my son as an adult a little bit more before he found the right girl and settled down. How old were you when you moved out from home?"
"I didn't," smiled Bucky. "I lived at home right up until I went to basic training after I got drafted. Dad worked at the shipyards, and I worked on the docks, loading and unloading cargo ships, maintaining boats that came in for repairs, that sort of thing. It was hard work and paid better than a lot of jobs, but a lot went to helping the family and I spent the rest on going out. I tried to save for college but maybe deep down I knew I wouldn't make it there."
Joyce was pulling some things out of the closet, folding them up and placing them on the bed while they talked. She stopped when Bucky said the last bit.
"Have you given any thought now to what you want to take in college?" she asked. "I mean, you must intend to do that if you're working towards your GED."
"I've always been interested in science and technology," he answered. Then he gave out a short breath. "It's just that I've missed out on learning about so much I'm not sure I would be able to keep up. If I was more practical, I would take something more useful, like accounting or financial management, or something like that. But the thought of that doesn't really grab me, you know?"
"You could consider something in the humanities," she said. "A Bachelor of Arts degree can cover a lot of area and be applicable to a lot of fields. You're pretty free to take minors in other areas like the sciences. If you find they aren't as hard as you thought, you could always switch."
She left him with his thoughts while she went to get a box and a garbage bag. When she returned, she took things from one pile, laying them in the box that she marked KEEP while the rest went into a garbage bag.
"Do they still have vocational counsellors in schools?" asked Bucky.
"They're called school counsellors now and they do more than try to guide a student into the right career path," explained Joyce. "Many of them have their Masters degrees in Psychology so they can provide counselling for emotional issues. With budget cuts some schools have had to do away with that position, which is dangerous, in my opinion." She sat on the edge of the bed. "It's how I knew that woman wasn't quite right. Some kids are dealing with a tremendous amount of stress and are very much on the edge. The school counsellors spend a lot of time with the staff, schooling us on what to look for in a student's demeanour so that we can identify someone that needs an intervention before they act out emotionally, or violently. She had that look in her eyes, and that tone in her voice, that would have sent me directly to the head counsellor to do something." He noticed Joyce was wringing her hands again. "She said she wanted to be a teacher, but the Blip stopped that. What happened to her, Bucky?"
Shaking his head, he took her hands in his, stilling her anxious movements. Then he sat with her and put his arm around her, trying to offer comfort. Even though she was afraid of Karli, Joyce still had enough compassion for the young woman, to realize that something bad had set her on this path. Patting his hand, Joyce stood up and took the box, indicating that he should bring the bag. They went to the next room, and she pulled several things out of the closet, dividing them up into the two piles.
This bedroom was more feminine, and had some artwork on the walls. He went over to look at the different pieces, seeing the initials HF written in the corner of all of them. They were mostly bright, although a couple seemed darker in theme. One of the darker ones appeared to be a portrait of a young woman in the shadows. It resonated with him for some reason, and he stared at it until Joyce made him jump with her comment.
"That's a self portrait of Hope, my youngest," she said. "She painted that just after high school graduation. It was very dark, and I tried to talk to her about it, but she just wouldn't. I know something happened to her then, but she just wouldn't open up about it and refused to see a counsellor. What could I do other than just continually say I loved her unconditionally? It's hard when she still makes questionable choices in her life. She comes home for a month or two after another relationship ends then she's off for another city, another job opportunity, another man ... until he breaks her heart, and the cycle continues."
There was some hesitation as Bucky contemplated whether to reply but he could see the anguish on Joyce's face as she talked about her daughter.
"I think you're right that something happened to her," he said, quietly. "I recognize the look on her face. Someone hurt her, deeply and she blames herself for it. She doesn't feel loveable. Maybe that's why that portrait speaks to me as there are times I don't feel loveable either."
"You are," she replied. "Both of you are." She finished putting clothing on the different piles and began to transfer the one into the box. "This box can go up into the attic. If you put the other things into the bag, I can call a charity to pick it up. I better check Tara's room before I seal them up."
They went into the third room which didn't have a bed in it anymore. Instead, there were arts and craft supplies organized in the shelving, a large table, and an empty bulletin board. Bucky looked a little surprised to see the setup, obviously meant for Joyce to keep busy after she retired.
