Chapter 2. A Little Rain

By the time Bucky got back to his flat his brain was working on overdrive. There was no other way to say it. Hope Franklin was beautiful. He wondered what happened in Chicago with the boyfriend that it would send her driving for two days to get to New York, but he hoped it wasn't something physical. Yeah, she was a bit abrupt when she caught him and Joyce dancing, but she did let him get her luggage from her car. That took a degree of trust to hand a strange man her car keys. He could be more ... definitely a friend first, then who knows? Perhaps he could ask her out for coffee, then maybe a date. Until she was over whatever happened in Chicago, he could be a friend.

Glancing at the clock on the microwave he thought it was too early to go to bed, and he did intend to use the bed, trying to develop new habits. This would be a good time to make a new list of things he could do to be more normal, whatever that entailed. He opened his blue notebook and thought for a moment on what to call this list.

HABITS I NEED TO FORM

Now he had to think of what habits to form or behaviours he needed to change.

Sleep in the bed

Cook more at home

Wear something other than T-shirts or jeans

Give compliments

Take compliments

Stop staring * That was a big one.

Listen

Seven ... he could only think of seven things. He looked at his other list, of things he wanted to do. They were all mainly just getting caught up with the literature, music, and cultural things he had missed out on. The sex stuff was still there, but that was something he was going to have to ease into, based on how making friends with Hope went. He smirked a little. Already, he was planning to get to know her enough that it maybe could lead to sex. For a moment he wished he had asked Joyce more about her daughter but even though he had looked Hope up a little bit, it had been idle thoughts about what she was like. Now that he had met her, in admittedly not so nice a circumstance, she wasn't this face in a picture or the fragile teenage figure in her self-portrait anymore. She was a living breathing woman, who had issues. Well, so did he. Maybe, they could deal with their issues together. He wrote another thing in his HABITS list.

Don't let my issues get in the way.

He flipped back to where he had done another list, after reading that book Love After 50 by Francine Russo. Even though it was geared to people who looked older than him, he certainly felt old. There were things he wrote out at the time. This might be the time to look at some answers.

Questions to ask.

• What do I need?

He needed to feel like part of society again, wanting to fit in better. Joyce had helped him with that but there was more he could do for himself. Things like being more social, and less irritated at things he didn't understand. He needed company so that he didn't feel so isolated anymore.

• Do I put up barriers to the new people in my life?

Yeah, he had put up barriers. Wearing a permanent scowl didn't help. Once again, it was something that being with Joyce had helped him deal with. So had being with Rebecca, as he got along with her friends in the nursing home. It was the same in Delacroix. Once he loosened up, he had fun. So, he could do it. He could be more social as long as he made the effort not to be irritated.

• Am I desperate for a partner so much that I overlook things?

Didn't have an answer for that yet. There were things that irritated him about people, like that Unique guy, who thought giving himself such a name made him seem distinctive which should impress people. But he was still an asshole, not respecting people's boundaries. If Yori, one of the sweetest men around, was driven to the point of violence by the guy, then obviously Unique didn't recognize that he was a jackass. In the case of a woman, what would irritate him so much that it would be a red flag? Thinking back to the years before the war when he led a rich social life the only things that would stop him when meeting a new woman was her laugh and how she treated Steve. There weren't many he went out with for an extended time because eventually they would all complain about him tagging along. This would have to be a wait and see question.

• Am I willing to take risks?

Just putting himself out there was taking a risk for him. Sam had suggested a speed dating thing which Bucky hated, because he felt on display and judged quickly, when it became clear that he didn't know much about current music, movies, or culture. It was the same with those dating apps. So many had jumped right to sex, wanting to know what he had in his pants. As much as he did have a lot of sex when he was younger it was off putting now to assume that's all he wanted. He liked the chase, of flirting first, then having fun dancing or going out together before moving on to something more intimate.

• Do I deserve love?

For a moment, Bucky clenched his jaw at that question, knowing there was still a part of him that didn't feel like he even deserved to have friends, never mind love. Then he smiled. Sam obviously felt he deserved it, after suggesting that speed dating event. The fact it didn't work for him didn't mean he didn't deserve love. It just wasn't the right venue for him. Joyce had been more direct, telling him more than once he was worthy of love. Even her friend Paula said she would have hit on him, if she was 30 years younger. With his pen Bucky wrote in block letters. YES, I DESERVE LOVE.

• Do I have the time to devote to a relationship?

Well, he wasn't working. The Flag Smashers wasn't a job ... it was a mission that didn't make him or Sam any money, but it was something that had to be done. If he followed through on his plan to take some college courses he wasn't going to go full time, once he decided what he was going into. Although his computer skills were better it was nowhere near where people who worked in that field were. So, yeah, he did have time to devote to a relationship.

