Chapter Text
They called it The Ship of Dreams. To my darling James, it was. To me, it was a slave ship, taking me back to America in chains. Outwardly I was the visionary for every young gentleman. Inside, I was screaming. My fiancé - John Walker - at the time was a greedy, entitled man. I was nothing more than a prize he bought with his dirty money. My mother of course, thought him an angel sent from the Lord himself. Rich, charming...perfect. But she didn't see the bruises on my arms, the wounds that man left on my heart. No one did. Except for James. Always James. You want to hear my story, Mr. Stark? Take a seat and light a cigar. We're going to be here for quite sometime.
Southampton Docks, 1912
Sam is far from impressed.
He stares up at the ship in an almost bored manner, wanting nothing more than to be back in his warm bed. "I don't see what all the fuss is about," he sniffs. "It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania."
John steps out of the automobile. His mouth is set into an arrogant smirk, one that Sam wants to slap off of him with his leather gloves. "You can be blasé about some things, Samuel, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian café... even Turkish baths."
"I see..." He very much so does not see.
Ms. Wilson slides out with the grace of a dancer. Her hair is done up to perfection underneath a towering hat, red lips pursed in apology at her son's behavior. "Your son is much too difficult to impress, Darlene," John says.
Darlene huffs out a laugh. "He gets that from his father, I'm afraid," she says. She gazes up at Titanic, marveled by its beauty. "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable?"
"It is," John says matter-of-factly. "God himself could not sink this ship." He speaks with the pride of someone who is giving them a once in a lifetime experience. Sam supposes that is the case. However, that doesn't mean he'll enjoy it.
People of the first class scurry about, shuffling tips to porters, settling last minute arrangements. Sam wishes the worst of them would just go away.
"God can do whatever he pleases." Sarah appears at his side, gloved hand resting gently on her brother's arm. "Even sink a ship as grand as this one." Her dark eyes sparkle under the sun, dazzling like Sam's once used to. She stares at him through her lashes. "Are you alright?"
Sam coughs into his sleeve. "I'm fine," he says, and they leave the matter at that.
A porter approaches John amongst the hassle of last minute loading. Poor guy, Sam thinks. He hasn't had a break in a long time.
"Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way-" John places a fiver in his hands as if it's nothing. Sam represses the urge to roll his eyes.
"I put my faith in you, good sir," John says, eyes twinkling with what can only be power. He tilts his head towards Rumlow, who is standing beside John like an irritated puppy. "See my man."
"Yes, sir," the porter says. "My pleasure, sir."
"These trunks here, and 12 more in the Daimler. We'll have all this lot up in the rooms," Rumlow instructs. The poor porter is taken aback by such a load. John pays him no mind, leaving the minions to scramble.
"We better hurry," John says. "This way."
They parade through the crowd, flashing their giant hats and expensive coats. Sam suddenly feels self-conscious, wishing to melt into the ground and let the world walk all over him. They pass health-inspection. A man is being checked for lice, men poking and prodding at him like he's an animal. Sam wants to scream. The first-class gangway is up ahead, where the buzzards of the bunch are shuffling in impatiently.
Much to Sam's enjoyment, two third-class boys run into John. He quickly regains his footing and brushes his pricey clothing off with a strained smile. "Steerage swine," he sneers. "Apparently missed their annual baths."
"Honestly, John," Darlene says, "if you weren't forever booking everything at the last instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family."
Sam's fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves. Sarah rubs her hand up and down his arm. "Ignore her," she whispers.
"All part of my charm, Darlene," John says. "At any rate, it was my darling fiancée's beauty rituals which made us late."
"You told me to change," Sam snaps.
"I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, sweetpea," John says, unaffected by his sudden outburst. "It's bad luck."
"I felt like black."
"Here I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in her most luxurious suites... and you act as if you're going to your execution," says John.
"Well, perhaps I am."
Sam stares at Titanic. Nothing is dreamy about the black exterior, the steel hull that's trapping him as if he's an animal. All it would take is the jerk of the arm and a sprint away from his captor. He'll never be brave enough to do it.
John's gloved hand clasps possessively around Sam's free arm. He winces away from his touch. He leans into Sarah as much as he can, desperate to hide his face from John.
A long, dull roar comes from the ship.
His bondage is now finalized.
Natasha's venom is enough to scare the men at the table down to their bones. Her eyes are narrowed, trained on their shaking forms like a snake about to strike.
Bucky gives her a smirk. The Swedes across from them are bickering back and forth, paying the Americans no mind.
"You stupid fishhead," Rhodey hisses in Swedish. "I can't believe you bet our tickets."
"You lost our money," Scott says. "I'm just trying to get it back." Bucky resists the urge to join in one the conversation. It's not their fault they don't know the American can speak Swedish.