"Bob set it up for me, for after I finished working," she confirmed, gently touching some of the supplies. "Never got to use it. After he died, then the Snap happened all of my creative desires just stopped. I really should sell all the supplies but when Hope does come home, she sets up her studio in here. It has the best light, nothing direct but in the morning there's a beautiful glow in here."
She sighed, then went over to the closet, pulling out winter wear. He watched as she looked at each item of clothing. Sometimes, she had a small smile on her face, as if a memory of a certain experience brought her a sense of nostalgia. Dividing the pile on top of the table she got to a point where it was men's clothing left in the closet, and her face became sadder as she contemplated whether to keep or discard the item. Bucky noticed there were moments when she buried her face briefly in the item. After doing that several times she looked up at him, slightly embarrassed.
"They still smell of Bob's aftershave, even now," she explained.
Then she began to cry as she struggled with how much she still missed him. Bucky was beside her in a moment and pulled her into his arms, trying to offer her some comfort.
"You miss him, still," he finally said. "He must have been some guy."
"He was," she replied, after she wiped her tears away with her hands. "I know I should move on, but I feel disloyal whenever I meet another man who asks me out." She hesitated for a moment. "Paula mentioned that a cruise is a good place to meet someone." She shook her head. "If I wasn't so afraid to stay here, I wouldn't go but it's the lesser of two evils."
She looked at him apologetically then got up, went back out to the pantry for another garbage bag, bringing it back to the pile of Bob's winter wear. After looking at the pile for several long minutes she transferred the items into the bag and tied it off, keeping only a scarf and matching cap.
"I'll take these to Alaska," she said. "Apparently if we get close to the glaciers it can still be quite cool. Paula wants to do one of those tours that allows you to be right on the ice."
He took the two bags, leaving them in the front hallway near the door as Joyce called the charity for a pickup time. Then he sealed the box and followed her to where the stairs up to the attic could be pulled down. She went up first and he followed her. A single bulb in an overhead fixture had a long string that she pulled to turn it on. Directing him to where some other boxes were, he put the one he was carrying there then watched as Joyce began looking at other things. Once again, her motions as she touched the different items reminded him of his mother.
A memory of going up to the attic with his mother to bring the Christmas decorations down replayed in his head. It was December 1941 and even though it was only a few weeks after Pearl Harbor he had already received his draft notice. His physical was scheduled for the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve; it was almost certain he would be declared 1A as he was big, strong, and physically fit. Ma pointed out the different boxes of decorations she wanted him to carry down to the parlour. Taking two of the boxes down he returned back to the stairs, only to hear the sounds of his mother weeping coming from the storage space above. It was the first time he heard her crying over him going to war. As he placed his feet on the stair treads the crying stopped. By the time he joined her she had hastily wiped away her tears, but her reddened eyes betrayed her.
"Ma, I'll be careful, I promise," he said, as he kneeled before his mother. "I'm coming home when it's all over."
Her gaze was so loving as she touched his cheek. There was a sadness in her eyes as she tried to smile for him.
"I know." Her voice was almost a whisper. "Just don't let it change you, Bucky."
That had been a bittersweet Christmas as Ma went all out to bake Bucky his favourite treats, continually pressing them on him. Even though she and his father had tried to keep a positive attitude over that holiday dinner there were times it was too much for his mother to take. More than once she excused herself on one pretext or another, returning a short time later with red, puffy eyes and pale cheeks. Most of the times his father would go with her, returning back with his arm around her shoulders. He remembered his father making sure she sat in her favourite armchair beside the radio while he went to the kitchen and made her a cup of tea after one of the moments.
Steve, who had been trying so hard to enlist, wouldn't say anything in Ma's presence, knowing how afraid she was for her only son. Rebecca ... well, she was still a kid, and the concept of him being in almost constant danger didn't really register with her. Later, after Steve went home, and both Ma and Rebecca were in bed, his father offered him a whiskey and a cigarette while he smoked his pipe. Then he told Bucky about his own times in the Great War. There were a few humorous stories but most of it was about the cold and the wet, the terror and the fear of the next attack being the one that would finish you. For his father the biggest fear, other than losing his son, was what it would do to him emotionally. The last thing he wanted was for Bucky to be scarred as badly as he, George Barnes was from his own experiences.
"Bucky?" A soft hand on his arm brought Joyce's concerned face into Bucky's sightline. "There you are. You were lost in thought."
