Chapter 16. Purpose

I waited to finish and publish this chapter, wanting to confirm some plot points by viewing Captain America: Brave New World. That made some minor revisions necessary in the story. Marvel has a messy timeline.

Voting Day was November 5, 2024. For the third time in his life and the first time since he filled in an absentee ballot while fighting in Europe in 1944, Bucky Barnes would vote in an election, the mid-term election for the House of Representatives. At first, he wasn't sure he was eligible. He had been arrested after the battle against Thanos, then received a conditional pardon which was now a full pardon. But thanks to some research on his part he found out that in New York State he lost his right to vote only while incarcerated. He did need to register since it had been 80 years since the last time he voted. That was an interesting experience, done over the summer, but with Matt Murdock at his side quoting the appropriate statutes, his registration was approved.

Near the end of the last political science class on the Friday before the Monday election, the professor, Shawn Olson, asked how many were registered and planning to vote. Three quarters of the class raised their hand. As he scanned their faces, he fixed his gaze on Bucky, giving him a satisfied nod. To the others who hadn't raised their hands, he just quoted George Jean Nathan, an author, editor and drama critic. "Bad officials are the ones elected by good citizens who do not vote."

"If you're taking political science and not planning to vote, I question why you're in this class. People fought and died for the right to vote and some were denied their right, even though they should have had it." He looked at Bucky again. "If you think you're exercising your right to not vote because you don't like the choices, then you help preserve the lack of them. I won't say anything more about it because it is a free country but you should really reconsider the type of citizen you want to be if you're not going to exercise even this most basic right."

Some of those who hadn't raised their hands rolled their eyes at being scolded but Bucky was glad the man had said something. It was a reminder not to take the rights and responsibilities of a citizen for granted. He hadn't wanted to fight in World War II but he did his duty and paid a huge price for it. He wasn't going to be apathetic about his right to vote and although he didn't understand how people couldn't be bothered, he understood it was their right to abstain.

At the end of the class he put his notebook inside the backpack and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He acknowledged the goodbye of some of the classmates who usually sat near him, then picked up the backpack, edging his way towards the aisle.

"Sergeant Barnes, could I see you for a moment?" He looked at Olson, who was putting his things back in his satchel. The younger man, who looked older than Bucky, smiled at him. "You're not in trouble."

"Well, that's good to know," replied Bucky, taking the steps down the tiered classroom towards him.

"I don't know how to ask this any other way so I'll just come right out and say it," began the professor. "Have you given any thought to declaring a major and becoming a full-time student?"

That was unexpected.

"Not really. Still trying to figure out what interests me. Why?"

"You didn't graduate from high school, but you received your GED earlier this year, right?" Bucky didn't answer. "I spoke to the admissions office and the veteran's liaison officer." He still didn't answer, wondering what Olson's angle was. "I want you to consider declaring political science as your major. Your insights in class and the quality of your assignments and the mid-term exam results point to a perspective that is unique but compelling. Considering your background and the complicity of certain military and political entities in keeping you enslaved, our department thinks you could become a formidable activist for veterans, displaced persons, and frankly, anyone whose human rights have been jeopardized."

"I haven't even chosen my classes for next semester," replied Bucky, frowning slightly. "You're serious?"

"Very," replied Olson. He looked at his watch. "I have 90 minutes before I have a session with some masters students. Come for coffee and I'll try to convince you of why I think it's the program for you."

It was an odd request but something in the earnestness of this professor who was teaching this introductory political science class resonated with Bucky. As the super soldier considered the invitation to coffee, Olson texted someone, receiving a reply almost immediately. He looked up at the dark-haired man and grinned, as he pulled an overcoat on.

"Well, looks like some of my colleagues have the time free as well. Come to our bull pen for that coffee. Might as well give it our best shot."

On the chilly walk through the snowy campus to the department offices that were in another building, Bucky glanced at the man, taking in the business suit attire he always wore, one of the few who did. Ever since that introductory anthropology class in the summer Bucky had noticed the relaxed way many of the professors dressed. Before the war he knew that an expectation of more formal attire was required at the college level from the students and the teachers. It was higher learning, and like the overalls he wore when he worked on the docks was a uniform of the working man, a suit and tie was the uniform of a college educated individual. He remembered bringing it up in that summer anthropology class during a discussion on social norms that had changed since he was a young man, 80 years ago. That had generated a heated debate on what caused it. At the time that professor had sat back watching the way the younger students had tried to say it was the 1960s counter culture that started it, with the protests against the Vietnam War, and the demands for more civil rights, and the relaxation of attitudes towards sex and clothing. Bucky was surprised at himself when he shook his head at the prevailing opinion, prompting the professor to focus on him.