• Am I still angry?

For what seemed like a long time he looked at this question. Anger was relative. He definitely wasn't as angry as he was when he finally got out of secure custody. When Sam gave up the shield, he had been angry. When Walker was given the shield and the title of Captain America, he was really angry. There were times he was angry at Dr. Raynor but he wasn't angry at her anymore, not really. They were a lousy fit and she admitted it. He and Sam patched up their differences and there was no animosity between them now. They took the shield back from Walker after he disgraced it and although he still didn't like the guy, he didn't hate him. He wrote an answer to the question. NO, I'M NOT ANGRY ANYMORE.

There were other things in his notes from the book that he would look at later but admitting that his anger issues were being dealt with seemed to be a good place to stop. He was surprised to see that this little exercise had taken him over an hour. Although he still wasn't tired, he could watch some TV. Turning it on, he flicked through the channels until he came to a drama about emergency personnel, focusing on both a fire station and a woman police officer in Los Angeles. He could watch that, and actually found it entertaining, with the action and relationship parts evenly balanced. The one guy on it even resembled Jim Morita of the Howling Commandos.

During a commercial he poured himself a drink, hearing his text alert sound on his phone. Picking it up he saw a message from Joyce.

Joyce: Come for breakfast tomorrow morning? I want to introduce you properly to my daughter.

Bucky: Only if I'm not intruding. She seemed pretty upset.

Joyce: Her boyfriend dumped her by letter. Came to the apartment while she was at work, packed his things and left. Coward. She's been holding in the emotions since she found out and it came out when she saw you and me dancing. Right now, most men are scum to her.

Bucky: She won't get violent, will she?

Joyce: I'll protect you. Be there at 9 am.

Bucky: Yes, ma'am.

That invitation was unexpected. At least it was an opportunity to formally meet her and present a friendly face in the hopes of forming a friendship.

9:15 am, the following morning

"I suppose you think all women should stay at home, looking after all the housework, while her man makes a living," said Hope, flippantly, to Bucky's comment that he found some women aimless.

"I didn't say that," he grimaced. "You're kind of putting words in my mouth." He sipped his coffee, trying to find a way to say something, anything, that she didn't find antagonizing. "I fought alongside Peggy Carter, one of the best SSR agents during the war. She was as good as any man in the field; brave, fearless, and with a right hook that could deck a much bigger man."

"I'm not surprised you knew only one woman like her," said the young woman sitting across the table from him. "Weren't they expected to stay in the background, doing clerical work, or driving some general to a secret meeting?"

Bucky looked to Joyce who shrugged, as if to say that this wasn't new behaviour from her daughter.

"It was a different time," he began, then grimaced again when Hope rolled her eyes enough that he swore he could hear the motion. "Give me a break, Hope. I was born in 1917, and yes, most women stayed in the home, because that's how it was at the time. But during the Depression, of which I'm a living, breathing survivor, women worked outside the home as well. By the time the war came they had bigger roles to fill, including spy, drivers, mechanics, secretaries, factory workers, industrial workers, and just about any trade you can imagine. They did it well. Some of them stayed on it, from what I understand, although I wasn't around for that."

She looked up. "Where were you?"

"He was a prisoner of HYDRA," said Joyce, "and not in a position to notice that women were expected to let the men coming back from war have the jobs. You can't blame him for the attitudes of the times. Do you blame your dad for wearing bell bottoms and dancing disco?"

Bucky smiled, getting the reference. Just as the 30s and 40s were a different time, so were the 70s. Hope huffed a little, not happy about being called out. He took another bite of his breakfast and washed it down with a sip of coffee.

"Tell me about your job," he asked.

"Which one?" asked Hope. "The one I wanted when I got my master's degree? Or the job I took because Jack thought working in my field would expose me to too many men. As if working as a legal secretary didn't put me in the cross hairs of some pretty aggressive men. I could tell you stories."

"Tell me about your master's degree," said Bucky. "I want to know. It's art related, right?"

"Yeah, it's a master's degree in fine arts, specializing in Digital Design." She looked at Bucky, who hoped he was giving her a look of definite interest. "I do have a traditional art background, in painting mainly but it's hard to make a living with paintings so I moved into graphic design, designing logos and advertising materials for companies. A lot of it was digital, meaning it was done on the computer, using certain applications. You know about applications."

"Yeah, your mom helped me get familiar with computers and I learned a lot from her, but I still have a way to go," he replied. He pulled his phone out and entered logos for a search term, showing her the different ones that came up. "So, you would be the creative person behind the logos for McDonalds or Starbucks, for example."

