Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was gone in a flash of green light. One moment he was there, arm raised to throw a punch, then there was a blinding flash of light. As it faded, and Natasha’s sight returned - he was gone. Steve was gone. For an instant, she stood, rooted to the ground, unable to do anything but watch as their foes turned and scattered. Then she exploded into movement, sprinting after them, swearing under her breath. She’d been duped, tricked into leading Steve and his team of - well, whatever they were - into a trap. She pivoted and sped down an alleyway, her aim to head Steve’s attackers off at the other end, cursing herself as she ran. It had been a set-up; how had she been taken in? Was she losing her touch?

As she burst out of the alleyway and barrelled into the man who’d been the source of the strange green light, her focus narrowed to taking him down. Time enough to lick her wounds later - now, she had to find out what they’d done to Steve, and how to get him back. And she didn’t have a lot of time - HYDRA agents were trained to kill themselves rather than be taken alive, and she needed him alive. He’d gone sprawling under her weight, his unusual weapon skittering across the ground away from them. She landed squarely on him, winding him; before he could recover, she grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the tarmac. He went limp - immediately, she was up and off him, rolling him over and reaching for his head. She yanked out the cyanide-containing fake tooth - there’d be no way out for him. Then she ran her hands over him, searching for and removing other weapons, before pulling the comms unit from his ear. She smashed it with the butt of his revolver - no one would be coming to his rescue either.

As she completed her search, Sam landed behind her, and Clint’s familiar footsteps echoed down the same alleyway she’d taken. Sam reached down to pick up the weapon. “Be careful,” Natasha warned him. He gave her a sideways look, taking an exaggerated care as he picked it up. On the surface, it looked like a magic wand - a stick with an green stone on the end. But it was glowing with its own unearthly light, and a chill ran down her spine. She’d seen its like before.

Clint came up alongside her - he breathed in sharply as he saw the weapon. “Another one?”

She shrugged - she wasn’t sure, but she’d had the same thought.

“Great,” he continued. “That’s all we need.”

“If it is an Infinity Stone, who knows what it’s done with Steve,” she replied. “He could be anywhere.”

Before anyone could reply, the fifth member of their team emerged from the alleyway. “There was no one there. The place was empty. Has anyone checked in with Steve?”

Natasha winced as Sharon spoke - his disappearance would hit her hard. “It was a trap.” There was no sense in trying to soften the blow. “A trap to lure Steve out, so they could…” She trailed off, unable to say it.

“So they could what?” The tension in Sharon’s voice was unmistakable. No one answered - none of them wanted to be the one to say it - to make it real.

“So they could what?” Sharon repeated. Clint and Sam looked furtively at Natasha, willing her to speak.

With a sigh, she finally answered. “We’re not exactly sure. But Steve’s gone.”

“They captured him?”

“No. They - vanished him into thin air.”

“What? How?”

“With that.” Natasha nodded towards the weapon in Sam’s hand.

“Is that-?” Sharon’s voice was full of the same dread that curdled in the pit of Natasha’s stomach.

Natasha sighed. “I don’t know. But I think so. Thor said there were six of them, and that they were making themselves known. He’d heard of four so far - I think we might have found number five.”

“Do you know what it does?”

She shook her head, but motioned towards the unconscious man in front of her. “No. But he does. And he’ll tell us soon enough.”

Chapter Text

Natasha closed the door of the bedroom in the safe house behind her, a troubled frown on her face. Once the HYDRA agent had realised his predicament, he’d been easy to intimidate. She’d been ready to threaten violence to get him to talk - it wasn’t her normal style, but she was short of time and needed answers fast. But it hadn’t been necessary - one look at her grim expression and he’d spilled his guts.

“So?” Clint asked from the sofa, sprawled on his back, throwing peanuts up into the air and catching them in his mouth. That was Clint for you - always calm and collected. A glaring contrast to the other two occupants of the dingy living room.

“So,” she replied tersely. “It’s an Infinity Stone. Goes by the name of the Time Stone.”

Sam shifted in his seat. “I really don’t think I like where this is going.”

She didn’t either. That it was all her fault was also weighing heavily. “It could be worse,” she replied, trying to find the positives. “At least they haven’t fired him off to the other end of the galaxy.”

Sam didn’t look convinced. “I don’t see how firing him off to the other end of time is any better.”

“1846, actually,” she replied. “Not quite the other end of time.”

“That’s a suspiciously specific date,” Clint commented, still on his back, still snacking.

“From what I gather, they had a team of agents waiting there for him,” she said. “They want to make sure he doesn’t interfere with the ‘timeline’”.

Clint shrugged. “Seems like firing him to the end of time would have been a safer option, if they just want to get rid of him.”

“Why exactly did they want to get rid of him, anyway?” Sharon’s tone was short as she caught the peanut Clint launched into the air, glaring at him. Reluctantly, he pulled himself upright.

“From what I could get out of him, Steve’s going to do something at some unspecified point in the future that will be very bad for HYDRA. They wanted to stop him, so they used the stone to send him back in time.”

Clint frowned. “Crashing three HYDRA-infested helicarriers into the Potomac River and exposing their existence to the world wasn’t very bad for them? What’s left for him to do?”

“And why not just kill him?” Sam asked.

She shrugged. “He’s not an easy man to kill, and their resources are somewhat limited these days. I guess the stone was the one last thing they had to try.”

“Clint has a point,” Sharon said, reluctantly. “Why not send him far away in time? That would mean certain death for him. In 1846, he’s likely to survive. He could still hurt them.”

“I got the impression that our Time Stone operator isn’t exactly proficient with it,” she replied. “It’s a cosmic power, not for the likes of mortal men. Thor said they destroy anyone who isn’t powerful enough to control them. Humans aren’t exactly top of the list of powerful beings.”

“But this guy could use it?”

Natasha nodded. “Apparently. In a very limited way. 1846 was about as far as he could throw Steve. Considering what that thing is probably capable of, we should be grateful. Someone who knew how to use it properly could have wiped him out of existence.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Sam said. “We weren’t even going after HYDRA. How did they just happen to be there, where Steve was, so they could do this? No one knew where he was, except for us!”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. “I think they used me to get to him. They couldn’t find him, but they knew I could. They just had to give me a compelling reason to go looking for him. Which they did, with a story about a stolen cache of Chitauri weapons. We know something’s coming, something big, and we need all the help we can get. They set me up.” She glared round at them, daring any of them to say anything. Wisely, none of them did.

“That doesn’t matter now. What matters is getting Steve back.” Sharon broke the silence. “So let’s get this guy to take us back to find him.”

“It’s not that simple,” Natasha answered. “He can travel through time with it and take someone with him, or he can use it to send another person through time, but that’s the limit of his abilities. And I wouldn’t entrust my safety to him anyway. Significant memory loss is a major risk.”

“You’re saying Steve might not even remember who he is?” Sharon again.

“It’s likely.”

“And presumably even if we could find a way to go back without his help, we might still get there and not remember why,” Sam mused.

“You said they had a team waiting for him in 1846,” Clint said, frowning again. “But assuming he was the one who sent them back, wouldn’t they have forgotten too?”

“I’d spotted that too. There are definitely some gaps in what he’s told us. Some things he isn’t saying, or he doesn’t know.”

“So go back in there and get the answers out of him!”

Sharon was halfway across the room before Natasha answered. “It won’t help. He can’t help us. We have to find another way. Figure out how it works for ourselves.”

Clint’s voice was subdued as he spoke. “And the people who could help us do that are either missing themselves, or not taking our calls.”

There was another person who could help them, someone whose help she needed anyway, but he was Steve’s secret, and she was going to keep it. Escaping the others with the stone was her objective now; she owed it to Steve to save him, and she didn’t want the others interfering.

Chapter Text

She sat by the hospital bed, waiting for Bucky Barnes to emerge from his cryosleep. She’d reached Wakanda three days ago. Getting away from the others had been simple; Clint had known she was going to break and run for it, even if he hadn’t known why, but he’d trusted her instincts and even run interference to help her. She hadn’t made
contact with them since.

Finding Steve in the past with Clint as her back-up would have been a much simpler prospect. But it was unthinkable; he had a wife and family, and while right now he was separated from them, one day he’d be able to go back to them. She couldn’t risk him. She was expendable, and so was the man she’d take instead. Or at least, the
person he wasn’t expendable to wasn’t here - that was the whole point.

She eyed Barnes warily, although he still showed no sign of waking. A lot depended on him, and whether he’d agree to help her. He was an unknown quantity - although Steve had talked about him to her, he’d naturally airbrushed out the bad parts. Her own personal experience of Barnes didn’t bode well - three encounters, three times
he’d tried to kill her. But it hadn’t really been him - he’d been brainwashed by HYDRA. He’d never have done it if he’d had a choice, but - he’d still done it. And she planned to travel back to the past with him, with no-one else to intervene if he lost control. She swallowed hard - this wasn’t a good idea. So much hung on how he reacted to her
news when he finally woke up.

T’Challa had been willing to help her up to a point - he’d agreed to have his sister look at the stone and try to figure it out, he’d agreed to have Barnes woken up, he’d even agreed to bankroll her mission, but when it came to telling Barnes what had happened, she’d been on her own. She grinned wryly. It certainly hadn’t taken him long
to realise that the berserk button worked both ways when it came to Rogers and Barnes.

She glanced again at Barnes, and jumped. He was awake - his eyes were open, and watching her. She couldn’t read his expression at all - and she could read anyone. She couldn’t hold his gaze, either - she was the first to look away. She didn’t back down from a staring match with anyone, either. This wasn’t a good start.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked, his voice rough. Trust him to ask the awkward question straight off.

“I don’t know.” Honesty was her best approach here; lying to him would just antagonise him. He had to trust her; he didn’t know her, and he had no reason to like her.

But if she’d expected him to fly into a towering rage, she was disappointed. “I assume you’re going to expand on that.”

She took a deep breath. “He’s missing. In the past.”

“In the past.” He didn’t believe her.

“Yes. HYDRA found another Infinity Stone - they seemed to have a knack for it.”

He frowned as she spoke. “Like the Tesseract?”

At his nod, she continued. “This one works with time. So they used it to send him to the past.”

“Why? And how far?” He asked the important questions, at least, and with a minimum of fuss. It was like talking to Clint, just without the humour. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“I’m not sure. He’s supposed to do something in the future that they don’t want him to, but I don’t know what it is. And - back to 1846.” He blinked as she named the year so precisely, but said nothing. “Working on the assumption that if HYDRA doesn’t want something to happen, we definitely do, someone needs to go back and get him. And I want my friend back.”

He still didn’t speak, although he was thinking hard. As the silence stretched, she was compelled to speak again. “It was my fault. HYDRA tricked me, and I led him straight into a trap. That’s why he’s gone.”

And again, his response wasn’t what she’d expected. Instead of rising from his bed to throttle her and break things, the beginnings of a smile played around his lips. “I bet that was hard to say.”

She glared at him. “And what would you know about that?”

“I know you’re a Black Widow. And I know what they’re like. They never admit they were wrong.”

She sat back in her chair, frowning. A Black Widow? She was the only one. This conversation was spinning out of her control. He smiled that half-smile again, as if he knew what she was thinking. “You’re the only one now, but you weren’t always. They’ve been turning out Black Widows even longer than Winter Soldiers.” His face suddenly darkened. “I even took one or two of them out when they got in the way.” He looked away for a second, and
then back at her, his features clouded with guilt. “I’m sorry, by the way. For what it’s worth.”

She nodded slowly in response. She was seriously discomfited, though she’d never admit as much. She’d prepared
herself to meet the Winter Soldier, the cold-blooded, ruthless assassin of legend, but instead she’d found a different man entirely. A man who could only be Bucky Barnes. The silence stretched between them, as she rapidly revised her tactics. This man would need a different approach. But he spoke again before she could.

“So why do you need me?” She hesitated, unsure how to reply. When she didn’t answer, he shrugged. “Going back and getting him doesn’t sound particularly difficult, assuming you can get this stone to work, anyway. Surely any of Steve’s friends could do it. So what are you not telling me? Why does it have to be me?”

Fantastic. Barnes was as quick-thinking and perceptive as his best friend. “The HYDRA agent who sent him back said that a common side-effect of time travel was memory loss. I don’t think he was very accomplished with the stone, and in the heat of an ambush, probably even less so. I think it’s safe to assume that Steve turned up in 1846 with very little idea of who he was, or how he got there.”

He nodded as he absorbed the information. He wasn’t totally like Steve, then. Steve would have been up and out of the door by now, on a mission to retrieve his friend, and trampling down anyone who stood between him and his goal. Barnes was still flat on his back, thinking. Clearly he was the more restrained, calculating one of the two. Which did fit with the old Bucky Barnes. He’d been the Howling Commandos’ crack sniper - you didn’t get to be that without a healthy streak of ruthlessness and self-possession. Not to mention a stomach of steel. It made sense, therefore, that he wouldn’t go on a rampage until he had a plan. Once he had a plan, however, it probably
wasn’t a good idea to get in his way.

“OK,” he eventually said. “That explains a lot. But I see some problems. First, how do you propose to get us back in time with our memories intact? It’s not going to do much good if we turn up in the same state he did. Second, I only have one arm. I’m not going to be much use in a fight - and I assume HYDRA have people there watching him. Third, if there are HYDRA agents there, what’s to say they don’t know…” He trailed off, and took a deep breath before he
continued. “The trigger words?”

She smiled. They were going to get along just fine, after all. “One, we’re in the most technologically-advanced nation in the world. They have some powerful drugs here - they think they can find something that will prevent the amnesia. Two, they’ve been working on a new arm for you. It’s not perfect, but it’ll work. Three, I doubt they’ll know those words. This isn’t the kind of mission you send your best agents on - you send your expendable people. Someone who knows how to set off the Winter Soldier is not expendable.”

Chapter Text

Bucky stared at the ghost in his mirror. A Howling Commando stared back at him, an identical expression of unease on his face. He shook his head - his twin did the same. But he wasn’t that man anymore – too much had happened to him, and it had changed him. Even so, he still looked just like him. Cut his hair, shave his face, dress him in something other than assassin’s blacks or a tramp’s rags, and he was that dashing World War Two soldier again.

That brash, arrogant idiot, so certain he was invincible, that nothing could ever touch him. But no – a man like that wouldn’t have been a draftdodger. And while he’d always told himself it was because he needed to look after Steve, the real truth was that he’d been afraid. Afraid of being thrown into the brutal meat-grinder that was the war – afraid of dying. Not because of Steve, but because that brash, arrogant soldier had actually been a coward. He’d fought, but only because he’d had no choice. It was either death on the battlefield or death by firing squad as a deserter. There’d been no way out, so he’d followed the path of least resistance. After all, it still took courage to run away…

And now here he was, more than seventy years later, looking like he’d just stepped out of the pages of the past. His face was a few years older - lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and a weariness in his expression that spoke of his real age, but other than that, he was the same. And not the same at all.

He shook his head again, the man in the mirror copying his movements exactly. Whether he liked it or not, it was his face. He couldn’t hide behind the long hair and beard anymore. That wouldn’t be at all in keeping with the role Natasha wanted him to play in the past, a rich, debonair New York gentleman with his glamorous wife. He was a genuine New Yorker (though ‘gentleman’ was stretching it), and he’d never been rich. The New York rich had always looked down on people like him. He couldn’t pretend to be one of them.

The light glinted off his metal fingers as he shifted restlessly. They were the biggest indication that he wasn’t the man his reflection said he was. Back then, he’d been whole – he hadn’t fallen from that train, lost his arm, been imprisoned by the Russians and then handed back to HYDRA… He closed his eyes, taking deep, slow breaths, grasping for anything that could drag him out of those memories.

Steve. He was doing this for Steve. He was back in this strange, shiny new world, because Steve needed him. And however much he’d changed, however different he was now, the one thing he’d always have in common with the man staring back at him was that he’d do anything for Steve. He could pretend to be anything Natasha wanted him to if it meant they got Steve back.

He flexed the fingers on his left hand, clenching and unclenching them as if they were a normal hand. This arm was
different to the old one – lighter and more flexible, with the same dexterity as his long-lost flesh-and-blood arm. His first arm had been built with brute strength and power in mind; he’d learned to use it with more finesse over time, but that had never been its purpose. His new Wakandan arm retained some of that power, but also sacrificed
some in favour of fine motor control. He was struggling to adapt to it, something attested to by the number of times Natasha had bested him when they trained, but overall, it was better than the old one. Even if he currently shambled around like a gorilla, compensating for weight that was no longer there. He’d get used to it in time, and when he did, he might feel less like his sole purpose was as a killing machine.

But he’d been a killing machine for most of his life. He’d killed plenty of people as a soldier in the war, and plenty more afterwards as the Winter Soldier. He was both a decorated war hero, and the world’s most feared and hated terrorist. And the former didn’t wipe out the latter – nothing ever could. Steve thought he could atone, become a hero like him and start fighting the good fight, but it wasn’t true. Maybe Natasha could compartmentalise her past and turn herself into a hero, but he couldn’t. The horror of what he’d done would always drag him down, soaking everything good he could ever do in blood; how could someone ever atone for the things he’d done? He didn’t deserve to be here, hidden in Wakanda by people as noble as they were stupid; he should be paying for what he’d done. He should be in front of that firing squad, after all.

With a roar, he punched the glass in front of him, shattering that hateful face, fracturing it into tiny shards. But it only served to multiply the faces staring back at him. He looked away from them, unable to meet their accusing stares, and watched the blood trickling across his knuckles instead, pain registering as a sharp stab at the back of his mind. It wasn’t enough, it couldn’t pay for everything he’d done. He could shed every drop of blood he had, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

He closed his eyes. Grief washed over him, and longing for the peace and silence of cryostasis. Where he didn’t think, where his memories didn’t haunt him, where he might as well be dead. But Steve needed him. He couldn’t have that peace, not yet. Once Steve was back where he was supposed to be, he’d be free to sink back down into the silence. It wouldn’t be long, and he’d be gone from the world again. He could do this. For Steve.

Chapter Text

The blinding flash of green died away, but echoes danced across his vision. He blinked in the darkness, disoriented; before the flash, they’d been on the beach at Coney Island, past the fairground - it had been after midnight, but the lights from the boardwalk meant it hadn’t really been dark. Now, it was pitch black - the buildings, the fairground, the boardwalk were all gone. The beach was deserted, and the air was fresh, almost swampy - the competing aromas of cotton candy and hot dogs had vanished. The sea broke on the shore behind him, the gentle waves audible without the noise of the fairground. In spite of it all, a boyish grin crept across his face - he was a real time traveller!

Romanoff shifted beside him, her bulky skirts rustling, a contrast to her usual silence. She’d cut corners where she could, designing her outfits to be as comfortable and practical as possible, without sacrificing the look and shape expected of a fashionable woman of this time - tiny waist, full skirts and a tight-fitting bodice. Her attention to detail in this, as in everything else, had been second to none. Her current attire was nothing like what she was used to, but it was all the rage in 1850s New York, so she’d had to go along with it. He didn’t envy her at all…

He turned to face her, straining to make out her face in the pre-dawn gloom. Then she spoke, a cautious note to her voice. “Do you remember?”

He frowned, at first unsure what she was asking. “I know who I am, and I know who you are. We’ve come back to the past to rescue Steve. We’re going to Brooklyn to find him. How about you? Forgotten anything?”

“Don’t worry, Barnes. I’m fine.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice. He shrugged - she wouldn’t admit it, even if she had.

He searched his memory for any obvious holes. He remembered coming back to himself on the banks of the Potomac, having pulled Steve from the river, even though he’d been ordered to kill him. Everything after that was still there, up to the present moment. His recent, post-HYDRA memories were intact. His memories of Steve were also all present and correct, from Steve as a belligerent runt back in Brooklyn, through his transformation and the
war, to that bridge in Washington, and right up to Siberia, where he’d nearly killed Tony Stark just to keep Bucky safe. He flinched.

“What’s up? A gap?”

“No,” he replied shortly. “An unpleasant memory.” And there were plenty more where that came from. Torture, brainwashing, murder - he slammed the door shut on them. He couldn’t fall apart. Steve needed him.

Romanoff didn’t push, though she was obviously curious. “I don’t think I’m missing anything, either. Guess the drugs worked.”

There was something in the tone of her voice that said she wasn’t telling the whole truth - not much, just a slight off note, something most people wouldn’t notice. She’d lost something. He didn’t press her; he didn’t want to know. Still, if she hadn’t come through unscathed, had he? Really? He went back through his past again. His years as the
Winter Soldier were fragmented, a kaleidoscope of bright, sharp, painful memories, fractured because he’d been in stasis most of the time. His career had spanned decades, but his memories covered a few years at most, in short, staccato bursts. There was no making sense of them - if he’d lost any of those memories, he’d never know. And so
much the better if he had.

Then there was the war he’d never wanted to be part of. His experience had been worse than most - captured by HYDRA and turned into some variant of super soldier like Steve. If not for that, the fall from the train would have been the end of him. If not for that, he could have died, been at peace, the world a better place without him. He wouldn’t be here now, struggling with the guilt of what he’d done. He shook his head fiercely - Steve needed him. There was too much at stake for thoughts like that. Find Steve, bring him back, then disappear down into the blessed peace of cryostasis. He could do that.

He went back to his childhood and coming of age in Brooklyn. And there were gaps. Steve was there, in shocking colour, but his family - they were hazy. He’d had sisters, but there was nothing more than that. Then a face drifted out of the fog - a young girl, one of his sisters, but he couldn’t remember her name. But she’d been important to him.

He couldn’t call any of his other friends to mind, either, though he’d had plenty. Nor his girls - there’d been many, but all he could grasp were flashes - red hair, brown hair, blue eyes - nothing else. He’d been like this when he’d first awoken from the daze of his HYDRA conditioning. And like then, thinking about the missing memories didn’t magically make them reappear. They’d come back in bursts, if at all.

So, there were gaps. But only some - he hadn’t lost his whole life again. But what must this have been like for Steve? He’d had no drugs to protect him, no warning of what was going to happen to him, no time to prepare. The frustration of trying to pull his memories back into focus in a world that didn’t make any sense could have driven Steve mad. He’d be in torment.

Fresh resolve flooded through his veins - he didn’t have time to drown in his own pain; he had to find Steve and lessen his. He heaved the trunk on to his shoulder - later, he’d make it look like it was an effort, but for now, he didn’t need to pretend. “We need to get moving.”

Romanoff fell in beside him as he strode off towards New York. She’d stowed the stone safely in the Gladstone bag they’d brought with them, and pulled out the datapad, containing a map of Coney Island as it was in this time. In the 1840s, the island had been mostly deserted - which was why they’d chosen it to make their journey to the past. It had still been an island, too, and there was only one bridge to the mainland. They’d have to cross it; the respectable, God-fearing couple they were pretending to be would never stoop to wading.

They hadn’t gone far, but Romanoff was already starting to lag behind, unable to match his pace. He slowed, subtly enough that she wouldn’t notice he was holding back. It was the dress, of course - normally, she’d have no problem keeping up, but the long, flowing skirts were hindering her movements. To someone like Romanoff, it would be torture.

The sky was lightening by the time they reached the bridge, giving a view across the whole island and the creek, on the other side of which was New York proper. Or what would one day be New York proper. The hotel, at this time one of the few buildings on the island, was visible to the south. His own memories of Coney Island overlaid themselves on his vision, making his head spin. The fairground, ice-creams on the beach - he’d spent many a summer day here, often with Steve, just as often with a girl. He was getting his memories back already.

“Barnes?” Romanoff spoke from beside him - he’d been still too long.

He shrugged. “Just memories. From a long time ago.”

She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to tell her more.

“Steve and I came here all the time when we were kids. There was a fairground here, all kinds of rides and attractions, far more than in - well, your time. We couldn’t always afford to go on the rides, but one time, I made Steve ride the Cyclone.” He smiled. “He really didn’t have a head for heights back then. I bullied him onto it, bought the tickets before he could argue, and bundled him on – it’s not like he could stop me back then.” He lapsed into silence, lost in his memories.

“Did he enjoy it?”

“Oh, no, he hated it.” He grinned. “If I recall correctly, he threw up everywhere.” He paused, then added, “Perhaps we should have had the cotton candy after the ride.”

Romanoff smiled. “Perhaps you should.” She straightened, suddenly all business again. “We’re about to meet our
first native - time to get into character.” She shoved the datapad back into the bag and pulled out a handful of coins to pay the bridge toll.

“Let’s hope Wakanda’s finest forgeries hold up, right?”

She didn’t respond to his attempt to lighten the mood. Instead, she threaded her arm through his, looked up at him, and in a mood change so sharp it stunned him, she smiled demurely at him, saying, in a voice full of what sounded suspiciously like affection, “Lead on, darling husband”.

Chapter Text

It was mid-morning when they arrived in Brooklyn; they’d hired a horse and carriage once they were off Coney Island. After all, well-off New Yorkers wouldn’t walk anywhere, certainly not dragging their belongings behind them. This had been part of Natasha’s grand plan, not that she’d told him any of it. She’d even decided which hotel in
Brooklyn they’d stay at (he’d been surprised that she hadn’t somehow managed to book rooms for them in advance). He couldn’t fault her preparation, but she’d have to start telling him things - she wasn’t working on her own. They were a team, which meant they both needed to know the plan.

As they’d travelled through the countryside, there’d been nothing to remind him of the New York he knew, but the town of Brooklyn was a different matter. It was too much like his own Brooklyn – the same buildings, but newer and cleaner. But there were differences - an odd jarring note, something that looked right, but wasn’t quite, a street he remembered except for one building where it shouldn’t be.

Of course, there were other things that were strikingly different. The men wore the same as they had in his time, more or less, but the ladies, with their huge wide skirts, did not. Natasha had gone from looking like she belonged at a costume party to blending seamlessly into the scene.

The shops were also different, and horses and carts instead of cars and trolley-buses was hard to swallow. It was hard to resist the temptation to stop and stare, but it wouldn’t fit with his sophisticated and debonair persona. Not to mention that Natasha would kill him if he tried it. He smiled, amused, but then suddenly sobered. They were here, finally, but now they had to find Steve, and it wasn’t going to be easy.

“How on earth are we going to find him?” he asked Natasha.

Natasha looked glad of the question, but shrugged in response. “We’ll have to ask. He’d have been wearing unusual clothing, and by the standards of today, he’s practically a giant. People should remember him.”

“By any standards, he’s pretty large.”

“True. But especially here and now. People in this time were malnourished - which didn’t encourage growth.” She lapsed into silence for a moment, then asked, “Are there any places, or landmarks, that Steve might go to? Anywhere he’d be familiar with, that he might think we’d go?”

“Do you really think he’s likely to remember them?”

She shrugged again. “We have to assume he hasn’t forgotten absolutely everything. He’d be no better than a drooling idiot if that was the case. And I’d imagine his older memories are likely to be more robust. He’ll remember his childhood if nothing else.”

“That’s not exactly how it happened for me.” She looked at him sharply, so he continued, “I remember everything recent, most of my adult life. I’m struggling to remember my family. Everything else about my childhood - if it doesn’t involve Steve, it’s either gone, or very foggy.”

She looked troubled for an instant, but then smirked. “Let’s just hope his brain is hard-wired like yours. If he remembers nothing else, at least he’ll remember you.” He glared at her, but her smirk just widened. “And if that’s the case, he should remember Brooklyn. So, where did you spend your time when you were younger?”

“Coney Island, the Dodgers stadium, the docks - most of which haven’t been built yet.” He sighed heavily.

“What about landmarks that are here, that he might remember? Assuming he is here - we might have beaten him.”

“Some of the municipal buildings were built to stand the test of time. Maybe Borough Hall?”

“We’ll start there then. We’ll ask everyone we see, check all the shops and stalls around there, asking after our large and strangely attired friend.”

Getting into the spirit of it, he added, “We could try the cathedral. He went there with his mother a lot. I can’t see it from here, but I’m pretty sure it’s old enough to be around today.”

She nodded. “At least it’s a start.”

“What if he’s not here already?”

“We’ll find the alley he vanished from in our time - my time - and wait there till he turns up.”

They walked in silence for a while, heading for Borough Hall, and then Natasha spoke suddenly. “Where did you grow up?”

Startled into an instinctive response, and despite his memory loss, he rattled off his childhood address as automatically as if she’d asked for his name, rank and number. The last time he’d given out that latter information had been on a table in a HYDRA base, with Steve bending over him, come to save him. He was on the edge of falling into a dark well of memories until Natasha chuckled.

“Your mother trained you well, Barnes. We’ll try there too, and Steve’s old home, if you can remember where it is. If we still haven’t found him, we’ll keep going, work our way out, keep watching that alleyway. ” She registered his expression, and added, “If we have to ask everyone in Brooklyn, we’ll find him.”

Chapter Text

Searching for Steve was hard work, only made worse by the fear of saying the wrong thing and giving himself away. They’d tried Borough Hall first, but had no luck. Then they’d tried the cathedral, but again, their search had been fruitless.

Natasha had then suggested they split up, to cover more ground. He’d been reluctant, as it meant wandering around this hauntingly familiar, horribly alien Brooklyn on his own, but it made sense. The more area they covered, the sooner they’d find Steve, and the sooner they found Steve, the sooner they could go back.

Natasha had opted to check out his old home. He’d argued against it - his old neighbourhood had been rough, and a lone woman as finely dressed as Natasha would have been a target for certain. But in spite of the layers upon layers of petticoats, she was still Natasha Romanoff - the street thug who took her on would be in for a rude awakening. And who knew what his neighbourhood was like right now? Back in the future, apartments in the street he’d lived in were worth an eye-watering amount; in this time, it could be the most genteel area of the town. And the docks, his destination, were never and never would be the place for a woman on her own - Natasha would stand out a mile there. And this way, he’d avoid the painful memories of his old home.

She’d soon disappeared into the crowd, effortlessly assimilating herself into their current situation. He’d been an assassin, not a spy - he’d never needed to cultivate a cover, or be anything other than a ruthless killing machine. He was vulnerable out in the open like this, exposed to the world. And when he felt vulnerable and exposed, his belligerent alter ego had a tendency to emerge. And if he started a mass brawl on the streets of 1840s Brooklyn, he’d mess up the future for sure.

Abruptly, he turned away, and strode off towards the Navy Yard docks. He’d spent a lot of time there with Steve, watching the ships with his – with Emily? He stopped dead in the street, overwhelmed by the rushing return of his memories. His little sister, Emily. He’d been as single-mindedly protective of her as he had been of Steve, and she’d always had his back, too. Whenever their mother had denied him his dinner for getting into fights (without exception
because Steve had started them), Emily had always saved half of hers for him. And she had loved those ships. She’d always been so excited to see them, and she’d always made him go and find out where they’d come from. And whenever he came back with the news that one of them was in from China, she’d been thrilled. She’d always wanted to go to China - had she ever made it there?

“Are you alright, sir?” A stranger’s voice intruded into his memories. Instantly, he was on high alert, the Winter Soldier scanning the street for potential threats, formulating plans for several quick and efficient ways in which they could be removed. With a superhuman effort, he brutally suppressed those instincts and turned slowly and non-threateningly towards the person who’d spoken, a newspaperseller.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you just stopped suddenly, and you looked lost somehow.” The man was
babbling, on the verge of panic. So much for non-threatening.

He held his hands up placatingly. “I’m fine. I just – I just haven’t been here in a while, and it’s amazing how much it’s changed. It hit me quite hard, that’s all. Er, thanks for trying to help.” Before the man could reply, or retreat, he rushed on, “Actually, I’m looking for a friend. Steve, Steven Rogers. He’s blond, very tall, broad-shouldered,
he might have been wearing strange clothes?”

“Sorry, sir. I’ve never seen anyone like that. He doesn’t sound like someone you’d forget.”

Bucky sighed. “No, he isn’t. Thanks, anyway.” But as he turned to walk on, his eye caught the newspapers on the stand. He picked one up and scanned the front page, his gaze catching on the printed date. His heart stopped.

Swearing under his breath, he threw a handful of coins at the bemused seller, and stalked off in search of a
quiet alleyway. Once there, he switched on the comms unit that the Wakandans had provided for them. “Romanoff? We have a serious problem.”

“What is it?” Her voice was clipped, barely enunciating the words.

“We’re too late. It’s not 1846, it’s 1851.” Even as he said the words, the world span around him. He’d failed his friend - he’d come too late to save him. By now, Steve could have left New York, be anywhere, even… Even dead.

“Are you sure?” Natasha’s voice pulled him out of his tailspin. “How do you know?”

“I bought a newspaper. Today is the 3rd March, 1851. We’re five years too late. Five years, Romanoff! What the hell
happened?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’m an expert with the damned stone! Maybe the Wakandans got something wrong. It was always a risk it wouldn’t work properly - you know that!”

“How are we supposed to find him now?”

“Bucky, calm down. Chances are, he’s still here. This is his home - no matter how few memories he has left, I think he’ll remember that much. We’ll find him. Or someone who remembers him and knows where he is. It will be OK.”

There was an edge of panic to her voice, despite her calm and measured tone - she was afraid he was going to have a meltdown. She’d even used his first name.

He took a deep breath, and then another. She was right - Steve was probably still around here somewhere, and it might even make it easier to find him. More people would know who he was if he’d been around for five years. Assuming he wasn’t the drooling idiot Natasha had worried about.

“Barnes?” Her momentary lapse into first-name terms had ended; she’d evidently decided he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

“I’m here.”

“Meet me back at the hotel. I think we need to change our plans.”

Chapter Text

Bucky seemed calm and in control when he returned to the hotel - her fears of a full-tilt Winter Soldier freakout had been unfounded. Once more, it brought home that this man wasn’t the Winter Soldier - he was Bucky Barnes. As long as someone didn’t recite a certain sequence of Russian words at him, he controlled his own actions and made his own choices. And he wasn’t hot-headed like Steve.

But the way he held himself so still, so poised, ready to explode into action at any moment, that was a legacy of his Winter Soldier years. Perhaps it would never leave him; maybe that was no bad thing. The world needed him, and maybe the opportunity to use his lethal skill set to save the world, rather than endanger it, would help to ease the guilt that bore down on him. It physically weighed him down, and telling him it wasn’t his fault would have no effect at all. Underneath her self-assured facade, she was exactly the same - she just hid it better.

But it was remarkable to find someone who could stand so still, so silent, barely breathing, for so long, without any sense of impatience. It was like looking in a mirror. He watched her - awaiting orders. He’d ceded control of the mission to her without a whisper of complaint - he recognised her superior knowledge and experience, and bowed to it. There were a few people who could learn a lesson from him.

“This changes things. No point staking out that alleyway now - I highly doubt Steve will go back there.”

“Agreed.”

“And he’s Steve - he has a knack of making people want to help him. Someone is bound to have taken pity on him and taken him in, at least at first. He’s big and strong, quick to learn - he’d have been able to look after himself after that.” His eyebrow flickered in response to her comment. “He’s not the pugnacious runt he used to be,
you know. Pretty handy in a fight, in fact.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to keep an eye on him.”

She smiled. “I’m sure he found someone. I’m sure whoever it was isn’t a patch on you, but whoever it is, they’ll do for now.” She paused, building a strategy, before she went on, “I don’t think he’ll have moved too far from here. Whether he remembers it or not, this was always his home. It will feel familiar to him; he’ll think the answers to all his questions will be around here somewhere. So, I don’t think our original plan is so far off. We keep looking, and asking after him. Don’t mention the strange clothes, just ask for Steve.”

“OK. We should split up again, split the town between us, knock on every door asking for him.” He finally moved, pulling a map from his pocket and spreading it over the table in their room. Had he paid for it, or stolen it - how like her was he really?

“Where did you get that?”

“I bought it on the way back here.” Of course - Steve Rogers’ best friend, a thief? Not likely. She snorted. He looked at her questioningly.

“Nothing.” She wiped the grin off her face, and moved towards the map.

“About that.” He spoke hesitantly, as if afraid she’d react badly to his words. “You have to tell me things. When you’re planning them. I can’t read your mind, and it helps if I know what’s going on.”

Her hackles had risen, but she hid them - he wasn’t being unreasonable. “It makes me feel…” His voice trailed off.
And she was three inches tall. Of course she should be including him, letting him have a say. How were they ever to begin undoing all the damage HYDRA had done to him if they treated him exactly the same way? He’d fallen into his conditioned behaviour automatically, unquestioningly following orders. And she’d assumed he’d chosen to do so, but had never asked him. All along, she’d been ordering him around, telling him what to do, just like HYDRA had.

She grimaced. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She forced the words out. He smiled that half-smile again - he knew what that had cost her. She took a deep breath, choking down the irritation, and continued. “I was just thinking that I’d have stolen the map, not paid for it. I thought you might be the same, but of course not; Steve’s influence runs too deep.”

Was that an actual smile?

“It’s not like I was beyond saving before Saint Steven found me, you know. I was a decent young man before I met him. To be honest, I think I was a better influence on him than the other way round. Him breaking me out of that HYDRA base was frankly payback for the thousands of times I’d saved him from being ground into dust by whichever thug he’d decided to take on that day.”

She smiled. “I can actually believe that.”

“One day, I’m going to set that record straight. The world deserves to know the truth.”

“I would be more than happy to aid and abet you in that, but I suggest we get him back first. Time enough to rewrite history - again - later.”

“Deal.”

As Natasha entered their hotel room later that evening, Barnes sat up from where he’d been lying on the bed, a dreadful hope in his eyes. “I’ve been back for hours. Where have you been?”

“I found a lead. Wanted to chase it up while it was hot. Finding Steve tonight would have been a bonus.”

He slumped back down onto the bed. “But you didn’t find him.”

She eyed him carefully. He wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. “I didn’t find him, exactly.” She paused, watching him closely, and then continued, “But I did find something. A friend of his - adopted family.”

He sat up straight, his attention now riveted on her. “So if you found them, why didn’t you find Steve? Where is he?”

She took a deep breath. “He’s alive. But - he’s not here anymore.”

“What do you mean?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice now.

“About six months ago, he decided to leave. And go to – Oregon.”

His shoulders dropped, and when he spoke, the edge had gone, replaced by confusion. “Oregon? Why in the hell would he do that?”

“Apparently, it’s all the rage at the moment. All the cool kids are doing it.”

Her attempt at levity failed – he frowned at her, like he was trying really hard to remember something. Then his brow cleared. “The pioneers.” He frowned again. “He’s gone to be a pioneer? Why? How does he expect us to find him if he heads off to the other end of the country?’

“He doesn’t remember us. That much, this friend was able to confirm. He hardly remembered anything, didn’t know who, if anyone, would be looking for him. I think he gave up on us in the end.”

“I can’t believe he’s forgotten me.”

And suddenly, a lost little boy sat in front of her, no sign of the dangerous assassin at all. A strange and uncomfortable urge to comfort him settled in her gut, but she had more to say. “There’s one more thing. I don’t know whether you’ll think it’s good or bad news.” He looked up at her, still and alert once more. “Steve went to Oregon with someone.” She swallowed. “With his family - his wife, and - and their child.”

His metal fist crashed down on the table by the bed. Splinters of wood exploded everywhere, and she involuntarily jumped back, sizing up the windows and doors, planning her escape route. But when he spoke again, his tone was calm. “His wife? Wow. He really has forgotten us, hasn’t he?”

She remained tense - if he tried anything, she’d be out of the door and away before he could move. But there was no sign of his former destructive rage - the lost little boy was back. And he was heartbroken. Against all her screaming instincts, she sat down beside him on the bed, reached out, and gingerly laid her hand over his. He didn’t respond, just stared in into space, but when she made to pull her hand away, he moved his hand to stop her. So she sat, her hand in his, her mind racing through all the implications of Steve’s actions, while simultaneously wondering if she should squeeze Bucky’s hand, if that would be comforting.

She shied away from the more difficult question, and went back to Steve. His family complicated things. Getting to Oregon – or at least one of the jumping-off towns in Missouri, where he’d be right now – wasn’t an insurmountable problem, even in this time, and finding Steve there was also not outside the bounds of possibility. But he wouldn’t leave a wife and child behind to go back to his own time. And bringing a woman from this backwards time into
the bright, shiny 21st century – she snorted with amusement.

Barnes looked over at her quizzically, an offended light in his eyes. She wiped the smirk off her face; no need to worry about that bridge until they came to cross it. “I guess we need to find the fastest way to Missouri. See if we can catch up with him before he sets off in search of his manifest destiny.”

And then they’d see about getting him back where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Three weeks, one train trip, one canal boat trip, and more time on a steamboat in the Great Lakes than was good for anyone’s mental health later, they’d finally arrived in St Joseph’s, Missouri. She’d spent the time reading the Wakandan datapad; there hadn’t been much else to do, especially with Barnes as silent and closed off as he was.

He’d spent his time up on the deck of the steamer, presumably freezing to death, while she’d stayed in their cabin, keeping warm and learning about the Oregon Trail. By the time they arrived in Missouri, she was an expert on the trail, the prairie schooners, the jumping-off points and a lot more besides.

Cholera had been raging through Independence when they arrived. It wasn’t the only jumping-off point, but it was the most well-known - and therefore the most likely place to find Steve. But Steve wouldn’t risk his loved ones to cholera; he’d head for one of the other towns instead. But which one? She’d picked St Joseph’s in the end. It was close to Independence, but far enough away to be safe from cholera. So they’d got back on the boat and returned upriver.

They’d been in St Joseph’s for a few days now, but had found no trace of Steve. Barnes’ surprisingly enterprising efforts had got them to Missouri quickly, considering that this was a country which was only just beginning to build railroads. He’d got them here by mid-April, before most wagon trains set off; the trail was usually a muddy swamp and unpassable until May, and even then, it had its moments. So it wasn’t likely that Steve had already left. He might be in one of the other towns - he might have reached Independence before the cholera struck and got stranded there. He couldn’t be dead - since his transformation, assuming he could even get cholera anymore, he’d shake it off the way everyone else shook off a cold. Barnes was no doubt the same - a body that could withstand endless rounds of freezing was not by any means normal - he’d definitely been modified.

However, she was no such super-soldier, and would have to trust to the modern medicines they’d brought with them if she contracted cholera. It was always best not to take a risk if you didn’t have to. But she was a good deal healthier than most people here, and it would take time for that to change. If they didn’t find Steve in St Joseph’s, Barnes could scout the other places by himself - it might even do him good, and help shake him out of the dark mood he’d fallen into. He wasn’t talkative at the best of times, but on the journey to Missouri, he’d been monosyllabic. And each day, he’d retreated further and further into himself, and she couldn’t pull him out of it. They
needed to find Steve for Barnes’ sake as much as anything else - only Steve could lead him out of the darkness he was falling into.

It had been hard work trawling the stores, hostels, livestock sellers, and so on, not least as the owners were hostile to strangers asking questions. Particularly finely-dressed, obviously wealthy strangers. Even if they did know Steve, they weren’t saying. So today they’d finally turned their attention to the camp just outside the town, where the wagon trains were gathering in anticipation of the great migration. Most of the émigrés were camping with their wagons; with all their worldly possessions inside them, it would be lunacy to leave them unguarded. It would also be cheaper than taking rooms in one of the vastly overpriced hostels in town. It had always been obvious that if they were going to find Steve anywhere, it would be in the camp, but it was huge, dirty, and the smell of all those animals and unwashed bodies was ripe, and so they’d left it until last.

She scanned the faces of the people they passed, searching them for Steve, half her attention on keeping her skirts from dragging through the filth. What on earth would possess someone to leave behind a comfortable home to walk all the way to an undeveloped wilderness? It might be an improvement for some people – you’d be better off in Oregon than a grimy slum in New York or Chicago. But few of the people here were actually in that situation. You needed a certain amount of capital to make this trip - most of the people travelling west clearly had more money than sense…

Barnes was trailing along behind her as they searched. She’d stopped and asked anyone who looked like they were in charge if they knew Steve, hoping to find his train leader, but with no success. She approached yet another man with a look of authority about him, but as she did, she became aware of an absence at her side - Barnes had gone.

Fighting the rising panic in her gut, she scanned the camp for him, finally locating his purposeful form heading straight for a tall, blond – Steve! He’d found him!

She headed straight after him, but in between her skirts, a sudden rash of children and dogs, and having to dodge round other people, she was still several yards away when Bucky reached Steve. He lifted him off the ground in a bear hug; he’d have swung him round if there’d been room. She smiled at their reunion, but the smile only touched her lips for an instant, because Steve obviously wasn’t sharing the joy. Barnes, after those few initial euphoric seconds, released his friend and stepped back from him, his whole bearing radiating distress. He’d been clinging to the hope that even if Steve didn’t remember him before that moment, one look at his face would bring it all back.

But it hadn’t; Steve’s bewildered expression was testament to that. She had to be over there now - Bucky needed her. She wasn’t much of a friend to him, but right now, she was all he’d got.

She redoubled her efforts to reach him, shoving past people who were in her way to get to him sooner. But as she came closer, Steve’s words came into focus, and each one was a knife in her own heart. Who knew they were doing to Bucky’s?

“I had an accident a few years ago. I lost my memory. I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember you.” Steve sounded genuinely sorry – he might not remember Bucky, but he was well aware of his distress, and, being Steve, hated being the cause of it. As she finally reached Bucky’s side, Steve turned to her, and his expression froze her heart – polite, but not a trace of recognition. She didn’t have Bucky’s years of friendship with Steve, but her stomach still plummeted at that look.

Swallowing hard, she turned to face Bucky. His expression was empty, his breathing heavy and laboured. He’d pinned everything on this meeting, sure it would make everything better, that he’d sweep away the cobwebs in Steve’s memory and bring him back - but it hadn’t worked out that way, and he didn’t know what to do. She
reached out a hand and laid it gently on his arm, his real arm, and squeezed gently. Bucky turned to her - his eyes met hers, but he wasn’t really there.

“It’s alright, Bucky. I’m here – you’re going to be fine. I’m not going to leave you.” She pitched her voice so that Steve wouldn’t hear. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt Bucky; not for Steve’s sake, but for Bucky’s. A stranger, and Steve was a stranger, shouldn’t see him being so vulnerable. She frowned - since when did she think like this?

“He doesn’t know me. How can he not know me?” There was something so broken in his voice that even her deadened heart hurt for him.

“He will. Of course he will. How could he not? He’s Steve, you’re Bucky. That’s how it works. You’re always there when the other one needs you. And right now, he needs you. He needs you to be strong for him.”

At her words, Bucky straightened, and his eyes refocussed. She breathed an inward sigh of relief as she turned back to Steve. She started to let go of Bucky, but he’d slid his hand into hers, and was holding on tightly. Her muscles screamed at her to pull away from his grip, but she didn’t. Besides, it couldn’t hurt their cover story to be seen so openly holding hands. She turned her attention back to Steve. “You really don’t remember either of us, do you?”

“I knew you too?” She nodded, hiding the sadness that washed over her with his words.

“No, I’m sorry, I honestly don’t. But it’s good that you’re here. I don’t know anything about who I was, and I’ve been trying to remember for so long – maybe you can help.”

Her face remained impassive, even as her heart sank. All they really had to tell him were lies. They couldn’t tell him the truth, that he was from the future – in his amnesiac state, he wouldn’t believe it, and would think they were conning him. So she deflected the question. “I think Bucky is in a better position to help you out with that. You were childhood friends; I came along later.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who flinched at his look. She also turned to Bucky, her expression encouraging, but she was as sick as he looked. He tried to smile, but it got no further than his mouth before it fractured and broke. Steve’s gaze flickered uncertainly to hers.

Annoyance rippled through her, that he’d expected anything different – finding out your best friend no longer remembered you would be a shock under any circumstances. Just because he didn’t remember that Bucky’s circumstances were far worse than most didn’t absolve him. “We’ve been looking for you for five years, Steve. You can’t really expect him not to be upset that this has happened now we’ve finally found you.” Bucky’s grip on her hand tightened as she spoke.

“Five years? That long?”

“Well, when you didn’t come back from your business in New York when we expected, of course we came to look for you. But by then, you seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. And New York’s a big place – you can’t exactly search it in an afternoon.”

Her lies were flawless, but vague. Steve wanted answers right now, but until she’d had time to coach Bucky in the backstory she’d constructed for them, he’d have to be disappointed.

“When no-one came to look for me, I just assumed that I didn’t have any friends or family. Or that they weren’t in a position to know there was a problem.”

Bucky’s fingers clenched around hers at Steve’s comment; he hadn’t meant it to hurt, but that made no difference. “I can see why you might have thought that,” she responded, her voice calm and even. “But we’ve looked for you ever since.”

As Steve started to reply, he was interrupted by a childish voice, calling out to ‘Daddy’. He turned to the source of the sound, visitors forgotten, a smile breaking over his face, as a small boy came charging around the corner of the wagon. Steve caught him and swung him up into the air, peals of laughter ringing out in response. An involuntary smile broke on her face - something about the scene was so right, so Steve somehow. The Steve she’d known had always been alone, and somehow unfulfilled - even latterly, with whatever he’d found with Sharon, there was something missing. And although he’d found Bucky again, their reunion had been traumatic. Not to mention
short-lived, as Bucky had opted to go back into stasis. It had perhaps been the right choice - for everyone but Steve. He’d been left on his own again, the man out of time. He’d said that the man who’d wanted the wife and family had gone into the ice and not come out again - but seeing him with his son, she had to question that.

Suddenly, the boy became aware of them and stared at them curiously. Steve also looked across at them, as if he’d just remembered they were there. “These are my friends, James,” he told his son. “They’ve been looking for me for a very long time.”

Bucky started, his grip on her hand tightening to a painful degree. Because Steve had, despite all his claims not to remember him, still named his son after his best friend.

She smiled at James, a conspiratorial smile that had won her much favour with Clint’s brood. “Hey, James,” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

James stared at her for a moment, but then he beamed back at her. He reached out his hand and tangled it in her hair - she moved closer before he tried to yank it out. Then he looked up at Steve. “Pretty,” he commented.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Steve. “It’s like Jessie’s hair, isn’t it?”

Bouncing up and down in his father’s arms, James agreed vigorously. “Yes! Like Jessie’s!” His pronunciation wasn’t up to his father’s standards, but he couldn’t have been more than three, and ‘Jessie’, whoever she was, had a hard name for a small child to say.

“I’m Natalie,” she said, when he’d settled again. “And this,” she added, pulling Bucky closer, “is Bucky.” Bucky came
unwillingly, but he did smile at the boy; he even reached out and tousled his hair. James transferred his beaming smile to Bucky, and under such an onslaught, he had to give in. His smile turned genuine.

“Hey, James,” he said softly.

“Buck-ky,” James repeated his name, and then nodded solemnly.

“That’s right,” Bucky replied. “Nice and easy to say.”

James smiled, nodding and bouncing in Steve’s arms again.

“James is a nice name,” she commented. “Is it a family name?”

“No,” Steve replied. “It just seemed right, somehow.” She exchanged a meaningful look with Bucky - and Steve, as perceptive as he’d always been, caught it. “What?”

She waited for Bucky to speak, but he stayed silent. “It’s just, Bucky’s real name is James, too,” she said eventually. “James Buchanan Barnes, to give him his full name.”

Steve stared at her, and then at Bucky, a look on his face as if he was trying to remember something just out of reach, as if the name had triggered something. Bucky watched him with painful hope in his eyes, but it faded as Steve shook his head angrily. “I thought… No, it’s nothing.” He was frustrated - and who knew how many times he’d done the same thing before. Then he looked across to Bucky apologetically. “I guess maybe I didn’t quite
forget you after all.”

Bucky smiled weakly back at him, but he still didn’t say anything. She squeezed his hand gently. And then the final member of the Rogers family came around the corner of the wagon - a small, determined-looking woman, with an expression on her face that didn’t bode well for at least one of her menfolk.

“James! What have I told you about running off like that?”

Natasha stifled a grin as Bucky suddenly stood up straight beside her, as if he was the one being told off. “Daddy!” was the only response she got.

“That’s not the point. I told you not to-” She broke off as she caught sight of them, and looked at Steve curiously.

“She looks just like Peggy,” Bucky muttered under his breath. She nodded almost imperceptibly - Steve’s wife had the same dark hair, same dark, flashing eyes, same determined manner; she wasn’t quite the spitting image of Peggy Carter, but it was a close-run thing.

“Grace, these are my friends from the past. They’ve finally caught up with me.” There was real excitement in Steve’s voice. At least he’d accepted them, and wasn’t suspicious of them.

“Oh, how wonderful, Steve!” His wife’s tone was genuine, and her smile was warm as she took them both in, but it didn’t allay Natasha’s suspicions. Steve’s wife was an excellent candidate to be a HYDRA spy. It would solve a lot of HYDRA’s problems - they’d have someone very close to him, someone he trusted implicitly, and it would stop him interfering with timelines. He couldn’t marry the wrong woman that way and start a family that he wasn’t supposed to. And so there was a child - it was a little sloppy, but with the lack of birth control available in this time, it wasn’t a surprise. Not every evil organisation took the extreme step of sterilising their operatives. “Do you – do you remember them?” And there it was - the barest hint of hesitation.

“No.” The frustration was back in Steve’s voice. “Not at all. But maybe talking to them will help shake something loose.”

“I’m sure it will.” Grace’s tone continued both optimistic and reassuring, the hesitation gone. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. This is Bucky. Bucky Barnes. We’ve been friends since childhood. And this is my wife, Grace.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” And there it was – the old 1940s charm. Thank the Lord for the old Bucky Barnes. He even managed to conjure a half smile out of somewhere as he shook her hand, even if it didn’t quite make it to his eyes.

“I’m pleased to meet you too – Bucky.” The name clearly sounded strange to her – and it didn’t really fit with the tall, dark, brooding and ever so slightly menacing presence in front of her. But she quickly turned to Natasha.

Smiling her widest smile, Natasha stepped forward and took Grace’s hand. “I’m Natalie. Also Barnes.” As they shook hands, there wasn’t a flicker of anything to give Grace away. She genuinely didn’t seem to recognise her.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Natalie. I’m so glad you’ve found Steve after all this time.” Was there an accusation in her words? It had been delivered innocuously enough, but still. Bucky shifted beside her – no need to ask how he’d taken it. There was an agitation in his face that he was struggling to mask. Time to shut this down.

“It’s taken a while, but we never gave up looking. After all, Steve’s been Bucky’s best friend since they were little – they meant the world to each other. How could he possibly give up on him?”

Maybe that was a little cruel on Steve, and even Grace, even if she was a HYDRA spy, but Bucky’s desolation was bringing out long-dormant protective instincts in her – she was actually turning into Steve. Her words had the desired effect. Steve looked suddenly guilty, and Grace looked sad, but not chastened.

“Perhaps,” Steve suggested tentatively, “Perhaps you could both come and have dinner with us this evening?” A beat, and then, “If that’s alright with you, Grace. If we have enough food.”

“Of course. Please do. You’re more than welcome. We have plenty to share.” There wasn’t a trace of exasperation or
annoyance in Grace’s reply - she gave every impression of meaning what she said.

Natasha smiled at her gratefully. As well as securing them food for the evening, she’d also given them an excuse to escape. “That would be lovely. Thank you very much. We’d be delighted to.”

“Well, this is our wagon. If you come back just before sundown, then I’ll make sure dinner’s ready for then. It might not be quite as fine as you’re used to, but Steve thinks I’m a good cook, so hopefully it won’t be too bad.”

Her eyebrows raised at the barbed comment but as her gaze fell on Bucky, she understood. They were dressed for high society New York, not the delights of the Oregon Trail. Grace was feeling intimidated. “We’ll be there.”

She led Bucky away once they’d taken their leave. She slid her hand into his as they walked away, to help further cement their relationship in the minds of others. It could have gone a lot worse.

Although the expression on her companion’s face spoke of trouble ahead.

Chapter Text

Despite the early hour, the main thoroughfare in St Joseph’s was busy, people hurrying along the street. But she barely registered them - she stared out of the window, but her thoughts were elsewhere. The mission was more complicated than even she’d anticipated. Going back in time to find Steve and bring him back to the future, only to end up travelling the Oregon Trail… How did that happen?

And they would have to travel the trail, if they wanted to stay with Steve. The previous night’s dinner had been awkward; she’d coached Bucky on their cover story all afternoon, but he’d still stumbled over parts of it, there were still holes in it, and Steve had bombarded them with questions. Bucky had stuck to the story and only slipped up a couple of times, but he’d been unable to hide his misery. Steve’s failure to remember him had been a body blow he’d yet to recover from. He’d been in a dark place already, brooding incessantly about his past with HYDRA - this had made him worse.

And he needed to pull himself out of it - Steve’s memories of Bucky would be of a laid-back, charming, happy young man, not a melancholy, introspective, sad one. They were telling so many lies, that something had to be right, so it made sense to Steve - and Bucky at this moment wasn’t right at all.

But even though he understood that on an academic level, he couldn’t switch it on and off. He’d tried the night before, and once or twice the old Bucky had emerged, all smiling, charming friendliness, but never for long. He wasn’t an actor - but he had to learn, and fast, to shut away whatever was bothering him, and be what he was needed to be. Because only the old Bucky Barnes could help Steve remember. And as long as Steve didn’t remember, they’d be condemned to follow in his wake. A life in Oregon as a pioneer didn’t appeal.

Across the street, a girl in a bonnet, tendrils of red hair curling down her neck, was pounding on the door of the doctor’s house. There was a small child in her arms, and she positively radiated anxiety - probably a young mother with a sick child. Natasha started to turn away, when the girl shifted the child in her arms, bringing his face
into view. It was James Rogers.

“Bucky?”

“What?” He crossed the room to stand by her, despite the lack of enthusiasm in his tone.

“See that girl with the child across the street?”

“Yes. And?” A second later, considerably sharper, “Hang on. Isn’t that Steve’s kid?”

“I thought that too. I wonder who she is…”

“Jessie,” Bucky said suddenly. “With the pretty hair like yours.”

She nodded. “And she’s pretty insistent that the doctor answer his door. I wonder what’s wrong.”

“Steve?” Bucky tensed beside her. “What if something’s happened to him?”

“No,” she replied slowly. “If it was Steve, she wouldn’t have James. He’d be with his mother. I think it’s more likely to be James himself, or Grace.”

“What should we do?”

“You’re not going to do anything. I’m going to go down there and find out what’s going on.”

“And see if she’s HYDRA?”

She shrugged. “That too. If she is, she might not know we’re here yet. If we can catch her unawares, perhaps she’ll give herself away. If she’s HYDRA.”

He sighed impatiently. “Grace isn’t HYDRA. It makes far more sense for it to be someone like this Jessie than his wife.”

She shrugged again, unwilling to waste time arguing. “Stay here.”

She slipped out of their room, habit making her silent. By the time she reached the street, someone had opened the doctor’s door. Jessie, if it was her, was standing waiting, looking worriedly up the street and then back in to the house. Natasha quickly crossed the street, unnoticed by the girl, but as she neared them, James saw her. He reached out to her, smiling and bouncing excitedly, causing his minder to turn quickly to see what had caught his attention. She came face to face with Natasha, who although ostensibly preoccupied with saying hello to James, was observing her minutely for anything that might give her away.

The girl jumped and stepped back, but more out of surprise at finding someone so close than anything else. James had grabbed Natasha’s hand by this point, trying to pull her closer; she reached out to stroke down his curls and then finally turned to meet her mark’s eyes. The girl looked wary but no more than that. No screaming fear that the infamous Black Widow was in front of her, nothing except a guarded curiosity, eyes looking Natasha up and down. Well, then. Time for a charm offensive. HYDRA or not, she was Steve’s friend; he trusted her enough to leave his child in her care.

Winning her over could help win Steve over. She smiled winsomely. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself first, but James is just so charming, I couldn’t help myself. I’m Natalie - I’m a friend of Steve’s, from his past.”

Her quarry was still wary, but took the hand she’d been offered. “Grace mentioned you.” So she had known about them already. She didn’t add anything more until Natasha’s raised eyebrows prompted her. “Oh, I’m Jessie. Jessie Williams. I’m a friend of Steve and Grace.”

“I’ve heard about you.” Nodding towards James, she added, “Someone here is quite taken with you.”

A smile, a real smile, crept across the corner of Jessie’s mouth as she looked down at James. “I guess I indulge him more than his parents do.”

Natasha smiled again. “That’s the joy of not being a parent, isn’t it?” Jessie nodded and half smiled, her expression now more open. Encouraged, Natasha pressed on. “But - you’re fetching the doctor. Is there a problem?”

The doors slammed shut again - she’d asked the wrong thing. But eventually, Jessie nodded again. “Grace is - hurt.”

“Oh, no! Nothing serious, I hope?”

A slight shrug. “She says she fell down the steps of the wagon, and bruised her ribs.” Natasha raised her eyebrows - Grace was quite the contortionist. Jessie caught her look, and nodded. “I don’t think it makes much sense either.”

“You don’t think Steve hurt her, do you?” Her outrage was only partially feigned. Steve would never hurt his wife.

Jessie met her eyes unwillingly, having registered the implicit threat in her tone. She looked away, and Natasha watched the emotions flit across her face, as a battle raged inside her - could she trust this stranger? If the girl was HYDRA, she hadn’t been trained to hide her emotions. Or maybe that was the point. She might be a master
bluffer. It didn’t seem likely; Grace was still the most likely interloper, but Jessie was still a possibility. Bucky had a point; in some ways, Jessie was a better fit - the convenient friend.

Then Jessie spoke, interrupting her train of thought. “Sometimes Steve has nightmares. Bad ones.” Natasha frowned, but nodded, encouraging her to continue. “And I’m sure you know how strong he is.” As Natasha nodded again, more slowly, Jessie shrugged. “Well, he had a nightmare last night. And this morning, Grace can barely breathe without it hurting. I think the two might be related.”

Natasha stared at her, at a complete loss. Steve would never knowingly hurt his wife, but asleep, in the throes of a nightmare, he might. Bucky was proof of that, because he suffered just the same - he’d even refused to sleep in the same bed as her. She’d put it down to his 1940s sensibilities, but one night, he’d woken her with his thrashing about, trapped in the grip of a nightmare, unable to wake. His metal arm had crashed down onto the floor - had he been in the bed beside her, it would have come down on her head. His reluctance hadn’t been prudishness - he hadn’t wanted to wake up one morning to discover that he’d caved in the face of his ‘wife’ as he’d slept. She’d
left it after that.

Jessie had watched her in silence as she thought. But as Natasha’s eyes met hers again, she added, “And then Grace begged me not to fetch the doctor. She really didn’t want Steve to know about it.”

Which confirmed it. “He’ll be distraught when he finds out.”

There was a stubborn set to Jessie’s jaw as she answered. “Yes. He will. But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t know.” Her fierce loyalty to Grace was unexpected. Could they both be HYDRA?

“I wasn’t saying he shouldn’t be told. Just - try to be gentle about it, please?”

Jessie’s expression softened, and she nodded. “I will.”

The doctor emerged from his house at that moment, medicine bag in hand. Natasha stepped back. “I should let you go. I hope Grace is alright.” Jessie smiled weakly, but said nothing. Natasha turned to James. “And you, behave for your mother. She’s going to need you to be a good boy now.”

James stared back at her, but clearly didn’t understand her. He looked behind her. “Bucky?”

“Bucky’s not here right now, little one. But he’ll be sad he missed you.” James pouted in disappointment, but said nothing more.

She glanced up at Jessie, and her strange expression had to be interrogated. If she was HYDRA, the name Bucky would definitely mean something to her. She’d be startled to find him turning up, looking for Steve, in the presence of Natasha Romanoff. “Bucky’s my husband. Bucky Barnes. His real name is James, but everyone’s always called him Bucky.” She deliberately bombarded Jessie with repeated use of his name, trying to get a reaction out of her. Not a flicker.

“He has an unusual name.” That was all - a casual observation, uttered calmly and almost disinterestedly. She was either very, very good, or completely and utterly innocent. And Natasha had no idea which. “Anyway, we should go. Grace is in a lot of pain. I’ll let you get back to your husband, Mrs Barnes.”

As they walked off, James waved at her over Jessie’s shoulder; she reflexively waved back. She could sneak after them - to make sure Grace was alright, to find out more, to figure out who was HYDRA and who wasn’t, but she didn’t move. They were due to visit later, so that Steve could show them around the town (neither of them had the heart to tell him that they’d already searched it top to bottom looking for him). She’d find out then what was going on.

Chapter Text

Steve’s wagon was distinctly lacking in domestic bliss. Grace was by the fire, staring into the flames, holding herself very still, her face tight. Steve sat beside her, a gentle hand on her arm, talking softly but urgently to her. His concern was only making Grace worse, but Steve was oblivious to that, his own guilt and need to atone overriding
everything else. He’d have been better to pretend it had never happened - but that would never be Steve’s way. If he did something wrong, he had to make up for it.