"What do you think? You brought up the original comment. Do you agree with the others that the 1960s started it?"

"I didn't experience the 1960s the way they've studied it," began Bucky. "In fact, other than the times I was doing what my handlers ordered I was quite unaware of most things. But I've been educating myself on everything I missed, and in the process found other lines of thought and reasoning to explore. I think it started earlier with the artistic community. Some pretty interesting artists were born in the late 19th century and well into the 20th, like Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, Jackson Pollock, Andy Warhol. Artists have always been the trailblazers, shocking society with how they portrayed life in their works. By the 1930s, many were being described as original thinkers and their freedom to create works of art challenged attitudes on politics, morality, and sexuality. America both objected to and encouraged that pushing of the boundaries and that brought it out into the public eye. I think that kind of out-of-the-box thinking spread to other fields, especially technology. During that process of change, things that were seen as unnecessary or old-fashioned were dropped, like fixed clothing styles. By the 1960s it had reached a point where the changes couldn't be contained and everything seemed to explode into prominence at the same time. The establishment still fought to keep things the same but also recognized there was money to be made in allowing some of that change to become permanent." He shrugged. "Now, it seems like things are contracting again. They're trying to put the genie back in the bottle because they can't control it."

At the time, he didn't think the nod of the head he received from the professor was anything other than thanking him for contributing to the discussion, but now he wondered if that moment had put him into some kind of spotlight, a thought that troubled him. When they got to the building where the political science and anthropology departments were located, Bucky hesitated just before the outer door. Did he really want to be the object of scrutiny by a group of political scientists?

"Hey, it's okay," said Olson, reading the hesitation on the super soldier. He stepped aside to allow others to enter the building without blocking them. "I'll be honest with you. There were considerable discussions about you being accepted as a student here. Some of the faculties thought that having you in a classroom could be interpreted as siding with a regime that was authoritarian in nature. They didn't see past the way you were forced into that role and how your life was taken from you by a machine that spread across continents and was part of a corrupt movement to seize power."

"That's reassuring," replied Bucky, failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Olson, grinned, recognizing the self-awareness that generated the reply.

"My point is that you conquered that opposition with your work ethic, your determination to educate yourself, and your ability to see nuances that are still obscure to those students who are considerably younger than you or me. You have been personally involved in some defining moments in modern history from both sides. You have something worth saying and something worth listening to."

"You sound like I should be running for office," said Bucky, bluntly. "I'm no politician."

"No, you're not, you're better than that." He opened the door, waiting for the super soldier to take the next step, then laid it on him. "You're a trailblazer."

Jesus, he's using my own words against me. Several people came out the open door, looking strangely at the two men as Bucky decided whether to go in or not. Part of him was wary of being involved with anything that was related to politics but damn if he didn't want to hear what they had to say. The thought of being seen as more than a relic used in an ideological battle for control of the world was appealing. If it could lead to something where he wasn't being used purely for muscle and shock effect, then he owed it to himself to at least hear them out.

He stepped inside, not coming out for over two hours. When he did come out of the building, he stood on the steps for several moments wondering about what occurred at that meeting. It wasn't just several of the political science instructors that were in there, but also his professor from the summer anthropology class, as well as his current professor of English. Part of him felt ambushed when he saw the group waiting for him, and almost walked out, but Shawn Olson asked for 10 minutes before he decided to stay or go. They described him as a working class man, a draftee of the last conflict to be called a world war, a PoW, a victim of authoritarianism, a survivor of abuse so horrific that it would have destroyed most people, and possibly an inspiration in a world that had become more fragmented by xenophobia, isolationism, extremism, and class inequality.

"That's a lot to be putting on a man like me," he replied, after listening to the descriptions. "You haven't mentioned that I was a killer, an assassin sent to eliminate people who threatened HYDRAs existence, not to mention a marksman with the Howling Commandos before my fall. There's a lot of blood on my hands."

