Chapter Text
Part 1:
1943
“You’re leaving in two days,” you blanched, feeling numb at Bucky’s admission. He hung his head regretfully.
“I’m sorry, doll,” he sighed. “You know I wish I didn’t have to go, to leave you and Steve…”
“But it’s your duty,” you finished for him, trying to hold in your tears. Your hands turned to fists, bunching the fabric of your dress beneath them. “Have you told him yet?”
“Yeah,” Bucky gave a weak smile. “I found him getting beat up behind the movie theater, he saw my uniform and that kind of gave it away.”
“How did he handle it?” you bit your lip, worried about your friend. Without Bucky around, it would be your responsibility to make sure Steve stayed out of trouble. You didn’t mind it, but you feared you wouldn’t be as good at it as Bucky. And if Steve got hurt on your watch, you’d never forgive yourself.
“He’s a tough kid,” Bucky grinned wistfully. “He’s going to be okay. And so are you.” You tried to return his smile, but your lips wobbled and your eyes couldn’t hold back your tears any longer. Bucky reached for you, whispering a gentle “Come here,” as he pulled you close.
“You better come back, James Buchanan Barnes,” you demanded with mock authority. The use of his full name made him laugh. Bucky smiled widely, brushing a hand over your jaw and leaning in for a long, slow kiss.
“You won’t even have time to miss me,” he grinned with bravado.
He left that week.
A month later found Steve leaving for the army.
In a year, they were both dead.
Present Day
You rarely watched the news these days. At your age, you felt like you had seen it all. Admittedly, the world got a little more interesting around the time that Tony Stark decided to become a superhero. It had been a long time since you had seen a man stand alone against evil, but Tony Stark was nothing like the true hero you remember. Captain America had stood for something. He was all that was right and good in the world.
Tony Stark was an egomaniac, too smart and too rich for his own good. He really was a chip off the old block. Howard would have been proud.
But if Howard had been alive to see Steve Rogers rescued from the ice, somehow still alive after all this time, he never would have forgiven himself. He had searched for months for any sign of Steve’s plane. That he failed to find him, that because of it Steve and Peggy never got their dance, this would have broken him.
In a way, you were relieved that Howard wasn’t alive to see Steve’s resurrection. You only wish you had been so lucky.
You remembered the day it happened. You strolled into your apartment, dropping your keys on the side table and flicking on the television for some background noise, when you heard the newscaster announce, “Captain America has been found alive!”
Your heart had never beat so fast before. A part of you wanted to go to him. To be at his side as he undoubtedly struggled with the transition from the 1940s to present day. A familiar face would surely be a comfort. But your face would be too familiar, considering you hadn’t aged a day since 1946. And the exposure that would come with paying him a visit was not a risk you were willing to take.
It had taken some time, but you had eventually learned that the public didn’t take kindly to most powered people. Even if the people grew to love you, trouble would always find you. And if you ran, there would always be someone chasing you. So you stopped running in the 70s. You built a life for yourself. It was a solitary one, but you had learned to cope with loneliness.
Years passed and you remained in your self-imposed solitude. Loki came and went. Both SHIELD and HYDRA were dismantled. And through it all you watched impassively.
Until he reappeared, and your carefully crafted world fell apart.
“The helicarriers, once touted by SHIELD as step towards world peace, crashed into the river this afternoon, creating chaos and devastation,” the news anchor trumpeted.
You were walking the streets of New York, when you took notice of large groups of people crowded around television screens in store windows, while simultaneously glued to their phones. The frantic feeling in the air let you know something was wrong. Weaving your way through the crowd, you finally got a good look at the news report that had everyone’s attention.
“Captain America has claimed responsibility for the damage, and reports are coming in now of leaked documents that reveal SHIELD’s ties to HYDRA, a former Nazi organization responsible for many terrorist acts. We have not been able to get a direct comment from Steve Rogers himself, as he was badly injured in the melee. He has been admitted into Washington General and is listed in critical, but stable, condition. His colleague, Agent Natasha Romanoff, will be issuing a statement shortly.”
You raised your brow in a measure of contained surprise. The fact that HYDRA was still alive and kicking was hardly a shock, but that they had managed to so thoroughly infiltrate SHIELD did take you aback. The SHIELD you knew, with Peggy Carter at the helm, would have never let that happen.
