Crossing Off the List

by SJSmith56

Set during and after the Flag Smashers, Bucky Barnes needs the help of a retired librarian to acquire his GED. This is a story of friendship between Joyce, hanging on to life while fighting cancer and Bucky, an old soul in a younger man's body wanting to understand and experience what he has missed since his life changed, after he fell into that mountain chasm in 1945.

4. Chapter 4 Helping a Friend

Chapter 4. Helping a Friend

It had been a few days since Bucky had dinner with Joyce. During that time, he started reading the e-book versions of the 50 Shades of Gray series after asking one of the librarians at the library for help in setting up the app on his cell phone. He removed the downloaded copies of the series about 100 pages into reading the first one then crossed the books off the list in his blue notebook.

"How that ever got published is beyond me," he muttered to himself.

He did try to watch the first movie on Netflix but found the characters so annoying that he stopped watching and crossed the movies off of his list. In block letters next to the title he wrote ICKY, thinking Joyce's use of that word accurately described the books and movies, for him at least.

She did text him the name of the books she wanted him to pick up on sexuality, The Joy of Sex by Alex Comfort, Spectacular Sex Moves She'll Never Forget by Sonia Borg, and Getting Back Out There by Susan J. Elliot, mostly because they were available at the Greenpoint branch. Looking up one of the titles on the app he found links to audio books and e-books on sexuality, so he downloaded a couple to look at later.

The same librarian that showed him how to set up the app also showed him how to do self-checkout which he appreciated when he took the three books out. The biggest surprise to him when he got home and briefly scanned through the Joy of Sex was the number of positions listed. When he dated in the 1940s, he was familiar with quite a few different positions and considered himself fairly knowledgeable on the subject. But after looking through the book it was clear there were so many more. Some were confusing and looked uncomfortable. Some of the others were ... interesting. He put the book aside to look at later.

Then he reached out for the tan coloured notebook and looked at it before tossing it back on the table. He knew he should get on it, but he just found it so difficult. It brought back memories of the hits, the tracking, the surveillance, then the stalking and finally completing the mission. Some of the targets were pragmatic when he would finally confront them, aware that their time was coming. Others were afraid and tried to bargain with him, offering him money, power, drugs, whatever he wanted if he would just let them live. It didn't matter with any of them because he felt nothing for them during the act of killing them. It was after, when the Soldier persona retreated back into the depths of his mind, that the nightmares would begin. Nightmares that he still experienced, especially those involving R.J. Nakajima.

It had never been his intention to befriend Yori. In fact, he was surprised to learn the man lived in his neighbourhood. He found himself following the man at a discreet distance, then intervened when Unique tried dropping his garbage into Yori's bin the first time. He grinned remembering the curses in Japanese coming out of Yori's mouth and the look on his face when Bucky spoke to him in the same language, trying to calm the old man down. The friendship had blossomed from there and he truly enjoyed Yori's company, which made him even more hesitant about making amends to him, fearing how his confession would be taken. But the amends were one of the conditions of his pardon and the day would come when he would break Yori's heart.

When Bucky earned his pardon, it came with several conditions, not just making amends. One of them was that he had to live in the New York area until he was finished therapy. Fortunately, his lawyer negotiated a stipend with the authorities to pay for his flat, pointing out that James Barnes was unlikely to acquire a job that paid enough to cover the rents currently being charged in the New York area. Because of the years spent as a prisoner of war he was entitled to be given every opportunity to succeed and that meant having the means to live decently if he was required to stay in the area. The main lawyer, a pro bono counsel who operated out of a Manhattan office was a decent guy. A former vet himself, he had fought hard for Bucky, even filing a claim for 70 years of army back pay, followed by a negotiated Army pension for those 70 years of service, then filing a lawsuit against the United States Army, the State Department, the CIA, and what remained of the previous incarnation of SHIELD. With the HYDRA and SHIELD files still freely circulating on the internet it was obvious that many of the organizations named in the lawsuit, infiltrated by the agents of the former Nazi science division, had colluded to keep the existence of James Buchanan Barnes a secret, as they subjected him to human experimentation, then forced him into servitude reinforced by torture. The stipend had been approved as well as the pension, which meant Bucky had enough to live on provided he fulfill the other conditions of his pardon. Since then, he had heard nothing more about the back pay claim or the compensation lawsuit.

