Chapter Text
December 31, 2025
"Told you it was bad."
"Well, I didn't think it would be that bad."
Bucky and Sam were exiting the subway at Christopher Street in the Village. They'd spent a couple hours in line at Times Square before Sam decided the wait wasn't worth it.
"It was better when Steve and I went, at least in 1941 you could leave to use the bathroom."
"Man, that was ridiculous, I thought the adult diapers thing was a rumor."
"That woman you were talking to? Pretty sure she was wearing one."
Sam's head swiveled to gape at him. "What? How do you know that?"
Bucky just smirked, and Sam scowled. "Man, shut the fuck up, you don't know."
"It was obvious."
"No, I want concrete evidence, or I'm calling bullshit."
"Ask her when you call her."
"Anyone with sense would lie about that."
He shrugged. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you then."
Sam sighed. "I'm not calling her. It's your fault, y'know, you ruined the mystique."
"Mystique? Sam, she was wearing a diaper."
"Slander."
"It's not slander if it's true."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Bucky had missed Sam. It had been months since they'd been in the same town, it was half the reason Bucky had invited him to the city for New Year's Eve. The other half was that he'd managed to get a couple tickets to a jazz show in the Village. He thought it might be something Sam would like, and something Bucky could handle better than the bass-heavy, thumping club music that was so popular these days. Sam had seemed excited and offered to pay for his own ticket, and Bucky refused, calling it a late Christmas present.
He hadn't gone out like this in a long time, since before the war, probably. Other than hanging out with Sam and his family, the most he'd done socially was eat lunch with Mr. Nakajima and have a date with Leah. And, well, that had ended badly. He'd made a valiant attempt at online dating — what was the point of taking photos with tigers, where would you even get the opportunity? — but it had gone nowhere, he hadn't even met anyone in person. It felt like the person he used to be, who liked to go out dancing and socializing and could probably get any woman he wanted, had died when Hydra first wiped his mind. He wasn't sure how to get that back.
They passed a church, rainbow pride flags hanging from its walls, blowing about in the chill late-December air. He was used to seeing the flags now, but they still gave him a wealth of mixed feelings. On one hand, the queers of the 21st century deserved it — they'd done the work, gotten the rights, they were legal. As he understood it, there was always more work to be done, but the big thing, legality, they had that.
On the other hand, he still avoided the former Everard Bath House on 28th Street, even though he'd never been able to go in. The bright, happy flags made him feel like a coward.
His shoulder, aching in the cold, gave a particularly painful twinge, and Bucky rolled it a bit, stretching his metal fingers hidden by his gloves. Sam noticed, frowning. "You okay?"
"It's the cold."
Sam eyed his arm. "Really? You were just in Wakanda for repairs, you're already having issues?"
'Repairs' was one way to put it. He hadn't told Sam what really happened, just that Princess Shuri had wanted to fix something and summoned him to Wakanda. The truth was embarrassing, frankly.
A week before Christmas, he'd fallen asleep on his couch watching Miracle on 34th Street. He'd woken to the blue android woman from the Guardians of the Galaxy, Nebula, standing over him, her hand around the forearm of his vibranium arm. Instinct made him swing a fist at her face, but she blocked it, tightened her grip on his arm, and ripped the arm from the shoulder mount. "It's a Christmas present," she rasped, then escaped out the window with his arm. He gave chase, all the way to Forest Park, where she got in her spaceship and left him standing on a baseball field, literally disarmed and half-dressed.
So he hadn't told Sam, and didn't intend to. It didn't matter anyway — Shuri had replaced the arm after tearing him a new one for losing it in the first place. She'd also called the Guardians for him. Peter Quill thought the whole thing was hilarious. He said Rocket, that talking raccoon, had it now, and he would ask him to return it, but he made no promises because the stupid raccoon "likes to do whatever the hell he wants".
"It's not really an issue, it's always hurt in the cold. It's metal mounted on bone, comes with the territory."