"What you did for the Howling Commandos was part of your role to protect them," said the chair of the political science department, "and it was sanctioned by your commanding officers. The pilots of the bombers that flew over Germany or Japan did what was necessary as decided by their commanding officers and were lauded as heroes. The scientists who developed the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were responsible for the deaths of almost 250,000 people but it was seen as necessary to end the war. You were forced through mind control by the leaders of HYDRA to carry out their missions, so you had no free will in the matter. There is a distinction."

"Not to me," replied Bucky. "How would getting my degree in political science change that view not just for myself but for those whose lives I affected? I'm just here trying to find out what I want to do with my life, that doesn't involve this."

He raised his left hand, still a symbol of what he once was. It was noticed.

"You lived during the Depression," said his English professor, "and World War II. As a man who quit school to work on the docks, a hard manual labour job, you sacrificed your own ambitions to help keep your family afloat. When war came you were drafted and you went to do your duty, to keep your family safe. The ultimate price you paid for that, is the stuff of Shakespearean tragedy." Bucky huffed, making the professor smile. "Don't downplay it. If he was alive now and knew about you, he damn well would have written something about the machinations of an evil empire that robbed a man like you of his freedoms. The final act would have been how he rose from the ashes of his former life to reclaim what was rightfully his."

"You need a purpose that draws on your whole life experience, not just what HYDRA did to you," added the anthropology professor. "Political science is basically the study of human behaviour and you've got years of personal observations that trumps everyone else in the department, and in my department, too. You're a modern Renaissance man with a sharp mind, a creative spirit, and physical abilities that are greater than all of us combined. The way you seek knowledge is ambitious and inspiring. We've had several discussions over coffee and beer over how to convince you that you could have a future that overshadows what was done to you against your will." Bucky grimaced during the man's words but the professor's gaze remained fixed on the super soldier. "Sounds grandiose and part of you may wonder if we're trying to manipulate you. Nothing could be further from the truth. We're trying to help you believe in yourself. You can change things for the better because you survived the worst of what humanity is capable of."

"What if all I want is a quiet life?" asked Bucky.

"You will always be of interest to the public," answered Olson, "because of who you were. Might not be fair or something you're comfortable with but if you can impress a bunch of cynical skeptics like half the faculty of this college, you can impress the general public with the real man behind the myth. You could even run for office."

The room became very quiet when he said that and several of the professors left to attend to their classes but one thing was clear; the delegation that Bucky had "coffee" with weren't the only ones who thought that way. No matter what he decided about his goals for the future, the consensus was that he should become a full time student, on an accelerated program to get his Bachelor of Arts degree and possibly begin working on a masters degree in a field that he could have influence in. It was both intriguing and terrifying. The thought of immersing himself into academic study appealed to him, but what might come after was going to take further thought. One of the associate professors stayed with him, showing him an example of what his program could look like; taking a full course load, plus an additional course if he could handle it, and two full courses in each of the spring and summer sessions. With the college credit he already earned from his marks in the GED exams, he was well on his way to completing his undergraduate degree in less than 3 years.

As he walked out the door to where he hesitated just a couple of hours before, Bucky wasn't sure what to think. On the one hand, he felt validated that this group of academics, with others apparently supporting them, thought that he had something to contribute to society that didn't require his physical abilities. But was he really worth their assertions? Despite everything he had done to deal with his years as a PoW there was still that part of him that would always wonder if he was good enough.

Checking his watch, he saw it was almost time for Hope's class to finish. Any decision he made would have to involve her. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder he began the walk to her building, wanting to talk to her first about this latest development.

Waiting outside the studio he leaned against the wall opposite from the door, nodding his head at several of the support staff as they walked by. When the first student came out, he straightened up, waiting for the rest to leave but a couple were still finishing up when he finally entered, drawing Hope's surprised eyes to him. Raising his hand to indicate he could wait he went over to her desk, pulling a stool over to sit on. Since he was waiting, he sent a text to Sam, feeling the need to talk to him as well.

Bucky: I need to call you later. You going to be around?

Sam: Yeah, I'll be up to midnight but call me anyways if it's later. I'll always answer if it's you.

Bucky: Thanks.