Bucky shared an awkward look with Natasha. Neither Grace nor Steve had noticed them - should they go away and come back later? But before he could suggest it, Natasha stepped past him and moved towards the girl from earlier that morning - she was standing nearby, her back towards Steve and Grace, advertising that she was definitely not listening to anything happening by the fire. James was wriggling in her arms, his expression rebellious. Bucky
hastened after Natasha - she’d pegged Grace as the HYDRA agent, but this girl Jessie was a much more likely candidate.

As Natasha approached, she took an exaggerated care to announce her arrival. Jessie turned to meet her, her expression wary but calm. Natasha’s posture was all open friendliness, and Jessie smiled hesitantly at her. James had also turned and was now beaming at Natasha; meanwhile, Jessie’s eyes moved on to meet his own. She stared at him in disbelief - it was obvious she recognised him! But then, as she continued to stare at him, her eyes tracked down to his feet and back up, and - oh. It wasn’t recognition, it was - something else. It had been a very long time since a girl had looked at him like that, not since his youth in Brooklyn, in fact - but there’d been a few who’d eyed him up in just that way. Once upon a time, he’d have smiled a cocky, charming smile and proceeded to flirt outrageously with her. After all, she was absolutely his type - fiery red hair, blue eyes, a scattering of freckles across her face. He’d always been a sucker for freckles. Good thing he wasn’t that man any more…

And yet - he was still staring at her. And she was still staring at him. What the hell was he thinking? She had to be HYDRA. But - would a HYDRA agent really look at him like that? She’d know exactly who he was and what he was capable of - and if he was here with Natasha Romanoff, she’d also know he wasn’t on their side anymore. You wouldn’t look at your deadliest enemy like that, would you?

Natasha saved him in the end. She turned to face him, eyebrows raised, an unholy amusement in her eyes. He met her gaze levelly, refusing to rise to the bait, but Jessie’s look followed his, and as her eyes fell on Natasha, she flushed and looked straight down at her feet. Surely HYDRA would know she wasn’t his wife - or was this some remarkable acting? Her eyes flicked up to Natasha once more, and then down again - a flush had spread becomingly across her face, and she swallowed hard. Natasha stepped to his side and slid her arm through his. She turned her gaze back to Jessie, no hint of her previous mirth in her eyes, just bitter ice.

“Miss Williams.”

“Mrs Barnes.” Jessie’s voice was shaky, and her hands were trembling, but it was impossible to tell whether it was from fear of the Black Widow or the irate wife. Or maybe both.

“Bucky!” James, with impeccable timing, chose that moment to enter the conversation. He also attempted to throw himself from Jessie’s arms into Bucky’s. Jessie staggered forward under his momentum - and on instinct, he put out a hand to steady her at the same time as he took James from her with his other arm. They ended up very close together - and he hesitated, arrested by the hint of green in her eyes as she looked up at him. He let her go abruptly, and she stepped back, colour rising in her cheeks again as she looked across, almost unwillingly, at Natasha.

“I see you’ve made the acquaintance of my husband.” If he didn’t know for a fact that Natasha wasn’t actually married to him and had no feelings for him whatsoever, he’d have been utterly convinced by the tone of her voice.

“Not exactly,” Jessie murmured in response. He smiled - she had courage, that was for sure.

Natasha ignored her reply, and indeed the whole previous incident, abruptly changing the subject. “How’s Grace?”

Jessie paused, her eyes drifting towards the fire. “She’s in a lot of pain. Her ribs are definitely broken.”

“Did she say what happened?” he asked. Natasha shot a look at him, but he ignored her - he genuinely wanted to know.

Jessie’s eyes flickered up to his and away again just as quickly. “Eventually. Steve made her tell the doctor. He’d had a nightmare, and he was holding onto her. And…” Her voice trailed off as she mimed someone squeezing too hard. And when that someone was as strong as Steve… “And now Steve is fussing round her, and making a big deal of it, and it’s making her feel worse. So she’s being sharp. And then of course, she’s being sharp with Steve, and that’s
unforgivable, and - she just gets sharper.” Her nerves were making her talkative. Perhaps she’d give something away.

“Steve tends to have that effect on people.” Natasha’s voice was still brittle.

Jessie smiled nervously. “Yes. I’ve noticed that.”

The silence that followed was stretching towards awkward until Steve appeared alongside them. He smiled at Jessie,
resting his hand gently on her shoulder. She returned his smile, suddenly more at ease now he was there. It looked genuine - like she was simply a young girl of the time who’d happened to befriend their time-travelling amnesiac friend. Someone who was HYDRA surely wouldn’t be so comfortable, or friendly, or safe, with Steve Rogers. But
as Natasha said - Steve had a habit of turning enemies into friends. Perhaps he’d done that with Jessie.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “You’ve caught us at a bad time.”

Natasha was suddenly all smiles in Steve’s presence. “No, we’re sorry. Perhaps we should come back later?”

“No, there’s no need for that. Grace insists that I take you to see the town anyway. I think she wants me out of her hair, to be honest.” He ran his hand through his own hair. “I’m fussing too much.” He turned to Jessie. “Would you mind staying with her while I’m gone? If your family won’t mind, that is. It’s just - I know what she’s like. If I leave her alone, she’ll start trying to do things like there’s nothing wrong with her.”

Jessie smiled. “I’d be happy to. My family won’t mind.” She shrugged. “Or, at least, I just won’t tell them.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

She shrugged again. “It’ll be fine. There’s plenty for them to eat for lunch, and I’m sure I’ll be back to make them dinner.”

Natasha was frowning slightly as she listened. “I was going to say, you’d be more than welcome to join
us, but I guess they wouldn’t stand for that.”

Jessie suddenly straightened. “Well, actually, if I don’t join you, it’s not likely you’ll get any dinner. I’ve seen your attempts at cooking. It’s fine - there’s plenty of leftover stew they can eat. I’d much rather make sure you and Grace were well-fed.” She looked across at Natasha suddenly, as if she’d just remembered they were there, and
flushed yet again. “I should get back to Grace,” she rushed on. “Leave you to your excursion.”

She made to leave, but stopped, turning slowly back to Bucky. “I should probably take him,” she said, motioning at James. She moved towards him, deliberately not meeting his eyes as she took James from him, but as she did, her fingers brushed against his arm (his real one), and she instinctively looked up at him, smiling shyly. And he smiled back at her - one of his old Brooklyn smiles. Even as he did, his stomach sank, but the damage was done. Jessie stared at him, stunned, Natasha’s glare could have crumbled mountains, and Steve, bizarrely, was grinning at him, but he could only watch as Jessie took James, complaining bitterly, from him, turned on her heel and hurried back to Grace as fast as decency would allow her to. He was careful not to meet Natasha’s eyes.

Once Jessie was out of earshot, Steve turned back to him, still grinning, and said, “You always did have a thing for the redheads, didn’t you?”

He stared at Steve, as Steve suddenly realised what he’d said and in front of whom he’d said it, and looked guiltily at Natasha. Then it hit him, that he’d remembered something, and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.

They’d already seen most of St Joseph’s while searching for Steve, but when touring it with the man himself, they learned that a lot of people knew him, and liked and respected him. It was no surprise - wherever Steve went, people were always drawn to his goodness. And here, he even had a trade, carpentry, courtesy of his adopted family, that he could use to help people. He was so popular in fact, that when two well-dressed, nosy strangers had come sniffing round, looking for him, everyone had closed ranks to protect him. They met plenty of people who’d denied all knowledge of Steve when they’d previously asked after him.

In fact, he had so many friends, acquaintances and associates, HYDRA could be anywhere. It was a mistake to assume it was someone as close to him as his wife or friend. With his broken memories, they wouldn’t need to keep too close an eye on him; he wouldn’t be much trouble. Natasha might have a point that posing as his wife would be effective in keeping Steve out of mischief, but it made more sense that it would be someone here in the town, watching from a distance. Of course, now they’d turned up, that plan wouldn’t work anymore - time to keep an eye out for anyone behaving suspiciously. And Jessie was still the most likely HYDRA spy, but now he’d met her, he couldn’t be sure - she’d thoroughly confused him.

They were walking along the main street in St Joseph’s, having completed most of their tour, when Natasha started her interrogation, asking how Steve had come to lose his memories. His first memory since then was of landing in the middle of what had once been a market stall, an angry mob rapidly forming around him.

“If it hadn’t been for Grace, who knows what would have become of me,” Steve said. “She took on the mob and told them to leave me alone, that I needed a doctor, and that she was going to take me home and make sure I got help.” A soft smile spread across his face as he added, “She was so full of righteous anger, they all backed down.”

Natasha also smiled. “I can believe that,” she said, her smile softening the comment. “So, she took you home, and you never quite managed to leave?”

Steve’s smile turned bashful as he nodded. “When they heard my story, her family called a doctor, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with me. But they weren’t just going to turn me out on the streets. They offered to let me stay with them, until someone came to claim me.” The smile slid off his face as he added, “And then no-one ever did.” Ouch.

After a brief silence, Steve continued, “When it became clear that no-one was looking for me, Grace’s father took me on as an apprentice carpenter. He was looking for new workers - he’d just moved from Philadelphia to start up a new branch of his business in New York.” Natasha flashed him a significant look behind Steve’s head - and fine, that was kind of suspicious.

But much as he’d wanted to hear more about how Steve came to marry the daughter of the family, Natasha had other ideas. After a few pleasantries about how it had all turned out for the best in the end, she moved on to asking innocently about Jessie.

Steve frowned, clearly unsure as to what her interest in Jessie was, but he answered her question. “She’s travelling west with her family in search of farmland. There was a family farm back in Cincinnati, but as I understand it, when her father died, her oldest brother claimed it. He said there wasn’t enough to provide for them all, so the others would have to find their own way.”

Bucky tried to gauge what Natasha made of the story, but her expression gave nothing away. It sounded plausible, if unkind. “So the rest of them decided to stick together, pulled together what savings they had, and outfitted an expedition to Oregon.”

“I’m not sure it’s the best place to bring a young girl like Jessie.”

Steve nodded. “But she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She wasn’t invited to stay behind on the old farm.” There was a frown on his face as he spoke; there was something he wasn’t saying, something about Jessie that worried him. Natasha was studying his face closely as he spoke, and reading something there that Bucky couldn’t see. She frowned thoughtfully, but didn’t ask anything more.

A silence fell between them as they headed back to the camp. But it was broken by Steve, asking a question of his own. “Last night, when I-…” He paused, took a deep breath, and plowed on. “I had a nightmare. Someone falling, someone who mattered to me, someone important. We were on a train, travelling through some mountains… It was snowy, and cold, and…” He trailed off again, but then turned to Bucky, desperation in his eyes. “Do you know what that was? Who that was?”

He could only stare at Steve, unable to speak, barely able to breathe, and when he did, it came in short, rapid bursts. His hands were clenching and unclenching helplessly at his sides, the real one clammy and hot. His vision was closing in, his heart was pounding, his grip on reality was fading…

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice cut through the memories, but not enough to pull him out of them - she faded to a background blur and he was falling again, reliving the fear of those endless seconds, knowing he was going to die, but not knowing when. Not knowing when he’d slam into the rocks and it would be over. And then the pain, the sudden blinding pain as he’d hit something, and then the blackness. It should have been the end of him, but it wasn’t.

“Bucky?” It was Steve’s voice this time, piercing through the nightmare. He groped for it, followed it back to the light, to that sunny day in St Joseph’s. His heart was still pounding, his throat still constricted, but he was safe. He wasn’t back there, it wasn’t happening again, he was going to be alright. He stared at Steve, into those eyes
he’d known his entire life, filled with worry and concern, and struggled to smile.

“I’m fine, Steve,” he managed to say. “Sorry - bad memories.”

“You knew him too?” Steve’s voice was full of sympathy.

Bucky frowned - what had Natasha said? But in the end, he nodded. After all, it was true. He knew the guy who’d fallen from the train. And Steve clearly didn’t know it had been him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve replied. “Was he a good friend?”

Bucky eyed him warily, sensing a trap, but again, he settled for a nod.

“I’ve told you, Steve,” Natasha said, “You need to remember for yourself. We can’t keep telling you all the answers.”

There was a flash of familiarity to the stubborn set of Steve’s jaw as he turned back to Natasha, and more than anything else, it grounded him. It was pure Steve. Even if he didn’t remember anything about his past, he was still the same man. Which meant there was hope.

They’d have to travel the trail with him and keep fighting to make him remember.

Chapter Text

As she set off for Steve’s wagon a couple of days later, Natasha focussed on her own mission, to find out more about Mrs Grace Rogers. She had to trust Bucky to complete the other side of their mission - to find a wagon before Steve and his train set off for Oregon.

If they got left behind, they’d failed. So far, he’d been unsuccessful, but hopefully today would bring him more luck. If they could just find a wagon, everything would be easier. But there were a few other things they needed to sort out as well - and they’d need Grace’s help with at least one of them. They needed new clothes, more suitable to the trail life they were about to embark upon, and sewing really wasn’t her strong point. But Jessie had mentioned it being a talent of Grace’s, and so she was going to use their predicament as the perfect opportunity to get closer to the mysterious Mrs Rogers. And with her help, they’d have a chance of being properly attired by the time they left for Oregon.

But it didn’t go according to plan. Grace didn’t want visitors - she was in a lot of pain, and not in the mood for company. As someone who’d suffered more than her fair share of broken ribs, Natasha could sympathise. And in this time, the treatment was to bind them up tightly - which made them heal more slowly, made breathing more painful, and pneumonia more likely. So it was no surprise that Grace wasn’t in a sunny mood, and it was obvious that Natasha’s visit wouldn’t improve it.

But she ignored the lack of welcome and seated herself alongside Grace and her fire anyway, bracing herself for a hard slog. She sprang another trap when she asked how Grace was; reminding her of her injury and ‘helplessness’ only made her mood darken further. All in all, Grace was proving incredibly resistant to her blandishments - proof that she was HYDRA? Natasha Romanoff was the master interrogator - the best way to avoid being caught out would be outright hostility.

The thaw finally occurred when Natasha volunteered to make tea. A hot drink helped - being condescending about Natasha’s way of making tea (apparently, she over-brewed it) helped even more. But it explained something about Grace’s attitude towards her - the way she’d seized on Natasha’s ‘mistake’ made it clear that Grace felt inferior to her. Which was fair enough - she was inferior in many ways. But in other ways, she wasn’t - she could cook and she could sew, and on the trail, that would count for a lot more than knowing how to kill a man in fifty different ways.

But it was more than that - the way Grace looked at her clothes, hair and face suggested she also felt inferior about her appearance. The clothes were fair enough, the hair and face - well, she was beautiful. And she couldn’t help having red hair any more than Jessie could, but Jessie didn’t get this kind of resentment for it. She was also from the future, where people were healthier, and had a thousand and one ways to keep themselves looking their best. That hadn’t worn off yet. Could it be a status thing? Grace was used to being one of the better class of females around, and Natasha was a cut above her?

At least if that were so, asking for help with their clothing and admitting to being useless with a needle would help - and give Grace a reason to feel that she was better than her. If letting her think she was the superior female was the way to win her over, then so be it.

“I have a favour to ask you,” she said, a wheedling note to her voice, and the best helpless expression she could muster on her face.

Grace eyed her suspiciously. “What could I possibly help you with?”

She flinched inwardly - but she was Natalie Barnes now, an empty-headed, spoiled little rich girl who wouldn’t notice the barb in Grace’s tone. “Well, since we’ve found Steve, things haven’t quite gone according to plan, what with him not remembering us. But Steve means the world to Bucky. So - there’s nothing else for it - we’re going to travel the trail with you.”

Grace’s only response was a look that could have levelled mountains. But Natalie Barnes paid no attention. “But we’re not exactly dressed for it. Our clothes were made for a Boston salon, not the trail.” Timing her actions perfectly, she hesitated, then looked down at the ground and shrugged slightly before continuing reluctantly, “But I’m not exactly good at sewing. Back home… Well, I used to pay people to do all the sewing for me.”

She watched Grace through downcast eyelashes - she still wore a disgruntled expression, but she’d sat up straighter, and her nose was slightly in the air. Clearly, she’d always done all her own sewing like a proper woman, unlike the over-privileged Natalie. It was working. “So, I wondered if you’d help me. I can find some fabric, if you tell me what to buy, and… You could maybe teach me to sew?”

She finally met Grace’s eyes again, her expression open and pleading. It took a long time for Grace to answer. “Well,” she finally said, “it’s not like I can do much else at the moment.” It wasn’t said graciously, but it was agreement.

Natasha beamed at her gratefully, not all of it feigned. “Thank you so much,” she gushed. “I really appreciate this. I know it can’t be easy for you, having to deal with all this, and especially with your ribs, but I really do want us to be friends.” She was laying it on thick, but Grace’s expression softened a little as she spoke. She could work with a little. She’d made some headway, and that would have to do for now.

Chapter Text

Another morning spent fruitlessly searching - if there were any wagons to be found in St Joseph’s, he’d never hear about them. Nobody would help him. He’d tried to dress down - no mean feat when all your clothes were finely tailored. He’d been pleased with the results - he’d looked much more down to earth. But his marked lack of success since then suggested he’d failed. Either that, or he was already marked as that New York dandy, with the fine airs and graces - it was a small town, even with its large transient population. Everyone knew everyone’s business.

He stood in the middle of the main street, pondering his problems, ignoring the small voice in his head telling him to swallow his pride and ask Steve to help him. A flash of red hair caught his eye, and he frowned. Natasha had all kinds of strategies to use Jessie’s apparent attraction to him against her, if she did indeed turn out to be the mole. They all involved him manipulating her, and encouraging her, even in this time, to carry on with a married man. And Natasha wouldn’t accept that he couldn’t do it. He’d never had a problem charming the ladies, but he’d always been doing so with the purest of intentions - well, maybe ‘purest’ wasn’t quite the right word… But using someone’s feelings against them to get them to do what you wanted - it was wrong. He smiled suddenly - perhaps Steve had
rubbed off on him over the years, after all.

But every time her tried to explain it to Natasha, she reacted as if he’d deeply hurt her. And he was basically saying he thought that about her, and what she did. It turned out even the feared Black Widow had feelings. And underneath it all, he was still that chivalrous 1940s man. So when she got that look on her face, he backed down and undermined his case. Which was probably exactly why she did it…

Jessie was now walking up the street towards him, basket over one arm, James Rogers cuddled into the other. She was distracted by her charge, and hadn’t noticed him. It would be easy to disappear, but he was failing so spectacularly with finding a wagon, it couldn’t hurt to take some time to get acquainted with Jessie, and try to catch
her unawares. Maybe he’d achieve something that way…

“Miss Williams,” he greeted her, coming up beside her where she’d stopped to look in the window of a grocer’s shop. She whirled to face him, startled, as he turned to her young companion. “And Master Rogers.”

James grinned at him, giggling at his tone. “Bucky!” he responded, before doing his previous trick of throwing himself into his arms. But he’d been ready for it this time, and was holding his arms out to catch him before he did, thus avoiding a repeat of last time.

Jessie also relinquished her hold on him more quickly, her face registering her exasperation. James landed in his arms, and cuddled into his shoulder - thankfully, his real shoulder. Even a three-year-old would notice there
was something different about the other one, and would no doubt shout about it to the whole street. He focussed on settling him in his arms, allowing Jessie time to recover her composure - it had been mean to scare her.

“Mr Barnes,” she said, eventually, and he met her gaze; there was a hint of colour in her cheeks. “How are you today?” Her hand had stolen up to play with the braid of her hair. She looked him up and down again, registering his attempt to make himself look less like a pampered rich boy; a faint smile crossed her lips.

He ignored her amusement and replied, “I’m not so bad.” Then he sighed, a touch theatrically. “But I fear that my wife is going to be angry with me.” He might as well get some sympathy out of it.

Jessie suddenly straightened, as if she’d been caught misbehaving. “Oh? And why’s that?” Her tone was light and carefree, but there was the faintest of trembles to her voice. She was scared of Natasha, but not him? Maybe he was wrong about her; she was afraid of his jealous wife, nothing more…

He shrugged, not reacting to her nerves. “Because this is the second day I’m going to have to go back to her to tell her that I can’t find a wagon to buy anywhere.”

That caught her interest. “A wagon?” she queried, in that politely disinterested tone people use when they’re anything but.

He nodded. “I found Steve, but I guess you could say he didn’t find me. I can’t leave things like this - let him leave, and never know if he ever remembers me. So, we’re going with him. Assuming I can find a wagon anywhere in this town. That someone will sell me.”

Her smile was sympathetic, but her tone remained politely distant. “To be fair, most of the people with wagons here are planning to use them themselves.”

“I know… But what else am I supposed to do? I’m no carpenter - I can’t exactly put one together myself.”

“Steve could.” She was teasing him - she’d relaxed.

His answering look was pointed. “You know I can’t ask him to do that. And besides, he won’t have time. He might excel at everything he turns his hand to, but even he’d struggle to build a wagon from scratch in a few days.”

Jessie nodded, the teasing smile slowly fading from her face. When she next spoke, she was hesitant, as if she shouldn’t be saying what she was saying. “I might know where you could find a wagon. I don’t think it’s in great condition, but Steve would be able to help you fix it.” She looked down at her feet suddenly, as if she’d said too much.

But his relief at finally maybe finding a wagon was too great - he ignored her obvious reluctance in his eagerness to find out more. “You do? Where?”

“At Mr Shaw’s.” She paused again, still staring at the ground, but then hurried on, “He’s not a very nice man. He lends money to people in need, people he knows won’t be able to pay him back, so he can take their possessions instead. That’s why he has the wagon - he took it from a man who borrowed money from him to fit it out. He said he’d won money gambling and would repay it when he got his winnings - only he never got them. He’s still here somewhere with his family - they’re reliant on people’s charity, and there’s not much of that around.”

His first instinct was to buy the wagon and give it back to the original owner. Natasha would murder him if he did, though. He had to have this wagon. “I can afford it.” He paused, and then added, “But how does a girl like you know about a man like him?”

Her eyes darted up to his, and away again, her shoulders hunched miserably. She shrugged awkwardly. “My brother spends a lot of time in taverns. He hears things.”

“Can you show me where it is?”

She nodded, although her stance suggested she wanted nothing more than to turn and flee. “It’s not far - just a few streets away.”

They walked in silence. Except for James, who pointed out everything that interested him, which was most things - and although Bucky dutifully nodded at everything, he wasn’t paying any attention, too keyed up about finally having a wagon to call his own. And uncomfortably aware of his companion, walking close beside him. She had to be HYDRA - but then why on earth was she helping him? He’d searched for two days for a wagon, finding not so much as a hint - if she’d just kept her mouth shut, the train would have left without them in a few days’ time. Wouldn’t that be exactly what HYDRA wanted?

So by helping him, Jessie was putting herself above suspicion; she really was just a girl who’d befriended Steve and his wife. Except - the stone. HYDRA would know they had it, and they’d definitely want to get their hands on it. They’d lose it if he and Natasha were left behind. Could that explain it? Or was he over-thinking it? Jessie didn’t give much away; she was pale, but her jaw was set - was she doing something she thought she shouldn’t be? If she
was HYDRA, helping him would make her a traitor - and that would explain her face. But so would walking down a rough-looking alley with a strange man, and no escort. He had no way to know.

A few yards further, and she stopped by a building with an unremarkable frontage. It didn’t look like a shop, or any kind of business, but she looked at him and motioned towards it with her head. He nodded in response, moving forward to push the door open.

He was surprised when she followed him in, but he was still carrying James - he’d given her no choice. Her eyes were darting everywhere - she didn’t want to be there, and she was afraid. If only he’d remembered to give James back before he’d come in. It was too late now, but he did still hand him over, despite James’ protests - at least
she could leave now if she wanted to. But she didn’t; instead, she edged closer to him.

They were standing in a dingy parlour space - the light from the smoking lamp didn’t reach the corners of the room. For a man who profited from other people’s misery, there was no sign of his illgotten wealth. Perhaps that was the point - if he flaunted it too obviously, he’d likely end up the prey of a desperate victim. This was the last place he should be doing any business, but he had no choice.

He turned his attention to the desk at the back of the room, and the man behind it - middle-aged, plain but fine clothes. Nothing about him screamed ‘villain’, but there was a covetous light in his eyes as he looked Bucky up and down, taking in his even finer clothing. The man’s eyes slid past him to alight on Jessie, hovering right behind him, and the covetous look changed, became positively lecherous. His hands clenched into fists; he didn’t want to give this man a cent.

“Miss Williams,” the man said, his oily voice making Bucky’s hackles rise even further. “Have you come to pay your
brother’s debts?”

He turned to Jessie in surprise - she rolled her eyes as if to say ‘I might have known’. She was ignoring the way she was being ogled, although the tension in her stance suggested it had registered nonetheless. But she had nothing to worry about - if that man tried anything, he’d get a fist through his face.

“I’m afraid not, Mr Shaw.” Her voice was quiet, but firm. “You’ll have to take that up with him.”

“He was supposed to pay up two days ago.” There was the slightest hint of menace, but only slight - his own towering presence probably had something to do with that.

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” Her voice was icy, but there was a tremor in it, and she’d shifted to move even closer to him. But as he turned back to Shaw, that man proceeded to look Jessie up and down in a manner that almost got him punched anyway, and to hell with the wagon. The only thing that stopped him, in fact, was Jessie’s hand on his back, restraining him. “Of course, there are other ways to fulfil his debt.”

That was too much. He turned to Jessie in disbelief - but her returning look was fierce, clearly telling him to keep out of it. She turned back to Shaw. “That won’t be necessary. He can pay. I’ll make sure he does.”

He took a deep breath before he turned back to Shaw, enduring his scrutiny as best he could, running through a hundred and one ways in which he could hurt him to stop himself actually doing so. But when Shaw spoke again, he continued to address Jessie, ignoring him entirely. What kind of way was that to treat a potential customer? “So, you’ve found yourself a man at last. Didn’t think that would happen - you are well past your prime, after all.”

The restraining hand on his back clenched in his jacket and pulled on it, a clear signal that he wasn’t to say a word. He complied, with difficulty. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s not like that. Mr Barnes is looking for a wagon, and I heard you had one. I thought you might be willing to sell it.”

Shaw sat back in his chair, the light in his eyes shifting to greed of a different kind. He finally directed his words at Bucky. “I suppose I might at that. What’s it worth to you?”

He could deal with this kind of greed - but he took a deep breath before he answered. “That depends. I’d need to see it first.”

Shaw nodded. “Wise. It’s in the yard, out the back.” He stood and motioned them towards a door. Bucky turned to Jessie, about to suggest she wait there for him, but before he could, she’d stepped forward and gone through the door. He frowned as he followed her - if Shaw laid a finger on her, he’d break it.

There was a wagon in the yard, but it had definitely seen better days. If the original owner had tried to take his family to Oregon in it, they likely wouldn’t have made it very far. Steve would have to work miracles to make it roadworthy before they left. Because he’d have to buy it - there wouldn’t be another available wagon anywhere.

He wrinkled his nose - the oxen went with it couldn’t be far away, probably in the pen nearby. That was something, although they were unlikely to be trailworthy either. But - beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He moved closer to the wagon and inspected it, frowning at the rotting condition of the wood, and the mouldy canvas. Jessie had moved to the pen containing the oxen, prudently staying as far away from Shaw as she could. James was fretting in her arms - he’d picked up on Jessie’s anxiety, and wanted to be away from the place. Best to
get this over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s not in great condition,” he commented. He’d pay anything for it, but Shaw didn’t need to know that.

“The previous owner wasn’t exactly in a position to maintain it properly,” Shaw’s oily voice replied. And how much of that was Shaw’s fault?

“Still, it’s got to affect the price. It’s not like I’m buying it brand new, after all.” He drifted across to the pen with the oxen; Jessie had moved to the next pen, distracting James with the handsome team of horses there. As predicted, the oxen were barely alive - their original owner probably hadn’t been able to look after them properly, and their
current one hadn’t done anything to rectify the situation. The whole outfit was probably only worth half the value of a new wagon with fresh healthy oxen - but he didn’t have a clue how much that actually was. And Shaw would do his best to cheat him. Would Jessie help him out? She’d so far been intent on keeping out of things, so perhaps not,
but then again, she had come out here. Still, he had plenty of money; he’d pay whatever he had to.

He turned back to Shaw. “What do you want for it?” If he took half of what Shaw suggested, he’d have a good starting point to bargain from.

“I’d take eight hundred for the lot.”

Before he could reply, Jessie spoke from behind him, her voice bright with anger. “Eight hundred dollars? Even new it wouldn’t cost that much!”

“Why don’t you leave haggling over the details to the men, dearie?” was Shaw’s patronising response.

Her responding look was full of contempt. “A yoke of oxen in good condition would be one-fifty each. You have four yoke here - that’s six hundred. A wagon, even new and in pristine condition, wouldn’t be more than eighty.” And she’d just told him exactly what he needed to know.

“Ah, but they’re in short supply here. And supply pushes the prices of things up. Not that a pretty empty-headed thing like you would be expected to know that.” Shaw’s voice carried a definite edge to it now.

“No-one else is going to buy it. There’s no demand here - everyone else who wants one already has one. It’s a buyer’s market, and if he paid you four hundred for the lot, you’d still be cheating him.”

“I’ll give you five hundred.” He broke into the argument, feeding Shaw’s greed in an attempt to distract him from the indignity of being upbraided by a woman. Grace could be feisty - but that Jessie could too was a surprise. The history books had women in the 1850s all wrong.

The same greedy light returned to Shaw’s eyes. “I could be persuaded to accept that, but only if I get the cash upfront.”

“Not a problem.” The sooner he paid, the sooner they’d be out of there. He reached into his waistcoat for his wallet, but as he pulled it out, Shaw gestured behind him. Instantly alert, he wheeled around to confront two burly men, bearing cudgels, emerging from a shadowy hidden doorway. He sighed - so much for not getting into a fight.

“Jessie,” he said levelly, “take James and get out of here.” She stared at him, opening her mouth to argue, so he continued, firmly, “Now. Think of James.” She hesitated, but then nodded, and made for the door they’d originally come through. Shaw moved to block it.

“Oh, no,” he said, with an evil glint in his eyes. “They’re not going anywhere. Once we’ve dealt with you, we’ll have some fun with her.”

Fear flared in Jessie’s eyes as she retreated to stand by the horses, James cuddled tightly in her arms. He smiled reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

And before anyone else could move, he exploded into motion, barrelling into the first man and sending him flying, while grabbing the cudgel of the second man, using it to swing him round and smash him into the side of the building, braining him. He fell in a heap on the ground, senseless. The first man had meanwhile recovered his balance, and was now approaching again, brandishing his cudgel, warier than before. With good reason - the Winter Soldier was at the fore, and he was in no mood to be conciliating. He’d lost the element of surprise, and was unarmed, making this opponent a trickier prospect.

Slightly.

But he was so focussed on his mark that if Jessie hadn’t yelled his name he’d have been taken unawares by the third man, who came out of nowhere. As she shouted, he dodged sideways, narrowly missing the swiping blade - it slashed through his jacket sleeve, but not his arm. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been able to
sneak up on him, and the anger overwhelmed him. Roaring with rage, he turned and punched his attacked full in the face, dropping him like a stone. He pivoted back round to face the first man, who was fumbling for his gun. He couldn’t be allowed to fire it. He sprinted towards him, moving faster than was humanly possible. Another punch to the face, and it was all over. He stood over his downed foe, breathing hard, fighting for control. His instinct was to turn and break every bone in Shaw’s body, but he couldn’t do that. He shouldn’t do that - he wasn’t that man anymore. A flash of red hair at the corner of his vision pulled him back from the brink. He forced deep breaths in and out of his lungs, and the anger slowly receded. But before the rage died completely, he turned and strode straight towards Shaw.

Finding himself suddenly the focus of attention, Shaw fumbled at his belt for his own gun. He’d barely pulled it out before Bucky was on him. He grabbed the hand holding the gun and twisted sharply. Shaw cried out and dropped it; Bucky kicked it away, out of reach. Then he lifted Shaw off the ground and slammed him into the wall behind them.

“Why?” he growled. “I would have paid you what you wanted!”

Shaw sneered in response. Bucky shifted his grip, lifting Shaw slightly off the ground. His feet scrabbled for purchase, while he fought to take in a breath.

“It would still have been over the odds,” Bucky continued. “Why be so greedy?”

“You weren’t supposed to be able to fight,” Shaw choked out. “You’re a rich dandy, flaunting your wealth everywhere. It’s not like you’d miss it.”

“I see,” Bucky replied. “You were just going to take my money and let us go, is that it?” When Shaw didn’t answer, he
continued, “Of course you weren’t. You’d have killed me, and her, and probably the boy as well.” The edges of his vision were bleeding red as he went on, low and menacing, “So tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you instead?”

Shaw’s eyes widened in fear. “You - you wouldn’t!” He renewed his struggles to free himself, suddenly aware that the man in front of him was not at all the man he’d thought he was.

He wasn’t going to kill him, just scare him, in the hope that he might stop terrorising other people. Some hope perhaps, but worth a try. But just as he relaxed his grip, another shout from Jessie alerted him to three more men emerging into the yard. One of them had a gun aiming at his head. With another sudden burst of movement, he threw Shaw hard to one side, crashing him into the wall, and crossed the yard to the other men, reaching them before the first man could fire. He disarmed him in the same way he’d disarmed Shaw, the gun clattering uselessly to the ground as Bucky shoved its wielder hard into his comrades. In the confusion, he kicked the second gun away before advancing on his attackers; he’d slowed them down, but they were regrouping, spreading out to encircle him.

He reacted before they could, moving on one, punching him full in the face. He fell senseless to the ground, and before he’d even landed, Bucky had stepped back sharply, arm raised, his elbow colliding abruptly with the nose of the man behind him. He turned quickly to follow up his first attack, but this man had also gone down - still conscious, but both hands were raised to his face, blood pouring from between his fingers.

Bucky faced the last man. The loss of his comrades had dented his confidence - he was hanging back, eyeing Bucky nervously, his enthusiasm for the fight gone. But Bucky could show no mercy - he’d be shot in the back if he did. He made it quick - another right hook to the head and he was down. The one remaining conscious attacker, his nose still bleeding freely, had recovered enough to pull out his knife, but was still crouched on the ground - and in two strides, Bucky was on him, a sharp kick to the head dispatching him. It was all over.

Except for one man. He turned, his gaze searching out Shaw. His heart stopped. He was standing about ten feet away, and his gun was trained on Jessie. Bucky wouldn’t reach him in time. But Jessie had a gun of her own, and she was aiming it directly at Shaw’s head. And while Shaw stood like a man unused to wielding a weapon, Jessie’s stance was that of someone well-versed in firing guns. She stood braced, both arms steadying the gun in her right hand; she knew exactly what she was doing. And her face was grim - it wouldn’t take much to make her fire. He couldn’t let that happen.

He silently sank down to pick up his opponent’s knife, and then crept slowly, silently, towards Shaw’s unprotected back. Jessie could see him - hopefully, she wouldn’t fire and let him deal with things. Shaw, too intent on the threat of Jessie, didn’t notice him until it was too late; the hilt of the knife collided with his head before he could react. But as he too fell, there was a crack as his gun fired; it reverberated loudly around the enclosed yard.

But Jessie didn’t crumple to the floor with a bullet through her heart - the shot missed its intended target, thudding into the wood of the door behind her instead. She was whole and unhurt, although her legs were trembling and her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Taking care to stay out of the line of fire, his heart pounding in his ears, he hastened to her side and gently prised her fingers from the gun. She was breathing short, shallow gasps of air, all the blood drained from her face - she was inches from fainting. Pausing only to disarm the gun before he threw it to one side, he took her hands in his and squeezed gently. She turned to face him, but her eyes were unfocussed - she was in shock.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “You saved my life there.”

She didn’t respond, except for her legs giving way beneath her, but he was ready for that, catching her round the waist, letting her lean against him as her breathing returned to normal.

Eventually, she pushed away from him and stood on her own feet. “You’ve been busy,” he said. While he’d been fighting Shaw and his henchmen, she’d managed to open the gate to the yard and hitch the horses to the wagon - everything was in place to let them make a quick getaway.

She breathed deeply before she answered. “I’m not much good in a fight.” Her voice was still shaky.

He smiled at her. “You did well enough,” he answered. “We’re both still here, aren’t we?”

“That was entirely down to you.”

“Even I’m not proof against being shot in the back. If you hadn’t been here to hold Shaw off, we’d both be heading for shallow graves around about now.” She didn’t reply, so he asked, “Where’s James?”

“He’s in the wagon,” Jessie replied, sounding stronger than before. “I couldn’t think where else to put him.”

“James?” Bucky called. “You alright in there?”

A tousled blond head popped through the canvas. “Have all the bad men gone now?”

“Yes, they have,” he replied. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore - they can’t hurt you.” He lifted James down from the wagon, and turned back to Jessie, who was staring down at Shaw’s prone body, her expression unreadable. “We should go. We don’t want to be here when they wake up.”

She nodded and moved to the front of the wagon, climbing nimbly up into the wagon seat. He joined her - the rotting wagon bed could take the weight of a little boy, but a full-grown man would be pushing it. It wasn’t technically proper, but Natasha would no doubt approve.

He handed James up to Jessie, and then pulled out his wallet and the money he’d agreed to pay for the wagon. He dropped it onto Shaw’s body, before hoisting himself up onto the seat behind Jessie. It was a tight fit, his leg pressed uncomfortably against hers, but Jessie didn’t notice; instead, she was eyeing him incredulously.

“What?” he asked, his awkwardness making him short.

“You’re giving him the money, after he just tried to kill you? This isn’t even his wagon - he stole it from someone else!”

He shrugged. “Whatever he is, I’m an honourable man - I keep my word.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and then turned away, shaking her head. Taking the reins, she shook the horses into motion, driving them through the gate and onto the road. Once they were far enough away to be sure they’d escaped, he turned to Jessie. “So where did you learn how to handle a gun?”

She looked across at him, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I grew up on a farm. I know how to fire a gun.” She pulled on the reins again, turning the horses towards the camp.

“And drive a team of horses, it would seem.”

Her smile widened, but then she sighed. “Sorry you missed out on the oxen, but frankly you’re not missing much. You can trade the horses for some - you’ll get a very good deal.”

He sighed in turn. “It doesn’t feel right, somehow. This isn’t really my wagon.”

“You didn’t steal them - you paid for them fair and square.” She looked across at him, registered the doubt on his face, and shrugged. “Sell them, and give the money to the man whose wagon this originally was. Buy your oxen honestly if it will make you feel better.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, although Natasha wouldn’t like it. “And what happens when Shaw comes after me, demanding
compensation for his stolen goods?”

“He won’t. At least, not officially. I told you, it was all stolen anyway. He won’t want anyone looking too closely into his own business.”

“And unofficially?”

“I’m going to park this wagon right next to Steve’s. If there’s one man in this town that Shaw won’t touch, it’s Steve Rogers.”

“Are you implying that Steve’s a ruthless gang boss, that someone like Shaw would be afraid of him?”

She laughed out loud - and he couldn’t help but stare, enchanted. “No! Quite the opposite! If Shaw did anything to hurt Steve, he’d have the entire town after him. He’s not going to risk that.”

She paused, then continued, “Besides, it really does need a lot of work. The axle is pulling, at least two of the wheels need fixing, if not replacing, and practically the entire wagon bed is rotted through. It’s probably best to make it easy for him to work on it.”

Bucky nodded absently - his problems were far from over. Then he smiled at Jessie again. “You trail women - you’re a lot tougher than you look, you know.”

She returned his look, a shy smile spreading across her face, matching the colour rising in her cheeks. The moment stretched just a little too long, so it was a relief when James squirmed in Jessie’s lap and climbed into his instead.
“Hey, soldier,” he greeted him. “You okay now?”

James nodded, staring up at him seriously, a hint of something that looked worryingly like hero worship in his eyes.
“Bucky made all the bad men go to sleep.”

“You saw all that?” Steve would kill him. If Grace didn’t get there first. Jessie, eyes fixed firmly ahead of her, was struggling not to smile. He closed his eyes in despair.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” Bucky paced up and down the length of their hotel room, back and forwards in front of her. They’d be leaving it later that day - Steve had repaired their new wagon, and it was now fit to occupy and provision. On the plus side, this meant more time with Steve, but also more time with Grace. And she was being difficult - she hadn’t warmed to either of them, whether it was jealousy over Steve, or because she was HYDRA. Or even both.

And the not knowing who was HYDRA was driving Bucky crazy - he needed an enemy he could target. She’d learnt to live with never knowing - anyone could be an enemy; suspecting everyone kept you alive. Bucky stopped in front of her, and stared at her pointedly.

She shrugged in response - what did he want her to do about it? He sighed heavily. “I was so sure Jessie was HYDRA. And she was behaving suspiciously, but-“

“All of those suspicious beahviours have perfectly reasonable explanations?”

He eyed her balefully. “A little too reasonable, if you ask me.”

She shrugged again. “She grew up on a farm - wagons and horses are part of that package. It’s not like they teach those skills at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“And knowing how to handle a gun?”

“Also something you’d likely learn on a farm. To shoot vermin, if nothing else.”

“But to be able to hold a gun so coolly and calmly on a person? You’d learn that on a farm?”

She shrugged for the third time. “He’d just threatened to rape her. You’d be amazed what that can do to a woman.”

He sighed and nodded. “It’s just - I’m sure it’s her. She was so in control; she didn’t panic at all. Not what I’d expect a woman of this time to be like. Exactly what I’d expect a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to be like. And now you’re making me doubt her.” He sat down beside her on the bed, deflated.

“The pioneers, including their women, were resourceful, Bucky. There’s nothing suspicious in that.”

“You really don’t think it’s her, do you?”

She spread her hands. “Maybe. She hasn’t done anything to absolve herself of suspicion, I’ll say that much.” She sighed in sudden frustration. “And I can’t get close enough to Grace to figure her out either. Her story has holes in it, but they could just be coincidences. But she deliberately keeps me at arm’s length. Is that the tactics of someone who knows I’m too good for her, or someone who genuinely doesn’t like me?”

For the first time that morning, Bucky smiled. “Everybody likes you - how could they not?”

Her answering look was long and level. “It’s rare, but it happens. And she has reasons not to like me - she’s used to having Steve to herself. I threaten that.”

“Not as much as I do, surely.”

“Well, she loathes you. That proves nothing.”

He smiled tightly. “Not all of that is about Steve.”

“Well, if you will ride through the town on a wagon with the friend she’s fiercely protective of, what do you expect?”

“I didn’t have a lot of choice.”

“Really.”

“Fine, if I’d been thinking more clearly, I’d have walked alongside the wagon, looking like a fine gentleman, letting her do all the work.” Her mouth twitched. “But I’d just fought off seven men - and with two people to keep safe. One of whom nearly got shot because of me. So I wasn’t actually thinking that straight.”

Natasha smiled. “It really wasn’t that bad. You were being chaperoned by a three-year-old boy, after all.” He smiled back at her - it was almost one of those soft smiles that only Steve and Jessie got. Her own grin turned wicked. “Anyway, this whole entanglement of yours with the newest redhead on the scene should make Grace sympathetic to me. The wronged wife.”

Bucky’s smile vanished, replaced in an instant by a glare. “It isn’t like that.”

“It’s what it looks like, and in this time, that’s all that matters.”

“If Grace is HYDRA, she’ll know we’re not married. Why would she care?”

“She has to stay in character. She can’t let on that she knows the truth, and besides, your behaviour for this time is verging on the scandalous. And she might genuinely care about Jessie, and be angry that you’re messing around with her.”

“I’m not messing around with her.” His tone was short.

“That’s more from lack of opportunity than lack of desire. At least on her part.”

He glared at her. “I wouldn’t do that.” His tone was dark. “It would hardly be fair.”

“If she is HYDRA, you might have to. If she is, we need to turn her - and you’re going to be far more successful at that than I am. She doesn’t look at me the way she looks at you.”

His look turned even darker, enough to make her swallow hard - she’d ventured onto dangerous ground with her attempt at humour. “I’m not going to do that. We’ve been through this before.”

He stood suddenly, quickly, with the predatory grace of the Winter Soldier. “I’m going to see about getting some oxen. And selling our horses.”

As he left, she frowned. Sometimes he was so normal, so like the Bucky Barnes of the wartime films, it was easy to forget how much he’d been through. And then suddenly it would all come thudding back, and you remembered why you didn’t poke the hornets’ nest. Perhaps if he knew who the HYDRA mole really was, if he had the certainty of knowing who his enemies were, it might settle his mind, drag him out of his darkness. It was time to do some digging into Miss Jessie Williams and her family.

Peering around the corner of the Williams family’s neighbouring wagon a short while later, it was a surprise to find Jessie there - she’d mostly been with Grace recently, helping her while she recovered from her broken ribs (except when she was getting involved in dangerous escapades with Bucky, anyway). But today, she was on her knees beside a huge tub of water, washing dishes. She was facing Natasha - and she wasn’t happy about something. Not quite sulking, but there was something defiant in her. She clearly didn’t get along with her family.

A man and a woman sat on a makeshift bench near Jessie. They were sitting doing nothing, while Jessie slaved over the substantial pile of dirty dishes beside her. If these were Jessie’s older brother and his wife, there wasn’t a great deal of family resemblance. He also looked too old to be the second male in a family and to only now be finding his independence. Not to mention that he was substantially older than Jessie - there had to be ten years, at least, between them. And apparently only one other brother between them. Of course, not all pregnancies survived to term, and not all children made it past their infancy, particularly in this time, but even so, it didn’t add up…

The other two men in the party were tending the oxen. Well, one was tending them - the other was idly picking at his nails with a knife. An idiot, clearly. One of them was Jessie’s second brother; the other was the hired help, Holland, that Jessie had mentioned. They were both of a similar age, but neither bore a strong resemblance to either Jessie or her brother. Instinct said the shirker was Holland; it fit with how Jessie had talked about him.

Natasha frowned. They didn’t look like a family. Maybe the two Williams men could pass as brothers, but youthful, flamehaired Jessie didn’t fit. Red hair was a recessive trait, but something still didn’t sit right. The sullen silence didn’t help, either. This was a group of people who didn’t like each other, and not in a dysfunctional family kind of way. There was nothing to overtly give them away as HYDRA, but they’d moved up the list.

What was abundantly clear was that the other woman loathed Jessie. She’d thrown over a dozen dirty looks in Jessie’s direction since Natasha had got there a few minutes before. There was the obvious explanation - with her youthful face, slender (to the point of gaunt) figure, red hair and blue-green eyes, Jessie was much the prettier. But there were other possible explanations - if they were HYDRA, could it be that Jessie wasn’t altogether loyal to the cause?

She was obviously miserable and disliked her family intensely. Could Steve have already done the hard work of turning her to their side? Or could it be simply their mistreatment of her? It might be enough to turn her from their side all by itself. Of course, that was assuming they were HYDRA, and not just an unpleasant family, but it was something to bear in mind.

She turned to leave, having gathered all the information she could, but then stopped suddenly. What if she surprised them with an impromptu visit? Could she shock them into revealing something? It was broad daylight - even if they were HYDRA, they wouldn’t attack her; too many possible witnesses around. And even if they did, five on one was nothing. Even unarmed and in restricting skirts, the Black Widow would be too much for them. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. So she straightened her shoulders, assuming the regal air that befitted her clothing and adopted status, and sailed around the corner of the wagon and into view.

There was very little reaction from any of them - no leaping to their feet and diving for cover (or a weapon). Maybe the slightest hint of alarm in the oldest brother’s eyes when he saw her, but if it was there at all, it was swiftly concealed. His wife eyed Natasha disdainfully, no trace of fear or alarm. The two men tending the oxen hadn’t noticed her yet, but she kept one eye on them - their reaction might give them away when they did.

Jessie had been so intent on the washing up, she hadn’t noticed Natasha’s sudden appearance. Plastering her friendliest smile onto her face, Natasha approached her. After all, she was the one Natalie Barnes was acquainted with. As she moved closer, Jessie slowed, and then stopped, and then looked up to meet Natasha’s eyes. The look in her eyes clearly said that Natasha was not welcome here.

She put down the plate she’d been cleaning and got to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron, looking down at the ground, moving slowly as if playing for time. Finally, she looked back at Natasha and smiled tentatively, though her eyes were large and uncertain. Perhaps confronting them had been a bad idea. Steve was worried about Jessie - he thought her family mistreated her. And if he was right, Natasha turning up and being so friendly could turn out badly for Jessie, whether they were HYDRA or not. She swore internally, but maintained the friendly smile. It was too late to back down now.

“Hello, Miss Williams,” she started, when Jessie didn’t speak.

“Mrs Barnes,” she replied, her voice small. She didn’t talk like this when she was with the Rogers family; Steve’s suspicions were well-founded.

“Do you know,” Natasha replied, a breathless laugh in her voice, “I’m completely lost. I went for a walk, and I got turned around, and now I don’t know where my wagon is. I don’t suppose you could help me?” It was the best way to get out of there as soon as possible.

Jessie’s answering look was blank, but there was a dubious edge to it - she knew she was being lied to. She hesitated, then nodded, swallowed, and tried to smile more naturally. “Yes, of course. You really have got turned around. You’re right at the other end of the camp.” As she spoke, her voice strengthened - she was recovering her composure.

“Oh dear,” Natasha answered. “I did think I’d walked quite some way. I have no sense of direction.”

Jessie’s mouth quirked slightly at that comment. “You really do just need to turn round and keep going in a straight line. You’ll get there in the end.”

Natasha took a deep breath, as if daunted by the prospect. “If you say so. But I’m sure I’m just going to get lost again.”

Jessie smiled again, aiming for encouraging, but landing on sad. “Well, if you do, I’m sure your husband will find you.”

Natasha inclined her head. “I’m sure he will. Thank you for your help.” She glanced across at Jessie’s brother and his wife; her failure to introduce them spoke volumes. “Pleased to meet you.” She turned to leave, but as she did, the woman spoke.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your fine friend, Jessie?” Her voice was as hard as her face.

Jessie darted a glance across at her sister, more than a hint of fear in her eyes. “Of- of course,” she replied, her hard-won composure vanished. “This is Mrs Barnes, Natalie Barnes - she’s one of Steve’s friends from Boston.” She turned back to Natasha, her stance reminiscent of a deer about to take flight. “This is my brother, Aaron, and - and his wife, Hannah.” Natasha looked across at the two men with the oxen - the one who’d been working was watching them curiously, but with no obvious sign of recognition; the other one still hadn’t noticed her. Jessie, following her gaze, added, “My brother Michael, and our hired hand, Holland.” She looked down at her feet, swallowing hard, as if willing the ground to swallow her up.

A wave of guilt washed over Natasha - she’d handled this so badly. She’d completely failed to notice the depth of Jessie’s fear of her family concealed beneath the disdain she showed them when safe among her friends, but replaying those memories now, all the signs were there. And she’d missed them.

“A friend of Steve’s, you say?” The woman again. The women of the 1850s weren’t the demure little mice they were made out to be in the history books, but it was still unusual for a woman to act like she was in charge. But this woman was; her husband was silent beside her, and showed no irritation at her presumption. A hint they were from the future? Or just that even in this time, bossy harridans made up the rules for themselves?

Jessie nodded. “Yes. They’ve been searching for him for five years.”

Hannah Williams looked Natasha up and down contemptuously; it was a challenge to keep a straight face. If she really was HYDRA, she had nerves of steel. “Five years, hmm? You can’t have been looking very hard.”

Her eyebrows twitched - that had been shockingly rude. “We’ve been looking very hard.” There wasn’t a trace of friendliness in her voice - time to remind them who she was, HYDRA or not. “Steve is incredibly important to my husband, Bucky” - a slight stress on his name - “and he’d tear apart the world, and anyone in his way, to find him.” She kept her cool, even gaze fixed on Hannah until she flushed and looked down.

She turned back to Jessie, and smiled at her, genuinely this time. “Thank you for your help, Miss Williams. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Jessie only nodded in reply, but there’d been an unmistakable flare of hope in her eyes - hidden and small, but still there. Perhaps she hadn’t blown it completely - if she could shelter Jessie from the worst of what her family were doing to her, because it was now beyond doubt that Steve was right about them, then it would have been worth it.

Of course, she was no closer to determining whether they were HYDRA or not, but she was much more suspicious of them now. It might not ease Bucky’s mind much, but it was a development - she’d been focussing on Grace too much - a grave error of judgment. From now on, she’d pay more attention to Jessie…

Chapter Text

The beans were a blackened mess at the bottom of the pot. Her first meal on the trail was a disaster. The delicious aroma of bacon wafted across from the fire in front of the Rogers wagon. Grace sat beside it, carefully tending the dinner she was preparing for her family. They were going to eat well, at least.

But Grace wrinkled her nose suddenly, and looked across at Natasha’s fire suspiciously. Telltale smoke was still emanating from the beans - there was no way to hide the mess she’d made. Grace levered herself to her feet, the only concession to the pain from her ribs a slight wince. She moved across to stand over Natasha, looking down at her pathetic attempt at dinner. She sighed, then said, surprisingly gently, “Did you soak them first before you tried to cook them?”

Natasha could only stare at her blankly. Grace nodded, but said nothing, though it obviously took some effort. Instead, she moved to the Barnes wagon, and sorted through their food stores until she found their beans. Taking another pot from their supplies, one with a handle, she poured a generous helping of beans into it, added some water, put the lid on and swung it onto one of the hooks on the side of the wagon. Then she moved back towards Natasha.

“You’ll have to put them to soak every evening the day before you want to eat them,” she said. “Otherwise, they won’t cook. And they cook better in water, or a stew anyway. They just burn if you cook them dry.” Natasha nodded, storing the information away for later. Then Grace nodded towards her own fire. “Now come on, you’ll have to share our dinner this evening.” She looked down at the chopped onions and bacon at Natasha’s side. “Bring those,” she said. “We can use them to bulk out the stew.”

Natasha pushed herself rapidly to her feet, picked them up and followed, grateful for Grace’s generosity. It was unexpected - but this was Steve’s wife. Steve wouldn’t have married a woman who wasn’t as basically kind and decent as he was. Grace might not like her, and she loathed Bucky, but she wouldn’t see them go hungry. Grace motioned to the pot simmering over the fire. “Add those to the stew,” she said. “I’ll go and get some more beans.”

She did as she was told, adding her ingredients into the stew already bubbling over the fire, inhaling deeply of the bacon-filled aroma. Behind her, Grace bustled around, before coming across to the fire and adding more beans into the stew. “There,” she said, with some satisfaction, “That should be plenty for everybody now.” She sat down beside Natasha gingerly, and obviously with some pain, but Natasha made no move to help - Grace wouldn’t want it, or thank her for drawing attention to her discomfort.

So instead, she prodded at the stew with the spoon. How did Grace do it? Turn such unappetising ingredients into something actually delicious? “You don’t know how to cook, either, do you?” Grace said quietly.

Natasha turned briefly to her, and shook her head. “I had people to do that for me, too.” She kept her tone humble, her head down, as if ashamed, as Natalie Barnes would be - travelling the trail like this would bring more than a few home truths down on the head of a pampered princess like her.

Grace sighed again. “Well, there’s no help for it,” she said. “I’ll just have to teach you.”

Natasha turned back to her and smiled shyly. “I’d really appreciate that,” she said quietly. It turned out that the way to Grace’s heart was to make her feel sorry for you. It wasn’t something she’d ever been good at, but she was an excellent actress. She’d make it work. One of the two women she’d found herself close to was also an excellent actress - whether it was the one in front of her or Bucky’s redhaired waif was what she was working to find out. And this was the first time since that first day they’d met that Grace had been so warm towards her. She had to take advantage of it. Grace shrugged. “At least this way, I won’t have to feed you every day.” It was a comment with a barb behind it, but she smiled to take the sting from it. And she was right - she’d been feeding them continuously since they’d taken up residence in their wagon, and it wasn’t fair. Natasha should be pulling her weight.

Natasha smiled and looked down at her hands selfconsciously. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ve been a terrible burden on you, haven’t we?”

Grace bristled a little, but then shrugged. “A little,” she admitted grudgingly - this was a woman who clearly had problems admitting to not being good enough to cope with everything.

“Well,” Natasha said, her tone turning bright and bubbly suddenly, “That will all change soon.” She looked sideways at Grace, her expression abashed. “Once you’ve finished teaching me to cook, anyway…”

Grace smiled, and her smile was warm. “Well, we can start tomorrow with breakfast. Come to my fire and I’ll show you how to make grits.” She pushed herself to her feet again. “Dinner’s nearly ready. We should fetch the plates.” Natasha nodded, rising to her feet in a smooth, fluid motion that got an envious look from Grace. It was more than just being able to move without pain - it was envy of Natasha’s agility and grace. She ignored it, turning back to her own wagon to find plates and utensils, but once her back was turned, she frowned. This was a side of Grace she hadn’t seen before, a kind, considerate side. And it didn’t sit at all well that she was HYDRA. Perhaps Bucky had been right, after all - Jessie was the much more likely mole.

So far, she’d set him the task of winning Jessie over, and finding out the truth. After all, that first look she’d given him, the first time she’d seen him, was of a girl overwhelmed by her feelings - she’d been mesmerised by him. Only made worse when Bucky had given her one of his rare, but irresistible, smiles - without even trying, he’d ensnared her. If that reaction had been genuine, and it had seemed to be, then she’d be an easy target for him, even if she was HYDRA. He’d been reluctant to manipulate her at first, but had agreed in the end, and had so far had a lot of success in befriending his mark. But he’d had none whatsoever when it came to divining whether she was HYDRA or not. He was too soft, that was the problem. A pretty girl fluttered her eyelashes at him, and he’d do anything for her.

It was time to take the matter of Jessie into her own hands. Her initial approach to the girl made that harder - the hostile, jealous wife persona she’d taken on gave Jessie every excuse to stay away from her and be evasive. And she’d been forced into it by how Jessie had behaved around Bucky… She couldn’t have done it better herself. This girl was clever - she’d be a tricky one to catch.

Chapter Text

He stood concealed in a small clearing of trees, waiting in ambush. It was the third morning since they’d left St Joseph’s, and they’d not seen Jessie at all. Steve and Grace were becoming openly anxious, muttering dark things about how her family treated her - it wouldn’t be long before Steve went to find out what was going on. Natasha had decided it would be better for Bucky to intervene instead - he’d mentioned meeting Jessie fetching water for her wagon a few times back in the town, and her plan was for him to do the same again now they were underway. Hence him standing vigil near the river; she’d turn up at some point to fill her buckets.

He didn’t have to wait long. He’d risen early to make sure he didn’t miss her - and he’d still only just made it. Jessie was up with the dawn; she must be doing more than her fair share of the work if she had to get up so early. Including dragging two huge buckets of water around every morning and evening - it was man’s work, so why couldn’t one of the strapping young men in her party fetch it instead? Steve did so every morning without fail for his wife (and his friend’s wife, too - Bucky repaid the favour by building fires for both wagons); why couldn’t one of Jessie’s brothers, or the hired hand, do the same?

He waited until Jessie had filled her buckets to make his appearance. She wouldn’t be able to escape him that way - she could hardly leave the buckets behind. He took deliberate care to make a noise as he approached her, forcing himself to step on twigs and rustling leaves, even as his instincts screamed at him not to - but to no avail; he still made her jump. He kept his expression open and friendly, trying not to frighten her, and once she realised it was him, she relaxed and smiled. He took that as an invitation to move closer, close enough to see the shadows under her eyes. They were shadows of tiredness, no doubt, but there was a hollow, gaunt look to her too - were they even feeding her? His fists clenched at his side, but he fought to keep the anger from his eyes, ruthlessly forcing himself to concentrate on Jessie, and not what he’d like to do to people who starved their little sisters.

“What a surprise, meeting you here,” she said, a teasing hint to her words. Her tone was inviting - she was clearly pleased to see him.

He smiled back at her. “I thought I might find you here,” he replied, his tone as light as hers. “We’ve missed you.”

Her expression turned hunted, but she quickly masked it behind a smile before she looked away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” Her words were clipped and to the point, not inviting further questions.

“Steve and Grace are getting pretty worried about you,” he continued, ignoring her manner.

She stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. “There’s no need for that. Tell them I’m fine.”

“Are you?” He kept his voice gentle, but he wanted an answer. She hesitated before looking up at him, nodding her head firmly. But her eyes told him a different story. He raised his eyebrows doubtfully, but she said no more, even when he let the silence hang. In the end, he sighed and motioned to the buckets. “At least let me carry those.”

“There’s really no need.” She moved forward to take them, but he beat her to it, lifting them before she could interfere.

“Nonsense,” he replied. “How am I supposed to convince everyone I’m a gentleman if I don’t gallantly come to the aid of young maids carrying heavy buckets of water?” She glared at him for a second but then looked away, smiling in spite of herself.

“Lead on, then,” she eventually answered. “And I’ll be sure to tell every young maid I see what a chivalrous knight in shining armour you are.”

He nodded as if that was surely only his due, and set off in the direction she’d come from; she fell in alongside him. They walked at first without speaking, but eventually he broke the silence. “It would be nice to see you sometimes. Without having to waylay you on your way to fetch water.” She looked across at him balefully, but didn’t answer. “And I know Grace would like to see you, too. And James misses you terribly.” That hit home - guilt flared in her eyes, so he pressed on remorselessly. “It’s so sad - every time he hears me or Natalie coming, he comes charging to see who it is, calling your name. And then when it’s only us, his little face… He’s so disappointed.”

“You’ve made your point.” Her voice was curt. “I’ll try to come over when I can.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he replied. “Otherwise, you’ll have Steve on your doorstep, demanding to know what’s going on.” She sighed impatiently, but he hadn’t finished. “And, well, he’s not that subtle.”

“Fine!” Her temper had finally snapped. “I’ll come and see you all as soon as I can, so you can reassure yourselves I’m not dead! Happy now?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “No, not really.” She’d stopped when he did and crossed her arms over her chest, mutiny in her eyes. “Because you’re not happy.” He gestured with the buckets of water he was carrying. “And because you shouldn’t be fetching this - one of the others should, someone who can actually lift the buckets when they’re full.”

She let out an explosive breath. “That isn’t going to happen any time soon. They need coffee before they can do anything.”

“If they want it that much, they should be willing to go and get the water for it.”

She raised one eyebrow dubiously. “Really?”

He shrugged, conceding the point. “Well, then - if they won’t, I’ll just have to come and help you every day.”

“Don’t you need your coffee first?” The teasing note had crept back into her voice; was she trying to distract him?

Two could play at that game. He smiled back slowly at her. “Not nearly as much as I’d like to see you every day.” He held her eyes as he spoke, as she struggled unsuccessfully not to blush, and continued to hold it until she looked away, flustered. He’d meant to do it, but he wasn’t sure why - he was supposed to be charming her, not flirting with her. His old instincts had kicked in and taken over.

“I need to get back and make breakfast,” she said eventually, a breathless edge to her voice. “We should get moving.”

She walked on; he followed behind her, frowning. Somewhere underneath it all, he was still that old Bucky Barnes after all. Jessie set a much faster pace this time - she was in a hurry to get away from him. Maybe it wasn’t the flirting - perhaps he’d delayed her and there were penalties if breakfast was late, such as making her go without. If only he could ask her outright if that’s how it was, but their friendship was still on an uncertain footing – that question was still too personal. So he’d do what he could - take one small part of the load from her, and keep trying to deepen the friendship. Even if she was HYDRA, she needed help. And if she was, he’d persuade her to defect; but first, he had to win her trust.

As they approached her wagon, she stopped just out of sight of them and turned to him. “I can take them from here,” she said, holding out her hands to take the buckets. He frowned at her - he’d carried them this far; why not all the way? But she gestured again for him to hand them over. Was she trying to keep him away from her family, like he might take them all on in a fit of rage? Or - was she trying to protect him? If they were HYDRA… The codewords. She thought they could control him. Natasha thought it unlikely they knew them - very few people in HYDRA had known the truth about him, and even fewer people had known the actual words that controlled him. They’d never send such a valuable person on a mission like this. But Jessie would know better than Nat. Assuming she even was HYDRA. He shook his head roughly and looked up to find her watching him curiously. He’d been silent too long.

He smiled at her again, but it was reflexive this time. “Here you go,” he said, handing the buckets over. Her fingers lightly brushed against his as she took them - by accident or design, he couldn’t tell. But the sensation was not unpleasant.

She smiled at him again. “Thank you,” she said shyly.

“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting tomorrow morning. Although I hope I’ll see you before then, of course. We all do.”

She frowned. “I’ll try,” she said. “But-”

“I know. But try. Please?”

She nodded slowly, before turning and walking away, dragging the buckets with her. He frowned as she left - she’d confused him more than ever.

Chapter Text

Natasha slid through the shadows of the wagons, her mission to spy on Jessie and her family. Her reasons were twofold - to find proof that Jessie and her family were the HYDRA agents, and to find out more about how Jessie’s family were treating her.