"I woulda thought vibranium would be beyond that."
"I've mentioned it to Shuri, but she said there's not much she can do without sacrificing mobility and sensation. It's not a huge deal, it's still better than the titanium Hydra arm."
Anything was better than the Hydra arm. Bucky would rather go back to only one arm than use the Hydra arm again.
"So this place we're going," Sam said, apparently sensing the need for a subject change, "is there dancing?"
"There's a dance floor."
"Are you going to dance?"
"It's been a while."
"How long?"
He vaguely remembered dancing with some nondescript English girl in London, right before his last mission with the Howling Commandos, his final capture by Hydra. "1944."
Sam snorted. "You can't dance, can you?"
"Hey, I can dance. Steve's the one who can't dance, I had to teach him."
"I'll believe it when I see it. Actually, I have to see it. I'm finding you a girl to dance with."
Bucky rolled his eyes skyward and prayed for a little patience. "I can find my own dates, Sam."
"I'll believe that when I see it." He glared at him, and Sam grinned. "First of all, you shouldn't glare at potential dates like that, you'll scare them off."
"I have the tickets, y'know, I can leave you outside."
"You won't though. Twenty bucks says you can't dance."
"Okay." He shook Sam's hand, then said, casually, "Did I ever tell you I spent a lot of time at the jazz clubs in Harlem in the 30s?"
His eyes widened. "What? No?"
"Oh yeah, I learned some of my best moves at the Savoy Ballroom."
"You asshole, did you just hustle me?"
"I don't think it's hustling if I already told you I can dance, that's really on you."
Sam laughed, shoving Bucky's shoulder. "Shit, man, you got anymore insane lore you wanna drop on me?"
They had reached the club, a little hole-in-the-wall place covered in various pride flags and 'Love is Love' signs. They fell into the line to get in, and Bucky shrugged as he double checked he had his phone for the tickets. "I met Billie Holiday once at the Cotton Club."
He stared at him a moment, like he hadn't actually expected Bucky to deliver. "Oh my god."
"She was a nice lady. Fantastic voice."
"I don't believe this."
"Steve was still mad about watching a black girl get turned away at the door, so after the show, he decided we should sneak backstage to meet her." Sam was staring at him with his mouth open. "Did he never tell you this story?"
"No! You're telling me Steve Rogers snuck backstage at a segregated club out of spite?!"
"I'm pretty sure spite was the only thing keeping him alive back then. I was just glad he didn't punch the bouncer, I didn't have enough money for bail."
Bucky remembered the look on Steve's face when the bouncer sent the poor girl away, and he'd had to keep a hand fisted in the back of Steve's suit jacket to keep him from attacking as they were allowed in. You're not gonna change their minds, pal, he'd warned, you'll just get us both arrested. Because if Steve started a fight, Bucky'd be right there to back him up.
Sam was shaking his head, smiling fondly. "I probably shouldn't even be surprised, that's very Captain America of him."
Bucky hummed in agreement. "After that, he'd always make this face if I mentioned someone interesting was playing the Cotton Club. I didn't even like the Cotton Club that much, if I was going to spend the money to get to Harlem, I usually went to the Savoy. There was a cover charge, but nobody cared who you were there, as long as you could dance."
The doors opened, and a man at the door began scanning tickets to let people in. Bucky unlocked his phone and brought up the email with their tickets. He remembered the girl turning away from the bouncer, tears in her eyes, and Bucky wondered if she ever got the chance to see Billie Holiday again. Maybe he should have let Steve punch the bouncer.
Sam clapped a hand on Bucky's shoulder, pulling him out of his head, and grinned at him. They were next in line. "Well, c'mon man, I gotta see the White Wolf dance."
December 31, 1941
It had been Steve's idea to go to Times Square.
"We've never been, Buck, we should go at least once."
And Bucky had relented because — well, it wasn't a great time for him, but he would do pretty much anything Steve Rogers asked.
