Archive of Our Own

OFFICE OF REPRESENTATIVE JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

INDEPENDENCE DAY PUBLIC ENGAGEMENTS OPERATIONS SCHEDULE

Friday, 4 July 2025

Prepared by:

Monica Smith

Chief of Staff

Please note that all timings are approximate and subject to operational, security and constituent requirements. Members of staff are expected to remain flexible throughout the day and ensure the Congressman adheres to the schedule as closely as practicable.

• Appropriate attire is required at all events.
• Water should be carried at all times.
• No alterations to be made without prior approval. 

08:00 VETERANS BREAKFAST

• Arrive 7:45am latest

• Jacket on for photo ops

• Smile, Mr. Barnes

• Limit caffeine intake

Did not know this was happening. Cannot guarantee that smiling occurred. Caffeine intake likely already higher than average person. Croissants were good.

It wasn’t as though Darcy thought that it was going to be like any other day. She just wasn’t quite prepared for the military operation that Monica had planned.

Upon arrival at the office, practically as soon as she’d stepped in the door and certainly before she’d been able to do anything as normal as shrug her jacket off and heft her bag onto her desk, there was a colour-coded - of course, Monica never left anything uncoloured coded if she could possibly help it - itinerary in her face. 

“Uh,” Darcy said, grabbing at it reflexively and nearly dropping coffee all over herself in the process. She squinted at the text, neat and tiny in order to account for the sheer amount that had been pushed onto one page. “Are we really doing all of this today?”

“Mr. Barnes is already at the Veterans’ Breakfast,” Monica said over her shoulder. 

“There’s a breakfast?” Darcy asked, sliding her laptop bag off one shoulder as she juggled a half-full Starbucks cup and the itinerary that, she considered, Monica probably ought to have thought to laminate if she expected it to survive the day. 

“Well, there was,” a much deeper voice answered, and Darcy jerked her head to find the man in question slipping through the door. In three long strides Barnes was at her side, and had plucked the cup from her left hand just before she risked losing it all. She shot him a quick look of thanks as she wrangled the bag and then her jacket. 

“And you didn’t bring us anything?” she asked teasingly, once she’d gotten herself square. He opened his own jacket and pulled out a carefully napkin-wrapped and only slightly squashed croissant, which he presented to Darcy. A second was produced from another pocket and waved in the opposite direction, but Monica shook her head. 

“Mr. Smith and I do not indulge in carbohydrates in the summer months,” she said shortly, by way of explanation. 

Darcy pulled a face at Barnes, who, to his credit, maintained a perfectly straight poker face in return. She rolled her eyes at him. Monica, who almost certainly had eyes in the back of her head but opted to ignore her preternatural ability in deference to the busy day ahead, patted down her skirt and turned a critical eye on them both. 

“Your pin, Mr. Barnes,” she said, after a considered sweep across him, head to toe. Darcy, she ignored, but that, Darcy assumed, was not so much that she passed muster and rather more that she’d been quietly designated a lost cause some time back, likely in more ways than one. Barnes patted first one jacket pocket and then the other, a look of concern beginning to slide onto his face. 

“Top left drawer, Mr. Barnes,” Monica answered the unasked and increasingly panicked question. As he visibly breathed a sigh of relief, she stepped forward and pointedly brushed croissant flakes from his tie. Giving him a final once over and, whilst perhaps not thinking him perfect at least accepting what was there, she glanced at Darcy. 

“Dr. Lewis, can I trust that you will keep everything on track?” she asked. ““We have only the one Congressman, and I would prefer that we not lose him before noon.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Darcy said in response, voice thick through a mouthful of croissant and one hand raised to her forehead in a sloppy salute that seemed to pain both Monica and Barnes, although probably for slightly different reasons. 

Monica raised an eyebrow, and looked as though she wanted to sigh but heroically refrained from doing so before sweeping out of the door. Darcy threw a sidelong look at Barnes, who returned a long-suffering shrug her way. 

“Okay, so what do we have here,” she clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she perched one ass cheek on the edge of her desk and scanned the itinerary properly. “Parade, children’s library event, barbecue, interview, another interview, wow - a third interview, constituents, picnic and fireworks. Good news for those of us with an appetite.”

She shot Barnes a grin, and he had the good grace to blush slightly in return, even as he stood in front of her finishing off the other croissant. 

“Guess it’s running for the Presidency by lunchtime, huh?”

He rolled his eyes as he shoved the last of the pastry into his mouth. 

With the air of a man reporting for a root canal rather than a parade, Barnes dusted the crumbs from his hands, straightened his jacket and turned for the office door. 

“Oh, wait-” Darcy said, catching his elbow as she remembered. “The damn pin.”

She scooted back into his office and rummaged in his drawer, trying the top right and pulling out most of its contents before she recalled that Monica had specified the top left. Finally locating it and bringing it back held aloft with an expression of triumph on her face, she pinned it carefully to the lapel of his jacket. 

“Okay,” she said, stepping back and taking a critical look at him. “Now you’re Monica-approved for the day ahead.” She paused, and shot him a knowing grin. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

09:00 INDEPENDENCE DAY PARADE

• Arrive via Member’s entrance

• Ensure ID is a) present and b) visible

• Wave

Didn’t quite make it to the Members’ Area. Barnes is a man of the people, what do you want me to do?

“Wow, that’s a lot of people,” Darcy breathed as they fell in line for the security check. 

They were funnelled forward into two lines, suited Congressmen and women and their various assistants - most, Darcy noted, slightly better turned out than she was, and several were officiously carrying iPads, whereas she had crumpled up Monica’s careful itinerary and stuffed it in her back pocket - heading for the bank of walkthrough metal detectors and x-ray machines. 

Upon reaching the checkpoint, Barnes strode through, the green light immediately turning a bright, flashing red. He raised a hand to the security officer in greeting as the gate beeped enthusiastically above. 

“Congressman Barnes,” the officer nodded. “Still metal?”

“Still metal,” Barnes agreed, wiggling black and gold fingers. 

“Clear,” the officer waved him on, and Darcy scuttled through after, her light remaining green though she was, as always, a little surprised by that. 

Beyond the checkpoint, the two lines of security-checked government staff spread out and merged into the sea of red, white and blue that Constitution Avenue had already become. Crowds lined the barriers, three and four deep, wide-eyed children perched on shoulders and gripping flags. TV camera crews had set up, local news station anchors already brightly smiling over padded microphones as, in the distance, Darcy could hear military bands tuning up. 

“It’s bigger than I expected,” she said, glancing around and smiling as she spotted a kid sporting a Captain America t-shirt, Sam’s face looking back at her from a small chest. 

“Did you expect an Independence Day parade in DC to be small?” Barnes asked, and she could hear the edge of a tease in his voice as he said it. 

