Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was dark, at the bottom of the valley. Cold. He didn't know how long he'd been there, unable to move, the only warmth coming from the hot blood dripping down into the hollow of his neck, but even that stopped, after a while. His eyes were open, but unseeing - white surrounded him, covered his senses in a thick blanket that made it impossible for him to do anything. Dying was agony - at first, it was hot, searing hot like a red-hot poker had been taken to the left side of his body. Then it grew colder, and colder until it was so frigid that it burned just as bad as the poker.

He didn't know how long he lay there for, paralysed in agony. It could have been days. The howls of the creatures that lived in the ravine grew closer, and it grew to the point that he tried to scream out, to lead them to him, just so they could tear at his flesh and quicken his demise. Anything was better than this slow horror.

Finally, after days of suffering, he heard the tell-tale sound of feet in the snow. He could have sobbed in happiness - he'd been found. The animals had found him. They would rip him limb from limb and he would finally be free.

The animals talked to each other, in a language that was familiar, and grasped him with hands that felt like they'd touched his skin before. A woman's face appeared above him - a beautiful woman, with red lips and dark hair and tears in her eyes. He wondered if she was an angel, finally descended from Heaven to take his soul. But why would he go to Heaven? He may not know much, in his pain-addled state, but he knew he was not a good man. A good man would not have such perverse thoughts, do such unholy things, allow another man to kiss him and worship his body like the most sacred of texts.

"Get him into the plane!" a voice yelled - he realised it came from the angel. Why would the angel have a plane? He thought those were human contraptions, certainly not something a celestial would use.

Hands gripped him, and he was lifted into the air. He couldn't see much apart from cold and snow, but in the middle of the white was a blooming flower of red. It was beautiful, he realised - the scarlet painting the blank canvas in such a pretty colour. In the middle of the bloom lay a mangled arm, wrapped in bloodied blue fabric and pale as the driven snow.

-----

The first thing Bucky was aware of when he woke up was the comfort. He was enveloped by warmth, soft fabrics brushing against his frostbitten skin and wrapping him in a gentle embrace. He shifted slightly in the nest, enthralled by the way the fabric moved with the slightest friction, and voices he hadn't been aware of abruptly ceased. A warm palm was placed on his head, and Bucky leaned into it as much as he could.

"Rest, Sergeant," a woman's voice said softly, sweetly. "You had quite the fall."

Arnim Zola. The train. The mission. Gabe. Falling. Steve.

Steve.

Bucky opened his eyes, and for the first few seconds, he couldn't see anything but bright light. The light slowly receded and revealed the woman who'd spoken to him, sitting at his bedside. Peggy Carter.

The first thing Bucky noticed about Peggy was her appearance. For the two years he'd known her, Bucky had never known Peggy to look anything other than flawless. Her lips were always the same shade of red, she never had a hair out of place, and she carried herself with a confidence that was envied or lusted after by every and all members of the SSR. But the Peggy sitting at his bedside looked ragged. Her hair hung loosely around her face, lank and lifeless and lacking its usual lustre. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her shoulders slumped, her face completely devoid of makeup. Still, she smiled at him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly. Bucky opened his mouth, tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasping cough. Peggy reached to something out of his line of sight and brought back a cup. She tipped it to his mouth, and he felt water touch his lips. He greedily drank it all, and when she pulled away he slumped back against the bed, exhausted.

"Steve," he managed to croak out, and Peggy's face crumpled into an expression of absolute misery.

"Sleep, James," she whispered. Bucky could do nothing but comply.

------

Bucky didn't know how long it took before he was able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes. He'd woken up a few times after the first, and there had always been someone with him. Sometimes it was Peggy, stroking the hair back from his face and quietly talking to doctors who come into the room. The Howlies came often, no more than two in the room at a time, and even Colonel Phillips had appeared, his usual gruff demeanour firmly in place. Howard Stark had taken to coming in, and Bucky found it quite relaxing to listen to the other man's ramblings without needing to contribute anything to the conversation. He still didn't see Steve.

Finally, when Bucky was able to speak more than one word without passing out, he asked.

"Where's Steve?"

Howard froze, mid-way through a story about his latest conquest, his hands still mid-flail. Bucky watched, wary, as the inventor slowly lowered his hands, not looking at Bucky.

"There are some things we need to tell you," Howard said quietly. Bucky watched him, his brows furrowing in confusion. What was there to tell? He'd fallen off the side of a train, into a ravine, somehow survived, and his best friend was nowhere to be found.

Maybe Steve only came when he was asleep, Bucky mused as he was helped into a wheelchair by a couple of nurses and wheeled down the corridor. He didn't know how much he slept, and it could just be that Steve always caught him when he was asleep.

The place that Bucky had assumed to be a hospital turned out to be another SSR base, although Bucky wasn't sure which one. Were they still in France, or were they in England again? Were they even in Europe at all?

Howard walked beside him, uncharacteristically silent. It wasn't until they walked through a set of doors to a small conference room that Howard spoke, and it wasn't to him.

"Fetch the Howling Commandoes and Agent Carter," Howard said to one of the nurses. The woman nodded and hurried out of the room. The other nurse started fussing over Bucky, checking his pulse and temperature and examining the bandages over the stump of his arm, her manner brisk but not unkind. Howard started pacing, fiddling with something in his hands that emitted a whirring noise every time he twisted its dials.

It wasn't long before Peggy strode into the room, her heels making loud clicking noises on the hard floor. Ever since that first time, Bucky had only ever seen her dressed as impeccably as he remembered. He wondered if it was just a dream. She was quickly followed by Dum Dum, Gabe, Morita, Falsworth and Dernier, each of them giving Bucky a smile. When they got close enough, Dum Dum playfully whacked Bucky's good shoulder.

"What's this about, Howard?" Peggy asked briskly, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm in the middle of something quite important, and-" She cut herself off when she met Bucky's eyes, and all the fight seemed to drain out of her. "Oh. Well, I suppose it needs to happen eventually."

"What needs to happen?" Bucky asked. His voice was still raspy from however long it had been since he fell.

"Sarge, what do you remember about the accident?" Gabe asked gently.

"Uh..." Bucky wracked his brain. "We were on a mission to capture Arnim Zola. You, me and Steve used a zipline to get onto the train, and we split up into two groups. You went one way, Steve and I went the other." Bucky suddenly felt very cold, and shivered. The nurse draped a blanket over his shoulders, and he gripped it with his one hand and smiled at her gratefully.

"Anything else?" Gabe asked, his dark eyes kind.

"There was.. a soldier, I guess. He had those guns, the ones powered by the cube? He blew a hole in the side of the train, and blasted me out of it before Steve could bring him down." Bucky licked his lips absentmindedly. "I hung onto the side. Steve couldn't reach me in time."

"James, do you know why you survived?" Peggy asked gently.

"Luck?"

"Sarge, no offence, but that was a thousand-foot drop, at least," Morita murmured. "No regular human could survive that."

"The only ones who probably could would be Captain Rogers or Johann Schmidt, or someone with a form of the serum," Peggy continued. "James, do you remember anything being different after coming back from Azzano?"

"I don't... I don't know, that was two years ago," Bucky mumbled. "So Zola gave me a serum, I survived. I don't care - where's Steve?"

The room went silent.

"He doesn't know?" Falsworth asked incredulously.

"He's been too sick-" the nurse started.

"It's about Steve!" Falsworth snapped. "He deserves to be the first to know, not the last person in the whole damned country!"

"He wasn't ready," Howard protested. "A shock like that could have caused his heart to stop, permanently! We weren't going to risk it when there was a chance he could die."