Bucky’s encounter with Jessie that morning had left him disturbed, suspicious that they were withholding food from her. She could have handled it better - but her own experience in that area had made her nonchalant. And it made sense. It was an old and effective tactic - keeping the victim weak and miserable, so they wouldn’t fight back. Not to mention that the promise of food after being deprived of it was a wonderful way to encourage compliance. It also didn’t leave any marks - altogether a highly efficient way to control someone.

But her reaction had sent Bucky off into a tailspin. For all he insisted he wasn’t a good man, his desire to fight injustice and right wrongs belied him. Accepting that the world was a cruel place which preyed on the weaker members of society was as absent from his DNA as it was from Steve’s. His first instinct was always to help. He didn’t see it, but with his past, it wasn’t that surprising. So this was her way of making amends. She’d probably only succeed in confirming his worst fears, but that could still yield results. Conclusive proof of them hurting Jessie would be fuel enough to wind Steve up and watch him go. Conclusive proof that they were HYDRA would require a change of tactics.

She reached a neighbouring wagon and edged along it to the corner, using its shadow to hide herself while she observed. Jessie was huddled over the fire, while her sister-in-law, older brother, and the man who was probably the hired hand lounged nearby. The other man was nowhere to be seen, hopefully not in the process of sneaking up behind her. She’d hear him coming, but she had no good reason to be here, and was unlikely to be welcomed.

Jessie moved to and fro, fetching ingredients and utensils from the wagon, preparing and cooking the family meal. It was a stark contrast to the Rogers wagon, where Grace had willing helpers – Jessie had no-one at all. She was gaunt, but she always had been, and the firelight accentuated the hollows and angles of her face - even if they were feeding her, she was hungry. It wasn’t obvious if Bucky was right, and they were denying her food - but if she was doing all the work in the camp, and walking all day, even normal rations wouldn’t keep her full. She wasn’t Bucky, didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve like he did, but his assessment seemed to be correct. And although it was all to their advantage if Jessie was HYDRA, making it easier to subvert her, it didn’t make it right.

But would HYDRA really be so stupid as to work their designated slave and spy into the ground like that? It was amazingly self-defeating - once she was too weak to work anymore, and fell ill, she’d be no use to them - someone else would have to do all the work, and they’d have lost their access to the Rogers wagon. This kind of casual mistreatment seemed much more likely to be part of life in a
dysfunctional family unit.

Meanwhile, the other brother (or the hired hand, whichever he was) had made an appearance. He carried a bucket of water in each hand, one of which he set down beside Jessie. She looked up at him in acknowledgment, and almost smiled at him. His response was impossible to gauge, as he almost immediately turned away to fill their barrels with the other bucket, but his actions were at least helpful. Perhaps not every member of Jessie’s family was a total monster. And she could reassure Bucky there was someone looking out for Jessie, even if only a little.

“Where’s our dinner?” Suddenly, they were talkative - Jessie’s hard-faced sister-in-law was the speaker. This was more encouraging - now they might reveal something useful. “You’ve been
ages with it.”

“It’s nearly ready.” Jessie’s tone verged on curt.

“I was hungry and ready for it over an hour ago,” the harridan continued. An hour ago, they’d still been on the road.

Jessie’s shoulders stiffened, and she turned towards her sister, but before she could say anything, her gaze caught on her helpful brother - he shook his head minutely, and after a second’s
struggle, Jessie turned back to the fire. “It will be ready once the cornbread’s done.” She stood and moved towards the wagon, but as she did, her sister’s voice carried after her.

“You needn’t bother getting a bowl for yourself. You’ve procrastinated so long over the dinner, I don’t see why you should have any.”

Natasha had moved out of the shadows before Jessie’s one decent brother could open his mouth to remonstrate. She walked boldly into the middle of their discussion, just like Natalie Barnes would, with Natalie’s over-friendly smile plastered on her face. Her eyes didn’t quite match her smile, however.

“Oh, there you are, Jessie!” she said, Natalie’s breathless tones in her voice. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and it took me ages to find your wagon!”

Jessie had turned to face her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Ignoring the others, Natasha swept towards her, deliberately knocking over her sister’s cup with her skirts as she sailed past. As she reached Jessie, she grabbed her hands and squeezed them, smiling blithely at her. Jessie didn’t move, nor had her expression changed.

“We’ve been so worried about you - we haven’t seen you for days!” she continued. “And Grace finally said enough was enough - I’m to fetch you to have dinner with us, and I’m not to come back without you. So, you have to come with me, or I won’t get any dinner!” She looked pleadingly up at Jessie, every inch the brainless New York socialite, concerned only with herself. Jessie, still struggling to catch up, shook her head.

“I can’t, Mrs. Barnes-“

“Natalie-“

“Natalie. I have to finish dinner for my family.”

She sighed theatrically. “I do hope there’s enough for me, too, then. Grace was very firm on that. I needn’t bother coming back without you.”

Jessie blanched at the idea - it was a struggle not to smile. It took her a visible effort to control herself before she looked across at her sister-in-law. Following Jessie’s gaze, brainless smile back in place, Natasha looked expectantly at Mrs Williams. It was obvious she was torn between letting Jessie go to be rid of Natasha, or putting her foot down and insisting Jessie stay, while sending Natasha packing. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Natalie Barnes didn’t do proprieties - hers was a world of privilege, where she always got her way, and she was terrible at reading people. She was more than a match for Mrs Hannah Williams.

But it was Jessie’s helpful brother who broke the silence. “You should go, Jess. Dinner’s almost done, isn’t it?”

Jessie turned to him blankly, but nodded. “Yes. The stew’s ready, and the cornbread just needs to be taken from the fire.”

He smiled at her. “I think I can manage that. You should go, spend some time with your friends.”

Natasha beamed at him - he eyed her as if she was a dangerous lunatic, but then nodded at her, a twitch of his lips her only other acknowledgment. “So it’s settled,” she announced. “Go on, Jessie, fetch a shawl, and then we’ll be off. Grace is cooking goose tonight. Bucky went hunting today and managed to shoot one. He’s so good with a rifle.” As she sang the praises of her darling husband and his shooting skills, she avidly assessed their reactions - Jessie’s friendly brother was still eyeing her uncertainly, and there was similar doubt in the bearing of the others. Was it a clue? Were they HYDRA after all?

Jessie returned quickly, a shawl in her hand. Natasha made a huge fuss out of settling it round her shoulders, and then threaded Jessie’s arm through her own, before leading her off, waving cheerily at Hannah as she went. Her answering look was thunderous.

Once out of sight of the wagon, Natasha sighed and dropped her arm from Jessie’s. Jessie looked across at her sharply, a flash of genuine fear in her eyes, though just as quickly hidden. Another clue?

“Please,” she said. “I’m not that bad. I thought you could do with being rescued, and it’s really hard to argue with someone so vacuous. And Grace will be thrilled to see you. As will your biggest little fan.”

Jessie smiled at the mention of James. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I thought I’d be more diplomatic than Steve. He was all for marching over there and liberating you with force. There are easier ways to achieve the same ends.”

“You don’t need to worry about me so much, you know. I really am fine.”

Her stance, arms wrapped around herself as she walked, cold and defensive, said she was blatantly lying, but this wasn’t the time to challenge her. “Please. Telling Steve not to worry about someone he cares about is a pointless waste of time. Grace, too. They’ll worry about you regardless, especially if you don’t keep turning up to allay their fears.” Jessie sighed impatiently, but Natasha hadn’t finished laying on the guilt. “And I wasn’t joking about James. He misses you dreadfully. He’s always so disappointed when it’s me, not you, coming round the corner of his wagon.”

“I know,” she said brusquely. “Bucky tol-” She came to as abrupt a halt as her words did, but the game was up, so she completed her sentence. “-d me.” She gave Natasha a sidelong glance, but her
eyes slid downwards when Natasha turned to face her.

Time to undo some of the damage from before. “I know. He told me he’d met you fetching water.” She smiled warmly, matching her tone to her smile. “Bucky often takes matters into his own hands like that. He was worried about you. So was I.”

Jessie frowned in response - she didn’t believe her. “It was nice not to have to carry the water for once,” she eventually said, her tone neutral.

“Is it really too much to ask of one of your strapping companions to fetch it for you?”

She shrugged. “Michael gets it in the evening, but he’s busy in the morning with the oxen.”

“Michael - is he the hired hand?” She kept her tone artfully curious.

“No, he’s my brother - the unmarried one.” Perhaps he wasn’t ‘the nice one’, after all.

“So - what does your hired hand do, exactly?”

Jessie’s look was searching as she answered - she knew she was being interrogated. “Not a great deal.”

“Well, far be it from me to tell your charming sister-in-law how to manage her household, but I’d have sent him packing by now.” Jessie’s lips twitched at the word ‘charming’. “Does he know some dark secret about her?”

“Not as far as I know.” Jessie relaxed as she spoke. “But I try not to know much about her; it’s easier to stay out of her way.”

There was a whole world of unspoken meaning beneath that innocuous comment. “Well, you should do that more often, by spending your evenings with us.”

Another searching look - Jessie was uncertain in the face of her sudden solicitousness. Good - keeping her off-balance made her more likely to give something away.

“I have to make their dinner - couldn’t have them going hungry.” Her bitter tone said otherwise.

“You’re telling me that none of them, not even dearest Hannah, knows how to cook?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” The reply was flat, uncompromising.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “It strikes me that they should probably be a bit nicer to you then. Wouldn’t want them to fall ill from eating bad food, now would we?”

Jessie smiled weakly, but said nothing. Whatever the truth of her situation, she was far too cowed for such a rebellious act.

They arrived at the Rogers wagon to be greeted by James charging towards them; Jessie, behind Natasha, was hidden from his view at first. But as he came closer, calling to ’Nassie’, she stepped aside to reveal her companion. He stopped mid-stride, yelled Jessie’s name, and hurled himself at her. Jessie, a genuine smile on her face for the first time that evening, caught him in her arms, laughing.

“Jessie! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, James.” Jessie hugged him tightly. “I missed you too.”

He wriggled out of her embrace to look at her. “Where’ve you been?”

“Looking after my family. Like your mommy looks after you.”

He pouted. “Bad family. Keeping Jessie away from James.”

She smiled at him, but her expression was pained. “I’m sorry, James. But I’m here now.”

He nodded happily. “Yes. We can play now.”

Natasha cut in. “But James, it’s nearly time for dinner. You’ll have to play later.” That earned her a scowl. “Or maybe, if you’re really good, you’ll get a story.”

“Yes! Jessie can tell me a story! She’s better than Nassie!”

A blush spread across Jessie’s face as she eyed Natasha awkwardly - she grinned back at her ruefully. “Well, that definitively answers the question of who’s his favourite.”

“His favourite what?” Bucky had come up behind them while they’d been occupied with James, on silent feet as usual. Jessie whirled to face him, startled. He winced at seeing her jump.

“His favourite redhead, of course!” Natasha replied, a mischievous grin on her face. Bucky raised his eyebrows, but Jessie’s response was far more telling - her blush from before deepened. She had it bad, and then some. If Natasha had actually been Bucky’s wife, and prone to jealousy, Jessie would have an enemy for life.

Bucky also noticed Jessie’s reaction, but chose to ignore it. “You were never going to win that one. Earlier, James told me that Jessie was his best friend. You didn’t stand a chance.”

She affected her best ‘hurt feelings’ look, but had to project it mostly at Bucky, as Jessie was too engaged with James earnestly agreeing with Bucky’s statement. A frown flitted across Bucky’s face - he didn’t know what game she was playing. But then he put his arm around her shoulder, and it was only a trifle awkward.

“Well, you’re my favourite redhead,” he said, and it was almost convincing. It wasn’t quite his famous smile, more of a teasing leer, but it was better ‘husbandly’ behaviour than he’d demonstrated before.

Jessie hadn’t noticed, her focus still on James. But then she frowned, looking around her in confusion, cocking her head as if trying to hear something.

“Jessie?” she asked. “What is it?”

Jessie turned to her. “Can you hear that? It’s like - like a buzzing.”

She couldn’t hear anything - Bucky’s expression told her he hadn’t either. “I can’t hear anything,” she replied, eventually.

Jessie shook her head. “It’s gone now.” Her eyes finally fell on Bucky’s arm around Natasha’s shoulder. Not a muscle on her face moved, but the tension in the rest of her body spoke of the struggle to keep it that way. Most people would have been fooled.

“I should tell Steve and Grace I’m here,” she said, and hurried away.

Natasha waited for her to leave before she turned to Bucky. “I’m impressed with your acting for once, but did it occur to you that now probably wasn’t the time to demonstrate your newfound talent?”

Bucky frowned at her, and dropped his arm from her shoulder. “What did I do?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’ll find out,” she replied, then followed Jessie over to the camp fire, and dinner. Jessie was being firmly embraced by Grace, in spite of her damaged ribs, when she reached the fire, Steve hovering impatiently behind them. When Grace finally let go, he stepped forward and pulled Jessie into his arms as well. It wasn’t really appropriate for the time, but there was something so unmistakably Steve about the action.

Her throat closed painfully. If only he’d remember. Finally, the crushing guilt might start to lift.

After finally letting go of Jessie, Steve caught sight of the two of them standing awkwardly watching, and waved them over. Bucky had hung back as she had, also feeling left out, not wanting to intrude on a family moment. They hadn’t been excluded intentionally, but they’d still been shut out. For all Steve (and therefore Grace) accepted them, and for all Jessie had helped them, they were still outsiders. The pain was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. If only Steve would remember.

“Look who’s finally come to say hello!” Steve said as they approached, showing off Jessie as proudly as any big brother would. Any big brother except her actual big brothers, anyway.

Jessie smiled shyly. “Actually, it was Mrs Barnes who fetched me.”

“Natalie.”

She shrugged awkwardly, not wanting to claim the closer connection. It wasn’t unexpected, but it still stung. Steve overrode the awkwardness by demanding an explanation of Jessie’s comment. By the time she’d told him, and James had trotted over with some stones for Jessie to admire, and Grace had bustled round them, fetching this and that, and trying to shoo James away, it felt like it had back at St Joseph’s - comfortable. Jessie eventually detached herself from James and Steve to offer her services to Grace (batting aside all Grace’s attempts to make her sit down with the others), leaving the rest of them to wait around the fire. Bucky was lost in a moody world of his own.

Steve was distracted, his gaze often tracking towards Jessie, noticing all the things she’d already noticed, all the things that said Jessie wasn’t alright, not at all. Eventually, he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not being very good company.”

Natasha looked pointedly at her husband. Steve smiled briefly. “I guess I’m not the only one.”

“We’re all worried about her,” she said quietly.

“Is that why you went to rescue her?” He was seeing so much more than she wanted him to. And it was so like her Steve that she faltered and very nearly told him the truth.

“Yes. I figured she couldn’t get here of her own accord, or she’d have been here before now. So I staged an escape for her. I thought it was better than you doing it.” His long, level look was
unnerving - he knew there was more to it than that - but then he looked down.

“You’re probably right. Most of the time I’m around any other member of the Williams family, I have a powerful urge to punch them.”

She smiled. “That I can understand. They’re not the most genial of people.”

“And the way they treat Jessie is disgraceful. Making her do everything. And she’s the youngest of them! They should be looking after her, not the other way around!” Her heart leapt, though she kept her face still, but that wasn’t how it worked in this time. Steve was showing that he wasn’t from round here. But then again, no - Steve Rogers hated bullies at any time, in any place.

“They should certainly be pulling their weight,” she finally allowed. “But aside from Michael, none of the others seem to do anything.”

He nodded. “Michael’s not so bad. But then, I don’t think he’s treated that much better than Jessie.” Interesting. “I wish she’d come and stay with us. Grace would be thrilled, and she’d be a lot better off here.” He sighed. “But she won’t leave her family. I don’t know why - they’ve done nothing to earn her loyalty.”

There were several possible reasons - fear, especially if they did hurt her, blood being thicker than water, if they actually were family, or being part of a team if not. If they were HYDRA, she might even believe in the cause. Unlikely, but not impossible. But it was most likely fear - it paralysed you, messed with your head until you ended up with a sick and twisted loyalty to the ones who hurt you. If that was what was happening here, it would take a herculean effort to undo it. And even if Jessie wasn’t HYDRA, even if she wasn’t important to their mission, she needed help. Natasha rolled her eyes - Steve had really got to her. And now he was frowning at her reaction - he’d been watching her, waiting for an answer. She quickly replied, “Perhaps she stays for Michael.”

“I’d take him in too if it meant she’d stay with us,” he grumbled. Oh Steve, always so unrelentingly good, so unrelentingly selfless. He had to come back to them.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of dinner, delivered by Jessie, preceded by James very carefully and very proudly carrying his own bowl of dinner. Jessie briefly smiled at Natasha as she handed her the food, but refused to meet Bucky’s eyes as she gave him his bowl, turning away before he’d even finished taking it, ignoring his thanks and his famous smile. His eyes followed her, puzzled and aggrieved, but Jessie was resolute in shunning him.

Eventually, he turned to look at Natasha, confused, irritated and more than a little hurt. He hadn’t connected his earlier behaviour to Jessie’s actions now - how could he be so oblivious? And if she was HYDRA, Bucky was the one who’d have to do all the work, using her attraction to him to win her over. But he was straightforward and honest like Steve - he wouldn’t want to manipulate her. It would be easier if he returned Jessie’s feelings - he’d feel it was less underhand that way. But she couldn’t force him to feel what he didn’t feel - and there’d been no sign of it so far. But she could force him, and would force him, to use whatever weapons they had, even an innocent girl’s heart. He’d just have to make his peace with it.

James held court for most of dinner, asking a thousand and one questions of everyone, and in doing so, he prevented it being awkward. You couldn’t be moody, or lost in a world of your own, or give someone the third degree about their family, when there was a three-year-old talking nineteen to the dozen. Even Bucky had to smile under the onslaught, even though Jessie continued to ignore him. And while the adults might have wanted to push Jessie to leave her family for Steve’s wagon and protection, it was maybe for the best that James’ questions about where rain came from, and why oxen couldn’t talk, stopped them. Jessie needed to feel safe and welcome - which wouldn’t happen if everyone was pressuring her. Once dinner was over, and after James was put to bed with his promised story from Jessie, Steve ever the gentleman, escorted Jessie back to her wagon.

Once they’d gone, she bade farewell to Grace and led Bucky back to their wagon. She didn’t say anything until he’d pulled the canvas down and tied it tight. And in the end, he spoke
before she could. .“What did I do?” He sounded so mystified, he had to be teasing. But his expression was sincerely confused.

“I’m your favourite redhead?” she replied acidly. “Said in front of another redhead, one who’s shown all the signs of being head over heels about you? And you wonder why she reacted like that?”

His responding look was mutinous; he opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again suddenly. “Damn,” he muttered. “I didn’t think.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, start thinking. We might need her, and you hold the key to winning her over. Don’t upset her again.” He shook his head. “I was so sure she was HYDRA. But if she was, she’d know we aren’t married…”

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “She might know we’re not actually married, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t be together.” He frowned, but she continued before he could interrupt. “It makes sense - there’s a lot of common ground between us. That brings people together all the time. She can still be HYDRA, and think that we’re together.”

He let out an explosive breath. “So it looks like I’m trying to manipulate her by befriending her. Which means I’m not to be trusted.”

She inclined her head. “A little. But if she is HYDRA, she wouldn’t expect anything different. You don’t think they wouldn’t be pressuring her to manipulate you? Whoever HYDRA are, they’d give anything to have their Winter Soldier back. They might not know those words, but there are other ways to sucker you in.”

“So she’s just pretending to feel all that for me?”

She took a deep breath before she answered, warned by the relief in his tone. If she told him what she really thought, he might lose his temper, and he could break her in half. “Bucky, she might not be HYDRA - we don’t know that for sure. And either way, what she feels for you is real. If she was only trying to manipulate you, she wouldn’t have ignored you the way she did. You’ve hurt her feelings, by preferring someone else to her, and possibly made her feel guilty, like she’s really stepping on my toes. If she didn’t care about you, if she was just trying to use you, she’d ignore it and continue flirting with you as if nothing had happened.” She paused, but then went on, “She isn’t trying to manipulate you - she’s falling in love with you.” There - she’d said it. He had to confront it - and better now than when he was with Jessie.

His expression was dark, and getting darker by the second. “Well, she shouldn’t be,” he replied. “I’m not someone anyone should fall in love with.”

“That not your choice. It’s hers.”

“I don’t have to accept it.”

She answered carefully. “No, you don’t, but then you’d break her heart. Can you do that?”

He glared at her. “It’s better than breaking her. And better than letting her fall in love with someone who doesn’t love her back. All I can ever do is hurt her. She deserves better than that.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “But right now, you might be all she has.”

He closed his eyes. “That’s not true. Steve, Grace – they can help her. So can you.”

“She wants you.”

“I’m not a knight in shining armour. I’m not a good man.”

“There are far worse out there, Barnes. Like the three she’s stuck with at the moment. And her sister-in-law’s possibly worse than all of them.” He was staring at the floor, still searching for an argument. She shut him down before he could form one. “She needs you. To rescue her, keep her safe. You can do that, with no more commitment than that. And you want to. So do it. Tomorrow, when you go to carry her water for her, she’ll give you a hard time. Put up with it, don’t lose your temper, and be patient, be kind - be yourself - and win her over again. Whoever she is, HYDRA or not, you want to help her. So do I.” He finally looked up at that admission - and it had been a hard one to make. “She won’t let me help her - but she will let you. Please. Don’t make her suffer because you can’t stop hating yourself.”

He didn’t argue - instead, he stood up. “I’m going for a walk.” She didn’t say a word as he left - she wouldn’t deny him the time to himself. He needed to fight this out with himself; he’d come to the right conclusion in the end.

Chapter Text

“I told you to leave that alone!” Grace grabbed James’ hand, which had been dipping into the tar pot, and pulled him away. “It’s hot, and it will hurt you!” She pushed him away roughly, causing him to trip and stumble. The shock of being told off and then falling was too much - he began to wail.

Natasha stood up and removed the offending item from temptation’s way. For all he was crying now, James would recover quickly and soon be back to mischief. And Grace didn’t need much prompting to shout these days - the pain of her ribs, and the pain of the walking, made her sharp and quick to anger. Steve had picked up his sobbing son and walked away with him to the river, leaving Grace to clatter pots and bowls as she cleared up their hasty lunch. Natasha hurried to help her - they were crossing the Big Blue River today, and they didn’t know how long they’d have to ford it. They’d already prepared the wagons, emptying them and caulking them with wax and tar to stop the water getting in. They’d sorted their possessions into loads that could be carried across the river - the rest of the day would be one long slog, back and forth across the river until they’d got everything across. Just what you needed when you were walking all the way to Oregon…

“I’m going to go across to the Williams wagon, and see how they’re doing,” Steve said from behind her - Bucky had taken over James-watching duties, trying to teach him to skip stones across the water.

She nodded - it was a good idea. If Jessie had been trying to empty and caulk the wagons by herself, as well as make the lunch for her family, they wouldn’t get across the river for some days. “I’ll come along after I’m done here,” she told him - he nodded in agreement and strode off.

It wasn’t long before she followed him - by then, Steve was helping Michael to caulk one of their wagons, while their hired hand sulkily finished emptying the other one. Jessie was on her knees by the fire, making the lunch - all while Hannah and her husband sat and watched, mostly glaring at Steve. Her sudden appearance did nothing to improve their mood.

But she ignored them and went to Jessie, to see what she could do to help. If Jessie was surprised to see her, she said nothing. Her hands still bore hints of tarry residue as she cooked - so Steve’s initial surmise had been right, that she’d been doing all the work. “Can I help?” she asked quietly.

Jessie shook her head. “It’s almost done,” she replied, but her eyes drifted towards the wagon Holland was emptying. It was obvious where she was really needed.

He sneered at her as she approached. “What’s a fine lady like you going to do to help?”

She smiled at him sweetly. “More than you, by the looks of it,” she said brightly, letting her gaze fall on the pathetically small pile of belongings that he’d managed to remove from the wagon. He scowled, but she sailed past him into the wagon, wrinkling her nose at the stale aroma of unwashed bodies. She picked up the nearest item, a small, heavy chest, and carried it back out. Holland hadn’t moved, still scowling. She looked across at him, allowing the pride and privilege of her station to bleed through. “Are you really going to let a woman do all the hard work for you?”

That stung him into action. His assistance was grudging, but more efficient than it had been. It didn’t take them long to finish emptying the wagon, allowing Steve and Michael to caulk it. They’d be able to cross with the others after all. And with Steve looming over them the whole time, Jessie had even been left to eat her lunch in peace.

They returned to their own wagons just as the train began the crossing. With so many wagons to get across the river, under conditions that could change at any time, they needed to move quickly and efficiently.

Their wagons were some of the first to go, Steve and Bucky using their strength to make the process look easy. As they waded back over to begin the laborious process of dragging their worldly goods across the river, the next few wagons started the crossing.

After the first crossing, Grace stayed on the other side to put the wagons to rights while the rest of them continued fetching and carrying. It allowed her to rest her ribs, and also meant she could keep an eye on James; a three-year-old boy unsupervised by a river was a recipe for catastrophe.

It didn’t take them long to ferry all their goods across. Steve and Bucky weren’t really trying to hide their super strength - they wanted the crossing over with as soon as possible, and once their own wagons and goods were safe, they went back to the river to help other families with their crossings. She stayed to help Grace sort things out, return them to their proper places, and prevent James from plunging head first into the river, which he tried to do with distressing regularity.

Most of the wagons had made it across before the river began to rise. It rose slowly and gradually, but inexorably; the river would be impassable before too much longer. The last few parties, anxious not to be stranded on the wrong side of the river, quickened their pace, more of them trying to cross at a time, attempting to beat the rising waters. More wagons in the water meant more danger to the people still wading across with their possessions. And of course, Jessie’s family were among those last few wagons. Bucky and Steve shared a worried look and wordlessly strode off to help them. They’d be more able than anyone to withstand a faster, deeper river, but Grace still went to the bank to watch them, pacing up and down the bank.

And of course, disaster struck. And of course, it struck Jessie. She was fetching and carrying alongside Michael and Holland, while Aaron prepared to drive the wagon over. Hannah was sitting on their side of the river, doing nothing to help, despite the rising river level endangering her family and her possession. Steve, after a hard look at her that had no effect whatsoever, went to help carry, staying close to Jessie, ready to drop everything and go after her if needed. Bucky went to help her brother driving the wagon, using his strength to keep the oxen on course, but he was obviously distracted by Jessie’s increasingly laboured progress across the river. Natasha went down to the riverbank, one hand firmly on James’ shoulder to stop him running off, her intention to make Jessie stop after this crossing. The river was too deep now for someone of her build and strength - if she tried to go back across, they’d lose her.

But she’d acted one crossing too late. Steve had blocked her view as he waded out of the river and onto the bank, so she wasn’t certain that Holland had jostled Jessie, or if it had been deliberate. What was certain was that Jessie had slipped and fallen backwards into the fast-flowing water, disappearing from view as the river pulled her under.

Grace found her voice first, screaming Jessie’s name. Steve whirled round, searching anxiously for Jessie amongst the people still struggling across the river. Michael was standing in the stream, staring blankly down the river after his sister. With his arms full, he couldn’t easily go after her. Bucky joined Steve at the water’s edge, his attention riveted downstream. Suddenly, he pointed, his keen eyes picking out a flash of flaming red hair above the water. It was enough for Steve. He sprinted down the bank after her, Bucky hard on his heels. She grabbed James, ran back to the wagons, thrust him into his mother’s arms, and went in frantic search of blankets. Jessie would be freezing when they got her out - and there was no question they would get her out - and they’d need to warm her up quickly.

She emerged from her wagon, arms full of blankets, and hared after Steve, dimly aware of Grace trying to comfort a howling James, who’d just witnessed his beloved Jessie being swept away by a dark and angry river. She didn’t stop - she was needed elsewhere. Steve was in the river, swimming with big, powerful strokes. Bucky was on the bank, shadowing Steve as he swam. Natasha hurried to join him, eyes riveted on the river, desperate for another glimpse of Jessie’s fiery hair. But Steve saw something they couldn’t, as he suddenly dived beneath the water. Several heart-stopping seconds later, his head broke the surface, and a split second after, so did Jessie’s. She was spluttering and struggling, therefore conscious and undrowned.

Natasha slowly loosened her death grip on Bucky’s arm, and moved forward to the bank. Bucky matched her step for step, and pulled Jessie from the water once Steve had towed her to the bank. He set her gently on her feet, holding her arms to steady her as she trembled with cold, coughing weakly. As he stared at her intently, his face was an open book - and some things were suddenly becoming abundantly clear to him. Jessie’s answering stare was blank, as if she couldn’t process what was happening. Natasha swept forward and swathed her in blankets to combat the cold - she’d also need dry clothes, but that could wait.

In the meantime, Bucky had hauled Steve out of the river. Steve was livid, and once he’d ascertained that Jessie was fine, he strode off in her family’s direction, his jaw set. Tempted to storm after him, she swallowed her rage with difficulty and turned back to Jessie. Jessie was her responsibility now - Steve would deal with her family.

She nodded to Bucky, who came to help her in getting Jessie back to their wagon. Jessie’s legs were wobbling too much for her to walk, however, so he lifted her into his arms instead. In spite of all her blankets, she’d still been shivering violently, and at finding herself cuddled into Bucky’s chest, she nestled into him, craving his warmth. He was unnaturally warm – whatever HYDRA had done to him had left him with a permanently raised temperature. It would help to stave off hypothermia in Jessie - she’d be grateful for small mercies.

While they’d been saving Jessie, the final wagons had safely completed their crossing, and now most members of the train were looking on as Grace Rogers, little Grace Rogers, tore strips off Jessie’s family. Only the fact that she had James in her arms was keeping her from physical violence - and James’ face, a perfect mirror of his mother’s, would have been amusing were the situation not so deadly serious. They’d stood and watched while their sister had nearly died, and hadn’t lifted a finger to help. One of them had maybe even tried to push her to a watery doom. They deserved to suffer.

Most people in their situation would have been intimidated by the onslaught, but Grace’s rage appeared to be having little effect on the Williams family. Only Michael, standing to one side, away from the others, had his head down. The others were unchastened - Holland, the most responsible, was laughing, and the other two were smirking. They clearly felt no fear of her. Possibly not helped by James - he was angry as his mother, but his interjections probably weren’t helping them to take her seriously.

It all changed in an instant when Steve strode up alongside his still-railing wife and flattened Holland with a single blow. He went down like a stone - Steve hadn’t pulled his punch in the slightest. The smirks instantly vanished off the faces of the others, to be replaced by alarmed stares. Michael looked up at Steve, trepidation in his face.

“That was for Jessie,” Steve said, very quietly.

“Good,” came a voice from behind him.

Steve turned to his wife. “Grace, perhaps you could take James somewhere else?” She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself from speaking. Glaring one more time at the Williams family,
she turned on her heel and stalked off.

“She’s so like Peggy,” breathed Bucky, full of admiration. She’d never met Peggy Carter, but she knew all the stories. She would absolutely have acted in exactly the same way as Grace. Except that she’d have found someone to hold James, and then laid into them with her fists, but Peggy was from a different time. Grace could be forgiven that lapse.

The Williams family had meanwhile regained their composure; their expressions were now more truculent than afraid. That Steve hadn’t immediately followed up his first punch with a second had made them believe the violence was over.

“You can’t just attack someone like that!” Hannah’s belligerent words were betrayed by the tremble in her voice. “How dare you!”

She didn’t need to see Steve’s face - his back was radiating anger enough. “How dare you just stand and watch while your sister got swept away? Did you even try to help her?”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, looking down at his feet instead. He’d been in no real position to help, but Steve might not see it that way.

“It all happened too fast,” the harridan continued, undaunted. “We didn’t have time to do anything before you muscled in!”

“I saved her life,” Steve answered softly. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

They stayed silent, as if finally aware that they were standing on infinitesimally thin ice. Michael eventually shook his head; the other two merely stared sullenly at Steve. “Well?”

“Thank you,” Michael answered, his tone subdued. “I’m glad you were there to help her.” His humility saved the rest of them. Steve turned to him, nodded brusquely, then turned and stalked away. Hannah glared after him, her mouth opening to shout after him, but Michael said something quietly that stopped her. She treated him to a foul look, and then motioned that he should do something about the prone member of their party. He eyed Holland in distaste, but then sighed and moved across to him, to see what he could do.

Jessie shivered particularly violently, bringing their attention sharply back to her. “We need to warm her up as soon as possible, and she needs dry clothes. Let’s get her back to our wagon.” Bucky needed no further bidding - his long strides had carried him halfway there before she could set off after him. He carried Jessie straight into their wagon before Grace could object - Natasha followed close on his heels. Bucky set Jessie gently down upon his mattress, then looked up at Natasha for orders. She sent him to make a fire and ask Grace for tea or broth, something to help warm Jessie up. He left without another word.

Natasha searched through her clothes, looking for something that might fit Jessie. They were a similar height, so the length would be fine, but Jessie was so gaunt, that even Natasha’s clothes would swamp her. She picked out her smallest dress and several petticoats, and turned back to Jessie. She was still in shock, staring at nothing. Natasha gently cajoled her into standing, and then quickly stripped off her sodden dress.

She sucked her breath in sharply as the dress came away from Jessie’s body. Her upper arms and chest were covered in bruises. Some were fading, but some were all too new. And even though she’d known it was likely, something about the extent of it shocked her. Why did Jessie let them do this to her when she didn’t have to? Steve would take her in any time she asked - and if he didn’t, Natasha certainly would. Why did she stay with them?

She tore her eyes away from the bruises to find Jessie staring at her fiercely. “Why don’t you leave them? If they do this to you?”

“They’re my family,” Jessie mumbled.

“So? You don’t owe them anything. Not if they treat you like this. They work you like a dog, and punish you when you can’t do everything yourself. You’re a grown woman, Jessie - you can leave them any time you want. Steve would help you.”

She shook her head firmly. “No. I can’t do that.”

“Why? You don’t want to be dependent on his charity?”

“It’s not that simple.” She looked at her feet. “I can’t… It’s not right. They have James and - and…” She trailed into silence.

“Then come and stay with us,” Natasha countered. “We have plenty of space, and you’d be more than welcome.” Jessie’s face was a picture of disbelief. “It doesn’t matter about anything else. I don’t want you to stay with them.”

For a long moment, Jessie hesitated, naked hope flaring in her eyes, but then she straightened her shoulders. “No. I can’t. I have to stay with them.” She reached out and took the dress from Natasha, then turned her back, stripping off the rest of her wet clothes and replacing them with dry ones. Natasha also turned away, allowing Jessie some privacy. She couldn’t leave her alone in the wagon – too many things she shouldn’t see. And if she found the stone…

After giving Jessie plenty of time to get dressed, Natasha turned back to face her. Jessie was looking around the wagon, frowning, searching for something. “Do you hear that?” she asked. “It’s that buzzing sound again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t hear anything. Did you hit your head when you were in the river, maybe?”

Jessie’s answering look was withering. “No. And I hadn’t hit my head the last time I heard it. It’s louder now, though. Like it’s in here with me.”

Natasha shrugged. “I can’t hear anything,” she repeated. “Now, you’re still cold. Let’s get you near the fire, and find you some tea.” Jessie followed her reluctantly out of the wagon.

Bucky had outdone himself - a large fire blazed away in front of the wagon, a kettle of water set to boil over it. Natasha pushed Jessie gently towards it - happy to get away from her, Jessie needed no second bidding. She sat down by the fire and pulled her wet boots off, massaging her cold, wet feet as she positioned them near the fire.

Grace fussed around her, wrapping her feet up in blankets, and standing her boots as close to the fire as was safe. She undid the braid in Jessie’s hair and shook it out to help it dry faster. Once she was done fussing, Bucky settled himself beside Jessie, using a spare blanket to wrap her up, ignoring Grace glaring at him. Jessie smiled weakly at him, but didn’t speak to him, staring miserably into the fire until Grace pressed a cup of tea into her hand and settled James down beside her. James immediately climbed into her lap and cuddled into her, complaining about her wet hair. Bucky, taking a liberty he possibly shouldn’t have done, put an end to the whinging by gently pulling Jessie’s hair out from under James, and arranging it to hang down her back. As he did, Jessie’s warm smile suggested that all had been forgiven.

The evening passed relatively uneventfully after that. When Jessie started fretting about going back to her wagon to prepare dinner for her family, Grace volunteered to make some for Steve to take across to them. Grace wasn’t letting Jessie go anywhere until she was sure she’d completely recovered from her dip in the river. Jessie had no choice but to comply. She was silent and withdrawn throughout dinner, but was eventually deemed fit to return to her wagon, escorted by Steve.

When he returned, he reported that there had been no problems, but that he was going to check on her first thing tomorrow to make sure. Bucky looked up sharply at that, afraid that Steve would find out about his early morning water-gathering missions, but he said nothing. He no doubt realised Steve wouldn’t kick up a fuss – he wasn’t Grace, and it was Bucky. He’d trust Bucky to look after Jessie for him.

Steve’s manner throughout the day had been greatly encouraging - much more like the commanding Captain America of the future. Perhaps he was starting to come back…

Chapter Text

He was waiting for Jessie as usual the next morning. As she straightened up from filling the buckets, he stepped out from behind a tree (always in her eyeline, so he couldn’t make her jump). She smiled when she saw him, a genuine, warm, welcoming smile, and it caught him in its spell. It was a moment before he could smile back at her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here this morning,” she greeted him.

“I have a sacred duty to perform,” he replied. “I have to carry the water lifted from the river by your fair hands back to your wagon. Without fail.”

She struggled not to smile. “And could Steve not act in your place?”

“It’s not his sacred duty,” he answered in all seriousness. “Now, I’d better get on with it.” He reached out to pick up the buckets, but stopped as Steve was approaching. Damn - his plan had been to be
gone before Steve appeared
.
Steve reached them, raising his eyebrows at Bucky. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he commented - his tone was fairly mild, all things considered.

“I’m here every morning. I carry the water for Jessie.” To keep an eye on her, and because it was the only time she was alone so he could entrap her the way Natasha wanted him to. His stomach curdled suddenly, but he ignored it.

Steve’e eyebrows raised further, but there was an amused light in his eyes - as if he was reading something different into what Bucky hadn’t said. But all he said was, “I see.”

“In fact” - he might as well take the bull by the horns - “there’s really no need for you to check on her every day. I can do it for you.”

“I don’t think my wife would be very happy if I did that,” Steve replied.

“Well, you’ll just have to go for a walk every morning and tell her you went to see Jessie and she’s fine, then,” Jessie said firmly.

Steve watched her appraisingly. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
She sighed impatiently. “Look, I don’t need anyone checking on me, and I know that’s why he does this every morning, I’m not stupid, but seeing as you’re both going to insist, then yes, I’d rather it was Bucky.” He tried, unsuccessfully, not to look smug; perhaps ‘tried’ was too strong a word. It did nothing to reassure Steve.

“I’m not one to get involved in other people’s business-“

“Then don’t.” Bucky frowned at Jessie - Steve meant well; she didn’t have to be rude. She caught his look, and flushed in shame.

“-But you have to see how this looks.”

“I’m well aware of how it ‘looks’, which is why it’s better that no-one’s looking. No-one else is around this early in the morning.”

“And how exactly does that help?”

“Nothing’s going on! But there are those who don’t see it that way…”

“You mean Grace.” Steve’s tone was neutral - it was impossible to tell whether he was offended at the slight on his wife, or just stating facts.

Jessie sighed and nodded. “I know she thinks there’s something going on. She’s wrong, but she won’t be budged.” She shrugged. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Steve opened his mouth to reply, a dark look in his eyes, but Jessie hurried on before he could. “I appreciate how much she cares about me, I really do, but she doesn’t let me so much as look at Bucky when she’s around. She glowers, and then keeps interrupting. And there’s absolutely no need for it - we’re just friends.”

Bucky eyed Jessie doubtfully - Natasha was convinced she felt more than that about him, and he believed her. But here was Jessie flatly denying it. And doing so convincingly - she was a flawless liar.

“She’s worried about you. And…” Steve trailed off. “And worried about your reputation. Bucky’s married; she’s afraid people will talk. She only wants what’s best for you, Jess.”

Jessie looked helplessly in his direction, seeking his help. And he had his own game to play, which involved spending time with her alone. “It’s not like two people, married or unmarried, male or female, can’t be friends. There’s nothing suspicious about us talking to each other when Nat’s there, or you’re there, or Grace is there. She is being a bit unreasonable.” Steve’s jawline hardened - time to tread carefully.

“We haven’t given her any reason to think anything that shouldn’t be is happening, or going to happen,” Jessie cut in, brazenly meeting Steve’s eyes. His answering look was priceless.

“Aside from the sidelong glances, and being unable to take your eyes off each other, no, I’d say you haven’t done anything to make her suspect at all.” Jessie flushed, suddenly finding the ground extremely interesting, but he stared at Steve in consternation; he hadn’t been doing anything of the kind. “And here you are, sneaking around behind everyone’s back, and you say she had nothing to worry about? What about Natalie? What do you think she’d say if she knew?” She’d be happy that her ‘husband’ was following her wishes, actually. But he couldn’t exactly say that.

“Don’t tell her, and she won’t know,” he eventually replied. “It’s not like-” He floundered for the right words - there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t sound dreadful. “Look - this isn’t that. Grace doesn’t need to act as if she thinks I’m going to ravish Jessie in front of her eyes. I’m really not. Seriously, there will be no ravishing here.” With ruthless self-control, he refrained from grinning at Steve’s obvious discomfort at the word ‘ravish’. It wouldn’t help. Not at all. “Don’t you trust me?”

It was obvious that Steve wasn’t sure he did. Funny – he said he had no memories of Bucky, but his reaction suggested he did somewhere underneath it all. And once upon a time, he would have been correct. But that Bucky was dead and gone, or as good as. This one had been through too much to be that carefree. Besides, he really hadn’t been that bad - he’d just told Steve he was.

As the silence stretched, he spoke again. “I’d be more than happy to sit and talk to Jessie in front of Grace any time. But she doesn’t let me. And with Jessie being around a lot less nowadays, it means I don’t get to see her at all. So I took matters into my own hands. I’m not ashamed of that.”

Steve sighed. “Grace isn’t that bad…”

He took a deep breath - he was about to say something unwelcome. But he had to say it. “Yes. She is. Her disapproval of me being friends with Jessie is so she can tell herself that’s why she doesn’t like me. Not because I’m her rival for you. She hides her jealousy behind concern for her friend.”

Steve’s face darkened. Definitely unwelcome. But eventually he sighed, and his brow lightened. “She’s not jealous of you, Buck.”

He blinked - it was the first time Steve had used the shortened version of his name since they’d found him. But still… “Yes, she is. I get it. I’m jealous of her. She’s taken my best friend away from me.”

“It’s not like that.” Steve’s voice was tinged with frustration.

“And she probably sees it as me trying to take her best friend away from her in retaliation. I’m not, but I can see it might look that way.”

Steve studied him narrowly, as if he knew wasn’t being told the whole truth. And he wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to get the rest of it, about trying to entrap a potential HYDRA spy. Particularly not in front of said potential HYDRA spy.

He waited, giving Steve time to respond, but when he didn’t, he spoke again. “You can check on Jessie every day if you want, but I’ll still be here.”

Steve stared at him for a very long moment, but eventually he sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” He had to smile - Steve Rogers stuck to the rules right up to the point where Bucky Barnes made him break them. Some things would never change. Steve ignored him, and turned instead to Jessie. “Seeing as I’m already here today, how are you?”

“I’m fine. I don’t seem to have swallowed enough of the river to make myself sick, so I’m happy about that.”

Steve smiled in relief. “I’m happy about that too.” He paused, as if calculating if it was worth trying to reason with her, but in the end, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Right. I should leave you to it, then.” He turned and strode away.

“Thanks for picking me.” Steve was out of earshot – he could speak freely.

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Steve’s always so earnest and sincere, I feel bad that there’s nothing actually wrong with me.”

“Really nothing wrong?”

Her answering look was level. “Really.”

He nodded, willing to accept it. “However, I’m deeply offended by the idea that you don’t mind me checking up on you because I’m not as good and wholesome as Steve.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued mercilessly, “I’ll have you know it was him dragging me into fights when we were children, not the other way around. He was the bad influence.”

She wasn’t at all convinced. “Steve, getting into fights?”

He shrugged. “Yeah - anytime he saw anyone in trouble, being bullied, threatened, that kind of thing, he went wading in with no thought for his own safety.”

“And he needed you to get him out of trouble? Forgive me, but he looks like he can handle himself.”

He hadn’t caught her out. HYDRA would know Steve’s past, but she professed ignorance. Clever, or maybe she really was innocent. “Steve went through quite a growth spurt when he got older. As a child, he was - well, quite frankly, he was a runt.” She clearly didn’t believe him. “A runt with an over-developed sense of heroism, no less.” That made her smile - and he liked making her smile. “So he’d go charging in to defend whichever damsel was in distress, and I’d go charging in after him to stop him getting smashed to a pulp.”

“So you want me to believe he had you going up against people three times your size?” Her smile lingered as she spoke.

“Not three times my size, but often three times my number. Once, it was me against five.”

“And you won? You must have been quite the brawler.”

“Well, you’ve seen me fight.”

She nodded, her face falling. “That’s true, I have.”

What had caused that sudden shift in mood? “Why so sad suddenly?”

She shook her head, a half-hearted smile on her lips. “I’m not sad.” She turned away, in the direction of her wagon.

But before she could do anything else, he reached out and took her chin gently in his hand, turning her back to face him. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers - her heart was racing at his touch. “No, really. Why so sad?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but she did eventually answer. “You must have been in an awful lot of fights to be so good at it. I think that’s sad.”

He closed his eyes, letting go of her face, fighting off the onslaught of memories. He had been in plenty of fights, most of them horribly uneven. No-one had ever had a chance against him, not since- A soft hand landed on his arm - his right arm, thankfully - dragging him back from the abyss. “Bucky?” She spoke softly, as if afraid to startle him, as if she knew how dangerous that could be.

He opened his eyes, and his vision was filled with her face. Her eyes were so blue, so full of concern. And he fell suddenly, shockingly, losing himself in those eyes, in her, and the desire to never resurface nearly overwhelmed him. It took a supreme effort to wrench his eyes from hers. Steve needed him - he was the most important thing here, just like he’d always been. He couldn’t get distracted.

“We should get you and your water back to your wagon,”he said shortly, his voice rough. “Can’t have your family being kept waiting for their breakfast - they might decide you don’t need any again.” He picked up the buckets and strode off, Jessie behind him, trying and failing to keep up. Good - it meant she couldn’t talk to him. Right now, anything she said might have him losing his resolve completely. And Steve needed him.

Chapter Text

They’d set off from St Joseph’s ten days ago, and in all that time, Steve hadn’t remembered anything more. He’d started acting more like himself, like when he’d taken charge at the river, and of course, the fine upstanding side of himself had never gone away, but it didn’t mean much if he didn’t regain his memories at the same time. And dislodging those memories was a tricky prospect - most of them wouldn’t make sense to someone who genuinely believed he’d been born in the 1820s. Even their childhood memories were too futuristic, and beyond that, there was war; if Steve remembered the war, they were in trouble. The War of Independence had been too long ago, and the Civil War was yet to happen. If only Steve would get his memories back all in one go…

Natasha wanted to ‘cognitively recalibrate’ him, but he’d refused to let her – turning Steve into a vegetable wouldn’t help anyone. But if he didn’t start remembering soon, she’d likely take matters into her own hands anyway. She wasn’t that afraid of him that she’d not do it if she thought it was the only way. She was waiting for now, allowing him to try to find a different way to bring Steve back, but she wouldn’t wait forever.

And it should be easy - he was no stranger to memory loss. But what had worked for him (time and a lot of research) might not work for Steve. A memory surfaced - he’d read that a person’s sense of smell was powerfully linked to their memories; could it help Steve? At the very least, there was no risk of permanent brain damage…

“I have an idea,” he said to Natasha, who was sitting squashed up beside him on the wagon seat. It was uncomfortable having her so close, but apparently the only way to make people believe they were happily married was to act like it. Hence the ‘snuggling’. “We could make an apple pie and see if it helps Steve remember.”

She didn’t speak, but her look spoke eloquently of her outraged disbelief. But it could work, so he pushed on.

“Smells are strongly linked to memories, right? The smell of my Mom’s apple pie used to drive Steve crazy. He didn’t eat much as a kid, but he could demolish one of those pies.” He paused. “There is a problem, though. She used to add cinnamon, and it smelled mostly of that. I have no idea where we’d find any.”

Natasha frowned. “Steve does love his apple pie. Maybe even without the cinnamon, it’s worth a shot.”

He shook his head. “I’m not so sure of that. I think the cinnamon matters.” He sighed. “And it’s not our only problem. I don’t know how to make an apple pie; do you?”

“Grace does.”

“You think she’ll help us?”

She shrugged. “She wants Steve to be happy. He’d be happier if he remembered. So she’ll help. And if she won’t, Jessie will. She can cook; I’m sure she could manage an apple pie.”

“Grace wouldn’t like it if we did that. Besides, she does enough cooking as it is.”

Natasha’s mouth twitched as she suppressed a smirk, but she said nothing.

“Shut up, Romanoff.”

“Relax. She’d do anything to help you.”

“Romanoff…”

“Natalie. I’m Mrs Barnes, remember?”

He took a deep breath, while several retorts came to mind. But she’d have an answer for all of them. “Well, Mrs Barnes,” he eventually said. “Perhaps we should ask Jessie when we see her.”

“I’m sure she’ll pop by later, when we get to the fort. She’ll be missing James.”

“Fort?”

“Fort Kearney. Should be appearing on the horizon any minute – there it is.”

“You enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

“Doing what, darling?”

“Never mind.”

Chapter Text

Fort Kearney sounded much more substantial than it actually was – a handful of adobe buildings, no fortifications. It was basically a supply post for the pioneers, run by the Army. But it didn’t look like it could protect them from marauding Indians, should any decide to maraud. The presence of the soldiers would deter all but the most foolhardy, but even so, this wasn’t his idea of a fort.

But it provided a rest, and a chance to pick up more supplies for anyone who needed them. They had a lot of space in their wagon, and he was going to fill it with things that weren’t beans or bacon. There was a bewildering array of foodstuffs to choose from – he couldn’t make a decision.

“See anything you like?” Her voice so close behind him made him jump. It was a battle, but he’d realised it was her and stood the Winter Soldier down before he could do anything regrettable. Her stealth was impressive - even Natasha couldn’t often catch him unawares.

“Jessie,” he said admonishingly, as he turned to face her. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

She met his look squarely, a hint of mischief in her eyes, but also slightly apprehensive. Then she shrugged. “You made a tempting target. I couldn’t resist. Anyway, do you see anything you like?”

His mouth was open to deliver the flirtatious response that her question demanded before he managed to stop himself. The old Bucky Barnes was still alive, if not quite kicking. But it wasn’t the right time, however much he’d like to see her blush. But his inner debate had lasted just that little bit too long, long enough for Jessie to realise exactly what she’d said, and how it had sounded, so she flushed in a most becoming manner anyway. “I meant-” Her voice trailed off, and she gestured helplessly at the display in front of him.

He relented and turned back to the food. “Pretty much all of it,” he replied neutrally. “None of it is beans or bacon, therefore it’s all good.”

She relaxed beside him, her arm brushing softly against his. “Bored of trail fare already? There’s a long way to go - beans and bacon are going to be a big part of your life for quite some time.” He smiled at her, suddenly just happy to be there with her. “But surely you’re not just eating beans and bacon? What about grits and eggs and apple cakes?”

“I think you’re overestimating my wife’s ability to cook. But apple cakes? What’s an apple cake?” If it was anything like an apple pie, his plan might still work.

She shrugged. “It’s a pancake really. I just put apples in mine – they taste a lot better, and the apples aren’t going to last forever. Nobody notices if they’re a bit past their best if they’re cooked first.”

“They sound amazing. Can you teach Nat to make them?”

“Erm, I guess…” The comfortable atmosphere between them shattered instantly at his mention of Natasha - Jessie’s face suddenly closed off, her smile vanished from her face. He winced - what a way to sabotage himself.

So he changed the subject and explained his idea about the apple pie. She listened attentively, and didn’t laugh, either. But she wasn’t confident enough in her own pastry-making skills, insisting that he’d need Grace’s help to produce a pie that was the equal of his mother’s. Sensing his reluctance to ask Grace for help, she offered to do so on his behalf. She even had a solution for his cinnamon problem.

“I have some cinnamon. Not a lot, but enough for an apple pie.”

“Will your family mind you using it for this?”

She shrugged, in a manner so reminiscent of Natasha, he had to suppress a shudder. “They don’t know I have it. I certainly haven’t wasted any of it on them. I’d much rather Steve had it.”

Looking increasingly uncomfortable under the warmth of his grateful smile, she hurried on, “Do you have everything else you need for the pie?” She rolled her eyes at his blank look. “Flour? Butter? Eggs? Sugar? You know, stuff you need to make a pie with? Do you even have any apples?”

He gestured at the display in front of him. “I will have soon. I’ll even have raisins, which are as crucial to the recipe as the cinnamon, for your information.”

If he’d hoped to cow her, he failed miserably. She grinned at him, told him to assemble his ingredients, and that she’d meet him at Grace’s wagon with the cinnamon.

By the time he’d found and purchased all the ingredients and returned to the wagons, Jessie was already there, talking to Grace. That lady was standing, hands on her hips, frowning as she listened, clearly not happy about being part of a plan to help Steve remember. But as he got close enough to overhear (which, on account of his enhanced hearing, was some distance away), it turned out that he was the cause of their dispute. He sighed inwardly. Grace must have become so concerned for her friend’s welfare that she’d had to speak, to save Jessie from his depredations. Made more irritating in that she had a point. Grace didn’t know he wasn’t really married to Natasha (she’d be even more scandalised if she did know) - from where she was standing, he did look like a lecherous married man pursuing an innocent young girl.

And it didn’t matter that he hadn’t done anything that could in any way be interpreted as lecherous, or that Jessie wasn’t really the naive young damsel Grace thought she was. If he wasn’t careful, Jessie’s anxious friend might bring down upon her the very disaster she was so afraid of.

But he couldn’t leave Jessie alone - it was his mission to figure out if she really was HYDRA, and if so, to win her trust and encourage her to switch sides. And - even if she wasn’t HYDRA, he wouldn’t leave her alone. He couldn’t - it was as simple as that. He sighed, outwardly this time. How had he let this happen?

His sigh had alerted Jessie and Grace to his presence, at which their argument ended abruptly. They both turned to face him, Jessie exasperated, Grace sullen. She took in his arms full of flour and sugar and apples, sighed heavily and stalked off towards her wagon. Confused, he turned to Jessie. She was on the verge of stalking off as well, but at his look, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining her temper.

“She’ll help,” she muttered. “She’s not happy about it, but she’ll help.”

“I thought she wouldn’t want to,” he replied. “I think she’d secretly prefer it if Steve never recovered his memories.”

Jessie frowned, but then shrugged. “Maybe. But she knows Steve wants to remember more than anything. That will always trump her own selfish impulses.” He raised his eyebrows at her blunt choice of words. Catching his reaction, she continued, “You haven’t noticed it? The two of them can’t even argue properly. They start well, but about three exchanges in, they suddenly realise they’re causing the other one intense anguish, and immediately whatever it was they were angry about just doesn’t matter anymore and how could they ever possibly have thought it did, and then they’re too busy grovelling abjectly for forgiveness to even think about continuing their dispute. It’s charming, I suppose, but actually it’s more sickening.”

“Wh a t on earth did she say to you to put you in this kind of mood with her?” he asked, certain she wouldn’t tell him the truth.

She looked at him sharply, as if she’d only just realised what she was saying. “Oh, nothing. I’m just being mean. Sorry.” No, she definitely wasn’t sharing. Besides, if she had admitted it, it would have made things extremely awkward. “She’s gone to find some pots and pans for the cooking.” She paused, but then added bitterly, “I can’t believe she actually left me alone in your presence, though-” She broke off abruptly, her eyes darting up to meet his, before she looked away, mortified, and it ended up being gloriously awkward anyway.

Luckily, Grace appeared at that moment with her cookware and promptly started bossing them around. She was less than happy to realise that she’d have to make the pastry while Jessie made the filling, because it would mean Bucky staying with Jessie to tell her everything he could remember about it. Which suited him fine. But because Grace watched them like a hawk, her first batch of pastry ended up a disaster. They’d done nothing to warrant her close supervision, but Jessie’s lofty occupation of the moral high ground only served to annoy Grace further.

Natasha’s sudden appearance was therefore a welcome relief. She paused briefly beside him, kissed him gently on the cheek in a very wifely fashion, and then drifted over to Grace. But despite ostensibly talking to Grace, it was obvious that her real interest was in Jessie. She was studying her like she would a mark - appraising and calculating. He frowned at her, and caught her attention; she eyed him curiously. Without noticing, he’d shifted into a defensive stance, ready to act the second Jessie was threatened. He forced himself to relax, but after all, Natasha was a predator - it was no wonder he’d reacted that way. She smirked at him suddenly, and a Winter Soldier glare had absolutely no effect. She held his gaze for a moment, then deliberately turned away, back to Grace.

It wasn’t long before the apple pie was baking over the fire, and the aroma soon attracted Steve. He arrived the find Jessie and Grace having a heated discussion over the correct way to make custard - Grace favoured egg-based custard, Jessie insisting it could be made with cornstarch, of which she had some, and it was even called ‘custard powder’.

In the end, they decided they’d both make their version of custard, and it would be up to everyone else to judge which was better. It was clear who’d win, at least with him and Steve - Grace’s would be the superior product, but the thick gloopy conception that came from custard powder was what he and Steve had grown up with. Custard powder was older than he’d ever known, and even if it wasn’t quite what he was used to, he found himself looking forward to the pie every bit as much as Steve clearly was.

And then all was ready; the pie was cooked and both custards ready for testing. Natasha was edging towards it, trying to get to it before Steve could. It was a smart tactic - he’d demolish the whole thing in no time. In fact, the cinnamon-laden aroma was just like his mother’s apple pie – a memory suddenly came to him, of sitting at his family’s huge dining table, Emily beside him, his other sisters opposite, his father at the head of the table, all waiting impatiently for his mother to bring out her latest pie. It was so safe and warm, that for the first time in a very long time, he genuinely relaxed. Natasha, standing beside him, arm threaded through his, picked up on the tension draining out of him, and looked up at him questioningly.

He shrugged, smiling a little. “It’s bringing back memories. Good ones.”

She returned his smile. “Let’s hope it does the same for Steve.”

Steve only ended up with half the pie; everyone else managed to grab a reasonable helping for themselves before he got his hands on it. But if it hadn’t been for Bucky’s strength being a match for Steve’s, it would have been a different story; he’d held Steve back, allowing Natasha to quickly distribute pie to everyone else. He’d done exactly the same when they were children - only it had been a lot easier back then. Suddenly, Steve looked back at him.“You used to do this a lot, didn’t you?”

“Hell, yeah,” retorted Bucky. “You were an absolute monster for my Mom’s apple pie. It was the only way the rest of us’d get any. Mom was soft on you – you always used to get three times as much as the rest of us, anyway, but if you got started on it before we did, you always ended up with even more.”

Steve grinned. “I really wolfed it down, didn’t I?”

“I’m honestly surprised you can remember what it tasted like. I don’t think it ever touched the sides…”

“And the custard…” They both suddenly grinned. “Bird’s Custard Powder…”

It was only then that they became aware of the silence, and the three young ladies staring at them as they reminisced. And it was only then that they realised what had happened. As Bucky’s face split into a huge grin, Steve frowned.

“I – I remember… Sitting at your parents’ table, and you, I remember you, and your sister – Emily? – and your mother…” There was a fierce look of concentration on his face as he tried desperately to recapture more, but after a second, he shook his head and looked down, dejected. But it meant the world. It was Steve’s first real recovered memory, and he’d brought it about. And now Steve looked at him like he really was his best friend, for the first time since they’d found him. He’d always been just that little bit guarded previously, but having now regained a genuine memory of Bucky, it was obvious he didn’t have doubts anymore. The bear hug that followed, the being lifted off his feet (no mean feat, considering what he weighed), confirmed it. Steve’s sudden recollection that there was apple pie, leading him to be dumped unceremoniously back on the ground, was also somehow classic Steve behaviour. He could have had the whole thing. He was Steve, his Steve again, really, truly; even if most of his memories were still missing, he was Bucky’s Steve again, and that was worth all the apple pie and custard in the world…

He revised his opinion a few moments later when he tasted it. It was a good thing Steve hadn’t got it all; it was amazing. Between the two of them, Jessie and Grace had somehow managed to create a near-identical replica of his mother’s apple pie. It would have been wasted on just Steve - even in his amnesiac state, he practically inhaled it, cramming as much of it into himself as he could. Jessie, from her vantage point beside Bucky as she ate her own pie, could only watch in wonder. Her thigh pressed against his - probably not intentional on her part, but once he’d noticed, he couldn’t not notice it. He snuck a look at her, but she seemed blissfully unaware. She was smiling at Steve, joining in with Natasha as she insisted he couldn’t have Grace’s pie as well (James, realising his portion might be under threat, had disposed of his nearly as fast as his father had), so he had the leisure to study her closely. The freckles across her nose, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes when she smiled, the animation in her face as she remonstrated, laughing, with Steve - in some ways, so ordinary, but in others, extraordinary.

He could have stared at her all evening - the firelight brought out the flames in her hair, and the way they danced across her head as the light flickered was mesmerising. He lost track of time, watching that dance, but gradually, he became aware of a different redhead staring pointedly at him, and followed her gaze as it swivelled towards Grace. Her expression was thunderous. Jessie, thankfully, remained oblivious. So much for stepping carefully around her…

But she did notice Grace glaring at him fiercely, and turned to look at him questioningly. Something in his eyes gave him away, as she flushed, became aware of how close to him she’d been sitting, and surged to her feet, apple pie lying forgotten on the ground. She mumbled something about needing to get back to her wagon, and with that, she was gone.

The ensuing silence would have been incredibly awkward, but Steve, totally and utterly unaware of anything going on around him that wasn’t apple pie-related, made a grab for Jessie’s leftover pie. The inappropriateness of his action broke the tension – it distracted Grace into telling him off for being so greedy, giving Natasha the chance to extricate them from the mess. Claiming sudden tiredness, she hustled him away from the fire before Grace could react, and bundled him into the wagon. He was in for the roasting of his life…

Chapter Text

“I have something you’ll want to hear.” Natasha spoke as soon as they were in the wagon.

He eyed her warily, as if he sensed a trap. “Really? You’re not going to read me the riot act?”

She frowned, sidetracked. “What? Oh. The staring.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to be a spy. You’re far too emotional. Which means you’ll mess up sometimes.”

“That’s it? You’re not angry?”

She shrugged. “What’s the point? It’s done. And your feelings for Jessie are very clear. Trying to pretend they’re not real would be even more suspicious.”

“Grace hates me.”

She smiled. “Yes, she does. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

“Which means?”

“She noticed my preoccupation with Jessie earlier. Which she took to be me being upset about my faithless husband. So now I’ll become one of her waifs and strays, and she might finally let me in.” There were multiple ways to use it - including playing up to it for all she was worth, although it would make Bucky sink even lower in Grace’s estimation. But she was unlikely to take kindly to a marriage of convenience, no matter how plausible the story behind it. Or maybe…

“I guess that might help with the whole HYDRA thing.”

His voice interrupted her train of thought. “Oh, that,” she replied. “I know who the mole is.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“I was going to, until you distracted me.”

He sighed. It was an impatient noise, like he was struggling to hold on to his temper. She continued, “While you were supervising the recreation of Mrs Barnes’ famous apple pie, I took advantage of Jessie’s absence from her wagon to do a bit more snooping.”

“So Jessie’s HYDRA?”

She nodded. “But her loyalty is suspect. The others don’t trust her. Which would explain…” She trailed off. Bucky wasn’t stupid - he almost certainly suspected that they hurt her, and if she confirmed that, he might be volatile enough to head straight into the night to exact a little revenge. “…why she doesn’t get on very well with them.” It was lame, and Bucky clearly knew what she’d really been going to say, but he didn’t challenge her. “So, you were right, and I was wrong. Don’t get used to it - it won’t happen again.”

“Hmmm.” He was deep in thought, barely listening. What was he feeling - betrayed? Angry? Conflicted? If only she could read him - but when he internalised like this, she had no idea what he was thinking. It unsettled her. If he was angry, she’d have to change his mind. Jessie was too important for that.

“But it was strange,” she continued, trying to break into his distraction. “I got the distinct impression they’re afraid of her.”