“Dude, I’m from Ohio,” she said frankly, leaning on the metal barrier at his side. “We like county fairs and football tailgates, there’s no time for all this.”

“Maybe Ohio has the right idea,” he murmured, as a harassed looking official in a bright yellow high-vis jacket caught sight of him and motioned frantically toward the sign-posted Members’ Area. Barnes raised a hand to indicate that he’d seen it, but remained where he was.

“You mind if we stand?” He asked, looking down at Darcy, who shrugged back. 

“Fine by me,” she replied, resting one hip against the barrier in front of her as she glanced back at the tiered seating behind them. “The only seats I can see free are by Kellerman, and that guy never acknowledges me even if I’m right under his nose.”

“Happy Fourth, Congressman!”

Barnes turned automatically, smiling as an elderly couple approached. He shook both their hands in turn, noting the medals that the man wore on his chest, posed patiently as Darcy fumbled her way through an unfamiliar cell phone for a photograph, and wished them a happy Independence Day.

The instant they walked away, the smile faded.

Before Darcy could decide if she ought to comment on it, another family recognised him.

“Congressman Barnes!”

His smile returned just as quickly as it had disappeared, the warmth of it spreading from his mouth to his eyes as he bent to speak with an excited eight year old, indulgent parents standing two paces back.

The cycle of people keen to shake Congressman Barnes’ hand continued, though some seemed less interested in his political work than in his previous life experience. Darcy, carefully watching as his smile appeared and vanished between greetings, decided that he was probably forever trying to work out whether people recognised the Congressman first or the assassin. 

At last, the crack of a drum echoed down the avenue, followed by the gleam of brass in the morning sun as the parade stepped off, and Barnes shook one final hand before turning back to the barrier.  

11:00 – CHILDREN'S STORY TIME

• Read selected title only

• Remember that children are always listening 

• Smile, Mr. Barnes

Look, some of the story was read, and really, with four year olds, that’s all you can hope for.

Darcy, taking note of the time and remembering roughly how far it was from Constitution Avenue to Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library, nudged Barnes in the ribs with one elbow just ahead of the parade finishing. She jerked her head behind her and tapped her watch, hoping he’d take the hint. 

Thankfully, they'd been working together just long enough that he understood. Offering a final wave to the crowd, he quietly steered them away before the parade had quite finished, beating the inevitable crush towards the exits. 

The library felt almost impossibly peaceful after the bustle and noise of the parade. The muffled chatter of families replaced the brass bands and cheering crowds, whilst the smell of books and fresh coffee drifted lazily through the bright, open atrium. Down in the children's section, the requisite red, white and blue bunting hung between shelves and a semicircle of small children waited expectantly around a faded storytelling rug. One was clutching a plush toy bald eagle.

“Congressman Barnes,” the librarian greeted him warmly as she shook first his hand, and then Darcy’s. “The children are very excited to meet you.”

“Are they?” he asked, bemused, but she’d already moved on. 

“We have a number of appropriate titles for the session,” the librarian said, waving a hand over the small table which held a pile of picture books. “All the classics you’d expect - The Night Before the Fourth of July, Red White and Boom, Apple Pie 4th July-”

As the woman continued, it was clear to Darcy from the look on Barnes’ face that none of the titles she mentioned were classics to him. He simply nodded politely. 

“Oh, or we have Captain America Saves the Day?” the librarian said brightly, holding up a picture book that looked almost as old as Barnes himself. A cartoon rendering of Steve Rogers fighting what appeared to be a red-faced villain with a ridiculous moustache filled the dog-eared front cover. 

“Little old-fashioned, don’t you think?” he said, after a pause. “This one seems fine.”

If Darcy was a more suspicious type of person, she’d’ve said that Barnes had picked the first book on top of the pile, but she kept that thought to herself as he settled himself awkwardly into a decidedly non-Barnes sized chair. His knees rose above him and he stoically ignored the squeak of protest the plastic gave out as he sat down.

“Okay,” he said, and ten expectant faces locked onto him. Darcy watched as he swallowed slightly, then opened the book. “Okay. On the Fourth of July, everyone in town-”

“Why is your hand all shiny?”

Barnes blinked, and looked down at the raised hand and interested face that gazed back. He glanced at the shiny hand in question, the lines of gold glinting slightly under the strip lighting. 

“Well, it’s made of metal. On the Fourth of-”

“Why?”

Barnes blinked again, and turned to a different child. This one had not raised a hand, but was peering curiously at where Barnes’ grip on the picture book was starting to bend the pages. 

“Because it-” 

Darcy cleared her throat warningly from where she was standing next to the librarian. The librarian - a nice middle-aged lady named Sandra, who, she’d learned, had three cats and was pretty pleased about it - also shot him a pointed look, though Darcy assumed that was less about the potential wartime exposition and more about the damage he was starting to cause the book. 

“Because it is. On the Fourth-”

“But why?”

A third child, this one on bended knee and leaning forward with interest, dragging out the second word the way only young children can manage. Barnes shifted the book to one hand, letting the cover flap closed as he massaged his temple with his free hand.

“Sometimes people need replacement parts,” he said, after a pause. “This one just happens to be metal, is all.”

He waited for the response, glancing around the circle of small faces. Apparently satisfied with that answer, ten pairs of eyes gazed back at him silently, and he nodded slowly. Cautiously reopening the book, still looking suspiciously at the children, he took a breath and began again.

“On the-” 

“My aunt’s dog has wheels for legs,” announced a solemn voice from the circle. 

12:00 – CONGRESSIONAL BARBECUE

• Circulate

• This is not the only food based event today - pace yourself, Mr. Barnes

• Maintain visibility

• Depart by 13:00

The frosting to cake ratio was off the chart, and whoever handled the sprinkles distribution is a madman. And we definitely departed by 1pm.

“Well, they definitely learned something,” Darcy said as they made their way down the library steps and headed for the Capitol grounds. At her side, Barnes grunted. He’d managed to fight his way through to page 3, which considering his all-too-interested audience was quite a feat.

It had turned into something more like a question and answer session - although, Darcy thought, that was putting it nicely. A firing squad of blunt questions which Barnes had mostly fielded with age-appropriate answers. Sandra had looked a little non-plussed as they left, but at least didn’t seem as though she was mentally writing a complaint email to Monica.

Whilst they’d not exactly finished a whole book, they’d still somehow ended up running a little late and so Barnes picked up the pace with Darcy jogging to keep up. 

“What’s this one?” he asked over his shoulder. 

“Congressional barbecue,” she panted back, taking two and half strides to his one. “So downside is politicians and rich people who want to shake your hand and talk at you, upside is food.”

The downside was exactly as she’d summised, and she watched Barnes push something that wasn’t quite a smile, but would just about pass if no one looked too hard, onto his face as he greeted person after person. A mix of political staff, both senators and other congressmen, and a vast amount of what Darcy assumed must be wealthy party donors, milled across the lawn.