Dernier fired off rapid French, his face red and almost spitting with rage. Dum Dum's hand tightened on Bucky's shoulder.

"What's this about?" Bucky found his voice was wavering. "Why won't you tell me where Steve is?"

"Kid-" Dum Dum started, but Bucky shrugged off his hand, standing up shakily. The nurse made an aborted move towards him as if to force him back into his seat, but he glared at her fiercely enough for her to take a couple of steps back.

"Where's Steve?" Bucky snarled. Peggy closed her eyes, let out a breath. When she looked at him again, Bucky was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"Captain Rogers, in an effort to stop the Red Skull, jumped aboard the Nazi warplane known as the Valkyrie," Howard said quietly, his eyes trained on the floor. "He defeated Schmidt but realised that the Valkyrie was carrying nuclear bombs, one for each of the major cities in Western control. In order to stop the bombing, he crashed the plane somewhere in the Arctic circle."

Howard took a deep breath, and when he looked up, his expression was full of regret. "We haven't found a body."

The world disappeared behind Bucky in a funnel, nothing existing except Howard's face and the words that had just come out of his mouth. We haven't found a body.

A body.

Steve was dead.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and Bucky didn't bother shrugging it off again. He couldn't take his eyes off Howard, his mind off the words that still circulated through his head and through the room like a bitter smoke, a foul disease. The words that Bucky had been dreading since he was a child and realised that Steve might not live through the next illness.

Steve Rogers is dead.

A chilling wail pierced the air, and Bucky felt arms around him, holding him upright. The wail persisted, soaked through the walls and shaking Bucky to the bone, before it finally broke off into sobs, huge, wracking sounds that made the whole world shake. It wasn't until Bucky felt the tears on his cheeks that he realised the sounds were coming from him.

Because Steve Rogers was dead.

And Bucky may as well have been, too.

Chapter Text

1945

Bucky goes home with Peggy. She's got herself an apartment in New York, and a job working for the SSR. Howard's gone off to one of his many mansions, with several large spreadsheets under one arm and talk of developing prosthetics that Bucky's almost positive is just to prove he can make a better arm than Mother Nature.

Peggy's gone every morning before seven, but she's always got a pot of coffee simmering on the stove for him, even though she only drinks tea. Bucky sleeps in her guest room, a tiny broom closet with a twin bed stuffed in the corner and a chest of drawers directly opposite it. His feet hang off the end of the bed and he always bumps his knee on the drawers, but the mattress is heaven compared to the army cots and dirt that he's been sleeping on for three years. His three pairs of clothes fit easily in the drawers, and he's never had many belongings in the first place.

For the first few months, Bucky doesn't leave his room. He hears about the bombs in Japan, and Peggy strokes his hair as he vomits into the toilet and wonders whether he should put a bullet in his skull. He watches the VE day celebrations from his window, two months after Steve's death, a hollow feeling in his chest as he watches these people celebrate, these people who don't know the horrors of war, who've never experienced the man sitting next to them have his head explode mid-sentence. These people, who know nothing about the destruction their country has wreaked upon the world, who, even if they did know, probably wouldn't care.

Peggy is a godsend. She had always been Steve's girl, really, and during the war, Bucky could barely stand to look at her. She was the one who'd, somehow, captured his Stevie's heart, and Bucky could never stay in a room with the two of them for more than a couple of minutes before hastily retreating. Through his heartbreak, through the pain in his chest, he had never properly gotten to know Peggy, and it's something that he soon comes to regret. Even when wracked with grief and working long work hours, Peggy manages to keep going, and take care of Bucky on top of that. She's no-nonsense while still being caring, dry-humoured and gorgeous with a smile that could light up a room. Bucky finally sees what Steve must have seen, and the thought makes his heart ache.

After VE day, Peggy strides into his room at six-thirty, waking him up rather rudely as she dumps something onto his lap. Bucky jerks up with a yelp, then groans as the sudden movement pulls on the still-healing skin of his shoulder. Peggy watches, seemingly unimpressed, her hands on her hips. She's wearing a white blouse and a red skirt, her lips painted to match the skirt and a hat resting snugly on her head.

"Jeez, Carter," Bucky manages when his heart stops racing. "Give a fella some warning next time?"

"I'm going to work," she announces, ignoring his statement. Bucky gives her an obvious once-over, rubbing absently at his shoulder as he sits up fully.

"I can see that."

"You should do something other than sit around all day," Peggy continues, and nods her head towards the bundle she threw onto the covers. "There are some things in there that you may find interesting. I expect you to have left this room at least once for something other than food and bathroom needs by the time I arrive home."

With that, she turns on her heel and strides out, leaving Bucky, still half-asleep, to watch her go.

Getting a bit more comfortable on the bed and resigning himself to the fact that he won't at all be getting back to sleep after that, Bucky turns his attention to the objects in his lap. There's a newspaper, a roll of wool, a pair of knitting needles, and a slip of paper with Peggy's neat handwriting.

Steve would want you to live, not just survive.

Blinking the tears from his eyes, Bucky slips out of bed, taking the items with him.

Walking can still be a problem, especially when he's tired - losing his arm made his sense of balance swing wildly out of wack, but Bucky manages to throw the items onto the kitchen table and get himself to the bathroom without stubbing his toe - a rare win. Showering, too, is difficult, but Peggy's building has hot water and relatively good water pressure, two things that Bucky hasn't had much experience with. Before the war, they'd never even had a shower - he and Steve had an old, rusted bathtub that they'd fill with water they'd boiled on the stove, and they'd bathe together, sitting at opposite ends of the tub. Bucky had always sworn that it was to save water, and every time he had, Steve had rolled his eyes and pressed their bodies together under the water.

There were bad things about showers, Bucky knew, and one of those things makes itself known when his hand slips on the bar of soap and it falls to the ground. Bucky looks down at it in disapproval, and ultimately decides to leave it there - leaning down is never a good idea lately, and he really doesn't want to smash his skull open in the shower. For one, it would mean that he'd be found naked, and he'd rather not have Peggy see his bare ass.

When Bucky gets back into the main room, fully dressed and only slightly damp, the wool and knitting needles are glaring at him from the kitchen table. His ma had taught him to knit when he was a boy, stating sternly in that Scottish accent of hers, "When you find yourself a nice girl to settle down with, you'll help her out around the house, won't you James?" He'd nodded, wide-eyed, and Winifred had gone on to teach him how to knit, sew, mend clothes, cook, and clean. Bucky knows now that he probably won't find a nice girl to settle down with, but he can at least help Peggy out.

It takes most of the day to relearn how to knit, especially with only one arm, but when Peggy comes home that night she finds him sitting on the couch, Bing Crosby crooning from the stereo as Bucky happily knits a wonky scarf with more holes than fabric.

-----

It helps. There are still days where Bucky can't leave the room, where he curls up in bed and sobs, where the arm that's no longer there hurts so bad he can't even scream, but they're no longer every day. He tries to get a job, but nobody would hire a cripple with shell shock, so Bucky falls into the role of housewife, spending his days cooking and cleaning and knitting until Peggy comes home. If he wasn't so damaged, if he wasn't cursed, tainted by sin, he'd probably have fallen in love with her - for a normal fella it would be easier than breathing. But Bucky's not a normal fella, and he's been destined for the pit ever since he first noticed just how blue Steve's eyes were.

