Chapter Text
The diner is dingy and dismal and the scratchy radio in the corner plays the Andrew Sisters. The coffee tastes like dirt, but Steve's had worse.
Becca sits opposite him, her arms folded defensively. She looks older, although it's been a little over a year since he last saw her.
“How you been?” Steve asks, the question coming out awkward and stilted.
Becca eyes him silently. “Why are we here?” she asks instead.
“I’m asking you to come to my wedding, Becca.”
Becca waves a dismissive hand. “I already got the invitation, Steve. Why am I here today?”
Steve studies her without answering her question for a moment. She looks so much like him, with her blue eyes and her straight dark hair.
Because I wanted to see him.
“Because I wanted to ask you myself,” Steve says finally.
Becca frowns at him. “I might not be Bucky, but I know that you're lying,” she says vehemently and gets up to go.
Steve gets up too. “Becca…”
She looks up at him, fuming, her jaw working like her brother's did.
“I really do want you to come. It would mean a lot to me.”
Her frown deepens and then dissipates. “Of course I’ll come, Steve. You were… I… will be there,” she says and walks out without a backward glance.
“Getting married today”, Steve thinks to himself, as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. Tux and bowtie in place, he looks nothing like the person he used to be. He is nothing like the person he used to be. He forces his mind to focus on today. On just today. On Peggy, his beautiful, beautiful wife-to-be. A faint smile spreads across his face as he thinks about her. He really is getting married, he thinks to himself. His smile falters as his mind drags him back to Bucky. His friend. His best man.
In that moment , he realises for which is the thousandth time in the one year since Bucky died, that Bucky didn't die alone, he took something with him. He took a piece of Steve's mind, soul and as is evident now, a piece of his sanity.
He's pulled out of his thoughts as a knock sounds on the door. He shifts and adjusts himself one last time and admits to himself that it is what it is. He glances at the clock that hangs in his room, as he walks to the door, and opens it to find someone telling him something he already knows and dreads, “It's time.”
Steve shifts in his place for like the twenty-fifth time. He is elated, nervous, scared and sad. 'This was a lot easier at the rehearsal dinner.’ He shifts, adjusts his tailored suit, his tie, all in place. And against his own will he looks at the empty spot beside him. Bucky.
Steve had it reserved, he didn't feel comfortable with anyone else in that spot. Bucky was, is and always will be his best man. No one, not even Peggy, could argue with that. Although the spot was reserved, the duties, of course, could not be. And since the wedding was a closed affair, there weren't many options. At last, Jim Morita was zeroed in on by Steve for the duties of best man. Just the duties.
Steve's eyes shoot up, tearing themselves from Bucky's spot to the now open door of the church. His calm and stoic eyes meet Peggy's. God, she's beautiful. His eyes follow Peggy as she makes her way down the aisle, the white dress and veil, justifying every bit of grace she exudes. He knows she's watching him too, watching and calculating. He knows she can read him like a open book. He adjusts himself on the altar and doesn't break eye contact with the woman he calls the love of his life. And just as Peggy reaches the altar and flashes the most beautiful smile, Steve imagines Bucky standing next to him on that altar and exclaiming with good humour, 'There’s your girl, Steve. Don't mess this one up.’
The windows rattle as the heavy truck rolls past, it’s yellow headlights forming a fleeting pattern on the dark wall. Steve sits with his sketch pad angled towards the light, pencil held aloft, but he can’t quite bring himself to draw something.
They had gone out dancing again. One last time, Bucky had said, one last day of freedom. Steve had shaken his head and said that it was just Basic and that he was not becoming a bloody nun. Bucky had laughed, but they had gone dancing anyway.
At least the girl, Polly was nice, she had smiled at him sweetly when she left. The one before her had taken one look at Steve and sulked the whole night. Bucky had disappeared with Polly’s friend at some point and he was yet to reappear.
Steve sighs as the couple who live above his apartment start screeching at each other again. Their baby has a cough, apparently. He flips through the pad, it’s littered with half-finished sketches and work from art school. Steve stops at the portrait of the lady he was drawing when the news of Pearl Harbour broke. The smooth lines are somewhat broken up in places, giving her hard edges where none should exist.
Steve is still trying to straighten out the curves when Bucky walks into the room. “Whatcha got there, Stevie?” he asks, his words slurring.
Steve doesn't look up. “Where’ve you been?”