“Congressman,” an older man greeted Barnes warmly, grasping one hand with his own and clapping the other to his shoulder. “Happy Fourth! You must be missing your partner in crime?”

Barnes nodded back, tight smile fixed into place, and Darcy noted he didn’t bother to clarify quite who the partner in crime was supposed to be. 

“Bit of a change in scenery for you, isn’t it?” a woman in a twinset and pearls twittered at him. “Do they have Independence Day in Russia?”

“Uh-” Barnes began, but was thankfully interrupted by someone else. 

“I bet ol’ Captain America wishes he was here,” the newcomer said loudly, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other clasping a beer bottle. “I mean the real one, of course, you know - Steve Rog-”

“Sam Wilson is the real Captain America,” Barnes said flatly, and the man paused, looking at him. 

“Yeah, of course,” he said, shrugging, though his eyes were wary and flickered between Barnes and the other people clustered around them. None of them looked particularly comfortable. “Of course. He’s got the shield, and everything.”

“He does,” Barnes replied shortly, and turned away.

Darcy caught up with him, touching his elbow lightly and steering him toward the food. She could feel the tenseness radiate off him. Though he’d suffered through the usual amount of ridiculous questions, there’d been something a little off about him all day, she thought.

Glancing up at the blank look on his face and noting the way his fist bunched at his side, she opted not to ask questions right then.

“Woah, that’s a lot of sprinkles,” she said instead as they arrived in front of the catering section and saw the centrepiece of the table, what had previously been an enormous four-tiered cake covered in red, white and blue sprinkles was being busily divided up by a woman with an equally enormous red, white and blue hat.

Darcy glanced over at Barnes, still silent and stone-faced. Clearly, more distraction was needed. Every slice of cake cut sent another shower of sprinkles across both the plate, the cake stand and the table itself. She snorted. 

“Dude, it’s like the cake version of being glitter bombed.”

She was rewarded with something that wasn’t a laugh - wasn’t really anything close to resembling a laugh, if she was being honest - but his expression did break a little and he shook his head as he was handed a slice of cake on a paper plate. At his side, Darcy accepted her own, grimacing at the amount of sprinkles skittering across the paper as she dug a fork in.

In addition to the vast amount of sprinkles, the actual cake was hidden under a thick layer of frosting. By the time she had finished half of her slice, Barnes was already holding his plate out towards her. The sponge had been removed with a surgical precision, leaving behind a heap of frosting. 

“You don’t like frosting?” She asked, frowning at first the offered plate and then him.

“Too sweet for me,” he replied.

“Well, your sensitive 1940s taste buds are my 21st century gain,” Darcy said, accepting the plate and the mound he’d carefully left. 

“I’m leaving room for burgers,” Barnes informed her, and she snorted. 

“You need to leave room?” She said around a mouthful of frosting, practically feeling the sugar fizz its way through her veins as she swallowed. “How much did you put away at the Veterans’ Breakfast?”

“Well, it was a buffet,” he answered with a small grin, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looked away. 

She rolled her eyes at him as she finished the last of his frosting, already realising that she’d overstretched herself but persevering with it anyway. Barnes stood at her side, hands shoved into his suit pockets and quiet again as he hovered. Darcy swallowed, then looked at him properly.

He was looking back at her with what amounted to puppy dog eyes, and she sighed, dropping the paper plate into the nearest trash can and dusting her hands off against her jeans before attempting to answer him.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” she said flatly, looking a little to the left of his shoulder so that the deep blue of his eyes couldn’t pierce her soul anymore than they already had. “And I also know what Monica will say. Remember her? Our lord and master?”

“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this,” Barnes replied, dropping his voice just enough that only she could hear him. 

“It’s not about enjoying yourself,” Darcy pointed out. “It’s about - uh-” she fished in her back pocket for the careful itinerary that Monica had produced, which was now somehow dog-eared on every corner and slightly torn in the middle. She squinted. “-it’s about…Circulating.”

She looked up from the tatty piece of paper into Barnes’ unimpressed face.

“Dude, we’ve only been here-” she checked her watch. “-thirty five minutes, and at least ten of that was you conducting a thorough inspection of the food on offer. And we both know that was just an avoidance tactic.”

Barnes said nothing, but kept looking at her. His mouth twisted slightly. 

“You’re gonna get me in trouble again,” she sighed, rolling her head back. “At least make it to the interviews, for my sake.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Lewis.”

13:15 – CONSTITUENT MEET & GREET

• Prioritise veterans and community leaders

• Maximum five minutes per conversation

• Dr. Lewis to monitor queue

It is simply not possible to enforce a maximum chatting time on old people. I include Barnes in this. 

The constituent meet and greet was being held in their own office, so - having gained an extra half hour or so in their escape from the barbecue - they headed back. 

“You’d better hope Monica is elsewhere,” Darcy said, although it was without heat. She’d been sneaking sidelong glances at him the whole way, and had come to the conclusion that something was up. Something that was more up than usual, at any rate. Bucky Barnes was not a man who enjoyed much - if anything - of the pomp and circumstance of his role. 

“She’s got a thing,” Barnes answered, and to Darcy’s surprised look he continued. “Saw it on the calendar. Something about her husband.”

“Is he fighting aliens at the White House?” she snorted, and it was Barnes’ turn to wear a look of surprise. “Not real ones,” she clarified. “It’s, uh, a film - I guess that one didn’t make Steve’s little book.”

“Guess not,” he replied, and Darcy made a mental note to either expand or at least check Barnes’ sci-fi movie knowledge before dropping any more references. Although she should have probably factored in that an offhanded mention of fighting aliens to a guy who had, in fact, fought aliens personally was probably not going to be taken casually. 

Back at the office, he disappeared into his and she set about finding the list of constituents that were supposed to be meeting him. Monica, ever efficient, had left a slim green ring binder in the centre of Darcy’s desk. Inside, she found a running time list, names of each person and a short background on who they were and why they wanted to meet Barnes. 

“Monica,” she murmured, looking at it and shaking her head in something that was a little like admiration but was mostly amusement. “You are wasted here, truly.”

Notes appraised and the coffee machine checked, Darcy made her way over to Barnes’ door.

“You’re quiet today,” she said, leaning into the doorjamb and casting her gaze over him critically. Barnes looked up from the briefing pack he’d been trying and failing to get through ahead of the first meet and greet, and shrugged.

“M’fine,” he responded. 

“Yeah,” she snorted. “So convincing.”

Barnes looked at her steadily, but said nothing more. Darcy was half-tempted to push the point, but as she opened her mouth to try again, there was a knock at the main office door. She glanced behind her, then back at him. 

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The first person through the door was a man nearly as old as Barnes himself, and looked every minute of it. He weaved his way slowly across the office floor, leaning heavily on the walker he’d brought with him. Darcy looked at him, and then at Barnes, unsure whether she ought to offer assistance or not. 