He looked at her, taking time to process her words, then he shrugged. “She could expose them at any time. She spends a lot of time with Steve, and therefore us. They know who we are, they don’t think she’s loyal to HYDRA, and if she exposes them to us, what would stop us neutralising them?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t that. They were very definitely not talking about something, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. They’re confident she’s cowed enough that she won’t tell us anything, and so far, they’re right. But no - it was something else.”

He smiled. “I don’t think she has superpowers. She’d have obliterated at least one of them by now.”

She laughed. “Maybe she knows something…” She shook her head. “There’s some kind of mystery there, and I want to know what it is.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he eventually spoke, it was hesitant. “Do you…” He broke off - he was asking a question he didn’t want to know the answer to.

“Do I think they’ve told her to get close to you, so she can manipulate you into doing their bidding? Almost certainly. They know about your partiality for her. They saw it at the river, if nowhere else.” He made to interrupt, but she spoke over him. “Do I think she’s actually doing it? No, not really. Has she tried to entice you into doing anything you shouldn’t?”

He shook his head. “And she won’t let me anywhere near her wagon. She always takes the water the last part of the way by herself. She really doesn’t want me to meet her family.” He looked down at his hands suddenly.

“They don’t know the words, Bucky. They might have made her think that, but they don’t know them.”

“You can’t know that.”

“If they knew them, they’d have used them by now. They could find you any time they wanted to, for all Jessie tries to keep you apart. And they’re hopelessly outmatched against us - it would be their only chance.”

He eyed her doubtfully, but let the subject drop. “So what do we do now?”

“What we’ve been doing all along. You have to get closer to Jessie. I’m fairly sure she’s not HYDRA anymore, but she’s afraid. You’ve got to make her feel safe enough to tell you. Whatever it takes.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to ruin her friendship with Grace.”

“Then don’t let her know about it. You sneak off to see Jessie every morning, and she doesn’t know about that. Just encourage Jessie to do a bit more sneaking around with you.”

“It looks bad…”

“We’re not staying here a second longer than we have to. And Jessie’s coming back with us. You don’t have to worry about ruining her reputation.”

“I don’t want to manipulate her…”

She rolled her eyes. “Then don’t. Your feelings for her are very obvious, and very real, so use them. You’re allowed to fall in love with her, Barnes. And you’re allowed to help her fall in love with you. It’s what you both want. So go with it.”

He closed his eyes, fighting some kind of inner battle, but in the end, he nodded. “OK. I’ll try.”

“And leave Grace to me. I’ll win her over, and find some way to make her not completely loathe you. Deal?”

“Good luck with that. But - deal.”
120

Chapter Text

Grace lay awake, her husband’s regular, easy breathing a soothing presence beside her. Sleep had been elusive since she’d broken her ribs. Finding a way to lie comfortably was nearly impossible - and tonight, it was even harder. She couldn’t stop replaying her argument with Jessie over and over in her mind. She’d tried to make Jessie understand that this whole thing with Mr Barnes couldn’t work. But she’d refused to listen, insisting there was nothing to worry about, they were just ‘friends’. As if a man and a woman could ever be just ‘friends’! They weren’t just friends - from the way he’d been ogling her, to how close they’d been sitting, so close they’d practically been touching – how could Jessie say it was nothing? But she hadn’t wanted to hear what Grace had to say, saying some unkind things in response. He was a bad influence on her, and had to be removed. But how? He was Steve’s best friend from his lost and mysterious past. And with Steve now genuinely remembering him as such, she’d lost her last hope, that he and his wife were con artists. They really were from his past, and they really had wanted to find him, and now they had found him, they weren’t going anywhere.

But she couldn’t stand by and watch her best friend being ruined. Mr Barnes already had a beautiful red-haired wife - why did he have to go after another woman when he wasn’t free to do so? And admire her so openly, as if he didn’t care what anybody else thought - how could such a man be Steve’s best friend? His behaviour was immoral, deeply unsettling, and virtually impossible to talk to Steve about. He got this look in his eyes whenever she tried to say something - it was like a wall went up, his jaw set, and he became deaf to anything she said. How could she make him see his perfect best friend was anything but?

And Mrs Barnes. His poor wife, suffering in silence beside him, having to watch him entice other young ladies to fall in love with him. He was handsome, undeniably so - tall and dark, and when he smiled, his face changed entirely. The air of menace that usually hung around him vanished; in its place was an attractive charm. She’d even fallen victim to it herself once or twice. But - his wife was beautiful. He was more than usually handsome, but his wife was of such rare good looks it was hard to believe that the man lucky enough to have her could ever look away from her. And Jessie was wonderful in so many ways, and definitely pretty, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Mrs Barnes, not really. And yet, from the way he behaved, her husband did prefer Jessie…

But Natalie Barnes was nearly as unsettling as her husband. She didn’t feel dangerous like him - like just behind a carefully controlled veneer of civility, there was a violent, unstable madman waiting to get out - but she wasn’t right all the same. Sometimes she was every inch the privileged, empty-headed heiress she claimed to be, but sometimes the mask slipped, and there was someone altogether more devious and intelligent behind it. Someone who possibly was more dangerous than her husband. Even if they really were from Steve’s past, and therefore couldn’t be so bad as that (how could they be Steve’s friends if they were genuinely bad people?), there was definitely more to them than they were letting on.

Which also meant there was more to Steve. She shivered, suddenly cold, wondering who the man lying beside her really was. The movement woke him - his eyes opened, and in the pale, faint light of the approaching dawn, he looked at her, seeing more than she wanted him to.

“What is it, Grace? Are your ribs hurting you again?” He spoke softly.

She shook her head. “Not really.”

He frowned, trying to discern if she was lying to him, as she normally did when it came to whether her ribs hurt, but he seemed to accept that this time she was telling the truth. “So what’s wrong?” he asked. “What has you awake at this hour?”

She wriggled awkwardly. If she told him, it would just cause another disagreement. But her unnaturally perceptive husband knew immediately what it was. “Jessie?” he asked in resignation. “Or is it Bucky again?”

His tone irritated her - his lionisation of that man was completely unjustified. “Yes, it’s Jessie,” she whispered back, sharply. “I don’t want her to get hurt. And I don’t want her to be ruined because someone can’t keep his hands to himself!”

Steve tensed at the insult to Saint Bucky, but he didn’t speak. Gradually, he relaxed, and when he spoke, his tone was more conciliating than she’d expected. “Look, I know his - their – behaviour hasn’t been perfect, but…” He sighed. “But we don’t really know what’s going on, so we shouldn’t be too quick to judge.”

Which took the wind out of her sails. “But surely it doesn’t matter,” she presently replied. “He’s married - he shouldn’t be doing anything with another woman.”

“Not even looking?”

She frowned. “I can’t deny it’s hard not to look sometimes, but there’s looking, and then there’s ogling. And he definitely does the latter!”

He chuckled. “I have this feeling he’s always been that way. I really don’t think he means anything by it.”

“Jessie thinks he does.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, either. Jessie’s not as impressionable as you think.” He paused, before adding, “But she is lonely.”

“Exactly!” Here was her chance to push her point home. “And he’s taking advantage of that to lure her in!”

He sighed - she’d lost him. “It’s not really any of our business. And - and his wife doesn’t seem to mind. If she’s not upset by it, then it’s not really our place to be, either.”

“Maybe his wife is so put upon, she’s just used to it.”

“I don’t think Bucky has a woman in every town, you know,” he replied, chuckling again. “And Natalie doesn’t strike me as the put-upon type. She’s strong-minded, and I think she’s good at getting what she wants. If she didn’t want Bucky behaving the way he does, she’d stop him.”

“Well, maybe.” That had occurred to her, although she’d wondered if it was just Natalie’s way of toughing it out, to make it seem like it was all done with her blessing. “But even if she’s tolerant, other people won’t be. If they see him with Jessie, looking at her the way he did earlier…”

Steve was silent for a long time, so long she thought he’d fallen asleep again, but he finally spoke. “I think maybe we don’t know all there is to know about their marriage. I don’t think it’s what we think it is. And-“ He stopped, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Jessie doesn’t have a lot of love in her life. Maybe we shouldn’t begrudge her it, wherever she finds it.”

“But she might find it somewhere else one day. And if she’s thrown herself away on a man she can’t have, she won’t get it.”

He sighed. “Maybe. But I don’t think I could tell her that, and take it away from her.”

If only Steve wasn’t so shrewd, so good at seeing to the heart of things, and instinctively knowing the ‘good’ thing to do, even if it wasn’t the ‘right’ thing. Because what could she say to counter that? Nothing that wouldn’t make her sound hard and uncaring, or more concerned with what other people thought than about her friend. She’d heard what he hadn’t said - that Bucky loved Jessie. Really, truly loved her - not some fleeting infatuation. The tragedy was already set in motion, and like a runaway train, it couldn’t be stopped now. But it was Jessie who’d be hurt, and Jessie who’d pay the price. Which was monstrously unfair.

“Are you saying I should just let it happen then?” she asked, fighting the sudden tears in her eyes.

He pulled her closer, enfolding her in his arms, safe and warm. “I don’t know. But we don’t know what’s going on, and because of that, if we interfere, we might end up making things worse.”

Well, there was her answer. Find out what was going on with Mr and Mrs Barnes - then she’d know how to intervene. Because she would do everything she could to protect Jessie, even from herself.

Chapter Text

Later that morning, while making breakfast, Grace watched their travelling companions closely. She’d never really paid much attention to Mr Barnes when he was with his wife, only when he was with Steve or Jessie. Enough to notice that something wasn’t quite right, but not what it was. But now, she was going to find out.

Not that there was a lot to see. Mrs Barnes was also making breakfast - her cooking was improving in leaps and bounds; while dinners were still beyond her, her breakfasts were now acceptable. She brewed both her tea and her coffee much too strong, but claimed to like it that way, and Mr Barnes never complained about it. He was nowhere to be seen - probably off tending to their oxen, or fetching water. But when he walked into view, he hadn’t come from the oxen, and had no buckets. So he’d actually been off on one of his walks - he spent a lot of time on his own, more than was normal.

As he approached, his wife beamed at him, a smile so full of affection it took Grace aback. But his response was telling – he smiled back genuinely, but not one of ‘those’ smiles - the ones he was so generous with when it was Steve or Jessie. And then he turned away and started tightening the ropes on their wagon, as if he’d forgotten she existed. Mrs Barnes looked down at the ground suddenly, her smile sliding off her face.

Which made things clearer. Mrs Barnes loved her husband - but he didn’t feel the same way. He seemed to like her; there was no obvious rancour between them, no fighting or arguing - but to him that was all it was - liking. So why had he married her, if he didn’t love her? Her money? She was wealthy - the expectation that everything would just fall into her lap, and be how she wanted it to be, was testament to that, along with the presumption that everyone would like her. Not to mention the complete inability to do anything practical. A wealthy woman would be desired by many a man - and Mr Barnes lacked all those same airs and graces. He could be charming when he chose, but it wasn’t the self-confident charm of the rich, more like the charm of someone who had nothing else to rely on to get him what he wanted.

So, if he’d married her for her money, why had she married him? Well, that was easy - with his handsome face and that aforementioned charm, he could win over anyone if he tried. Perhaps she’d fallen madly in love with him, and only realised he didn’t return her feelings when it was too late. Or realised that he wasn’t the man she thought he was, because he definitely had a dark side. It lurked in his eyes and his stance sometimes - a violence at odds with the persona he projected. A violence that had to be kept well away from Jessie. She continued to watch them, and noticed things she’d missed before, the affectionate touches and glances that Mrs Barnes directed at her husband, trying to catch and hold his attention. Sometimes they worked, but more often than not, he didn’t see them, or ignored them, or occasionally looked downright puzzled, as if there was something odd about her trying to attract her husband’s interest.

She glared at him. Someone who’d married for money - the least he could do was pretend to care about his wife. And not go chasing after the next pretty girl that caught his eye! And now he was staring back at her, his expression half puzzled, half-amused, no doubt wondering what he’d done to upset her now. As if the only thing about him that upset her was his determination to ruin Jessie! She looked away quickly, before he confronted her, before that dangerous look flashed into his eyes again. Thankfully, he didn’t press it, instead turning away to say something to his wife.

For the rest of the day, it was more of the same. Mrs Barnes insisted on sitting with her husband as he drove the wagon. He didn’t demur, holding out his hand to flamboyantly assist her up into the wagon seat - and just for a moment, it was like he really did love her. He put his arm around her once they were both seated as further proof, but whenever they weren’t driving - during the lunch break, stopping to navigate a small stream, it went back to the way it had been at breakfast. Mrs Barnes tried her best, and Mr Barnes ignored

So by dinner time, she was desperate to sympathise with poor Mrs Barnes. To have such a husband, and worse, to love him, too! She might not be all she seemed to be, but her feelings were genuine - no-one could feign that depth of love. And she needed a friend. Luckily, Mrs Barnes was only to happy to help her with preparing the dinner. But now she had her moment, it was surprisingly difficult to open her mouth and say anything. She was so hard to fathom - on the surface, all bubbly friendliness, but it didn’t feel real. Maybe it was how she protected herself - hiding her feelings behind a facade of cheerfulness. But how to break down those barriers?

“Mrs Barnes?” she started, tentatively.

“Please, call me Natalie,” was the instant response, not for the first time.

“Natalie,” she tried again, tripping over the name as she repeated it. Mrs Barnes - Natalie - smiled at her warmly, all attention.

“I wondered… I know you won’t tell Steve about his past, and your past, but I wondered… Would you tell me?” She paused, then hurried on, “I wouldn’t tell Steve any of it, I promise, but I just want to know more about him, and about his friends…” She eyed Natalie, anxious she was coming across as a busybody.

But Natalie smiled, not offended at all. “I can tell you some of it. What would you like to know?”

“Well, how did you meet?”

“Steve? I met him through Bucky. He’s more his friend than mine, although I’ve become very fond of him over the years.” She smiled again. “Steve has a way of making everyone like him.”

She smiled in return - that was something she knew very well. But this was the opening she’d wanted. “So, how did you meet Mr Barnes then?”

“Oh, come,” Natalie replied, teasingly., “You can’t call me Natalie, and still call my husband Mr Barnes. Everyone calls him Bucky - you should too.”

She frowned; it was a silly nickname, and it really didn’t suit him. “How did you meet - Bucky - then?”

The corner of Natalie’s mouth twitched upwards at her discomfort, but she said nothing. Instead, she sighed, a heavy sigh. “That’s… A long story,” she presently replied. “And a complicated one.” She looked down at her hands, twisting awkwardly in her lap. “And - you might not like it.”

Well, she was all ears now! Controlling her expression, she said mildly, “Well, you’re Steve’s friends. It won’t stay hidden forever, not once he remembers.” Natalie’s mouth twitched again, the tiniest movement. It wasn’t remotely funny, but this was one of the things that made her hard to warm to - she always seemed to be laughing at you.

“That’s true enough,” Natalie responded. She sighed again, frowned, and then looked up at Grace, her fingers still twisting around each other. “Bucky and I are from very different backgrounds,” she started. “You might have noticed that.”

She nodded. Natalie paused again, for a long moment, but eventually went on, “I come from a very wealthy family. Families like mine stick together, their sons and daughters basically bargaining chips, a means to bring families together and accumulate all that money into increasingly bigger hoards. I’m an only child of two only children - so that made me quite the prize.” She lapsed into silence. There was a whole unhappy childhood behind her words, but Grace didn’t push.

“My father did a deal with a friend of his,” Natalie eventually continued. “Two vast fortunes joined together by a marriage between me and that friend, a man even older than my father.” Her voice was flat as she spoke.

“How awful,” Grace said, when the silence stretched again.

Natalie looked up at her briefly, half-smiled, and then looked down again. “That’s what I thought, too,” she continued. “I told my father I didn’t want to marry his friend, but he was adamant. Not even my mother could move him. I’d be married to the man he chose, and that was that. There wasn’t much time - and desperate times called for desperate measures. I didn’t have a lot of options; in fact, Bucky was the only one.”

The silence stretched longer and longer. Squirming with impatience, she eventually prodded, “So what happened?”

Natalie looked at her, as if she’d forgotten she was there, but then she smiled softly. “Oh, well first you need to know about Bucky.” Grace nodded unenthusiastically. “Like I said, he’s from a very different background to me. He grew up with very little - but at least he had his family’s love.” Her tone was bitter. “And Steve, of course. They were inseparable. Bucky was Steve’s champion and defender.” She looked up suddenly. “You have to understand, when Steve was young, he - wasn’t like he is now. He was small, and weak, and he got sick a lot. His father died before he was born, so it was just him and his mother. She did what she could to provide for him, but she couldn’t always afford to pay the doctor’s bills. Bucky’s father did when he could, but he didn’t have a lot either. Most of the time, it was Bucky who looked after him when he was sick.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “But that’s terrible! He was just a child himself!”

Natalie nodded absently. “He’d have done anything for Steve - would do anything. That’s never changed.” After another long pause, she continued. “Steve’s mother died when he was sixteen. Bucky wanted to take him in, but Steve insisted he could look after himself. He worked as much as he could, but… I don’t think he ever realised that Bucky used to pay his rent when he couldn’t afford it. He just thought he had a kind landlord.” Grace looked over to where Bucky stood, surrounded by oxen, smiling at something Steve had said. Maybe she’d been too hard on him. “Bucky worked hard - he’d do anything for anyone, if they’d pay him. And he was so strong, he didn’t find it difficult to get work. But it was all badly paid manual work. No one would give him a chance at anything else - which wasn’t fair; he’s clever, even if he doesn’t always show it.” She smiled as she spoke, a mischievous tone to her voice.

Grace couldn’t help but smile back. Natalie registered it, her own smile growing warmer, before she looked away again. “He did a lot of work for a farmer, who owned acres and acres of orchards. Fruit-picking is hard, but it pays pretty well. But it wasn’t good fruit - bitter apples and tasteless pears. Bucky knew of a wood just outside the city, on public land, left to go to waste. There were apple trees there, and the apples were sweet and juicy. He wanted to buy the land and start his own orchard - there was land adjoining the wood that he could buy, to expand if it went well. But he had no money, and the banks wouldn’t lend to him - he had no security. He had a great idea, but no one would give him a chance.” She sighed. “Once he’d exhausted all the banks and had no luck, he tried rich men. He wouldn’t get to own the business that way, but at least it would be an income.”

She lapsed into silence again. It was obviously a story she was reluctant to tell, but Grace was afire with curiosity. “So is that when you met him?” she asked.

Natalie shook her head. “Not quite. He came to see my father, and my father actually heard him out. He gave him the money to buy the land and plant some more trees. He paid him a fair wage to manage the orchard, and said he’d see how it went after the first harvest.” Another pause, then, “Bucky did a great job; he worked so hard at it, and for a while, everything went well. But then, there was a sudden frost, just as the trees were blossoming. It killed off nearly a whole year’s worth of fruit, all over the state. But he’d learned some tricks from his previous boss, and managed to save some of the blooms.” She laughed suddenly. “Did you know that you could wrap plants in blankets and keep them warm?”

Unsure if she was expected to reply, Grace shook her head, then said, “No,” when that got no response.

Natalie smiled. “Well, you can. Bucky actually saved a lot of his trees, partly because he had such a small orchard. It ruined some of the bigger farmers. And because it was a small harvest, apples were
in demand. Bucky made back nearly all the money my father gave him. But not quite.” She took a deep breath, then added, “And that was enough for my father to withdraw his investment.” She saw the shocked look on Grace’s face, and explained. “My father doesn’t like taking risks. It wasn’t anything to do with Bucky or his head for business, but more that it was a business that’s subject to the elements. He doesn’t like those kinds of odds.”

Another long silence. “None of this has told me how you actually met him, though.”

Natalie smiled knowingly. “I’m getting to that. I saw him once, visiting my father at our house. I didn’t know who he was, but he was young and strong, and very handsome. A little threadbare in places, but there was something earnest and honest about him. He was everything my intended husband wasn’t, in short. And as I looked at him, I got an idea - a horrible, crazy, desperate idea. I listened in on his conversation with my father - Bucky was pleading with him to give him another year to show his idea could be a success. And all my father would talk about was the debt he owed. I could hear the desperation in Bucky’s voice, and I realised that he might just be willing to go along with my idea. I just needed to get him alone.” She looked across at Grace. “I told you that you might not like this.”

Grace looked down at the stew she’d been preparing, uncomfortable under the weight of Natalie’s look. She shrugged. “I haven’t heard it all yet. I’ll judge then.”

Natalie nodded and continued. “I followed him when he left my father, still going on about the money he was owed. I don’t know how he thought Bucky could repay him - it made no sense for him to stop investing. He’d have got his money back at the very least. But there’s a cruel streak in my father. He likes having power over people. Rich men often do.”

“And what happened?”

“I trailed Bucky all the way back to town. He went into a tavern; I’d never been in one before, and I was pretty daunted by the prospect of entering one unaccompanied, but I had to. I had to talk to him. So I followed him in.” She looked across at Bucky suddenly, a soft, sad look in her eyes. “He was sitting at a table by himself, head in his hands. I knew a ruined man when I saw one. And I’m not proud of myself, but I was glad. It meant he’d be more likely to help me out.” Natalie looked down at her hands; they were twisting in her lap again. “I sat down opposite him. He looked up at me, and I could see the despair in his eyes. He didn’t know me, and asked me, not unkindly, what I thought I was doing. I told him who I was, that I’d overheard him talking to my father, and I thought I could help him.” She smiled, suddenly. “I must have looked like such an idiot to him. But he didn’t send me away - which I took as progress. I asked him how bad things were.”

Bucky was watching them now, curious. He met her eyes, but as soon as he did, he looked away abruptly. There really was no love lost between them. And there was a horrible chance she’d misjudged him terribly.

“And out it all came. I think it was a relief for him to talk to a stranger about his problems - he didn’t have anyone else. His father had recently died, leaving him sole provider for his mother and three sisters, not to mention Steve. He talked about Steve a lot, and it was obvious how much Steve depended on him. And here was my stupid father threatening him with jail if he didn’t pay him back. And Bucky even thought he could do it, maybe, as long as Steve didn’t get sick again. It would take him a long time, but he’d do it. He’s proud – it was a matter of honour to him.”

Grace swallowed hard, tears starting in her eyes. The poor man…

“So I offered him another way out. I told him about my predicament - I’m sure he wondered what the problem was. Here he was, trying desperately to keep a roof over his family and best friend’s heads, and keep them fed, and there I was, whining about my terrible fate, to be married to a fabulously wealthy man, whose only problem was that he was old. I was the quintessential spoiled little rich girl.”

“What did he say to your idea?”

“He thought I was crazy. Utterly mad. And he point-blank refused. Told me to go home and stop being an idiot. I tried everything to get him to co-operate, every trick in the book to win him over. I felt sure I would. I was beautiful - and rich. How could he possibly resist?”

“And did he give in?”

Natalie shook her head. “Not that day, and not for a good while. I misjudged him - I thought I could win him over by batting my eyelashes at him, but he had so many worries, he wouldn’t have noticed Aphrodite if she’d appeared in front of him in all her naked splendour.” Grace frowned; Aphrodite? And ‘naked splendour’? Natalie caught her discomfort and winced, but she didn’t apologise. “He went back to doing whatever work he could find. I kept an eye on him - I had no other choice. If he didn’t help me, I was lost. He worked long, hard hours, but he kept his family, and Steve, going. And slowly, gradually, he began to pay my father back. I think my father was impressed, truth to tell - Bucky’s determination won his respect.” She snorted. “Which might be why he didn’t actually have him waylaid in a dark alley after he married me.” Grace’s eyes widened - what kind of man would do that?

“My wedding day loomed closer and closer, and I didn’t know what to do. I kept trying to catch Bucky’s attention, kept trying to make him fall in love with me, but he didn’t bite. He wasn’t interested. And he was coping; he didn’t need me.” She looked down again. “And he might well have been fine, paid off my father and survived somehow, but disaster struck.”

“Steve got sick?”

“No. It was his youngest sister, Emily. His favourite sister. And she got really sick - diphtheria. He couldn’t afford to pay for a doctor, not with having to pay my father back.” Why had she ever asked to hear this story?

“What happened?”

“He went to my father, explained the situation, and asked for more time. Just to skip his repayments for a few months, so he could save his sister’s life. And my father, that heartless bastard,” – the language was shocking, but appropriate - “told him that if he didn’t pay, he’d be arrested.”

“What did he do?” Grace asked, her voice strangled.

“What could he do? If he went to jail, his family, Steve, they’d lose their homes, and…” She trailed off. “And just for once, I did something motivated by concern for someone else, rather than myself. I paid for my doctor to visit Emily, and treat her. And for all the medicines - it took her a long time to recover.”

“Oh, Natalie…”

Natalie looked at her sadly. “What else could I do? My father would have let her die to prove a stupid point. I couldn’t let him do that. I tried not to let Bucky know it was me, but he figured it out. He stopped me one day to thank me; he could barely get the words out, the silly man.” She smiled, her love for him shining through. “I told him it was the least I could do, that my father shouldn’t have done it, and that I wished I could do more. And for the first time, I think he saw me as something other than a silly, spoilt little girl, someone who could actually care about other people. He took me back to his home to meet his sister, whose life he insisted I’d saved, and introduced me to Steve. Who was every bit as wonderful as he’d said he was.”

“And then you fell in love, right?” This had to have a happy ending.

Natalie smiled wryly, but shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I decided that I couldn’t entangle him in my scheming, that I’d have to find another way to escape my fate - I couldn’t use him after what my father had done.” She paused. “But he came to me. Much as it killed him to admit it, he knew how precarious his situation was – something as simple as an illness could be the undoing of them all. But if he married me, he could genuinely look after his family. And he had nowhere else to go.” There were tears in Natalie’s eyes now. “I felt awful that he’d had to be reduced to that to even consider it. What I’d conceived of as a daring scheme was a matter of life and death to him. I wanted to say no - I didn’t want him to throw away his own chance at happiness, I even told myself I was willing to marry that awful man if I had to. But I realised that if I did that, I couldn’t help Bucky. And next time someone got sick, or something broke, or any little emergency, something that meant nothing to me, could mean he’d lose everything. At least if I married him, I could stop that.”

There were tears running down Grace’s cheeks now - she’d been thinking such terrible things about him all day, that he was a money-chasing flirt, but the truth was nothing like that. He’d done it for Steve at least as much as for his family.

Natalie continued, “And so we got married. Steve was there; I don’t think he entirely approved, but Bucky told him an incredibly embellished tale about how he was rescuing me from a cruel and merciless monster of a man. Steve being Steve, that struck him as a completely reasonable thing to do.” Grace smiled - her husband was noble to a fault, the silly, silly man. “And then we went to parents. My father was furious; for a while, I really was afraid he’d send someone after Bucky. But he knew whose idea it had been, he knew who’d led who astray, so he reserved most of his anger for me. And he knew how strong Bucky was - it would have taken a whole platoon of men to finish him off, and the more people involved in something like that, the more likely he was to be exposed. And, like I said, he admired Bucky’s willingness to work hard - I think he thought he’d be a useful son-in-law.”

“Do you really think your father would have had him killed?” It seemed barbaric.

“I’m sure he thought about it,” Natalie replied. “But my father’s a pragmatist - and now I was married, no-one else would want me. He didn’t have another heir, so he couldn’t disinherit me. I think he decided he’d wait for the next generation. Although it’s taking its time in coming.” She looked down at her hands again, suddenly shy. “And there was my mother,” she rushed on. “She’s a real romantic - something about me running away to be with my true love got under her skin. I think she was the one who eventually won my father over.”

“Even though - Bucky - isn’t your true love?” Natalie’s eyes flicked across to hers, and then away just as quickly. As she’d suspected - she did love him.

“We did a good job of pretending at first,” was all she said. “My father re-invested in Bucky’s orchard and helped him to expand it, and Bucky didn’t let him down. He turned it into an incredibly successful business, turning enough of a profit to keep even my father happy. So successful, it practically runs itself. How else do you think we could afford to drop everything and come after Steve?”

“Five years,” Grace mused. “You’ve looked for him for all that time?”

“Bucky kept running the business for most of that time. It was only once we found your family, and they told us Steve had gone to Oregon that we dropped everything and came after him.” She shrugged. “It’ll still be there when we go back.”

“And if you don’t?”

“My father will sell it for an obscene profit.”

“You’d really stay in Oregon with Steve?”

Natalie nodded. “Bucky wouldn’t be without him. The last five years have been hard for him. If Steve settles in Oregon, then so will we.” The depth of feeling that existed between Bucky and her husband was incredible. To follow him across the country - it was almost unthinkable. And yet… She had badly misjudged Bucky. She’d have to put that right. Even Jessie - after hearing his story, it made a lot more sense. He’d married for love in a way - love for his family, and love for Steve. He’d given up his own chance of falling in love for them, and had no doubt made his peace with it. And suddenly – the girl he’d been waiting for had wandered into his life, and upended everything. She looked at him again - hard to believe he’d been through so much, the way he was laughing with her husband. But he had, and even if this thing with Jessie couldn’t go anywhere, she should be kinder in future…

Chapter Text

“You told her what?”

She was sitting beside Bucky on the wagon again – why should he should get to drive to Oregon while she had to walk? And all because it wasn’t deemed appropriate for women to drive wagons if there was a strong, strapping husband available. Women could and did drive wagons - Jessie had driven this very wagon when she’d helped Bucky ‘liberate’ it back in St Joseph’s, and plenty of women had got their families to Oregon after their husband died, proving they could cope just fine. And it meant she could keep up appearances – she loved him, so she obviously wanted to spend her time with him. It was cramped - Bucky took up a lot of space, and the seats weren’t really built for two - but he never complained. It also gave them a chance to talk where no-one could hear them - twenty wagons rumbling along the trail drowned out anything they were saying.

“I had to tell her something. She asked how we met. I had to give her a story that fit her observation that we’re not love’s young dream, but that wouldn’t make her hate you.”

“But did you have to make it so detailed? How am I supposed to remember all that?”

“I told her it made you very uncomfortable to talk about it. She won’t bother you.”

He sighed. “And what if she tells Steve? Or Jessie?”

“She won’t tell Steve - she knows he needs to remember on his own. And so what if she does tell Jessie? She’ll know it’s not true.”

“She might still ask me about it.”

She shrugged. “Stick to the story. It’s a good way to make it clear there’s nothing between us, while you’re both pretending you don’t know who the other one is. You married me for my money – I married you because even though you’re older than the man in the story, at least you’re nicer to look at.”

Such a sour look! “Grace still isn’t exactly my best friend.”

“Of course not. You don’t love me, even though I love you. She feels sorry for you, and understands why you don’t, but she still thinks you should. I mean, I am beautiful.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Another dark look. “Could you not have left that bit out?”

“She had to feel sorry for me - how else could I get close to her? It was the best thing I could think of; I’ve fallen in love with my tall, handsome husband, but he only has eyes for someone else.”

He rolled his eyes. “And what happens when Steve remembers everything, and she realises what a pack of lies you’ve told her?”

She shrugged. “When Steve remembers everything, she’s going to have a lot more on her plate than a made-up story I told her.”

They reached Chimney Rock just after noon. It had been impressive enough on the datapad, but with 150 years less weathering, it was even more so, standing tall and proud, dominating the plain. It was so impressive, in fact, that most people in the train wanted to stop and investigate it. This suited her fine - stopping for the day would make it easier to interact with Steve, and interacting with Steve was more likely to bring back memories. Assuming Bucky could come up with something else to jog them.

Once they’d stopped to make camp, most of their party wandered off to admire the rock, including Grace and Steve. She nudged Bucky, who’d seated himself in their wagon’s shade (obviously immune to the charm of a funny-shaped rock). Upon following her gaze, he sighed, pulled himself to his feet, and they trailed along after the others. She slid under his arm as they walked - he gave her a long-suffering look, but relaxed his arm over her shoulders. It almost looked natural. And once it was clear they wouldn’t be interrupting anything of a romantic nature, they joined Steve and Grace at their chosen vantage point. Steve was transfixed by the rock, Grace noticeably less so.

At the sight of them, Bucky laughed quietly. Grace wasn’t happy about being laughed at, but when she frostily asked him what was so funny, he replied, “Steve. Still has the soul of an artist.”

All three of them turned to look at him in puzzlement. This was a side of Steve she hadn’t known about.

“He was an artist. He drew whenever he got the chance. He was really good, too. Once, he even drew himself as a performing monkey.” Just a fraction too late, he realised he’d said more than he should. And of course, Grace picked up on it.

“Why would he have done that?”

Bucky stared at her blankly.

“He had a bad experience with one of his bosses. He thought he was being taken advantage of. He often dealt with his frustrations by drawing about them.” Natasha spoke quickly, before the silence became too awkward. Steve’s look was sceptical, but he didn’t dispute it; Bucky smiled at her in relief, impressed with her quick thinking. Before anyone could question her, she rushed on, “If you don’t believe us, try drawing the rock and see for yourself.” And that was enough to distract Grace - eager to see her precious husband’s talent for herself, she dashed off to find paper and a pencil.

When she returned, Steve, still looking dubious, settled down on the ground, a piece of paper and pencil in his hands. He stared down at the paper for a while, then up at the rock, then back down at the paper, and then he sighed. Looking up to find not only his wife but also Bucky and Natasha watching him keenly, he sighed again, put the pencil to the paper, and started sketching the rock. It quickly became clear that he was doomed to failure. Bucky’s faith in his friend’s artistic abilities was misplaced. He frowned down at the paper, as if it wasn’t at all what he’d expected.

Eventually, Steve threw down the pencil and glared at the fruits of his labour, before turning the glare on Bucky. Unruffled, he put his hand on Steve’s shoulder encouragingly. “When you used to draw, you never looked at the paper. You just looked at what you were drawing. Don’t try so hard, and it’ll work.”

Steve didn’t look at all convinced, but he turned the paper over, picked the pencil up, and tried again, this time looking only at the rock. Within a few strokes, it was obvious that Bucky hadn’t been exaggerating his talent. An impressively faithful rendering of the rock appeared under Steve’s hands, its form, the way the light played across it, the shade and the shadow. Somehow, he was even able to capture how it stood out from the landscape, the imperious way it dominated everything around it. His talent was remarkable, but he’d never once shown this side of himself to her back in the future. Such a sensitive soul inside the body of a warrior – he’d just keep on surprising you…

Finally, he came out of his trance and looked down at what he’d drawn, before turning to stare at Bucky in disbelief. Bucky smiled gently but proudly at him, and shrugged, as if to say, ‘I knew you could do it – why do you look so surprised?’ A stunned smile spreading across his face, Steve turned his gaze to his wife, who was staring down at his masterpiece with tears standing in her eyes. By unspoken agreement, Natasha and Bucky moved away from them, giving them time alone.

Later that evening, Grace was preparing dinner, although she’d graciously allowed Natasha to help her. Jessie, who’d escaped her family for the evening, quickly realised she was surplus to requirements, and seated herself next to Bucky. Bucky, very happy with this state of affairs, dished out another one of those smiles, and said something that made her look away shyly. Grace, watching them minutely, made a noise of disapproval, which Bucky’s sharp hearing caught. He looked up, registered her expression, and quickly turned to Steve to suggest that he should try drawing things without thinking about them, to see if it brought any memories back. As it wasn’t quite dark, Steve decided to try straight away and so, while the dinner finished cooking, Steve drew the first thing that came into his head.

Which was Bucky. Quelle surprise. He looked to be around thirteen - and the cheekbones were there even then. He was sitting on a park bench, next to a girl a few years younger than him (presumably Emily), smiling at her while she ate an ice cream cone. It was a sweet picture, clearly drawn from then-Steve’s viewpoint, but as Bucky looked at it, it was obvious something in it had upset him. Steve, looking at his handiwork, frowned in puzzlement, and then looked to Bucky for clarification. Bucky, still staring at the picture and lost in his own memories, didn’t notice. Just as Steve opened his mouth to speak, she interrupted.

“You need to remember for yourself, Steve. You can’t keep relying on Bucky to fill in the gaps – it won’t help.”

Steve glared at her, but then turned back to his picture. He stared intently at it, his brow furrowed in concentration. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to speak as fragments came back to him. “It was – after school one day. Bucky’d used the last of his pocket-money to buy us all ice-creams and – and we’d gone to the park to eat them… Only something happened to Emily’s; it got lost somehow. She dropped it?” He paused. “No! A seagull! It dive-bombed her and snatched it out of her hand. And then – and then she cried. And then Bucky gave her his ice-cream – he never could stand to see her upset…” He fell silent.

Bucky was still staring at the picture, lost and sad. Jessie had moved closer to him, and taken his hand to comfort him. Natasha subtly shifted her position, enough that her skirts covered it from Grace - the last thing anyone needed right now was for her to cause a scene. Judging by how tight Bucky’s returning grip was, he needed the comfort, and Jessie was a far better source than she was. Something about this memory had really gotten to him.

“I remember more. I had just enough money to buy him another one. And I wanted to, so he didn’t miss out, only – only he tried to stop me. And when I insisted, he got cross. He almost tried to physically stop me from going back to the ice-cream seller. But he didn’t – so I went and got him another one. I – I think he wanted to be angry with me, but he couldn’t. So he just took the ice-cream and ate it.” Steve looked up at Bucky. “Why didn’t you want me to do that? Why were you so angry about it?”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment before he replied. “Because that was the only money you had to your name. It was the last of my pocket-money, but I had a paper round; I’d get more the next day. That was literally the last money you had, and you threw it away on buying me an ice-cream. You always were such an idiot.”

No wonder that memory had hit Bucky so hard. All his young life, he’d wanted to look out for Steve and keep him safe, and now here he was, taking away the last of his money.

Steve was looking at Bucky as if finally realising just how deep the bond between the two of them went, the one Bucky remembered, and he didn’t. If only he knew. That bond was deeper than anyone could imagine, surviving decades of separation and breaking through decades of brainwashing. If only Steve would remember.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by Grace. She’d taken the picture from Steve and was now staring at it, frowning slightly. “What is that she has in her hand?” she asked Steve.

“An ice-cream,” replied Steve, puzzled.

Of course - the entirely normal conversation they’d been having was anything but in this time. Only the rich had ice-cream in those days - there was no such thing as a street ice-cream seller. Schools were very different too, and teenage boys didn’t have paper rounds. None of it had seemed strange to Steve, so the conversation had been completely natural, but Grace’s innocent question made it obvious. The same realisation had dawned on Steve – he was frowning, trying to figure it out. There was only one thing she could do.

“I guess Boston is ahead of New York on this one,” she said, breezily. “People sell ice-creams on the street there – I’m surprised it hasn’t spread to New York. They’re very popular in Boston.” It was almost certainly untrue - ice cream on the street came later with the Italians and they’d mostly settled in New York - but the point was, no-one could gainsay her.

Grace looked inclined to argue, but turned to Jessie instead, asking her if she’d ever heard of such a thing as ice-cream stalls on the street. Jessie, suddenly thrust into the spotlight, started, dropping Bucky’s hand as she did so. She hesitated, but tentatively replied that no, she didn’t think she had. She came forward, took the picture Grace was offering her, and studied it.

“I’ve never seen anything like that - have you?” Grace pointed at the suspicious ice cream cone.

Jessie looked at it for a long time, no doubt trying to think of something she could say. In the end, she shook her head. “No, I haven’t. They don’t have anything like that where I come from.” Natasha winced inwardly. This would only wind Grace up even more. Jessie had been forced to play along with being from this time, but it made it much harder to brush under the carpet; with someone backing up her doubts, Grace wouldn’t let it go. But then Jessie continued artlessly (just like a backward Midwestern maid), “It’s only to be expected, though - we’re very behind the times in Cincinnati.”

Grace frowned - New York wasn’t exactly behind the times, but there was something in Jessie’s argument, and no-one else was questioning it. She subsided, looking troubled, and without speaking, went back to finish the cooking. Jessie watched her go, also troubled. As she turned away, she found herself face to face with Natasha. But there was nothing in her expression to give her away – no guilt, apprehension, or fear at nearly being found out, just a troubled expression that could so easily be concern for an upset friend. Jessie eventually broke the look, but unhurriedly and not in any sense backing down, to look back to Grace, before she moved to help her serve up the dinner.

The girl was good. She could so easily have given herself away, but there hadn’t been the slightest shred of evidence of her being HYDRA in her performance. She’d even saved the day, forestalling all Grace’s awkward questions with her supreme unconcern about the anachronistic ice cream cone and willingness to trust Natasha’s explanation. What were HYDRA doing, leaving her to languish here, instead of making use of her talents back in the future?

Of course, her actions hadn’t exactly helped HYDRA’s cause - she should have exploited Grace’s doubts to drive a wedge between Steve and his mysterious ‘friends’. Instead, she’d done the complete opposite, elegantly proving that her loyalty to them was all but dead and buried. So why did she stay with them? And what was it about her that they were so afraid of?

Chapter Text

It was a relief to reach Fort Laramie (or Fort William, or whatever it was called these days). The last two days had been filled with dense fog, making it impossible to travel, and after two days cooped up in a wagon with Natasha, with no escape, he needed space. He liked Natasha, but she was at her best in small doses - she made everything, absolutely everything, into a joke. And teasing was instinctive to her - nothing was sacred. And since HYDRA had taken to shoving him in a freezer every so often, he’d developed a problem with enclosed spaces… So a fort, with its promise of open space, solitude, and escape, would hopefully help him regain his hard-won equilibrium. Even having to take a comms unit with him didn’t dampen his enthusiasm – it was a sensible precaution.

But he’d only made it five steps from the wagon when Steve accosted him, a frown on his face that spelled trouble. A rare flicker of irritation sparked inside Bucky. He was this close to the solitude he craved, but there was something wrong with Steve, so that had to take priority.

“What’s wrong?”

Steve held out a piece of paper. Another drawing. He’d been busy during his enforced stoppage. Bucky took the paper gingerly - what would it be this time? As long as it wasn’t the Hulk; there was no way he could even begin to explain that. But of course not – it was Bucky again. People would start talking if Steve didn’t start drawing someone else… But it wasn’t funny, not really, because this wasn’t another picture of Bucky as a child, it was Bucky as a man - Bucky on the eve of shipping out to England to join the war, in fact. Bucky in his smart sergeant’s uniform, one that bore little resemblance to the army uniforms of today. Which was awkward.

He stared down at himself – younger, more innocent, trying so hard to look brave and self-assured because after all, he couldn’t let Steve know this was the last thing he wanted to be doing, could he? Of course, back then, ‘self-assured’ had been hard-wired into his personality - nailing the cocky, confident expression to his face had been a breeze.

A sudden rush of memories hit – spending that evening with Steve and those two girls at the World Expo, ‘the future’. The last time he’d seen Steve as Steve, his Steve… Arriving in England - cold, dark and damp – and then the fighting. The mud, the blood, the thumping noise and the ground shaking as a bomb went off nearby, the relentless noise of the bullets from the machine guns all around him… The dark was closing in, his hands were shaking, and he couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t get away. He had to get away…

Jessie appeared beside him; if she noticed there was something wrong with him, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked at the picture in his hand, and smiled brightly. “Well, he’s a handsome fellow,” she said, teasingly. Her voice reached him through the din in his head – he clung to it, trying to follow it out of the darkness, trying to escape. He could do this.

“Yeah,” he managed to respond. “No idea who he is though.”

She laughed, and the sound finally fractured the nightmare. He took a deep breath and turned to face Steve, still serious and confused.

“Bucky, this picture doesn’t make any sense. What you’re wearing, I’ve never seen anyone wearing anything like that before.”

And what could he say? There was no answer he could give that could possibly satisfy Steve. As he stared at Steve helplessly, racking his brain for a reply, Jessie took the picture from his hand and examined it more closely, a frown on her face.

“You’re going to have to figure this one out for yourself,” he eventually said. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” The stubborn way Steve’s jaw set was so predictable and so familiar that he felt himself being pulled down into another welter of memories. “Trust me,” he tried again. “This is something you have to remember for yourself. I can’t explain it. Not in a way you’d understand.”

The stubbornness in Steve’s jaw intensified – he hadn’t known it was possible. He had to get away - not just because of the awkward questions, but because his grip on reality was still sketchy. He needed time to sort himself out, away from other people, so he didn’t break them.

“Look, I have to go. I’m sorry.” He pushed past Steve before he could reply, his expression changing from stubborn to concerned. He let him leave – unfortunately, Jessie didn’t.

“Bucky? Are you alright?” He couldn’t deal with this. “I’m fine, Jessie. I just need some space.” Please go away.

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

He gritted his teeth. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Just please leave me alone.”

“Should I get Natalie?”

“I’ll be fine, Jessie!” He turned and shouted at her. “Just leave me alone!”

It had the desired effect – she stopped following him. But the frightened look in her eyes haunted him as he fled.

Chapter Text

As Bucky stormed away, Natasha debated whether to follow him or not. She’d been listening in, concealed by the side of their wagon, and her first instinct was to stay and continue to do so. But there were a lot of people in the fort, loudly hawking their wares and haggling over prices. If he’d headed in there and had an attack of the Winter Soldiers, disaster would follow.

She slid her comms device into her ear - Bucky’s breathing came through loud and clear, a little heavy, a little rapid, but not enough to concern her. He’d been stricken when he’d seen how much he’d frightened Jessie - it had knocked most of the incipient aggression out of him. He’d be fine, at least for now. She was better off staying right where she was, observing Jessie and Steve.

Jessie hadn’t fled after Bucky had shouted at her, but her stance was down-hearted, and it would be interesting to see what Steve did. They weren’t often alone together; she could learn a lot by watching them. She’d moved forward slightly when Bucky had shouted, so she had a clear view of them both - but she was still out of sight unless one of them looked directly at her.

Steve’s look as Jessie trailed back to him was sympathetic. He’d unconsciously stepped towards them when Bucky had shouted – some things about Steve would never change. She elected to ignore
that she’d done the exact same thing.

He didn’t say anything, but laid a consoling hand on Jessie’s shoulder. He knew exactly how Jessie felt about Bucky (and no doubt how Bucky felt for her); he was trying to comfort her. There was nothing wrong with that, but it was in such stark contrast to how Grace would have reacted. His reaction was out of step with the mores of the day, but then, he’d never seen things in the same black-and white way as everyone else. Especially when it came to his friends. He’d worry about them, but he wouldn’t ever judge them. If Bucky decided to throw his wife over and start again with Jessie, Steve wouldn’t judge him even then – as long as he was happy. The total lack of regard for Natasha in that situation was an icy blast of cold hard reality, but it proved beyond any doubt that he really was Steve. He’d still rewrite the rules for Bucky, just like he always had.

Jessie made no response to Steve’s gesture; she just stared blankly at the picture of Bucky she was still holding, drawing Steve’s attention back to it. He reached out and took it from her with a frown. “Have you ever seen anyone dressed like this?”

Jessie pulled herself out of the dark thoughts she’d been lost in, and studied the picture again, before she shrugged. “Not really. It looks like a uniform.”

“It’s not like any uniform I’ve ever seen.”

She frowned at it for a moment. “It looks a little like the uniforms I saw some soldiers wearing back in Cincinnati a couple of years ago. They were off to fight the Mexicans I think, down in Texas.”

Impressive - Jessie had done her homework.

“Bucky never mentioned he’d been a soldier.”

She shrugged again. “Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps it brings back bad memories.”

Steve frowned again. “Maybe.” He wasn’t convinced, but Jessie had provided a plausible explanation, enough to allay his suspicions for now. Yet again, she’d refused an opportunity to turn Steve against Bucky. This was a golden chance - they were alone, there was no-one she could give herself away to, and still she hadn’t taken it. Her HYDRA colleagues would be furious if they ever realised what she was up to.

Steve had meanwhile moved on to something else that was bothering him. He gestured to the drawing. “How old would you say Bucky is in this picture?”

Jessie, thrown by the change of direction, looked again. “I don’t know. 24, maybe? 25? It’s hard to tell from a drawing.”

“He’s definitely an adult, though?”

“Definitely, yes. Where are you going with this?”

“Look at the angle I’m looking at him from. Doesn’t it strike you as strange?”

“Not really.”

“But I’m looking up at him.”

“And?”

“I’m taller than him. Why would I be looking up at him?”

“You were sitting down?”

“No, the angle’s all wrong for that. If I was sitting down, I’d be looking up from even further down.”

“Maybe you were leaning on something. Or he was standing on something. What’s your point?”

“Bucky told me that when I was a child, I was really small for my age. But then I went through a huge growth spurt, and overtook everybody.”

Jessie looked unimpressed – it was hard to say if it was with the weird and convoluted story Steve was telling her, or with the way Bucky had chosen to deal with Steve’s miraculous transformation. It was weak, but he hadn’t exactly had a lot of choice.

“Alright. And?”

“Most people go through that when they’re younger, right? People stop growing by the time they’re 20.”

“I think so…”

“But if Bucky’s 25 here, and I’m about the same age as him, then that means that my sudden growth spurt didn’t happen until I was a lot older. Which isn’t possible.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“Because of the way I’m looking up at him! I’m looking up at him from about the same angle that Grace does, and how tall is she?”

Jessie looked thoroughly perplexed now. She was either a consummate actor, or genuinely confused - this was a tiny thing for Steve to pick up on. But he was incredibly perceptive. Scarily so, sometimes. Including now. He knew something was up - and without his memories, this could be bad news.

“Steve, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. I think you’re reading too much into this.”

“I’m not, I’m sure I’m not. I think – I think there’s something strange going on here. With me. With them. With all of this.”

Jessie looked at Steve for a long moment, her expression closed, completely unreadable. If she had any remaining loyalty to HYDRA, this would have to be where she’d make good on it, and turn Steve against them.

“Look, of course things will seem strange to you. You lived a whole life before your accident, and you don’t remember it. And some of the things that come back to you in fragments are going to seem odd, sometimes downright bizarre. I don’t think you need to go looking for reasons to make them even more so. As you keep remembering, things will make more sense - everything will have an explanation. A normal one that doesn’t involve you being magically transformed into a giant by a passing pixie.”

Natasha silently let out the breath she’d been holding. Jessie had gone out of her way to reassure Steve, and hadn’t said anything to estrange him from her or Bucky. There were no doubts about her loyalty now. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, alright, and a damn good one. They had to make her trust them, and come over to their side. Playing double agent with no back-up, especially with the violent tendencies of her colleagues, was a dangerous game. She needed to trust them, so they could protect her. But it had to be through Bucky. He’d formed a bond with Jessie, a strong one – her attempts hadn’t been so successful… And while his outburst earlier might have undone some of that good work, something Jessie had said to Steve, about bad memories of the war, suggested she knew what was wrong with him; she might be more understanding than he’d think.

She’d missed the next part of the conversation, but Steve seemed to have accepted that Jessie had a point, and he was overthinking things. Jessie was now commenting that it was a good sign that Steve was getting memories back from his adult life. “But only if they have Bucky in them, it seems.” He shook his head in frustration.

Jessie grinned, a sudden look of mischief on her face. “What about Natalie?” she asked slyly. Natasha’s eyes narrowed - what was she up to now?

Steve shook his head. “Not a thing. But by all accounts, she came along later. I guess I just haven’t got to those memories yet.” He paused for the briefest of moments then hurried on, as if he was trying to speak before he thought better of it. “But I’ll tell you one thing. When I look at her with Bucky, the idea of them being married – it feels wrong. Really wrong.”

Natasha had a perfect, unobstructed view of Jessie’s face as he dropped that bombshell. But in response, she merely raised her eyebrows, looking a little taken aback, but nothing more. Natasha couldn’t have done it better herself. “Nonetheless, married they most certainly are.” She said it brightly, almost cheerfully, but finally, there was a chink in her armour - there was a brittle quality to her voice that she couldn’t hide. It had cost Jessie a lot to say that.

“I know,” Steve replied. “I can’t explain it. It just – it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe they got married after you disappeared, so you don’t have any memories of it. That might explain it.”

“I guess.” He sighed. “Thanks, Jessie.”

“What for?”

“Listening. Telling me I’m being an idiot.”

“I don’t think I ever quite said it like that…”

“No, but nonetheless. I feel better for having talked it through with you.”

Jessie shrugged, suddenly awkward. “Isn’t that what friends do?” she asked tentatively.

Steve’s responding smile was wide. “I guess they do.” But Jessie’s answering smile was weak, her eyes haunted. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was feeling.

“I should probably get to the fort,” she said awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable under the warmth of Steve’s regard. “I have to get some things for my family.”

She moved to leave, but Steve laid his hand on her arm to stop her. She turned back to him questioningly - he held out the picture of Bucky. “Would you – would you do me a huge favour? Would you keep this for me?” As Jessie opened her mouth, the disapproving look in her eyes suggesting she was about to refuse, he hurried on, “I don’t want Grace to see it, not yet. After how she reacted to the last one, which wasn’t anywhere near as strange, it will just upset her. Until I remember properly, or at least remember more, and can explain the pictures to her, I don’t want her to see them.”

“You shouldn’t keep things like this from her. She’ll be so hurt when she finds out.”

“I know, but – if Bucky won’t explain things to me, and I understand why he doesn’t want to – but if he won’t, and I can’t remember them well enough to explain them myself… She’ll be scared, or upset, and I won’t be able to do anything to stop it…”

Jessie’s look was long and level, but eventually she sighed and held her hand out for the picture. “Fine. I’ll keep your pictures until you’re ready to tell Grace about them. But don’t leave it too long. Because every one of these that you give me,” waving the paper in his face, “is one more time you’ve lied to her.”

“I know. I will try. Thanks, Jess.”

Jessie folded the picture in half and put it in the pocket of her apron. She looked back up at Steve, shook her head softly, then turned and walked off towards the fort. He watched her go, a conflicted look in his eyes, until she was out of sight and then he turned and headed in the other direction.

Once they’d gone, Natasha stepped out from behind the wagon, her eyes on Steve’s retreating form. Eavesdropping had proven very informative. They needed to get Jessie on side, and quickly – Steve trusted her. He’d opened up to her in a way he hadn’t to them, even Bucky; he doubted them, and they needed Jessie’s help to counteract it. True, she was doing it of her own accord, but it would be better if they worked together. Bucky had to get his act together, and win her over. Soon.

Chapter Text

It took her some time to find him - even with the comms’ tracking beacon to help her, he’d still hidden himself well. Of course he had – he knew how to disappear… The pitch dark didn’t help - sure he’d come back when his stomach started growling, she’d been happy to leave him to himself. Time on his own could only do him good. But when dinner came and went, and there was still no sign of him, the first pricklings of worry had set in. Nothing could hurt him, not bears or wolves or anything of the kind - even gangs of outlaws or Indians would have found him too much, but even so - he was choosing to stay out there on his own, and it wasn’t healthy. So she’d belatedly set out to find him, and was now stumbling through the dark, cursing him for losing himself in uneven terrain.

She eventually located him, concealed in the twisted trunk of an ancient, weathered tree, in a little copse not far from the fort. The trees provided enough cover for her to freely use the lantern the Wakandans had given them - it gave off a glow like candlelight; not much to work with, but also not anachronistic. If anyone saw it, they’d think it was a campfire.

She turned her attention to her ‘husband’. His eyes were wild, his hair even wilder. He hadn’t even tried to defend himself from her - true, she’d announced her intention to find him over the comms, and made as much noise as she could force herself to while approaching him, but she’d still expected some vigilance from him. He was in a bad place. She sighed inwardly - this was what you kept Sam around for. Even Clint would be a thousand times better at this than her. He was a father; he instinctively knew how to care for people. She’d been trained for something else - looking after the broken and tormented wasn’t in her skill set.

“Bucky.” She spoke softly, the way one would to a spooked animal, not sure if he even knew she was there. His eyes snapped to hers, but they were unfocussed and soon slid away again. How long had he wandered like this? She should have come sooner. “Bucky, it’s me. Natasha,” she tried again.

“I know it’s you.” His voice was surprisingly strong, exasperated even. ‘I might be crazy, but I’m not blind’ was the clear subtext.

She eased herself in beside him. It was a risk, she couldn’t hope to escape if he snapped, but human contact often helped. Having someone close could help ground him. “What happened?” She’d seen it all, of course, but he needed to let it out.

He didn’t answer immediately, but before she could repeat the question, he suddenly turned to her. “We have to go back. I have to go back into stasis. I’m dangerous - I’ll hurt someone.”

“What about Steve?” she asked tentatively. If anyone could pull him out of this, it was Steve.

He shrugged. “Take him with us.”

“Without his memories?”

“I guess.”

“And Grace? And James?” He nodded at each name.

“And Jessie?” He flinched, but still nodded.

“You think they’ll just come with us? Have you tried making Steve do something he doesn’t want to?”

“We have to.” His voice was strained, as if he was struggling to hold it together. And she’d put herself in a tiny enclosed space with him. Great move.

“Bucky, what’s this about? Really?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m dangerous. I’m out of control. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then don’t.” She spoke firmly, sharply, trying to snap him out of it. He turned to her, shocked at her abrupt tone.

“It’s not that simple!” His voice rose as he hissed at her. She had to tread carefully - he could tear her in half.

“Two years, Barnes.” She spoke calmly, measuredly. Gently. “Two years Steve looked for you, and he couldn’t find you. He tried to find you by looking at police reports, searching them for mentions of a man with a metal arm attacking people, or killing them, or rampaging, or whatever.” He met her eyes very reluctantly. “And you know as well as I do that there wasn’t a single one. Two years you were alone, barely knowing who you were, or where you were, or when you were, and you still didn’t lose it.”

“It’s not-“

“Did you hurt anyone in that time?”

He hesitated, unwilling to answer, but eventually he shook his head.

“So. If you don’t want to hurt anyone, then don’t.”

His eyes were haunted - he could hardly meet her eyes. “But after he found me…”

She shook her head impatiently. “That doesn’t count. You weren’t in control then.”

“I still hurt people. I nearly killed you. If…”

“It’s irrelevant, here and now. No-one here knows those words; if they did, they’d have used them by now. So no-one here is going to take control away from you.”

He was silent for a long while; when he spoke again, it was in barely more than a whisper. “I nearly lost control, earlier. I… I shouted at Jessie. I frightened her.”

“Did you really nearly lose control? Or did you snap at her because she was being annoyingly persistent, and ignoring your requests to leave you alone?” His eyes snapped back to her. “Yes, I saw,” she continued. “I was listening in. And yes, she was afraid when you shouted, but that had a lot more to do with the last five years of hell she’s lived through, than anything to do with you. And you didn’t make a move to hurt her - didn’t raise your hand, lunge towards her, nothing. You just shouted.”

“I shouldn’t even have done that,” he said miserably.

She shrugged. “She kind of asked for it. I’m sure she’d admit that.”

“But I wasn’t in control,” he added, agitation creeping back into his voice. “Not really. I…” He trailed off into silence.

“You were lost, overwhelmed by your memories? Gunfire, explosions, blood, fear, like you were back in the war suddenly?” He looked at her sharply. “You had a flashback, Bucky. It happens sometimes, to people who’ve been in traumatic situations. And it doesn’t get more traumatic than a war.”

He watched her closely, but said nothing. “Something, anything, the tiniest little reminder, can trigger it - and suddenly you’re stuck in the middle of it again, with no way out.” He nodded in agreement. “It happens to the best of us - Steve, Sam, even me.” And there was an admission she didn’t make often. “Maybe even Jessie.” He looked haunted at that idea. “You need help. Professional help to deal with it. But you can be helped. You can learn to cope.”

“I thought it was him. I thought when it happened, it was him taking over. And I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t know it happened to other people.”

“Of course you didn’t. In your time, they didn’t know about it. And back then, people were encouraged to bottle things up, and not talk about them. Thousands of World War 2 veterans suffered because of that mindset. But things are different now. You don’t need to suffer.”

“But what if it happens again? Here?”

“You didn’t do so badly at dealing with it earlier.” He looked at her incredulously. “I mean it - you pulled yourself out of it pretty quickly.”

“Jessie did.” He spoke so softly, she almost didn’t catch it. “Hearing her voice pulled me out.”

“And you really think you’re capable of hurting her?” He looked at her balefully - but he knew she was right. “You’re safe here, Barnes. And once we get back - well, we’ll deal with it. You need help, and going back into stasis won’t change that. But if it’s what you really want… We’ll deal with it then.” He nodded. “But right now, you’re hungry and you’re tired. So let’s see what we can do about that, ok?”

Chapter Text

The next morning, he waited for her by the stream. He made sure to stand in plain view, so she’d see him from a distance - so she could avoid him if she wanted. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. But apologies were best done quickly - and she deserved an apology. Whatever his problems were, she shouldn’t be bearing the consequences of them.

She appeared between two wagons, empty buckets swinging at her side. He was watching her face as she caught sight of him, surprised when she smiled at him, a smile full of warmth, not a trace of nervousness. She closed the gap between them with no hesitation, dropping her buckets and looking, for an exhilarating few seconds, like she was going to throw her arms around him. Not at all the reaction he’d been expecting…

In the end, she didn’t embrace him, but nor did she stop smiling - and in spite of himself, he had to smile back. She kept on being a surprise…

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said. “I thought you might stay away.”

He had no idea what to say in response - he didn’t want to break her mood. “It’s my sacred duty,” he eventually mumbled.

She smiled again - she was being generous with them today. “I’m glad you feel that way,” she replied. She paused but before he could find the nerve to speak, she continued, “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

He stared at her - what did she have to apologise for? “You told me to leave you alone, repeatedly, and I didn’t,” she went on. “I should have done as you asked before you had to shout at me to make your point.” He tried to interrupt, but she held up her hand to stop him. “You were really upset, and some people just want to be on their own when they’re upset.” A pause, and then, “I know I do.”

He stayed silent at first, trying to find his feet in the conversation, but eventually he spoke. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. I’m the one who needs to apologise.” She shook her head. “But I frightened you,” he pressed on.

She looked at the ground for a second, then back up at him. “Not really. I was shocked more than frightened.”

He frowned - he’d seen the fear in her eyes. She didn’t have to lie to spare his feelings.

She caught his look. “It never entered my head that you’d hurt me. You didn’t do anything, and have never done anything to make me think you would. If I looked scared…” She trailed into silence, but he knew the subtext, the one Natasha had pinpointed – a man shouting at her normally meant problems. It was a split-second, instinctive reaction to that. Before everything else kicked in, before she remembered who he was, and how he didn’t hurt her. It warmed him to know she trusted him, even if it was misplaced. But then, maybe it wasn’t - he would never willingly hurt her.

“I’m still sorry,” he eventually said.

“Apology accepted,” she replied, and smiled at him again.

He smiled back, but briefly. He owed her an explanation for how he’d behaved yesterday, for why he’d been so upset at seeing that picture. But with the HYDRA issue still unspoken between them, with the two of them still locked in a game of ‘Let’s Pretend’, there was no easy way to frame it.

“I’m not always an easy man to deal with,” he finally said, his eyes on her face. “I have some very dark moods. My wi- Nat- she puts up with an awful lot from me.”

One corner of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile. “I’m sure there are compensations.”

Well, that had to stop right now. “Not so many as you might think.” She looked at him curiously. He chose his next words carefully. “Our marriage isn’t what it seems. She married me so she didn’t have to marry another man even less to her liking. I married her…” He sighed. “…Because I was in debt, to her father in fact, and if I didn’t, I’d have gone to jail, and then Steve and my family…” His voice failed him. Even though it wasn’t real, even though none of it was real, the thought of it still turned him cold.

She’d know it was a lie. But it would also tell her what he needed her to know - he didn’t love Natasha. But she stayed silent, so in the end, he spoke again. “So you see, we married each other for convenience. There’s no love between us.” Possibly more blunt than was strictly proper, but it was done - he’d said it.

“Are you sure?” she asked him seriously. “She seems… Quite attached.”

His smile came out more like a grimace. “Quite sure. We had to pretend at first, to convince her parents - she never fell out of the habit.” He saw the doubt in her eyes, so he added firmly, “She doesn’t love me.”

“She is beautiful.”

He had noticed. “Yes, she is. But - she’s not my type.” Her eyebrows shot up in response to that.

How could he explain? Natasha was beautiful, remarkably so, but she was also cold, distant, closed-off, and dangerous, infinitely dangerous. There was no comfort in her - no, not true - there was very little comfort in her, no warm safe haven. She was challenging, and difficult, and impossible to know. He’d spent months with her, and still knew very little about the real Natasha Romanoff. He couldn’t love someone like that.

He sighed again. “It’s not just what’s on the outside. She’s beautiful, yes, and brilliant - like a diamond. All hard surfaces and sharp edges - get too close and she’ll cut you open. Trying to love someone like that - I think she’d destroy me.”

She looked at him for a very long time, her expression totally unreadable. Then she repeated, “But she is beautiful.”

“She’s not the only one.”