Sometimes, Bucky gets postcards from the Commandoes. He learns that they're still in Europe, helping with the clean-up of the war. Sometimes they send photos - a picture of Dum Dum posing with a small girl holding a stuffed bear, Gabe falling off the roof of a cottage he's helping rebuild, Falsworth sitting and eating beans right out of a can as an older Italian woman watches in disdain - and it's the only time Bucky feels the permanent shell over his face crack, just a little bit, to allow the sliver of a smile. In return, he sends them pictures of Central Park, of his knitting, of a pie that he made one time. None of them mention Steve.

By October Bucky's grown used to the ache in his chest. His shoulder is now healed, healthy pink flesh marred with scars that ache on cold nights, the pain of his absent arm no longer so encompassing. Peggy comes home every day seeming more weary than the last, but she always kisses his cheek in greeting and lets him serve her dinner, and if Bucky gives her enough wine she'll rant about her bosses at the SSR, at the injustice she is served every day without fail.

On a chilly December night, Peggy comes bustling through the door at six-thirty sharp, half an hour later than she normally does. The tea that Bucky always sets out for her has long gone cold, so as soon as he hears the front door open he's filling the kettle back up with water and setting it on the stove, next to the stew that he's cooking. Being one of the famed Commandoes has greatly increased his paycheck, and between him and Peggy there's more than enough money to buy vegetables and meats and cheeses that Bucky would have only dreamed of before the war. As he wrestles to turn the stove on, Peggy doesn't sit down at the kitchen table as she usually does. Instead, she takes a few hesitant steps towards the kitchen, her heels clicking on the floor.

"You're back late," Bucky notes, finally winning his battle with the stove and turning to face her. She's wearing a long fur coat and a beanie that Bucky made her for her birthday over her work clothes, and there's a large box held in her arms. Bucky nods at it. "What's that?"

Peggy takes a shaky breath and places the box on the kitchen table gently, wiping at her eyes once her hands are free. "It's yours."

Bucky raises an eyebrow but walks over to stand next to her. Sure enough, on the top of the box is his name, and below that...

Bucky's breath catches in his throat.

Possessions of one Steven G. Rogers, 1918-1945. To be given to immediate next of kin.

"He listed you as his next of kin," Peggy says, and her voice wobbles. "It's everything he had during the war. I've been told that the apartment you two shared was taken down in '44, and your sister Rebecca now has the possessions."

Facing Rebecca was a whole other can of worms to open, so Bucky pushes it out of his mind and opens the box with shaking fingers. On top of everything is a sketchbook, leather-bound and well-worn.

"I'll be in my room," Bucky manages to say, and picks up the box as gently as he can, stumbling to his bedroom. He closes the door with his foot and sits down on the bed, placing the box beside him. With trembling fingers, he reaches for the sketchbook and sets it aside, instead picking out the next item in the box. It's a book - A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. There's an inscription on the inside of the cover.

For my dearest Steve, let it be known that love is never easy, and pray that we will have a happier ending than Frederic and Catherine. Forever yours, Peggy.

Bucky closes his eyes, willing back the bile in his throat and the tears in his eyes. Putting down the book with shaking hands, he rifles through the rest of the box. There are pictures of the Commandoes, a few well-worn shirts, a tube of lipstick that Bucky recognises as the brand that Peggy wears. At the very bottom, there's a stack of paper held together by a ribbon. When Bucky gingerly undoes the ribbon, his own handwriting looks back up at him.

Steve,
I've never been an artist like you. I've never known how to create beauty with my hands, how to carve myself into your heart with a few strokes of a pencil like you've done to me. The war has broken me, darling, and now my hands are only still when I'm holding a gun. I have my words, and I have my gun, and I have the love I hold for you, and those are the only true things I own.

The trenches are filthy - Europe isn't nearly as nice as we always dreamed it'd be. There are no green plains and sweet villages here, Stevie - no, those plains have been turned to mud and ash, and I'm eight feet below one of them right now, writing this letter with a knob of a pencil, up to my ass in filth. The trenches aren't a good place to be - makes the alley behind our place look like paradise.

I lie awake at night. If I close my eyes, the horrors won't ever stop. Yesterday I put a bullet in the head of one of my own, and I can't stop thinking about it. The kid's name was Teddy, god, he was barely twenty. We were holed up in a barn, having escaped by the skin of our damned teeth, and the kid had gotten shot in the process. Two days later the infection had spread to his brain. You ever seen someone go feral, Stevie? It's the worst thing you'd experience. He was screaming for his mama, pointing into the shadows at people who weren't there, ripping at his skin with his bare hands and scratching down to the bone. I was his Sergeant, I had to do something, and I knew that even if we did make it to a medic he'd have a slow, painful death. So I shot him. He was nothing more than a skeleton by that point, his breath a rattle in his chest, but he looked me in the eyes when I raised the gun. God, that gaze haunts me. If it were up to me, I'd have put a bullet in my own head months ago.

But I haven't. My men need me, and I know that if I get through this, if we win, then I'll come home to you. We can run away somewhere - I'll buy you a ring and a house with my army money, pretend we're cousins or some shit like that to keep the neighbours off our backs. You can sell your art to some uptight assholes - I know you can, Stevie, you create galaxies with those hands of yours - and I can work odd jobs around town. If I want to swallow my pistol, I just think about that house we'll buy, somewhere far away from the city. I think about how the ring I'll buy will be gold, to match your hair. I think about you, darling, because you're all I can think of to stop the demons racing around in my head.

If someone reads this letter, I know I'm fucked. You're probably fucked too, so burn this as soon as you get it. I love you with every fibre of my being, and I know that as long as I live, I can never stop loving you.

All my love,
Bucky.

Bucky's hands are shaking so hard he can barely see the words in front of him. A drop of water falls onto the paper and he gasps, quickly wrenching the papers away and thrusting them back into the box. He remembers writing that letter, he thinks as he curls in on himself with a sob. He remembers sitting in an alcove in that muddy, filthy trench, his hands trembling as he wrote words that could have him killed to someone who would never write him back. He remembers writing all the letters after that one, pouring his heart out into every single one and praying they would be lost on the way, because Steve would be horrified if he saw what Bucky had become. He remembers the first time he and Steve were alone after those letters, where Steve had laid Bucky on his cot and made love to him slowly, sweetly, until Bucky was sobbing and grasping at Steve's shoulders.

With a shaking hand and tears still prickling in his eyes, Bucky finally reaches for the sketchbook. He recognises it easily - Steve always had it on him, and would scratch at the pages with a soft smile on his face.

The first few pages were normal - Dum Dum with a stein of beer and a grin on his face, Morita in front of the fire with a wry smile, Phillips hunched over a desk with a scowl. There are quite a few of Bucky - Bucky smiling, Bucky curled up in his tent, Bucky with a cigarette between his lips. Then Bucky turns the page, and his breathing stops. There, drawn in reverent swipes of graphite, is Peggy, reclined on a bed wearing nothing but a smile.

Bucky stumbles out of the room, and barely makes it to the bathroom before he's throwing up, bile tearing at his throat and eyes running from more than just the pain. Peggy's behind him, a hand on his back and an urgent tone in her voice, but Bucky can barely hear her. He can't get enough air, not with the gasps that wrack his body and the foul taste in his mouth. A glass is pressed to his lips and he drinks automatically, the taste of sick ebbing just enough for him to take in deep gasping breaths, trying desperately to get enough air. Through it all, Peggy is a solid, calming presence beside him, her small hand running up and down his back and warming the skin through his shirt. At some point, the retches turned into sobs, and Peggy's almost carrying him out of the bathroom and onto the sofa, rubbing his back and murmuring softly to him.