Hearing footsteps he looked up to see Hope approaching, then stopping right in front of him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," she said. "Didn't you finish your classes a couple of hours ago?"

"Yeah, but I was asked to join some people for coffee," he replied, looking past to where her two students were still working. "Are they going to be done soon?"

"They're working under a deadline extension to 6 pm so I said I would stay to receive their pieces. What's going on?"

"It can wait until you're done but I really need to talk to you."

"Bucky, is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine." He looked past her again at the two students still working on their pieces. "I just need to talk to someone before I burst and I wanted it to be you, but you promised you would be here for those two and I don't want to make you a liar. Would you be offended if I went to talk to your mom first? She always listened to me before when I needed to unload. I swear to you that it's nothing bad, just a surprise suggestion that has kind of bowled me over and excited me at the same time."

She looked back at the pair, the dilemma of being there for him warring with her responsibilities as an instructor. He took her hand, kissed it, reassuring her with his eyes that he could wait to talk to her.

"Okay, but I want to know what's going on as soon as I get home. Knowing Mom she'll ask you to stay for dinner."

"I was banking on it anyways," he smiled, then stood up, leaning towards her ear to whisper in it. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmured back, quickly kissing him.

Before he got on the subway, Bucky texted Joyce to make sure she was home. Quickly he explained that he needed someone to advise him. Since Hope was busy he was asking for her help. Her answer came back within seconds, inviting him to stay for dinner. When he went up the steps of her brownstone, she opened the door before he got to it, standing in the doorway with her arms folded, her face concerned. Relaxing it as she realized it wasn't a crisis in the making, she stepped back and let him in past her, taking his leather coat, and fussing over him.

"Don't you get cold in this thing? It's not even lined."

"It's comfortable," he said, toeing his boots off and smelling the aroma of dinner cooking. "Something smells good."

"Beef stew," she said, walking back to the kitchen, where some buns were rising until they were ready to put into the oven. She picked up the coffee pot, waiting for his nod and poured them each a cup. As she put some milk into hers she glanced at him. "So, what's the big news that you need help with?"

He took a gulp of the coffee, then smiled at the plate of cookies she put on the counter, grabbing a couple.

"My political science professor, and others in his department, plus my English prof and anthropology prof from the summer kind of lured me into a coffee meeting with them." He gazed at her. "They want me to begin an accelerated program in political science to get my BA by the spring of 2027. For some reason, they think I should run for public office."

He had to give her credit for not spitting out her coffee at his news. For a moment, she struggled to maintain a calm face then she came over to where he sat on the stool and took his hands in hers.

"What was your first reaction?"

"I was stunned. They explained that with my background as a living historical figure, and witness to a lot of conflicts in the 20th century that I'm in a unique position, and that was just them buttering me up with the prospect of getting a college degree. When they mentioned running for office, I didn't know what to say. I'm no politician, Joyce."

"No, you're better than any politician I know. You're real and you aren't beholden to any lobby group. If you decide not to run for office, what are your options?"

"Be an activist for veterans, displaced persons, or even for human rights." She asked the question with her eyes. "I think I could do those. I brought up wanting a quiet life and they pointed out that because people know me already that might not be possible so I might as well use it to my advantage, I guess."

"Bucky, what do you really want to do?"

He looked at his left hand, flexing it. "Do you know I don't wear the gloves on campus anymore? Once they got used to me it wasn't a problem. When I confronted that photographer in Tampa Bay wearing only my swim trunks, I didn't think of covering up first. No one in the neighbourhood who came out to see what was going on even mentioned it. It's like it wasn't a big deal. I don't want to hide anymore. I just want to be another person. On campus, I feel pretty normal and the thought of actually committing to a degree kind of excites me. It will be a lot of work for me as they're not giving me any privileges to make it easy, but I can do that. Hard work doesn't scare me; it's what to do after that concerns me."

"You don't have to commit to that part," reasoned Joyce. "Do you want my advice?"

"That's why I'm here," he answered, sipping his coffee.

"See if you can handle the extra course work but if it gets too much don't be afraid to tell anyone. College is hard enough as it is. No one will think less of you if you find the pace is too hard." He gave her an expressionless smile and nodded his head. "No matter what, I am so proud of you, not just for the GED, or for this opportunity, but because you've grown as a person. You are a hero to me, for showing the world how you are so much more than what HYDRA wanted you to be. I am glad you're my friend and I love you."