You didn’t know what made you change your mind. You had once swore to yourself that you would never allow yourself to see Steve, to be pulled into that life again. But the sight of such devastation, the knowledge that HYDRA, who had taken so much from him already, destroyed the new home Steve had found, left you feeling an aching sense of empathy.
Taking the train from New York to D.C. allowed you to relax, to calm your racing mind. On a train, even one full of people, there was still a comforting sense of anonymity.
A mere four hours later, thanks to minor delays, you arrived in Washington D.C. You knew you had found the right hospital by the swarm of reporters outside its doors. Slipping around the back, you worked your way from the twisting staff halls into the public area of the hospital.
It was a simple matter of eavesdropping to find out what room Steve was in. The nurses and doctors alike were a bit star-struck by their patient. Years of perfecting the art of blending in allowed you to maneuver your way to his floor and past the nurse at the desk.
But you found yourself hesitating when you actually arrived at his door.
There was a man, who you recognized from the news updates as Sam Wilson, sitting at Steve’s bedside. He was slouched down, reading a book while Steve rested. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to grab the doorknob, and after a silent pep talk, you twisted it and opened the door.
The sudden movement caught Sam’s eye and he looked up at you curiously. You were obviously not staff, judging by your casual attire, and he didn’t recognize you as a SHIELD agent.
“If you’re looking for a quote for your paper, no comment,” he stated frankly, before turning his attention back to his book.
“I’m not a reporter,” you replied softly, glancing at Steve nervously, hoping you didn’t disturb him. “I’m a…friend?” You finished unconfidently. You hadn’t seen the man in over seventy years. He didn’t even know you were alive, and that had been entirely your doing. You didn’t really deserve to call him a friend anymore.
“You don’t sound so sure about that,” Sam said with a quirk of his lips.
“I’m not,” you shrugged, “It’s been awhile.”
“How long is awhile?” he prodded, Cap had a lot of history to be sure, but he had only been thawed out now for a good five years now. And you definitely didn’t look old enough to be a pal from the war.
“We met in 1937, give or take a couple years,” Steve rasped, his eyes severely bruised but trained on you. He was shocked to see you, that much was obvious, but his wounds were distracting and he couldn’t quite manage to come across as stern as he would have liked.
“Hey, Stevie,” you smiled weakly. Sam looked to you, then Steve, then back at you.
“Your old friends just keep coming out of the woodwork,” he snorted, eyeing you suspiciously.
“What?” you wondered in confusion, looking to Steve for answers, but he wasn’t feeling particularly giving.
Steve was staring at you like you were a mirage. Too often he had stumbled upon friends he thought long dead, and he didn’t know how to feel. There was relief, that he wasn’t alone in this world, that there was a piece of home no longer lost to him. But no one was the same person they had been in the 40s, him included. And considering you didn’t look like you had aged a day, he was leery to trust you.
“How are you alive?” he demanded, his expression weary and tired. You couldn’t blame him for asking. You had been a plain ole normal girl when you became friends. But that was before the war, and before Howard Stark, the man you both loved like your brother and cursed as your maker.
“It’s a long story,” you sighed, gaze dropping shamefully.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he reminded you with a gesture towards the hospital bed he was sprawled on.
“You both left me, you promised you would be back,” you forced yourself to remember one of the worst moments of your life. Your tone remained impassive, but you struggled internally to stay composed. “Bucky was on the frontlines, he couldn’t write home, but you did. Every week. Then you weren’t Steve; you became Captain America. You left the country and the letters stopped. Until the chaplain came…he brought a letter. Bucky died and you were missing.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He felt like he was intruding. Steve swallowed the guilt he felt as best he could.
“And then what?” he whispered.
“Then I met Howard Stark,” you revealed with a shrug.
1945
The knock on your apartment door came as a surprise. No one had come by since the military chaplain. Not that they would, you didn’t really have much in the way of friends or family. Especially now that your boys were gone.
There had been a call from Peggy Carter, which was a little unexpected but welcome. Even if she hadn’t known Steve and Bucky nearly as long as you had, she had cared. She had loved Steve, actually. It brought you a some peace, knowing that Steve had found a little bit of happiness before the end. She gave you her condolences, you even spent a long time telling each other stories about the boys, and she promised to visit when she was back in New York.
But it wasn’t Peggy Carter at your door.