It worked. She blushed and looked away. Once upon a time, he’d be triumphant now, knowing he’d won. But he wasn’t that man anymore - the man he was now warned him to be careful. She looked back at him suddenly, through her eyelashes. His heartbeat quickened, even as alarm bells started ringing in his head. “I hope you’re not suggesting I’m as beautiful as she is. Because that would be ridiculous.”

He smiled softly at her, but teasingly too. “Why? With your flame-red hair, and your bright blue eyes, your milky-white skin, you have everything she does.”

“I’m a washed-out version of her at best.”

“It’s true, you’re a bit on the scrawny side, but it’s nothing a few good dinners wouldn’t fix.” There was a warning flash in her eyes, but he continued, grinning, “And you have one thing she doesn’t. Which makes all the difference.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what would that be?”

He leaned in close to her, his face right in hers, and whispered, “Freckles.”

She reacted to his sudden closeness by blushing again, and dragged in a shaky breath. So much for being careful with her. “Freckles?” she finally managed as she pulled away from him, disbelief and outrage in her voice - she thought he was making fun of her.

“Yes,” he replied quickly. “They’ve always been my weakness. I’d do pretty much anything for a girl with freckles.” He held her gaze as he spoke - the effect he was having on her was having quite an effect on him. He’d landed in suddenly dangerous territory, and couldn’t find a way out.

She stared back at him, fighting not to smile, and then took a step back towards him. The alarm bells were clanging out the danger now, urging him to get away before this went any further, to get out while he still could, but it was far too late for that. She took another step, bringing her practically right up against him, her eyes still locked on his. It was his breathing that was ragged now, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, as she reached her hand up towards his face. He closed his eyes and lowered his head to her touch, lost in the moment.

But as her fingers lightly brushed his face, exploring his jawline, she suddenly stiffened, and drew a sharp breath. His eyes flew open and locked on to the terrible look on her face. She was swaying where she stood, her expression deepening towards horror - his hands fastened on her waist, holding her steady as he said her name urgently, but he got no response.

And then everything changed again. Her hand fell away from his face and her expression changed again, from horrified to confused. She focussed on him, on his worried face, his closeness to her, his hands on her waist, and abruptly pulled away, a shadow of the horror from before sliding back into her eyes. She looked away, deliberately staring at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. “I should be getting back,” she blurted.

He blinked, startled at how quickly her mood had changed. The shutters had slammed down so quickly, it was like being with Natasha. She bent to fill the buckets and was all set to carry them back herself, until he insisted she let him take them. She obviously didn’t want him to, but didn’t argue, instead setting a cracking pace back to her wagon, a pace that didn’t allow for talking. She was in such a hurry, in fact, that she almost led him right back to her wagon, only remembering at the very last minute to stop and take the buckets from him. But there was no accidentally on purpose brushing of fingers this time, like every other time - she was seriously rattled. What had he done?

Chapter Text

She waited until Steve left the wagon before she got up. James was still asleep - he’d sleep through a thunderstorm. But after thoroughly searching the wagon, including Steve’s personal belongings, she’d found nothing but a few blank pieces of paper. Whatever he’d done with his pictures, they weren’t hidden in the wagon.

He must have given them to that best friend of his. He’d have no compunction about hiding them - he’d do anything for Steve. But how to get them from him? He wouldn’t just hand them over if she asked, even if she made herself ask nicely. And she couldn’t ask Steve; he’d chosen to keep them from her. But she had to know what was in them. Had he drawn a woman from his past? Bucky had assured them that Steve wasn’t previously married, but there could have been a woman. Someone special. And if he’d drawn her… Of course he’d hide the evidence!

And what if, having drawn her, he’d remembered her? Remembered loving her? And what if that meant he didn’t love her anymore? Every day, he was changing; little by little, he was becoming someone different, someone that wasn’t her Steve. And what could she do? She couldn’t want him not to remember - it mattered so much to him, and it must be awful to have no memories of who you were or where you came from. But those memories were changing him; he was slipping from her grasp.

And now this - drawing his memories and not sharing them with her. However hurtful or confusing they were, he should let her see them - let her help him to cope. But if he shut her out, then how could she? And what did that mean for them? If James hadn’t woken up at that moment, she would have cried. But she couldn’t do that in front of her baby boy, so instead she took deep breaths, put her doubts and fears to one side, and went to him. Time enough to worry about Steve later.

She had an idea over breakfast - while she couldn’t possibly ask Bucky about the pictures, she could ask his wife. Her friend - yes, Natalie was a friend now. She’d surely know if he had them and what was in them. And she’d also understand that it wasn’t right for Steve to keep her in the dark like this. So she asked Natalie to walk with her that day - there was bound to be an opportunity to ask her at some point. And it would be good to have some company besides a three-year-old boy. Natalie readily accepted her invitation, but it turned out to be difficult to subtly introduce the subject of Steve’s drawings into the conversation. Not least as James monopolised Natalie’s attention, dragging her off to look at this flower or that butterfly, and every time he did, Grace had to start all over again. And she couldn’t just come right out and say it - she had to be subtle. But it was impossible – more and more of the day passed, and she still hadn’t been able to bring the subject round to the pictures.

So in the end, she just said it, poured out all her worries and fears about the pictures that Steve wouldn’t let her see, and was actively hiding from her. And how it had to mean that he’d drawn a woman from his past, because what else could possibly cause him to hide them from her?

Natalie looked taken aback at the sudden torrent of words that had been unleashed upon her. But before she could respond, and before Grace lost her nerve entirely, she pushed on. “I know he hides them with someone; they’re not in our wagon, so he must be hiding them somewhere else. And obviously, they must be with your husband.”

Just for a second, there was a flicker of something in Natalie’s eyes, but then it was gone, replaced by a look of puzzlement. She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I don’t know anything about them. If he’s given them to Bucky, he’s not told me.”

Was she lying? Was she trying to protect Steve? After all, she was his friend, first and foremost. “But he must have done. Who else would Steve give them to?” Surely not Natalie herself…

Natalie shrugged. “He might have given them to Bucky. I’m just saying he hasn’t told me if he did.”

“Well,” Grace said awkwardly. “Maybe you could have a look in your wagon for them?”

Natalie stared at her. “I can’t do that! If Bucky has them, and he is hiding them, they’ll be in his private things. I can’t go poking around in those.”

“Why not? You’re his wife. You’re supposed to share everything once you’re married, aren’t you?”

Natalie grimaced. “That’s not really how we work,” she said, delicately. “He has things he wants to keep private, and so do I. And we respect each other’s privacy. I can’t break his trust like that.”

Grace’s shoulders slumped. “But how else am I going to find out about them?”

“Could you not ask Steve?”

“No,” she answered. “He doesn’t choose to share them with me, so I won’t ask him.”

There was a hint of amusement in Natalie’s eyes as she answered. “But if you think he’s hiding something from you, of course you can ask him about it…”

Grace flashed her a cross look. Why couldn’t she understand?

“Or, you accept that he’s chosen not to share them with you, and you respect that choice, and wait until he’s ready to tell you about them.”

And who knew when that might be? Quite possibly it would be never. He might choose to keep his secrets forever, and all the while, they’d eat away at their life together. If only Natalie would help her - of course Bucky had the pictures. She was lying to shield him, when he didn’t deserve her loyalty - he broke her trust every time he looked at Jessie, or smiled one of those smiles at her. Why was she so determined to keep faith with him?

Of course, it could be loyalty to Steve. Or… Natalie knew about Steve’s past, she was a part of it. What if she knew about the woman, knew that Steve had loved her, and when he remembered, he’d want to go back to her? Could she be trying, misguidedly, to protect Grace? But wouldn’t it be better for her to know the truth? Surely that was better than being kept in the dark - she was strong enough to cope. Just knowing would make it easier. The truth couldn’t be worse than what she’d been imagining.

Natalie had been watching her, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “He really wasn’t married,” she eventually said. “But there was another woman, wasn’t there?” she asked, dully.

The pause told her all she needed to know. “Of a sort,” Natalie finally answered.

The world started swinging in and out of focus. “What does that mean?”

“There was a woman,” Natalie said. “Steve cared about her, a great deal. But I’m not sure that he loved her. Certainly not the way he loves you. They weren’t promised to each other, or anything,
really.”

“So why won’t he show me the pictures of her?”

“Assuming that he has drawn her, he might not remember much about her. Maybe he’s afraid they were much closer than they actually were.”

“I’d still rather know. Besides, surely he’d remember her if she was the love of his life?”

The corner of Natalie’s mouth quirked upwards. “Really? But he doesn’t remember a great deal about the actual love of his life, does he?”

It took some time to realise what she meant. “Bucky?” She spat the name. “You’re trying to tell me the person he loves most in the world is Bucky?” Her voice carried over to him, who looked back at her over his shoulder, frowning. She glared at him until he turned away, his frown deepening.

Natalie shrugged, unmoved. “The love of someone’s life doesn’t have to be their romantic love. Friendship is an incredibly powerful force, too. And they’ve been through a lot together. More than even I know.”

Grace scowled at the back of Bucky’s head. And then she sighed. On some level, she’d always known. Her real rival for Steve’s affection and attention had always been Bucky. Ever since he’d turned up, even before Steve had remembered anything about him, he’d clearly cared for Bucky. Always checking where he was, always seeming to know what he was thinking, always forgiving him his transgressions. And Bucky was the same about Steve - his one saving grace. If Bucky was the worst she had to contend with when it came to Steve, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

She allowed James to monopolise Natalie’s attention after that; he was tired and getting fractious. It was a surprise when Natalie offered to carry him so he didn’t have to go back in the wagon. She was clearly stronger than she looked. James jumped at the chance to stay outside in the fresh air, and gladly clambered onto Natalie’s back. And for the rest of the day, Natalie kept James royally entertained with stories, carrying him even during his afternoon nap. For a pampered, spoilt rich girl, she was remarkably fit and agile. Just one more thing that said there was so much more to Steve and his friends than she knew.

Once they stopped for the day, Steve took James for a walk to get him out of the way of the dinner preparations. Bucky saw to all the oxen, lit a fire for the cooking, and then, as usual, he disappeared. Where did he go all these times he went off by himself? What on earth was he doing? She shook her head impatiently - she didn’t care. There were more important things to worry about, like feeding her family.

But a few moments after he’d left, Jessie appeared – she was smiling, her movements bright and happy. She faltered momentarily when she saw Natalie helping her with the dinner, but not for long. She approached after only a slight hesitation, explaining that she’d made so much stew the evening before, she hadn’t had to make any dinner today, leaving her free to visit her friends. She smiled brightly, but her smile was only for Grace - she was very deliberately not meeting Natalie’s eyes.

“But of course I don’t mind helping my friends with their dinner,” she continued. “What can I do?” She smiled at Grace expectantly, still acting as if Natalie wasn’t there.

Grace frowned at her rudeness, and shook her head. “There isn’t anything, really,” she said. “Natalie and I have it all under control.”

Jessie’s smile slipped slightly, but she wasn’t deterred. “There must be something I can do,” she said, a nervous laugh in her voice, as if to say Grace was being ridiculous to refuse the help.

But she shook her head again, speaking ahead of Natalie, who’d opened her mouth to respond. “Really, there isn’t anything,” she replied firmly. “You should make the most of your evening off and rest.”

Jessie stood unmoving for a second, staring at her, her smile gone. Then she nodded slowly, and moved away, drifting across to the Barnes wagon. She sat on the steps and stared miserably at her
feet. An uncomfortable feeling lodged in the pit of her stomach, but she continued with the dinner, ignoring Jessie’s misery and the awkward look on Natalie’s face. She had to keep Natalie and Jessie apart - she had to protect Natalie from the havoc Jessie was wreaking on her heart.

It was hard to ignore Jessie sitting there, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the ground. But she persisted, focussing on the dinner and nothing else. Even so, she was on the verge of relenting when Jessie suddenly looked up, alert, as if she’d heard something. She turned and stared at the wagon behind her, as if the something was inside it, and her frown suggested what she was hearing wasn’t pleasant. Beside her, Natalie tensed, her attention riveted on Jessie. A moment of doubt assailed her - she really didn’t know this woman at all; was she right to spurn her old friend for this new one? Even if her old friend was clearly doing something wrong? Steve stood up for Bucky whatever he did - was she not as good a friend? But - Steve shouldn’t be ignoring his friend’s wrongdoing. But then - friends are the people who do stand up for you when you’re in the wrong…

Bucky broke the strange tension in the air by walking around the corner of his wagon. He stopped at finding Jessie sitting on his steps and looked across to them, frowning. He didn’t meet her eyes - his look was only for his wife, and it was searching, not quite accusing. Then he turned his attention back to Jessie. Of course he did. And all her guilt evaporated, because no matter what she did, he’d always be there to pick up the pieces. She turned to Natalie, fully expecting to see her trying to hide her hurt, but she’d gone back to the vegetables she’d been chopping, and didn’t seem in the least bit bothered. It made no sense! She clearly loved her husband dearly - how could she not be upset to see him prefer the company of another woman, right in front of her face?

She turned back to the scene in front of her. Bucky had crouched down in front of Jessie, trying to cheer her up. She did look happier for him being there, a weak smile on her face as she talked quietly to him, but she hadn’t lit up for him the way she normally did. There was something awkward about her actions, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Something had clearly happened between them - had he pushed her to do something she didn’t want to? Grace clenched her fists at her sides - but no. He was confused, as if he didn’t know what he’d done. Surely if he’d tried it on with her, he’d know exactly what he’d done…

And then Steve and James came back from their walk, James carrying two neat bunches of flowers, one for his mother and one for Natalie. But none for Jessie. It wasn’t Steve’s fault - he hadn’t known she’d be there, but there was guilt written all over his face nonetheless. Jessie didn’t mind at first, but when Steve tried to persuade James to pick some more for her, he refused. He didn’t want to pick any more flowers - he wanted to be cuddled by Natalie and told more stories. Natalie was his ‘favourite’. Natalie looked wretchedly at Jessie after he said those fateful words, but Jessie only had stricken eyes for James. Then she surged to her feet, said a sudden headache had come on and she was going back to her own wagon. After that, she turned and fled, no doubt before she started to cry. Everyone else looked awkwardly at each other, Steve’s look to her uncomfortably stern - and she hadn’t even said anything! She’d never have encouraged James to say such a thing, and Steve knew as well as she did that he’d have forgotten about it by tomorrow and have gone back to Jessie. He was a threeyear- old boy - he was fickle! Still, could her warmth towards Natalie that day have prompted his behaviour? She’d favoured Natalie – had he done so too? Was it actually her fault?

Chapter Text

As Jessie hurried away into the darkness, Natasha looked pointedly at him, a look that clearly told him to follow her, post-haste. He hesitated, unwilling to let things with Jessie get even more tangled up – but Natasha’s look only grew more fierce. Given the choice between tangling himself up with Jessie or facing Natasha’s ‘punishment’ for not doing so, he’d choose Jessie every time. So he made his excuses and left. Steve and Grace were so busy glaring at each other, they didn’t even notice. He’d probably have been fine striding openly after Jessie, but his instincts wouldn’t let him. So he went into his wagon, untied the ropes on the other side and slipped out, using the wagon body to block the others’ view of him as he followed Jessie. He moved as swiftly as he dared in the almost-dark to intercept her before she got too close to her own wagon and her ‘family’.

Her familiar silhouette soon appeared ahead of him, lit by the light of the other parties’ campfires - she really was fleeing. She’d been badly hurt by Grace and James this evening - why else would she be in such a hurry to get back to her own miserable home? He moved to cut her off, catching up with her in the shadow of another party’s storage wagon.

“Jessie.” He spoke softly as he came up behind her, trying not to startle her or alert anyone else to their presence. Of course, she jumped - he’d followed her silently, unable to break the conditioning of decades of habit. She whirled to face him, shock on her face but no fear - she’d known it was him. It was hardly the first time he’d appeared when she was on her own.

“Bucky.” She also spoke quietly - something about the blanketing darkness demanded it. “What are you doing here?” She hugged her elbows, awkward and uncomfortable. He was definitely not welcome.

“You were upset. I wanted to check you were alright.”

“I’m fine.” Her reply was so quick, so reflexive, it had to be a lie. But it gave him a way out - he could take it at face value, retreat and go back to his wagon - he’d tried and been rebuffed for his pains. Or he could challenge it, push her harder, and try to break through her reserve. Natasha wanted him to do it, he wanted to do it - Jessie was hurting, lonely and miserable. But if he pushed too hard, the walls he’d worked so hard to bring down would go slamming back up again, permanently this time. Still, maybe this was one time where he needed to risk it and push. She needed someone right now, and he was her only option.

“Really?” he questioned her gently. “You looked a lot less than fine when you left so abruptly.” Her answering look was anguished, as if he wasn’t supposed to ask such awkward questions. She didn’t reply, so he kept on guessing. “Was it Grace and Natalie’s sudden friendship? Because it surprised me too.” She met his eyes briefly, looked away, then shook her head decisively. So he was right. “Look, Jessie-”

“It’s fine. She’s another one of Grace’s little projects now. So am I. It’s not a problem.”

It was blatantly untrue - so he kept silent, letting his lack of words convey his doubt. She held firm at first, but eventually broke, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine. It’s not fine.” She said no more, although there was a world of unspoken thoughts hanging in the silence.

“It’s my fault,” he ventured, after a while. She shifted as if she wanted to disagree, but didn’t speak. “Grace is angry that I don’t love my wife. That I neglect her. I don’t behave the way a husband should towards her.” She still didn’t speak. God, she was making this hard. “But we’re not all Steve Rogers,” he eventually continued. “And I’m not good at pretending. All those affectionate looks and touches, the things Grace thinks I should be doing, it doesn’t come naturally to me. Especially when it’s not real.” Besides, if he tried it, Natasha would have his hand off. Or worse.

“It’s not just that, though, is it?” Jessie finally spoke, her face invisible in the dark. He smiled, a tight, pained smile. No, it wasn’t just that. “You’re not the only sinner here,” she continued, bitterness in every syllable. “Grace has her new project to punish me, not you. She doesn’t approve of - well, this.”

And what could he say to answer that? They’d never talked so openly about - this - before.

She shook her head again, as if trying to clear her head. “It’s not just Grace. It was James, too. Stupid, I know, to be jealous of a little boy’s affection.” He half-smiled, but didn’t speak. It wasn’t stupid at all, not to someone as lonely as she was. “I just - they were mine. My friends. And then - you both turned up and suddenly I was surplus to requirements.”

“You’re not,” he countered immediately. “Steve doesn’t remember me, barely the first thing about me. You’re his friend, and he cares a great deal about you. You’re a part of his family.”

“So are you,” she responded, a trace of bitterness lingering in her voice. “He doesn’t remember you, perhaps, but he unquestionably accepts you’re his best friend. You’re part of his old life, and you matter to him.”

He shrugged. “I’m not exactly Grace’s favourite person, though.”

She shifted, as if, in spite of herself, she’d laughed. It was progress. “No, you’re certainly not that.” She sighed. “And nor am I anymore.”

“You’re her best friend. That doesn’t just vanish overnight. Trust me - I know.”

He had the sense she’d tried, but failed, to smile. “It’s just…” She paused, took a deep breath, and tried again. “The time I have with them, it’s precious. It…”

She didn’t need to finish. He knew what she couldn’t say. And he hurt for her. Without thinking, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. She resisted initially, but gave in after a few seconds, leaning her head against his shoulder, his arm (his real arm) around her, holding her to him. Her arm snaked around his waist, her other hand coming up to rest on his chest. And they might have stood there like that all night had he not tightened his hold just a fraction too much. She breathed in sharply and pulled away from him, pulling in deep breaths of air.

“I should go,” she said quickly, turning to flee a second time. But she wasn’t leaving without giving him answers. He grabbed her hand and arrested her flight.

“You’re hurt,” he stated flatly. “What happened?”

She pulled against him, only the whites of her eyes visible, widened in fear. Then she looked down. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. What happened?” He had to keep the anger from his voice - he didn’t want to frighten her. But it was a battle.

“I - I just - I fell,” she stammered. “Into the side of the wagon. It’s just - just a bruise. It’s nothing.”

“Fell? Or were pushed?” She remained silent, still resisting his grip, head still down, refusing to look at him. It was all the answer he needed. “Do they hurt you?” he asked her softly, fighting to keep the murder in his heart out of his voice. He knew they did – but she had to tell him.

She hesitated, her breathing short and sharp. Then she nodded; he felt the movement as she slumped, like she was ashamed. It took several deep breaths before he could calm down - but he
couldn’t spook her.

“How long?”

She shrugged. “Years.” The off-handed way she said it broke his heart, even as the fury rose in his throat. But it wasn’t the icecold focussed fury of the Winter Soldier - it was the red-hot anger of Bucky Barnes, incensed that anyone could hurt a defenceless girl like this. And they’d pay for it.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, moving past her, intent on breaking some heads, or at least some bones.

“Bucky, no, no, you mustn’t, you can’t,” she pleaded. He turned back to her, close enough so she could see his eyes - she quailed at the anger she saw in them. “Please don’t. Just leave it.”

“I can’t,” he ground out. “I won’t let them do this to you anymore.”

“It won’t help,” she wailed. “It’ll just make them worse!”

“Why do you stay with them?” he asked. “When they treat you like this, and you could leave them, and stay with Steve?”

She was silent. She couldn’t tell him the real answer – that she was HYDRA, that she couldn’t let Steve take a viper into his family, but it was made no sense - Steve would never hold it against her. She must know that. “They’re my family.”

“You don’t owe them anything. Not if they do this to you.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t impose on Grace and Steve like that! Not when they have James, and - and - and another one on the way…” Her voice trailed off; his eyebrows rose - he’d had no idea.

“Then stay with me and Natalie.”

She laughed - a harsh, bitter sound. “I don’t see Grace standing for that somehow.”

“Why not? Natalie wouldn’t mind, and there’s nothing happening between us, whatever Grace thinks. And it’s not going to. I think she’d take it, if it meant you were safe. Let me take you away from this. Please.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence - he held his breath, hoping. “I can’t,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

“Fine,” he replied. “Then I’ll show them what will happen if they ever hurt you again.”

“Bucky, no! They’ll-” She broke off, hands flying to her mouth.

He stopped and turned back to her again. “You can’t seriously think they’re a threat to me. You know what I can do.”

“I know, but-” She broke off again. He waited, but when she didn’t say anything else, he resumed his advance. She grabbed desperately at his hand - his left, metal hand. He yanked it sharply away from her, but she didn’t let go, stumbling towards him, into his chest. She stared up at him, her face close to his; her hands on his chest slowly moved up to his neck, and before he could stop her, she pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him.

It was a soft kiss, gentle, innocent even, but as his hands came up to circle her waist and pull her into him, he deepened it, utterly lost in the sensation. He’d done this before so many times, but with his memories still hazy, it felt strangely new, almost like it was the first time. Her hands were in his hair, pulling at it, pulling him closer, and he surrendered to her, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind screaming at him to stop. He couldn’t, not for anything - he wanted to stay like this forever. But suddenly, sharply, shockingly, Jessie pulled away from him, a horrified look on her face. He half-heartedly reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her back and surrender to her again, but she stepped backwards out of his reach; his hands dropped helplessly to his sides.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, accusingly. “It’s wrong.” Then she turned and fled.

It was with an acute sense of embarrassment that he realised he’d just been played by an expert. She’d completely distracted him from his earlier intent to wreak bloody vengeance on her ‘family’, and now that they’d actually kissed, she also had a castiron excuse not to stay with him and Natasha. He’d be angry, but he was still dizzy, still reeling from that kiss. He smiled wryly – there would be a reckoning for this. But for now, there was nothing to do but to return to his own wagon, and try to hide what had just happened…

Chapter Text

She lay unmoving, keeping her breathing slow and even, so it would sound like she was asleep. Steve wasn’t sleeping, either - and almost certainly knew she was awake. Back at home, rain pattering on the windowpane had always soothed her, but out here in the middle of nowhere, the rain falling on their canvas wasn’t comforting at all. It was relentless - not pouring down, but enough to make everything thoroughly wet. Thank goodness they could all fit inside their wagon to sleep. Sleeping outside in this…

Not that she could sleep. How could she, after how Steve had looked at her after Jessie had run off so suddenly? It hadn’t even been her fault - it had been James’ thoughtless words that had upset her. But you couldn’t be angry with a three-year-old boy - he didn’t realise what he’d done. And if she was completely honest, it wasn’t just what James had said - she’d contributed too with her behaviour, shunning Jessie in favour of Natalie. Perhaps she deserved it after all that Steve had barely spoken to her since…

She sighed suddenly, forgetting she was pretending to be asleep. Steve shifted beside her, turning slightly towards her. “Can’t sleep?” His voice came out of the darkness suddenly, softly, trying not to wake James. He needn’t have bothered - James could sleep through anything. A fanfare of trumpets, a thunderstorm, the end of days…

“No,” she replied, just as softly.

“Is the rain keeping you awake?”

“Yes,” she answered, unwilling to argue. But a second later, she added, “No.” He stayed silent, inviting her to unburden herself. She wriggled around to face him. “I don’t like you being angry with me.”

There was a pause, before he sighed. “I’m not angry with you. But I am a little disappointed.” Oh, those words. So innocuous, and yet they cut her to the quick. Much better if he was angry.

She was silent for a long time. Then she whispered, “So am I.”

He shifted again, turning fully to face her, and put his arm around her. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “What had Jessie done to deserve that?”

“Nothing,” she replied, tears starting in her eyes. “She came to visit us, so happy to be free of her family, and I was so unkind to her.” He pulled her closer. She reached up to wipe away her tears. “And I told myself I was doing it to spare Natalie’s feelings, but really, I just wanted to avoid Jessie.”

“Why?” It wasn’t an accusing question. “She’s your best friend.”

“Because every time we’ve spent time together recently, we’ve ended up arguing.”

“About Bucky?” She was glad he’d said it.

“Yes, of course about him.” He sighed, but she spoke before he could remonstrate with her. “I know that we don’t agree on this, but I don’t want her to throw herself away on him. And I don’t think he should either.”

“I don’t entirely disagree,” he answered, after another long pause. “But - I also respect that it’s her choice. And his. And not mine or yours.”

“But how can you watch them do something you know is wrong and not try to stop them?”

He shrugged. “Because it’s not my life, and not my choices. And because - I’m not completely sure that it is wrong.” This time he was the one to rush on before she could interrupt. “I can’t explain it, because I don’t remember it, but when I look at Bucky, I get this sense of deep, bone-aching sadness. I don’t know why, but I can only think that his life, our lives, weren’t very happy.” She frowned – it did fit with what Natalie had told her. “And I like seeing him happy. And he looks happy when he sees Jessie. Maybe it’s wrong of me, but I can’t condemn him for that.”

“But what about Jessie?” Taking him on over Bucky would never work, but he cared about Jessie too; perhaps an appeal on her behalf had a chance.

“I kind of see the same thing.” He paused, and then added, “We know her family treat her badly. We’re her only friends. Bucky might be the one shining light she has.”

“But he’s not! Hers I mean. He’s Natalie’s…”

He was silent for a long time. “It’s the strangest thing, but I find the idea of them being married wrong. It doesn’t fit right somehow.”

It took some time for the meaning of his words to sink in, the idea was so shocking. “You’re saying they’re not married? Well, how is that any better? They’ve been travelling together as man and wife, sharing rooms, sharing a wagon! If they’re not married, that’s absolutely appalling! And besides…” She trailed off, then added reluctantly, “Natalie told me how they met, and how they married. I can’t believe she’d lie about that. It sounded so real - so awful, but real.”

“She told you?” There was the faintest note of hurt in his voice.

“She made me promise not to tell you anything. She said you need to remember for yourself.”

“It might be easier if people in the know would give me some clues.” The hurt had changed to frustration.

“But she’s right. If they just tell you everything, you’ll never know what you really remember and what you’ve just been told.”

“I don’t want them to tell me everything, just some things. Clues to start me off. Like explaining…” It was his turn to trail off.

“Explaining your pictures?” she asked eventually, when he didn’t continue.

He sighed. “Yes.”

“How many have you drawn?”

“A few.” He really didn’t want to be talking about them.

But she was going to make him. “You haven’t shown them to me.”

He sighed again, heavier this time. “No. Because they don’t make sense. They frighten me, even though they seem familiar. I don’t want to show them to you until I can explain them - make them less frightening.”

She frowned - the woman from his past wouldn’t be frightening, would she? So he had to be lying. But he’d always been so bad at lying. “So, you didn’t draw anyone special?”

He almost laughed. “They’ve mostly been of Bucky. One or two not. But no-one that strikes me as special, at least not in the way you mean.”

“So, not a woman?”

“No, no women.” He pulled her closer suddenly. “Is that what you were worried about? That I had some mysterious woman in my past? Well, if I have, I don’t remember her. And even if I do, there’s no way I could have loved her as much as I love you. I promise that.”

Which wasn’t as comforting as he’d meant it to be - after all, if he didn’t remember this other woman, how could he possibly know that? But still, it was nice to be held and be told she was loved. She drifted off to sleep before anything more could be said.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Bucky made his way slowly through the camp, heading for the stream and his usual morning meeting with Jessie. He could be making a terrible mistake - it was sure to be awkward between them after what had happened the night before. Or even worse, it might end up with them continuing where they’d left off…

But Jessie couldn’t carry those buckets by herself - however awkward it was, he’d deal with it. And try to keep his hands off her. Hopefully, she’d have the sense to do the same. But Jessie wasn’t at the stream. He was later than usual - the rainstorm last night had kept him awake, and he’d been late to rise as a result. Even so, he wasn’t so late that he’d have missed her. And surely she’d have waited for him? Or maybe not. She’d been horrified by their kiss, and while it might have been partly feigned, some of it had been real. It wasn’t as if she flirted with him of her own volition, after all - she’d been ordered to. But still, Natasha insisted Jessie’s attraction to him was real. Perhaps she’d only meant to lead him on so far, and last night, she’d crossed that line. So perhaps she’d got up really early and fetched her own water to avoid him, or maybe she was watching from behind one of the nearby wagons, waiting for him to give up and leave. He stood by the water, unsure - he wanted to see her, even if just to set the record straight about yesterday.

He could pretend to get bored and walk away, then hide and wait for her to emerge. The easiest thing would be to go and find her - that was the surest way to see her. Jessie didn’t want him anywhere near her ‘family’ - she obviously believed they could control him - but Natasha’s relentless repetition of her thoughts on that matter had got through to him. They didn’t know the words. He almost believed it. Almost.

He shook his head impatiently. Jessie was worth it. If it turned out they did know the words, they’d all be unconscious before they made it through to the last one. They didn’t stand a chance against him if he wasn’t restrained, even unarmed. And if they tried threatening Jessie to get him to comply, they wouldn’t succeed - he’d save her too.

So he set off purposefully towards Jessie’s wagon, watching out for her along the way, but he made it all the way there without meeting her. He slowed his steps as he approached, sliding into the shadow of a nearby wagon, edging along it until he could see the space in front of the HYDRA wagon. Jessie was engrossed in lighting a fire - the empty buckets stood beside her. There was no-one else around. He relaxed. She was just running late - maybe she hadn’t been able to sleep through the rain, either. Still, he was here now, and she was making a meal of lighting the fire. Lighting fires happened to be his speciality.

He made as much noise as he could force himself to as he approached her, trying for the hundredth time not to make her jump. And this time, she didn’t - she didn’t turn to acknowledge him, or give any sign at all that she was aware of him being there. He made it all the way to her side without her turning to see who it was. The concern flickering inside him flared quickly into alarm - her hair was soaking wet, her clothes were too, and she was shivering violently. She was trying to light a fire but her hands were shaking so hard, she couldn’t strike the match properly.

He crouched down beside her, scanning her face, his heart pounding. She still didn’t react - it really was as if she didn’t know he was there. He reached out and took the matches from her gently, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so. They were frozen. She’d been out in the storm last night - and almost certainly had hypothermia.

“Jessie?” He spoke quietly but urgently, desperate for her to react. But she didn’t respond. “Jessie!” He tried again, louder, shaking her gently.

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes unfocussed and her teeth chattering. “Bucky,” she eventually answered, struggling to speak.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened as she finally processed that he was there beside her. “No, Bucky,” she said, pushing weakly at him. “Shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.” She pushed at him again and nearly fell forward into the fire. He caught her and pulled her towards him. Immediately, she cuddled into him, breathing, “You’re so warm.”

He wasn’t equipped to deal with this, but someone raised in Russian winters would be. He pulled Jessie properly into his arms, and stood, lifting her effortlessly from the ground. Her clothes were sodden - had she been out in the rain all night?

But as he turned to leave, Michael stepped out of one of the wagons. He stopped short at the sight of Bucky, and for the briefest instant, his face betrayed his terror. Which confirmed it - they didn’t know the words. Michael finally tore his eyes away from Bucky to take in Jessie, cuddled into his arms, and his expression changed from fear to concern. He stepped away from the wagon towards them, willingly putting himself within reaching distance of Bucky’s rage.

“Oh, God,” Michael breathed. He took one of Jessie’s hands gently, closing his eyes when he felt how cold she was. His eyes slowly, reluctantly, opened to meet Bucky’s, apprehension in them – he was well aware of the danger he’d put himself in by approaching so close.

“What happened?” He kept his voice quiet and low, but it was laced with full-throated menace all the same. Michael swallowed hard.

“The others wanted to punish her,” he began, stepping back smartly as Bucky’s hand clenched into a fist.

“Why?”

Michael looked down at Jessie again. “Because she always answers back,” he said softly. “Sometimes, I think she wants them to hurt her.”

Bucky frowned. It made no sense to him, but he could believe it of her. He studied her, trying to burrow into him, seeking his warmth - why would she behave that way? Natasha would no doubt understand, but it was beyond him. He turned back to Michael. “So they left her outside all night? And you let them?”

“I tried to stop them,” Michael insisted. “I told them it was stupid and dangerous. Even if it hadn’t rained… But there’s only one of me and three of them.”

Bucky regarded Michael cautiously. His tone was sincere, and Natasha thought he wasn’t as bad as the others - he worked hard and he looked out for Jessie. When he didn’t say anything, Michael continued, “I made them leave her the fire, and blankets. But the rain would have put the fire out, and soaked the blankets…” His voice trailed off. After a moment, he went on, “I was going to wait until the others had gone to sleep, and bring her inside. We share a wagon,” he added, by way of explanation. “They wouldn’t have known. She’s always up before the rest of us anyway. But I fell asleep…” He looked down, his shoulders crumpling under the guilt.

Bucky took a deep breath. He’d tried to protect her – it wouldn’t be right to take it out on him. “I’m taking Jessie back to my wagon,” he eventually said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “My wife will be able to look after her.” He stared hard at Michael, waiting until he returned the look to continue, “You should warn the rest of your family that I won’t be responsible for the consequences if they ever do anything like this again.”

Michael nodded nervously. “I will. I’ll be very clear on it,” he replied.

Bucky didn’t reply; he turned and strode away as fast as he could, in search of Natasha and help.

No-one was up when he got back. It was a relief – Grace would have got in the way, objecting to what he was about to do, which was to carry Jessie into his wagon. Natasha was awake and dressed - her eyebrows shot up when he came in with Jessie in his arms, but she quickly took stock of the situation, and burst into action.

“Put her down here,” she said tersely, motioning to her mattress. “What happened?”

He repeated what Michael had told him, as she felt Jessie’s freezing hands and assessed her soaked clothes and hair. There was a brief flash of murderous rage in her eyes as he spoke, but she quickly concealed it, the rest of her response relentlessly practical. “We need to get her warmed up as quickly as possible. Light a fire and boil some water. And find some blankets. I have to get her out of these wet clothes.”

He did as he was told. He’d taken to storing their firewood under the wagon seat, so it had been protected from last night’s rain. It wasn’t long before he had a good fire going; he was fetching the buckets to go for water when Natasha called for him. He entered their wagon to find her trying to hold Jessie up while removing her wet clothes, but Jessie couldn’t stand unaided. He moved to help, but Natasha’s words stopped him. “I need you to fetch Steve. I need his help.”

“I can help you.”

“You need to be heating water, and finding blankets. I need Steve.”

He glared at her, but she was unmoved. “Fine,” he eventually muttered, and turned to leave.

“If you can find some decent-sized stones and heat them in the fire, they’ll help too,” Natasha added sweetly as he left. He crossed swiftly to the Rogers wagon, and knocked gently on the side, hoping to only wake Steve. There was a rustle of blankets as Steve sat up - he’d always been a light sleeper.

“What is it?” Steve asked, barely even sounding like he’d just woken up.

“Nat needs you. In our wagon. It’s urgent.” He didn’t have to say more - Steve was already moving around, gathering his clothing, not wasting time asking questions.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he said.

Bucky left him to it, and went to fetch the water. When he returned, Grace was standing near the fire he’d lit, looking worriedly in the direction of his wagon.

“What’s happening?” she asked him, as he deposited the water by the fire.

“It’s Jessie,” he answered briefly. “She was left outside all night by her family, and now she’s freezing cold, and really ill.”

Grace’s hands had flown to her mouth as he spoke. “But the rain last night…” Her voice was haunted. “She must be… I should go and help.”

“I think Steve and Nat have it in hand,” he said quickly.

Natasha hadn’t stopped him helping her out of any concern for Jessie’s modesty (or she’d have asked Grace, not Steve, for help), but to stop him from seeing the evidence of what Jessie’s family had done to her. She didn’t want to have to deal with three, maybe four, dead HYDRA agents. Steve had better control over his anger - he’d no doubt go and wreak some vengeance, but not of the lethal variety. And if Grace saw it, she’d be deeply upset; it was better to spare her that. She scowled at him, about to argue, so he added, “Nat asked me to find some blankets. I don’t suppose you have any to spare?”

It worked. Distracted, her expression softened, and she nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “I’ll go and fetch them.” She hurried off.

He set the water to boil, and then hunted for rocks to heat. She returned with an armful of blankets, which she handed to him, before looking at him expectantly. He stared back in confusion until she sighed impatiently and gestured for him to step back from the fire. Of course - she wanted to make breakfast. And probably other things to help warm Jessie up. He half-smiled at her, acknowledging his stupidity, surprised when she half-smiled back.

Perhaps she didn’t hate him quite as much as he thought. It wasn’t much longer before Steve came out of the wagon, half-supporting, half-carrying Jessie, closely followed by Natasha. Jessie was wearing another one of Natasha’s dresses, but at least it was dry. Her hair was still wet, but it was drier than it had been, and freshly brushed; it was hard to picture Natasha as the motherly, hair-brushing type. Steve started to lead Jessie to the fire, only for Natasha to stop him, motioning for Bucky to sit on the wagon steps. Bemused, he did as he was asked, handing Natasha the blankets, but his eyes widened when she then directed Steve to sit Jessie on top of him. Steve, equally bemused, also did as he was told; he was incredibly gentle with Jessie, but anger was burning in his eyes. As soon as he’d settled her, he stalked off without a word. Bucky wanted nothing more than to go with him, but Jessie cuddling into him coupled with Natasha tucking them both up in a mountain of blankets effectively put an end to any thoughts he had of following.

“Warm her up, and whatever else you do, don’t let her fall asleep,” Natasha murmured to him as she worked. “Just keep her talking. And hold her hands - they’re freezing.” He eyed her uncertainly - seeing his face, she huffed at him. “You’re the warmest person I know, and the best way to warm up someone who has hypothermia is other people’s body heat. Ergo…” She motioned at them.

He nodded to show he understood, shifting under the blankets to find Jessie’s hands with his own. Her fingers were little icicles; as he closed his one actual hand around both of her much smaller ones, she relaxed against him.

“Don’t let her fall asleep!” Natasha warned him again, then headed off to the fire with the rest of the blankets. As she moved away, he was exposed to the full force of Grace’s scowl - she did not approve at all. Normal service had clearly been resumed. He ignored her.

“Hey, Jessie,” he said softly, turning his attention back to the girl in his arms. “No dozing on me. It’s not allowed.” He didn’t get a reply, so he repeated her name, shaking her gently. There was an answering moan of protest. “You have to stay awake. Nat said so.”

“But I’m tired.”

“I know you are, but you don’t want to make her angry.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible, but she shrank even further into him. “No,” she replied weakly. He frowned - was she really so scared of Natasha? She hadn’t done anything to deserve it; she’d been friendly and warm, with varying degrees of success, perhaps, but she’d tried. There’d been very little trace of the fearsome Black Widow since they’d jumped back in time. Perhaps that was all the more frightening to those who knew her reputation, but not the woman behind it. It would certainly explain why winning Jessie’s trust was so hard for her. It would make far more sense for her to be afraid of him, but here she was, snuggling into his arms like he was some safe haven from the world. But then, he’d never hurt her - and he’d take on anyone who tried it. And win.

His attention had drifted, and Jessie had drifted back towards sleep, her head sinking against his chest. “Hey, Jessie!” he said sharply, shaking her more forcefully this time. She lifted her head from his chest, made another noise of protest, and gave him a baleful look.

“I didn’t get any sleep,” she told him reproachfully.

“I know you didn’t, but Nat gave me orders, and I’m sticking to them.” He squeezed her hands, chafing them in an attempt to warm them up, to warm her up. It was getting uncomfortably hot in their cocoon of blankets, but she was still cold as ice.

Then Natasha came back, and knelt at his feet, from where she proceeded to pull Jessie’s boots off. It caused no small amount of complaining, and more than a few looks from Jessie as if she expected him to intervene on her behalf. No chance. Once she had them off, and had peeled the soggy stockings underneath them off too, Natasha started prodding Jessie’s feet.

“Ow!” Jessie even went so far as to direct a baleful look at Natasha.

Who was completely unmoved. “I need to check you can still feel all your toes - we don’t want them to turn black and drop off, do we?”

Jessie didn’t realise it had been a rhetorical question, shaking her head and saying, “No!” quite forcefully.

“Don’t worry - they seem to be just fine. A little bit cold, but alive. So I’ll just rest them on this-” as she placed a heated rock wrapped in a blanket underneath Jessie’s feet, and then swathed them in yet more blankets, “-and that will help warm them up.”

“Thank you,” Jessie said softly, as Natasha climbed to her feet. Natasha paused and looked down at her for a second, before she smiled.

“It’s no problem,” she replied, before leaving them alone again. Amazing - she’d been almost visibly moved. She returned a few seconds later, with another rock in a blanket. This one she proceeded to place carefully on Jessie’s midriff. “I know he’s pretty warm,” she told Jessie, “but it can’t hurt to give him a little bit of help.” And then she vanished again.

Jessie wriggled against him, trying to manoeuvre herself into a more comfortable position - no easy feat while swaddled in blankets with a dead weight on her stomach. “I do feel warmer,” she commented. She was more lucid than she had been - Natasha’s ministrations seemed to be working.

“Good,” he replied. “It’ll be nice when your fingers don’t feel like shards of ice anymore.” Her hands shifted beneath his, the fingers of one hand entwining themselves in his. He smiled softly – it was a good thing Grace couldn’t see her shocking lack of propriety, although Jessie likely didn’t even realise what she was doing. She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s very cosy,” she said, her head beginning to fall back towards his chest.

“No, Jessie,” he said, nudging her slightly. “You have to stay awake and keep talking to me.”

She pulled a face, but she was trying to keep her eyes open. He needed to find something they could talk about, but there were so many subjects that were out of bounds - anything to do with HYDRA, anything to do with last night, anything he could normally ask about. “Tell me about your mother,” he eventually said. It was a safe enough topic.

Her face crumpled in response. Of course - her persona’s mother had died when she was a baby; she’d told him so. And she’d been separated from her real mother, assuming she was still alive, for over five years, trapped in this nightmare. It was quite possibly the worst thing he could have asked about. Casting around wildly for a way to change the subject, or mitigate what he’d said, his eyes fell on Jessie’s hair, gradually regaining its fiery glow as it dried. “Did she have hair like yours?”

She shook her head. “No. It was darker. Chestnut. It was beautiful - always so shiny and soft. Not like mine, all carroty and coarse.” Her hair was neither of those things. It had no doubt seen better days - trail life was hard on anything exposed to the elements, hair and face in particular - but it was still pretty lustrous. And fine.

“I quite like the flame-haired look,” he replied. She rolled her eyes - he grinned in response.

“And she was tall, and beautiful. Pale skin, no freckles, and her eyes were cornflower blue.” This woman was implausibly beautiful. But then, it was no surprise if a little girl who’d lost her mother when she was young, or more likely, a girl who hadn’t laid eyes on her mother for years, was idealising her.

“Well, no freckles is a big no in my book,” he answered.

She shook her head in disbelief, but it was the truth. Freckles had always fascinated him.

“And she was so slender,” Jessie continued, ignoring his comment.

“Well, so are you,” he replied. “You’re practically skin and bones.”

“I didn’t used to be.”

“No bad thing, if you ask me.” All the women on television and in the advertising of the future were impossibly thin. But he was from the ’40s - women had looked different then. Jessie was lovely as she was, but honestly, she’d look a lot better if her eyes weren’t sunken into her head from lack of sleep and lack of adequate food, and if she had a few extra curves, he’d not complain. But this wasn’t the time to point that out. “So, was she as kind as she was beautiful?”

She nodded. “She was very kind. And very safe.” Her voice trembled as if she was about to cry.

“What about your Dad?” he asked hurriedly. “Was he devastatingly handsome, too?”

She frowned at the perceived slight to her mother, but shook her head. “No, he was just normal-looking. But he was funny, and clever, and everybody liked him.” He smiled - her parents, her real ones, sounded wonderful. And if he had anything to do with it, she would get to see them again.

“And my brother-” She broke off suddenly, on the verge of giving herself away. If she’d tried to tell him about her amazing brother, the game would have been up. She struggled against him, struggling to get free of him, free of the blankets, free of the rock weighing her down. “I have to go. I have to make breakfast.”

“No, you really don’t,” he replied, not restraining her but not letting her go, either. “You need to stay here and warm up.”

“You don’t understand!” she told him. “If I don’t, they’ll-”

“They won’t,” he said, firmly. “They won’t do a thing to you. And it will do them good to know what it feels like to go without a meal for once.”

She looked at him helplessly. “But they’ll hurt me,” she said, and her piteous tone struck him to the heart.

“No, they really won’t,” he replied, gently. “They know what the consequences will be if they try it.”

She frowned, and then her eyes widened as she realised what he was saying. “You mustn’t! You mustn’t go near them!”

“Why not?” he asked her. “What are you so afraid of?”

“They’ll hurt you.”

“Jessie, I spoke to Michael this morning. Nothing bad happened to me. Or to him, for which he can be incredibly grateful that I’d already picked you up before he showed his face.”

She stared at him. Then her shoulders sagged. “Michael’s not the problem,” she responded. “He’s-”

“Not as bad as the others? I figured that. He seemed genuinely worried about you. Which is the other reason I didn’t hit him.” She shrank into herself as he spoke. “But I wasn’t really talking about me. I was talking about Steve.”

“Steve?” She looked round for him, registered his absence, and looked back at him in horror. “Has he-?”

Bucky nodded. “He’s gone to teach them a lesson about not hurting young girls, particularly not little sisters. Hopefully, it will be a painful lesson.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder again. “It will just make them worse, you know.”

“I’m not so sure of that. I wouldn’t do something Steve told me not to, and I’m possibly the only man alive who has a hope of taking him down in a fight. Your family would be very stupid to cross him.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I froze…” She trailed off again, then shook her head more firmly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I know you froze,” he replied grimly.

“No,” she disagreed. “I meant… Nothing.”

He frowned - there was something she wasn’t telling him. But before he could question her further, Natasha brought some sweet tea for Jessie. He spent the next few minutes a spectator to the titanic battle of wills, as Jessie refused to drink, and Natasha pleaded, cajoled and eventually threatened her into complying. Jessie drank the tea, but in very bad grace.

When Steve returned, he was still furious, but also now satisfied that justice had been done. Jessie’s brothers were presumably now the owners of brand new shiny black eyes. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer set of people. Except it turned out he hadn’t hit any of them. He’d thrown the oldest brother up against a wagon, but he’d been pathetically eager to agree to any terms Steve gave him. Michael had convinced him it wouldn’t happen again, and so they’d ended up getting off far too lightly. Damn Steve and his principles.

Next time, he’d go. And they would learn. Because it wasn’t likely that they’d have grasped the important points of Steve’s argument without being punched in the face, so when Jessie went back, they would hurt her again…

They set off not long after that - the train wasn’t going to delay because of one icicle girl. Jessie was better, but still cold, and could still barely stand. So she was installed in Steve’s wagon with Grace and James for company. Bucky would have stayed with her, but Grace wouldn’t accept it, and as Jessie was now just cold, rather than frozen, she’d be fine with blankets, heated rocks, more tea, and being out of the wind. Grace would keep an eye on her, and let them know if anything changed. She might even be able to get some sleep now the danger had passed.

Chapter Text

“Did she say anything to give herself away?” Bucky’s posture, hunched over the reins, made it clear he’d wanted to drive the wagon by himself, but she’d never been good at pandering to people’s wishes. It was time to find out what had been going on.

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the trail ahead. “She nearly told me all about her amazing brother, though.”

“That would have been a dead giveaway.”

“She caught herself just in time. But other than that, nothing. Although…” She looked at him curiously. He shrugged. “It might be nothing, or delirium, but she said ‘I froze’.”

“Which she did.”

“That’s what I said. Only she got upset and said she didn’t mean that. Then she clammed up and wouldn’t say anymore.”

She frowned. “‘I froze’? You’re sure that’s what she said?”

“Yes. But I don’t see what she could have meant. I guess she was just delirious.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” she replied. “Something very strange is going on with that girl. Several somethings.”

“And she’s in danger,” said Bucky, his focus on another matter. “Steve only gave the others a stern talking-to. I hardly think that will stop them hurting her again.”

“Probably not,” she answered absently.

“And you think that’s ok?” The anger in his voice warned her to pay attention.

“No, not really,” she replied. “But until she’s willing to leave them to stay with Steve, it will remain a distinct possibility.”

“But she won’t do that,” he replied, hitting the wagon with his fist in frustration. “She feels guilty about lying to him.” A pause, then, “And she won’t stay with us, either.”

“You asked her to do that?” she asked, incredulously.

“Well, I didn’t see what the problem would be! At least, not then. Now…” He trailed off - she grinned. She knew exactly what had happened to make him say that - but chose not to push him; he’d tell her in the end.

“Well, for a start, Grace wouldn’t stand for it.”

“You don’t think she’d put up with it to know Jessie was safe? And you’d still be there. What does she think we’d do under your watchful eye?”

She shrugged. “She’d probably think I’d encourage you.”

It was his turn to look incredulous. “What the hell have you been saying to her?”

“Anything to soften her up to the idea that it’s ok for you and Jessie to be together? So far, with a spectacular lack of success.”

He shook his head. “Fine. What are the other reasons?”

She smiled again - he was starting to understand how she worked. “The main reason is that if she came to stay with us, it would tell her associates that the game was up - that she’d defected.” He frowned, but didn’t speak. “And that would make them quite desperate, I’d imagine.”

“We’d keep her safe.”

She inclined her head. “And Grace? And James? Can we guarantee to keep them all safe?” His frown darkened, but he shook his head.

“So we need to maintain that pretence for as long as we can - ideally until Steve gets his memories back.”

“She hasn’t actually defected yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” she replied serenely. He huffed out a breath at that, but said nothing. “You’re winning her over, whatever you think you did last night.”

He looked at her sourly. “Fine, it’s clear you know what happened last night. Let’s move on, shall we?”

She assumed a look of purest innocence. “But surely you’re thrilled about it? Your first kiss? Bucky… This is a really special moment for you both. Why so grumpy?”

Wow - that was a look that could level mountains, small cities, possibly even Tony’s ego. “She only did it to distract me from flattening her ‘brothers’. And also to very neatly ensure that she couldn’t come and stay with us even if she wanted to.”

“She did not only do it to distract you. She wanted to. In addition, she distracted you. Two birds, one stone.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not getting into this.”

She smirked. “Fine. I’ll just have to assume that you’re a bit rusty, and it wasn’t all it was supposed to be for her.”

“Natasha,” he said, from between gritted teeth. Right – it was time to move on.

“Look, it’s progress. She’s starting to trust you. This is a good thing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been the problem.”

She sucked in a breath slowly. That had been a little brutal. “I wondered. My reputation clearly precedes me a little too much.”

“Whereas mine apparently doesn’t. She’s an idiot to trust me, and not you.”

She shook her head slowly. “Not necessarily. She might not know a lot about you - you were a secretive guy. At least, you were when you weren’t blowing up half of DC, anyway.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Whereas the infamous Black Widow…”

“You’re one of the good guys, Nat.”

“Not to HYDRA, I’m not. And she is still, at least nominally, HYDRA. I’m not known for taking prisoners.”

“Nat…”

“It’s ok. It’s like I thought all along, this is your mission. She trusts you - at least she wants to. You’ll just have to convince her that you won’t let me hurt her, however much I might want to.”

“I think I’d be better convincing her you don’t actually want to hurt her.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you think will work. But get a move on. The sooner you break through, the sooner we can persuade her to go and stay with Steve.”

He didn’t answer, and silence fell between them. “What about Michael?” he suddenly asked.

She looked across at him, surprised. “What about him?”

“He was genuinely worried about Jessie this morning. He was the one who told me what happened.”

“Brave of him.”

“He went to some lengths to absolve himself of blame. He apparently argued quite strenuously against it, and when he was outvoted, meant to rescue her and let her into the wagon once the others had gone to sleep. Only he fell asleep himself.”

“Did you believe him?”

He shrugged. “He seemed sincere. He came close enough to me that I could have hurt him if I’d wanted to. I have to think that only someone actually innocent would do that.”

“It’s possible. He’s always seemed less… Loathsome than the others. He actually does some work for one thing. But I don’t think that means he’s on our side necessarily.”

“He doesn’t like the way they treat her - surely that says something?”

“Maybe. But he could passionately hate them all and still be loyal to the cause. Jessie is valuable to that cause. He could just be protecting an asset.”

He shook his head. “Possibly. But I think he really was worried about her. He said she provoked them into it, like she always does. It sounded like her wished she wouldn’t.”

“That still doesn’t mean his loyalties are waning. If they hit her, and hurt her, it could compromise her ability to do what he wants her to do. Which is spy on us.”

He shook his head in frustration. “But why would she do that? Why would she want them to hit her?”

She sighed. He was too straightforward to understand, and he’d probably never had a chance to rebel when he’d been under HYDRA’s thrall. If he had, he’d have known exactly why. “Because it gives her control in a situation where she has very little. They’re going to hit her anyway - she knows that. By provoking them into it, she chooses when and where. Otherwise, she spends her entire life not knowing when the blows will fall. And that’s a much worse state to be in.” She risked a look across at him - he was appalled. “It’s a good thing she still has that fight in her. She hasn’t given up. There’s still a part of her struggling to be free. If there wasn’t, she’d be a broken, obedient mess, and we’d have no chance with her.”

“But - they hurt her.”

“Yes, they do. But by goading them into it, she makes them lose control. Believe it or not, that’s a victory to her.” He looked at her disbelievingly. “And that might be why Michael doesn’t want them to do it. If you really want to make someone fear you, you don’t hit them. Not more than once or twice. Just often enough so they know if they step out of line again, they’ll suffer. If you just beat someone indiscriminately, you lose that. She knows they’ll do it anyway, no matter what she does or doesn’t do. So she might as well rebel.”

He nodded slowly, reluctantly. “I still don’t think Michael is as bad as that. He looked haunted when he realised how bad she was.”

“Then we’ll keep an eye on him. He might end up being our ally. Equally, he could be our most dangerous opponent.”

He sighed heavily. “I hate this, all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. Give me an enemy, point me at them, and I’ll deal with them. But not this - sneaking around, not knowing who’s on your side, and who isn’t. This is your world, not mine.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’re not that bad at it.”

“No, it’s not any consolation.” His hands curled into fists around the reins. “I want Steve to remember, I want Jessie to be safe, I want to keep her safe, and I want to get out of here. I want things to be simple.”

She smiled softly. “People aren’t like that, Barnes. They’re messy and complicated. They never say what they mean. Except you and Steve, anyway. Must be a 1940s thing.”

“I just wish she’d trust me. Tell me who she really is.”

“She wants to. But she’s scared.”

“How do I make her not be?”

“Patience, being gentle, being yourself. She’s spent five years being systematically abused. You don’t get over that easily. That she’s still functioning at all, still looking for a way out, shows she’s strong. But it makes trusting people hard. You’ve got to earn it, Bucky.”

He nodded sadly. Then he looked over at her. “You actually care about her, don’t you? You see yourself in her.” She stared straight ahead, hands rigid in her lap. “I see very little of myself in her.” His expression as he looked at her radiated doubt. She took a deep breath. “I see what I could have been.”

He stayed mercifully silent.

Chapter Text

She looked so small, curled up in the corner of their wagon. So fragile, and vulnerable, and defenceless. But she’d hate it if she knew what Grace was thinking about her; Jessie didn’t want anybody’s help, no matter how much she needed it. It had always been her way: friendly, approachable, a tremendous capacity to care, but never asking anything for herself, actively shunning any offers of help. But maybe this time her awful family had finally gone too far, and they’d persuade her to stay.

Or maybe not. It had been a struggle to get her back into the wagon after they’d stopped for lunch. She could still barely stand, but she’d tried her best to go back to her family nonetheless. It was a mystery - surely even Jessie’s famed loyalty would have worn thin after this latest example of how little they cared about her. But if it hadn’t been for Natalie’s intervention, she’d have gone back to them already. Natalie had made it abundantly clear that Jessie wasn’t going anywhere until she was sure Jessie wasn’t going to end up with pneumonia - and she’d stay with them for as long as that took. Jessie had attempted to defy her and had stormed off, but after two steps, she’d wilted like a flower in the sun. If it hadn’t been for Natalie’s quick reaction, she’d have fallen to the ground. She’d subsequently agreed to stay put, at least for a while. It hadn’t even been much of a battle to get her back into the wagon; she’d realised she couldn’t walk.

James stayed outside this time, however. Jessie had slept for most of the morning and it had taken all of Grace’s ingenuity to stop him from waking her up. He needed the fresh air, and Jessie needed the quiet to rest and recover. She didn’t look like she was about to fall asleep again, though. She was sitting up against the side of the wagon, a blanket across her knees and a brush in her hand. Dressed in one of Natalie’s fine dresses, she looked different - older, more sophisticated than she did in her usual threadbare dresses. It didn’t sit well with the friend she knew. Or the vulnerable way she was sitting, backed into the corner of the wagon.

And she was badly mistreating her hair. Tangled from the rain, and then from sleeping on it, it was knotty, but there was no need to drag the brush through it like that! She’d pull half of it out! Grace moved across the wagon and snatched the brush from Jessie’s hand. She then motioned for Jessie to sit in front of her, so she could brush it properly. Jessie frowned, but reluctantly complied.

“You have beautiful hair,” Grace admonished her, as she began to gently untangle the knots in it. “You shouldn’t treat it like that.”

“It gets tangled every day. And I don’t have the time or the patience,” came Jessie’s snappish response.

“Well, you should find the time. Hair like this is worth the effort.”

An impatient sigh. “It’s not that special. It’s long, and snarly, and carroty, and…”

“It is not carroty. It’s fiery - completely different.” She ran her fingers through the section she’d brushed. “I don’t know how it stays so soft. Mine’s like straw. Yours and Natalie’s,” she amended. “Perhaps it’s something about red hair.” She continued to brush as Jessie squirmed in front of her.

“She has beautiful hair, not me,” she muttered.

“I’m not sure I agree,” replied Grace serenely. “And I don’t think I’m the only one either.”

Silence. Clearly not a topic Jessie was willing to talk about. Grace continued to brush in silence, unsettled by her maternal instincts towards the girl in front of her, who might well be years older than her. She’d never asked. But regardless, Jessie was vulnerable, and she needed to be cared for. If there was one thing they all, Rogers and Barnes alike, agreed on, it was that. And what could someone do that was so bad they deserved to be left out in the cold all night to freeze to death? Nothing, that’s what, and she’d fight to keep Jessie here, where she was safe.

“Jessie, what did you do that made them do this to you?”

There was a long silence, so long she’d given up expecting an answer, but then Jessie spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I was bad.”

“You were not!” She was so angry, she couldn’t hide it in her immediate response. “I don’t know what you did, but whatever it was, it wasn’t bad! You’re not bad, Jessie - never!”

“Sometimes I am,” was the even tinier reply.

“Jessie…” She stopped brushing and put her arms around her friend. “You’re not. And they shouldn’t say you are.”

“You don’t understand.” Her reply was blunt, almost cold.

“No, I don’t,” she replied, ignoring the tone. “And I don’t understand why you won’t stay here with us. There’s plenty of room for you.”

“No, there isn’t,” replied Jessie, sighing in exasperation. “With you and Steve and James in here, there’s no room for me.”

“We’d make room.”

“And with another one on the way, the last thing you need is another mouth to feed.”

“We’d make it work,” Grace wheedled. “And I’d appreciate your help. Soon, all that kneeling on the ground and cooking and running after James is going to be too much for me. An extra pair of hands would be a godsend.”

“Natalie can help you.”

“Natalie can’t cook.” Jessie’s shoulders shook, as if she’d laughed. That was promising. “Whereas you most definitely can. I’d far rather eat something you’d produced than her. She tries, but…”

“I’m sure you could tell her what to do, and it would all be just fine.”

“It wouldn’t, and you know it,” Grace retorted. “Some people just don’t have the knack.”

There was a pause, then, “My family need me.”

“Well, they should have thought about that before they tried to freeze you to death, shouldn’t they?” She was shaking with anger again. “You don’t owe them a thing, and you don’t have to stay with them. You can stay here with us - where Steve can keep you safe.”

“That’s not the point.”

“And James would love to have you around,” she went on, ignoring Jessie’s reply.

“He loves having Natalie around, too.”

“Yes, he does,” Grace replied carefully. “But you know as well as I do that you’re his favourite. You’re his Jessie. No-one makes his face light up like you do when he sees you.”

“That’s not what it looked like last night,” she answered softly.

“He’s also a three-year-old boy, and they’re notoriously fickle,” she continued. “He didn’t mean what he said. I’m sorry if he upset you.”

Her only answer was a shrug. Oh, she made it hard sometimes. “And,” Grace went on tentatively, “I’m sorry for how I behaved yesterday, too. It wasn’t fair of me.” More silence. She sighed. “I know it’s much easier to say you should do this, or shouldn’t do that, than to actually do it, especially when, well, when you have those feelings.” She paused, took a deep breath and rushed on, “And I know that you’re trying. And having me constantly nagging at you probably isn’t helping. So, I’m sorry, and I’ll try not to do it in future.”

There was silence for a long moment, then Jessie turned and buried her head in Grace’s shoulder. Surprised, she gently put her arms around her, and they stayed like that, not speaking, for quite some time. But eventually, Grace had to speak again. “Please stay with us, Jessie. Let us help you.”

But at her words, Jessie suddenly straightened and pulled away from her, shaking her head. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry, but I really can’t.” She reached out to take the brush from Grace, but she pulled it away. Jessie might not be willing to stay with them, but that didn’t mean she’d let her mangle her hair in retaliation. Rolling her eyes, Jessie settled herself back down and submitted to having her hair
brushed properly.

They didn’t say much more after that - once her hair was brushed, Jessie retired to her corner and dozed, or at least pretended to. Grace left her in peace and caught up on her mending instead. And so time passed until they stopped. As the wagon rolled to a halt, James’ voice carried through, insisting he be allowed in to see Jessie, while Natalie told him to wait until it was safe. Not long after, he burst into the wagon, bearing a huge bunch of wildflowers. He thrust them into Jessie’s hands before climbing into her lap and throwing his arms around her, nearly crushing all of his carefully gathered gift. For a fraction of a second, Jessie, overwhelmed by the attention, seemed to be on the verge of tears. But the moment passed, and in a sudden burst of activity, she swept James into a hug and carried him out of the wagon. Grace followed after her quickly, in case Jessie stumbled – she hadn’t been very steady on her feet before.

She was more stable now, but still in no fit state to do much more than sit by a fire and be looked after. But she clearly had other plans - as soon as she was out of the wagon, she handed James off to Bucky and moved past him. Bucky took a second to settle James in his arms, before he followed Jessie, asking where she was going, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

She turned to him and answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m going back to my wagon to make dinner.”

His hand tightened around her wrist. She tried to pull away from him, but when he didn’t let go, she stopped and turned back to him, mutiny in her eyes. “You’re not. You’re staying here, and having dinner with us,” he replied softly.

“Someone has to make their dinner - what are they supposed to do, starve?” she replied impatiently. Bucky’s answering shrug and raised eyebrows spoke far more eloquently than any words could have - he didn’t care. “I can’t let them go without any dinner!” There was genuine fear in her voice - fear that if they missed their meal, she’d be the one to suffer.

