Chapter 17. The Long Night

There were several people waiting outside the testing centre for the door to open. Most were scrolling through their phones as they would have to turn in the device before writing the GED exam. Bucky looked at the picture and accompanying text that Joyce sent him the night before. Even though he sent a text back asking for more detail there had been no response and now he had to turn his phone off for the next two hours, as the math test was allotted 115 minutes. He planned to use all the time available to him. With a sigh he composed one more text and sent it.

Bucky: I'm heading into my math test now and have to turn my phone off, then turn it in. Just so we're clear – you're not coming back on your original flight? When are you coming back?

He sent it, then noticed the door opening to the testing room and quickly shut his phone off as he joined the others drifting towards the entrance. Just outside the door, he gave them his ID, then handed them his phone, which was put into a small bin and placed on a table. He showed them his calculator, watching as the monitor reset the memory. Then he was directed to sit at one of the available spots for the handwritten test and given his ID back. With his water bottle in hand, he found a place. Once everyone was seated the proctor asked everyone to enter their information on the registration page of the exam. Then he asked if anyone wanted scrap paper and pencils. Bucky put his hand up until he was given some. Everyone taking the math exam was given the formula reference sheet. The rules of the exam were read out, the time noted, and as soon as 08:59 switched to 09:00 they were told to begin. Taking a deep breath, Bucky started.

As he read each question, he felt good about the study session with Peter. A good number of the questions went into the areas that Peter covered with him, and he found the calculations came relatively easy. There was one question that he had concerns about, but he tackled it as best as he could. When time was called, he was pleased that he had enough time to go over his work, changing a couple of responses after discovering he made a small error. Retrieving his phone, he was given a small card with a reminder that he could check his results online or have them sent to him along with his diploma. He chose that option, going to Joyce's house and logging into her computer to make the request. He checked her doors and windows, then took in her mail, adding the letters to the pile on her kitchen counter. He also watered her plants. Remembering that he now had his phone he turned it on and saw a text from her.

Joyce: Tom and Dan asked us to stay in Seattle for a few more days. I really like him, so I said yes. We'll be back in 3 days, but I haven't got flight information yet. Call me when you're done your exam.

He looked at the message, reading it several times. There was three hours' time difference between Brooklyn and Seattle. Her ship would have just docked, she would be at breakfast, and then seeking a hotel. But the text was sent only an hour before, so she was up. Pressing dial on her number from the previous calls list he waited for it to be answered but it went to voicemail.

"Hi, it's Bucky," he said, feeling a little self-conscious leaving a voicemail message. He winced as he tried to sound natural. "I finished my exam ... um. It went pretty well. I had a study session yesterday with a kid who remembers you from your school and it helped a lot. Went to your place to check on everything and bring in your mail. I guess ... you can call me when you get this. Bye."

That sounded confident. He stood up and looked around Joyce's place one more time, then set the alarm and locked the door, heading down the steps.

"Bucky!"

He turned to the voice, feeling his stomach drop a little when he saw it was Yori. Putting on a smiling face, he waited for the older man to get to him.

"Hey, sorry I haven't been around much," he said to the genial senior citizen. "I was busy with my GED exams."

"Joyce gets back today, doesn't she?" asked Yori, gesturing to the brownstone. "Someone was asking about her, saying she hasn't been around this week."

"She was supposed to," replied Bucky, matching the old man's pace as he kept going. "She's staying in Seattle a few days. Found herself a new friend."

"Oh?" Yori grinned slyly. "A man?" Bucky made a zipping motion across his lips which amused the other man. "You had lunch yet?"

"No, I was just going to grab a sandwich."

"My treat," stated the old man. "Leah was asking about you."

Bucky stopped. "I kind of messed that up. She doesn't want to see me."

Yori looked at the reluctance on Bucky's face then nodded his in sympathy. "Then we go somewhere else."

They went to a Vietnamese pho restaurant, placed their order for food and drinks and waited. When Bucky's beer came, he took a sip then looked at the old man. He was going to have to prepare Yori for the truth, and opened his mouth to tell him who he was when the other man beat him in starting up the conversation.

"So, have you written all your exams? How did it feel?"

"Good, good," he answered. "I'm pretty confident I did well."

"Then what," asked Yori. "College? Night school? Now that you're famous it might be hard to blend in."

"What do you mean famous?"

"I saw your face on the TV," he said. "They said you helped that new Captain America fellow out. Figured your military experience would come in handy someday. Were you just walking by when it happened?"