When his sobbing has finally abated into soft sniffles and the occasional hitch of breath, Peggy speaks.

"I'm guessing this was prompted by something in Steve's things."

Her voice was strong, with only the slightest waver to it proving her true feelings. Bucky sniffs, wiping at his eyes and shifting in his place.

"I never knew," he says quietly. His voice is hoarse from crying, and the words scrape at his throat as they come out.

"Knew what?" Peggy asks gently. Bucky can't look at her, can't stand to see the look on her face when she inevitably finds out about him.

"Knew that you and Steve were..." he tries to find the words, "Intimate. Together."

Peggy's quiet for a few seconds. "You saw the drawing." Bucky can't do anything but nod. Eventually he finds his voice again in a harsh laugh.

"Y'know," he starts, swallowing when the words come out throaty, "I always knew you and him were a sure thing. God, from when I first met you, and he was looking at you the same way I looked at him, I knew. I... I didn't think about it much. I knew me and Stevie weren't meant to last, but I'd held onto this... god, this foolish child's dream where we would work out. When I saw him looking at you, I knew then that I wasn't going to survive the war. I'd die, and Steve'd mourn, but eventually, he'd get over it. Because he'd have you."

Bucky laughs humourlessly and chances a glance at Peggy. She's not gaping or wide-eyed as he expected; instead, she's watching him silently, her eyes unbearably sad. He quickly averts his eyes again, focusing on the way his hand is twisting the hem of his shirt through his fingers.

"I should've known he was seeing you, not just pining from a distance. I let myself believe I was the only one, and I let him tell me he loved me without wondering if I was sharing his love with you." Bucky wipes at his eyes and manages a smile; the stretch of his lips burns. "You can keep the sketch - I'll leave it on the bed. I'll, uh, get outta your hair now."

He moves to stand, but Peggy's hand shoots out to grip his wrist. Bucky looks down at her in surprise, but sits back down. She doesn't let go of his wrist.

"James," Peggy begins, then closes her mouth and wipes at her eyes with her free hand. "James, Steve never could have gotten over you."

Bucky feels his heart stutter. "You knew."

Peggy nods, a sad smile on her lips. "I knew."

Bucky lets his eyes fall closed, breathing in shakily. "And you still let me stay with you? Knowing what I am?"

"You're not a monster for loving a man," Peggy says gently, squeezing his wrist. Bucky lets his hand slip into hers, and the firm pressure grounds him enough for the breath to come back to his lungs. "I was there. I saw what was between you two. Something that beautiful, that pure? That could never be evil."

Peggy squeezes his hand, and Bucky squeezes back. There are tears in her eyes and a wobble to her lip, but she still sits tall, unbroken. Bucky doesn't know how she does it; how she loved Steve Rogers and can still live her life without him, when Bucky's only barely getting through each day, his dreams haunted by blue eyes and a stubborn set to a pair of soft lips.

"Steve and I met on the first day of his training, at camp Lehigh," Peggy says quietly. "He was this tiny little thing, all spit and vinegar, and he looked like he was about to die right on the spot until he looked at me and I saw those eyes. God, those eyes, James, they were the most beautiful I'd ever seen. He wasn't the most talented at the drills, but he was smart, able to slip through the bigger recruits and claim victory without anyone else knowing. And he had this... this smug little grin that he wore whenever he succeeded at something - looking back on it, I'm surprised he didn't get a fist to the face."

Bucky lets out a wet laugh. "That's Stevie for ya. Can't keep his ass outta trouble."

Peggy chuckles, wiping at her eyes again. This time, her mascara smudges, and it's possibly the first time Bucky's ever seen her short of flawless, not including that time when he was bedridden - he still doesn't know if that was a dream. "Yes, well. I sat with him on our way to the procedure, and, god, he had no idea what he was saying, he kept stuttering over his words, but there was this earnestness to him that I hadn't seen much of in men."

She smiles sadly, her gaze dropping to her lap. "I remember when he drew that picture. It was long before I'd met you, when Steve was still in America doing his show. I accompanied the Colonel to a meeting of government officials, and Steve was performing. He spotted me in the crowd and smiled at me, so I visited him backstage and he told me to come back after dark, to meet him at his trailer. I was already halfway in love, so I went back and let him take me to bed." Peggy pauses, and her face crumples in sadness. "He was incredible, I remember that. Afterwards, he held me and told me that he could fall in love with me. Then he told me that he was also in love with someone else, someone he was not supposed to love, and that they would always come first for him. I told him I didn't care - foolishly, I believed that I could persuade him to leave this other person, to realise that I would be easier. Then, months later, he was planning to walk to Azzano because there was a slight chance that you were alive, and I knew."

A sob tears its way from Bucky's throat, and Peggy scoots closer until she's pressed against his side, and he gladly leans into her embrace.

"We never had a chance of not loving Steve Rogers," Peggy whispers. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and lets his grief wash over them.

----

Their life settles into a rhythm. Peggy goes to work every day, and Bucky earns his keep by cooking and cleaning. At Christmas he makes his way down to Brooklyn, to an old brownstone he could recognise anywhere. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm the nerves in his stomach, he knocks on the door.

It's opened by a middle-aged woman with a round body and rosy cheeks, and her mouth falls open when she sees him. Her gaze flicks over her body, stalling on his empty left sleeve, before Winifred Barnes cries out and ropes him into a hug. Bucky wraps his arm around her and squeezes his eyes shut, a lump growing in his throat. Her hugs feel just the same now as they did when he was four years old and barely came up to her hip, and they'll probably feel the same when she's old and frail.

"Oh, my baby boy," she whispers, and Bucky holds onto her tighter.

"Hi, mama," he manages. She holds him on the doorstep for a few more moments before she pulls away, wiping at her eyes discreetly and straightening her dress.

"Let's not stand out in the cold, dear. In you come."

Winifred bustles him into the house, where Bucky's hit with a rush of warm air and the smell of Christmas dinner. There are voices coming from further inside the house, and Bucky suddenly feels nervous.

"I hope it's okay for me to be here," he mumbles, and Winifred gives him an exasperated look.

"Don't be silly, James, I couldn't be happier now that you're here. Back for eight months and not once come to visit!" she scolds, hitting Bucky with her dishtowel. "Where have you been staying?"

"With a friend," Bucky says. "She lets me have her guest room if I do the chores."

Winifred's eyes light up at the mention of a girl and Bucky silently berates himself and prepares for the third degree. "You're staying with a woman? What's her name?"

"Peggy."

"And how long have you two been seeing each other?" Winifred asks, almost vibrating with excitement. Bucky can't help but laugh at the question; the idea of him and Peggy being romantically involved is, honestly, ridiculous.

"It's not like that. She's just a good friend - I think of her like a sister."

Winifred sighs loudly, then shakes her head a bit fondly. "Leave it to you to find the most unorthodox living situations. Is she nice?"

Bucky can't stop the fond smile from taking over his face. "She's amazing. She's uh," and he swallows past the tightening in his throat. "She's Steve's girl. Or, was."

Winifred's eyes grow sad, then. "Oh, James."

Bucky clears his throat, averting her eyes. "Yeah, well. She looks after me."

"I'm sure she does." Winifred's voice is gentler, before she seems to shake it off. "There's someone I want you to meet."