“It wouldn’t do them any harm for once,” was Bucky’s dark response. “Let them know what it feels like.”

“Let me go!” was Jessie’s only response to that perfectly reasonable comment. “I have to go!”

“What’s going on?” Natalie suddenly appeared in the conversation. She reached a hand out to Jessie, still held fast, although surprisingly gently, by Bucky, and laid it against her forehead. Jessie flinched away, but Natalie wasn’t deterred. She frowned but said nothing, looking expectantly between the two of them, waiting for an answer.

It was Bucky who eventually replied. “Jessie wants to go back to her wagon, so she can cook dinner and be run off her feet when she’s barely able to stand upright.” His tone was as agitated as Jessie’s expression - the depth of his caring all too obvious.

“That’s ridiculous,” Natalie replied. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, not until I’m sure you’re not going to be ill.”

“I have to,” was Jessie’s emphatic reply.

“It was only this morning you were found practically frozen to death. You’re not recovered from it yet, and if you go back there tonight, they won’t let you recover. I don’t want to be woken up again in a couple of days’ time by my husband with you in his arms, at death’s door.”

“Who will make their dinner then?” Jessie’s tone was flat as she spoke, no obvious sign that her resolve was faltering.

“I’m sure they can fend for themselves for one night,” replied Natalie, breezily. “And if they can’t, they should have thought of that before they left their cook outside all night to freeze to death, shouldn’t they?”

“You don’t understand,” Jessie tried again, her tone pleading.

“I’m not interested in your family’s welfare, Jessie. Just yours.” Natalie’s tone brooked no argument, and Jessie knew it. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she stared at the ground miserably, trembling.

Natalie and Bucky were totally in the right - Jessie’s family should be left their own devices this evening. But if there was even the chance they’d take it out on Jessie… Grace sighed. It went against all her instincts to help those awful people, but she’d do it for Jessie.

“It’s alright, Jessie,” she said softly. “I’ll make them something, and Steve can take it over to them.”

Relief, gratitude, disgust and guilt flitted one after the other across Jessie’s face. “You shouldn’t have to,” she protested weakly.

“No, I shouldn’t,” Grace replied, “but it’s what friends do.” And before Jessie could say another word, she sailed off towards the cook fire. Once there, she ascertained that Jessie had allowed Bucky to sit her down by the fire. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

Natalie came to stand beside her, following her gaze. “That was kind of you,” she said.

She shrugged. “It’s certainly not out of any concern for them,” she replied. “But Jessie looked so scared - I didn’t want them to have an excuse to take anything else out on her.”

Natalie’s expression was unfathomable, but then she smiled. “You’re a very good friend to her,” she said.

Grace squirmed - she’d been anything but recently. “I try,” she replied. “It’s not like she has many.”

“No,” Natalie replied thoughtfully. “And I think she needs all the friends she can get.”

Jessie managed most of her dinner, although she had to be coaxed to eat more than a few spoonfuls by Bucky. For a man who always came across as so dark and brooding, like he was full of barely-contained violence, his gentleness with Jessie was remarkable. He was already in love with her - as he persuaded Jessie to keep having one more spoonful with infinite patience, Grace hurt for the tragedy unfolding in front of her. Because no matter how genuine his feelings for Jessie, and Jessie’s feelings for him, and no matter how much Natalie seemed to condone it, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t work. It could only end with everyone involved getting hurt. But she kept silent. He was making sure Jessie ate properly; she wouldn’t get in the way of that.

They also won the battle to make Jessie stay the night with ease. Once she’d eaten her dinner, and still suffering from not having slept the night before, she nodded off against Bucky’s shoulder. He shifted, putting his arm around her shoulders to support her, studiously refusing to meet Grace’s eyes. Just this once, she didn’t mind - if Jessie was asleep, she couldn’t argue about staying with them. When it was time to turn in for the night, Steve gently took Jessie from Bucky and carried her into their wagon, laying her down gently beside James. He turned in his sleep and burrowed into her arms, and she cuddled him closer in return. The two of them looked so peaceful and safe - how long had it been since Jessie had last looked that way?

Chapter Text

He was waiting for her the next morning when she made her escape. He chose a vantage point some distance away from their wagons – it gave him an excellent view of all Jessie’s likely escape routes, was close enough to let him intercept her, and also meant their conversation was less likely to be overheard.

She crept out of Steve’s wagon, using his own tried and trusted method of slipping the ropes on the canvas and sliding down the side. She moved creditably quietly - it wouldn’t take much to wake Steve, but she’d know that. Soldiers slept lightly - it was the difference between life and death in war, and you never quite broke the habit. And for all he didn’t remember it, Steve was still a soldier.

But Jessie made her escape without Steve or Grace chasing after her, demanding to know where she was going. Which left him as the last line of defence. She scanned her surroundings once she was far enough away to feel safe (as if she could be, considering what she was going back to) and her eyes landed on him, leaning against someone else’s storage wagon. He smiled as their eyes met - her shoulders slumped in defeat. He moved across to her slowly, trying once more to not intimidate her.

“You didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t be here,” he said, once he was close enough to speak softly. “You should know me better than that by now.”

She wasn’t happy, but she nodded. “I was expecting you, yes.”

“So you know what I’m going to say.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” she replied, her stance defiant, even as she shivered in the wind.

“I know,” he said, fighting the urge to put his arms around her to warm her up. She looked surprised at his answer, but he couldn’t stop her, not without using force, and he wouldn’t do that. He moved closer, gently raising his hand to her forehead, like Natasha had the evening before - but she didn’t flinch away from his touch. Her temperature was normal - no fever. She seemed to be recovered from her ordeal; she was shivering, but it was cold.

“Why are you here, then, if not to stop me?”

“Why do you think?” He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

“To carry water for me?”

He smiled. “Among other things.”

“You don’t need to keep checking up on me, you know,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Steve told me last night that when he went to see my family, he told them I had to come and visit every evening, once I’d made the dinner. If I don’t turn up, he’ll come and get me.” Clever Steve - making sure she got food every day. “So you can see me then. There’s no need for this anymore.”

“Isn’t there?” The less he said, the more she spoke. She was trying to push him away - but why?

“No. You’ll be able to see for yourself then that I’m safe.”

“And there’s no other reason I’m here every morning that you can think of?” His look as he spoke was meaningful.

She flushed. “I - well-” She stared at him helplessly. It would have been so easy to take advantage of the situation, to lean forward and kiss her, show her exactly why they met up each morning. But it probably wasn’t the best way to win her trust.

“I barely get to spend five minutes with you in the evenings with everyone else around. If I’m not fighting James for your attention, I’m being fried to a crisp by Grace’s glaring. And there are things I can’t say to you then, that I might want to-” That hadn’t come out at all the way he’d meant it to. “It’s just easier when there’s no-one else around.”

“It’s not a good idea,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet.

“Perhaps not, but that’s never stopped me before. Besides, you can’t carry the water by yourself. You need me for that, if nothing else.” She raised her eyes slowly and unwillingly to look at him. He sighed. “Is this about the kiss?”

She didn’t answer; the tiniest of nods was his only reply.

He sighed again. “I know you only did it to distract me,” he said. “You didn’t want me to confront your brothers, and you figured melting my brain might stop me.” He waited, half a smile on his face, but got nothing. “And it also gave you a cast-iron reason for why you couldn’t stay with me and Nat. Am I right so far?”

“No!” she replied. “It wasn’t like that - I mean, it was like that, but…” She trailed off, realising she’d given away far more than she’d meant to. He grinned at her discomfort.

She noted his expression and frowned. “It can’t happen again. It was wrong…”

There were a million reasons why she was right, but his heart cried out that she was wrong. But his head had to win this one. “I know,” he eventually said, reluctantly. “And it won’t.” It was a lie he wouldn’t mind being caught out on.

She looked both relieved and disappointed - he’d never met anyone with such an expressive face before. “And you really don’t need to come here every morning.”

“Of course I do,” he replied, forcing himself to sound cheerful. He wouldn’t let her shut him out entirely. “Water, remember?”

She sighed, but nodded. “I’ll go and get the buckets.” She moved off, but stopped when she realised he’d followed her. “What are you doing?”

“Coming with you,” he answered, puzzled.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she countered, anxiety written across her features. “Meet me by the stream instead.”

“It’s no problem,” he answered. “I could do with the exercise.” She was trying to keep him away from the others - but they had nothing on him. And even if it turned out they did, he’d stop them before they could use it against him.

She didn’t reply, but nor did she move. He sighed. “Jessie, they can’t hurt me.”

She nodded. “I know…” Well, that was an unexpected, downright lie. “But you…”

“You think if I see them, I’ll be overcome with rage and beat them to a bloody pulp?” She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. He shrugged. “There could be some truth in that,” he replied. Then, as horror dawned across her face, he hurried on, “But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t! No matter how much I think they deserve it, I wouldn’t.” He paused, then added quietly, “You don’t want me to. So I won’t.”

Her expression changed again - there was something shining in it now, something that lodged uncomfortably in his heart. It was trust. He didn’t deserve it, but it was, after all, what he’d been working towards. He looked down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “I’ll wait for you by the stream.”
He did as he said, waiting dutifully for her, filling the buckets when she brought them, and leaving her, as usual, just out of sight of her wagon, so she had to drag the buckets the rest of the way.

But this time, instead of heading straight back to his own wagon and breakfast, he doubled back and hid himself in the shadow of a neighbouring wagon, where he had an unobstructed view of the HYDRA wagons and the clearing in front of them. Jessie took so long with the water that he got there before her. Michael was already up - he’d built a fire, and as Jessie finally staggered into the clearing, he hastened over to her and took the buckets. She eyed him warily - perhaps he wasn’t as much of a friend to her as he’d appeared.

Having deposited the buckets by the fire, Michael went back to Jessie, and spoke quietly to her. It made no difference - Bucky’s superhuman hearing picked up every word. “It’s good of you to come back.”

Jessie gave him a long, unreadable look. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

His raised eyebrows questioned her statement, but he said nothing further on the subject. Instead, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” There was just a hint of asperity in her voice - she really didn’t like being asked that question.

“You didn’t look fine yesterday, when Barnes carted you off to his wife.” Bucky noted the stress on the last word, and also noted the somewhat over-familiar use of his last name.

“So he was here,” Jessie breathed. Yes, he had been, and he wasn’t brainwashed - she just needed to figure it out.

“He most certainly was,” Michael replied. “I’m lucky to be alive, the way he looked. If he hadn’t believed me when I told him that I’d strenuously argued that leaving you to freeze to death was a bad idea, I might not be.” He grinned nervously. “He might have had you in his arms at the time, but I still think he could have killed me without really trying.”

Jessie didn’t have time to reply, because they were joined by their ‘sister-in-law’. At her approach, Michael stepped back and Jessie fell to her knees by the fire, busying herself with putting water to heat. Bucky’s eyes narrowed. Maybe there were factions here – factions they could exploit.

“Oh, you’re back,” Hannah said, in a tone that made his hackles rise. “Nice of you to remember your family. You know, the ones who feed you, keep you clothed, provide for you.”

Jessie replied mildly, “One day you can try making Steve Rogers do something he doesn’t want to.” Bucky’s mouth twitched.

Jessie’s comment nearly got her a kick. Hannah was lucky she didn’t actually do it, or nothing would have stopped him exacting revenge. And he could kick a lot harder. But Michael stepped between them. “It’s not like you suffered. You still got your dinner. And she was in an awful state yesterday morning. She needed help.”

“So Steve Rogers says; he’s a soft-hearted idiot.” Her voice dripped contempt. Bucky frowned at the slight to his best friend.

“No. So I say. I saw her. And she needed help none of us were qualified to give. Be grateful Romanoff was, or your ‘punishment’ could have ruined everything.”

“So we should just let her do those things? Get away with anything she likes? Why, because she’s important to the mission?”

Michael’s voice was tinged with irritation, but only a fraction. He feared this woman for all his boldness. “I’d hardly say you let her get away with anything. And without her, we have no mission. No way to get close to Rogers, or spy on Barnes and Romanoff.”

“Well, she’s hardly been any use there, has she? She hasn’t got anything useful from either of them, and says she’s getting nowhere with Barnes. And she hid those pictures!” There was too much information coming at him - he couldn’t process it all.

“She’s got further with Barnes than she thinks,” Michael retorted. “I saw him yesterday when he found her - he’s got it bad for her, make no mistake.” Bucky’s cheeks reddened - being talked about like that was surprisingly uncomfortable.

“Oh, really?” Hannah replied nastily. She nudged Jessie with her foot, none too gently. “So you didn’t tell us that, either?” Jessie didn’t answer, keeping her head down and getting on with the breakfast. “You’ll answer when you’re spoken to!” Hannah screeched, grabbing Jessie’s arm and hauling her to her feet to face her - Jessie yelped, but more in surprise than pain. It was all that saved her tormentor.

“He doesn’t trust me,” Jessie said. “So I’ve not really got anywhere with him, have I?”

“That’s not the impression Jones got,” Hannah replied.

“Well, I don’t remember anything about that,” Jessie said. “But he hasn’t confided anything in me, or spilled any of his secrets. I told you - he doesn’t trust me.”

“But he clearly has other feelings for you,” Hannah answered, leering at Jessie in a way that made his skin crawl. “Doesn’t he?”

Jessie looked at her, then away, the back again. She swallowed, and gave the tiniest of nods.

“Well, then,” Hannah continued. “You know what you have to do. God knows what he sees in you, but he clearly sees something, so use it against him. We need him. You do your part, we’ll do ours.”

Jessie’s frightened face filled his vision as Hannah spoke - no wonder she was so determined to keep him away from them. It didn’t matter that they were lying, they didn’t know the words – but she didn’t know that. Poor girl. Her wanting him to stay away from her made so much more sense now - she was trying to protect him. But it was his turn to protect her now. He slid away, finally heading back to his own wagon. He had to get through to her - and quickly - but how?

Chapter Text

They’d been walking for days through flat, featureless lands, so it was a relief when Independence Rock loomed up from the plains. It was impossible to miss, so people left messages for each other there, to be collected by later travellers or taken back to civilisation by those heading back that way. The rock itself was impressive - not beautiful like Chimney Rock, but imposing nonetheless.

It was traditional for those travelling the trail to carve their names into the rock, to mark their having been this way. It wasn’t necessary, but Steve would probably feel differently. He had a boyish enthusiasm that sometimes got the better of him; recording their names for all posterity was bound to appeal to it. Although that side of him hadn’t been much in evidence recently. Not since he’d started drawing those pictures, to be exact.

Once they’d stopped at the rock (there being some unspoken rule that they stopped for the day at every landmark they passed), it was a surprise when Natalie suggested that Grace and Steve explore the rock, while she and Bucky stayed with the wagons. She even offered to keep an eye on James, to really let them have some time alone, but James wanted to see the rock, too. Still, it was time alone with Steve in a way; at least, without their new constant companions. So Grace jumped at the chance. Steve didn’t share her enthusiasm - probably thinking she’d use the time to quiz him about his pictures. It might even have been Natalie’s intention - she was only too aware of Grace’s feelings about them.

But there was plenty of time to admire the rock first. Up close, it was even more impressive - so big it blotted out the sun, its long dark shadow providing mercifully cool shade, a rare commodity these days as they trekked across the plains. Every inch of it, to about five feet high, was covered in the names of those who’d come this way before. A few adventurous men were trying to climb the rock – Steve watched them, longing in his eyes. But he turned away from them, pulled out a knife and told her excitedly that he was going to carve their names in the rock. For just a second, he was so exactly her Steve that her heart thumped, then he turned away, heading for the rock to find a space for them. Luckily for him, his height allowed him to reach places others couldn’t. His strength made the work easy - it was no time at all before he’d carved their names and the date into the rock, a precision to his work that spoke not just of his carpentry training, but of the artist within him. There they were, all three of them - Steve, Grace and James - immortalised for all time.

Steve stepped back to admire his handiwork, and looked across at her, smiling. And suddenly, she doubted the wisdom of saying anything about the drawings. If she didn’t, they could enjoy the peace and their precious time alone together. But it wasn’t as easy as that - she’d find no peace until she’d seen them. She had to ask about them. So once she’d finished praising Steve’s name-carving skills appropriately, she threaded her arm through his, took James’ hand, and led them away from the rock.

After they’d walked a suitable distance, she cleared her throat. “You didn’t sleep very well last night. Were you having a nightmare again?”

He sighed, knowing exactly where her line of questioning was leading. “I always have bad dreams these days,” he replied.

“You should tell me about them,” she said. “Things are never so bad when they’re shared.”

He shook his head. “Not everything does.”

It was her turn to sigh. “Dreams are dreams, Steve. They don’t always make sense, and they can be terrifying. It doesn’t mean you’re mad.”

He gave her an exasperated sideways look, clearly not enjoying their conversation.

But she ploughed on anyway, determine to get her answers. “And talking about them can help.”

He let out a frustrated breath. “Trust me, it won’t help.”

“Steve,” she replied, unable and unwilling to hide her irritation, “How can I possibly help you when you keep shutting me out?”

“You can’t help me. All I’d do is frighten you.”

“Did you ever stop to think that being kept in the dark like this might be every bit as frightening? I know you’re drawing those pictures, and I know you’re hiding them from me.” She turned to him and grabbed his hands. “I want to be part of this. I don’t care how scary, or mad, or bizarre they are, they can’t be worse than what I’ve been imagining!”

He raised his eyebrows at that, but said nothing. Instead, there was a long silence - she stared pleadingly at him, begging him to say something, to let her in. He stared back at her, a hint of doubt in his eyes, but he finally looked away, down at the ground. “I don’t understand anything about the pictures. They make no sense - they’re impossible. They terrify me. I don’t even know if they’re real, or if I’m just going mad.” He paused, squeezed her hands gently. “And I can’t put this on you. You’re my wife - I have to protect you. Showing you those pictures… that isn’t protecting you.”

“Yes, I’m your wife,” she quickly countered. “So we’re supposed to share everything. For better, for worse. Whatever’s in those pictures that’s so bad, I want to know about it. I want to help you remember.”

“You can’t.” His voice had a note of finality to it, trying to close the conversation. “This is from my past, before I knew you. You don’t know anything about it. So you can’t help me.”

She stared at him, hurt. Did he really think that? “Maybe I don’t, but I can still help,” she said, trying, and failing, to keep the pleading from her voice. “And I feel like you’re changing, as if you’re not the man I knew anymore.” She paused, swallowing. “Every time you hide one of your drawings from me, it’s like you slip a little further away from me.” His expression softened, so she tried to press her advantage. “How can I know my husband when he keeps hiding himself from me?”

And she’d gone too far - his face closed in on itself. “You can’t know him until I remember who he is! Until I know what those pictures mean, what they really mean, then I don’t know myself. I need to know who I am before I can share him with you. Before that, all I’ll do is frighten you and I won’t be able to help you. And I won’t do that to you.”

She opened her mouth, a bitter retort on her lips, but before she could speak, James pulled on her hand urgently, his anxious little face turned up to hers. “Don’t fight!” he said, tears starting in his eyes.

But it was too late. They were fighting again - and all because of Steve’s stupid stubborn refusal to share with her. She laid a gentle hand in James’ hair and tried to control her temper, but Steve made it so difficult. “James,” she said, as softly as she could, “We’re not fighting. We’re just having a tiny disagreement.”

She didn’t fool him - the tears spilled from his eyes. With a trembling lip and a trembling voice, he asked, “Do you not love Daddy anymore?”

“Of course I do, James,” she said reassuringly. “Sometimes we don’t see eye to eye about things, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.” She looked at Steve pointedly. He came forward and picked up his son.

“I love your mother very, very much,” he told him. James’ eyes, huge and round as he searched his father’s face, couldn’t find any trace of a lie, so eventually he cuddled into Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked over his head at her, his face making it clear that the conversation should end now.

But she wasn’t ready for it to end. Even if it meant upsetting James, she had to get her point across. “Steve,” she tried again, searching for a reasonable tone. “You can’t keep hiding them from me. We’re supposed to do this together.”

He closed his eyes, struggling to hold on to his temper. “Can we please not do this now?”

“Well, when would you like to do it?” she snapped back, temper now beyond saving and heedless of her son. “Because you don’t seem to ever want to!”

“Grace, please,” he replied, softly but pointedly, motioning with his head towards the people nearby who’d looked over at her outburst. “This isn’t the place.”

“And it’s never going to be, is it?” she replied, hot tears filling her own eyes. James’ distress was also obvious - he was seconds from wailing his head off. “Well, fine. Have it your way!”

She turned on her heel and stormed off, James’ sobs filling the air behind her. They tore at her heart, but she was too angry to help him now. He was better off with her nowhere near him. She strode purposefully toward the camp. If Steve wouldn’t show her the pictures by choice, then she’d bully them out of the person who was keeping them. Even if he was a tall, strapping male. She’d make him comply - he had them. And he’d give them to her.

She marched into the space between their two wagons, heedless of the noise she made. The occupants of the space looked up sharply as she approached, alert in a way that was at odds with the rich, spoiled city types they claimed to be. She could have sworn Natalie had been reaching for something - a weapon? She’d been sitting on her wagon steps, her arms full of mending - and upon registering it was Grace, she relaxed and went back to her work, completely ignoring her. Bucky had been sitting on the ground, surrounded on all sides by oxen harness. He’d half risen to his feet before realising it was her - he’d subsided back down to the ground, and was now looking up at her enquiringly.

“You!” she spat. He looked alarmed, half turning his head to see if there was someone behind him that was the target of her rage. But he wasn’t stupid - he knew she meant him. He frowned, confused, and finally rose to his feet. For all he was a large man, he did so remarkably gracefully, reminding her once again of a predator, of a cat stalking its prey. He was dangerous - she should be wary of provoking him. But his expression was merely guarded, a hint of confusion in his eyes, but no danger.

“Can I help you?” He spoke cautiously, like one would to a spooked animal. It infuriated her.

“Yes, you most certainly can,” she said, holding her hand out. “You can give me the pictures my husband has been drawing, and hiding with you.”

He frowned - he glanced at his wife, but she was keeping her head down, staying out of it. For an instant, his expression was all exasperation, but he hid it quickly, turning back to Grace and shaking his head. “I don’t have them, I’m afraid.”

She stared at him, equal parts shocked and furious. How dare he lie to her so brazenly? Did he really think she was that stupid? “Of course you have them. Who else would he give them to? Who else would help him hide them from his wife?”

His eyebrows raised, but he shook his head again. “Grace, I really don’t have them. He doesn’t show them to me either.”

She glared at him. “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped. “Of course you have them, and of course he shows them to you.”

He continued to shake his head - she wanted to shake him. “He doesn’t.” He shrugged, something defensive in the gesture. “He showed one to me once, and it - it upset me. Since then, he hasn’t shown me any more.”

That sounded exactly like something Steve would do. But Bucky of all people would know that - he was just using it to put her off. “Why would he do that?” she countered. “You’re the only person who can explain them to him.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s been bothering me too.”

He sounded so convincing, she almost believed him. But she shook her head firmly - he’d spent years convincing his father-inlaw that he loved his daughter; he was an excellent liar. And he’d almost won her over. That wouldn’t happen again. “I know you have them,” she gritted out. “And I need to see them. I need to understand what’s happening to him.”

Now he was looking sympathetic! How dare he? “I get that. And I agree with you - you deserve to see them. But I really don’t have them.”

“Well, who does then?” Her voice dripped contempt.

He shrugged for the third time. “I don’t know,” he replied. But his eyes shifted from hers as he spoke - he was lying. He did know. She turned her gaze on Natalie, eyes narrowed. She’d denied having them before, but she could probably lie as well as her husband. She could have had them all along. But Natalie met her gaze calmly, no trace of guilt in her eyes.

“You do know.” She turned back to Bucky - he was easily the weaker of the two. “Why won’t you tell me?” Her shoulders slumped. “Why won’t you show them to me?”

“Because I don’t have them.” There was an edge to his voice now. “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

“Well, at least tell me who has them,” she pleaded.

He shook his head again. “I don’t know.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. He was lying, but if he was covering for his wife, which he almost certainly was, she’d get nowhere. Nothing could crack that facade.

“Why will no-one help me?” she said, unwanted tears springing to her eyes. They were on Steve’s side - they were his friends, after all. But why couldn’t they understand what this was doing to her?

Bucky’s expression was sympathetic, and she couldn’t stand him lying any more. “Spare me your fake concern,” she snapped. “I neither need nor want it.” She turned on her heel and stormed away again, hot angry tears spilling down her face.

Chapter Text

Grace stormed off, away from the camp - should he go after her? It would probably just pour petrol on the flames - best to leave her alone. He watched until she was out of sight, then turned to Natasha, still sitting on the wagon steps, still demurely mending. He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the help.”

“You were doing just fine on your own,” she replied sweetly.
His eyebrows shot up. “How is having her run off in floods of tears doing fine?”

She shrugged. “You got her to go away.”

He frowned at her coldness; she caught his look and sighed. “She’s upset, and nothing you or I could say or do would have helped. She’s best off on her own. She’ll calm down, come back, and then pretend it never happened.”

His frown deepened, but she was right.

“And when did you realise who had the pictures?” she continued, neatly changing the subject.

He eyed her suspiciously. It was her turn to roll her eyes. “You’re almost as bad a liar as Rogers. When she asked you who had them, and you said you didn’t know, you couldn’t have made it more obvious that you were lying. And Grace knew it too.”

He glared at her. “So when did you realise?”

“I was there when Steve first gave them to her.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “And you let him? You didn’t think to step in and take them yourself?”

Her look was long and level. “I was eavesdropping. I could hardly take them when I wasn’t supposed to be there, could I?”

He shook his head, still angry - but she was right. Again. “She’s Grace’s best, possibly only, friend. She shouldn’t have been put in this position.”

“No, she shouldn’t. But you can blame Steve for that.”

“Why didn’t he give them to me?” He’d been talking to himself, but Natasha answered nonetheless.

“It was just after he showed you the one of you from the war.” She looked at him meaningfully. “The one that upset you.” He met her eyes reluctantly, then looked away. “But he was desperate to get rid of them. And Jessie was there - so he gave them to her. I don’t think he was thinking straight.”

He shook his head, more slowly this time. “He should have gone and found you.”

There was a pause before she answered. “He doesn’t trust me like he trusts you and Jessie. I would have been very much a last resort.”

“But they put Jessie in danger,” he said. “The night they left her outside? I think it was at least in part because she had the pictures.”

Now Natasha was shaking her head. “She should have told them about them. It would have made no difference, and made her seem loyal. Or at least cowed.”

“It wasn’t just the pictures, though. They’re scared of her. I don’t know why, but there’s something about her that spooks them.”

She nodded. “I got that impression too.”

But before she could say more, Steve appeared in front of them, scanning the space urgently, one hand raking through his hair. “Have you seen Grace anywhere?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, I have,” replied Bucky, with some asperity. “She was here not five minutes ago, shouting at me.”

“Where did she go?”

“Don’t you want to know why she was shouting at me?” Bucky asked, anger creeping into his voice.

Steve picked up on it, finally turning to look at him. “Why was she shouting at you?”

“She wanted me to give her the pictures you’ve been drawing. Because you won’t show them to her. She thinks I have them, which makes sense, I guess. And she really didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t have them. But I don’t, do I, because like the prize idiot you are, you’ve been giving them to Jessie!”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Steve asked, his tone defensive.

“Jessie is Grace’s best friend,” he answered, slowly, because he was apparently talking to an imbecile. “How do you think Grace will take it when she finds out that her beloved husband and her best friend have been doing this behind her back?” From Steve’s expression, it was obvious it hadn’t occurred to him - had he lost his intellect along with his memories?

“I didn’t have any choice,” he muttered, but his shoulders slumped as he spoke.

“Really? You didn’t have me? Your best friend? Or Natas-” He stopped abruptly, but Steve picked up on his slip; he wasn’t that stupid, after all.

“Natasha,” he finished. “Her real name is Natasha. Isn’t it?”

Bucky closed his eyes - she was going to kill him. But he nodded slowly. “Yes. It is.” He turned to her, expecting to be fried on the spot by her glare, but she was still focussed on her mending, the only sign she’d been listening a small smile on her face. Steve remembering something about her apparently made up for his giving the game away.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

Where to begin with that one? He sighed. “Natasha is an unusual name in this part of the world. Being, you know, Russian.”

“So she’s Russian. What’s the problem?”

Bucky laughed. Steve was too good for this world - lacking all the faults and irrational prejudices about foreigners that the average human being had . He shrugged. “It just seemed easier this way.”

Steve was watching him now with narrowed eyes. “You’re not married either, are you?”

Bucky stared back at him, no idea what to say. He couldn’t lie - not to Steve. Natasha had done the lying for him; he’d gone along with whatever she said. He needed her to help now, instead of staying out of it.

And finally she did come to his rescue. “You’re right, Steve,” she said calmly, moving to stand beside Bucky. “We’re not married. It was the easiest way to move around unhindered. Nobody would believe we were brother and sister.” As suspicion dawned across Steve’s face, she added, “But we are both your friends. And we both want you to remember who you are.”

He eyed them for a long, uncomfortable moment, then shook his head. “I always thought there was something wrong. You don’t fit - it’s like I’ve never seen you together like this before. Like you’re from different parts of my life.”

He was absolutely, completely spot on. How could he know that and not remember? “In a manner of speaking, that’s true,” Natasha said eventually. “With one or two glaring exceptions.” He frowned - as if he’d needed the reminder.

Steve also frowned. “So, you’re not friends then?”

Bucky stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Natasha. He wouldn’t claim the friendship - he’d only get himself eviscerated. But Natasha replied softly, “We weren’t.” She turned to him as he met her eyes, startled - there was doubt in her bearing, as if she was scared she’d overstepped the mark. But she had, somehow, over the months, despite giving nothing away about herself or inviting any confidences, become his friend. So he smiled at her, taken aback when she returned his smile with genuine warmth. Had he smiled one of those smiles? Perhaps even the ice queen Natasha Romanoff wasn’t immune to his charm. He stored that away for the future.

Steve had watched in silence, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I’m touched you managed to put aside your differences for my sake,” he said.

Which brought Bucky right back to the present. Steve was still an idiot, and had to be put right. “Well, you’re a lot bigger than you used to be. It needs two of us to keep an eye on you nowadays.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Bucky silently cursed - he was skating dangerously close to the edge. “I take it you haven’t finished telling me what you think,” Steve commented mildly.

“No, I haven’t,” Bucky retorted. “You need to show Grace the pictures. Whatever’s in them, she can cope. You wouldn’t marry a woman who wasn’t strong, independent and capable of handling the worst life could throw at her.”

His look said he knew it was true, but Steve shook his head. “Buck, you don’t understand. They don’t make any sense.” Bucky suppressed a sigh - they did make sense, if Steve would just figure out the missing link. “I don’t want to scare her when I can’t make it better.”

“You’re scaring her by shutting her out, too,” he replied.

But Steve, stubborn to a fault, his one fault, kept shaking his head.

Bucky sighed. “Fine. But if you’re going to continue hiding them from her, at least give them to me. I don’t mind being the villain, but it’s not fair on Jessie. If Grace finds out…”

Steve nodded. “It wasn’t fair of me to give them to her. I was worried they’d scare Grace, and I should have had the same concern for her.” Bucky nodded emphatically at his statement. Not that they’d have really scared Jessie - but Steve hadn’t known that. “I’ll get them from her.”

It was like she’d known she was being talked about. Jessie suddenly appeared from around the corner of the wagon, a woebegone James in her arms. He was quiet, but tracks from the tears he’d been crying were running down his cheeks. Steve and Grace’s argument earlier clearly hadn’t been pretty. Though where Jessie had come into it, to end up with James, wasn’t clear.

“Steve! You can’t just throw a sobbing James at me and run off!” Well, that made it much clearer.

James started fretting at Jessie’s irritated tone. Natasha swept forward and held her arms out to him. “Oh, James,” she said, voice full of sympathy and concern, “What’s wrong?”

As Jessie passed him to Natasha, he cast a beseeching look at his father. “Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other anymore!” he told Natasha tragically.

“James, you know that isn’t true,” Natasha said gently, cuddling him close, giving Steve a pointed look. She carried James away, still throwing plaintive looks over her shoulder at Steve. Not that Steve noticed - he was eyeing Jessie awkwardly. Natasha’s quick thinking had trapped him into talking to her about the pictures.

“What is going on?” Jessie asked Steve. Steve clearly didn’t want to be having this conversation, but there was no escape for him - neither Bucky nor Jessie were going anywhere until he explained. He sighed. “Grace and I had a disagreement when we went to look at the rock, and James got caught in the middle. Then Grace stormed off. I wanted to go after her, but I couldn’t, not with James crying like that. And then you turned up.”

Jessie’s look was long and level. “Let me guess - she asked to see your drawings, you said no, she got cross?”

Steve’s smile was withering. “You know us so well.”

“You have to show her sometime. Preferably before you irreparably traumatise your son.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So I keep being told. By everyone.”

“Well, maybe you should follow our advice.”

“It isn’t that simple,” he replied, raking his hand through his hair again. “You’ve seen them. You know what’s in them. Don’t they frighten you?”

That was an awkward question to ask Jessie with Bucky as a witness. But Jessie didn’t so much as glance at him - acted as if he wasn’t there, in fact. “They’re odd, definitely. And yes, some of them are scary. But maybe they’re not all actually true.”

“What do you mean?” Steve’s tone was both suspicious and hopeful.

“Maybe your mind is trying to remember, but it’s remembering things wrong, or out of order. Or symbolically – like dreams. They don’t always make sense, but some things about them are very real.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, impressed. She’d got herself out of that one nicely.

Steve frowned. “Maybe,” he finally said. “But they’d still frighten her.”

“She’s tougher than you think,” Jessie replied. “And you know that really.”

The look he gave her verged on baleful, and he responded by ducking the issue. “It’s also been impressed upon me quite firmly that it was wrong of me to give you the pictures. I’m sorry that I did.”

She smiled at him, and shrugged. “I don’t mind,” she said. Bucky watched her carefully - she had to be lying; she’d paid a high price for it. But if she was lying, she was as accomplished as Natasha - her expression was wholly sincere. And according to Natasha, Steve was the only person Jessie really trusted, because he was Steve Rogers - and all that came with it. Someone like that was worth taking the odd beating for. His mouth twitched - he was living proof of that.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Steve replied. “But I should never have asked Grace’s best friend to go behind her back like this. So I’d like it if you’d give them back.” He glanced at Bucky. “Someone else has offered to keep hold of them.”

At his words, Jessie drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes flickered across to Bucky, then back to Steve’s. “Are you sure?” she said, swallowing hard. Bucky frowned.

Steve nodded. “I know,” he told Jessie. “But remember - he knows what they mean. Even if he won’t tell me.” Bucky winced - that had hurt. Had been meant to.

Jessie eyed Steve uncertainly for a few seconds, then reached into the pocket of her apron, and pulled out a generous handful of papers. Bucky raised his eyebrows - someone had been busy. “You kept them on you?” Steve asked in disbelief.

She shrugged. “I didn’t want any of my family seeing them.”

Steve sighed and nodded - it hadn’t been her intention, but with her words, she’d reinforced how wrong he’d been to give them to her. “I can see that. I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged again, a quick dismissive gesture, and handed them over. Steve took them and flicked through them, wincing at one or two of them, before he held them out to Bucky. “Here.” But as Bucky reached out to take them, he added, “Just… Some of them are…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. But Bucky knew exactly what he’d find. It was a miracle they were both willing to stand so close to him.

He looked down at them, unable to stop himself. The top one was Tony Stark; his facial hair and attire was out of place for this time, but nothing like as out of place as his Iron Man suit would be. He shuddered as memories of the last time he’d seen that suit and that man assailed him. Sometimes, he still felt it would have been better for all concerned if Tony had killed him. He’d be at peace, Tony would have had his revenge, Steve and his companions wouldn’t be wanted criminals… He dragged himself back to the present, to Jessie’s worried face, pale skin, the shadows under her eyes, her dress hanging off her frame. It wouldn’t have been better for her if he’d died. And that was enough. He smiled reassuringly at her, but it came out lopsided. She frowned, and took a step towards him. Funny how she ended up trying to comfort him at least as often as he did her.

He looked back at the pictures, flicking through them. And there they were - flashes of his long hair, metal arm, the camouflage paint darkening his eyes. How could they see this and not be afraid of him? How could Jessie? She knew the truth about him, perhaps, but how could she see these pictures of him and not be terrified? How could she willingly move towards him instead of running as fast as her feet could take her in the other direction? But she was here, right beside him, her hand on his arm, scanning his face anxiously. He didn’t deserve her concern, wanted to shake her off, snap at her again, tell her she was wasting her time, he couldn’t be saved, but he stayed still and silent - he’d scared her once before, and he’d never do so again.

And there were the others - Tony again, this time as Iron Man, Natasha in her catsuit, the Hulk… Ultron and his robots, the Vision, Steve’s shield… And the last one, right at the bottom, was Peggy. He sucked in his breath as she stared fiercely out at him – surely she’d never looked at Steve like that? It was a look he knew all too well, but Steve? But it was Peggy - she probably had looked at Steve like that at least once. Her resemblance to Grace was striking – had Peggy not been British to the core, she could have been Grace’s direct descendant. They had the same dark hair, same dark flashing eyes, same curve in their mouth, same unimpressed eyebrows - it was extraordinary. Steve had a type with a capital T.

He’d been staring at Peggy too long. And Steve had been watching him all that time, watching his reactions.

“Who is she?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky glanced briefly at Jessie - this wasn’t really a story he should tell in front of her. He’d have to lie, and he didn’t want to lie in front of her. He didn’t exactly want to lie to Steve either, but he couldn’t tell him the truth. He sighed. “Peggy,” he said, eventually. “Her name is Peggy Carter.” Jessie’e eyes were on the picture, a wistful smile on her face. Of course - she’d know who Peggy was; she probably knew all the stories.

“Was she - were we-?”

Where was Natasha and her flawless lies when you needed her? “You loved her,” he said. “She loved you, too.”

“Loved?”

“She died.” That much was true.

Steve took a moment to absorb that. “When?”

And now came the awkward questions. “A while ago,” he finally replied. Vague, but also technically true. A while ago in the future, to be completely accurate, but he wasn’t going into that right now.

“Were we together when she died?”

“No,” he answered. Keep it simple. “You’d separated some time before that. She married someone else.” That had been in Steve’s exhibition.

Steve nodded slowly, but he didn’t look relieved. And Bucky knew exactly what he was thinking. And he couldn’t reassure him. Steve had been in some kind of relationship with Sharon Carter, Peggy’s niece (and Bucky still didn’t know how he felt about that). They weren’t married, not even close to it, but they were still, in some way, together. If Bucky said otherwise, he’d be a liar. And Steve, for all he didn’t remember him, could still read Bucky like a book.

“Who is she?”

Bucky closed his eyes slowly. He didn’t know much about Sharon Carter - the only time he’d ever seen her was when Steve had kissed her. He’d apparently also tried to kill her as the brainwashed Winter Soldier, but he had no clear memory of that. “Her name is Sharon.” Jessie was also watching him closely - had she known her?

“Are we - were we-?”

“No, Steve, you weren’t married. You were just… Close.” That was all he could say in a time where people didn’t really do extended courtships.

Steve’s look was anguished. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was trying to come to terms with you not remembering me. And having a wife. Besides, I don’t know that much about you and Sharon. You kept it pretty quiet.” And it was hard to keep track of these things from extended hibernation.

“Is she back in the east, waiting for me?”

“Steve.” He had to shut this down. “If you were really so important to her, don’t you think she’d be here with us, looking for you?”

Steve stared at him for a long time before he nodded. “I guess so.” It wasn’t fair on Sharon - she’d have been here had Natasha not stolen the Time Stone and taken him instead. It had been the right choice - he was far better placed to help Steve remember himself. But Sharon would have wanted to come. She probably wouldn’t have handled the news that Steve was now a married father of- one-and-one-on-the-way well, though. It wouldn’t be pretty when she did find out. But Steve was Steve - he’d married Grace, he loved Grace, he’d stay with Grace. He’d want to stay with her, if Natasha was right that Steve and Sharon weren’t that serious. She’d better not be lying again.

“Grace won’t like this,” Steve said, interrupting his train of thought.

“No, she won’t.” It was Jessie who answered him. “But that doesn’t mean you should hide it from her. She should know. And she should hear it from you.” Her tone was uncompromising – her expression was, too.

Steve looked unenthusiastic. “She’s barely speaking to me as it is. This won’t help.”

“It will be worse if you keep it from her, and she finds out later that you knew all along.” Steve’s look - kindly stop telling me things I already know because I was enjoying pretending I didn’t – was priceless. Bucky had to laugh.

Steve didn’t find it funny, if his glare was anything to go by. “You know she’s right,” Bucky said, not sharing the joke. “These trail women always are.”

They both glared at him for that.

Chapter Text

Later that evening, alone in their wagon, Bucky pulled a sheaf of papers from his waistcoat and thrust them at her. He’d been on edge all evening, and now the reason was obvious; he’d been afraid Grace would confront him again, and ask him for the drawings he now had. He couldn’t lie - she’d have realised he had them, and disaster would have ensued. It was lucky for all concerned then, that Grace had said nothing - as Natasha had thought, once she’d calmed down, Grace had returned and been determined to pretend it had never happened.

She took the papers and leafed through them; it was time to see what all the fuss was about. There were a lot of drawings of Bucky, and most of them of them were not pretty. No wonder he’d been so keen to hand them over. And even the ones that weren’t of Bucky, while perhaps not as immediately disturbing, were still weird and otherworldly. She frowned - Steve was clever, and perceptive - had he really not figured it out?

She stopped when she found one of herself, in her full Black Widow regalia, battle-worn and dusty. It was from the first time they’d fought together, in the Battle of New York. They’d been on the ground, taking the fight to the Chitauri grunts, while their more ‘talented’ allies took on the big guns. Even then, when he’d barely known her, Steve had trusted her abilities - the look in his eyes as he’d boosted her up onto one of the alien flying motorbike-things had told her he’d trusted her to do what she’d said she was going to do. That he remembered that one thing about her out of everything – somewhere underneath it all, he still trusted her. And it mattered more than it should.

Bucky took the picture from her and smiled. “So he does still remember you.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Thankfully, Bucky could be perceptive too - he registered the expression in her eyes, and looked away, giving her space to compose herself. “And a lot of other things,” she finally said.

“I’m sure he was thrilled when he drew the Hulk.”

She managed a half-smile, although it was a sore topic for her. “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, brandishing a picture of Bucky. “The mascarapocalypse in this one probably gave him nightmares for weeks.”

His look was long and level. “Black camouflage war paint,” he replied steadily.

She grinned. “You keep telling yourself that.”

He rolled his eyes - he knew arguing with her was pointless; she’d always win. But he took the picture from her and stared at it, his expression darkening. “How can she have seen these pictures and still want to be anywhere near me?”

There was the simple answer or the more complicated one. And perhaps the more complicated one was needed here. “She knows that isn’t you anymore. That it never really was in some ways. She knows what they did to you, and what they made you do - but she sees you now, a good man who wants to protect her.”

“But - I am him.”

“In a very specific set of circumstances, yes. Circumstances that might never happen again. If that book was destroyed…”

“But if it wasn’t, there’ll always be a chance.”

“Unless they figure out a way to fix you.”

He sighed, but smiled wanly. “I think I’m beyond saving.”

She returned the smile, but warmly. “I know two people who don’t agree.” She paused, then added, “Maybe even three.” And before he could react, she swept on. “And now we know what Steve’s been drawing, we need a plan. What are we going to tell him? Or rather, what are you going to tell him?”

He shook his head. “I can’t lie to him, Nat. I can’t tell stories like you, make things up off the top of my head. If he asks, I’ll have to tell him the truth.”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe that’s no bad thing. If he’s drawn all these - he might be ready to accept it. I’m surprised he hasn’t figured it out, to be honest.”

Bucky snorted. “I think he has figured it out - he just doesn’t want to admit it.” He paused, then added, “When we were younger, I loved science fiction stories, and all their visions of the future. I wanted so much to go there.” He grimaced. “It turns out I got there, if not exactly how I’d imagined it. But my point is - my favourite stories were time travel ones. I knew it was impossible, but just the idea of it, you know? But Steve…” He shook his head. “He hated them. He kept telling me it was all nonsense; something about the idea really offended him. Trust me, he’ll have considered time travel as an explanation, and then he’ll have buried it as far down in his brain as he can. He won’t accept it.”

“He’s a pragmatist,” Natasha replied. “He might not like it, but if it’s the truth, he’ll make himself accept it.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “It’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to.”

“If it brings him back, I think you’d agree it’s worth it.”

He nodded again, even more slowly. “I can see why you brought me along now,” he said. “So I could do all the heavy lifting while you sat back and relaxed.”

His reflexes were far too quick for him to be threatened by the boot she lobbed at him - he dodged it easily, grinning. It made her smile, but it was laced with a pang of sorrow - Bucky was coming back to himself, reverting to the man he’d been before all the madness and the nightmare had descended upon him. If only Steve was around to see it.

Chapter Text

He followed a game trail, his instincts as a hunter making him move silently. Behind him, Steve moved almost as silently - he’d been a soldier, too, even if he didn’t remember it; he knew how to be stealthy. They’d been tracking game all morning - mostly in silence. This was supposed to be Steve’s chance to question Bucky about his pictures - he’d been the one to suggest they both go hunting, but now they were out here, on their own, he seemed reluctant to begin. And Bucky wasn’t going to force the issue. So he concentrated on the hunt - Steve could ask his questions in his own time.

It wasn’t long before they came across a small herd of buffalo. He froze, Steve coming to a less silent stop right behind him, then he slowly sank to one knee. Behind him, Steve did the same, following his lead. It was probably unnecessary - in this time, the multitudes of buffalo that roamed the plans didn’t know enough about man to fear them.

He glanced back at Steve - he had his own rifle, but it remained slung over his shoulder - he was looking to Bucky to take the shot. Somewhere underneath it all, he remembered; Bucky was the one with the rifle. Moving slowly, and quietly, he loaded his own rifle, checking on his prey regularly, scanning for signs he’d spooked them. Once loaded, he braced the stock against his shoulder, aimed and fired.

His chosen target dropped like a stone - even with an old, unreliable 1850s rifle, he was still a crack shot. The other animals, frightened by the gunshot, had scattered in all directions, lumbering for the safety of what little cover their was; they wouldn’t be a threat. He counted for a few seconds, then stepped cautiously forward, Steve at his heels. He approached his prey slowly, alert for any sign that it was still alive and might fight back. But it was dead - the bullet had gone straight through its neck, killing it instantly. He crouched beside it, calculating in his head how much meat there was - far more than they could use before it went rotten. But it was a waste to leave it to spoil; better to take it all back and share it with the other parties – it would keep everyone going for a long while. And it wasn’t like it would be an issue for either of them, super-strong super-soldiers that they were. He grinned as he imagined Grace’e expression when they presented her with a ton of buffalo to butcher - it wouldn’t make them popular.

“You’re a very good shot.” Steve’s voice, out of the blue, actually made him jump.

He glanced over his shoulder, and nodded. “I’ve had a lot of practice. You could say it’s my calling card.”

Steve nodded, absorbing the information, but said no more. Instead, he moved round to help Bucky manoeuvre the huge buffalo carcass back towards the trail.

But if he’d thought the exertion of dragging a ton of meat behind them would keep Steve quiet, he was wrong. Achieving their aim of finding food finally loosened Steve’s tongue. “I’ve been thinking. About those pictures.” He paused, a long pause, but Bucky let it hang, waiting. He was in no rush to have this conversation. Eventually, Steve continued. “I’m not from round here, am I?”

That was one way of putting it. “No, you’re not,” Bucky replied. “You’re from Brooklyn.” He had to grin at Steve’s exasperated expression.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he replied. He hesitated again, before he asked, cautiously, “Am I from another world? Are you? Is that green thing?”

“No, no and no,” Bucky said. “We’re all completely, utterly, entirely from this planet.”

“But how? I mean, that green monster…”

“It’s a long story, which involves some scientific stuff I don’t even pretend to understand. As far as I know, it was an accident. He didn’t mean to end up with a monstrous, green alter ego.”

“So he’s not - not always green?”

“Oh, no,” Bucky replied. “Only when he’s angry.”

There was a beat while Steve looked hard at him, unsure if he was being mocked. It took some effort to keep a straight face - but if Steve thought for a second that he was messing with him, he’d never believe the truth. And it was the truth. “Only when he’s angry,” he finally repeated. Bucky nodded. “And the others?”

Bucky paused. “Did you ever draw a guy with long blond hair, cape, a hammer?” Steve nodded. “He’s an alien.”

Steve blinked. “And the metal men?”

“Mostly just that, metal men. They’re called robots. But the red and gold one? That’s a man inside a metal suit.”

“And who are they?”

“Mostly, your friends. Not the robots - they were bad.”

Steve stared at him for another long second, then took a deep breath. “How is it possible that these people exist and no-one knows about them? How do you hide a huge, green monster like that?”

He sympathised with Steve’s reluctance, but he had to make him accept the truth. “You don’t. Because they’re not here.”

“And how exactly does that work?”

Bucky looked at Steve levelly. “You know how, Steve. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Steve shook his head, increasingly insistently. “That’s ridiculous. It’s impossible.”

“It’s still true.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“But you are willing to believe you, and I, and everyone else you’ve drawn, are from another planet? That’s more likely than you being from the future?”

“It’s not as ridiculous,” Steve muttered.

Bucky shrugged. “They’re both equally ridiculous. But one of them is true. And you don’t have to like it, but you do have to accept it.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, a sure sign that stubbornness would ensure. “Time travel is impossible - it violates all the laws of nature. You can’t change the past.”

Bucky sighed. “I know you think that. But it’s still true. And you know it is. Trolley cars don’t exist in this time, but you drew me jumping off one. And it never struck you as strange.”

Steve remained silent, staring at the ground. But eventually, he asked, “How? Say you’re right, and I am from the future. How did I get here?”

“Magic,” Bucky replied.

“Magic,” Steve repeated disbelievingly.

“Well, probably more like really advanced technology – so advanced we think it’s magic. There must be some race out there who knows how to use it properly.”

“Some race,” replied Steve faintly. It was possible he was going a bit fast.

“It was a stone,” Bucky explained. “A shiny green stone.”

Steve’s expression grew even more doubtful. “You’re telling me a magic stone sent me back in time from the future.”

“Yes, I am,” Bucky replied calmly.

“Why?”

“That is a long and complicated story.”

“We have time.”

He sighed. And here it came. “You know how you’re really strong? Some might even say freakishly strong?” Steve nodded. “In the future, you’re what’s called a superhero. The world’s greatest soldier. You’re known as Captain America.”

“Captain America?” Steve spluttered.

He carried on regardless. “You had a uniform - red, white and blue, the Stars and Stripes. And you had a shield - that was your calling card.” Steve’s eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if he was struggling to capture a memory.

“Anyway,” Bucky continued, waiting a moment but getting nothing from Steve, “a hero like that makes enemies. And your enemies used the stone to send you here, to stop you from doing something they really didn’t want you to do. But I don’t know what that was.”

“This is crazy,” Steve muttered.

“I know,” Bucky answered. “Which pretty much guarantees it’s the truth. I couldn’t make this up.”

Steve half-smiled. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Bucky acknowledged the comment with a smile, but he was telling the truth - the real future was far beyond anything he’d ever imagined as a child. Nothing in his daydreams had approached the weirdness that was the Hulk, and as for the idea that Norse gods were really aliens from an impossibly advanced planet somewhere else in the galaxy… No, he’d made it as far as robots, and not much further.

Steve was staring straight ahead of him as he strode along, still dragging the buffalo behind him. His eyes were faraway, not seeing what was in front of him, as he struggled to come to terms with what Bucky had told him. But gradually, the beginnings of acceptance dawned across his face - because however crazy it was, it had to make all the craziness he’d been wrestling with make more sense.

And eventually, he sighed and turned back to Bucky. “So, as it appears it’s all true, and I am from the future, then marrying Grace has presumably caused some problems.”

Bucky shrugged. “Not if it was supposed to happen.”

Steve frowned, then sighed in irritation. “This is what I hate about time travel - that by it’s logic, everything has to be preordained!”

“It’s not that simple, Steve,” Bucky replied, although this was straying into territory that would make his head before too long. “We see time as this linear thing, that we can only move forwards through. We can’t go backwards or sideways or whatever. But who says Time sees it that way?”

Steve looked at him dubiously. “Time?”

“Or a four-dimensional being.”

Steve’s eyes rolled so far back in his head they almost disappeared. “Right. Of course.”

“I’m serious! Such a person wouldn’t understand past or future like we do. They’d see them like we see ‘here’ or ‘there’.”

“But I’m not a four-dimensional being. So what does that make me? An ant? A plaything?”

“All I’m saying is that the past affects the future, but the future can also affect the past. It’s not impossible. Everything that’s happening here, now, is only happening because of choices people made in the future. And just because in a very limited way of looking at it, this happened first, it doesn’t mean the future choices aren’t real. Someone could make a different choice at any point and change everything - and we’d never know, because to us it would always have been that way.”

Steve closed his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

Bucky shrugged. “No, I don’t. Right now, everybody in the future might be living a miserable life because Steve Rogers disappeared and didn’t save them, but then we’ll get you back and it’ll never have happened - no one will ever remember it. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen though.”

Steve threw his hands in the air. “Can we just not talk about this? I accept that I’m from the future. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Whatever you want.”

Chapter Text

He waited for her by the stream a few mornings later, like usual. And as had been usual over the last few days, she wasn’t happy to see him. If only he could tell her that he knew her secret, and that whatever her team had told her, they couldn’t hurt him. He’d do anything to see the burden lifted from her shoulders. But Natasha insisted that the confession had to come from Jessie herself, without prompting from him. There was a logic to that, but it was hard to watch Jessie struggle, when he could stop it with just a few words. Natasha’s order wouldn’t hold him much longer in the face of Jessie’s need.

“How are you?” He always asked - he always got the same answer.

“I’m fine.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“You look tired, pale-“

“I’m fine.”

“-Hungry,” he finished.

She’d been about to say something else, but his last word silenced her. She closed her mouth and stared at the ground. “So they didn’t let you eat last night.”

She shrugged. “They said that the Rogers always fed me, so I didn’t need anything from them.” She spoke to the ground, in a muted voice, only looking up at him reluctantly as she finished speaking. When she saw his face, she hurried on, “Well, they had a point! Grace takes any excuse to feed me!”

“That doesn’t mean they can starve you! They’re your family - your wellbeing is supposed to be their concern.”

She frowned, looking away from him again - she never met his eyes for long any more. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, I don’t need-”

“You’re not fine,” he stated. “You’re pale, you’re tired, you’re not strong, and you’re losing more weight than you have to lose.” She folded her arms, still stubbornly refusing to look at him. “Why do you put up with it? You don’t have to stay with them – Steve and Grace would take you in.”

“You don’t understand...”

“No, I don’t, because you won’t tell me what I don’t understand. Every time I ask, you run away.” She was looking around now, searching for an escape route. “Just like you want to now.”

She turned back to him. “I don’t. I’m just…”

“I’m on your side, Jessie. I want to help you.” He tried to hold her gaze, and for the briefest instant, there was a flicker of something in her eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I have to get back. I don’t want to be late with breakfast.”

He sighed - he’d lost her again. He picked up the buckets to fill them. “I wish you’d trust me, Jessie. I can help you.”

“You said you wouldn’t go near them.”

“And I won’t. Because you don’t want me to. But when I see you like this-” he gestured at her, “-it’s a promise I find harder and harder to keep.”

She looked down at the ground again, her hands twisting in front of her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said, picking up the buckets and heading towards her wagons. “And you have more friends than you think.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Please figure that out before it’s too late.”

They didn’t travel far that day, only as far as the Green River Crossing. They’d made good time along the way so far, avoiding the sickness and disease that had been so common on the trail. The ferry crossing was busy, but not exceptionally so - a group from their party had gone to secure crossing, willing to wait if necessary. It wouldn’t be for long, anyway - with only a few wagons in front of them, they’d be at the front of the queue in only a day or so. And it gave them time to rest and make running repairs - even hunt if needed. He might even get a chance to really talk to Jessie.

The land around the river was lush and green, with stands of trees along the river bank. Not only were they features in a long featureless land, but they’d also provide shade and cover for having long conversations between people who weren’t supposed to be alone together. Assuming Jessie’s ‘family’ didn’t keep her too busy for them to have that talk.

But first, he had his own work to do. He helped Steve with the oxen, feeding and watering them, and checked their harness. Then, with nothing else to do, he escaped for some time alone; it had been a while since he’d been able to get away. He walked by the river, following the path alongside it. He hadn’t gone far, however, when he spied a familiar red head. Jessie was sitting on the riverbank, legs dangling into the river. Boots and bonnet lay discarded on the grass beside her as she stared into the water, lost in another world. For once, she looked like she was at peace - peace he was about to shatter.

“That looks cool,” he said softly as he approached.

She jumped - he winced, but he’d had no choice; she’d been lost to the world. She wouldn’t have noticed if he’d announced his arrival with a fanfare of trumpets. She turned to him, her hand shading her eyes as she looked up at him - the sun was fierce that afternoon. She relaxed at seeing it was him, and turned back to the water. “There was a stream behind the house where I grew up in Or- Hio.” He pretended not to notice the slip - but if Jessie was a born-and bred Oregonian, travelling the trail must be an experience for her. “I used to play in it when it was hot - I’ve never been good with the sun.”

He smiled as he crouched down beside her. It was a sweet story, and a true one, not something she’d made up. He picked up her bonnet. “So why does someone like that take her bonnet off when the sun’s blazing down like this?” He reached to put it back on her head.

“Because it’s too hot,” she replied crossly, pushing his hands away as he tried to tie the ribbons beneath her chin. “I can do it myself.”

“It’s better than burning,” he said, laying his hand briefly against her cheek - it was warm. “Which you’re already starting to do.”

She finished tying her bonnet, and glared at him. “I can’t do much about that, can I? I have red hair, pale skin and freckles – the sun only has to come out for a moment to burn me.”

He grinned. “You could stay in the shade when there’s some to take advantage of,” he replied. “Like that wood over there.”

She glanced over her shoulder to where he was pointing and then back at her feet. “The river is cool,” she murmured.

“Your head isn’t,” he answered. “Come on. Let’s get you into the shade for a while.”

She looked at him sharply, even as she pulled her feet from the river. “I don’t need a chaperone,” she retorted. “I can get to the wood by myself.” His lips had quirked at the word ‘chaperone’ - she caught it and flushed. “Besides, you’d be very unsuitable for the role.” She tried to push her wet feet back into her boots, but they wouldn’t go in. In the end, she gave up and scrambled to her bare feet, boots dangling by her side.

“Possibly,” he said. “But someone has to make sure you stay in the shade.”

“Bucky,” she said, a pleading note to her voice, “this isn’t right. You’re married.”

He raised an eyebrow - they’d been through this before. At his look, she flushed again. “No-one can see us,” he said, ignoring how bad his words sounded. “No-one will know.” He held his hands up. “And I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

“That’s not the point,” she replied, darkly. “It doesn’t matter what you do, it matters how it looks.”

“No-one’s watching,” he repeated. “And every second you stand here arguing, the more you’re going to burn. Come on.” He took her arm gently but firmly and led her towards the wood – she resisted at first, but upon realising that he wouldn’t be diverted, she gave up and let him lead her.

Once they were under the shade of the trees, the temperature dropped considerably. It was a relief to be out from under the relentless sun. He led Jessie further into the wood, following the sound of running water until he came to a stream. There was a clearing beside it, and a fallen log from a lightning-struck tree. It was as good a place as any to stop.

He let go of Jessie’s arm, fully expecting her to run away, but she was too busy basking in the lack of sun. She dropped her boots and pulled the bonnet from her head, letting it fall beside them. Her hair, so neatly braided first thing that morning, was showing the effects of having her bonnet removed and replaced several times. She started to undo it, her long fingers pulling the strands apart in quick, practised movements. She had her back to him, looking towards the stream; the tight, narrow braid loosened out into long, flowing red locks, dappled by sunlight where it found its way through the canopy above. his breath caught in his throat - he’d seen her hair loose before, but there was something about the way her fingers moved as they loosened the braid, the way it came free from them - he was entranced. This was why every romance novel his sisters had ever read talked about the seductive power of unbound hair - he’d feel like an idiot if he wasn’t so ensnared.

As she finally freed the last strands, Jessie shook her head; her hair fanned out around her, dancing around her. He must have made a noise because she whirled to face him, hair flying around her face. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, and she flushed at the look in them, her gaze quickly shifting to the ground. But a few moments later, her eyes moved back to his, reflecting his own expression - his heart began to pound, his breathing quickened. She took a step towards him, then another, her eyes never leaving his - he could break the spell if he stepped backwards but he couldn’t move, rooted to the ground like the trees around him. She moved closer and closer - each step made his heart beat even faster. She stopped when she reached him, her eyes full of desire, her hand slowly reaching to touch his face. He closed his eyes as her fingers brushed his cheek, tilting his face downwards to where he knew her mouth would be, reaching to kiss him.

But it didn’t happen. Just before her lips touched his, she pulled away from him, stepping back and turning away. He opened his eyes - she was hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I can’t,” she mumbled. “I can’t do this!”

He stared at her, not sure what had changed in her. He was a mixed-up mess of sensations and desires, but the instinct to help her fought its way to the top. “Jessie?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

She lifted her face from her hands, her eyes haunted. He reached a hand towards her, but she stepped back, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t. I’m not…” She trailed off, and hid her face again. Could she really feel so guilty about kissing him? She knew there was no reason for her not to, that he wanted her to - but of course. The others had ordered her to use his feelings for her to manipulate him. And everything suddenly became clear, why she’d been avoiding him recently - she’d been avoiding this.

“You’re not what?” he asked gently. She was so close to telling him - he couldn’t spook her now. Her eyes darted this way and that, flickering from him to the path behind him, the trees to either side, seeking an escape route. If he didn’t do something, she’d flee again. “Jessie,” he said, keeping his voice soft, “there’s not a thing you can say to me that will turn me against you. I promise.” She was shaking so hard - it took all his self-control not to hasten to her side, to hold her and reassure her. But if he did that right now, he’d lose her. So he stayed where he was, his stance relaxed and unthreatening, his expression open and encouraging.

“I’m fairly sure that’s not true,” she finally said, her voice trembling as hard as the rest of her.

“Why don’t you try me?” he answered, still softly. She looked at him, really looked at him, weighing up if she could trust him or not, sizing up her chances of escaping if she confessed and he tried to hurt her. He met her gaze, his eyes imploring her to trust him, and then he took a step back, anything to make her feel safer, more secure.

She watched him retreat, understanding his meaning in doing so, but she didn’t relax. She swallowed hard, tried to speak, failed, and swallowed again, her eyes never leaving his. She tried again. “I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.” Her voice was rough - her fear had a hand around her throat, strangling her voice.

He nodded slowly. “So who are you then?”

Her face crumpled; she looked down again. And even if it meant throwing his chance away, he had to comfort her. He crossed the distance between them in an instant, wrapping her in his arms. She stiffened in his embrace, but he pulled her into him and gently stroked her hair, holding her to him but not tightly. She could still pull away if she wanted to. But she relaxed into him, her own arms moving up to circle his waist. He leaned his head softly against hers, saying nothing. If she wanted to tell him, she could; he wouldn’t push her anymore. After a short while, she shifted to bury her face in his shoulder. She said something, but he couldn’t make it out.

“What was that?” He spoke quietly, afraid his voice might send her flying away from him.

She tilted her head to his, her face still so frightened. “McKenzie,” she repeated. “My real name is Jessie McKenzie.”

He smiled softly down at her. “I like that name much better,” he replied.

She smiled tremulously in response before her face crumpled again. “And I work for HYDRA,” she added. She buried her head in his shoulder again, clinging to him like she’d never be able to again.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. She’d finally told him - he’d finally broken through. He closed his eyes in relief. “I know,” he answered her.

Her head shot up - her eyes were wide, startled. “You knew? How did you- how could you?” She tried to pull away from him - his arms instinctively tightened around her, but it only made her pull away harder. He loosened his hold, letting her stand free from him.

“Natasha overheard your ‘family’ talking. It was fairly obvious from what they said that you were all HYDRA.”

Emotions flitted across her face, too fast for him to read. She pulled in a shaky breath and asked, “Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you… Kill me?”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Why in God’s name would I do that?”

“I’m HYDRA,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t you?”

He frowned. “I don’t follow you,” he said.

“After what they did to you. After… If they’d done that to me, I’d want to kill every HYDRA agent I could get my hands on!”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he replied. “You’ve spent the last who knows how many years with a team of HYDRA agents who’ve done nothing but abuse you, but when you had the chance to let someone bigger and nastier than them teach them a lesson, you wouldn’t let me.”