Their pho came and before Bucky could answer, Yori was flirting with the server, making her smile. As Bucky unwrapped his chopsticks and split them apart, he stared at the bowl of noodles in front of him. All he could hear was a roaring sound, as every conversation in the restaurant, and every sound from the kitchen was amplified ten-fold. His increasing heartbeat, pounding away in his chest along with the feeling of being physically sick was building to a full-blown panic attack. With all of the composure he had left he put his chopsticks down, stood up, and looked down at the old man, who looked up at him in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I just remembered I have to be somewhere," said Bucky. He reached into his pocket and took out some cash for the noodles. "I'm sorry."

Without another word he left a bewildered Yori there and stepped outside. At first, he walked quickly, then he broke into a run and ran all the way back to his flat, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door. When he got inside, he stood there trying to stem his breathing from progressing into hyper ventilation, but it just kept building and building until he kneeled down on the floor and laid on his stomach, feeling the cool of the surface on his face. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the cool feeling of the wood floor, and slowly the sound in his ears lessened, his heartbeat slowed, and his breathing returned to normal. Then he opened his eyes, and looked across the floor to the wall, before rolling onto his back and looking at the ceiling instead. He could hear normal sounds now; the fridge compressor, the changing hum of his neighbour's TV, the sounds of the occasional car horn or car door slamming outside, the normal sounds of Brooklyn. So familiar, yet so different to what he grew up with there.

"What am I going to do?" he asked out loud. "I'm 106 years old, look 35, with a prosthetic arm and hand like nothing anyone else has. I can read, and write, and fight ... and kill."

He rubbed his face with his hand, then sat up and looked at the bleakness of his flat, remembering how upset Joyce had been when she saw how minimal his life was. It had made him defensive, and he justified it as being better than what he had as the Winter Soldier. Since then, he had stayed a bit with Sam in Delacroix and with Joyce during her chemotherapy, and after the Flag Smashers found her. Those places had felt better to him; softer, warmer, and more comfortable. It wasn't just the things in the houses that did that. Both families had lived there a long time, and they were filled with a lifetime of memories, both good and bad. He had no memories of this place, no real plans to even stay. Maybe he could get a bookcase, some pictures for the walls and plants to make it look better. Who was he kidding, it was just a place to sleep and hide away from prying eyes. This flat wasn't home and never would be.

He was alone. That's just the way it was, his penance for a lifetime of killing the innocent. His face scrunched up a little at that observation, but he pushed the feeling down. The cell phone ringing jarred him out of his spiral for a moment. Joyce's name was on the call display, but he tossed the phone on the chair, and it stopped ringing after the 4th one, going to voicemail. In his cupboard was an almost full bottle of scotch. Pouring himself a full glass he downed it, then poured it full again. The phone rang once more but he ignored it and drank the next glass. Even though it burned as it went down his throat, he still didn't feel anything like a little buzz and with a curse against the serum he put the bottle back in the cupboard, leaving the glass on the counter.

Grabbing his keys he left and began walking. For hours he just wandered, occasionally finding himself in areas he remembered from before. The brownstone his family had lived in was long gone, but the diner down the street was still there and he ordered a burger and fries, devouring them, since he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He walked past his high school, still standing, but now surrounded by a chain link fence with locks on the gates, making it look like a reform school. The docks where he once worked were a private marina, full of pleasure boats and the occasional yacht. The trendy bars and restaurants that stood where the grubby warehouses once were, camouflaged the history of the area as a rough and tumble place that no decent person would ever be seen in.

He shrugged at that. No decent person would go near the docks, yet he had managed just fine with those crooks and cutthroats. How many times had he been approached by someone with connections, someone who noticed he was good with his fists and could handle himself in the fights that often broke out in an area full of desperate men. Always, he had turned them down, without offending them or making himself out to be better than them. Then he ended up as something worse, much worse. As dusk turned into evening he kept walking, kept thinking of what had been but wasn't anymore.

Somehow, he found himself in front of Yori's apartment building, as if his body knew this is where he would end up. Pulling open the door he took the stairs up to the old man's floor and began the walk down the hallway. At the door he knocked three times. It opened revealing a surprised Yori, who invited him in immediately, ever the good host. Bucky saw it then, the shrine with the picture of RJ, Yori's son, with incense burning in front of it. For a second, he almost lost his nerve, but Yori asked him what he was doing there as it wasn't Wednesday. The words came out hesitantly at first.

"I have to tell you something about your son."

He took the glove off his left hand, showing Yori the black metal for the first time. The old man sat down, puzzled at this revelation.

"He was murdered." Bucky could feel the pain in his gut as he forced the rest out. "By the Winter Soldier and that was me."

"What? Why?" Yori's face began to break at the words spilling out of Bucky's mouth.