"Sorry," he replied, swallowing, then smiling slightly at her. "Being in your attic brought back a memory of my past."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
For a moment he was prepared to say no, then just the way she looked at him brought back the memory of his mother again, and how he could tell her almost anything. Hesitantly at first, he told Joyce about registering for the draft in the fall of 1941, then receiving his draft notice after Pearl Harbor. He explained how he accompanied his mother up into an attic that looked just like this one and hearing her cry for him for the first time.
"That must have been difficult for you," stated Joyce. "I'm glad I never had to face that with Bobby."
"She tried so hard over that Christmas to keep it together, but it was too much for her," said Bucky. "By the end of January, I started basic training. There was three months of that then some leave then I went on to sniper training. That was another three and a half months. I got more leave and was sent for further training in tactics and leadership. By the time I got my next leave in May of 1943, I was a sergeant and had my orders to ship out in June. She cried so much every time I came home." A faraway look appeared on his face before he sighed again. "Even though we wrote each other, I never saw them again."
"It never stops," said Joyce, wistfully. "I'm talking about the worry a parent has for their children. Maybe it lessens a little once they get married and have their own family but deep down, you still see them as little kids, wearing their onesies and carrying a stuffed animal. When they hurt you want to take that hurt into yourself to protect them." She sniffed, then sighed. "I'm getting maudlin, again. Let's put that box away and go downstairs. We can watch a movie, something that we don't have to think about other than to just enjoy it."
By the time they got downstairs Bucky had a text from Sam that he would arrive at JFK by 8:30 pm and would take a taxi to Joyce's house. Joyce made some sandwiches for themselves as it was getting close to lunchtime. They settled on the couch, and she searched the TV menu for the movie she wanted, "Ocean's Eleven," the George Clooney version. Although she had to pause it a few times when references were made to certain things that Bucky didn't get, he seemed to enjoy the intricacies of the plot. He liked knowing that it was really never about the money for Danny; it was about exposing the man his ex-wife was with as the villain he truly was and reuniting with the only woman he loved.
"I saw on the original listing there were two more," he said to Joyce. "Are they worth watching?"
"Yeah, they're not bad," she replied. "They're entertaining enough. We can watch the second one for sure."
They started watching the sequel, getting to the part where Julia Roberts character arrived in Italy. That's when Joyce's cell phone rang. Putting the movie on pause she answered her phone then whispered to Bucky that it was her son. She talked to him for some time while Bucky decided to look out the windows and see if there was anyone watching. For several minutes he peeked out the curtains trying to determine if there was anyone to be concerned about. Going upstairs to one of the bedrooms that fronted the street he continued his surveillance, trying to spot anyone who looked at Joyce's house for longer than a passing glance.
"Anyone out there?" she asked, as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom.
Bucky looked back at her, surprised she was able to get there without him noticing. He must have been more focused on what was outside than on his immediate surroundings.
"No," he answered, turning away from the window. "No one to be concerned about. Everything okay with your son?"
"His usual Sunday night phone call," she replied. "Work is fine, Melanie is fine, the kids are good ... I don't think he's reached the point of quiet desperation yet."
A small smile crossed Bucky's face. "Thoreau," he said. "It was one of the readings on the Language Arts exam. There's nothing wrong with living a quiet life. My last six months in Wakanda were peaceful and I needed them."
"But ...?"
"But we aren't a peaceful species, are we? If we don't find an outlet for the rage and aggression that seems to be part of us, then it explodes suddenly, destroying everything in its path." He noticed her reaction to his words. "I'm not saying that of everyone, certainly not of me. Maybe that's partly why I want to further my education so that I can find a way to deal with things in a way that doesn't get physical." He shrugged. "I won't kill anymore. That's a line I will never cross unless I have absolutely no choice."
"I believe you," said Joyce then she turned back to the hallway. "Come on, let's finish that movie. Are you hungry? Do you feel like ordering in some pizza?"
They placed an order and watched the movie until the doorbell rang. Joyce looked out the window, confirming it was the usual guy who delivered, and she opened the door to take the pizza while Bucky watched through the curtain for anyone who might be observing.