"Hit me again, Scott," Bucky says. Bucky takes the card, slides it into his hand, face slack. Rhodey stares at him, scowling as if he just insulted his dear Swedish grandmother. Bucky gives away nothing. Natasha licks her lips nervously, face as stoic as her brother's. Piled in the center of the table is all they have to their names. Like a cherry on an ice cream sundae, three third-class tickets to the RMS Titanic lay on top. In the distance, the ship's whistle blows in a final warning. They have seconds to seal their future.
"The moment of truth, boys," says Bucky. "Someone's life is about to change." Natasha sets her cards down carefully, as if a sudden move takes it all away. Scott and Rhodey follow suite. Scott picks his nails while Rhodey musters all annoyance he has into one stare. Bucky holds his cards close, eyeing the players. "Lets see...Natasha's got niente. Rhodey, you got squat. Scott, uh oh, two pair...mmm."
Shit. Holy fucking shit.
Bucky turns to Natasha. "Nat, I'm sorry," he says earnestly. "You ain't gonna see your girl for a long time." The table rattles as he slaps his full house down. "Cause you're going to America! Full house, boys!" Natasha - grumpy, hateful Natasha - smiles.
"You son of a bitch, James." She plants a tiny kiss on his cheek, green eyes more alive than he's ever seen them.
The table explodes into shouting of several languages. Rhodey, rightfully pissed, slams his fist against the chipping wood. Bucky rakes his winnings into his bony arms. He shuffles the coins into their pockets, snatching up the tickets like a lifeline.
"Sorry boys. Three of a kind and a pair. I'm high and you're dry and..." He turns to Natasha. "We're going to America!" Natasha climbs onto his back, whooping her approval. He spins her around the shitty pub, fists raised in triumph. They've won the lottery, they became that one in a million, because they're going to fucking America. He's gonna see his family again, and Natasha can finally start a new life. They're the luckiest sons-of-bitches in the world.
"We're going to America!"
The pubkeeper shakes his head. His beefy face is pulled into a sour smile as he says, "No, mate. Titanic go to America. In five minutes."
"Shit!" Bucky says. "Come on, Nat!" They run out of the pub, stumbling over their rags and luck. Somewhere behind them, Rhodey is beating the shit out of Scott. But Bucky doesn't give a fig, because he's fucking won something in his goddamn life and he's not going to let it sail away before he even gets to see it.
"It's been grand, boys!" Natasha yells over her shoulder.
Steve is waiting for them outside, sketchbook held tightly in his nimble fingers. A cigarette dangles from his mouth, the only calm thing as the world erupts into chaos around him. "Did you win?" he asks hopefully.
Bucky shoves a ticket into his coat pocket. "Yeah, we fucking did!" Steve smiles, dazed as if he just got punched in the head with one of Rhodey's massive fists.
"I'll be damned!" The trio breaks into a run, stumbling over wagons, running into people left and right. They're fucking stupid with happiness. Steve is hollering for no damn reason, and Bucky laughs along. Their troubles are lost to the wind. Now they're just dancing through life, making everyday count like it'll be their last.
Titanic towers over them. Pretty soon they'll be royalty within her walls, sipping champagne with all the fine people, laughing dandily around their brandy. She really is the ship of dreams, Bucky thinks.
They reach the bottom of the ramp right as it's being detached. It starts to swing down from the gangway doors.
"Wait!" Bucky hollers. "We're passengers." Flushed and out of breath, he waves his ticket.
"Have you been through inspection?" the officer asks him, bushy eyebrows drawn together.
"Of course!" Bucky lies cheerfully. "Anyway, we don't have lice. We're Americans." He glances briefly at Natasha. "The three of us."
"Right," the officer says slowly. "Come aboard, then."
The trio descends the gangway. Their holey shoes slap against the fresh wood as they step into the grand ship. Another officer eyes their tickets suspiciously. With the wave of a wrinkled hand they're on their way to Heaven, racing down the hallway.
"We're the luckiest bastards!" Steve says. They burst through the door that leads to the deck. All around them people of every race and culture wave to their loved ones, sheading tears for their old life and smiling for the new one they're gaining. Bucky climbs the railing, waving down to the crowd below them.
"You no someone?" Natasha asks him.
"Of course not," says Bucky. The wind whips his hair into his eyes. "That's not the point."
"Huh," she says. She turns to the sea of people. "Bye! We'll miss you!" Steve rolls his eyes, wondering how in the Hell he got stuck with them of all people.
"Goodbye!" Bucky shrieks. "I will never forget you!"
The ship roars to life, gathering speed in the churning water. The people below them soon fade to tiny dots in the distance. When all that's left is bright blue sea, Bucky shouts, "I'm the king of the world!" loud enough for the heavens to hear.
He pulls Steve and Natasha into an embrace. They smell of cigarette smoke and saltwater. Bucky slaps a kiss on Natasha's pale cheek. He gives Steve a pat on the back, pulling him tighter into his arms.
If Bucky squints hard enough, he can almost see New York harbor on the horizon, their new lives awaiting them.