The therapy was another one of those negotiated conditions. The Army assigned a therapist, not giving him the opportunity to find one that he felt comfortable with. He didn't really like Dr. Raynor, finding her abrasive at best, unprofessional most of the time but she was who he had to deal with. Pragmatically, at least she didn't pull any punches and didn't treat him as something broken. Even though she often bullied him into talking he did find some value in their sessions, except for that one in Baltimore that involved Sam. That was a doozy. That was after he found out how quickly they would come for him if he didn't meet his conditions. Missing his therapy session with her resulted in him being arrested in Baltimore. It still bothered him that it was John Walker that got him out of that mess.

Where was his head at? He started out thinking about his victims, then about Yori and now he was thinking about Dr. Raynor and John Walker. He couldn't settle down, couldn't seem to focus on anything. No wonder it seemed like he was floundering. He looked at the sexuality books and grimaced at himself. If he couldn't even get his thoughts straight, how was he supposed to get to a point where he could even think of a relationship? He looked at the clock; 6 pm. Joyce said she would call him by now to confirm movie night, but he hadn't heard anything all day. Taking his phone, he sent her a quick text.

Bucky: Hey, are we getting together to watch movies at your place? I was expecting you to call by now.

He pressed send and sat back, only to be startled by his phone ringing. Picking it up the display he read unknown number but seeing that it came so soon after his text he figured it was Joyce calling from another number and answered it.

"Hello, this is the Brooklyn District Hospital emergency room," said a female voice. "Are you a friend of Joyce Franklin?"

"Yes, is she alright?" asked Bucky, worried.

"She was assaulted a couple of hours ago," said the voice. "She refused to give us permission to call her family but when she received your text, she asked that we call you. Are you able to come down?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there," replied Bucky, hanging up, and grabbing his jacket and gloves, putting them on as he went.

He ran the whole way there, arriving less than 10 minutes later, his breathing barely out of the ordinary. After checking in with the security desk he was given a visitor's sticker and directed to a cubicle. Joyce was sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs dangling down. Wearing a hospital gown on top she still had her slacks and shoes on. When he came into her view around the edge of the curtain her face twisted up a little and she began to cry. Pulling a chair up Bucky sat in front of her and grasped her hands. It was only then that he saw the scraped knuckles, the red marks on her neck from her purse strap being yanked and the bruise on her cheek.

"Sweetheart, who did this to you?" he asked gently, his gaze focused intently on her.

"Some thug," she whispered. "I was on my phone, and he pulled on my purse, kept yanking it until the strap broke. I tried to fight him for it, and he punched me, knocked me down."

"They said you wouldn't let them phone your kids. Why not?"

She sighed, her breath coming out shakily. "They don't like me living alone here. They'd make me go back to live with them and I'm not ready for that. Bucky, he got everything except my keys and my phone."

She began to cry again, and he stood up to put his arms around her, letting her sob into his chest. A nurse peeked in and smiled at them then disappeared. A few moments later the doctor arrived, a young woman.

"Are you Bucky?" she asked. "You're friends with Mrs. Franklin?"

"Yes, we are," confirmed Bucky. "Have the police been notified?"

"They already took her statement but the odds of finding the suspect aren't good," said the doctor. "We're worried that Mrs. Franklin may have a mild concussion. She did hit her head when she was knocked down. Are you able to stay with her for the next 24 hours and make sure she's okay? Just wake her up every few hours and confirm she's not confused. We could admit her but we're quite full and she would likely have to stay down here. You can see we're busy and it wouldn't be restful for her."

"Absolutely, I can take her home," replied Bucky. "Do you happen to have a copy of the police report?" The doctor looked at him, puzzled. "I have access to other methods of investigation. Perhaps I can find the guy and bring him in."

The doctor looked at Joyce who looked up at Bucky with a little bit of awe. "You can do that?"

"Sweetheart, I know people and they know how to find guys like him," he replied, while putting his arm around her. "It's all above board and I'll convince him to give himself up. You're probably not the first senior he's mugged."

