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It took a while for them to make their way back to the US. Even then, they had to keep the very lowest of profiles. Natasha had been surprisingly helpful with that; getting them covers, documents, transport. She picked up Clint in a nondescript sedan after they landed at a small upstate New York airport. The archer was beyond anxious to get back to his family, unsurprisingly; he shook hands all around with a promise to be there if they needed him in the future. Steve tried to tell Natasha he didn’t hold a grudge over the Accords, she had to do what was right, what was best in her own mind. He respected her too much to expect her to do anything else. But he knew she felt a little guilty, having taken the opposing side only to see it decimate all of them.
“I've never had friends before, Steve. You and Barton were pretty much the only ones who made the cut. I don’t want to lose you. Not to mention, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
She wasn’t exactly wrong.
They were on a small plane bound for Memphis Tennessee, of all places. Sam was excited, talking about Elvis, BB King and Muddy Waters. No one else had much to say about it, being only vaguely aware of the city’s status as the birthplace of the blues, precursor to modern soul music. They were more concerned about things like food and shelter and what the plan would be after that.
Early evening found them in a high rise apartment facing the Mississippi River. He and Bucky stood at the large windows, watching the broad expanse of greenish brown water roll past. It occurred to Steve that he'd never seen this river before. He was 97 and had never laid eyes on the Mississippi. He wondered if it had looked much different in 1943. Wars came and went, people lived and died, but the river just rolled along. He shook off his maudlin thoughts and tried to turn his attention to more pressing matters.
“Steve, maybe we could discuss exciting new plans over some food. Tic-tac and I are starving, so I know the super soldiers have to be well past that.”
A search of the kitchen turned up a few boxes of crackers and tinned soup in the cupboards, bottled water and condiments in the refrigerator. Not bad for just an average person, but nowhere near to meeting their needs. They would have to go out.
Sam was way ahead of him again, scrolling through a search engine to find something he kept muttering to himself about. Wanda sat silently on the sofa next to Scott, watching the sunset across the river. Steve silently wished for Barton to be with them again, for a moment, Wanda seemed to relate best to him. She was a willing and capable fighter, but she was also a young woman; Steve felt more than a little guilt for the situation she was in on his behalf.
“Found it!”
“What did you find? Because you’ve been talking to yourself like a crazy person for almost ten minutes.” Bucky and Sam had settled to a brotherly level of snark that was tolerable for now. Hopefully that boded well for nobody becoming unfortunately injured in the near future.
“Best barbeque joint in Memphis,” Sam held his phone out for Steve to see.
“Barbeque?” Wanda’s voice was clear but confused. Bucky seemed equally mystified. Well, this would be an adventure.
Thirty minutes and one Uber ride later, they wedged themselves into a large circular booth in the busy restaurant. The smell of wood smoke was thick in the air, sweet and spicy enough to make Steve's mouth water. A young, pretty waitress sashayed over to them.
“Well, aren't y'all a sight for sore eyes. Y'all look half starved,” her smile was warm and friendly, not knowing or caring who they were. He felt Bucky relax next to him, Sam cracked a smile, tension unwinding like a ball of yarn. They had only glanced at the menu briefly, not long enough to be ready with an order. The young woman didn’t seem to mind. She took their drink orders and told them to take their time.
Wanda studied the menu intently, her spoken English was almost perfect, but the written word, especially with region-specific phrases, could trip her up a little bit. Scott seemed comfortable, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room, a habit Steve recognized in himself. Sam and Bucky argued quietly about the virtues of ribs versus pulled pork. Eventually they decided on ordering four of the “Family” platters, that way they would all get to try everything. Their waitress returned with their drinks and a large plate piled high with cornbread. She laughed when she saw how Bucky’s eyes widened.
“Told the cooks I had a table full of extra hungry young men, and a lady of course,” she nodded to Wanda who managed a small smile in return.
“There’s some honey butter there, and regular as well. So, are we ready to order?”
They ordered enough food to feed a battalion and then some. But Sam assured them that the leftovers would be worth having tomorrow. Bucky carefully spread a square of cornbread with the honey butter and took an experimental bite. All eyes at the table waited for the verdict.
“I have no idea what this stuff is, but it is amazing. I want to kiss that waitress when she comes back. To express my gratitude.”
“Take it easy there, Romeo, she seems like a sweet girl, but I bet she could skin you if you pissed her off.” Sam laughed as he broke off a piece of the cornbread for himself. Bucky just rolled his eyes.
“Supersoldier. Robot arm. Please.”
Wanda snickered. Scott chuckled.