She guides him down the hall and into the living room, the smell of food getting stronger the further they go. The Barnes house is almost the exact same as it was three years before, the last time Bucky had been over, with the addition of a few more pictures on the walls. Soon enough, they're rounding a corner and entering the main room. There's a Christmas tree set up in one corner, presents underneath wrapped in newspaper, and the old family menorah sits on the mantlepiece. Bucky feels another flash of guilt at the sight of it - with everything going on, he'd completely forgotten about Hanukkah that year. In the centre of the room on the two fraying couches sit three people, all of whom haven't seemed to realise the reappearance of Winifred plus one.

"Guess who came to visit!" Winifred sings out, and Bucky's heart stutters as all three heads whip around to look at them. One of them - a tall, dark-haired man with a delicate face - he doesn't recognise, but the other two make his heart seize up.

"Bucky!" Becca jumps from the couch in a blur of colour and collides with him so hard that Bucky almost loses his balance, wrapping her arms tight around his waist. She looks different from the last time he saw her - her body's softer, less bony, and her hair's loose and falls midway down her back. Bucky wraps his arm around her shoulders and buries his face in her hair, his eyes burning again. Almost as soon as she's letting go, Bucky's getting roped into another hug by his father, who'd joined them in the time it had taken for Becca to almost crush Bucky's ribs. He looks different, too - a bit more grey in his hair, his usually shaved face stubbled and worn.

"Hi, Pa," Bucky mumbles, and George claps him on the back and pulls away, sniffling. Becca's not much better, her lip trembling as she glares up at him.

"Back for eight goddamned months and not a single visit!" she exclaims angrily, punching Bucky's arm.

"Language, Rebecca," Winifred says mildly, walking past them towards the kitchen. "James, dear, do you want some eggnog?"

"Yes please, mama," Bucky says, rubbing at the spot where Becca hit him. "Damn, kid, you're stronger than you used to be."

"Not a kid," Becca reminds him, then pulls him into another crushing hug. "I'm twenty-one, Bug."

"Kid," Bucky repeats, poking her in the side, and Becca squeezes just a bit too tight to be comfortable. When she pulls away, she's grinning.

"C'mere," she says, grabbing his hand and leading him over to the couch, where the young man still sits, looking uncomfortable. "Buck, this is Harry Proctor."

Bucky gives the man - Harry - a once-over. He can't be much older than Becca, still with the softness of adolescence on his face, with a sharp nose and dark, intelligent eyes. He's currently watching Bucky nervously, his hands twitching in his lap.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Harry says a bit meekly, then extends his left hand. Bucky raises an eyebrow and extends his right, and Harry quickly switches hands with a glance at Bucky's empty sleeve. "Uh, Rebecca's told me a lot about you."

"Has she?" Bucky asks, looking at his sister from the corner of his eyes as he grips Harry's hand. Harry seems to shrink into himself a bit more, and Bucky takes pity on the kid. "Not exactly reassuring, considering she's a little monster."

Becca punches his shoulder again, and Bucky releases Harry's hand with a laugh. From his path towards the kitchen, George mumbles, "Play nice, children."

Harry looks a bit more comfortable, so Bucky sits down at the end of the couch, turning to face Harry. Becca sits down right in Harry's lap, extending her legs until she's poking Bucky's thigh with her toes, and Bucky bats at her feet until she pulls them back with a laugh.

"What's the story between you two?" Bucky asks. Harry quickly looks away, and Becca, instead of answering, holds out her left hand. Bucky's eyes widen when he sees the small, gold ring on her finger. "Holy shit."

"James!" Winifred snaps from the kitchen.

"Sorry, mama!" Bucky calls back, then immediately returns his attention to Becca's finger. "C'mere, lemme see - when the hell'd this happen?"

"About a year ago," Becca says more than a little smugly, shuffling down the couch until she can place her hand in Bucky's. It's a gorgeous ring - slim and gold with a little white stone in the middle that looks a lot like a diamond. "We were gonna wait until the war ended, so you'd be there, but..." At this, she blushes.

"What?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. Becca shifts, then rubs her stomach. Bucky's eyes narrow, until it hits him and he lets out a dramatic gasp. "No way. Rebecca Barnes, having sex before marriage? What would Sister Louise say?"

Becca rolls her eyes, but she's grinning. "That's Rebecca Proctor to you, Sergeant."

Bucky laughs and ropes her into a hug, before the reality sets in. "Wait. Does that mean I'm an uncle?"

Becca grins, nodding, and jumps off the couch, reaching down to pull Bucky with her. "You wanna meet him?"

Bucky feels a rush of both excitement and trepidation. "He's here?"

"We put him up to a nap a couple of hours ago," Harry says, and when Bucky looks down at him, he's smiling softly. "Should be waking up any minute now."

Becca yanks at Bucky's hand until he starts following her, and they walk up the stairs as quietly as they can, avoiding the creaky boards that they'd memorized years ago. Becca leads him into his old room, where the bed's been pushed up against the wall and in its place, a bassinet stands. From inside, there are small huffing and mumbling sounds.

Becca turns on the light and turns to Bucky, still smiling. "Go sit down. I'll bring him over."

Bucky obediently turns and sits down in the rocking chair that's been placed next to the door, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. Becca crosses the room to the bassinet and reaches in, cooing softly until she pulls what looks like a bundle of blankets out and presses it close to her chest. She turns and walks over, and Bucky's heart almost stops. Inside the blankets, a small face peers out at him.

"You wanna hold him?" Becca asks softly, and Bucky swallows, unable to take his eyes off that little face.

"How do I do it?" he asks, his voice cracking.

Becca settles a pillow in his lap and places the baby on top of it, guiding Bucky's arm around until he's supporting the baby's neck and stopping it from falling. She steps away, just enough so that she'd be able to intervene if the baby shifts too suddenly, and the baby peers up at Bucky with an almost unimpressed look on his face. He's got dark, wispy hair covering his head, with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, and Bucky's immediately in love.

Swallowing, Bucky manages to ask, "What's his name?"

"James Steven Proctor. We call him Jamie."

Bucky looks up in surprise to see Becca watching them, a soft look on her face. "Really?"

Becca gives a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course. There's no one else I'd rather name my son after."

Bucky looks back down at Jamie, tears burning in his eyes. Jamie seems to be waking up a bit, and he stretches, gives Bucky another glare, then babbles something incomprehensible. Bucky blinks tears out from his eyes, unable to stop himself from thinking of Steve, barely ninety pounds, with the exact same expression on his face as Bucky cleaned him up after a fight.

"He's gonna be a bull-headed bastard, you know that?" Bucky sniffs out, and feels Becca place her hand on his shoulder. "You'll take after your uncle Stevie, won't ya, kid?"

Jamie babbles again and Bucky laughs, a tear falling from his eye and plopping onto the blankets that still swaddle his nephew. God, his nephew...

"He's gorgeous," Bucky whispers, and leans down to kiss Jamie's little head. The soft, thin hair tickles his nose, and just as he's about to pull away, Jamie reaches up and grabs Bucky's nose with a shriek of laughter. For such a little guy, he has a damn strong grip.

"Ah-ah, we don't grab people," Becca says, quickly reaching down to release Bucky's nose from Jamie's little baby fist. "Your uncle Buck's ugly enough as it is without you messing up his face even more."

"You're such a jerk," Bucky mutters, trying to wipe his face on his shoulder. He's still crying, but Becca doesn't seem to mind. "How old is he?"

"Turned six months old last week." Becca reaches down to stroke a bit of hair off Jamie's face, and he tries to grab onto her fingers. "Harry's already wanting another, but it was hell getting this guy out, and I'd rather not go through that again."

Bucky winces at the thought. "How long did the birth go?"