Hope smiled. "Yeah, if I had the contract but same thing." She put out her hand for his phone. "May I?"

He handed it to her, and she searched for Coca Cola logos over the years. Showing him the timeline of the logos, she explained how it started, then the basic font that had remained the same since 1905, except for a brief time in the 1980s when Coca Cola blinked and changed the logo and the formula thinking they had to compete with Pepsi. Almost immediately they returned to the old font and brought back the old formula after the public outcry.

"Why would they do that?" he asked. "I mean, other than beer or whiskey, Coke was the drink of choice back in my day."

She shrugged. "Pepsi did a lot of advertising that seemed to convince people their drink tasted better. Plus, diet soft drinks were becoming more popular, because let's face it, the regular ones have a lot of sugar in them. Coke got on board with a diet version and now they're pretty equal. I'm a Diet Coke person, if you're wondering. If you're Pepsi, we're going to have issues."

He looked at her, taking her words as serious. Then Hope smiled a beautiful smile and handed his phone back, glancing at her mother. She grinned at Bucky, shrugging at the same time, basically indicating he just got punked, at least he thought that was the word for it.

"I'm not much for either of them," he admitted, pocketing his phone. "Coffee, beer, or scotch is my thing." Hope frowned at the alcohol preferences. "I can't get drunk because the super soldier metabolism burns through alcohol quickly. Does the same to anaesthetic and drugs that make other people high. Some people say that's why I have a resting bitch face because I can never get a buzz on."

Hope burst out laughing, then stopped. "Sorry, I've never heard a guy admit he has one." She tilted her head. "What else about you is different from a normal person? I mean, I saw some of the TV coverage of you jumping off a building during the Flag Smashers and landing a few stories below without a problem. You can really do that?"

"It's not my usual thing to do," he answered, looking carefully at her. "I'm not a big fan of heights but I can jump from an airplane without a parachute, as long as its not too high, and survive."

"I call bullshit." Hope's fork dropped onto the table. "No one can do that."

Bucky looked at Joyce for backup. She grinned back at him. "You have to show her the video now. It's the only way she'll believe. The skepticism is great with this one."

Taking his phone back, Bucky opened the copy of Red Wing's video that Sam had sent him. He pressed play and handed it to her, watching Hope's face as her eyes lit up first in disbelief, then worry, then looking at him with something like respect as Red Wing hovered over him on the ground. She giggled when Bucky muttered, "Get out of my face, Sam, or I'll break it."

"Okay, that was pretty awesome," she admitted, handing his phone back. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure," he replied.

"Were you afraid of heights before the war?" Bucky stared at her, while Joyce went quiet. "Sorry, I should have maybe prepared you better for that question. It's true you fell from a moving train, right, landing in the bottom of a ravine during the war, somehow surviving that. Is your discomfort with heights part of that trauma or did you grow up not liking heights? I mean, if HYDRA brainwashed the fear of heights out of you, don't you think that would have stayed around?"

With a glance at Joyce, Bucky stood up, glaring at Hope. "Thanks for breakfast, Joyce. I have some things to do. See you around."

Without an acknowledgement to Hope, he left out the front door, feeling the heat of his emotions rising. Who would ask such a thing? Why did she think it was appropriate to ask this now, not even 24 hours after they met. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him that he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could connect with her. It seemed obvious now why her boyfriend left her. Hope Franklin was a bitch.

Inside the kitchen, Joyce picked up Bucky's plate, scraping out the leftovers into the garbage. He was so upset that he didn't even finish his food; a man that needed thousands of calories a day, left the table hungry rather than deal with Hope's callous remark.

"He's awfully touchy for a guy over a hundred years old," remarked Hope, seemingly oblivious to why he left. "I thought it was a valid question."

"Are you for real?" Joyce dropped the empty plates on the counter, the sound jarring in the quiet of the kitchen. "You don't even know what you did, do you? The man survived a fall of several hundred feet in a mountain ravine, every bone in his body broken, losing an arm in the process, and it led to him being taken as a prisoner of war and tortured for 70 years. Your response is if that's why he has an aversion to heights. It was insensitive, insulting, and you wonder why he left?"

"It was just a question," answered Hope. "Honestly, Mom, if he can't take the heat ..."

"Stop!" Joyce was shaking. "All he gets is heat, from people who see him as he used to be; an assassin who was used as a means of enforcement for a terrorist group. He never consented to being turned into what they made him and fought the torture and brainwashing they inflicted on him all the time. He has nightmares about the people the Winter Soldier killed because he feels responsible for them. They made him apologize to their families for what HYDRA made him do as part of his pardon. No one apologized to him for the years he suffered while he was their prisoner. You just insulted my friend in one of the few places where he didn't feel judged. By doing that, you insulted me. Grow the fuck up, Hope."