He was dressed in light khaki pants and a neat navy blue blazer, a beret perched atop a thinning head of white hair, and his name was Jim Bevan. Above the breast pocket sat a tidy row of ribbon bars, and beside them a small white-enamelled star suspended beneath a green wreath, its crimson ribbon standing out against the navy wool.

“The French don’t give those out lightly,” Barnes noted as he pulled out a chair for the man, nodding his head toward the medal. Jim huffed out a laugh as he eased himself into the offered chair. 

“Took ‘em seventy years,” he wheezed, apparently amused by it. Darcy wondered if the French administrative process was as convoluted as the American one. Barnes grinned, a proper smile, one of the first she’d seen on his face so far that day, and perched on the end of Monica’s desk. 

“You were at Normandy?” he asked, eyes running over first the little white star and then the ribbon bar the man wore. 

“Omaha,” the other man nodded, and his pale eyes fixed on something in the corner of the room for a moment. 

“You’re not old enough,” Barnes said, less a question than a statement, and Darcy worked hard not to spit her coffee everywhere.

“M’old enough now,” Jim said, with a rueful laugh. “But you’re quite correct, Congressman. By rights I shouldn’t have been there.”

“Lot of boys did it,” Barnes acknowledged, and the other man nodded, tapping a wrinkled hand with curling fingers against the edge of his walker. 

“They did,” he agreed. “Me and Frank Townsend were the youngest in our company, but there were others. Seemed a great adventure, until we got there.”

They chatted for a while, swapping literal war stories, as Darcy sat at her desk and marvelled at them. Eventually, Bevan levered himself upright with the aid of his walker, accepted Barnes' hand with a firm two-handed shake, and departed with a promise to bring photographs next time. 

Darcy glanced at the clock, and grimaced. They were already five minutes over schedule, and the next person to arrive was sure to have just as much to talk about. However, by the look on Barnes’ face after he waved goodbye to Jim Bevan, she wasn’t about to enforce a strict time limit, even if she could.

The next man through the door was a Korean war veteran, a slightly younger man than Jim Bevan. His name was Walter - “call me Walt,” he said jovially as he thrust a hand out to Barnes - Bennell, and he was talking before they’d even finished shaking hands.

Darcy looked at the timetable, and groaned quietly to herself. Five minutes had become ten, that had slid all too quickly into fifteen as Walt ran Barnes through his entire Army career both pre and post Korea. He was currently up to the birth of his fourth grandchild, and showing no signs of slowing down. 

Half an hour later, and Barnes had met just two more people, including Walt Bennell. The next person along, an older lady who had served as an Army nurse in Vietnam, had tapped politely on the door and been ushered inside by Walt, leaving Darcy blinking slightly. 

Although, she thought to herself as Walt gallantly vacated his own chair for the newcomer, maybe this was the best way - or indeed, only - to go about things, if she was to have any hope of sticking to Monica’s schedule. 

Standing up abruptly - Walt continuing to talk despite the sound of her chair scraping backward - Darcy crossed to the office door and opened it. Outside was a short queue of visitors, all hoping to speak with Barnes. Five pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly, and she took a breath. 

“If you wouldn’t mind coming in together,” she said, hopefully. “I think we can make this work.”

“Nicely handled, Lewis,” Barnes said quietly as he finally waved Walt out of the door after all the rest of them, and turned back to her. 

“Not sure Monica would approve,” she said ruefully. “But now you have about two minutes to get to the radio station for your first interview, which is two minutes more than you would have had if I hadn’t stepped in.”

14:00 – RADIO INTERVIEW

• Do not discuss pending committee business

• Avoid policy speculation

• Time allocation: 15 minutes

So, it’s really not our fault that the different studios aren’t labelled correctly. They should do something about that.

They were late, obviously. 

Even at Barnes’ speed, there wasn’t a world in which they could possibly reach the station in two minutes flat. Throwing open the double doors, jacket askew and tie over his shoulder, Barnes jerked his head to the lefthand corridor. 

They rounded a corner, and came face-to-face with Steve Rogers. 

“What the-” Darcy pulled up in surprise, and at her side Bucky let out a heavy sigh. 

“Captain America’s birthday,” he said under his breath, though it was just loud enough for Darcy to catch it. He side-stepped neatly around the cardboard cut-out, and Darcy followed suit, glancing back at the life-size standee before following him.

“You sound like that’s a problem,” she observed. 

“No problem,” he said evenly, though the look he had given the cutout as he stepped around it told a somewhat different story. Darcy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. 

It wasn’t the last mention of Captain America - or, more specifically, of Steve Rogers - that day, or indeed the last mention of the man just in the radio station. Darcy watched as the smile on Barnes’ face became tighter and tighter the longer the interview went on, and thanked whichever deity might have been passing that it was only ten minutes, thanks to their late arrival. 

Darcy stood with the show’s producer, a stern-faced older woman called Lauren, who if not actually related to Monica was certainly a kindred spirit. Darcy had attempted some small talk but their lateness had torpedoed any chance of that, so instead she leaned against the wall and kept quiet.

The bright red ON-AIR sign flickered into life, and the radio host flashed a toothy grin across the bank of desk towards Barnes, who attempted to return it. 

“Welcome back to WUSA, where we’re celebrating all things Independence Day! Here with me now is Congressman Bucky Barnes, who you’ll probably better remember as the Win-”

Darcy watched as Lauren’s eyes narrowed and the host faltered in his introduction, but recovered quickly.

“-as Captain America’s best schoolyard friend! Now serving the good people of Brooklyn, he’s here with us today to talk about all things Independence."

There was a pause, and both the host and Lauren stared meaningfully at Barnes. After a moment, he leaned forward, close to the microphone. 

“Thanks for having me.”

“Thanks for taking the time out of your no doubt busy schedule,” the host replied brightly. “So, Congressman Barnes, what our listeners really want to know is…”

Barnes swallowed. 

“...what’s your favourite hot dog topping?”

He looked slightly flummoxed, and shot a sidelong look toward Darcy, who could only shrug in return. She was a bit surprised that Monica had booked such an obvious fluff piece, but maybe she was trying to soften his image a little. 

“I, uh,” Barnes said slowly, still closer to the microphone than he really needed to be. “Onions?”

There was a pause whilst the host digested this. 

“Onions,” he said loudly. “Great. Any sauce with that?”

Barnes shot another pained look at Darcy that told her exactly what he thought of the whole scenario, and she grimaced, searching in her back pocket for the increasingly crumpled schedule. As he told the host that he didn’t mind mustard or ketchup, she squinted at Monica’s notes but couldn’t find anything to suggest he wouldn’t be asked about condiments.

She looked up as the host switched topics. 