He hears Bucky step closer. “You know where I was,” he says, a slight edge slipping into his voice.
Steve shrugs without saying anything. The uncomfortable silence is filled with Bucky shuffling around, getting ready for bed. The screeching of the upstairs baby pierces the air. The Johnsons take up their shouting again.
“Why are you waiting up, anyway?” Bucky asks after a while.
Steve does not know the answer to that question. “Couldn't sleep.”
Bucky lets out a soft sigh, as he settles into bed. “Is that so?” he asks, blurrily.
Steve shakes his head. “Get some sleep, Buck. You gotta get up early.”
Bucky buries his face into his lumpy pillow and doesn't answer. Steve stashes his pencils carefully on the bedside table and turns out the light. He pulls the covers upto his chest and closes his eyes.
“Hey, Steve,” whispers Bucky from across the room, his voice sounds tired.
“What?”
“You remember where the money is?”
In the darkness, Steve can't make out his face, but Bucky sounds… smaller somehow.
“Yeah, I do.”
Bucky hums in answer.
“You worried about tomorrow?” Steve asks impulsively.
It draws a weary laugh from him. “No, not at all. The Krauts won't know what hit 'em.”
“It's just Basic. No Krauts there.”
“Yeah, well, I’m drunk.”
Steve snorts and closes his eyes. Upstairs, Mrs Johnson starts crying.
Steve groans and shifts among the sheets as the phone rings, rather blasts, through the room. Peggy shuffles hurriedly, and reaches for it on the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“What?”
“Are you sure?”
“Is Howard there?”
Peggy gets up and shuffles out of bed. Steve turns and looks at her. She's facing away from him, pacing the room, with the phone glued to her ear. She looks worried and focused. That's how she always looks when she's talking about work.
“Is it true?”
“Do we know who it is?”
“Alright, I'll come in. Give me 20 minutes.”
“Wait!”
She lowers her voice.
“Should I tell him?”
“Alright.”
Peggy hangs up the phone, sighs and turns around. By this time, Steve’s sitting up and looking at her with worried eyes. She's used to this look by now.
“Is everything okay?” Steve speaks from his place on the bed. Peggy walks over to his side of the bed and sits near him. Steve senses something is wrong.
Peggy looks at him with soft eyes as she says, “You need to come in today.”
“You didn't answer my question.” Steve presses.
Peggy gets up with a faint, almost sad smile on her face and walks towards the bathroom.
She stops at the door and turns. “I hope so.”
She gets in and shuts the door behind her, leaving Steve clueless and worried.
Steve walks stiffly yet confidently beside Peggy as they walk through the seemingly endless corridors of the SSR headquarters. His mind races through all the possible things that could be wrong. He knows it's not a regular mission that they called him in for. If it had been they would've called him directly and like always and not through Peggy. Even Peggy seems unusually cold. Steve notices that Peggy's struggling to keep her face indecipherable.
They walk into her office. The blinds are undone, and waves of light flood into her small yet spacious corner office. The table is a crowd of files and papers. Most of them sealed and with a pretty explicit, red 'Confidential’ stamp on them. Howard is sitting in Peggy's chair, with a file in his hand, his eyes scathing over the contents with an intensity that seems weird even for him.
Peggy stands before the table, with Steve a few steps behind her, and clears her throat. Howard's eyes immediately shoot up and so does he. One would think at least Howard Stark would not be scared of Peggy.
“Glad you could make it. I was just waiting for you.” Howard says as he makes his way over to them. Peggy nods and makes way to her chair, picking up the file that Howard was going through.
“Is this it?” Peggy asks, with a raised eyebrow.
Howard nods a yes. Peggy picks up the file and starts going over it.
Howard looks at Steve who has been standing there watching their movements.
“Steve.”
“Howard.”
They nod at each other.
“Steve.” Peggy calls from her seat across the table. Steve looks at her. She still hasn't looked up from the file.
“You better sit down for this.”
Steve takes a seat and takes the file Peggy hands him.
Strategic Scientific Reserve
17 E. Young Street, New York, NY 10024
File Type: Confidential
13th September,1945
Subject: BARNES, James Buchanan, SERGEANT, 32557038
Recovery after MIA
- Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has been recovered by British officials
- Injuries: Non-fatal but critical.
- Status: In recovery.
Lt. Gen. Charles Bates
British Army
5 Chapel Hill, Heswall
Bournemouth
BH1 1AA