“You’re not me,” she said faintly.

“And you’re not the one who did this to me,” he replied. “Why would I want to hurt you?”

She shrugged weakly. “I don’t know. I thought – thought you might. Or because of what I’ve done to Steve.”

He sat down on the fallen log, holding his hand out, inviting her to join him. She drifted closer, but didn’t sit down, watching him warily. “Jessie, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I just want to help you. Please don’t be afraid.” She sat, but left a significant distance between them. He sighed - but it was a start. She didn’t say anything, so he did. “You should be proud. You fooled the great Natasha Romanoff.” She eyed him incredulously. “I’m serious. She thought Grace was the HYDRA agent.”

“Grace?” she echoed, so stunned she forgot to be afraid. “Why on earth?”

He shrugged. “Because she was the closest person to Steve, I guess,” he replied. “And she couldn’t believe HYDRA would let him marry someone from this time.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap, but said nothing. He frowned - there was something he was missing, but she wasn’t telling. He let the silence hang for a few more moments, then moved the conversation along. “So how did someone like you end up working for HYDRA?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, as if not sure what he was asking. So he continued, “You seem to like Steve Rogers an awful lot. That’s not exactly very compatible with HYDRA and their aims.” She raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. He inclined his head, accepting her point.

“I don’t really know. It’s not something I’d have done willingly. So I assume they brainwashed me.”

He nodded - it made a sick kind of sense. “But why you? Why force you to join them?”

She was staring at her hands again. “Because of the stone,” she eventually said, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it.

“The Time Stone?”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “I can use it.” She wrung her hands, darted a quick look at him, then away again. “Better than anyone else.”

A few things clicked into place. “But you weren’t the one who sent Steve back.”

She shook her head. “They didn’t trust me with that. I don’t think they trusted me at all. It’s why they left me here.” She took a deep breath. “But without me, they wouldn’t have been able to do any of this. So it’s all my fault.”

He watched her for a long while, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You’ll have to explain that to me.”

“The man who did send Steve back - he could only just use the stone. He can send someone through time, but they always lose their memory. And he can only send one person at a time.” She paused, before adding, “It isn’t like that with me.” She eyed him apprehensively, almost as if she expected him to leap to his feet and start shouting.

He had no idea why. “And?”

She frowned, as if it was obvious. “Because without me, they couldn’t have sent a team back to keep an eye on him. The whole plan would have failed!”

“And why would that have stopped them?”

“Because if there was no-one here to watch him, they wouldn’t have risked sending him back.”

He shook his head. “HYDRA plan as well as they can, but mostly they act to remove anyone they think is a threat. They’d still have sent him back, even without you.”

“You don’t understand-”

“Jessie.” He closed the gap between them and took one of her wringing hands in his own. “I know HYDRA. I’ve been around them a lot longer than you have. When there’s someone who’s as much of a threat to them as they thought Steve was, they’d do anything to remove him.” He paused. “They even sent me after him once. Me. It was a huge risk, but they thought if anyone could kill him, I could. I nearly did. I damn well nearly didn’t remember him.” He stopped, taking deep breaths - he couldn’t afford to lose himself now. Jessie squeezed his hand - comforting him again. He really didn’t deserve it. “The point is, they’re all about preserving themselves and avoiding detection. Whatever that takes.”

But she was frowning as if something didn’t make sense. “I don’t remember the Winter Soldier going up against Captain America. When did that happen?”

He shrugged in response. “When they woke me up and told me to go after him.” He paused, taking another moment to regain more of his self-control. “I nearly killed him. I watched him fall into the river, and then something made me pull him out. Nearly got a helicarrier on top of me for my pains.”

“A helicarrier?” She was baffled - and to be honest, so was he.

“When Steve took down Project: Insight,” he replied - how could she not remember it? What had they done to her? “And S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA with it.”

She stared at him. “But that’s impossible,” she breathed. “That’s what we were trying to stop!”

He frowned. “Steve was sent back here from 2017,” he said slowly. “About three years after that.”

Her eyes widened. “He was supposed to be sent back from 2013,” she replied. “Before he brought HYDRA down.” She shook her head. “But if they didn’t stop him then, why send him back at all?”

“Revenge,” Bucky replied promptly. “It’s all they had left. And a weapon and a plan. Why not go through with it anyway?”

Jessie nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” She looked up at him. “And it makes you make more sense. The others couldn’t believe it when I told them you were here, with Natasha Romanoff, looking for Steve. They thought you were still HYDRA. When I brought them back here, you were.”

He closed his eyes, fighting off the memories. Something she’d said snagged in his mind, saving him from drowning in them. “They thought? What did you think?”

“I thought I was seeing a ghost,” she replied faintly. “I thought you’d died in the war. I’d heard rumours about the Winter Soldier, but I didn’t know he was HYDRA. I had no idea he was you.”

She took his other hand in hers, staring at him anxiously. “Bucky, I swear I didn’t know. If I’d known, I…”

He shook his head. “It happened before you were even born.”

She looked away, fighting back tears. “I saw what they did to you. I saw… The stone…”

He stared at her. “It showed you?”

She nodded. “That day, the first time I nearly kissed you-” She looked down suddenly, blushing furiously. He couldn’t help but grin. “When I touched you, the stone suddenly started showing me your past. I saw them…” She couldn’t say any more.

He closed his eyes in horror. She should never have had to see that. “Why did it do that?” he asked, fighting hard to keep the anger from his voice. It wasn’t with her, never with her.

“It’s been trying to get my attention ever since you brought it here,” she explained. “It’s like it’s alive, somehow. It wants to show me what it can do.” She paused, then added, “That night when they left me outside… They found out I’d been hiding Steve’s pictures.” He nodded - he’d figured that much out. “They were furious. They hit me. And Holland - he - he had a knife.” Red was clouding at the edge of his vision - he focussed hard on her voice. “I thought he was going to kill me. He raised the knife, I threw my hands up to ward it off, and he froze.” She paused, breathing hard. She wasn’t the only one - he had to stay calm. “The stone did it. It wasn’t me. Somehow, it protected me. And when I couldn’t undo it, they threatened me. But I didn’t know what I’d done.”

“So what happened?” His voice came out as a growl. She shot an alarmed look at him.

“Eventually, he started moving again,” she replied, a tremble in her voice. “Continued as if he’d never stopped. But because I wasn’t in front of him anymore, he just fell flat on his face.”

“And then?”

“They wanted to punish me for it, but they were afraid that if they hit me, they’d freeze too. So they decided to leave me out in the cold all night.” She hugged her arms around herself, as if reliving the bone-chilling cold she’d suffered. She’d been frozen – he remembered her fingers, tiny icicles, clinging to his hand. She could have died - he could have lost her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close to him, like he’d done back then. She cuddled into him, as if she was finally willing to trust him.

“It explains why they’re so afraid of you,” he eventually muttered. “The stone gives you a lot of power.”

“But it doesn’t,” she replied earnestly, pulling out of his arms to face him. “I don’t know what I’m doing - I don’t have any power. It’s all the stone. The only time I’ve used its power is to travel in time.”

“It responds to you, though,” he replied. “And it saved you. I think it wants you to share its power.”

She shook her head vigorously, hugging herself again until he pulled her back into his arms. “I don’t want that. I don’t want any of it.”

“I don’t think you have a choice,” he replied. “But Nat knows more about the stones than I do. She’ll have a better idea.”

She shrank into him. “Does she want to hurt me?”

He smiled. “You’d know about it if she did. But no, she has no interest whatsoever in hurting you.”

“Why not?”

“Why would she? She knows all about switching sides. She knew you weren’t really HYDRA. She wanted me to win you over.

And she’s saved your life more than once.”

She nodded against his chest. “I guess.”

“She wants to save you, too. And she thinks you’re a damn fine field agent.”

“I’m not,” she protested weakly. “I wasn’t even out of the Academy. And I was in Tech - I’m an engineer. I never wanted to be a field agent.”

“Yeah, well, you can take that up with her. I’m staying out of it. My work here is done.”

She snuggled in to him, burying herself in his arms. “I sincerely hope it’s not,” she said.

He smiled and pulled her closer, resting his head on top of hers. “I guess I can stick around for a bit longer. Since you asked so nicely.”

They sat like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, until it started to get dark.

Chapter Text

Natasha waited on the fallen log in the clearing that Bucky had directed her to. When he’d finally returned from his afternoon-long ‘walk’ yesterday, there’d been a purpose to him, a satisfaction, that said he’d finally got through to Jessie. He’d confirmed as much, but had understood she’d want to hear it from Jessie herself, so hadn’t said much more. He did mention that Jessie had abilities that came from the stone; she’d suspected as much for a while now. And it explained why the others were so afraid of her.

The Time Stone lay in its box beside her. She’d had to bring it along - left unguarded in the wagon, it was too vulnerable to sticky fingers. But here it would be close to its mistress - what if Jessie snatched it and escaped? It wasn’t likely - Jessie would never leave Bucky, and her guilt over Steve meant she wouldn’t abandon him, either. And she’d have to get past Natasha to reach it anyway, which would never happen. But it was still tempting fate.

Bucky had gone to fetch Jessie, under strict orders not to tell her that she was heading into a Black Widow interrogation. She was under no illusions - Jessie was terrified of her. Whatever Natasha had done to try to put her at ease, her fearsome reputation carried all before it. And when Jessie found her sitting there, her fear would multiply ten times over. Natasha sighed - it was so much easier when they didn’t know who you were. Being an Avenger was a doubleedged sword.

Jessie’s lighter voice and Bucky’s gruffer one carried through the woods towards her - they’d be there in moments. Natasha arranged herself as demurely as she could, anything to make herself less threatening, but bracing herself for Jessie’s frightened reaction nonetheless.

Jessie stopped dead when she saw her - but instead fear , a wry smile crossed her face. “I might have known,” she murmured, turning to Bucky. “Traitor.” He smiled - he’d known Jessie wouldn’t be afraid to find her waiting. Natasha had completely underestimated her again, and he’d said nothing. He could be so irritating sometimes.

Jessie turned back to Natasha - she wasn’t afraid, but she was wary. They stared at each other, each one sizing the other up, but Jessie became distracted by the box next to Natasha. And then her expression turned fearful. Her eyes flicked up to Natasha’s briefly before they were drawn inexorably back to the box, and then remained riveted on it. In Jessie’s estimation, Natasha wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the clearing. Natasha had to agree.

“I wasn’t going to leave it where one of your ‘brothers’ could find it, was I?” she said.

Jessie shook her head, her eyes never leaving the box, rooted to the spot. She didn’t move until Bucky put his hand on her shoulder and guided her gently forward. Even then, as she got closer, her steps veered sideways away from the stone, keeping Natasha between them. It was only once she’d seated herself next to Natasha that she relaxed, her view of the box now mostly obscured. Bucky sat at Jessie’s feet - leaning back on one arm, he rested his other hand lightly on her ankle, giving her the comfort of his presence. It worked - Jessie took a deep breath, then looked up and met Natasha’s eyes.

Natasha smiled, a small smile intended to not be terrifying. Jessie didn’t return the gesture, but nor did she look any more scared. “You played a good game,” she eventually said. “You fooled me.”

Jessie nodded. “Bucky said.”

“And I’m sure he told you how he knew it was you all along.”

“He might have mentioned it,” Jessie replied, a smile hinting at the corner of her mouth.

Natasha sighed theatrically. “My skills are clearly deserting me,” she said. “Or you’re a very talented agent.”

“Hardly that,” Jessie shot back, so quickly she had to rerun the conversation to find where she’d insulted her. “I’m an engineer - in training, technically.”

“You’ve had - what? Five years’ first-hand experience in the field now. That makes you an agent.”

Jessie glowered at her. “Not by choice.”

“We don’t always get to choose,” Natasha replied. “I didn’t. Nor did he,” she added, nodding at Bucky. “But we are where we are, and we are what life has made us, and we have to make the best of it.”

There was an incredulous slant to Jessie’s eyes. “I didn’t think the famous Black Widow dealt in platitudes.” Needling her already? This girl had guts.

She smiled and shrugged. “How easily you see through me.”

Suddenly, Jessie straightened, her bearing tense. “Can we just get on with this?” she asked. “You’re going to interrogate me; there’s no need to pretend otherwise. Just ask me your questions - let’s get this over with.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows, but nodded. “Alright, then. Tell me how you ended up here.”

But suddenly, all of Jessie’s belligerence faded. Her shoulders slumped, her mouth opened, then closed again, as if the burden of speaking was too great. Her eyes were drawn to the box again - she stared at it for a long moment before she spoke. “It might be easier if I showed you,” she said slowly.

Natasha frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Jessie’s eyes flicked back to her. “The stone. Sometimes when I touch people, I see things about them - their past.” Her eyes darted to Bucky, and then back to her. Interesting. “I think it should work the other way - let me show you my past. And that way, you’ll get the truth, not the version I want you to hear.”

Natasha’s frown deepened. Was this a trick to let Jessie get her hands on the stone?

But Jessie understood her hesitation. “I don’t have to touch it. I didn’t when I… last time. Being this close to it, I think it will work fine. If it knows what I want, it’ll help me.” She swallowed, her eyes now fixed on her hands in her lap.

Natasha exchanged a wary look with Bucky - what if it worked the other way round? She had far too many secrets that needed to stay far from the light of day. But… it would be the best way. And why would Jessie want to know her past? It wouldn’t gain her anything. And she’d already seen Bucky’s. She turned back to Jessie and nodded. “Alright. We’ll try it your way.”

Jessie nodded, but her eyes were already somewhere else - was she communicating with the stone? She slid down onto the grass beside Bucky, reaching for his hand - which he gave to her willingly. Natasha, still unsure, slid down beside her, but hesitated before she took Jessie’s hand. Jessie’s eyes, now fixed on the ground, were glowing, the deep, green glow of the stone. Natasha flashed a look at Bucky - he’d seen it too, but he merely shrugged, and took a firmer grip on Jessie’s hand. And if he was brave enough to do so, when his past had corners as dark and malign as her own, she could do no less than match him. She reached out, took Jessie’s other hand and closed her eyes.

There was no sensation of movement, like when she’d used the stone to travel in time, but the air changed around her, becoming colder and damper. When she opened her eyes, she was in another place and time. She looked down at herself, she couldn’t see anything - she was invisible. So were Jessie and Bucky, but Jessie’s hand was still firm around hers.

Wherever and whenever she was, it was a cool, grey day. She was in a park, so lush and green that it had to be somewhere where it rained a lot - the Pacific Northwest, perhaps. A chill wind blew around her - the sensation jarred, like she was in two places at once. She turned at the sound of voices behind her - there were three children, two boys, older, and a small girl before them. She couldn’t be more than four, with red hair and freckles - it had to be Jessie. Natasha frowned - did Jessie’s tale of how she’d ended up in 1852 really begin all the way back in her childhood?

The scene in front was one she recognised - it was the fate of little red-headed girls everywhere to be teased. Jessie had been no different - her hair, in pigtails, was being mercilessly pulled, while her tormentors pelted her with all the usual insults. Jessie cowered away from them, crying, pleading with them to stop in a little-girl voice that should have melted the hardest of hearts. It had no effect on these two savages, however - they kept on taunting her, taking a sick glee in her distress.

It came to an abrupt halt, however, when an older boy, hair as red as Jessie’s own, appeared, pushing first one and then the other boy away from her. He placed himself firmly between them and the little girl, glaring at them. “Leave my sister alone!” he shouted, righteous anger in both his words and his stance. “Pick on someone your own size!” One of them looked inclined to fight back, but Jessie’s brother’s shifted on his feet, causing him to think again. They ran off laughing, but it was the nervous laughter of those trying to save face. The boy watched them go, face stony, until they were out of sight, and then he turned back to his sister, who was clinging to his leg, still crying.

He picked her up, cuddling her and whispering soft words of comfort. Gradually, her sobs subsided and she lifted a tearstained face to his. “Why were they so mean, Ben?” Her tragic expression made Natasha smile.

“I don’t know why, Jessie-bear,” he replied. That was a nickname to store away for later use. “They’re just bullies. Don’t pay them any attention.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing! Your hair is lovely - they’re just jealous they don’t have hair like yours.”

Jessie frowned, clearly not believing him. Her face crumpled again. “Why is everybody so horrible?”

“Hey,” Ben replied, hugging her close. “Only some people are mean. There are lots of good people in the world. People who stand up to bullies. Like Captain America!”

“Who’s Captain America?” Jessie’s awkward attempt to repeat the name was painfully adorable.

“He’s a superhero,” her brother replied enthusiastically. “A real superhero. And he didn’t like bullies either. He used to stand up to them and fight them, teach them a lesson.”

“Would he have stopped those mean boys?”

“Absolutely, he would,” Ben said, as he walked off, still carrying Jessie in his arms. As his voice faded away, the scene swirled and changed.

Her eyes open this time, queasiness overwhelmed her as the light and surroundings changed. When they settled, sunlight slanted in through a nearby window, falling across a half-made bed. Every available wall was covered with pictures of Steve, Howling Commandos at his side. But upon scanning the walls again, she smirked. One of Steve’s swashbuckling comrades was taking up far more wall space than him. Bucky was everywhere. Completing the scene were piles of comics heaped in every corner, books scattered everywhere, and bits and pieces of contraptions littering every other surface. There was a desk in front of a second window, also piled high with comics and books, as well as a computer and more besides.

A girl sat at it, as red-headed as ever. She was older now, probably around twelve years old. Her long, gangly legs kicked back and forth as she hunched over her desk, fiddling with what looked like a clock. Jessie had said she was an engineer - she’d clearly started early. She was tall for her age, not yet grown into herself - she’d be gawky and awkward when she stood up. And while she fiddled at her desk, her attention was really on a conversation happening outside her room, a conversation about herself.

“But it isn’t normal, Ben!” said a young female voice. “She spends all day in her room, reading comics or fiddling with some new piece of machinery she’s got her hands on. She should be outside in the sun, or making friends!”

“She has friends,” replied a male voice, presumably her older brother Ben.

“They don’t count if you only talk to them on your computer,” replied the first voice scornfully - Jessie’s sister?

“Of course they do,” countered Ben. “She has more intelligent conversations with them than you do with your vapid friends.”

“What, about comic books? Right… And my friends are not vapid!”

“Do you even know what vapid means? If you ever read a book, you might… If you ever read a book, you might have less vapid friends, in fact.”

“At least they’re real people.”

“Jessie’s friends are real people.”

“Her comic book heroes aren’t. And she spends all her time reading about them.”

“They are real. And far better she idolises actual real-life heroes than the idiots you drool over. I’d much rather she aspired to be like Captain America than that moron you keep drawing in your sketchbook.”

A few spluttering noises indicated Jessie’s sister’s apoplectic rage.

Ben spoke again. “Allie, the world would be a boring place if we all liked the same things. You like your hair and make-up, and your bare-chested, floppy-haired dancers. Jessie likes her superheroes and her books and her tinkering. She’s good at it. She’s going to be amazing someday. Leave her be.”

“But it’s not normal!”

Ben sighed. “Just leave her alone. She’s perfect just as she is.”

The awkward, red-headed girl at the desk smiled.

At the first sign of the scene shifting, Natasha firmly closed her eyes until the atmosphere around her changed. When she opened them, she was standing in the light, airy atrium of the Triskelion Building. She shook her head, jarred by being in a place that was no more - Steve and his helicarriers had seen to that. Jessie’s tell-tale red hair stood out among the crowds populating the atrium - she was standing in front of the Wall of Valor. Natasha’s viewpoint shifted suddenly, so she was next to Jessie, who was contemplating the memorial, nervous tension in every line of her face. Natasha studied her with interest - this was Jessie from only a few years ago, Jessie at the peak of health. Her face was rounded and smooth, her cheeks full, her eyes clear and bright, her hair, red and glossy, braided neatly. A ‘50s screen siren would have killed for her figure, all curves and round edges, a direct contrast to her current starved waif look. By the standards of her own time, she’d be considered a little chubby, but her 1940s boyfriend wouldn’t mind at all… She was wearing a smart grey dress and heeled shoes that made her stand awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if she wasn’t used to them. Her attire and anxious face suggested she was there to take the tests for S.H.I.E.L.D. Staring at the memorial was a way to distract herself from her nerves. The scene suddenly became sad to Natasha - a girl with dreams of a glittering S.H.I.E.L.D. career, whose reality would be something much darker.

Jessie’s face relaxed into a smile as she reached out to trace a name on the memorial wall with her finger. He’d never really been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but this was Peggy’s organisation, and she’d included the name of the only Howling Commando to lose his life in the line of duty. There it was - ‘Bucky Barnes’, first name on the memorial. First to give his life as they’d thought back then. But just as with Jessie, the truth had been darker and uglier… But seeing his name there was clearly calming her nerves. Natasha smiled wryly - this was turning into quite the epic love story… As Jessie’s name was called over the PA system, she ran her fingers across Bucky’s name one more time, squared her shoulders and turned, as the scene started to fade…

…Next followed flashes of Jessie’s life at the Academy - sitting rapt in lectures, answering questions, lunch with her friends, working in the Tech lab, demonstrating one of her inventions to her tutor, basking in his praise. She’d been in her element - happy, healthy, living life to the full. When the scenes stopped flickering in and out of focus, Jessie was sitting alone in the canteen, her dinner ignored as she watched the TV nearby, showing footage from the Battle of New York. A shadow fell across her table - it was Michael. A chill ran down Natasha’s spine. This is where it had all started to go wrong.

“Mind if I join you?” His tone was open and friendly, nothing to suggest he was really a sinister HYDRA agent.

Jessie shook her head absently, her attention already back on the screen. Michael sat beside her, watching as she absent-mindedly ate a forkful of her macaroni cheese, still intent on the TV. He glanced up at the screen, a grimace flickering across his face as Steve appeared upon it, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived. He turned back to Jessie, still rapt.

“So,” he said, competing for her attention, “you’ve been making quite a name for yourself down in the Tech labs.”

Jessie tore her eyes away from the TV to look at him guardedly. “Have I?” she replied.

Michael nodded, pleased she was listening to him. “Indeed. Your solution to Professor Miller’s computing problem was inspired.”

Jessie frowned. “All it took was a few lines of code…”

“You’re the first person in five years to figure that out.”

Jessie shrugged uncomfortably. Her eyes flicked back to the TV, to Steve and safety.

Michael’s eyes followed hers. “Impressive, huh?”

Jessie nodded, eyes shining, her discomfort forgotten. “It’s amazing… They’re all so brave… And Cap - isn’t it wonderful that he’s alive? And he saved the world!” Even in the middle of such a menacing scene, knowing how bad things were about to get, Natasha had to smile. The obsession was alive and well.

Michael nodded slowly. “It is indeed amazing.” But as Jessie’s attention was drawn back yet again to the TV and the heroics of the Avengers, he looked towards a shadowed figure standing just inside the entrance to the canteen. He shook his head very deliberately, then stood. “I’ll leave you to your dinner, Miss McKenzie,” he said, as he left; Jessie didn’t even notice.

The scene switched again - to Jessie in the lab. There were no windows, but even so, the darkness suggested it was the middle of the night. The only light came from the lamp on Jessie’s bench, hidden away at the back - the rest of the lab was deserted. She was so intent on her latest project, it took some time for her to realise that she wasn’t alone – a whispered conference was happening at the front of the lab. Silently laying down her tools, she edged to the end of her bench and peeked around the corner. A familiar green glow lit the faces of the two men talking. They were talking in hushed voices, their words indistinguishable.

“This is going to change everything,” one of them said, his voice suddenly sharpening into focus; the stone was making sure they got everything. “We haven’t had this kind of advantage since the Tesseract!”

“Assuming we can figure out how it works. It’s not much use to us if all it does is make whoever touches it disappear.”

“The Tesseract was the same - and we found a way to harness that. It’ll come in time.”

“Is it safe to leave it here?”

“There’s no-one here - we’ll lock it in. It’ll be safe till tomorrow, when Pierce is here.” How had HYDRA managed to hide in plain sight for all those years with morons like this in their ranks? They hadn’t even checked they were alone - and Jessie hadn’t exactly been hiding.

And once they’d gone, of course Jessie went to see what they’d been making such a fuss about. She was an engineer, a scientist - curiosity was in her blood. Perhaps she should have heeded that saying about curiosity…

The stone lay on the main desk, sealed in a box with a fancy computerised lock. But Jessie made quick work of it – within moments, she’d opened the box, and that familiar green glow spilled out of it, illuminating her face - had her eyes just flickered green? She placed the box back on the desk and stared at it, a smile gradually dawning across her face. The stone was beautiful - there were traces of blue and turquoise within its cool, green glow, the colours swirling and mixing together. And Jessie’s hand slowly, tentatively reached towards it. Ignoring the HYDRA mook’s statement about people vanishing when they touched it, her fingers inched closer and closer. And when she touched it, she didn’t vanish. Letting out the breath she’d been holding in a rush, Jessie grinned and took a firmer hold of it, lifting it out of the box and holding it up to better examine it. She frowned, as if she was listening to it, and then her brow cleared. She looked up, focussed on something in front of her, then closed her eyes. And vanished.

The world shifted again, and this time it was more like it had been when she’d travelled to the past. For of course, Jessie had time-travelled. The lab had gone - instead, they were standing in an empty warehouse. The early light streaming in through the high windows put the time at just after dawn. Jessie looked around her, an amazed grin on her face. Then she turned back to the stone in her hand, still pulsing with its green glow, and closed her fingers around it. Slipping it into her pocket, she headed for a nearby door and down the stairs behind it to an emergency exit. Pausing only to prevent the alarm from tripping, she cracked it open and edged her way into the world outside.

She followed the alley that the exit had led to, blinking in the sudden sunlight as she emerged onto the street. There weren’t many people around, but this was a very different place from the one she’d come from. From the bouffant hairstyles, shoulder pads, bright jewellery and eclectic attire on the few people around, they’d travelled to some time in the 1980s. Jessie looked around her at the advertising hoardings, the old-fashioned looking cars, and she smiled.

Natasha was pulled in Jessie’s wake as she made her way down the streets of the town the Academy was hidden away in. It had been much smaller and less developed then, but even so, Jessie found everything fascinating. She stopped at a newsstand to buy a paper, using anachronistic coins to pay for it. She laughed happily as she studied the front page - the date was October 26th, 1985. Natasha grinned - so Jessie was a ‘Back to the Future’ fan. Hugging the paper to her chest, Jessie continued down the street.

And then suddenly they were back in the alley outside the factory that would one day become the Academy. Jessie was on her way back. She held the stone in her hand, the green glow flowing out and surrounding her, as she concentrated and then vanished. Pulled through time alongside her, they ended up in a storage corridor in the Academy. Jessie headed swiftly for the stairs, taking them two at a time as she made her way back to the lab where she’d found the stone. Proving that back then, she hadn’t been the world’s finest field agent, she burst through the door without checking that the coast was clear -and came face to face with Michael. She stopped dead, then turned to flee, but he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the lab, shutting the door and securing it behind her.

“Do you have it?” he asked her urgently.

Jessie stared at him in fright. “The stone,” he growled. “Where is it?”

She stared at him a moment longer, then slid her hand into her pocket and pulled it out. Instead of using it to save herself, she offered it to Michael, who leapt back as if she’d offered him a rattlesnake. He motioned at the box. “Put it in there.”

She did as she was told, her movements shaky. The second she stepped back from the box, one of the other HYDRA goons snapped it shut and pulled it off the desk, out of her reach. Jessie looked at the unfriendly faces of the men around her, her eyes wide and scared - her gaze fixed on Michael, the one familiar face. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said, her voice small.

“How were you able to touch it?” Michael demanded.

“I - I don’t know,” she replied, her voice catching with fear. “I just - I just could.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Every other person who’s come into contact with the stone has disappeared, never to be seen again.” He came closer to her, spoke right in her face. “So what’s different about you?”

She shook her head, too frightened to speak.

“What happened?” he asked. “Tell me everything you did.”

She took a deep breath, tried to speak, failed, then whispered, “It - it called to me. It told me to come to it, pick it up. It wanted to show me what I could do with it.” She eyed him apprehensively, afraid he wouldn’t believe her, but he nodded to her to continue. “So I did. And it showed me how to - to travel in time.”

“Time,” mused Michael. “It makes sense. The Tesseract had power over space, why should this one not control time?”

“You believe her?” growled one of the others.

Michael turned back to Jessie. “Can you prove it?” Mutely, she held out the newspaper she was holding. Michael took it, read the date, and snorted in amusement. He showed it to the others. “I’d say that’s pretty conclusive. I think we finally know what it does and we’ve found someone who can use its power.”

He turned back to Jessie. “But you shouldn’t have taken it. You shouldn’t even have known about it. How did you find out about it?” He grabbed her by the arm again, pulled her towards him. “Are you a
spy?”

“No!” she replied anxiously. “I was in the lab last night when they brought it in!”

Michael released her abruptly and turned to glare at the two agents who’d left it there the night before.

“We checked the lab! She’s lying,” one of them gabbled, but the other one stayed silent, his head down.

“What are we going to do with her?” another agent asked Michael. “We can’t just let her go.” He eyed Jessie with contempt - clearly he thought ‘six feet under’ was the correct answer.

But Michael disagreed. “She can use the stone. That makes her valuable.”

“You said she wasn’t a good prospect…”

“She isn’t,” he replied grimly. “But there are ways…”

The scene shifted again, to another dark, murky corridor in the bowels of the Academy. The silence had an oppressive quality, like it was the middle of the night. Michael and another HYDRA agent were dragging a limp Jessie between them down the corridor and through a small, nondescript door - it could have been the janitor’s closet. But it wasn’t. The room inside was much bigger than the door had suggested, filled with machinery that Natasha had never seen in all her days at S.H.I.E.L.D. But she had seen it before, in another time and place. And it finally confirmed what she’d suspected all along - Jessie had been brainwashed into joining the HYDRA cause. Michael and the other agent dragged Jessie to a strange contraption and shackled her into it. It held her arms, body and head in place with metal cuffs so she couldn’t move. Not that she was in any fit state to move, anyway - her head lolled to one side; she was heavily sedated.

On the other side of the room, a screen flickered, rhythmic colours pulsating across it. Even protected from its effects by not actually being there, Natasha’s eyes kept being drawn to it. Michael fastened the final strap, fix Jessie’s head firmly in place, so she’d have to stare straight at the screen. She’d regained consciousness - her eyes were open; she was groggy, trying to look around her, and yet to figure out why she couldn’t. As a technician approached her, wicked-looking syringe in hand, she began to struggle. As her eyes feel on the the needle, she started to struggle in earnest. Michael grabbed her arm, holding it steady while an entire syringe full of drugs was emptied into her veins. It wasn’t another sedative - Jessie kept struggling. And as if she’d figured out what they were doing, she screwed her eyes shut.

But there was no escape for her. With a ruthless efficiency suggesting they’d done this many times before, another agent grabbed her chin and forced her head into another contraption, one that held her eyelids open, so she couldn’t look away. And whatever they’d injected her with started to take effect - she stopped struggling, went slack in her bonds, and became completely and utterly quiescent, staring at the swirling patterns in front of her.

The image distorted, becoming less distinct - Jessie’s hand trembled in her own. She hadn’t known any of this - it was as new to her as it was to Natasha and Bucky. Her focus was slipping, overcome by the horror, but she had to see it through. She needed to see the truth for herself. Natasha squeezed her hand, offering her strength to help her continue. There was a small, answering pressure as the image stabilised.

Now that Jessie had stopped struggling, the agents stepped back, letting the drugs and the hypnotic patterns do their thing. After a painfully long time, the screen switched off, but Jessie still stared at it. Another agent, one Natasha didn’t recognise, stepped up in front of her, waved his hand in front of her eyes, and nodded. “It’s a start. Have her kept in isolation - no-one allowed to see her. It will take time before she’s ready.”

A horrific kaleidoscope of sessions in front of that machine followed, and with every exposure, Jessie was weaker and paler, visibly sickening. After the third time, she didn’t even struggle any more, her will to resist gone. And just as it began to feel like the nightmare would go on forever, the agent, the one who always watched from the shadows, finally stood in front of Jessie. “Are you ready to comply, Miss McKenzie?”

Her eyes, dull and uncaring, met his. “Ready.”

The scene shimmered and blurred, as if her link to Jessie was failing, but although it took a while, another scene gradually formed. Jessie was in the lab again - a clock above her head gave the time as 3am. Her bloodshot eyes, pale, waxy skin and hollow look suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d been up so late.

The bench in front of her was covered in material, black but shot through with something reflective, with wires running through it. Jessie pressed a button on a module attached to the material - it shimmered and vanished. Had she just invented an invisibility cloak? The material was still there, but every time Natasha tried to focus on it, her eyes slid off it onto the desk beneath it. It wasn’t completely invisible, but near enough - still incredibly impressive. A suit made out of that material would render the wearer virtually invisible - to human eyes, cameras, everything but infrared. The door to the lab slid open, admitting Michael and Brock Rumlow. Natasha sucked in a sharp breath - Jessie had been working for S.T.R.I.K.E.? She’d been closer to Bucky than she’d realised. They’d been his back-up team - when he needed back-up.

“Is it ready?” Michael asked her eagerly. Jessie, barely even registering his presence, nodded to the bench, where her invisible material lay. Michael looked down at it, struggling to see - Rumlow, unable to see it, turned angry eyes towards Jessie, but before he could speak, Michael whistled, and reached down to pick it up. “You did it,” he breathed, obviously impressed.

Rumlow took it from him, examined it closely, and nodded. “It’ll do.”

Michael looked at him in surprise. “It’ll do?” he repeated. “It’s incredible. And a game-changer.”

Rumlow’s impassive expression and shrug said what he thought about it. Michael shook his head, and turned back to Jessie. “What about infrared?”

She pressed another button on the module. “This sends a coolant through the material - enough to mask body temperature,” she replied, a mechanical edge to her voice. “It can’t be used for long – it will get cold. If the ambient temperature is low, the wearer will end up with hypothermia.”

Michael nodded, reaching out to feel the material again. “It’s certainly - bracing.” He switched off the module, taking it and the material from the bench. “Schematics?” Jessie handed him a data stick. “Good. You’ve done well, Jessie,” he congratulated her, as they turned to leave. “You should be proud.”

But there was no pride in Jessie’s face as she watched them leave, just a lack of any emotion whatsoever.

The scene shifted again, as Natasha frowned. Jessie’s technology hadn’t become standard-issue for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents - it would have been given to her for sure. So HYDRA had kept it to themselves. Or maybe it hadn’t been as successful as they’d hoped. It was amazing that Jessie had achieved it at all - she’d been destined for engineering greatness. Something else that HYDRA had denied the world. They were now standing in a huge aircraft hangar, empty save for a small group of agents. With a muted flash of green light, Jessie and seven other people appeared in front of them. Jessie stood, dull-eyed and uncaring, as Michael and the agent from the shadows stood approached, along with Roberts, the man who’d sent Steve back through time. Michael held out the box to her - without being asked, Jessie placed the stone gently, almost reverently, inside it - he closed it smartly and turned away from her.

“Seven people,” he muttered to the other agent. “Seven plus herself, and they’re all fine. Not a single memory lost, as far as we can tell. How does she do it?”

The agent turned to Roberts. “Can you explain it?”

Roberts shrugged, his expression sulky. “No,” he replied. “It doesn’t ‘talk’ to me the way it does to her.”

Michael and the other agent exchanged a look. “She clearly has a higher affinity for it,” the other agent finally said. “Which is problematic.”

“She’s still responding to the brainwashing,” Michael replied quickly, a little too quickly. “She doesn’t even struggle anymore.”

The agent nodded. “That’s good, but will it last? This method doesn’t always hold.”

“As long as it does, we can use her,” Michael answered. “She’s a brilliant engineer - there’s no point in getting rid of her until we have to.”

The agent nodded again, more slowly this time. “And until we find someone else who has her - abilities - with the stone.” He cast a disparaging look at Roberts. “Why don’t you try again?” he asked, a withering tone to his voice. “See if you can move one person without frying their brain.”

“It doesn’t happen to me,” Roberts muttered. “Why are you so anxious to move so many people?”

“Because we might have need to do so,” the first agent replied, sharp as a whip. “Now go on, try.”

Roberts grabbed the stone from the box Michael offered him, and stalked over to another agent, who eyed him apprehensively. Go back to the same time as McKenzie. See if you can move that far. And then return.”

There was a flash of green light as they vanished, followed by another flash of green light thirty seconds later as they re-appeared. But while Roberts was unaffected, the agent that had accompanied him fell to his knees, holding his head and crying out in pain. Had Steve been like that? The drugs the Wakandans had found for her and Bucky had clearly spared them a lot of unpleasantness. Roberts watched the other agent, quiet despair on his face. There was a scratch down the side of his face.

As Michael approached, the other agent looked up and shrank back. “Who - who are you? What is this? Where am I?”

Roberts shrugged. “He was like this when we arrived. When I tried to take his arm to bring him back, he attacked me. Didn’t recognise me, don’t think he even recognises himself.” He shot a resentful look at Jessie. “I told you this was a waste of time.” He stalked off without another word, stopping only to return the stone to its box, as a team of medics moved forward to sedate his companion.

“Let us hope the conditioning holds,” the agent from the shadows commented, impassively watching the medics wheel away the stone’s latest victim.

The scene changed again, to another S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, this time a warehouse. Jessie stood, still with that same chilling dull expression in her eyes, next to Michael and the agent from the shadows. Another team of medics stood nearby. As they waited, Roberts appeared, his face registering blind panic. He looked around wildly, searching for something - as his eyes alighted on Michael and the other agent, he staggered towards them.

“It’s gone, it’s all gone,” he moaned.

“What’s all gone?” Michael asked urgently.

“HYDRA,” Roberts replied, his face still shocked.

“When? When was this?” Michael was stunned, but had more control of himself.

“Next year,” Roberts breathed. “Project: Insight, S.T.R.I.K.E., it’s all gone.”

“How?” Michael asked, shaking him roughly.

Roberts’ unfocussed eyes suddenly snapped back into clarity. “It was him,” he spat. “Captain America.”

Intent on Roberts, the others missed the subtle shift in Jessie’s stance - she turned her head towards Michael and Roberts, her eyes losing their dullness. Her hero worship of Steve truly knew no bounds… She frowned, as if trying to make sense of what was happening, like she’d just woken from a long, deep sleep.

“Steve Rogers? He did this?” Michael cast a worried glance at Jessie. His look deepened as he saw her watching them, aware and listening.

“Him and Black Widow. They found out about the real Project: Insight somehow, and they brought it down. Literally – they made the Insight helicarriers target themselves. They destroyed the Triskelion too. Romanoff uploaded all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files onto the internet - all of ours too. The Avengers have been tracking down the rest of the HYDRA bases. When I was there, there was barely anything left.”

Michael exchanged a worried look with the other agent. “We have to stop this.”

“And so we will,” the other agent replied calmly. “We have a weapon, a person to wield it-” He looked at Jessie, ignoring Roberts entirely. “We can make sure that Captain America isn’t around to carry out this threat. Without him, the others will fail.”

Michael nodded, relieved that there was a plan. “We can send him back in time, so far he won’t be able to do anything to hurt us. And a team to keep an eye on him. McKenzie can take them back and…”

“No.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she didn’t use it very much, but it was full of defiance. The others turned to look at her, as she stood facing them, determination in every line of her face. “I will not help you do this. Not to him.”

“You don’t have a choice,” replied the other agent, still calm. “We can make you do whatever we want you to do.”

Jessie shook her head, panicked but still defiant. “No! I won’t do it. I won’t!” She looked for an escape route, and her eyes fell upon the stone, still in Roberts’ hand.

But as she leapt forward to grab it, Michael stepped between them and restrained her. “Come on, Jess,” he said, quietly. “Don’t fight us.”

She looked up at him, burning with resistance. “I will always fight you,” she said, even though she knew she’d lost. But she was trying - she had spirit.

Michael shook his head sadly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, as a medic came up behind Jessie, syringe in hand. Whatever it was, it worked fast - within moments, she slumped forwards into Michael’s arms. He caught her gently, swung her into his arms, and, after exchanging another glance with the other agent, carried her off.

The scene shifted, back to the brainwashing room. As before, Jessie was strapped in to the apparatus before she recovered consciousness, her eyelids forced open as soon as she did. But it was different this time - in spite of the drugs they’d injected her with, she resisted, hard, straining not to focus on the swirling colours, struggling against her bonds, crying out with rage, fear, and despair. An anxious technician approached with yet another syringe of drugs - how much were they pumping into her? But as he grabbed her arm to inject it, Jessie’s eyes glowed green. She screamed and the technician with the syringe vanished. Horror filled Jessie’s eyes, but she continued to fight against her restraints, sobbing.

Michael leapt forward to the console, where another technician was staring in slack-jawed horror at where his colleague had just been standing. “Shut it down!” he shouted. The technician numbly moved to do as he was told, only to be halted by a cold, calm voice - the agent from the shadows. He was holding the box with the Time Stone in it. “No, don’t stop. She must be made compliant.”

“It’s not working,” Michael retorted. “We’ll just keep losing technicians if we don’t.”

With an expression of barely-veiled contempt, the agent held out the box to Michael. “Clearly, her proximity to the stone is allowing her to use its power. Take it away and her resistance will end.”

Michael reluctantly took the box, looked briefly over his shoulder at Jessie, and headed for the door. The other agent’s face had tightened in disapproval at his glance at Jessie. Once Michael had left, the other agent motioned to another technician. “Inject her again. Double the dose. We will make her comply.”

The scene faded on Jessie’s sobs, and re-formed into a familiar setting; the isolated Coney Island of the 1850s - the very same place she’d travelled to with Bucky at the beginning of their ‘adventure’. Abandoned trunks and boxes littered the landscape, but there wasn’t a soul in sight, until, with a flash of green light, a group of people suddenly materialised. There was Jessie, the dull expression on her face indicating she was brainwashed and compliant once more, Michael, the rest of the Jessie’s ‘family’, and Roberts. Natasha frowned at him - what was he doing here?

But of course, Jessie hadn’t been the one to send Steve back in time, Roberts had. She might be here, to all intents and purposes obedient once more, but they still hadn’t trusted her with Steve. Had they tried, and failed? Or had they just not risked it? Knowing HYDRA, probably the latter. That might explain why Michael had ended up here, too - he’d shown concern for Jessie, and concern led to complications. This had turned out to be a convenient way to get rid of them both.

Meanwhile, the others had started to collect together the boxes and trunks - presumably the equipment and supplies they’d brought to allow them to fit in to 1840s life. They’d come wellprepared. Jessie was ordered by the agent who would soon be posing as her sister-in-law to give the stone to Roberts - she did so without a word of complaint. At this point, Jessie had been as docile and compliant as any HYDRA agent could possibly have wanted her to be.

There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in her eyes as Roberts vanished, heading back to the future (and further into the future than he’d meant to go), even though she was now abandoned and alone, lost in the mists of the past.

The scene jumped abruptly to a marketplace in New York - one that was familiar from her search for Steve not long after they’d arrived in the past. Just like it when she’d searched it, it was bustling with people, the stallholders doing a roaring trade. Jessie, red hair standing out like a flame, was hovering in an alleyway leading off the market square, out of the way but with a clear view of the whole scene. She was dressed in period-appropriate clothes, similar to the ones she’d been wearing on the trail. Quite possibly the same clothes - it wasn’t like her family was very generous towards her. She was anxiously scanning the crowds, searching for something, or someone - she was staring into the faces of everyone who passed.

And then there was a flash of green light from across the marketplace. Jessie was already on the move - they were pulled after her as she pushed through the crowds, struggling to get to where Steve had just materialised. But she was already too late by the time she arrived - Steve had landed on someone’s stall, bringing it down around him. He lay in a heap, the stallholder’s wares scattered all around him, mostly damaged or broken. An angry crowd had formed around him, their mood ugly. Jessie stepped forward, presumably to defend him from their wrath, but she was beaten to it by Grace, her small, fierce frame already in front of him, brandishing her parasol to keep them at bay. Jessie melted back into the crowd, just one more interested onlooker.

“Leave him alone! He’s clearly not well, and this was an accident - there’s no need for all of this!” Grace’s strident tones reached them, even above the hubbub of the crowd.

“Look what he’s done to my stall! And my stock - that’s a whole week’s profits gone!” The stallholder was in no mood to be conciliating.

Grace surveyed the mess Steve had made, and turned back to the stall-holder. “It was still an accident. Perhaps he’ll be able to pay once he’s recovered?”

“He appeared out of nowhere,” said another man, the stall-holder’s neighbour. “It’s unnatural.” He crossed himself – were people in this time still that superstitious?

“Of course he didn’t,” Grace replied crossly. “People don’t just appear out of nowhere like that. He must have fallen from somewhere. Now stand back!” she continued, brandishing her parasol once more. “I’m taking him back to my father’s house, to get him some help. You can find him there if you must - or at the Adams carpentry store. Now, leave him alone and let me see to him!” She glared at them, staring them all down in turn until they all backed down and sloped off, muttering. It was an impressive show of will from a woman in this time.

With the prospect of a fight gone, the crowd drifted away. One or two lingered, including Jessie, pretending to examine vegetables on a stall within earshot of Grace and Steve. She wasn’t a bad eavesdropper - she didn’t look suspicious standing there, comparing one string of onions to another.

“Are you alright, sir?” Grace asked Steve, hovering anxiously over him.

Steve, still dazed and incredibly confused, squinted at her. “Where am I? What happened?”

“It’s hard to say,” Grace replied. “I assume you fell…” She looked up at the windows of the building nearest the stall that Steve had demolished - all of which were shuttered. She frowned. “But it was like you appeared out of nowhere.”

He nodded, then winced, as if the movement had pained him. “My head hurts. I don’t feel - I don’t feel well,” he replied.

“Can you remember what happened to you? How you fell?”

Steve stared at Grace, panic building in his face as he searched his memories and realised they weren’t there. “No. I don’t – I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?” questioned Grace, her tone slightly sceptical. “Surely you remember your name?”

“Steve,” he replied. “Steve Rogers. But that’s all I remember. I don’t know how I got here.” He looked around him. “I don’t remember this place at all.” His distress was increasing with every word he spoke - Jessie turned to look at him, uncertain as to whether or not to go to his aid.

“Well, Mr Rogers,” Grace said kindly, “You should come with me back to my father’s house, and we’ll call a doctor. I’m sure you’ll start to remember soon - you’ve just had a nasty knock to the head.” She offered him her hand - he took it and slowly pulled himself to his feet, still showing the effects of his misadventure. Roberts had not been gentle with him.

“Thank you, Miss…” Steve drifted off.

“I’m Grace. Grace Adams.”

“Thank you, Miss Adams. You’re very kind.”

Grace smiled at him. “It’s nothing. My father’s house is this way. Follow me.” She led him off, sliding his arm through hers to steady him.

Jessie, having watched the entire exchange from her spot beside the vegetable stall, suddenly turned, threw a handful of coins at the stallholder, grabbed a string of onions, shoved them into her basket, and then hurried after them.

The scene shimmered and changed, resolving into a well-appointed room. Seated around the room were Jessie’s companions - Michael, Hannah, and Aaron. Jessie hurried into the room, basket still over her arm. She was excited but with an edge of fear, unsure how her news would be taken.

“He’s here,” she said without preamble. “He turned up in the marketplace a few hours ago.”

“And it’s taken this long for you to tell us why?” Hannah’s voice was sour, and the look she gave Jessie could have curdled milk.

“A local girl took him back to her father’s house. I had to follow him to find out where that was,” Jessie replied. “Otherwise how could we keep an eye on him?”

Hannah narrowed her eyes. Jessie’s tone might have been light but it had been laced with sarcasm; this wasn’t the girl in thrall to HYDRA from a few flashbacks ago. But Hannah chose to ignore it in the end. “So, did you find out if he’d lost his memory? Or was that a bit beyond you?”

Jessie’s face was an impassive mask as she replied, but there was anger concealed beneath it. “He remembers his name. He doesn’t seem to remember anything else. He looked like he’d been in a fight. And he wasn’t wearing his uniform. He was dressed all in black and he didn’t have his shield.”

“And this woman who took him in?”

“Her name is Grace Adams. Her father is Patrick Adams. He owns the carpentry shop up on Cumberland, near Washington Park.”

Michael whistled. “Not a bad family to fall in with.”

Hannah snorted. “They won’t keep him long. No one wants to look after a charity case.”

“You’d better hope they do,” he retorted. “Because if they don’t, we’ll have to.”

“Of course we won’t!” Hannah sneered. “He can take to the streets and if he starves, so much the better for us.”

Jessie’s hands had tightened around the handle of her wicker basket, crushing it. Michael noticed, but didn’t mention it; instead, he turned back to Hannah. “That’s unwise. If he ends up on the streets, we could lose him. And he’ll last longer and stay stronger than normal men. We can’t risk it. We need him where we can keep an eye on him. So let’s hope this family takes him in and takes the problem off our hands.”

Hannah glared at him but he met her gaze evenly – she was the one who looked away. Angered by her defeat, her eyes alighted on Jessie, and she took her spite out on her. “What are you still doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be making the dinner?” Before Jessie could react, she shoved her hard towards one of the doors. “Go on, get on with it! If it’s late, you won’t get any of it!”

Jessie stumbled under the weight of the shove, steadying herself on the doorframe. She was visibly angry, but instead of lashing out, she took a deep breath and sailed through the door without another word. They followed her into the kitchen, also handsomelyappointed and fitted with all the latest 1840s gadgets. She slammed the basket down onto the counter, breaking it even more and sending onions, carrots and potatoes rolling every which way. Bracing herself against the counter, she took deep, steadying breaths, her expression sliding from anger to misery. Steve had been her one chance. If she’d got to him first, if he hadn’t lost his memory, he’d have been her ally; he’d have helped her, protected her, and worked with her to find some way out of the mess they were both in. But now that hope was gone - he didn’t remember anything, and Grace had beaten her to him. He was out of her reach. Her head dropped to her chest - she stood like that for a few moments, lost in despair. Then a sound from the other room made her jump and she moved to start preparing that evening’s dinner.

The scene lingered on Jessie as she prepared the food, chopping meat, washing and peeling vegetables, then cutting them up. Natasha frowned. What was the stone trying to show them? It had so far only shown them important moments - what was important in preparing dinner? But then Holland appeared in the doorway, using the frame to steady himself as he was roaring drunk. He leered at Jessie, his eyes full of an unpleasant light - Natasha was filled with an urge to punch him. Jessie hadn’t noticed him, too busy hacking a potato to pieces. There’d been plenty of violence and unpleasantness in Natasha’s life - even so, she didn’t want to see this.

But the scene didn’t fade as Holland lurched towards Jessie. She’d never mentioned this happening to her but it made a sick kind of sense. They beat her, they hurt her, they hit her without even thinking about it - why not this? Of course she wouldn’t say a word about it - not only would Bucky have murdered them all by now (assuming he beat her to it), but because of the shame. She’d never admit it, or want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want to think of it or remember it, of how it had broken her.

Holland was right behind her before Jessie realised he was there - her nose wrinkled in disgust, presumably from the smell of stale alcohol rolling off him. She whirled to face him, her face a mask of apprehension and fear. Maybe this wasn’t even the first time it had happened. He closed the distance between them even as her hands came up to ward him off, pressing her into the counter, his hands reaching, groping at her. She tried to push him off but he was too strong. As he tried to kiss her, she turned her head away and pulled it back out of his reach, but that was as far as she could retreat.

“Come on, Jessie,” he leered at her. “It’s not like you’re going to get it from anywhere else.” Natasha’s free hand curled into a fist.

“Leave me alone,” Jessie gritted out, “or I’ll scream.”

“They won’t save you,” he replied. “They don’t care about you. None of us do. You’re a filthy traitor, you deserve everything you get.”

Something in his words must have rung true as she started struggling again. “Get off me!” she hissed, trying in vain to free herself. He used his weight to pin her in place, bracing one hand against the counter to push even closer to her.

But that turned out to be his downfall. Jessie pulled a hand free and reached behind her, grabbing her knife and slamming it down into his hand. Natasha smiled grimly as Holland let out a dreadful howl of pain, although it soured when he shoved Jessie away, sending her flying into the wall. Her head hit it sharply and she slid to the floor, dazed but still conscious. Holland, still pinned to the counter by her knife, howled imprecations at her.

Michael flew into the room, the others hot on his heels. He came up short at the sight of Holland impaled on a vegetable knife. Jessie was still slumped on the floor, but looked like if she could only get her feet under her, she’d happily find another knife and nail another of his extremities to the table.

“What happened?” Michael shouted, over Holland’s curses. He was asking Jessie, but Holland replied.

“That bitch stabbed me! Look!” He gestured to where his hand was still fixed to the counter - Jessie had put her entire strength behind the knife, driving it through his hand and into the wood of the table. Anger and fear had combined, along with luck, to make the knife slice through tendons rather than hitting bone.

Michael raised his eyebrows, impressed - but then his expression darkened as his eyes travelled back to Holland’s face. “And why would she do that?” he asked quietly. Jessie was still trying to climb to her feet, her expression aggrieved. She was ready to fight her corner, though a hint of apprehension in her eyes suggested she didn’t expect to get a fair hearing.

“I don’t know!” Holland responded. “I wasn’t doing anything and she just flew at me! She’s insane! Like a rabid dog – she needs to be put down!”

Aaron and Hannah looked across at Jessie, their expressions equally unpleasant. Jessie glared back at them, frightened and righteously indignant.

“That’s not what happened!” she cried. “”He tried to-”

“Shut up,” Hannah hissed, moving forward swiftly, taking Jessie by surprise. She grabbed her hair and pulled painfully. Jessie let out a whimper and went still.

“Let her go,” Michael said from beside Holland, having made no move to help him. His tone was quiet but there was so much suppressed rage in his words that Hannah backed up quickly, releasing Jessie.

“You’re not going to believe anything she says, are you?” she said to him. “She can’t be trusted!”

Michael glared at her, the rage boiling boil over into his eyes. He turned to Jessie. “What happened?”

Jessie swallowed hard, unsure if Michael was her friend or her foe. “He - he came up behind me. I didn’t know he was there. And then he pushed me up against the counter, and his hands…” She trailed off, looking sick. “He tried to kiss me. I tried to stop him but he wouldn’t.” She wrung her hands together anxiously, agitated and afraid. Michael nodded for her to continue. “I thought he was going to… I was scared… I felt the knife, and I picked it up and…” She trailed off again, motioning to Holland, still nailed to the counter, too much of a coward to pull the knife out.

“I hardly think-” Hannah began, but was silenced when Michael whirled suddenly, grabbed the knife and pulled it out sharply, eliciting another howl of pain from Holland. Before he could do anything except sag against the counter, Michael grabbed him by the front of his shirt, threw him up against the wall and placed the knife at his throat.

“I don’t like men who do that kind of thing,” he grated out, punctuating each word with a little pressure on the knife. Holland whimpered in fear. “So you leave her alone, you understand? If you need that then find it elsewhere. You’ll probably have to pay her, but at least she’ll have the money to recompense her. Lay so much as a finger on Jessie again and I will kill you.” With another jab of the knife, he let go - Holland sank to the floor in a heap. Michael stared down at him in contempt, and then turned to Jessie. “If he tries anything like that again, tell me.” Jessie nodded, almost as afraid as Holland. Michael turned his stony gaze on the others. “Same goes for you two,” he said. “I won’t have that happen here.”

As the scene finally faded away, Natasha took a deep breath. It hadn’t been what she’d feared, and it seemed that Jessie had never suffered that indignity. But Michael’s reaction surprised her – his genuine rage at Jessie’s treatment had been unexpected. Did he secretly care for her? He hadn’t done much to protect her from the others and everything they’d heaped upon her, certainly. Perhaps Holland had crossed an intangible line, taken a step too far for Michael - even scoundrels had their honour. That might be all it was, but he’d also tried to rescue her that day when the brainwashing had gone wrong. And he wasn’t the real leader; perhaps he’d only been able to push things so far before the others ganged up on him. He certainly seemed to be only one step up the pecking order from Jessie these days - only the fact that he could more than handle himself in a fight protected him, and by extension, Jessie. He was a man with layers, and hard to fathom.

A new scene had formed - she was carried along with Jessie as she casually strolled past a work yard. One of the men in the yard was Steve - he seemed happy and healthy. He must have been taken in by Grace’s family and apprenticed in her father’s business - kindness you didn’t often find. But Steve had always had that knack of making you want to be on his side. Even without his memories, it seemed. As Jessie reached the corner of the yard, she paused, ostensibly rearranging items in basket over her arm, but her eyes were fixed on Steve, a dreadful hopeless yearning in them. He’d been her last chance and he’d slipped from her grasp. She stared for a few moments and then, shoulders dropping, she turned and walked on.

The following scenes moved faster, not focussing for long, showing the passing of time as a blur. Each scene showed Jessie watching Steve - in the yard with his workmates, or accompanying Grace on a trip around the market or a walk in the park. The adoring look in Grace’s eyes as she stared up at Steve was testament to her love for him. It was clear that Steve was falling in love with her too, but more hesitantly, unsure of himself. He was lost in his life, with no idea of who he really was, and it stopped him from acting on his feelings. And Jessie watched it all, a forlorn, flame-haired ghost drifting in their wake. And while the stone refrained from showing the abuse she was suffering, the signs were there. A gasp and a hand held to her side as she moved sharply out of someone’s way, too busy staring at Steve to notice them approaching; deep breaths as she pulled herself to her feet from the bench she’d been sitting on, watching Steve and Grace walk past; an artfully positioned bonnet hiding the bruises on her face. And each time she appeared, she was smaller; more broken, more beaten down, more hopeless.

And one day Grace grew tired of waiting for Steve and spoke her heart as he wasn’t willing to. Jessie couldn’t hear their words but the crushing embrace said it all anyway.

A new scene formed and held. Jessie was telling the others about Steve and Grace’s impending wedding. The news wasn’t going down well.

“We have to stop it,” Hannah said, pacing up and down. “This is exactly what we were sent here for. To stop him changing things. If he marries someone from this time, he might marry someone who was supposed to marry someone else, and what if their child was supposed to be someone important?”

Michael nodded. “We need to think of a way to prevent it.” He looked at Jessie speculatively. Jessie stared back at him, confused.

“We’ll have to claim him as kin after all,” Hannah said in distaste. “Pretend he’s a long lost brother. Take him in.”

Michael shook his head slowly. “No, that won’t work. Why would his family object to him marrying? Unless…” He looked at Jessie again. “Unless they were his family by law.” The colour drained from Jessie’s face - she knew exactly what he was getting at, even if the others were staring at him in bemusement. She started shaking her head, increasingly emphatically, the wild hope that had initially flared in her eyes swiftly extinguished. “Unless he was already married.”

“But he isn’t married.” Holland said, Michael’s point sailing over his head. No wonder HYDRA had taken the opportunity to be rid of him - how had he made it into S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place?

Michael sighed. “No, he’s not, but we could pretend he is.” He looked meaningfully at Jessie, who was still shaking her head vehemently. “It would be easy to fake a marriage certificate. She could be Jessie Rogers.”

“Absolutely not.” Hannah spoke decisively. “I don’t trust her.”

“We have no choice,” replied Michael. “There aren’t any other candidates.” At Hannah’s deeply offended look, he sighed impatiently. “You’re too old. Besides, if we want to soften the blow, it’s best to make the alternative appealing.” Hannah’s offence only deepened.

“I won’t do it.” Jessie finally found her voice. “I mean, I can’t. I can’t pretend - I can’t pretend that!”

“Why not?” sneered Holland. “Surely it’s all you’ve ever wanted. Captain America for your very own!”

Jessie shook her head. “I’ll give myself away - I’ll give us away!” But there had to have been more to her refusal than that. If she’d gone through with it, she’d have been free - a word in Steve’s ear and they’d have had their own home, away from the others. And living with Steve would have been no hardship whatsoever - if he believed Jessie was his forgotten wife, his guilt would have led him to treat her with every gentleness. He would have spent his entire life making it up to her. And she must have known that, how close a better life was for her - and she’d turned it down. Why? Because of Steve. She’d sacrificed everything to let him have his happiness. Noble, and so, so stupid. Yes, maybe he’d have remembered and been angry, but if she’d told him the truth, he’d still have helped her. He’d still have protected her. Even from Natasha and Bucky - he’d have trusted her over strangers who claimed to know him. And once the truth came out, she’d have won them over too. Oh, Jessie… Why did you do this?

Michael stared at her, his expression entirely unreadable. Had he been trying to help her? Or was he simply concerned with the mission and angry at her for stymieing it? “You will do this,” he said eventually, and his voice was hard.

Jessie turned to him, her face falling as she saw his expression. “I can’t… I can’t lie to him like that.” She looked down at her feet suddenly, knowing she’d given too much away.

“And you’re happy to risk the timeline? What if that woman is supposed to marry someone else? One of your ancestors? One of ours? Alexander Pierce’s?” Hannah spat the words out as if they were weapons.

Jessie straightened. “What if he’s supposed to marry her? What if he’s supposed to have children? What if he’s actually one of your ancestors? Or Alexander Pierce’s? Ever think of that?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Time doesn’t work like that.”

“When did you become such an expert on time?” Jessie retorted. “Of course time can work like that. Or why risk sending him back here in the first place?”

“Are you saying you won’t do this?” Michael interrupted, his voice dark and angry.

Jessie turned back to him. “No, I won’t. And you can hit me all you like, it won’t make me change my mind!” Her voice was thin and reedy, defiant but weak. She knew they would hit her, but it was clear she’d held firm. Steve had gone on to marry Grace, after all.

The scene faded before the beatings began. It was a blessing - with even Michael angry with her, it wouldn’t have been pretty. Even with the stone censoring things like this, it was entirely possible she’d surface to find Bucky already gone to wreak bloody vengeance on Jessie’s tormentors. He was mostly stable, but when he got angry, he got very angry. The stone, cognisant of that, was taking some pains to skate over the darker corners of Jessie’s past. A montage of Steve and Grace’s life followed, beginning with their wedding ceremony (Jessie watching from the back of the church), moving on to them setting up home in a small house near her father’s business, Steve plying his trade as a fully-fledged carpenter, Grace growing bigger and bigger as James grew inside her, James as a squalling infant, and slowly changing into something like the grubby toddler he was today, all while Jessie watched from the shadows. Each time she was different - paler and thinner - victim of her colleagues, punishing her for thwarting them.

But one day, as Jessie walked past the yard where Steve still worked for his father-in-law, something made her stop dead. Her gaze was riveted on the skeleton of a covered wagon, Steve crouched beside it, working on it. Jessie’s eyes moved between the two, mentally calculating, then she turned on her heel and hurried off. The scene shifted with her, back to the HYDRA house, as she burst through the door.

“We have a problem,” she said, pulling in breaths from her flight through the streets.

“We’ve had a problem ever since you were put on this mission with us,” Hannah replied spitefully.

Jessie flinched, but spoke to Michael. “I think Steve and his wife are going to Oregon.”

He frowned. “Did you overhear them?”

She shook her head. “No, but he’s building a wagon. A covered wagon.”

“Maybe it’s for someone else.” Williams.

“He looked at it like it was his. Proprietary, proud even. And it would make sense. He doesn’t know who he really is. But the freedom of Oregon, where he could start again, and be among people who are all starting again, that would appeal.”

“And why are you so sure that he’s going to Oregon?” Hannah again.

Jessie’s look was withering. “We’re in the middle of the great Westward Expansion. Of course he’s going to Oregon.”

“He might be heading for California.” Hannah seemed to be determined to prove Jessie wrong.

“He wouldn’t take a wife and young child to California,” she retorted. “Right now, it isn’t somewhere you’d want to raise a family. Just somewhere you’d go to get rich and then come back again.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Hannah threatened, looming over Jessie. Jessie swallowed and took a step back, hitting the wall. “And how do you know so much about this anyway?”

The fear in Jessie’s eyes was tinged with disbelief as she replied, “It’s American history. Didn’t you learn it in school?”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed and she raised her hand, as if to slap Jessie, but Michael interrupted, “She’s from Oregon, Mullen. Stands to reason she’d know a lot about the pioneers.” Hannah continued to glare at Jessie, but she lowered her hand and stepped back. Jessie sagged against the wall in relief.

“So what do we do?” Williams again.

Michael shrugged. “I guess we’re going to Oregon too.” The stone thankfully skipped their preparations and journey halfway across the country to the jumping-off points. Instead, the scene shifted to the middle of the wagon camp back in St Joseph’s. Jessie, trusty basket over her arm, was winding her way between wagons, avoiding dogs, chickens and the occasional small child. As she approached one wagon in particular, however, she tripped on a neighbouring wagon’s step, her basket tipping, spilling fruit and vegetables everywhere. She made a small noise of annoyance and crouched down to retrieve her items. A small, familiar figure came to her aid - Grace Rogers, James at her heels.