"I didn't have a choice." Bucky's whisper cut into the air like a knife. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you for so long, but I was afraid."

The broken look on Yori's face would remain with Bucky forever. There were no words that he could say to make it better, no words to ask for forgiveness or understanding. As the old man staggered over to the shrine, turning his back on the source of all of his pain, Bucky knew that he had to leave. Just before he went out into the long night, he pulled the book of names out of his pocket and crossed off Yori's. That was it, the last name. His final act of making amends was done. It had cost him dearly.

In Seattle, Joyce hung up, noticing the time on her phone. It was mid-afternoon. She had called and texted Bucky repeatedly after getting his voicemail that morning. Something was off. The voicemail seemed positive, and he said to call him back but with him not answering she could only imagine that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Still no answer?" asked Tom. "What do you want to do?" She looked at him, agonizing over whether to voice her first instinct but he was so perceptive he already knew. "Let me see if I can get us the next flight."

"You don't have to come," she replied. "He's my friend. You've already done so much in setting up these next few days and I don't want to make more work for you."

"You care about him, and you know something isn't right. If he was your son there would be no doubt that you would be on your way already. He is just like a son to you, isn't he?"

It was the way that Tom said it that made her agree. There was no inflection of blame or disbelief in his tone. He knew that Bucky meant something to her, that she cared deeply about him. That alone, was reason enough to change their plans and go. They hadn't even checked into the hotel really, had just dropped off their bags at the front desk, intending to claim them before they went up to the room. Tom hailed a cab, holding her hand on the way. He did phone Dan to say he was going to New York with Joyce because of an emergency. His brother had taken it in good stead, passing the message on to Paula. Then suddenly they were at the hotel and Tom paid that night's accommodation since they canceled so late, retrieved their bags then sat in the lobby and brought up a travel app, finding a flight that left in two hours. They got a cab to take them to the airport, checking in just before cut-off, and boarding so quickly, that it almost made Joyce's head spin. Just before she turned her phone off, she sent Bucky one final text.

Joyce: I'm on my way home. It will be middle of the night when we get to my place but if you're up please call me. I'll answer. I promise.

"So, it's 5 hours flight, plus 3 hours' time change," said Tom, as they sat back in their seats, after the aircraft took off. "It's going to be quite late when we get there. What do you want to do?"

"I guess we'll go back to my house," she said. "Bucky doesn't live far but we really don't want to be walking around the neighbourhood in the middle of the night. If he doesn't get my text and phone me by the morning, I'll phone him and see if he answers. If he doesn't, then we'll go to his place. If he's there, I'll find out what happened. If he's not, we'll go looking for him. I could phone Yori..."

Her breath caught. Yori, did Bucky tell him?

"Who's Yori?" asked Tom.

"He's a mutual friend," she said, her heart sinking. She lowered her voice. "His son was one of the Winter Soldier's victims. I think he was the last man on Bucky's list to make amends to." She shook her head. "I hope he didn't try to tell him, not without me being there for support." Tom was looking at her with concern. "He never meant to become friends with Yori, it just happened kind of organically. I know that he was dreading the moment."

A shake of his head was Tom's response. So much responsibility placed on this man he had never even met but felt such empathy for. Being the only one forced to apologize to his victim's families, because his brainwashed personality had been compelled to commit those crimes was a lot for one man to deal with. Curling his hand around Joyce's, he squeezed it. Coming home early with her was the right thing.

An hour later he got a blanket and pillow from the flight attendant and draped the covering over Joyce's front, tucking it in as best he could. The pillow was harder to place but she woke up enough to allow him to put it behind her head, smiling sleepily at him as he did. He took his jacket out of his carry-on bag, pulling it out from under the seat in front of him and draped it over his front, then pushed his seat back a bit further, closed his eyes and slept.

"Sir? Ma'am? You'll have to put your seats up. We're on our final approach."

The gentle but persistent voice of the flight attendant woke both of them up, as the lights over the windows brightened. Joyce blinked her eyes, raising her seat, then looking outside at the lights below, brightly lit almost as far as she could see. The only place the lights weren't visible was over the ocean and the aircraft was heading out over that in a long arc to land on one of the southeast runways. She noticed the blanket on her and smiled at Tom.

"You didn't have to do that," she said. "But thank you."

"It's yours now," he answered. "Keep it for next time."

Carefully, she bundled it up, then kept it on her lap as the altitude lowered the closer the aircraft got to the surface. A bump signalled contact with the ground and the whine of the brakes and engine reversal drowned out everything inside the cabin. Then they were off the main runway and on one of the taxiways that would take them to the general terminal. The cockpit radio came on and the captain thanked everyone for their business. The time was 1:13 am, temperature, 67 degrees, no wind. She was home.