“So, Steve Rogers,” He grinned across the desk at Barnes, who made no attempt to return it this time. The host nodded at Barnes as though to encourage him, and Barnes did not respond. After a moment, and a shared glance with Lauren, the man continued. “What would he have done to celebrate his birthday, and the birthday of our great nation?”

Barnes stared.

Darcy coughed meaningfully, and when he turned his head toward her, she mimed speaking into the microphone. She saw his shoulder slump slightly in resignation, but he turned back to the waiting host.

“Depends when you’re asking, I suppose,” Barnes said levelly. “Before the war, we had no money, so he didn’t do anything much. During the war, we were being shot at, so he didn’t do anything much. After the war, he was frozen in ice, so-”

“And I think that’s sadly all we have time for today, folks,” the host cut across him, smile still plastered across his face but starting to look a little forced. “Thanks so much for joining us, Congressman Barnes. WUSA wishes you a swell Independence Day!”

14:45 – LOCAL TELEVISION INTERVIEW

• Jacket buttoned

• Congressional pin visible

• Maintain eye contact

• Keep responses concise

We’ve definitely covered the thorny issue of the Great American Condiment Debate, if nothing else.

“Please tell me the next one isn’t going to be about hot dogs,” Barnes murmured into her ear as they departed the studio under a cloud of confusion. 

“I really don’t think hot dogs were the issue, Barnes.”

It had become apparent in the ensuing debate that followed when the ON-AIR light had switched off, that they were actually supposed to have been in the studio next door. This had only come to light when the host of the show they should have been on entered abruptly, asking what the hell they thought they were up to poaching her guests.

They made it to the Capitol building, where the local TV news crew were, thankfully, still setting up. This time Darcy made sure they were talking to the right people before allowing Barnes to step anywhere near the camera. 

“Pin still on?”

He brushed a hand over his lapel in response. 

“Pin still on.”

“Okay, just don’t, I dunno - declare war on bald eagles or something.”

Barnes didn’t dignify that with an answer, but instead stepped over the thick mess of cables that ran across the pavement, and just like that his made-for-moments-like-this smile was back on his face. Darcy folded her arms and stood next to the cameraman, a nice guy called Clark who had already shown her three photos of his bichon friese, Mabel. 

“Happy Independence Day, and welcome back to DC News Now. I’m your host, Amber Griffin, and I’m joined now by Congressman James Barnes, who you may recognise from his previous endeavours as an Avenger!”

The presenter, a perky blonde girl who had probably still been in grade school when Thor had crash landed in Puente Antiguo, tossed her hair and turned brightly to Barnes.

“I wasn’t an Avenger,” he said politely. 

“Oh,” she said, face falling, and the microphone along with it. “Weren’t you Captain America?”

“...No,” he said, after a moment. “That’s - well, that depends. But not me.”

“Oh,” she repeated, looking crestfallen. 

“I am a Congressman,” Barnes reminded her, and subtly flashed the pin toward the camera. She looked decidedly less interested in that fact than any of the others she’d confused him with. “For the Brooklyn district?”

“Well,” she said, awkwardly, staring up at him as though she didn’t quite know where to go next. “Um. What’s your favourite hot dog topping?” 

15:30 – PRESS AVAILABILITY

• Maximum duration: 15 minutes

Definitely did not take longer than 15 minutes, and the pin remained on. No hot dogs OR reporters were harmed in the process.

“Darce, I’m dyin’ here,” Barnes groaned into her ear as she thanked Clark and promised to give Mabel’s Instagram page a follow. 

“I know,” she said, not without sympathy. “Just a quick press gaggle now.” 

“You make it sound like a picnic,” he grumbled, and she tossed him a grin. 

“Nope, the picnic’s later,” she replied, and he audibly groaned. 

“Surely you have faced worse,” she teased and he shot her a look in response that said plainly, whatever he’d faced in the past, he’d rather go another round with than face what was on the other side of the rope. 

They’d made it inside the Capitol building, and were waiting in a queue of other congress staffers, each waiting with their respective Congressman or Congresswoman for their turn in front of the cameras. Between the primping, last-minute furious whispers that constituted briefings, and the straightening of ties and jacket lapels, Darcy caught at least one or two curious glances their way, which she studiously ignored. 

Barnes was looking mainly at his shoes, and Darcy couldn’t tell if he was quiet in the face of the next onslaught of press, or whether it was whatever had been eating at him all day.  

Ten to twenty reporters, and at least half as many photographers were gathered on the other side of the rope line, the flashes illuminating whichever Congressman was currently being interviewed. Any questions asked seemed to be lost in the noise of it all, reporters shouting over one another and not waiting for the previous to finish before asking their own. 

Darcy resumed picking for imaginary specks of lint at the front of Barnes’ suit as they waited to be called forward. 

Five minutes later, and the scrum began. 

Barnes stepped forward, and the cameras flashed manically, the reporters already shouting questions - one after the other after another, none of them particularly distinguishable from the last. One reporter, a shorter man tucked right in at the front practically under the rope, raised his voice above the others. 

“Congressman Barnes, how are you planning to celebrate the holiday?”

“By giving interviews,” he answered, and there was a shout of laughter in response, though Darcy - standing to the side with a hand cupped over her mouth to hide her own smile - knew that it hadn’t been a joke.

“Are you spending the holiday with family?”

“Well, all my family are dead, so,” Barnes shrugged, and there was a few seconds of awkward hush as the small crowd digested his response and silently dared each other to be the one to follow up after that. 

“What’s your favourite Fourth of July tradition?”

Barnes paused, and glanced sideways at Darcy before answering. She raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was thinking and whether she’d have to answer to Monica for it. 

“Hot dogs,” he said, turning his attention back to the crowd of reporters. “With onions, if you’re asking.”

Darcy did laugh out loud at that, and earned herself a curious look from the reporter standing closest to her, unclear why hot dogs were suddenly so humorous. 

“How would Steve Rogers have celebrated the Fourth?”

The question, from a reporter standing at the back of the scrum, their microphone thrust up and forward as far as it would go, cut through the noise and the knowing grin on Barnes’ face dropped away. 

A camera flashed, then another, as the huddle waited for his answer. Darcy coughed loudly, and Barnes glanced her way before turning his attention back to the waiting mass. 

“Same way he celebrated most things, I suppose,” he said, not quite looking at anyone in particular. 

“And that’s all we have time for, folks,” Darcy announced, stepping forward and earning one or two camera flashes of her own as she tugged at Barnes’ elbow. “Places to be, wreaths to lay - you know how it is.”

16:15 – VETERANS' MEMORIAL

• Wreath laying

• Five-minute remarks

• Press photographs 

Well, remarks were made. 

Darcy didn’t want to keep asking if he was okay, especially since it was becoming increasingly apparent that he wasn’t. In any case, the real question wasn’t so much whether he was okay, but what, if anything, she could do about it. She suspected that the answer was that there wasn’t much to be done. 