After the movie ended and they put the pizza leftovers in the fridge, it was almost 8:30 and they decided to wait for Sam to arrive rather than start the next movie. He texted Bucky when he was in the taxi to say he was on his way. Joyce felt nervous about meeting the man who had been known as the Falcon. Bucky already told her how Steve Rogers had handed the shield to Sam personally, wanting him to take on the role of Captain America. He only retired the shield because he didn't think that many Americans would support him in representing that ideal as a black man. Then they gave it to the blond-haired, blue-eyed John Walker, in a cynical display of misplaced patriotism and reinforcement of hero stereotypes. What a fiasco that had turned out to be, as Walker's own shortcomings and emotional issues couldn't handle the strain of living up to those ideals.
When the doorbell finally rang, and Bucky answered the door, she could hear the deep voices of their greetings to one another. Then Bucky came in carrying a travel case, while this handsome black man followed him, carrying a large satchel slung over his shoulder, while also carrying a round case. His warm eyes rested on her followed by a big smile.
"Sam Wilson, this is Joyce Franklin, my friend," said Bucky.
"I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Franklin," said Sam.
"Call me Joyce, please Sam," she replied, coming forward to shake his hand. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem," he answered, then he held his arms out. "You up for a hug from a stranger? I get the feeling you need one and Bucky isn't the most huggable guy I know."
"He does just fine," she said, "but I wouldn't mind a hug from you."
It was like being enveloped in a giant squishy plush toy. Despite his own muscular bulk, Sam's hug was soft and reassuring. He was obviously a much more demonstrative man than Bucky was. The deep rumble of his voice vibrated from his chest as he spoke.
"Don't worry, Joyce," said Sam, soothingly. "With both of us here, we'll make sure that you're safe."
She looked at the round case. "Is that?"
He grinned and put his other bag down, then placed the round bag on the table, unzipping it and uncovering the famous shield. Tentatively, she put her hand out then looked at him for permission. With his nod she touched it, feeling the cool smooth metal under her fingertips. There was no need for words, and she quickly withdrew her hand then smiled at him as he zipped up the bag. Once Sam was shown to Bobby's old room and began to unpack, Bucky took Joyce aside.
"I'm going to run back to my place, and pick up some clothes," he said. "I won't be long, and I'll make sure no one's watching before I come back."
Joyce gave him the spare key, locking the door behind him as he headed out for the quick run to his place. Sam came downstairs shortly after.
"Did you eat?" she asked. "We ordered some pizza and there are a few slices left."
"I'm good, thank you," replied Sam. "I wouldn't mind something to drink."
"Beer?" She looked at the kitchen clock. "It's kind of late for coffee."
He nodded and took one from her, taking a good-sized drink from the bottle before fixing his gaze on her.
"Are you okay, really?" he asked. "Be truthful."
She shook her head. "I'm terrified," she admitted. "Bucky said you have a background in counselling. Do you have your certifications?"
"Bachelor's degree in psychology," answered Sam. "I was working on my Master's while I was leading group sessions for PTSD in Washington. At that time, I was planning to counsel veterans as a career."
"Sam, there's only one emotion in Karli Morgenthau, anger," said Joyce, satisfied that she could be open with him. "She's angry and she's on the edge of exploding. I could feel it even in the small time we spoke. Her reaction to something innocuous I said was chilling, even though it was momentary. It was enough for me to fear her, and she knew it."
He listened carefully as Joyce relived the moment in the coffee shop from that morning. As he watched and listened to the older woman, he realized very quickly why Bucky cared about her. She was a very understanding individual, willing to acknowledge that the Flag Smashers had legitimate concerns. Even though she was afraid of Karli she still had empathy for whatever had traumatized the young woman, pushing her to what Joyce described as a precipice.
It also brought to mind what Bucky had told him about the serum. Even though he was traumatized when it was forced on him, he had been raised by a loving mother, and a caring father. His friendship with Steve had been deep, more like that of brothers. From what Torres had found out about Karli Morgenthau's background, she had experienced a world of hurt before she found herself in Madripoor, doing who knows what dirty jobs for the Power Broker. That was where she took the serum, then stole the rest. Since then, her capacity for violence had escalated with the death of the GRC guards at that depot displaying a cold and calculated disregard for human life. Their remains showed they were all bound before the building was destroyed. Karli had already threatened Sarah and the boys, now she had discovered someone who Bucky cared about. Sam smiled at Joyce and squeezed her hand. At least with him there as well as Bucky she would feel more secure. For now, that was something.