"Okay, I give permission for you to give him a copy," said Joyce, firmly. "He's trustworthy."

Half an hour later, after Joyce was released, Bucky hailed a cab outside of the hospital and got her settled into the back seat before joining her. She gave the driver her address then turned to Bucky.

"I have no money," she said in a hushed voice. "He took everything, my bank cards, cash ... everything."

"Don't worry about it," Bucky smiled, then pulled his cell phone out and dialled a number. "I'm going to be speaking another language for a few minutes."

The phone on the other end was answered and in Wakandan Bucky identified himself and asked for the Dora Milaje commander. When she came on the line, she was quite curt with him, but he stood his ground, telling her that he returned Zemo to the custody of the Dora Milaje, as he promised. Now he needed help in a different matter and hoped they would agree to help a widow, a senior citizen, who had been mugged.

"Did you report it to the police in Brooklyn, White Wolf?" she asked, in English.

"Yes, it was reported," he replied, also in English, "but you know yourself that they don't have the surveillance capabilities that you have. I would go out myself, but my friend has a mild concussion and I agreed to look after her. If you have someone who can be with her, that will free me up to work with you and bring a man who preys on the elderly to justice. He took all of her cash and her bank cards. If you can freeze her accounts before he cleans her out, she would be very grateful. She was fortunate to have her house keys and cell phone in her pocket otherwise he would be in her home, right now, taking all of her possessions. Please, help me bring a dangerous man to justice."

He could hear the sigh then the curt acceptance of his request. Giving her the police file number, he left it with her and hung up then looked at Joyce, smiling with assurance.

"Who was that and what was that language?" she asked.

He looked at the driver and shook his head. "I have to keep their involvement quiet as they don't want to be seen as being involved in the criminal matters of another country. I'll tell you when we get to your place."

She nodded, then grasped his hand, holding it tightly for the entire taxi ride. Bucky paid the driver cash then helped Joyce out of the vehicle, looking up at her brownstone. It was one of the nicer ones in the area. She noticed his look, then pulled him with her towards the steps, inserting her keys into the door, and entering the security code once they were inside.

"We inherited this from my husband's parents after his father died," she said. "Bob's mother lived with us, and we raised our kids here. None of them want it after I go so it will be sold, probably to someone who will divide it up into separate flats, and they'll each get a share. But for now, I want to stay here. I like being in Brooklyn. Even with what happened I still like the neighbourhood."

"It's nice, it reminds me of where I grew up," he said. "Ours was more basic but I had good memories growing up there."

She led him into the living room area, where she put her jacket down, then sat down and began to cry once again, still overwhelmed by what happened. Bucky took his jacket off and sat next to her, placing his arm around her shoulder.

"It's going to be okay," he murmured. "I phoned the Dora Milaje commander at the Wakandan embassy. They're basically the royal guard for the country but they keep a small detachment here. They know me and have usually helped when I asked them."

"Why them?" asked Joyce. "What can they do that the New York police can't?"

He shrugged a little, then grinned. "They can hack into all sorts of security cameras, both publicly and privately owned. Let's just say they have ways to find out who this guy is, and they'll let me, or the police know where to find him. Guys like him are either addicts needing money for their next hit or bullies that prey on people they see as weak. If he's the former I'll take him to rehab, after making him aware of the harm he does. If he's the latter, I'll make him sorry he ever targeted you."

"Won't that get you into trouble with your pardon?" Joyce sniffed. "I assume you have conditions."

He ducked his head slightly, grinning again. "Yeah, I'm not supposed to get into physical confrontations. There are ways to make him sorry without laying a finger on him. I don't like bullies, Joyce, not since I was old enough to fight my own battles, and Steve's."

She laid her head into his shoulder, aware for the first time how warm he seemed up close. His Henley shirt sleeve on his left arm rode up a little and she saw the dark grey, almost black metal of his prosthetic arm.

"What metal is that?" she asked. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it."

"Vibranium," he replied, then pulled his glove off, extending his hand to her. "We're friends enough that I don't mind."

Smiling kindly, she took his left hand in hers, noticing how cool it seemed in comparison to the warmth coming off of him. The metal was smooth, and Bucky flexed his fingers individually so she could see the dexterity he had.