By the time they got to the luggage carousel and out to hail a taxi, Joyce had turned her cell phone on. Although the last message had been read, there was no response to it, no missed calls, or voicemails from Bucky. After giving the driver her address and sitting back in the seat, Tom's hand found hers again and she turned to him, smiling gratefully.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm imagining all sorts of things right now and you being here with me is what's keeping me from losing it."

"It's going to be okay," he replied. "I'm sure he's fine."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. For the next half hour, they said nothing, then she began to rummage in her purse for money to pay. Tom shook his head and took his wallet out, looking at the readout on the meter. As her house came into view, she saw the lights were on and a sense of relief began to fill her, hoping it was Bucky.

"Go ahead," said Tom. "I'll take care of the fare and the bags."

She undid her seat belt and ran up the steps to the door, which was opened by Bucky. Immediately she threw her arms around his middle as he enclosed her in his arms while he towered over her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What happened?" she asked, when she looked up to his tortured face.

"I told Yori," he answered, then he crumpled again, the tears coming out over his cheeks.

Tom watched the pair as he paid the driver and moved their bags closer to the step. Bucky suddenly pulled away from Joyce and barrelled down the steps, hesitating when he saw Tom. He got a nod of the head from him, then picked up both of their large luggage pieces while Tom brought the carry-ons up the steps. When Tom walked inside, Bucky was wiping his face with a handkerchief then he stuck his right hand out.

"You must be Tom," he said. "Bucky Barnes. I'm sorry I wrecked your stay in Seattle. I didn't mean to."

"You didn't wreck anything," he replied, shaking Bucky's hand. "Joyce cares about you and knew something was wrong. I don't think anything would have kept her there knowing you were hurting."

He still looked embarrassed and turned to Joyce.

"I left my phone at home. Got into a negative mindset after the exam and it just went from there. After I told Yori the truth I wandered some more then I went home and saw your last message. Figured a face-to-face was needed more than a phone call."

His eyes were lowered as he fully expected her to chew him out for making her worried enough to come home but she put her hand on his arm and squeezed it.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"About three," he shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Longer for us," she said. "Tom, do you feel up to something?"

"Only if I can help," he answered. "Scrambled eggs and toast are good for a late-night snack."

Bustling into the kitchen, Joyce brought out a large frying pan and put some butter into it to melt. She broke all the eggs she had left, seven of them, into a bowl, added a little bit of milk, then whipped them up with a fork. Bucky took a loaf of bread out of the freezer, placing it in front of Tom, then pulling the toaster out. Since Joyce had already told him about Bucky staying with her during her chemotherapy, Tom wasn't surprised that he knew his way around her kitchen. While he put the bread in the toaster, he paid attention as Bucky pulled out the ground decaf coffee and began to make a pot for them. He was surprised at how big the man was but how gracefully he moved. All of his actions seemed measured and precise, nothing was clumsy or unnecessary.

Bucky brought plates and cups out, then opened the cutlery drawer. Fully aware of Tom's eyes on him, he kept doing what had to be done next, while staying out of Joyce's way as he did it. When she was ready to plate the eggs he pulled the margarine out of the fridge, so they could each put some on their toast. The coffee maker sounded that it was done brewing and he poured out a cup for each of them, then reached into the fridge for the milk, having bought it at a 24-hour store when he read Joyce's last text. Together, the three of them moved to the kitchen table and sat. Joyce took a sip of coffee, a forkful of eggs, and a bite of toast before placing her attention on Bucky.

"So, the exam went alright," she said. "What happened to give you a negative mindset?"

"I saw Yori, after I checked on your place and he invited me for lunch," said Bucky. "Then he brought up that I was famous, because he saw my face on TV, about the Flag Smashers. Except he mustn't have listened very well because he asked if I was just in the neighbourhood when it happened. Said it was good that my military training was put to good use. I almost told him right then and there, but you know how he is. He began flirting with the server and the next thing I knew I was throwing money at him to pay for my lunch, and I ran home. It started out as a panic attack then I managed to settle down but..."

"Anxiety attack?" She looked at him with concern. He nodded. "It got worse."

"Yeah," he agreed, then began to swallow as he chose his words. "I just began thinking about how barren my place is, compared to here and Sam's. You've both lived a lifetime in your homes and they're full of memories. My place is never going to be a home. It's just a place to sleep, a place to house me, someone who'll likely be alone forever."

"Oh Bucky," she said, placing her hand on him again. "Why didn't you answer or call me back? I could have helped."

He glanced at Tom. "You were there to be with him. I didn't want to wreck your stay. You deserve to have a life."