Bucky had gotten his draft letter three days after war had been declared against Japan, and he'd reported for his physical on December 15th. He was 1-A, and Steve, who'd gone with him to enlist, was 4-F. Bucky wasn't surprised, all the medical problems he had, but Steve wasn't happy. He wanted to go fight. And Bucky was just a little relieved he was 4-F. He would get himself killed over there.
That night didn't just feel like the end of 1941 or the end of peacetime, but the end of their normal lives. Bucky was starting basic training in a matter of days. With the war ramping up, he would eventually get shipped out to Europe or the Pacific, and Steve would be left behind in New York.
He hadn't known it at the time, but with Bucky away at basic, Steve would keep trying to enlist at army recruitment centers all over the greater New York area. And in June, Bucky would be off to Europe, and Steve would be recruited to become Captain America. In six months, their New York would just be a memory.
The noise around them grew as the illuminated ball on the Times Building began to move, and when it reached the bottom, '1942' lit up above it. The explosion of sound around them was something else, yelling and noise makers and people moving and pushing them from all sides.
"Happy New Year, Buck!"
Steve was grinning at him, the light from the Camel billboard reflecting in his eyes as he was jostled by the crowd. The cheering around them had devolved into a rendition of Auld Lang Syne, punctuated by noise makers. There were fireworks too, exploding above the square and lighting up everything around them. Bucky wanted to remember this moment, something precious to think of when he was lying in some foxhole somewhere.
"Happy New Year, Steve."
Steve laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. His heart pounded as he pulled Steve against his chest, accidentally knocking Steve's hat off in the process. Bucky managed to catch it against another man's back before it hit the wet street.
Steve pulled away to beam at him, and Bucky got stuck staring, still grasping Steve's shoulders. The fireworks overhead lit up his face, pink from the cold. That horrible, traitorous voice in the back of his mind spoke up — kiss him, you won't get another chance, you're probably going to die in the war —
He must have held on just a moment too long, because Steve patted his arm and asked, "You okay, Bucky?"
"Yeah." He cleared his throat, then louder over the noise, "Yeah, buddy, I'm fine." He put Steve's hat back on his head, intentionally pushing the ill-fitting thing down over his eyebrows. "Let's get outta here, there's gotta someplace around here to get a drink."
Steve seemed unconvinced as he straightened his hat. "If you're sure — "
"I am," he insisted, even if it was a lie. He threw an arm around Steve's shoulders and started guiding them both out of the crowd. "Maybe we could find us a couple dames who want to dance."
Steve laughed. "Sure, Buck, if you say so."
"I do say so! What you got, pal, is a confidence problem. Worst a girl can do is say no."
They followed a stream of boisterous revelers down a side street. "She could laugh me out of the dance hall."
"If she laughs, she's not good enough for you. I'm serious," he added when Steve made that face, the one where he clearly didn't believe Bucky but would go along with it anyway. "Who wants a dame who laughs at a guy trying his best? Wouldn't be much of a lady, if you ask me."
"I guess so."
"Maybe you can get yourself married while I'm gone, so I don't have to worry about you."
Steve elbowed him in the side, and Bucky flinched away, laughing. "Who says I'd get married without my best man?"
Bucky's chest felt tight. "Start with finding the girl first, then go from there. Just don't marry one of my sisters."
Steve gave a surprised laugh. "Are you kidding?! They're practically my sisters! And Ellie's fourteen."
"Hey, I'm just making sure we're both on the same page."
"Becca would hit me. And frankly, she's scarier than you."
Bucky puffed his chest out proudly. "Just like I taught her." Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "I know you'll be around to help them out, but just don't get any ideas."
Steve's smile faltered, becoming more strained. "Well, it's just until you get back. Then you can be their favorite brother again."
There was a bar up ahead that some people were turning in to. He saw a few women going in, and he steered Steve toward the entrance. "Sure, Steve," he agreed, forced himself to agree, "just until I get back."