"It's amazing," she said. "Why do you keep it hidden? I mean, everyone knows you have a cybernetic arm."

He shrugged then sighed. "It's complicated. The arm I had from HYDRA was meant for one thing, to kill. It was designed to be distinctive and instil fear in my victims. This one is lighter, more natural feeling, and I have a lot of sensitivity with it, enough to be able pick up the most fragile thing, but ... it's still distinctive, and makes me feel different when people stare at it. Less human, maybe. I don't know. I just don't want people to see only the arm when they first meet me."

Joyce thought that was understandable as she examined it. Still, it was a remarkable piece of engineering and she had never heard of or seen anything like it in the United States.

"Was this made in Wakanda?" she blurted out.

"Yeah, they made it for me," he replied. "Fixed my brainwashing as well, although they couldn't do much for the PTSD. Time and therapy will take care of that, or not. Hours after they gave this to me, I was one of the decimated." He grimaced. "Lost another five years because of someone wanting something that wasn't his. Were you affected by the Snap?"

"We were lucky," she replied. "Although, we lost some friends and neighbours. Bob was already dead a few months before."

With a sigh she got up and went to the kitchen. Bucky followed her, watching as she put some coffee into a filter, then placed it in a coffee maker, poured water into the pot, then added it to the reservoir before starting it up.

"You don't have to stay with me, Bucky." She stood there with her arms folded in front of her chest, almost defensively. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I said I would," he replied, frowning a little. "You don't like receiving help?"

"No."

Her face became emotional again and she turned away from him, trying to collect herself. He could see her raise her hands to her face, trying to wipe away the tears, wondering if there was something else going on with her that she hadn't told him. Quietly, he waited her out, until she finally relaxed her shoulders and faced him.

"I have cancer, just diagnosed a few months ago. It was one of the reasons why I hesitated to help you because I'll be going for my next round of chemotherapy soon and the last one took a lot out of me. My emotions take a hit when I'm undergoing it and for this mugging to happen now ... well, the timing sucks." Her face became distressed. "My access card for the clinic is in my wallet. They'll put me through a process to get another one but it's just one more hoop I have to go through. I'm tired, Bucky. Tired of all of it."

The coffee maker dinged as it finished its cycle, and Joyce turned to get a couple of mugs out of the cupboard. Pouring a cup for Bucky she offered it to him, then poured hers before opening the fridge and pouring some milk, then adding sugar from a container in the cupboard. Stirring it all with a spoon she finally took a sip, then closed her eyes.

"Do your kids know?" he asked. She shook her head. "Don't you think they should?"

"They'll make me move in with them and I can't stand to see their faces, or the looks they'll give me. They already think I'm too old to live on my own and I'm only 66. They give me all of these adaptive and assistive devices for Christmas and birthday presents, as if it will make my life easier but all it says to me is they think I'm too fragile to look after myself."

She looked so forlorn as she sipped her coffee while leaning against the kitchen counter. It made Bucky realize that everyone had a breaking point and no matter how calm they appeared on the outside, on the inside they could be just as anxious and messed up as he felt most of the time. He offered her his hand.

"Let's go watch a movie," he suggested. "Take our minds off of our troubles. What do you say?"

"Fine, but I don't promise to enjoy it," declared Joyce.

Together they sat on her couch and she turned on the TV, then used the remote to navigate to the movie channel. Together they went through the list, dismissing most of the choices as too violent, too sappy, or just not feeling it.

"What were the ones that you said involved cryosleep?" asked Bucky. "Might as well look at a movie that I share something in common with."

"Okay," said Joyce, searching. "Interstellar is good, with great special effects. Alien is a space horror." Bucky shook his head. "Planet of the Apes, the original, not the remake, was good for its time but the ape makeup is so fake now. Austin Powers is funny but there's a lot of sexual innuendo in it that I'm not sure I'm ready to watch with a younger looking man."

"Interstellar," stated Bucky. "I'm interested in space travel."

"Popcorn?" asked Joyce. "We might as well. It's definitely a popcorn movie."