“Think it over, Buck. Remember Peggy?” He didn’t want to deprive Bucky of an opportunity to have things seem normal, but he didn’t want his best friend getting himself slapped senseless for his trouble.
Bucky chose the better part of valor when the waitress returned with their food, and kept it to a smile and a thank you.
“So after this we need to go to Graceland.” Sam had appointed himself as their tour guide.
“What is Graceland?” Wanda asked between bites of pulled pork.
“You’ve heard of Elvis Presley, right?”
“I think so... the name is familiar.” Sam had his phone out two seconds later, wiped the barbeque sauce off his fingers and pulled up some Elvis videos on YouTube. Steve found himself tapping his toes with the rhythm of the songs. He remembered all the long nights in DC when Natasha would come around and they would spend the evening watching movies or pulling up music on the internet. She was the one who first introduced him to Elvis, telling him the sad story of one of the most successful recording artists in history. It was hard to imagine that it was only ten years after he put a plane in the Arctic this music had exploded like a bottle rocket.
They had eaten their fill and packed the leftovers into containers that filled a paper takeaway sack . The server was suitably impressed at the amount of food they managed to put away, and sent them on their way with a pecan pie and a smile.
Graceland was a bit like the Smithsonian exhibit. All the pieces and parts of someone's life spread out on display but they never gave you the whole. It was a snapshot, or maybe a time capsule. Bucky leaned in close to Steve as they stood in one of the garishly decorated rooms.
“Can you imagine them trying to preserve that little place in Brooklyn we had like this?”
A half smile twisted Steve's lips as he replied, “It would go down in history as the worst museum ever.”
They made their way to the gift shop at the end of the tour; where, in a tragic failure of good taste, Elvis’ name or likeness could be found on everything from shot glasses to sunglasses. Wanda bought a CD, she liked the music on the tour. Bucky made her laugh by trying on the craziest sunglasses he could find and buying the pair that made Sam roll his eyes skyward.
Eventually they made their way back to the apartment near the river. Steve sat on the couch, flipping channels on television. Sam had turned in early, claiming all the travel had exhausted him. Wanda just drifted from her room to the kitchen, like one of the many ghosts of Memphis. Bucky turned in after a half hour of scrying the Internet for any mention of them, or the fight in Germany.
It was after midnight when Steve heard the patio door open. He was a light sleeper on his best day, but since Germany, he was much closer to insomnia than he cared to admit. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A small, slender form slipped out onto the balcony.
He joined Wanda with a cup of tea a few minutes later.
“I wonder if that could be us, once we’re gone? Maybe, if we had stayed Avengers?”
She spoke without looking at him.
“Maybe.”
“I can’t imagine it. Monuments and museums. We had them in Sokovia, of course. In remembrance of people long gone.”
The glass door slid open behind them as Bucky stepped out, with bed hair and a pair of sleep pants hanging a little lower on his hips than was decent, if Wanda’s blush was any kind of indicator. Steve rolled his eyes and tossed his sweatshirt at Bucky’s face.
“Put some clothes on, jerk.”
Bucky’s smirk disappeared under the fleece, but settled into more thoughtful lines once he tugged the shirt down. He leaned against the railing, facing both Wanda and Steve.
“So, what’s the trouble, doll face?”
“We’ve done so many things. Some good and some terrible. I was just thinking about it as we were walking through the museum earlier. I never thought about how we would be remembered. Not that I want my face on a shirt or a shot glass. But, in the end, I’m not really sure I’m going to be the hero of the story.”
Steve sighed. In a way, maybe it was easier for him. His story was already written; for better or worse, in history books and collective memory. Some of it was true enough, but it wasn’t close to being complete. Maybe now that he was a fugitive, they would take down that shrine in the Smithsonian. He wasn't sure if it would bother him or not.
Bucky seemed to have a more definite opinion. He crouched in front of Wanda, like Steve recalled seeing him do with his younger sisters, and looked up into her face with sober blue eyes.
“Here’s the thing about stories, doll, it all depends on who tells it. When they thought I was dead in a ravine, I was a national hero. Now, I’m public enemy number one. And it doesn’t matter if that was my choice or not. And maybe when it’s all over, they’ll decide I was a good guy after all. They'll get some of it right and parts will be wrong, but it will be just like that big fancy house we walked through today. It’s little bits and pieces, but it ain’t the whole picture of the man. Nobody is that simple, not you or me, even that punk over there.”
He rose, patted her on the shoulder and gave Steve an elbow in the side on his way back into the apartment. Wanda was still quiet, but she smiled at Steve as she stood to go back inside.
“Tell Bucky thank you for me. Tell him Pietro couldn’t have said it better.”