Becca groans loudly, plopping herself down on the floor next to them and leaning her head against Bucky's leg. "Eighteen goddamned hours. Can't remember much of it, but one of the nurses snuck me pudding afterwards. Said she knew you, but I dunno if she was talking personally or from the newsreels."

"What was her name?" Bucky asks curiously.

"Dorothy? No, Dolores. Hair like fire, lots of freckles."

Bucky laughs a bit incredulously. "Dottie? No way."

"You did know her?"

"No idea she was in nursing, but yeah. We went out a few times." He didn't mention that the only reason they were going out was to get everyone off their tails - that Dot was sweet on Rosie from the diner and Bucky had Steve. "Took her and her friend to Coney with Steve - lost my bus money trying to win her a bear."

Becca chuckles, giving his ankle a squeeze. "That sure sounds like you. What'd Steve think of that?"

Bucky laughs, remembering Steve's unimpressed look when they'd had to ride back in a freezer truck. "He wasn't happy - made me do the chores for a month."

"Course he did." Becca looks up at him, a sad smile on her face. "Still don't know how you were the responsible one outta the pair of you, though."

"He was a little devil, that's how," Bucky mumbles. "Not a bit of self-preservation in him. You should've seen him when he got bigger."

The thought of Steve sits in his chest like a gaping wound, even after almost a year, and Becca squeezes his ankle again.

"Tell me about him."

Bucky looks back down at Jamie, who's looking like he's three seconds away from a hissy fit, and the hole in his chest mends, just a little bit. Leaning down to press a kiss to his nephew's forehead, Bucky gives Becca a small, sad smile.

"We should go back downstairs," is what he ends up saying, nodding to Jamie. "Kid looks bored."

Becca purses her lips but nods, reaching out to take Jamie from Bucky's lap. He gurgles happily and grasps at her shirt, and Bucky stands just as Becca's hoisting the kid onto her hip.

"He just wants to be part of the action, don't you Jamie?" she coos, and Jamie squeals happily in response. She turns to Bucky, the previous sombreness gone as her usual cheeky grin returns. "You can get him back after I feed him. Now c'mon - mama's probably waiting with that eggnog."

----

The new year passes without much hassle. Peggy's able to get off work an hour early, and Bucky meets her outside her office dressed in his nicest clothes, a bouquet of roses in one hand. She laughs when she sees him, but takes the flowers and loops their arms together.

"Aren't you looking just dapper this evening," she teases. "Is that hat new?"

"Becca gave it to me," Bucky replies, guiding Peggy down the street. Several passers-by give them second glances, and Bucky can't really blame them - they're an odd pair, and there's nothing that would grab a stranger's attention more than a pretty dame or a crippled veteran. "Jamie's got a matching one."

"I'm sure he looks much more handsome than you," Peggy says, and Bucky laughs.

"That kid's always gonna look more handsome than me, Pegs. Damn knockout is what he is."

"I see you trying to change the subject, James Barnes," Peggy accuses, poking him in the side. "What's going on?"

"Can't I treat my best friend to some quality bonding time?" Bucky asks innocently, and Peggy gives him an unimpressed look.

"If I didn't know you better, I would have thought you were courting me," she sniffs, and Bucky can't help but snicker.

"Darlin', you know I prefer blondes." Peggy rams her heel into his toes, and she laughs when he yelps with pain. "Damn woman, alright! I know that ass of a boss ain't treating you right, so I wanted to do something nice for you."

Peggy's eyes immediately grow soft, and when they stop to cross the street she leans up to kiss his cheek. "You didn't have to do that, James."

"Yeah, well," Bucky grouses, feeling his cheeks get hot. "Those bastards don't know a good thing when they see it. Now c'mon - I got reservations at that fancy restaurant you like."

After they finish at the restaurant - and while Bucky pays he tries very hard not to look at the bill - they go dancing. Being one arm short of whole hadn't stopped Bucky from dancing around their apartment, and he's glad to see he can still Lindy Hop without much hassle, and Peggy can throw herself over his shoulder with little to no help. They end up dancing for hours, and by the time they start making their way home, clothes rumpled and cheeks flushed from alcohol, the sun's long since set. It's cold out, but Peggy just tucks herself under his arm and holds onto his waist, and they're both hot enough from the dancing that it isn't much of a bother. To the casual observer, Bucky can only guess what they look like - young sweethearts, probably, coming home from a date.

When they get home, they change into pyjamas - flannel pants and an undershirt for Bucky, a long-sleeved nightgown for Peggy - and sit opposite each other on the couch, their feet in each other's laps as they go through a bottle of wine they'd picked up on their way back. By the time the fireworks go off at midnight, they're both slurring their words and poking each other with their feet, telling light-hearted stories from the war and occasionally falling into fits of giggles. They fall asleep right there, on the couch, and when Bucky wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and Peggy's snores filling the room, he barely feels the hole in his chest at all.

1946

In February, when the cold weather has finally started mellowing out and the first spring flowers are blooming, Peggy's job starts getting more and more taxing. She comes home every night exhausted, and more than once Bucky finds her asleep at the kitchen table, her tea untouched beside her. The sight causes an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, and not for the first time, Bucky wonders where the hell Howard went - Howard, and his plans to build Bucky a new arm. Stark is fickle at the best of times, and Bucky wouldn't put it past him to have completely forgotten about the project, but without an arm, it's close to impossible to find a job, and Peggy's close to burning out - it's not fair to her to be the only source of income for their household, especially since she's barely paid half of what her male co-workers earn.

February turns into March, and with it comes Bucky's twenty-ninth birthday, and the anniversary of Steve's death. A memorial service is held in Central Park, and children run around the streets with little plastic shields. Bucky locks himself in his room the whole day, going through that box of Steve's belongings over and over again. Back in January on another trip to the little townhouse that Becca and Harry had bought, Becca had finally given him back all the possessions they found in his and Steve's apartment before it was demolished. They hadn't had much; most of it was old clothes that were much too small for Bucky to fit in - he'd grown bigger in the war, probably another effect of that knockoff serum, and he'd been keeping up with his drills every morning before breakfast - that he'd either given to shelters or broken down to use later. But there were some belongings; several sketchbooks, a small tin full of half-used pencils, a couple of boxes of Lucky's cigarettes, an old, dented ashtray, and a big woollen quilt that Bucky had knitted one year with the help of his mama, that Steve was always wrapped up in when he fell ill. Wrapped up in a pair of Steve's old, worn socks, Bucky had found a little box. In it was Sarah Rogers's ring. When he'd seen that he'd curled around that small box and sobbed, great, ragged gasps that clawed their way out of his chest and shredded his throat.

April brings with it rain, and lots of it. Peggy's spending more time out these days, rarely telling Bucky where she's going, and he can only guess that she's going out with people - men, specifically. He doesn't feel resentment towards her for it - far from it. Peggy's strong, stronger than him and maybe even stronger than Steve had been, and he couldn't be prouder of her for trying to get back out there after Steve. Sometimes Bucky wishes that he was that resilient, but every time he even thinks of travelling down to the queer bars he used to frequent to find someone, a black ball of guilt and grief rises up in his chest and threatens to swallow him whole.

Instead of puttering around an apartment by himself, Bucky starts spending a lot of time with Becca and Jamie. Harry's finally grown comfortable around him, and while he's usually at work when Bucky visits he does sometimes come home early, and when he does Bucky makes sure there's a warm meal waiting for him. What can he say, the kid's grown on him, and the way that he looks at Becca has certainly helped develop Bucky's soft spot.