At least, she thought, as they approached the National World War II Memorial, the Washington Monument dominating the sky beyond it, this stop would be relatively quiet. 

It was, indeed, quiet, and Darcy was grateful for that for a number of reasons. 

A small crowd was assembled, mainly of veterans from various wars. Some were young enough to have served in Iraq or Afghanistan, but most were significantly older. Judging by the age of some of them, and she recognised Jim Bevan leaning on his walker, the Légion d'honneur on his chest gleaming in the sunshine as he stood as tall as he was able - even World War 2 vets. 

To the left, a military band played America the Beautiful as the last few people joined the waiting crowd and the Master of Ceremonies prepared to speak. Darcy mentally sang along as the band finished up. 

After the welcome, and the band launching into the Star Spangled Banner - Barnes mumbling along at her side as the crowd were encouraged to join in - the Master of Ceremonies appeared again at the microphone. 

“This afternoon we are honoured to be joined by James Buchanan Barnes, a man who serves his country now as a Congressman, but who served her eighty years ago on the battlefield as well.”

Barnes inclined his own head briefly as heads turned toward him, before making his way to the small stage amidst a smattering of applause. He reached the MC, shook the man’s hand, then turned to the microphone. 

Darcy, watching on and clapping with everyone else, had a sudden and clear picture of the flash cards they’d written for this speech. There were just a handful of them, one or two bullet points on each. And they were sitting on top of her laptop in the office. 

“Oh, god,” she breathed as Barnes patted his top pocket and frowned, apparently coming to the same conclusion as she had. He stared into the crowd, possibly looking for her but, giving up on that, stared down at the microphone as if it might bite him. 

Darcy, too far away to do anything, stuffed her fist into her mouth as the MC nodded encouragingly to Barnes, perhaps assuming a bout of stage fright had overtaken him. Barnes, looking to the other man hopelessly, sighed in resignation and opened his mouth. 

“People like to think of the men and women who served, and continue to serve our country, as heroes,” he began slowly, squinting into the bright sunlight, one hand gripping either side of the podium as he bent to the microphone. “But they’re not.”

A murmur began at that, rippling outward through the assembled people. Darcy closed her eyes and grimaced slightly. She’d spotted the lone cameraman in the corner, though if it wasn’t him capturing the speech, there were any number of people filming on their phones who were sure to do so.  

“Hear, hear,” came a loud and defiant voice from the crowd, and she opened her eyes again to see Jim Bevan standing tall. Barnes gave the man a small smile before continuing. 

“They’re people who stepped up. People who answered the call, and accepted that, if the ultimate sacrifice needed to be made, they would make it.”

He paused again, the crowd’s murmurs settling to a quiet hush. 

“Some of them made that sacrifice,” Barnes said quietly, the fingers of his left hand tapping restlessly against the wooden podium. “Too many of them, truth be told. Others sacrificed in different ways, came home but came home changed.”

Too many sets of eyes lingered on the shining metal of his left hand when he said that, and Darcy winced slightly, knowing he wasn’t thinking of himself when he spoke, but if he realised he carried on regardless.

“History calls them heroes, because there is no single word big enough to describe what they did, or who they were. It’s easier for us to label them ‘hero’ and move on, than to remember they were people first. Ordinary people, who did extraordinary things, because they believed it was the right thing to do.”

Barnes paused, and stared out across the crowd. The crowd stared back. Darcy thought of the flash cards sitting on her laptop, and considered that, whatever careful notes were on them, this was better. 

“We’re gathered here today to honour the memory of those who served, but also to recognise who they were, and who they continue to be. We do them an injustice to reduce them solely to ‘heroes’, because that is only one part of their story. Sons, daughters, husbands and wives, neighbours, friends-”

He stumbled a little on the last word, but collected himself. 

“-people who gave, people who give. People who deserve for us to give something back. Every day, not just the Fourth.”

He blinked slightly, looking about as surprised as anyone else that he’d reached the end of his speech.

“Uh. Thank you.” 

Barnes stepped away from the podium, and there was a short pause as the crowd digested what he had said. Darcy waited, and then - a furious clapping erupted from one corner of the crowd, and she was not surprised at all to find that it was the assembled veterans rather than the general crowd. 

For his part, Barnes looked a little taken aback, as if he’d forgotten that he was making a speech. The MC tapped him on the shoulder and, when he turned to the other man, presented the large wreath and indicated where it was to be laid. 

Barnes accepted the wreath, staring at it a moment, the red, white and blue ribbon stirring slightly in the gentle breeze. 

The band started up again, some patriotic tune that Darcy vaguely recognised but couldn’t quite put a name to, as Barnes stepped forward and carefully laid the wreath. Most of the crowd drifted away, but some lingered - mostly the veterans, she noticed - alternately gazing at the wreath and approaching Barnes to exchange a few words.  

17:00 – OFFICE

• Thirty-minute comfort break

• Prepare for evening engagements

• Feel free to review updated briefing materials

Routine maintenance was carried out in addition to taking a break - multitasking!

“A comfort break,” Barnes muttered as he threw himself into his chair. “A whole scheduled thirty minutes free from shaking hands, taking photos, and answering moronic questions, lucky me.”

“Hey now, Monica could’ve considered all the food related events comfort breaks, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth if I were you,” Darcy responded, though he hadn’t really been asking, and the look on his face when she said it told her exactly what he thought of that.

“It’s twenty eight minutes now,” she continued, glancing at the time on her laptop. The unused flash cards she had swept into her top drawer. Normal people would have flung them into the trash, but normal people didn’t work in an office with Monica Smith - and Darcy couldn’t quite trust that she wouldn’t check. 

Barnes groaned. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced, and something about the slightly sheepish way he said it made her think that, although he probably was going there, he was probably intending to stop off in the storage closet on the way back. Darcy knew he still sometimes took a breather in the dark, and couldn’t find it in herself to judge him for it. 

When he finally returned, he stopped dead in the doorway and stared at her. 

“That’s not a good idea,” he said, frowning as Darcy stood on a swivel chair and reached gamely for the broken bulb above her. It had been bothering her all week, the way that it flickered weakly, but the emails she’d sent to Maintenance seemed to have dropped straight into a black hole for all the response she’d gotten.

“Psssh, it’s fine,” she answered dismissively, continuing to stretch upward. “I used to work with a woman who made us chase lightning storms in a camper van. An office chair isn’t going to take me out.”

“Monica and her OSHA regulations rulebook might,” Barnes said mildly. 

“It’s fine-“ Darcy insisted again over her shoulder, but just then, as her weight shifted to the left, the chair took a wild swing and she yelped in sudden surprise, wobbling hard.

Barnes shot forward, impossibly fast, and when he reached her seconds later he was looping an arm around her waist to keep her upright. She gasped at the sudden feel of cool metal against her skin, her sweater riding up with the movement. 