Joyce stalked out of the kitchen, grabbed her purse and keys, and left to find Bucky, leaving Hope behind. She hesitated once she was at the curb, wondering which way he went. Making a decision, she turned towards his flat, quickly walking, and dodging people on the sidewalk hoping to catch him while he was still on the street. When she got to his building and went up the elevator, she fumed at her daughter's callousness. How could she have helped a homeless woman, by giving her a place to live and money to tide her over, then just casually ask Bucky why he was still uncomfortable around heights, as if he had a choice in the matter?

When she got to Bucky's door, she could hear the TV on inside, so she took a breath and knocked. There was no answer, so she knocked again. This time she could hear his boots on the floor and sensed he was looking through the security peephole at her.

"I know you're there, Bucky," she said. "Please open the door."

An audible sigh was followed by the sounds of the three door locks being turned and the door opened. She looked up at his face, seeing that hurt look appear in the opening.

"I'm okay, really. You don't have to worry about me."

"Well, I'm not okay. I need to talk to someone and you're it." She pushed her way past him, noticing he didn't try to stop her. Immediately, she went to the couch, seeing his jacket on the armchair. Patting the couch cushion, she sat and waited for him. "Come on, sit."

With a sigh he sat next to her, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbows on his knees. Several times he tried to say something, but nothing came out and he just shook his head.

"She has that effect on me," admitted Joyce. "Honestly, it's like she doesn't see past her own narrow view of the world, sometimes."

"It's defensive," said Bucky. "Hurt someone before she can be hurt by them. I haven't been much different."

"Don't compare yourself to her," said Joyce. "You're aware of your shortcomings and working to overcome them. She's holding on to them stubbornly." Her phone beeped, indicating a text message. Looking at it, Joyce smirked then read it out loud. "I may have been insensitive to Bucky. No shit."

A small smile appeared on his face at Joyce swearing. "So, do I turn the other cheek and ignore her lack of tact? Or do I make a big deal out of her insensitivity?"

"Well, you're my friend, and I was angry at her," replied Joyce. "So, I expect her to apologize and be a lot more polite to you, for starters." She clasped his hand in hers. "Look, I was kind of hoping you two would hit it off. I think you need to get yourself out there because you have a lot to offer the right woman. That isn't necessarily Hope, but I think you would be able to show her how a gentleman behaves around a woman, which could help make her a better judge of the type of man she needs in her life. But that doesn't mean she gets to walk all over you either." She looked at her phone again. "She wants to know if you'll come to dinner so she can make it up to you. Promises to be on her best behaviour."

"Okay, I'll come," said Bucky. "But I want to know one thing. Considering I'm from another time, when sex roles were clearly defined ... what makes you think we would hit it off?"

"You might be from that time, Bucky, and it certainly has made your base level of behaviour towards women noticeable. You're polite, courteous, and I've seen you noticing a shapely leg on a well-dressed woman." His cheeks turned a little pink at Joyce's grin. "I don't want to embarrass you but I'm sure that you were successful with the ladies back in the day. Physically, it's obvious as you're an attractive man. But it's more than that. I think you like women, all women. You flirt with all of us in one way or another, bringing a smile to our faces. I saw that in the bodega, in the coffee shop, the library ... just about anywhere we've been together. You do it without expectation of a response. Back in the 1940s did you expect every woman you went out with to sleep with you?"

He smiled shyly. "I always hoped for it, but I never expected it. I liked their company first. If it led to anything, then I respected their reputations. I didn't brag about it because I wouldn't have appreciated any guy bragging about my sister in that way."

"I want Hope to see that not every man is looking to control her or hold her back. I don't know if her sex life was any good, but I always wondered why her previous boyfriends managed to connect with her and convince her they were worth her time and energy. As far as I was concerned, none of them were as good a man as you are right now."

She squeezed his hand, then got up and let herself out. As he sat in the quiet of his small flat, Bucky thought back to that one movie he watched with Joyce, Crossing Delancey. There were several similarities between Izzy and Sam, then him and Hope. He knew Hope had some serious issues as that was obvious from the emotions he felt from her self-portrait. Yet, he had still been attracted to her, recognizing some common ground between them. Maybe, the disappointment she experienced with each of her failed relationships had dampened her ability to recognize sincerity in a man. Whether they came out of this with a relationship or not was immaterial. He knew he could show her that he knew how to treat a lady right. Perhaps, that could be enough of a beginning for both of them.