"You should come and live with us," Becca mumbles one day. She's just put Jamie up for his nap, and she's spread across the couch with a plate of fresh cookies, still warm from the oven, and a mug of coffee. From his place in the kitchen sorting the rest of the cookies into tins, Bucky snorts.

"You saying that because you value my company, or because you like having a maid?" he teases, and Becca sticks her tongue out at him.

"Gimme a break, Bug," she pouts. "I pushed a whole human out of my vagina ten months ago, and I'm still recovering."

"Yes, I understand, childbirth is a terror that I wish to never experience in person," Bucky quickly says, and Becca grins and lies down. She knows exactly how uncomfortable Bucky gets when the subject of childbirth - or really, anything to do with women's reproduction systems - comes up, and she uses it to her full advantage at all times. "But that'd mean one more person in this house to be fed - and you know I can't work. All I've really got to give you is my military backpay - which is a lot, but it won't last forever."

Becca rolls her eyes. "Bug, how exactly do you think we managed to afford this place? Harry's job pays well, and if I didn't need to be with Jamie all the time, I'd be working, too. Even if you stayed here, we'd be more than comfortable, and Jamie could spend more time with his uncle."

Bucky sighs and walks over, sitting on the armrest of the couch. "Becs, you don't understand. I can't make a living. Nobody'll hire me, not when I got a whole arm missing. I don't wanna be... be pitied - it's bad enough living with Pegs, but at least I know I can make her life a bit easier by being around. But being around her also means that she can't... She can't get out there, y'know? Our living situation is more than unconventional, and do you really think she'd be able to get a steady fella if she's already got some guy living all up in her space?"

"All the more reason to live here," Becca says, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Her face is serious - an uncommon occurrence. "Bucky, you wouldn't be leeching off us, or whatever the hell you're thinking. You'd - hell, you'd be doing us a huge favour. I love my job, but I don't wanna go back when Jamie's still so young. If you're around, I could go back to work, and we'd get more income. Jamie adores you, and I know you'd do anything for him right back, and I also know that you're a psycho and love doing all that cooking and cleaning stuff." She reaches up, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Just think about it? Please?"

Bucky sighs and leans down to press a kiss to Becca's forehead. "If I was going to, it wouldn't be right away. Pegs still needs me."

Becca smiles, but it's weary. "That's your problem, Bug. You'll always put other people ahead of yourself."

------

On a warm evening in early August, Bucky's just taking out the roast he's making for dinner when the front door bangs open, almost giving him a heart attack.

"Jesus Pegs, you wanna send me into an early grave?" he calls out, setting the roast onto the stovetop to cool. "What's the hurry?"

He hears Peggy sigh loudly from the entranceway. "James, we have a visitor."

Bucky raises an eyebrow and turns around, making his way out of the kitchen towards the front door. Peggy's standing there with a long-suffering look on her face, and beside her stands a very dirty-looking Howard Stark, a grin on his face.

"Jimmy!" Howard croons, walking forward to wrap Bucky up in a hug. He'd forgotten how scrawny the man is, and it's almost laughable that Howard barely comes up to Bucky's nose. "How's my favourite Commando going?"

Bucky blinks a couple of times. "Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in over a year."

Howard makes a psh sound, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. "Oh, y'know. Spent some time in Florida - it's lovely in April - had a few affairs with some very lovely ladies, then some bastard tried framing me for war crimes," he says cheerfully. Bucky blinks again and looks over at Peggy helplessly.

"I've been trying to clear his name," she explains. "The past few months. That's why I haven't been around as much."

"And why is he here?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

"SSR found his safehouse," Peggy says. Bucky sighs and untangles himself from Howard, who's still got that dumb grin on his face.

"Right. I'll get another teacup out," he grumbles, and walks back into the kitchen.

Howard, it turns out, is an abysmal houseguest. They set him up on the couch, where he loudly complains about the lumps poking into his back, and when Bucky gets up in the morning to make breakfast, Peggy's door still closed, there's a woman wearing nothing but stockings in the living room. Letting out an internal sigh, Bucky clears his throat, and the woman jumps and spins around. Seeing him, she squeaks and grabs a blanket, covering her chest.

Silently praying for strength, Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Howard, get your weaselly ass out of wherever you're hiding and explain to me why there's a semi-clothed lady in my living room."

Howard's head pops up from the couch, his hair ruffled. With him comes another woman. He gives Bucky a cheerful smile.

"Hey, Jimmy. Ladies, this is James Barnes, a close friend of mine."

The woman on the couch waves, and Bucky rubs his forehead wearily. "Howard, why are there two semi-clothed ladies in my living room?"

"Would you believe me if I said book club?"

Bucky sighs again. "Ladies, it's nice to meet you, but I gotta ask you to get dressed. Will you be staying for breakfast?"

The two women, Gladys and Mandy, turn out to be from down the hall, and by the time Peggy comes out of her room Bucky's already got eggs, sausages and toast piled up on the table, the kettle bubbling away on the stove. Peggy raises an eyebrow at the scene, and Bucky jerks his head towards Howard, who's pouring something from a flask into his coffee, with a roll of his eyes.

Two days later, when Peggy's still at work and Howard is passed out on the couch, Bucky's in the middle of knitting a pair of socks for Jamie. The kid turned one year old in June, and he's been growing like a weed - he outgrew the last pair of socks in two weeks. Just as Bucky's untangling a particularly annoying strand of wool from the bundle, the doorbell rings, so he wrestles his way out of his knitting and walks to the door, grumbling under his breath. On the other side is a tall, thin man, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. Bucky squints up at him.

"Can I help you?"

"You must be Sergeant Barnes," the man says pleasantly, extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Bucky raises an eyebrow but takes the man's hand. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No," the man says cheerfully. "My name is Edwin Jarvis. I'm Mr Stark's butler."

Bucky sighs and motions for him to come in, and Mr. Jarvis passes him with a cheerful nod. From his spot on the couch, Howard snorts and rolls over, and Mr. Jarvis looks at him in exasperation.

"You coming to take him off my hands?" Bucky asks, nodding at the lump on his couch.

"I am," Mr Jarvis agrees. "I do need Miss Carter, too. Where can I find her?"

"She's still at work - she'll be back around six." Bucky, because he was raised right and Winifred would smack him across the head if she found out he wasn't being a proper host, walks into the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"That would be marvellous, Sergeant," Mr Jarvis says, setting his briefcase down on the table. "Might I ask if you have Earl Grey?"

"Coming right up," Bucky mumbles, filling the kettle up with water. Once it's bubbling away on the stove he walks back to the living room and flicks Howard on the forehead. Howard snorts loudly and opens his eyes, blinking rapidly until he sees Bucky and groans.

"Bucky boy, what's with the alarm clock routine?" he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"You have a visitor, Howard," Bucky says dryly. At Howard's eager look, he has to specify, "Not a woman."

"Shame," Howard sighs, but he sits up, scratching at his moustache. Mr Jarvis watches placidly, obviously used to this. "Jarvis, hey! When'd you get here?"

"Approximately two minutes ago, sir," Mr Jarvis replies. "I have your belongings outside in the car."

"Fantastic." Howard jumps up, flinging his blankets to the side. "Let's get the hell outta here."

"Not quite yet," Mr Jarvis warns. "Miss Carter is still at work."

Howard groans dramatically and flops back onto the couch. "Damn Peggy, slowing things down."

The rest of the afternoon is spent sipping tea and making polite conversation - at least, Bucky and Mr Jarvis make polite conversation, while Howard is his normal self. Mr Jarvis compliments the cookies that Bucky's set out on the coffee table, and tells stories about his wife, Ana. It's only when Bucky's finally convinced Mr Jarvis to introduce him and Ana sometime so they can compare recipes that Peggy finally returns, immaculate as always.