“Maybe OSHA has a point?” He said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, I’ve nearly done it now,” she said gamely, recovering - more or less - from the twin shocks of nearly falling flat on her face, and the feel of his arm around her waist. She reached upward again as she spoke, and he sighed but tightened his grip slightly, keeping her in place. “Pass me that lightbulb?”

Obediently he passed up the new bulb, accepting the old one in return, still keeping a careful hold of her as she stretched upward. When she was finished, he hoisted her from the chair to the floor, and Darcy had absolutely no thoughts whatsoever about the fact that he'd just lifted her off the chair as though she weighed nothing.

“See?” she said instead, dusting herself off for something to do with her hands whilst she avoided looking him in the eye. “Now you’ve earned your sandwiches.”

18:30 – COMMUNITY PICNIC

• Informal constituent engagement

• Maintain schedule

• Proceed to evening reception at 19:45

Constituents were informally engaged via the medium of folding tables and setting out chairs.

“Hot dog?” she suggested with a grin, as they approached the lawn where the community picnic was being held. Monica’s itinerary had specified ‘picnic’, but Darcy could already smell the smoke from the barbecue, and her stomach rumbled accordingly.   

“You know,” Barnes answered, shaking his head. “I’ve gone off ‘em.”

She snorted. 

The community picnic was a far more relaxed affair than most of the other events they’d attended that day, which Darcy was grateful for as she was seriously flagging. Even Barnes was more subdued than normal, their half hour break seeming to only serve to tire him more rather than rejuvenate. 

Bunting fluttered in the wind, connecting the temporary canvas marquees with the wooden bandstand gazebo that dominated the centre of the lawn. Under the pitched roof, a band played quietly, and a few inspired couples graced the dancefloor in front of it. 

Darcy accepted an ice cold glass of pink lemonade and sucked half of it down before she could even think about it, earning herself a surprised look from Barnes. 

“Hey, you’re not the only one who can put away vast quantities of things if they need to,” she said, a little sheepishly, the ice rattling against the side of the glass. “You should’ve seen me in college.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could properly respond, a voice came from behind them.

“Congressman Barnes?”

A young woman appeared at Barnes’ elbow, looking hopeful. He turned to greet her, and Darcy watched as the girl shyly asked for his help in setting up some of the picnic tables. Barnes, immediately and all too obviously thankful to be asked to do something physical rather than answer any more questions about his holiday preferences, shrugged his jacket off and held it out to Darcy before following the girl.

Darcy parked herself on a grassy mound, knees to her chest and one arm looped around them, Barnes’ jacket neatly folded beside her and thoughtfully drinking the rest of her lemonade. 

From across the lawn she watched him fall effortlessly into helping - unfolding trestle tables, hauling benches into place and laughing as a pair of young but officious children, both dressed identically in overalls and bright yellow t-shirts, insisted on "supervising" his work. It struck her that this was the first time for a while that day that he had looked even remotely at ease.

By the time he wandered back over, dusting his hands against his suit trousers before lowering himself onto the slope beside her with a low grunt, the band had moved into another tune she vaguely recognised and the smell of gently burning burgers was wafting over to them.

There was silence between them, but Darcy could see that, under the brief distraction, the weight he'd been carrying all day was starting to settle back onto his shoulders.

“You okay?” she asked, looking over at him. 

“Yeah,” he answered, his attempt at a one-shoulder shrug to accompany the lie foiled by the way he was resting back on his elbows. 

“You can tell me, you know,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to the nearly empty glass, stirring the melting ice cubes with her straw. “I won’t, like, judge you or anything for not being thrilled about all this. It’s all part of the job, but no one’s pretending like it isn’t a lot.”

Barnes looked over.

“It’s - it’s not the job,” he said, after a moment. Blue eyes flickered over at her, and for a moment she felt as though she were being assessed, though quite what for she wasn’t sure. He paused, and that muscle that ticked in his cheek was back, before he continued. “All this is - it’s not this. It’s - it’s fine.”

Darcy nodded, understanding that it was not really fine at all, but she wasn’t sure why and she was starting to think she wasn’t going to find out. 

20:00 – EVENING RECEPTION

• Meet district leaders

• Photographs

• Closing remarks

The District Leaders were … Districty. Sadly all the cameras were broken, so no one was able to take any photographs of the reception. Someone should investigate that. 

“Darcy,” Barnes said, catching at her elbow as they approached the bright white marble steps outside the Library of Congress. Around them milled several other people, some taking the chance for a sneaky cigarette or vape before entering, some clearly just rubbernecking to see if there was anyone worth seeing. “I can’t do this.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, turning back to him with concern. “I remembered the flash cards this time, they’re in my back pocket. Are you sick? Wait, no, you can’t get sick. Are you hurt? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “I just… I can’t be with any more people today. Not like this. Please.”

Darcy looked at him then, truly looked at him, and took in the tightness at the corners of his eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped. He was still more put together than anyone else would have been in the same position, but having known him a while now she could see that what had been building all day had finally overtaken him. 

“Are you asking me to ditch?” she asked with a smile, opting to make a joke of it rather than poke into his mental health. 

“If that’s what the kids call it these days,” he replied, eyes still fixed on her. 

“I can ditch,” she said, nodding, and relief flickered across his face.

“I know a spot,” he said, taking her hand. “You won’t miss the fireworks.”

Darcy, feeling the warmth of her hand in his, found that her heart was thumping hard behind her ribcage, and told herself that it was clearly just in anticipation of how she was going to explain it all to Monica on Monday.

“Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand slightly. “Lead the way.”

21:30 – FIREWORKS DISPLAY

• Attend with district delegation

• Remain until conclusion

• Depart promptly

We totally stayed for the fireworks. They were great, all big and loud and colourful. Just like mama used to make. The district delegation loved them. Said they were the best fireworks they’d ever seen.

Barnes led the way, still with her hand in his, heading west along Constitution Avenue.

Together they cut through the quieter back streets of the city, keeping away from the main roads where people were still gathering. Flags dangled almost everywhere, the stars and stripes hanging from lampposts, washing lines, balconies - anywhere someone could possibly tie a flag, there it was, and Darcy smiled to see it. 

They passed a street corner where a handful of kids were setting off firecrackers, the sharp snaps echoing off the buildings and shrieks of excitement from the kids followed. Barnes looked, his head turning at the first snap, and Darcy could see something of a smile curl one corner of his mouth as he glanced over.

“Me ‘n’ Steve used to do that,” he said, still looking. Darcy, noting that this was the first time he’d mentioned Steve under his own steam all day, simply nodded in return.  

Despite all they’d done that day in the name of the Fourth, seeing something of the quiet celebration rather than the pomp and circumstance of government, brought it home a little more for her. The next time America celebrated her independence it would be in recognition of 250 years of the United States - a tiny dot against a lot of countries’ history, Darcy herself had stayed in apartments older than that on her travels in Europe with Jane, but a milestone for America nonetheless. 