The man was tall and lanky, with a dignified air that the British seem to innately possess. He announced himself as Edwin Jarvis, the butler for Mr. Howard Stark. You nearly shut the door on him at the sound of Howard’s name. He helped to change Steve. He was the reason Steve left for war. And now Steve was dead.
Mr. Jarvis noticed your distress and rushed to calm you. Mr. Stark was terribly sorry, he had hoped you would deign to pay him a visit. He had something to discuss with you.
You hadn’t felt anything in the way of emotion for many weeks now. But a tinge of curiosity bloomed in you and you found yourself agreeing to meet with him. Jarvis escorted you to the car, and drove you to Mr. Stark’s private residence. He worked his considerable charm on you to keep you at ease.
It was a long held belief that if you ever met Howard Stark, you would slap him in the face. But when you finally saw the man in person, took note of the sadness in his eyes and the generous drink in his hand, you stayed your swing.
Project Rebirth had been his proudest achievement, he explained. Steve Rogers was a man he was overjoyed to have had a hand in molding. And his inability to find even a trace of Steve’s plane was his greatest sorrow. There was nothing he could do to bring Steve or Bucky back, but he still needed to help somehow.
Steve didn’t have anyone in the way of family since his ma had died. Bucky’s family, while not well off, were taking care of each other and grieving in their own way. But you…you were well and truly alone now.
You weren’t in the mood for handouts, and Howard seemed to know that. But he insisted he was in need of some trustworthy help at Stark Industries, and no one could come to him with a better recommendation than a friend of Steve Rogers.
You took the job, vague as it was, because you lacked anything else to do. You needed a change, a fresh start, and maybe Howard was it.
It turned out Howard was working on a very special project; something he swore would be as successful and monumental as Project Rebirth. And months later, when his serum was thought to be finished, he needed a volunteer.
You had nothing to lose, and Howard knew that. The cynic in you hated him for playing you so obviously. But the lonely, lost woman you’d become wanted to jump at the chance of a new life and maybe even the chance to be a hero. Like Steve. Like Bucky.
In the end, Howard’s formula didn’t make you a superhero. You didn’t gain strength or muscle. But you were not left unchanged. According to Howard, you now healed at a spectacular rate. He was hopeful he could use your blood to create a medicine capable of healing even the worst of wounds.
He never did quite manage it. And over the years while he grew older, you noticed that your features remained the same.
Present Day
“Uh, not that I want to interrupt this awkward reunion,” Sam caught Steve’s attention, “but considering she’s apparently from the 1940s, you’ve held up nicely by the way,” he gave you half a smirk, “and that she’s probably working for him, shouldn’t I be handcuffing her?”
“I’m not working for anyone,” you said with an annoyed curl of your lip.
“So Cap’s two friends from freaking World War II both show up at the same time, and I’m supposed to believe it’s a coincidence? Sweetheart, I know I’m pretty but I am not dumb,” he smirked.
“What is he even talking about?” you growled, turning back to Steve who was studying you.
“She doesn’t know,” Steve murmured, sharing a long look with Sam. You were never a good liar. You weren’t able to hide your emotions well. Your confusion was written all over your face. Even after all this time, he knew when you were being honest. Unsure, but not willing to question Steve, Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Know about what?” you uttered in pure frustration. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea. Steve was standoffish, not that you totally blamed him, and Sam was starting to get on your nerves. Decades spent in your own company made dealing with other people difficult at the best of times.
“The Winter Soldier,” Steve explained after a long moment of silence.
“He’s a myth,” you frowned, “a story HYDRA tells to scare all the good boys and girls into submission.” Both men looked surprised that you knew even that much, and you scoffed. “You were asleep for a long time, but I’ve been awake for nearly a century. I know things.”
“He’s real,” Sam looked at Steve, who was radiating sadness. “He did one hell of a number on Captain America, here. And Steve just let him.”
You were beyond confused. Steve was a fighter, always had been. There is no reason why he would just stand there and take a beating, unless he had really changed so much in the past few years.
“It was Bucky,” Steve breathed, pain pouring from him. “He looked me in the eye and didn’t even recognize me, but it was him. I know it was.”
Your heart no longer raced; you felt as if it stopped beating entirely. Bucky Barnes was alive. And he was working for HYDRA. You felt sick.
You ran to the bathroom next to Steve’s bed and threw up, the shock too much for you. Sam glanced at Steve in concern, but he just shook his head.
He knew you needed time to wrap your head around this. God knows he still did.