She went out to the kitchen and found some microwave popcorn, starting it up in the microwave. As she searched in the pantry for some candy to go with the popcorn, she heard Bucky enter the kitchen and turned around to see him with her phone in his hand, offering it to her.

"It's the police, they already found him," he said. "They want you to come down and identify him in a lineup."

She looked at him, then took her phone and spoke to the officer. Watching her carefully Bucky saw her emotions splayed across her face as the officer explained how they received a call reporting a man using a woman's credit card at a jewelry store and it being declined as stolen. When the man tried to leave the owner of the store remotely locked the doors and trapped the man in the vestibule while calling the police. The police officer told her it was good thinking to call her bank right away and get her accounts frozen.

"Does he have my purse?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am, he was carrying it in a backpack, along with several other purses," said the officer. "We're calling those women now to come down and identify him. As long as you can tell us what's in your purse, we should be able to return it to you this evening."

After telling him she would be right down Joyce looked up at Bucky, with quivering lips, before burying her face in his chest to cry. He folded his arms around her and stroked her back, murmuring that she would be alright. It took several minutes before she felt calm enough to leave. Once again, Bucky held her hand in the taxi as they rode to the precinct. There were already several older women there, waiting to check in. When Joyce gave her name the officer at the desk looked up at Bucky, apparently recognizing him.

"I'm a friend," he explained. "Just making sure she gets justice."

"You're welcome to accompany her into the viewing area," said the officer. "This guy is a real sleazeball. Someone anonymously sent a bunch of security cam videos of him mugging at least a dozen senior ladies; that's in addition to the ones that are here now. He's going down for some time. Good riddance, I say."

Bucky nodded grimly, then turned his attention to Joyce. She was shaking slightly, and he placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Gently guiding her down the hallway to the viewing room they waited outside as each lady went in and looked at the lineup of suspects. When it was their turn, he held Joyce's hand with his left one, feeling how stressed she was as she squeezed it quite fiercely. After she identified the mugger, they were led to another room where she was asked to describe what was in her purse. After reading her declaration another officer brought in her bag, asking her to verify the contents before signing for it.

"What about the cash?" Joyce asked, not finding it in her wallet. "I had 200 in there."

"We already have his fingerprints on your credit card and have a photograph of it so you can take that home and get the bank to take the hold off," said the officer. "Your bank card was clean so you can take that as well. We're still fingerprinting all the cash in his possession, so we'll have to hold on to that until we're able to determine who gets how much. If you're short of cash, we have a small fund here that we can give you some money from to tide you over."

"That won't be necessary," said Bucky. "I'll make sure she has what she needs." Joyce started to protest but he gave her a look that stopped her cold. "Is she free to go?"

The officer answered that she was, and Bucky escorted her outside, looking for a taxi. As they walked towards a spot that was better situated to hail a cab Joyce looked up at the tall man beside her. Why was he helping her? They weren't related and their friendship was still quite new. She was glad he came for her at the hospital and was with her at the police station as she identified the mugger. But they barely knew each other, and she was certain there was something he wasn't telling her. She stopped walking, making Bucky stop in turn.

"What's wrong?" he asked, gazing down at her.

"Why are you really helping me? The truth, now."

She stood there under the glow of the streetlamp, stubbornness written on her face and Bucky felt a sinking feeling. This relationship had started out so simply, with him asking for her help to get his GED but the more he got to know her, the more he liked being around her. That day when she looked at him the way his mother did was the day he realized how much he missed his family, missed their support and their counsel, missed having someone he could trust implicitly. He desperately wanted to talk to someone about his biggest issue, but he had resisted the urge to tell her, to tell someone, what was tearing him up the most. Even Dr. Raynor didn't know how much this was affecting him.

Now, with Joyce's revelation that she had cancer, and the mugging, he didn't want to add his burden on to hers, but it seemed they were at a point in their friendship where he had to come clean and be completely truthful with her.

"I'll tell you, but I want to get you home first," he answered. "Can we do that, please? Then I'll tell you everything."