They emerged onto the National Mall, where the crowds thickened, the grassy spaces almost entirely hidden under picnic blankets and folding chairs as families staked their claim to a space ahead of the display. In the distance Darcy could hear the strains of yet another rendition of America the Beautiful.

Barnes didn’t slow, keeping them to the edge of the crowds away from children who sat on the shoulders of their parents, waving glowsticks joyfully against the darkening sky. Together they weaved around the back of the Reflecting Pool before turning toward the Arlington Memorial Bridge. 

“Not much further,” he promised, looking back over his shoulder at Darcy, her hand still clasped in his. 

They crossed the bridge, the lights of Washington shimmering in the Potomac below them. Behind them, the Capitol dome glowed bright against the night sky, and ahead of them a slim steel tower rose above the treeline. 

“Oh,” Darcy said, gazing upward and marvelling at it as they drew closer. “The Carillon. I’ve never seen it in person before.”

The bells hung silent, the tower itself rising from the crest of a small grassy hill. There were people here too, Darcy thought there couldn’t possibly be an empty public space in Washington on the Fourth of July, but it was significantly less busy than the Mall and its surrounds. 

She followed Barnes as he climbed the last few yards of the slight incline, and at the base of the bell tower he stopped. Turning to gaze back on where they’d come from, Darcy could see the Potomac glittering beneath them, the Washington Monument stark against the evening sky. The distant sounds of the crowds gathered at the Mall drifted on the air. 

“What a view,” she said, hands on hips, and beside her Barnes grinned. 

“It’s less popular than some of DC, but I’ve always liked it,” he said. “I spent some time here, after…”

He trailed off, falling silent, and Darcy filled in the gaps for herself. Whether he meant after Steve had left, or whether he meant after the Triskellion had crumbled into the Potomac, she wasn’t entirely sure, but guessed it could easily have been either. It didn’t really matter - she was touched that he trusted her enough to bring her somewhere that clearly meant a lot to him. 

She shot him a small smile, which he returned. 

Above them, a rocket whizzed into the sky, the low boom of it as it exploded into a thousand scattered sparkles drawing an excited oooooooh from the people gathered around them. 

“Shall we?” Darcy asked, gesturing toward the ground, and he slipped his jacket off and held it out to her wordlessly. She snorted at the unnecessary chivalry, but took it anyway, spreading it across the grass before sitting down. Barnes sprawled beside her, hands already working at the knot of his tie before his ass had hit the dirt.  

Another burst of colour bloomed overhead, quickly followed by a second and then a third. Darcy rested back on her elbows, legs crossed at the ankle, and sighed happily as she gazed upward. 

Beside her, Barnes was quiet, but for the first time that day it felt as though the quiet was peaceful rather than tense. 

Somewhere behind them, a voice suddenly rang out.

“Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way?”

Giggles followed, and Darcy glanced over at a group of teenagers dressed in red, white and blue. One boy of maybe sixteen or so, with acne spread across his nose and a grin wider than the Potomac, stood, one hand to his forehead in a poor imitation of an army salute as he sang, chest puffed.

“Wait, what’s the next line?” one girl, sitting cross-legged on the grass with her skirt spread across her knees, asked another, who shook her head. The first girl hummed out of tune, picking up odd words throughout the song as she remembered them. 

“Who - hum - indeed - hum - the call for America? Who'll - hum - hum - hum, give his all, for America?”

The rest of the group joined in heartily on each America, and Darcy shot a look at Barnes who shook his head. 

“The star-spangled man WITH A PLAN!”

The group finished together, louder than they had before, and a few other groups clapped along as they came to the end.

“Happy Birthday, Captain America!” the boy who’d started it all said loudly, grinning and bowing slightly to the other people on the hill, more applause following. 

“Wasn’t even his birthday,” Barnes snorted, and Darcy glanced at him with one eyebrow raised, and he looked back at her. “They made it up for the films. Thought it’d go over better.”

“Huh,” she replied, propping herself up on her elbows. 

“Most all of it was a lie,” he continued, lying back and resting his head on folded arms.  

Darcy considered it, blinking. It made complete sense now that she thought about it, and it felt silly that she - a poli-sci student - hadn’t ever thought about it before. The chances of a guy being called Captain America and just so happening to have been born on the Fourth of July was patently ludicrous, an obvious political play.

“Which was your favourite?” she asked, and when he fixed her with a questioning look she elaborated. “Captain America film, I mean.”

“Never saw any,” he shrugged, closing his eyes. 

“Wait, what?” Darcy asked in surprise, rolling to one side and propping her head up with one bent arm as she stared at him. “Your BFF was a film star, and you never saw any of his movies?”

Bucky snorted, eyes still closed. 

“Steve wasn’t a film star,” he said. “They rolled out a handful of cheap shorts just to keep the bond money coming in, and the Captain America name in the headlines. Advertising, that’s all it was.”

Darcy, who had seen all of them multiple times - her favourite was the one with the painfully cardboard looking Alpine set covered in what looked like cotton wool for snow - shook her head in disbelief.

“Anyway, when would I have seen his films? We were livin’ it,” Barnes continued. “No time to pop to the picturehouse.”

“You must’ve had some downtime,” she offered. 

“Some,” he conceded. “We didn’t go to the movies, though.”

Darcy, who - like pretty much every other high school girl she knew, and at least one or two of the boys - had gone through a period where she’d swooned over the wartime photos of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, thought she might have some idea what they’d gotten up to in the odd bits of freetime, and wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear the details. 

That there was a flicker of something that felt curiously like the cold stirrings of jealousy that sparked in the centre of her chest, she studiously ignored. What would she have to be jealous of? Not only was he talking about things he’d done - or not done - sixty years or so before she was even born, but he was her boss. Her sweet, kind, thoughtful boss, who gave her his jacket, and held her hand tightly as he guided her through the streets of DC- 

“Thanks for this,” he said quietly, interrupting her thoughts, and she turned to look at him questioningly. His eyes were closed and he was still laid flat on his back on the grass, arms folded behind his head. “The Fourth, it’s just… A lot.”

Darcy, who could feel the beginnings of tears sting her eyes whenever the news that NASA landed something on another planet and didn’t expect that particular emotional ambush to quit on her any time soon, thought she knew what he meant. Barnes wasn’t necessarily the most extrovert of men at the best of times, but there had been something quietly off about him all day, and she now thought she understood why. People you loved were gone, but in their absence they were felt all too strongly.

Particularly if you were reminded at every turn that no one knew them quite like you did.

“Anytime,” she said, meaning it as she lay back down next to him. 

Above them, the fireworks continued to explode high in the sky; red, white and blue showers of spangles that decorated the night.