This time his smile was genuine, and with glassy eyes he stood up and enclosed her in his arms, hugging her firmly.

"I love you, too," he murmured. "Thank you."

By the time Hope arrived he was feeling more secure about the possibilities. Just like Joyce, she was excited for him, and encouraged him to try the accelerated program in the next semester. Even though it might cut into their time together, she believed in him. They kissed affectionately before he left, knowing that she would stay over the next night, as she had an artist's group gathering on the Saturday morning. At his place, after feeding Alpine, he phoned Sam, giving him the news that he shared earlier with Joyce, then Hope. They talked about whether he could really consider a career in politics after what he had done.

"Only you know if you can do it, but those professors wouldn't have put that thought into your head unless they saw what I see in you," said Sam. "Bucky, you're a survivor and even though you still deal with the effects of all those years, it didn't change the man within. Do you remember Leipzig?"

"Seriously, you're going to bring that up right now? We trashed that airport, you got arrested, and put into the Raft. You hated my guts."

"I didn't hate your guts. I didn't like you, but I didn't hate you. You still covered my six, Buck. You had my back, even with our history of you trying to kill me and me being a dick to you." Bucky chuckled a little. "My point is that we were put together into some really tense situations and you stepped up when you were needed just like the rest of us. I don't think that will ever change because that's the man you are, Buck. If Ross is elected in 2026, enhanced humans are going to need a voice to make sure their rights aren't conveniently forgotten or overridden. You could be that guy. You're smart, outspoken when you want to be, and you can't be corrupted. I know that you don't want to kill anymore and the fighting bothers you. Then give your all to achieve this goal. You'll be good at it. I would vote for you in a second."

If Bucky could reach through the phone and hug Sam, he would have but words would have to do it instead.

"Thanks for everything."

"I don't know if anyone ever said this to you, but it's a gesture of respect to veterans. Thank you for your service, Buck. You make this world a better place. I believe that with all my heart."

It was getting too sentimental for both men, so they called it a night. Sleep came easily, which surprised Bucky, but maybe the thought of having a specific goal in mind superseded his self doubts that usually crowded his mind. When Hope arrived the next afternoon their time together was both pleasurable and satisfying. She left on Sunday, with they understanding that they would work on finding the time for each other once he embarked on this new challenge.

On Monday, November 5, 2024, Bucky Barnes voted for the third time in his life, in the mid-term elections for the House of Representatives. He stayed up late to watch the returns with Alpine on his lap, until the winners were declared then he turned the TV off. As he washed up, brushed his teeth and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt he felt good about the decision to go ahead to work for his college degree at an accelerated pace. Rebecca, who he phoned before dinner, was very supportive. Like Joyce, Hope, and Sam, she was proud of him, and knew their parents would have been as well. He just wished it had happened 80 years ago, long before he was drafted but war got in the way.

With about five weeks left to go in this semester, and exams after, he would be busy. But Christmas was coming and there was so much to celebrate and look forward to. He smiled at himself, as he got under the bed covers. For the first time since the 1940s, he felt like he had a purpose in this world. It felt ... good.

Author notes: Some things to comment on. POTENTIAL SPOILER ALERTS if you haven't seen Captain America Brave New World, skip this author notes section. This chapter was started, then delayed until after I saw Captain America: Brave New World, as the premise of it indicated Thaddeus Ross was President. I made the assumption that he lost the November, 2024 election as the Nick Fury miniseries Secret Invasion indicated that James Ritson won that election. Then I saw CABNW, expecting it to be set after 2028, and it very clearly indicated that Ross won the November 2026, election. WTF, Marvel?! The lack of continuity between different story lines is quite frustrating. Making an executive decision, I edited the chapters in this story that indicated Ross was the other presidential candidate for 2024, and changed the presidential election timeline to a 2022/2026/2030 sequence with Ross to be a potential candidate for 2026, meaning this election where Bucky exercises his right to vote had to become a mid-term. At least, CABNW confirmed that Bucky is fundraising to run for Congress, presumably in 2028, since he is referred to as future Congressman. I sure hope Thunderbolts* confirms that. Anyways, I wanted an opportunity to use this story to explain how Bucky may have decided to run for public office.