"Mr Jarvis, what a lovely surprise," Peggy says, leaning down to press a kiss to Mr Jarvis's cheek on her way past. "I suppose it's time, then?"

"Quite," Mr Jarvis agrees. Peggy turns to Bucky with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you much, James," she says apologetically. "I'll be gone for a few days - it would probably be best if you stayed somewhere else for the time being, too."

"You got yourself in trouble again?" Bucky asks, unable to stop from smiling. "I'll be at Becca's. Come by when you get back - I know how much you love seeing Jamie."

Peggy's packed and out the door within ten minutes, giving Bucky a parting kiss on the cheek before leaving, Howard and Mr Jarvis hot on her heels.

----

Peggy's gone for three weeks in total, and she shows up at Becca's front door at ten in the evening, looking dead on her feet. Becca and Harry had already gone to bed, and Jamie couldn't sleep, so Bucky is camped out in the living room trying to wrangle the kid into submission. Jamie took his first steps just a couple of weeks before, and while he can't walk without having something to hold onto, he's damn fast when he's crawling, and more than once Bucky's had to pull him out from under the couch when he'd shimmied underneath. At the sound of the doorbell, Jamie looks up eagerly, and when Bucky makes his way over to the door he can hear the frantic sound of Jamie crawling along behind him.

Peggy's got a smile on her face, although her hair is out of its normally flawless curls and frizzes around her head, and there's what looks suspiciously like a bloodstain on the front of her blouse. She brightens up immediately when she sees Jamie, and as soon as he's crawled all the way over she's scooping him up into her arms and blowing a raspberry on his cheek, making him squeal happily.

"Look how big you've gotten!" Peggy coos, kissing the top of Jamie's head, now covered in thick brown hair.

Jamie replies to this by grabbing Peggy's nose and happily declaring, "No!"

"He's learned a few words," Bucky explains when Peggy turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "He doesn't really know what they mean yet."

Peggy hums and steps into the house, kicking the door shut with her foot and placing Jamie back on the ground. When her hands are free she turns to Bucky and wraps her arms around him, and he can't help the way he melts into her and buries his face in her neck, the faint scent of her rose perfume tickling his nose.

"You look like hell, Pegs," Bucky croaks, just to try and dislodge the lump in his throat. It doesn't work.

"That happens when you're working with Howard and attempting to take down KGB spies," Peggy replies dryly, but she does squeeze him a bit tighter. "I've had a long few weeks."

"I can tell." Bucky reluctantly moves away and grabs Jamie from where he's trying to get back under the couch. "Washroom's the first door on the left. You can take my room - I'll sleep on the couch."

Peggy smiles at him, her eyes both fond and tired. "Normally I'd argue with you, but I'd rather not tonight." She passes him with a parting pat on the cheek, and Bucky hears her footsteps slowly grow fainter until the bathroom door closes.

Bucky sighs, letting the smile drop from his face and readjusting his grip on Jamie, who gurgles happily and yanks at Bucky's hair.

When Peggy comes out of the bathroom she's changed into a nightgown, her hair piled into rollers on top of her head, and Bucky shows her to his room. She says goodnight with a kiss on the cheek, and soon enough Bucky's back downstairs, cradling a now-sleepy Jamie in his arm.

"Is it time for you to get to bed too, big guy?" he whispers.

"No," Jamie mumbles sleepily, before turning over and promptly falling asleep. Shaking his head with a chuckle, Bucky manages to get Jamie back into his cot without waking him up, watching fondly as his nephew curls up around a stuffed bear. Shaking his head to dispel the memories of Becca in the same position, Bucky quietly leaves the room and settles himself on the couch, his arm behind his head. It doesn't take long for him to drift off to sleep, his dreams haunted by a bloodstained Peggy reaching out to a block of ice.

-------

The next morning Peggy's up early, early enough that she makes coffee for him and Becca and starts on breakfast. Peggy, for all her talents, cannot cook to save her life, so Bucky ends up throwing out the burned eggs she makes and instead makes oatmeal on the stove, adding the fresh honey that Becca bought at the market last Sunday. Becca comes down when he's setting the oatmeal on the table, holding Jamie on her hip and looking far too awake for seven in the morning.

"Peggy, you're back!" Becca says brightly, and leans over to give Peggy a kiss on the cheek. "How was the trip?"

"Tiring," Peggy replies softly, tapping Jamie's nose in greeting and smiling when he squeals. "I'm quite glad it's over."

"You're back now," Becca says briskly, adjusting her grip on Jamie and lowering him down into his highchair at the head of the table. "That's all that matters."

"Actually," Peggy says hesitantly. "It's not."

Bucky frowns, pausing in his task of setting the table to turn and look at her. "Pegs, is everything okay?"

Peggy sits down heavily, rubbing at her temples with a sigh. "The mission Howard, Mr Jarvis and I went on. It was… it wasn't easy."

"What happened, Peg?" Bucky asks gently, sitting down opposite her.

"There was… a cult, that we'd been investigating," Peggy confesses. "Leviathan. They had a… I can't believe I'm saying this, but they had a man who could control minds. He killed my boss, and tried to get Howard to…" Peggy trails off with a shaky inhale. "And… and the SSR had a vial. Of Steve's blood."

Bucky's lucky his hand is empty, otherwise he'd have dropped something. As it is, he only just manages to stop his knees from giving out and Becca grabs him, guiding him to a chair.

"What do you mean, they had Steve's blood?" Becca asks, and her voice quivers.

"After Project Rebirth, Steve underwent several tests," Peggy says, sitting down with as much poise as she can muster. "Several vials of blood were taken, in an attempt to recreate the serum. With Doctor Erskine gone, however, it was close to impossible. By the end of the war, there was only one left.

"But Leviathan wanted that blood," she continues. "They seemed convinced they could recreate the serum. And... and if they did manage to do that? It could have started another war."

Bucky can't speak. He can barely move. His head is filled with the sound of buzzing, and the only thing that's truly stopping him from falling off the precipice is Becca's hand, holding his arm tight enough to cut off circulation.

"What happened to the blood?" Becca asks.

"I tipped it into the Hudson," Peggy responds, and then she's sobbing, curling in on herself and wrapping her arms around her chest. Bucky shakily stands and walks to her, before collapsing on the ground next to her feet. Peggy guides his head to her lap and he wraps his arm around her calves, and they descend into grief together.

------

"I'm moving to Los Angeles," Peggy says a few hours later, once their tears have stopped. They're curled up on Becca's couch together, her head on Bucky's shoulder and his legs in her lap, and Bucky doesn't want to let her go. "There are better opportunities there, for me. Daniel's been assigned as the Head of the city's SSR quarters, and..."

"Daniel?" Bucky questions sleepily. From their position, he can still see the faint blush that spreads across her cheeks.

"Daniel Sousa," Peggy responds, her voice deceptively level. "He's a... a good friend of mine."

"Are you in love with him?"

Peggy pauses, and glances up at Bucky with a pained expression. "I could be."

God, Bucky envies her. Her perseverance, her strength. If he could be half as strong as Peggy Carter one day, he'd be regaled as a hero.

"I'm happy for you, Pegs," he says softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "You... You deserve to be happy."

Peggy gives him a wobbly smile and tucks her head back into the crook of Bucky's neck, her breath shaking, and Bucky holds her tight and lets her fall apart.

He doesn't see her again for almost three years.