There was no answer from her, but she nodded, and he looked again for a taxi to call, raising his hand to one that was at the end of the block. It pulled up and he opened the door, helping Joyce inside. She gave her address to the driver and sat back, looking out the window, but very aware of the tenseness that Bucky was feeling. Once again, they went up the steps of her brownstone and she unlocked the door, then entered the code to turn off the security system. Gesturing at the table she sat down, placing her purse beside her. Bucky sat across from her then reached inside his jacket pocket, bringing out his tan coloured notebook, holding it in his hand.

"This is a list of names of people whose lives were affected by the Winter Soldier. Either I killed one of their family members, or I helped them gain power with HYDRA's support. I've helped set up stings of some of the latter so that they pay for their crimes."

"You're the one whose been exposing those people to the police," said Joyce. "That's good, right? You're helping to make things right by making them known."

"I guess," he replied. "It's the other names on the list I have trouble with. Part of the terms of my conditional pardon is that I have to make amends for the people I've killed. There's no one else who can tell their loved ones exactly what happened to their family member, so I agreed to that condition. It's hard but it takes time to track them down." He opened the booklet to a page then gave it to her and she read down the list until she saw Y. Nakajima. She looked up at him questioning him with her eyes. "Yori's there because of his son. I killed him."

He wouldn't look at Joyce until she put her hand out towards him, sliding it forward on the table. She didn't say anything or touch him until he touched her hand first.

"Who makes amends to you for what was done to you?" she asked gently, gazing intently at him.

"No one," he replied quietly, then pulled his hand out of hers. "I don't deserve it."

"That's nonsense," she stated, her eyes glistening. "Bucky you deserve to have someone from HYDRA apologize to you publicly for being treated criminally by them. They should be paying you millions of dollars in reparations for what they did to you and what they made you do. If you were my son, I would be pounding the doors of the media, asking why it's been put all on your shoulders to apologize for an organization that had people in all levels of government and the military. Why is that your responsibility?"

His lips quivered as his eyes began to fill with tears. Roughly, he wiped his eyes with his gloved hands while Joyce watched him intently. Then he scrunched his nose a little as he sniffed.

"Because I held the gun, and I pulled the trigger, and even though I had no choice, I still did it."

Joyce picked up the tan booklet again and looked through it, noting that some names were crossed off.

"These crossed off names," she began. "Are they the ones you helped get arrested?" Bucky nodded. "So, all that are left are the ones related to the people you killed." He nodded again. "Have you found them all?"

"Yeah, I know where to find them," he answered quietly. "I just can't seem to take that final step."

"Bucky, I hate that you were given this task of penance," she said. "It's not fair to you. You are a good man and the fact that you are agonizing over this is proof of that."

He shrugged, still looking down at his hands resting on the table. "Are you going to tell Yori?"

"No, I won't say anything," she answered, "but if you're determined to go through this you have to be prepared for how he'll handle it."

"I know," he answered, still looking at his hands. "It will break his heart all over again and I'll lose a friend, but he should know the truth. He deserves that much."

She stood up from the table with an audible breath, wincing slightly from the injuries inflicted on her by the mugging.

"I'm going to change into something comfortable," she said. "I'll bring you a pillow and blanket if you want to sleep on the couch, if you're still determined to make sure I'm okay, although I have a spare room you can sleep in. We'll watch the movie and put all of this out of our minds for tonight." She gestured to her purse and his notebook. "Bucky, no matter how Yori or anyone else reacts to your list, I'm glad I know you. You're my friend and you can tell me anything, good or bad."

Placing her hand on his shoulder for several moments, Joyce left him at the table and went to her room. Several minutes later she returned, wearing her pyjamas and a robe, carrying a blanket and a pillow, placing them on the couch. Bucky was still sitting at the table, so she went into the kitchen and made a new bag of microwave popcorn as well as some hot chocolate for both of them. When she turned around with the hot chocolates Bucky was standing in the kitchen doorway, his jacket and boots off. Offering to take the two mugs he returned to the living room, and she poured the popcorn into a bowl, carrying it out with her. Then she started the movie and watched Interstellar with her friend. When she fell asleep partway through, she was aware that he carried her to her room and laid her on the bed, covering her up with the duvet. Reaching out sleepily for his hand, she squeezed it, then went back to sleep until he roused her briefly a few hours later, fulfilling his duty that he promised the doctor.