"And you don't?" She looked at Tom who smiled kindly. "What happened then?"

"I had to get out of there, so I walked for a while and visited some of my old haunts." He took another shaky breath. "Found more reasons to believe that I don't deserve to be happy. You know how I can get." He looked away for a moment. "Then I found myself in front of Yori's building and figured that was it. It was time." For a long time, he said nothing. "I broke his heart, Joyce. As if his son's death wasn't enough to deal with, now he knows that the guy who likes talking old movies and music with him, that can speak Japanese fluently, and counted him as one of only a handful of friends that he has, is the one who murdered his son in cold blood." He pushed his food away. "I'm not ... I can't ..."

He buried his face in his hands, then ran them up through his hair, before sitting back in his chair, looking completely defeated. Joyce got off of her chair and kneeled beside Bucky, so she was looking up at him.

"You listen, and you listen good," she said, tears coming to her eyes. "You are a good man, both here and here." She touched his head and his chest. "Do you think a bad person would be feeling this way right now? Someone who didn't care would have gone through the motions of making amends, got it over as soon as possible then said all the right things to satisfy his conditional pardon. You haven't done that. You have done your homework on every single person on your list. You've searched them out, then opened yourself up to them to give them closure, to give them the truth of how and why their family member died. Every single one of them was a target of HYDRA and you're left doing this because you're the one who stepped up to do it, for the sake of your own soul. I'm sure that first lawyer could have insisted it wasn't your responsibility to do that. You didn't pick the targets. I know the job was imposed on you, but you took the responsibility to do it right. I know that, Sam knows that, Joaquin knows that."

"Even I know that," interrupted Tom, "and I don't know you. Sorry, but everything I know about you is either from the news stories or what Joyce has told me. She's right. I can see that you're tearing yourself apart about this, but you have gone far beyond what is considered a reasonable effort. That's the mark of a man with a moral centre as strong as the best people I know. If there is one thing I've come to admire about Joyce in the course of our short friendship, it's that she's an awfully good judge of character. You mean a lot to her, as a friend, and as a person who needs to give himself a break."

"Shit, I can't get up," wheezed Joyce, making Bucky lift her up easily, before gently setting her down. She giggled a little, which brought a hint of a smile to Bucky's face. "Thanks. That was hard on my knees." She looked at him again, taking his gloved hand in hers, even pulling the glove off so he could feel the sensation of her hand on his. "You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have friends. You deserve to have a good life. Say it."

"Joyce."

"Say it and I want you to say it every morning when you get up and every evening before you go to bed. In fact, I want you to send me a video of you saying it because I know you. You'll say you did then you won't."

Bucky looked at Tom for support, but he just shrugged. "I deserve to be happy. I deserve to have friends. I deserve to have a good life. Happy?"

"No, but I'll take it. I'm coming over to that monastery cell you call a flat and we're going to start making it a home. Your environment can help you feel better Bucky and you'll always be welcome in my home but if you insist on living there then you need to start making it better. Now finish your eggs. Don't waste my food."

With the slightest of smiles Bucky picked his fork up and began to eat the eggs again. Joyce and Tom joined him in finishing their late-night snack. By the time they were done and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher he did feel a little better. He was invited to stay overnight but he looked at the body language between them, realizing that he would be a third wheel and declined.

"Then you come for breakfast," she said. "Although, I'll have to run out for more eggs or something."

"How about I make pancakes?" he offered. "You can make sausages and bacon."

"Alright," she said. "Brunch at 9:30, okay?"

With a hug from her and another handshake from Tom, Bucky went out into the long night. He had one more stop to make, wanting to divest himself of the notebook with the crossed off names but he could do it in the morning, once he got some sleep. He looked back at Joyce's brownstone, feeling once more like he used to with his own mother. A surge of emotion came over him, but this time it was a good emotion and he let it wash throughout his body, bathing him in a warm feeling. Joyce loved him, as much as she loved her own adult children. Her cutting short her vacation and flying thousands of miles to get back to him proved it. As he walked home, he began saying the mantra to himself. He would still do it before he went to sleep, video recording it and sending it to Joyce. But for now, he would say it in his head. Perhaps, if he said it enough times, he would believe it.

"I deserve to be happy. I deserve to have friends. I deserve to have a good life."

Author's notes: The dialogue between Bucky and Yori, when he reveals his secret is taken verbatim from Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Season 1: Episode 6: One World, One People. There are perhaps two chapters left in this story, but there is a sequel of sorts to follow. Although Joyce and Tom will still be in it they will be more in the periphery, as the sequel: Welcome to My Broken Heart, will focus on Bucky and a character that won't appear until the very end of this book.