“I’ve told Mr Byrne a hundred times to adjust that step on his wagon - you wouldn’t know how many people I’ve seen trip over it,” she said, as she gathered up some apples and held them out to Jessie. “But he never listens.”

Jessie smiled, holding out her basket for Grace to deposit the fruit into. “It’s at least as much my fault - I wasn’t looking where I was going. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Grace replied, smiling in return. “It’s nice to see a woman of my own age around. Most of the others here are much older, and they think I don’t know anything about anything.”

Jessie nodded. “I’ve noticed that too. Mind you,” she added, nodding her head at James, “I think it’s even worse if you’re not married, like me.”

Grace frowned a little, as if surprised that someone of Jessie’s age wasn’t married, but it vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. “I can only imagine. You’re travelling with your family then?”

“My older brothers and one of their wives. Our oldest brother inherited our farm when our father died, so we were all left to fend for ourselves. They all thought Oregon sounded like a good place to do that. I’m Jessie, by the way, Jessie Williams.”

“Grace Rogers. And this is my son, James.”

Jessie smiled at him. “Hello, James. That’s a very smart ball you have there.”

James stared at her, transfixed by her red hair. Grace nudged him. “James, say hello to Jessie.”

“Hello,” he said, turning shy and reaching for his mother’s hand, eyes still riveted on Jessie’s hair. Jessie smiled, patted him gently on the head and stood up.

“I don’t think he’s ever seen anyone with hair like yours before,” Grace said.

“I get that a lot too,” Jessie replied, a smile on her face that didn’t really reach her eyes.

Grace nodded. “You do have lovely hair.”

Jessie’s smile softened, becoming more genuine. “It’s very kind of you to say so. Not everyone thinks that.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” replied Grace. “And there are some very silly people in the world.”

Jessie’s smile nearly cracked. Her need for friendship, companionship of any kind, was palpable. She looked down, suddenly flustered. “I should probably get back.” She held up her basket. “I have dinner to prepare.”

Grace nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Jessie. I hope to see you again. Is your wagon nearby?”

Jessie shook her head. “Not really. We’ve only just arrived; we got held up along the way. But we’ve found a train to travel with, led by Captain Campbell. Do you know him?” She spoke carelessly, but there was something knowing about her tone that had Natasha frowning.

“Oh!” Grace said, surprised. “Yes, I do - we’re travelling with him too!”

“Really?” Jessie replied, and her surprise, to Natasha’s eyes, was clearly feigned. She’d known all along that Grace and Steve were on his train, and that was no doubt the reason HYDRA were travelling with him too. “Imagine that!”

Grace beamed at her. “It will be wonderful to have another woman on the train - there aren’t many of us, as far as I’m aware. And your sister-in-law, of course,” she added, as an afterthought.

Jessie’s face darkened briefly but she didn’t comment, just smiled back at Grace. “I’m glad, too,” she said instead. “It will be good to have a friend.” There was just the hint of a question in her voice.

Grace nodded eagerly. “It will indeed. You must come and have tea with us one day before we set off. I’m sure Steve would love to meet you.”

Jessie’s face froze at the mention of Steve, but only for a second. “I’d like that,” she replied, genuinely. “I’d like that very much.”

“Perhaps tomorrow? This is our wagon,” Grace replied, gesturing behind her. Her eagerness suggested that Jessie wasn’t the only one struggling with loneliness.

Jessie nodded, although there was a shadow in her eyes. “Yes, I think - I think that should be fine. Perhaps around three?”

“Three is perfect. I’m looking forward to it already.” Grace smiled again at Jessie and then looked down at her son. “Come on, James. Let’s go and see if we can find your father.” She looked back up at Jessie and smiled again. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Jessie nodded. “Until then.” Grace turned and led her son away, not noticing the way that Jessie stood and watched them until they were out of sight, a yearning in her eyes and the dawning, just the dawning, of something looking like hope.

The scene shifted again, and this time Jessie was hurtling through the wagon camp, panicked and scared, but also strangely optimistic. There was an early morning feel to the light, confirmed as she rounded the corner of her own wagons - no-one else was around; they were all still asleep. Without stopping, Jessie ran to the nearest wagon, banging on the side, calling to her colleagues that she had news for them. While she waited for them to stir, she busied herself lighting a fire and setting water to boil. She’d begun to chop bacon by the time they were all finally up, glaring at her with bleary eyes.

“This had better be good, McKenzie.” Hannah spoke, the usual dose of vinegar in her tone.

“Don’t call me that. You’ll blow our cover. And no, it’s not good. Not at all. Two strangers have turned up, claiming to be friends of Steve.”

“What? Who?” Williams said, panic edging his voice.

Jessie took a deep breath before she spoke. “One is Natasha Romanoff.” There were several indrawn breaths at that - Natasha smiled grimly. “She’s travelling under the name Natalie Barnes.” She paused, waiting for them to figure it out. Michael looked at her sharply, but said nothing, while the others continued to look blank. When she didn’t get the response she wanted, she continued, “She told me her husband’s name is Bucky.”

“Bucky Barnes?” Hannah spoke, and for once there wasn’t a trace of spite or bitterness in her voice, just shock.

Jessie nodded. “Which I know is-“

“Did you see him?” Michael asked her urgently.

Jessie looked at him blankly. “No, I didn’t. Just Romanoff. But - he’s dead! How can it be him?”

“Did Rogers remember them?”

“I don’t know - I don’t think so!” Jessie was getting agitated. “I think Grace said that he didn’t, and he didn’t seem any different when I saw him. But…”

“Well, that’s something at least.” Hannah, speaking decisively, trying to reassert her authority. “At least we don’t have to worry about that for now.”

“But Bucky Barnes is dead!” Jessie burst out. “He died in the Second World War!”

The others exchanged glances; Holland had a very smug ‘I know something you don’t know’ look on his face. Jessie glared at him, and turned her attention to Michael. But when he spoke, he ignored her. “What’s he doing here? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Last I heard, he was still in cryo. He was unstable last time, so they’d-“

“Stop!” cried Jessie. “What the hell is going on? Are you saying he’s not dead?”

“You catch on fast,” sneered Holland.

“You mean, you really don’t know?” Hannah asked, disdain dripping in her voice. As Jessie shook her head, utterly bemused, she continued, “He’s HYDRA.”

Jessie stared at her. “You’re saying Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend, is working for us? How? He fell to his death from a train in the Alps!”

“Wow,” drawled Holland. “How far down the HYDRA ladder were you?”

Jessie ignored him, still staring blankly at Hannah, who continued, “Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier?”

Jessie frowned. “Yes,” she replied. “He’s a Russian ghost story. Allegedly responsible for assassinations going back over 50 years. Which is ridiculous because nobody could live that… Long…” She trailed off, the pieces sliding into place. “He’s the Winter Soldier?”

Michael nodded. “He’s not a Russian assassin, he’s HYDRA. For the last 50 years, he’s taken down threats to HYDRA and helped change the world to make it more amenable to our control.” Jessie stared at him, battling to conceal her feelings, to hold her horror at bay, because if she showed it for even a second, she was lost. But she kept it out of her face - she really did have nerves of steel. “I still don’t understand.” There was a faint tremor to her voice as she spoke, but none of her team noticed. “He died. How is this possible?”

“Before he ‘died’, he was captured by HYDRA, right? The whole Captain America legend arose because Rogers liberated an entire base just to save his friend,” Michael explained.

“Of course I know that,” Jessie replied impatiently. Natasha smiled - he was talking to the original Captain America fangirl. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Arnim Zola was at the base, using the captured soldiers in his experiments.”

Jessie swallowed, her mask slipping for a fraction of a second, before she regained mastery of her emotions. “Yes, I knew that too.” She managed to inject the same impatience into her voice as she had before.

“Well, what you don’t know is that he was trying to recreate the super soldier serum,” Michael replied, clearly needled by her tone. “Most of his subjects died, but somehow Barnes survived. And not just because Rogers rescued him. Whatever Zola gave him changed him. So when he fell from that train, he survived. He lost his arm, but not his life.”

“Grace didn’t mention that he only had one arm.”

“He has a prosthetic arm. A metal one. He must be disguising it. Anyway, the Russians found him and took him prisoner. They tried to brainwash him, turn him into a spy. I mean, who would ever suspect Captain America’s best friend of being a spy?”

“Indeed,” muttered Jessie faintly.

“But he turned out to be fairly resistant to their brainwashing. They could condition him to a certain extent, but not reliably. Basically, he wasn’t much use to them, so they handed him over when HYDRA found out about him. Zola got his prize experiment back and finished what he’d started. His metal arm is superhumanly strong, and so, quite frankly, is the rest of him. He’s as strong, as fast, and considerably more ruthless than Rogers. And completely obedient to the HYDRA cause.”

“I thought you said he was resistant to brainwashing,” Jessie murmured; she was swaying slightly where she stood, and the colour had drained from her face.

“He is, more or less. But with the help of several drugs, he can be conditioned into obedience.” Jessie’s breathing was getting faster and shallower. She’d pass out if she wasn’t careful. “But he’s pretty mentally unstable, so they have to wipe his mind after every mission. And keep him in cryo when he isn’t needed. That’s how he’s been active over such a long time.”

Jessie swallowed hard and stared hard at the ground, as if willing herself not to give anything away. A wave of sympathy washed over Natasha; for Jessie to not have known that her childhood hero had been twisted and corrupted into the very antithesis of what he stood for in her eyes, and to then have it dumped on her in such a callous fashion, must have been incredibly hard to take. No wonder she was struggling. But when she found her voice, what she said was a small victory.

“If he’s travelling with Natasha Romanoff and looking for Steve Rogers, I’d say that HYDRA’s conditioning wasn’t as great as it was cracked up to be. And if Bucky Barnes has gone over to S.H.I.E.L.D., that’s not good news for HYDRA.” Her first slip, saying ‘HYDRA’ instead of ‘us’. Luckily for her, it went unnoticed.

“We’ll see about that.” Holland was positively gleeful. “There are ways he can be controlled. We’ll just have to trigger a relapse.”

Jessie stared at him and this time the horror bled into her face. The others were so busy congratulating themselves on their lucky break that they didn’t notice. They also missed the next expression that crossed her face - one of deep resolve. Then and there, Jessie had made her choice to protect Bucky. At any cost to herself. And so far, she’d paid that cost quite heavily.

The scene dissolved, and Natasha was back in the clearing they’d started from, her hand still clutched tightly in Jessie’s. The green light was dying from her eyes, but the horror was still etched across her face. Bucky had shifted closer to Jessie; his other hand now lay gently on her knee, providing contact and comfort. Of course he hadn’t gone to mete out bloody vengeance on Jessie’s tormentors - he lost control when he was angry, but before he was angry, he was kind. And that kindness would always keep him by Jessie’s side when she needed him. And she needed him right now. She was staring straight ahead into the trees, trembling. She’d just seen things she’d known nothing about - how HYDRA had used her, controlled her, and abused her. It was a feeling Natasha knew well; so did Bucky. Given time, she might be comforted by knowing that she’d never willingly thrown in her lot with HYDRA, but had instead been forced into it, but right now, all she’d be feeling was the horror, the violation of having her body and mind hijacked by outside forces. Bucky had his work cut out to help her cope. But he’d be up to it; he loved Jessie, and he’d do whatever she needed him to.

He already was. Although his own eyes were haunted, they were fixed on Jessie, full of sympathy and hurt for her. He gently detached his hand from Jessie’s, finally breaking her trance, and as she turned to look at him, he pulled her into him. For a moment, Jessie stayed rigid against him, resisting his embrace, but suddenly, with a choking sob, she collapsed into him. He folded his arms around her, laid his head gently against hers, and held her while she cried. Natasha moved to leave - she wasn’t needed here - but Bucky shook his head, signalling that she should stay. She settled back down awkwardly - comfort wasn’t her thing, and her brand of bracing realism would do no good here. But she sat and endured, waiting for guidance from Bucky or Jessie about what to do, how to behave.

Presently, Jessie’s sobs quietened, and she stopped shaking. Her head still buried in Bucky’s chest, she said something, but Natasha didn’t catch it. Nor did Bucky, as he softly asked her to repeat herself.

She looked up at him, tears running in tracks down her cheeks, a broken look in her eyes. “I - I - killed people!” she whispered.

Bucky flashed a look at Natasha, uncertainty in his eyes, before he turned back to Jessie. “No, you didn’t,” he replied gently.

Jessie nodded emphatically. “Those people. The ones I threw through time. I killed them!”

He frowned. “You don’t know that. They might have been fine.” He flashed another glance at Natasha, asking for her help, but she had nothing to say. Jessie was right.

Jessie’s shoulders slumped. “You know that isn’t true,” she replied quietly. “Someone who gets thrown through time like that, with nothing, no clothes, no food, no money - they won’t last long. Noone will help them; they’ll die in days.”

“Someone helped Steve.” Natasha finally spoke – Jessie was probably right, but there were good people in the world. Kind ones, like Grace, who took in waifs and strays.

Jessie sighed. “He’s Steve Rogers. People always want to help him.” Bucky chuckled; Natasha smiled. “And if Grace hadn’t been there, I would have helped him. He doesn’t count - there were people waiting for him.”

“Not sure your comrades would have been happy if you’d brought Steve Rogers home with you.”

She shrugged. “They would have agreed it was the best way to stop him interfering with things. Like if I’d pretended to be his wife.” She looked down as she spoke, as if she wished she hadn’t mentioned it.

“And yet you didn’t.” Natasha spoke firmly. “You refused, you paid a price for it, and you still refused. He married Grace, had a kid, messed up those timelines and no mistake.” She paused, then added, “Why did you do it?”

Jessie looked at her, but couldn’t hold her gaze for long. “I couldn’t pretend something like that. I’d have slipped up somehow.”

“You could have pretended anything you wanted to. And you’d have been safe from the others. Why turn that down?”

She stayed silent, looking at her hands. But finally, in a tiny voice, she said, “I couldn’t do that to him.”

“Oh, Jessie,” Natasha said. “Your desire to protect these boys is admirable, but you should protect yourself too. You can’t help either of them if you’re dead.”

Jessie met her eyes unwillingly. “I don’t matter. They do. They can change the world. I never can.”

“With that stone in your pocket, you can do pretty much anything you want to.” It was Bucky who spoke, and his tone was surprisingly mild.

“I don’t want that power.”

“Too late,” Natasha said bluntly. “You have it. Now you have to decide what to do with it.”

Jessie looked at her, and now there was a trace of rebellion in her eyes. “Maybe I could kill some more people with it. That would be nice.”

Natasha looked back at her, staring her down until she looked away. “You’re better than this,” was all she said. Jessie glared at her in response. “You know what? You probably did kill those guys. But I wouldn’t lose much sleep over it. They were HYDRA - they were instrumental in taking away your free will. They were not good people. And they’re not worth your tears.”

“I don’t want people to die on my account. Even bad ones.”

“That’s your choice. But if that’s the case, you need to learn to control the powers you have.”

Jessie stared back at her, despair and resignation warring in her eyes. “I’ll take you all back,” she finally said. “Back to the future, and then I’ll hand the stone over to someone who knows what to do with it.”

A jolt of alarm ran through her at the idea of Jessie handing it to someone like Thunderbolt Ross, or even Tony Stark. But there’d be plenty of time to argue that point later. “Fine. Does that include Grace and James?”

“Of course it does! You think I’d leave them here, in the middle of nowhere, and take Steve? You think he’d let me?”

“You don’t have to give him the choice.”

Jessie’s look could have felled trees. Natasha was impressed. “I’m not leaving them here.”

“It would fix the timeline,” Natasha responded, deliberately needling her.

Jessie rolled her eyes. “It won’t fix anything. You can’t change the past. It’s done, it’s inviolate. Steve came back here, met Grace and married her. They had a son. Nothing’s going to change that. It had to happen that way, because it had already happened.”

Natasha frowned. “Well, I’m no Time Lord,” she eventually muttered. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” She paused before continuing, “So we’re taking Grace and James - fine. When?”

Jessie shrugged. “When Steve remembers, I guess.”

“But what if taking him back to his own time is the only way to help him remember?”

“Does he even know he’s not from this time?”

“I told him,” Bucky replied. “He didn’t like it, but he accepted it. There was too much weird in his pictures for him not to.”

“Has he told Grace?”

He shook his head. “He hasn’t told her anything.”

“Well, I’m not taking anyone back until he does that.” Her tone was resolute.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “It would be a lot safer for everyone if we went back now.”

“Do you have any idea what it would do to Grace if I took her to the future without her knowing anything about it? She’d go insane. She wouldn’t be able to cope!” Jessie was angry now. “And she’s my friend! I won’t do that to her. And you can’t make me.” She glared at Natasha.

“I’ve moved just as far into the past as she’d be moving into the future,” retorted Natasha. “And I’ve coped.”

“It’s not the same. You knew what you were doing! And you were going back to a time where things were less. It’s a lot easier to cope with less than unbelievably more. And you’ve been moving around ever since you got here. You’ve never stopped and really felt the dislocation of being displaced in time. I have. I was in New York for five years. I knew what I was doing, I knew my history, and I still found it so hard to cope. Going the other way… It’s impossible. Especially if you’re not prepared for it.”

“She’s right.” Bucky was predictably sticking up for Jessie. “It’s only been 70 years for me, but that’s been tough enough. And Steve was the same. Most of what there is in the future would be nothing short of magic to Grace. She needs to be prepared, and she needs to want to go.”

Natasha sighed. They were right, but the idea of having to stay in the past even longer was hard to take. She shrugged. “Fine. If that’s how you want it. But you need to make Steve tell her.”

“You don’t make Steve do anything,” Bucky replied, grimacing. “But I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

Grace scrubbed at a stubborn stain in her cooking pot - a burnt-on remnant of yesterday’s stew. It wasn’t budging an inch, but at least it was helping to release some of her frustration. James was now on the very long list of people she’d somehow offended - she’d snapped at him when he wouldn’t eat his breakfast, and he’d gone running to Natalie for comfort. It had been unfair of her, but it was Steve’s fault she was feeling like this - he was really the one to blame.

Not that Steve was her only problem these days - far from it. This last day or so, Jessie had changed - become pensive, withdrawn, troubled even. She’d asked her what was wrong, but Jessie had refused to say. It had to be something her family was doing, but how to make them stop? Jessie had never admitted what they did to her - that they bullied her, hurt her, abused her. If she had, Steve would have done something about it by now. But by staying silent, she protected them, meaning they could do what they liked to her - and it only seemed to be getting worse.

And there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. They’d been at odds for some time over Jessie’s attachment to Bucky - she either didn’t feel, or more likely, chose to ignore the misgivings Grace felt about him. She just saw his handsome face, and that devastating smile of his. She was being led down a path that would only lead to tragedy - and she didn’t care. And nothing Grace could say would change her mind - so it didn’t seem likely she’d listen to her about anything else, either.

And Jessie, despite all her warnings, was getting far too close to Bucky. She spent a lot of time with him - and while Grace had never seen them together beyond the confines of their shared campfire, she wasn’t stupid - there were lots of times when Jessie wasn’t there, and lots of times when Bucky wasn’t there, and often, those times coincided. Of course they weren’t spending all that time together, but surely some of it.

And he was worried about Jessie, too - his concern was plain in his eyes. More surprisingly, that same look often appeared in Natalie’s eyes - and Grace couldn’t even begin to pretend to understand what was going on. She was surrounded on all sides by secrets, secrets that were hurting the people she cared about, and because she didn’t know what they were, she couldn’t do anything to help.

With one last savage scrub, the burnt-on food came loose. Finally. She finished the rest of the cleaning in quick, practised movements, then moved on to preparing her family’s dinner. And that of the Barnes family. One day she wouldn’t cook for them, teach them a lesson about imposing on her hospitality. But she’d never actually do it - Steve would look at her reproachfully, and despite it all, after all of this, she still couldn’t bear to have him disappointed in her. Gritting her teeth, she collected the extra portions of food, and settled down by the cook fire.

But a few moments later, a noise caught her attention. She looked around, searching for the source of the sound, and caught sight of Jessie through a gap in the wagons. She smiled, but it vanished when Jessie’s companion moved into view. Bucky. Of course. A sharp anger flared in her breast - how could Jessie so openly flaunt her impropriety? Grace took a deep breath; they weren’t, at this moment, doing anything really untoward. Walking with each other wasn’t bad - he could have met her on her way here, and accompanied her the rest of the way. She snorted - possible, but not likely. But it wouldn’t do to challenge Jessie - because that’s exactly what she’d say. She continued watching them; they’d halted before entering the clearing between the wagons where Grace was. Jessie was hugging her elbows, pulled in on herself, her all-too familiar stance when she was upset. Bucky reached out to take her hands in his, speaking to her in a low, urgent voice. Had he done something to Jessie? Had he lured her into doing something, and now she was regretting it, and he was trying to persuade her it wasn’t so bad? Grace’s eyes narrowed - but as she climbed to her feet, Bucky let go of Jessie’s hand to touch her face, as if wiping away tears. Jessie hadn’t pulled away from him; instead, she stared intently into his eyes, as if desperate to believe what he was saying. Grace moved towards them - if Jessie wouldn’t save herself, then she’d have to! But she was too late - Bucky bent his head, kissed Jessie on the forehead and pulled her into his arms, holding her in a way a man should only ever hold his wife.

And Jessie didn’t struggle - her own arms came up to hold him and she burrowed into him, head against his chest, her expression suddenly peaceful. Grace faltered - Jessie had actually fallen in love with the man, turning a bad situation into the tragedy she’d always feared. There were no happy endings here, just heartbreak. If only Jessie had listened to her! She’d been trying to stop this. Grace strode towards them - she’d stop this now. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Jessie flew out of Bucky’s arms and turned towards her - but he’d tried to hold her there. Grace glared at him - his answering look was bland; he was completely unmoved by her anger. Her glare intensified. Jessie looked between the two of them uncertainly, then turned to Grace, standing firmly between them. “Grace, it’s not what you think. I was upset, and-”

“That doesn’t matter, Jessie! He shouldn’t have held you like that. He has a wife, and you’re not her.” Her voice dripped with contempt, but he merely rolled his eyes. Her temper flared; she’d always known he was heartless - here was the proof. He muttered something under his breath.

“Grace…” Jessie said again. She drowned out the end of Bucky’s muttering, but Grace had caught the gist of it - that she was an ‘interfering busybody’. She took a deep breath, about to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but Jessie beat her to it. “Bucky,” she said, her tone calm as she turned to face him, “I think you should go and see if Steve needs any help.”

Bucky looked at Jessie, his expression softening in a way that made Grace despair. “I think I’m better off here.” Whatever his expression said, his tone was rock hard. Jessie shook her head firmly. “You are not helping. Go.”

Her tone was equally firm - after a long, searching look, he sighed and nodded. Without another look in Grace’s direction, he stalked off. Grace let out the breath she’d been holding, as Jessie turned back to her. “I’m sorry, he… He gets protective of me at the moment.” She hugged herself again.

She was so patently unhappy that Grace faltered. But she was too angry to be silenced. “It’s not his place to be protective of you,” she replied pointedly.

Annoyance flickered across Jessie’s face. “You don’t understand,” she said.

That was the final straw. “No, I don’t understand!” Grace burst out. “Because nobody will tell me anything!” Jessie’s face softened in sympathy at her words, but she didn’t want it. She took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t understand how you don’t care that you’re breaking up a marriage! I don’t understand how you can enjoy sneaking around, doing things that are wrong, and- and wicked! I don’t understand how you can do this when you know that you’re ruining yourself and your future! And I don’t understand how I’m in the wrong for trying to stop you!”

Jessie’s face was impassive, but it was taking her an effort to keep it that way. She sighed, then spoke quietly and measuredly. “It’s not that bad. Nothing like that has happened. What you saw – I was upset. He was just trying to comfort me.”

“He kissed you!”

Jessie looked down, unable to meet her eyes, and nodded. But then she looked up again, a defiant light in her eyes. “He kissed me on the forehead. Yes, he shouldn’t have done that, but I don’t think it’s the end of the world. It hardly makes me beyond saving.”

How could she make a joke out of this? “Do you really not see how bad this is? It’s not just the kiss, it’s how he held you, how he touched you, how he looked at you. Like you were his. And you’re not, and you can’t be! He has a wife! You can’t just ignore that, hoping she’ll shrivel up and vanish one day!”

“You don’t understand.” Jessie was angry now; she was gritting the words out, struggling to keep her temper.

“I understand perfectly. It’s you who won’t,” Grace retorted. “You won’t accept that he’s married, so you can’t have him. Maybe you’re telling the truth, and ‘nothing’ has happened. But it will, if you don’t stop. Today it’s a kiss on the forehead, but next time it will be more, and then more, and then you’ll be ruined! And no-one will want you after that!”

“I don’t want anyone else!” Jessie hissed. “I want him!”

“You can’t have him!” Grace hissed back.

Jessie stared at her helplessly. Then, “You don’t understand.” Again!

“He has a wife, Jessie. What about Natalie? Don’t you care what you’re doing to her?”

“She doesn’t love him.” Jessie’s tone was weary.

“I think she does. She told me about them, how they came to be married. I know he only married her for her money, but she loves him!”

Jessie was now looking at her like she’d grown an extra head. “She told you that?”

“Yes! Perhaps you should have asked her too, before you started messing around with her husband!”

Jessie closed her eyes. “Grace, I…” She trailed off, but after a few seconds, she added, “I think she might have been exaggerating.”

Grace stared at her. Jessie was calling Natalie a liar? “How would you know that? You barely know her.”

“Nor do you,” Jessie shot back.

“I know her a lot better than you do. And she cares about you. I don’t know why - if you were doing this with Steve, I’d hate you - but she does. How can you do this to her?”

Jessie’s shoulders slumped, her expression guilty. She tried numerous times to say something, but aborted each attempt. “You know I’m right,” Grace said, softly now. “And this isn’t like you. You’re a good, kind person. I know you have feelings for Bucky, but you can’t have what you want. And you know that. And you’ll hurt Natalie more if you continue. And I know you don’t want that. So please, please, stay away from him. For her sake, and his sake too, but most of all, for your own.”

Jessie stared at her in silence, then without another word, she walked past her towards the fire. Grace couldn’t tell if that meant she agreed or not.

Chapter Text

The flames of the breakfast campfire danced in front of his eyes, as he stared into them, lost in thought. How could he make Steve talk to Grace? The way she’d reacted to him and Jessie the day before, even though it had been practically nothing - she was struggling with being kept in the dark, and it was spilling over into every other aspect of her life. Not to mention his, and Jessie’s… And he was on her side – Steve should tell her. But Steve was stubborn - telling him to do something was a surefire way to ensure he didn’t. But if someone didn’t push him, he’d never talk to Grace, and they’d never get to go home. He sighed. Why did he get all the hard jobs?

He’d attracted Grace’s attention by sighing - she was staring at him. It wasn’t quite a glare, but definitely challenging. She wouldn’t look at him like that if she knew the truth about him, and what he’d done. He shook his head, smiling. Of course she would – she had plenty of courage. Her look deepened to a suspicious frown – she thought he was mocking her. He sighed again - he couldn’t do anything right.

Except perhaps get her errant husband to tell her the truth about himself, and show her his drawings. She wouldn’t thank him for pitching her headfirst into a nightmare, but at least she’d know. And they weren’t going anywhere until she knew. He rose to his feet, his quick movements startling her. But he was tired of her black looks. They made him edgy, and edgy Bucky didn’t play well with people. He had some time before they set off - time enough for a walk. He might even get a genius idea about how to get Steve to talk to Grace.

Or possibly he’d just find Steve hiding with the oxen.

They were all fed and watered, the appropriate pairs harnessed to the wagons - so he was loitering here to avoid Grace. His expression was shifty at being caught out, meaning that at least on some level, he knew he was being irrational about Grace. But he was also noble to a fault - he’d convinced himself he was protecting Grace from things she couldn’t handle, and that was justification enough. It was exactly what he’d done with - and there it was. The genius idea.

Steve looked around as he moved closer, looking for an escape route. Not a chance - he could chase him down any day. It only took Steve a moment to figure that out, and then a sheepish grin crossed his features. At least he wasn’t being defensive - this might work.

“Anyone would think you were avoiding someone,” he said by way of greeting.

Steve frowned, calculating his chances of getting away with denying it. Then he shrugged. “It’s that obvious?”

He nodded. “She chased me away too, if it’s any consolation.”

Steve, ever chivalrous, leapt to Grace’s defence. “She’s not like that.”

He shrugged. “She has her reasons to dislike me - I get that. It would be nice if my every breath didn’t antagonise her, but she’s under a lot of strain at the moment.” He looked at Steve pointedly. Steve’s eyes narrowed, and then there it was - the clenched jaw. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“I don’t want to hear about this again.”

Time to try a different approach. “You drawn anything else recently?”

Steve frowned, unsettled by his abrupt acquiescence. Which was exactly what he’d been going for - he’d been spending far too much time with Romanoff recently. Steve nodded and pulled a small sheaf of papers out of his pocket. He raised his eyebrows at the size of the pile - Steve had been busy. He took the papers and flicked through them. Surprise, surprise - he’d been drawing Bucky again. The Winter Soldier, standing on that walkway on that helicarrier, all that stood between Steve and bringing down HYDRA. Had he really looked that wild?

He reluctantly met Steve’s eyes - this was going to lead to some awkward questions. But unlike Steve, he’d answer them.

“You look different.”

Bucky snorted. “Natasha made me cut my hair.”

Exasperation flashed across Steve’s face. Bucky winced; he’d been spending far too much time with Natasha - deflect, deflect, and deflect again. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I was different. I wasn’t exactly the person I am now.”

“I assume you’re going to explain that in a way that makes sense.”

Bucky winced again - that was a tough ask. “Remember I told you we fought in a war together? After you got turned into Mr Super Soldier?”

Steve frowned. “Didn’t you?”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t get my abilities from the US Army - I got them from HYDRA.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “Weren’t they the bad guys?”

Yes, they were, and Steve had drawn those pictures of him - this shouldn’t have been a surprise. But he merely nodded. “During the war, HYDRA captured me. Experimented on me - trying to recreate the serum that made you into you. You rescued me, but - they’d already done something to me that changed me.” He stared at the ground for a long moment before he spoke again. “Your nightmares, about someone falling from a train-“

“-Not someone. You.”

Bucky nodded. “Whatever they did - it meant I survived the fall. Except for my arm.” He used it to point at the picture, where the metal one was in full view. “Now I have a metal one. It’s currently disguised to look like a real arm.”

Steve stared at the picture closely, as if chasing a memory, but he soon frowned, shaking his head. “So what happened?”

“Long story short, HYDRA got hold of me again. Gave me the arm, gave me super strength, brainwashed me into their assassin, wiped my brain so many times I didn’t know who I was.” He swallowed - how did you live with that?

Steve eyed him uncertainly. “And now?”

“I’ve broken free from them. I know who I am. I’m in control.” Unless someone says ten little Russian words, anyway. “They sent me to kill you.” He kept his tone flat and emotionless, at odds with the emotions roiling inside him. He pointed at the picture again. “That was you, about to destroy HYDRA forever. They sent me to stop you. I failed, but once you’d succeeded in your aim, you stopped fighting me. I could have killed you.” He clenched his fists, fighting their shaking.

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.” He took a step towards Steve. “But I could have! I nearly did! You idiot! How could you trust that I’d remember you?”

Steve’s look was blank - of course, he didn’t remember.

“You’re asking why I didn’t fight you? My best friend?” Oh - he didn’t remember, but he was still Steve. Still an idiot. It just made him angrier.

“I could have killed you.” He ground it out, between teeth he was afraid to unclench for fear he’d scream at Steve.

“Bucky. Put yourself in my place - would you have fought me if it had been the other way around?”

And all the anger sluiced out of him. Because of course he wouldn’t. Not Steve. If he had the choice, any choice at all, even, in the final analysis, when he’d had no choice at all, he didn’t fight Steve. If Steve had come at him, a crazy, brainwashed assassin who didn’t know him, would he have fought him? He snorted - of course he would. He’d always been the less noble one. But he’d never have killed him. He’d have incapacitated him, and then tried to make him remember - and he damn well wouldn’t have thrown away a shield like Steve had! And, ultimately, if it was kill or be killed, if there was no other way for it to end, then he’d die. He closed his eyes, grief washing over him. Grief for what he’d lost, for what Steve had lost. For those two young Brooklyn boys, and what life had done to them.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice broke through the fog. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “I’m fine.” He’d been spending too much time with Jessie, too. Wasn’t her catchphrase “I’m fine” when feeling anything but?

Steve knew he wasn’t, but didn’t push it. “So, what happened in the end?” he eventually asked.

“I remembered you, or at least enough of you, just in time. I didn’t kill you. You fell in a river. I pulled you out. Left you on the bank. Ran away. It took you two years to find me.” He paused, then went on, “And then only because someone blew up a building pretending to be me.”

Steve frowned in confusion. “Why would they do that?”

“You have to understand - in our time, I’m a wanted man. A criminal. I killed dozens of people. I’m an easy person to frame.” He paused, but before Steve could say anything, he rushed on, “I should be in a jail. I should have been hauled in front of a firing squad a long time ago. It’s only fair.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“It was me. It wasn’t my choice perhaps, but it was my hands, my knife, my gun. Maybe the world needs to see me pay for it.”

Steve straightened, his face unhappy. “You keep telling me this future world needs me, right?” Bucky nodded. “Well, I need you. So, by my reckoning, that means the world needs you too.”

He stared at Steve. “That’s the other problem. I’m a magnet for noble idiots, determined to make their own lives more difficult by protecting me. You, Sam, T’Challa…” Steve frowned at the unusual name, but it wasn’t anything more than that. “And seriously, Steve? I’ve never heard anything as corny as that.”

Steve smiled, another sheepish grin. And for a moment, just a moment, there was a lightness between them. But only for a moment - he’d been telling Steve this for a reason. “You need to tell Grace the truth.”

Steve’s smile vanished, replaced with a frown. “I can’t.”

He sighed. “You don’t remember, but you’ve done this before. And it ended very badly.”

“Done what?”

“Not told someone something because you convinced yourself you were protecting them. When really, you were running away from hard truths you didn’t want to face. Last time, you lost a friend, a good friend. And you nearly got me killed.” That got his attention.

“How?”

He flicked through the pictures, searching for a particular face. When he found it, he held it out to Steve. “His name is Tony. Tony Stark.” Was there a flicker of recognition there? “He’s a genius, an engineer, an inventor, fabulously rich, fabulous ego to go with it. He invented that metal suit he flies around in.” He looked away. He’d do anything not to have to say this, but it was the only way to get his point across. “His father was the same before him. Tony inherited his business from him, after he and his wife were killed in a car accident.”

He paused, took another deep breath, and forced himself to continue. “It wasn’t an accident. HYDRA had them killed, made it look like an accident. You found that out, just before you took down HYDRA.”

“You did it?”
He nodded. “You didn’t know for sure, but you thought it was likely. So you didn’t tell him.” Steve opened his mouth to speak, so he rushed on, “You rationalised it to yourself, told yourself that it would do no good to tell him. Why drag up the past? It would only hurt him. But really, you didn’t want to tell him because you thought I’d done it.” Steve said nothing - even with no memories of the event, he knew Bucky was right. “And then he did find out. He was angry at me, but the real betrayal for him was that you’d known, and you hadn’t told him. He tried to kill me, not that I blame him. He nearly succeeded, but you stopped him. But in choosing me, you lost him. If you’d just told him in the first place, before you found me, he wouldn’t have reacted that way. You messed up, and you lost a friend.” He looked Steve in the eye. “Don’t do the same thing with your wife.”

Steve looked back at him, a long, steady look - he was trying to figure out a way in which Bucky was wrong. He couldn’t, but he was stubborn, and he didn’t want to admit it. Instead, he looked over Bucky’s shoulder. “Looks like everyone else is ready to go. We should go back.”

Without another word, he strode off, leaving Bucky to follow in his wake.

Chapter Text

Jessie had beaten him to the stream that morning - which was unusual. She must have been up before the dawn. She’d struggled yesterday, after Grace had seen them together - they were definitely at odds now. Although Grace was at odds with everybody…Steve’s refusal to talk to her was behind most of it; if she knew the truth, even if she didn’t like it, she might finally begin to understand what was going on around her. And stop taking it out on everyone else.

Of course, it would also involve her finding out he wasn’t married to Natasha, and that Natasha had made up their history together. It could make her see him in a better light; he’d not made up any of Natasha’s nonsense and he hadn’t put on an act, either. He snorted - he’d spent all that time alone with an unmarried woman. He’d burn in hell for that alone… The fact that the ‘unmarried woman’ was Natasha Romanoff, a woman more than capable of fending off unwanted advances, even from him, would mean nothing to Grace. And she’d redouble her efforts to keep Jessie away from him.

And Jessie really didn’t need to be dealing with Grace policing her actions. Of course, from Grace’s vantage point their behaviour looked bad - and if she had the facts right, she’d be absolutely correct to warn Jessie away. But she didn’t. And the instinct to protect Jessie from anything that remotely threatened her was so overwhelming, he’d break any rule going to follow through on it. He smiled wryly - he had it very, very bad…

Which was probably what made him sneak up behind her on silent feet and whisper “Boo!” in her ear. He just wanted to see her smile. God knows, she hadn’t had a lot to smile about recently. She knew it was him, of course - who else would be sneaking up on her at this hour of the morning? But she still stiffened initially in shock before she relaxed against him. She turned to face him, smiling up at him as her hands found their way to his, twining her fingers with his. He answered her smile with one of his own, happy because she was. He really, really had it bad…

“Don’t you know it’s not polite to sneak up on young ladies like that?” Her tone was stern, but her eyes were playful.

“But you make such a tempting target,” he replied, matching his tone to her expression.

She flushed and looked away, but didn’t move away from him. But when she met his eyes again, there was a question in her own. “What exactly did Natasha tell Grace about you two?”

Bucky frowned - he hadn’t been expecting her to ask that. He shrugged. “I’m not totally sure. Whatever she said, it was complete nonsense.” Did Jessie really still think there was something between him and Natasha? After all this time?

“She said you married her for her money, but she really loves you.” Her tone remained light, teasing even, but there was an edge to her words - she really did need the reassurance.

He grimaced. “I wasn’t quite as much of a gold-digger as that, but typical of Grace to focus on that.” As Jessie frowned, he quickly added, “It was some long tragic story - I needed money to look after my family and Steve, her father was rich and wanted to marry her off to one of his old rich friends. Natasha didn’t want that, so she inveigled me into marrying her instead. That way, we both got what we wanted. I think.” He hadn’t really been paying that much attention when Natasha explained it to him.

The corner of Jessie’s mouth twitched. “I can certainly understand her preferring the young, handsome pauper to the old, wrinkly rich man anyway.” She stepped closer to him, letting go of his hands to run her own up his arms towards his neck. He breathed in sharply, his blood thrilling to the sensation.

He smiled weakly, suddenly unsure he could trust himself to speak. “As I recall, he wasn’t very nice.”

“There isn’t a girl alive who wouldn’t choose you over him,” Jessie replied, her voice low and soft.

“Actually,” he said, suddenly distracted, “I’m pretty sure that if any girl would, it would be Natasha Romanoff. She’d take the wealth and security any day.”

A smile suddenly broke across Jessie’s face. Before he could react, she’d closed the gap between them and kissed him. At which all his thoughts flew away in a hundred different directions anyway. The only thing that existed was her mouth on his, her fingers in his hair, her body pushed up against his, his own hands pulling her into him, pulling at her back, both of them trying vainly to occupy the exact same space as each other. Her forward momentum into him made him stumble back, his back colliding with a tree. She covered his face with hundreds of kisses, but always moving back to his mouth in the end - and he surrendered to her desire, losing himself in the sensations, his hands exploring every inch of her body until suddenly, he pulled away. No mean feat when she had him pinned to the tree trunk. But there’d been sounds from the wagon train nearby – sounds of other people stirring. They’d be here for their water soon, and if they found him like this with Jessie… She made a mew of protest that he’d stopped - it was so enticing he nearly forgot himself all over again, but he couldn’t give in. Grace’s disapproval would have nothing on that of the rest of their train; he had to protect Jessie.

Regretfully, very regretfully, he pushed her away, hardening his heart against the reproachful, not to mention unsatisfied, look in her eyes. “The others will be here soon. They shouldn’t find us like this.”

A rebellious expression flashed across her face, but she sighed and nodded. “I need to get back. They’ll expect their breakfast to be ready when they get up.” There was a breathless edge to her voice - so it hadn’t just been him being swept off his feet.

He nodded. “Couldn’t possibly disappoint them, now could we?” he muttered, turning to find the buckets.

When he straightened from filling them, she was standing right next to him. Before he could move, her hands were in his hair again, but now she was trying to undo the chaos her fingers had unleashed earlier. He stood quietly, resisting the urge to drop the buckets and grab her again. “If anyone saw your hair like that, they’d know exactly what you’d been doing,” she murmured.

“Couldn’t have Grace seeing me like that, could we?” Her eyes met his and her mouth twitched, before she re-focussed her attention on his hair.

“There,” she said eventually, dropping her hands and looking at him critically. “You look much more respectable now.” He grinned and opened his mouth to say something witty in response, but stopped at the look in her eyes. “Just so you know,” she added, “we’re not finished here.” And with that, she turned and headed back towards her wagon.

She was nearly halfway there before he’d gathered himself together enough to follow her.
299

Chapter Text

They’d reached Fort Hall during the early afternoon. Once they’d stopped, Steve had taken James off to see the fort, with Natalie for company. Bucky had disappeared in the opposite direction, off into the countryside on one of his interminable walks. She’d made the most of the solitude, enjoying the peace and quiet, and the rest. As the light began to fade, she turned her attention to the dinner. But as she went to the wagon to collect what she needed, a flash of red hair caught her attention. And there was Jessie, Bucky as usual in attendance. She was smiling at him, reaching for his hand, pulling him after her as she led them away. He didn’t even resist, just followed after her, the smile on his face at odds with his usual glowering demeanour. Grace shook her head - Jessie clearly hadn’t listened to a word she’d said. She hesitated, not sure if she should follow them and stop them, or leave them to the inevitable. Then she sighed - Jessie wouldn’t appreciate her interfering, but they were friends. Friends didn’t stand by and let other friends ruin themselves.

She put down the pan she’d collected and followed them. They’d almost disappeared in the waning light, but Jessie’s pale skirts stood out against the stand of trees they were heading for. They were definitely up to no good. She hastened after them, determined to stop them before anything happened.

But as she reached the trees, she slowed. Bucky was dangerous - there was a light in his eyes when he was irritated or angry, and it frightened her. He wouldn’t appreciate her interfering, and out here, with no-one to stop him, what if he hurt her? Could Jessie stop him? Would she? Would she even be able to? She was a wisp of a girl these days, while Bucky was big and strong.

She huffed impatiently and shook her head - he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d no doubt get angry and glare, but that had never hurt anyone. And Jessie needed her to do this. So she took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows of the trees. Under the trees, it was even darker, but there was still enough light to see by. She picked her way carefully through the trees, trying not to step on twigs or leaves that might alert the others to her presence. She had to catch them doing something, to finally ram it into Jessie’s head that she couldn’t go on behaving like this. She strained her ears against the quiet, trying to catch their voices. A word or two of Jessie’s voice carried through the air to her. She headed straight for it, determined to put a stop to their misbehaving once and for all. But as she got nearer, her footsteps faltered again. Hiding behind a tree, she peered around it gingerly, ready to pull her head back immediately if either of them were looking in her direction. She needn’t have bothered - they were far too intent on each other. Jessie was leaning against a tree, her hands on Bucky’s chest. He was standing directly in front of her, his hands on the tree trunk to either side of her shoulders, trapping her against it. Not that she seemed to be the slightest bit bothered by being enclosed. She was smiling up at him - and the only word for the quality of her smile was ‘enticing’.

Bucky leaned towards Jessie, and said something to her, quietly. She couldn’t quite catch it - something like ‘twenty seventeen’?

“I don’t care.” She heard Jessie’s response - it was quiet, but spoken fiercely.

Bucky’s lower voice didn’t carry as well - his response was unintelligible, but the teasing edge to his words was all too apparent.

But Jessie’s answer did carry to her. “But I want you to ruin me.”

Grace closed her eyes - how had Jessie fallen this far? That even Bucky was trying to turn her aside, and yet to no avail?

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to step forward and end it. But her steps were arrested by the scene in front of her - Bucky had stopped trying to dissuade Jessie and allowed her to sucker him in. Her arms slid up around his neck as she kissed him, his hands sank down to her waist, and they were oblivious to the world around them, intent only on each other. Grace’s voice died in her throat - she couldn’t look away; she was transfixed. In all her life, she’d never seen anyone kiss someone like that; Steve had certainly never kissed her that way. He’d kissed her of course, even kissed her passionately, but not like this, not like his life depended on it. She fought with herself to move, to leave, to look away, to interrupt, to do anything but just watch, as Bucky’s hands moved up Jessie’s body, up and up towards her - surely he wouldn’t? But he did - and her scandalized gasp was masked by Jessie’s surprised but delighted one.

But it wasn’t enough - Bucky heard her. She stepped back sharply into the shadow of the tree she’d been hiding behind as Bucky’s gaze raked the area where she’d been standing only seconds ago.

“What is it?” Jessie asked, her tone disgruntled.

“I thought I heard something. Someone,” Bucky replied, his voice low and dangerous like a hunter’s. She was trembling violently - surely he’d hear her. But he mustn’t hear her…

“It was probably just an animal,” Jessie said. “Nothing to worry about.”

There was a pause before Bucky made a non-committal noise. She peeked out from behind the trunk of the tree again. Bucky had turned his attention back to Jessie, who was now smiling a wicked smile at him, murmuring something as she entwined her hands in his hair and pulled him back towards her. He went willingly, and his hands soon went back to their exploring. Grace pulled back into the shadows of the tree, closing her eyes tightly, wishing she could forget she’d ever seen it and pretend it had never happened. But behind her, it was still going on - Jessie’s breathless gasps, her soft moans, Bucky’s harsher breathing. Grace squeezed her eyes shut against the tears starting in them. But she didn’t realise she’d sobbed aloud until the silence hit her like a brick - Bucky had heard her again.

“I definitely heard something that time,” he muttered.

“Bucky,” Jessie groaned at him. “It’s nothing. Come back.”

“I’m sure there’s someone out there,” Bucky told Jessie. “Watching us.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not. There’s someone out here. Which means we shouldn’t be. Come on.”

Their voices faded away as they left. She stayed, leaning against the tree for a long time after they’d gone, her relief slowly crystallising into anger. Jessie! How could she do this? This was worse than all her nightmares; she’d always trusted that Jessie had enough self-control to keep her feelings in check. And this was all on Jessie - Bucky hadn’t led her astray, hadn’t led her on, had tried to stop her, in fact. It had been Jessie who’d pushed them beyond the bounds of propriety, tempting him to break his marriage vows. And of course he’d given in - he was being tempted by the girl he’d fallen in love with. There wasn’t a man alive who could resist that. But Jessie! She’d always seemed so good, so kind, so sweet and thoughtful, not capable of wantonly seducing a married man!

But she’d seen it with her own eyes. Jessie was ruined. And she was ruined completely and utterly of her own volition. Because no matter what Grace did, she’d just keep right on with Bucky, and one day things would go too far, and she’d be completely and utterly beyond saving. If her family found out, they’d cast her out, and Bucky couldn’t help her - he already had a wife. He knew that meant he couldn’t have Jessie - he should never have allowed himself to be alone with her! However tragic his past might be, however sad the circumstances surrounding his marriage, he’d gone into it knowing what he was doing, and knowing what it meant - he’d chosen this one woman forever, and he couldn’t forsake her except in death. He’d made his choice - he should be man enough to live with the consequences.

So maybe there was nothing she could do about Jessie’s character, and the wilful wickedness within it, but she could save her soul. She could force her to stay away from Bucky, and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough. She’d lose a friend, but not one she’d miss - she didn’t want that kind of friend. And she certainly didn’t want her anywhere near her children - what a terrible example she’d be! Breathing deeply, shaking with rage, Grace knew what she had to do - and she’d have no compunction about doing it.

She stormed back to her wagon; the furious motion, coupled with the decision she’d made, cooled her anger somewhat. But she kept the fires banked, ready to flare up when she needed them. If anyone noticed her mood, they didn’t mention it. She didn’t crash the dishes around too much as she made the dinner, didn’t hack too viciously at the meat and the vegetables as she chopped them, didn’t sigh too heavily as she worked. Natalie looked at her curiously once or twice, but said nothing, and she wasn’t going to explain. She’d find out soon enough. And it would hurt her, which was regrettable, but she had to do it. Hopefully, she’d forgive Grace in time.

When Bucky returned, she eyed him narrowly, but he just stared back at her quizzically, as if wondering what he’d done now. His hair and clothing were straight, not mussed as one might have expected. But he was clever enough to hide his misdemeanours – and who said this was the first time he’d strayed from his wife? He could have left a string of lovers behind him, hiding them to spare his wife’s feelings, but not caring enough to stop doing it. What if Jessie was just one of many? She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down - she had no evidence that any of that was true. He’d tried to stop Jessie, even if half-heartedly; she shouldn’t make assumptions. He was now frowning at her - she was still glaring at him. Shuddering, she looked away and went back to the dinner. He shrugged and crossed to his wife. He talked quietly to her, his voice not carrying – a frustrating quality it had.

Dinner was served, and still there was no sign of Jessie. It was both annoying and a relief - it wouldn’t do to shame her publicly, and definitely not in front of James. He wouldn’t understand - he’d just see someone shouting at his beloved Jessie, and jump to her defence. That was how it was with him these days. But at the same time, it needed to be brought into the open and quickly; she had to break the connection between Jessie and their party, and the sooner, the better. She didn’t save any dinner for Jessie - Natalie noticed, but said nothing, merely raised her eyebrows. Her inscrutability was infuriating.

Once dinner was done, she put James to bed. The rest of the party sat in silence around the campfire. Gone were the bright, convivial evenings they’d shared at the beginning, where even if Bucky had still brooded, Natalie and Grace and Steve (and Jessie, when she was there) had talked happily to each other. Now they were each sitting lost in their own thoughts. It suited her fine - she didn’t have to pretend that nothing was wrong if no-one was asking.

But as it got later, and still Jessie didn’t appear, Steve’s agitation started to show. He shifted restlessly beside her, and it was clearly only a matter of time before he’d go to seek her out. But try as she might, she couldn’t think of a way to stop him going without arousing suspicions, particularly Bucky’s. He knew someone had been watching him with Jessie, and he was clever enough to put the pieces together and figure out it had been her.

And it was all for nothing, anyway, as Jessie suddenly appeared in the firelight, her red hair aglow, a bright, happy look on her face, not a trace of shame or regret. And Grace’s anger went up in flames again - how dare she stand there, looking so sweet and innocent, when not three hours ago, she’d been behaving shamefully!

And so, before Jessie could take a step closer, her eyes having already drifted to her lover, Grace surged to her feet and blocked her passage. “You’re not welcome here,” she said, her voice low and fierce.

The light went out of Jessie’s eyes in an instant. “What?” she asked, blankly.

“I don’t want someone like you anywhere near me or my family,” Grace hissed.

Jessie’s expression was bewildered - she genuinely had no idea what Grace was talking about. But from behind her, Bucky drew in a sharp breath. “It was you,” he whispered. Jessie’s eyes darted to his, understanding dawning before horror followed on its heels.

But Grace had already rounded on Bucky, not waiting for Jessie to answer. “Yes, it was me,” she snarled. “I saw all of it! Everything you were doing, you - you-” He closed his eyes, as if grieving, while Natalie looked quizzically at him. Quizzically, but not upset - did she really not care?

“Grace.” Jessie spoke from behind her, her voice trembling. “Please…”

Grace whirled back to face her. “What?” she snapped. “Are you going to tell me I don’t understand? Because I understand perfectly. I’ve tried to warn you, but you’ve been determined to ruin yourself anyway! Well, it stops now!”

“Grace.” This time it was Natalie, standing next to her - how had she got there so fast? “There’s no need for this. We can sort this out.” Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. But how could she possibly defend her betrayer?

“Are you really so cold that you don’t care? Your husband is making a mockery of your marriage vows! Do you even have a heart?” She was suddenly tired, tired of all of it. Tired of being polite, tired of holding back. It was time for them to hurt the way she did.

Natalie’s expression flattened so quickly it was frightening. “You really don’t understand anything,” she said, her tone menacing enough to make Grace step back, before the words caught in her rage, and ignited it.

“None of you will tell me what it is that I supposedly don’t understand!” she replied, her voice rising. “But I do understand the sanctity of marriage! And I know what Jessie has done with your husband has violated that, and even if you don’t care, I do! And I don’t want anything more to do with her!”

“Grace.” Why was everyone saying her name like that? This time, she turned to confront her husband, now standing behind her. “I’m sure that we can-“

“Do you really want someone like her anywhere near your son? Because I won’t have him grow up to be like her!”

“Jessie’s our friend,” he replied steadily.

“Not any more,” Grace retorted, furious that they were all taking Jessie’s side, when she was undeniably right. “I don’t want to be friends with someone like her. And I won’t have her near James.” She turned back to Jessie, glaring at her. “So go away! Leave! And don’t you dare come back here again!”

“You don’t get to say that,” Bucky told her angrily, even as Jessie turned tail and fled.

“Just be grateful I’m not saying the same to you!” Grace fired back at him, even as Natalie turned to him, an urgent, worried look on her face.

“Go after her,” she said, quickly. “Don’t let her go back to her family like that.”

Grace frowned, even as Bucky’s eyes widened in understanding. In a second, he’d gone, disappearing into the darkness after Jessie.

“Do neither of you have any shame?” she called after him. “Do you not even care what anyone thinks anymore?”

“Grace.” It was Steve again, and his maddening calm inflamed her temper further.

“Stop saying my name like that, Steve!”

“You need to calm down. You’ll wake James.”

Her rage subsided at his words, but Natalie’s face, still watching her impassively, was as maddening as Steve’s calm had been. “How can you just stand there and not care?” she asked bitterly. “Your husband’s gone running off after his harlot and-“ Crack. Her head snapped back on her neck, and for a second everything was blank. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think - there was nothing. Steve’s voice, indistinct but agitated, penetrated the nothingness, and then suddenly, sensation came flooding back in. Fear, shock, and pain - bright, blooming pain across her cheek. Had Natalie just hit her?

She forced herself to meet Natalie’s eyes. Her face was stone, but beneath it was barely concealed rage, a cold, icy rage that chilled Grace to the bone. Bucky had always appeared to be the more fearsome Barnes, but he had nothing on his wife. A trembling started in her legs and moved through her body; she couldn’t stop it, even as she fought to stay standing. “I don’t like that word,” Natalie said, each word clipped and precise, as if she was exercising a tremendous amount of self-control to stop herself from ripping Grace’s head off. “And I never want to hear you say it again. About any woman. But especially not about Jessie.” She waited for a second, and then added, “Do you understand?”

Grace nodded jerkily, willing herself not to cry.

“Nat,” Steve said, a warning note in his voice.

But Natalie’s ice-cold gaze swept across to him, never faltering. She wasn’t afraid of Steve. “And you,” she said, still in that cold, flat, unemotional voice. “You need to tell your wife the truth about yourself, before she destroys everything with her misplaced spite.” Without another word, she turned sharply, and stalked away.

She stood, still trembling, in the sudden silence that followed Natalie’s dramatic exit. She’d never been hit before, not by anyone - no-one had ever touched her or treated her with anything other than kindness and gentleness. The sudden violence of it shocked her to the core. Fleetingly, she wondered how Jessie could live with that as a constant in her life, but the thought soon drifted away, to be replaced by a blank emptiness. She didn’t realise she’d fallen until Steve’s strong arms caught her, and he lowered her gently to the ground.

There was deep concern in his eyes as he looked down at her, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself up in his arms and forget it all. But she couldn’t. Natalie had slapped her and he’d stood by and let her. Perhaps she’d been too fast for even him to stop, but he hadn’t exactly remonstrated with her - a few warning words that she’d completely ignored. He should have defended her – he should have made Natalie regret what she’d done. But he hadn’t, and all his concern now couldn’t make up for that. She sat up, pulling out of his arms, unwilling to accept his help.

“Grace,” he said to her softly.

She really was tired of people saying her name. “Are you going to tell me?”

He frowned. “Tell you?”

“The truth about yourself? Since you obviously know it now.”

He stared at her helplessly. “I don’t,” he replied. “I only know what Bucky has told me. I don’t remember any of it myself.”

“But he’s told you,” she pounced. “So you do know.”

He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”

“And you still won’t tell me?”

He remained silent for a moment, then shook his head. “Grace, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it,” she interrupted. “No more excuses. Either tell me, or don’t say anything to me.”

He stared at her for a long, hard second, then without another word, he got up and walked away.

Chapter Text

Bucky hastened after Jessie, intent on arresting her headlong flightbefore she reached her wagon. If the others found out… Luckily, he moved significantly faster than she did, and his eyes weren’t blinded by tears. He caught up with her before she’d made it even halfway back. At first, she tried to push past him, but he caught her gently in his arms, and held on. After a moment of resistance, she slumped against him, the fight suddenly gone out of her.

“You shouldn’t have come after me - Grace wouldn’t like it.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she pulled away from him again. He let her go, but stood ready to stop her if she tried to flee.

“To hell with her. She doesn’t understand. And she’s taking her frustration at Steve out on you.” He spoke quietly but forcefully - he wouldn’t let her think this was her fault.

“At least if Natasha had come, she couldn’t have complained.”

He grimaced. “If Natasha had come, I’d have been left with Grace. And I wouldn’t have been kind.” This was a conversation they should be having elsewhere, away from prying ears. He took her arm again. “Come with me,” he said softly.

She stood her ground at first, but he kept pulling gently at her arm until with a sigh, she followed him. He led her past the other wagons, back to the trees where they’d been fooling around earlier. It was an unfortunate reminder, but there was no other cover nearby. Once he was satisfied that no-one could overhear them, he stopped. It was completely dark - he couldn’t see Jessie’s face. He reached out to touch it instead - there were tears on her cheeks. “You tried to warn me,” she told him. “Said it’s not 2017 now.”

He resisted the urge to pull her close - she wouldn’t let him. “Just because that’s true, doesn’t mean you’re all the things she said you were. It’s only because she thinks I’m married.”

“She’d think the same if you weren’t,” she replied. “She’d just hustle us off to the nearest church to save our souls instead.”

He smiled briefly- she would, too. She’d probably even succeed - Grace was a force of nature. But the smile soon froze on his face. “It’s too late for that - my soul’s way past saving.” He kept his tone light, hiding the darkness inside him, turning it into a joke, but she sensed the lie anyway and finally came into his arms. Trying to comfort him again - when she needed it far more. How exactly did that work?

“You’re wrong about that,” she replied.

He didn’t argue - this was about her, not him, so he said nothing and held her instead. They stayed like that for a few moments, before a choked sob escaped her. “She’ll get over it,” he murmured in her ear. “In a few days, it’ll be like nothing happened.”

“You don’t know Grace if you really think that.”

And there was nothing he could say to that - she was right. But Jessie was in danger if the others found out. They didn’t trust her, and her burgeoning powers made her a source of fear – her safety was hanging by a thread. They just needed an excuse, any excuse, to make an end of her. Only the intelligence she gave them about Steve, and their hope of using her to inveigle Bucky into doing their bidding, kept her safe. If they found out she’d lost her access to that, she was in mortal danger. They wouldn’t consider that in a few days it would all go back to normal - they’d take the opportunity they’d been given to get rid of her.

But Grace didn’t know that. And even if she did, she’d feel betrayed that Jessie had ‘spied’ on her. She wouldn’t want Jessie to be in danger, of course, but their friendship would be broken anyway. Only Steve could help him. His kind, big-hearted, hugespirited friend would understand Jessie’s plight instinctively – and he’d want to help her. He put his faith in people and he had faith in Jessie. And if anyone could talk Grace round, it was Steve. He had to try - even if it meant breaking Jessie’s trust. She wanted to tell Steve for herself once he’d remembered, but there was no time for that anymore. Steve had to know now.

Jessie’s voice, sudden in the darkness, startled him out of his funk. “For over five years, I’ve been so lonely. I haven’t had anyone. No-one cared about me. Michael isn’t as bad as the others, but he only keeps me safe because I’m an ‘asset’ to them.” Her voice failed as she swallowed back a sob, even as he winced at her choice of words. She was wrong about Michael, though - it might have been true in the beginning, but he did care about her - and she wouldn’t be here without him.

She took a shaky breath and spoke again. “When they told me to get to know Steve and Grace, I thought I’d finally have friends. People who cared about me. And they did. But even then, I don’t think it was enough. Grace is… She cares, deeply, and fiercely, but she’s also reserved. Even with Steve, she rarely shows him much affection in public. No hugs, or even touches, and definitely no kisses. She’s better with James, but barely.” He frowned - where was she going with this?

“And Steve takes his cue from her. Which isn’t surprising, when you consider it. She’s the only thing he really knows - so he follows her lead.” She paused, took a deep breath, and hurried on. “Before you arrived, the only person who ever touched me was James. And he’s a three-year-old boy. Very affectionate, but a child’s uncritical affection. He didn’t, doesn’t, can’t, understand my pain. And then you came. That first time you held me, when I was upset about losing my only friends to you and Natasha - no-one had held me like that in years.”

He said nothing, a lump forming in his throat. He was hardly the most demonstrative of people himself, but when it came to those he cared about - Emily, Steve, now Jessie - he was. He hadn’t given it a thought at the time - she’d been hurting, and he’d wanted to make it better. It had never occurred to him that it might mean so much to her.

“And I guess like a man dying of thirst at the sight of a river, I gorged myself on it. I’ve tried not to; I know Grace is at least superficially right - it’s wrong for me to be around you like this, but I can’t help it. I need it - I need you. You make me feel whole again.”

He pulled her closer, even as his heart sank. He’d made a colossal mistake. When Natasha had woken him up to tell him that Steve had vanished, lost in time, his only aim had been to find Steve, bring him back, and go straight back into cryo. He’d never dreamed that they’d turn up five years too late, to find Steve settled into the time, married, with a family. And he’d managed to come to terms with it (bar one or two wobbles over Steve’s wife and child), but he simply hadn’t been prepared for Jessie to crash into his life like she had. He’d had no defences against her; he wasn’t capable of, or worthy of, loving someone new and being loved by them in return. But somehow it had happened.

And it was completely incompatible with him going back to the future and into his icy seclusion. She’d just told him she needed him - and he believed her. But she couldn’t. Here, in this time, he wasn’t dangerous, but in the future he didn’t have that guarantee. There were people who might know those words, who might find that damned book and use them against him. And if they did, the people he’d hurt first would be the people he loved the most. And there was Tony Stark to consider. If he caught up with him, and Jessie got caught in the crossfire… He wouldn’t be able to handle it, and he wouldn’t put her through it. Back in the future, she had a life - a family who loved her, friends, a career. She’d survive without him; she wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t be abandoning her, not really. And he’d tell her not to wait for him, not to wait on the outside chance that the Wakandan scientists would find a way to fix him. She had to go back and move on with her life. And she would, once she was there. She had to.

She pulled out of his arms a little, but only to face him. “Bucky?”

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong?” She was anxious, worried she’d frightened him off. And she had, but not in the way she thought. He loved her - he could be honest with himself. He wasn’t frightened by her telling him she felt that way too - he was a very different man from the one he’d been seventy years ago. But all of that didn’t matter; they still couldn’t be together. But he couldn’t tell her that now, not when she was so upset.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I was just thinking.” He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.” Even as he said it, he knew he was lying. He wasn’t going anywhere right now, but later… He shook his head, kept focussing on the present.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” she whispered into his shoulder, driving a knife right into his heart. He stayed silent, but pulled her even closer. If he didn’t speak, he couldn’t lie. But the way she cuddled into him in response told him even that wasn’t true.

Chapter Text

“Steve.” His friend’s shoulders stiffened at his voice. He sighed - this wouldn’t be easy. “I need to talk to you.”

Steve slowly turned to face him, his eyes dark. “Did Natasha send you?”

“No. Although she’d be happy I was here.”

“Did she tell you she hit Grace last night?”

He sucked in a breath - he had to tread carefully. “Yes, she did.”

“And were you happy about that?”

“No,” he replied. “But I can understand why she did it. Grace shouldn’t have said that.” Steve looked away - he’d won that point. “She also told me what she said to you. Did you do it?”

Steve’s look could have cut through steel. “No, I didn’t.”

He sighed again - this wouldn’t be easy at all. “She’s right, you know. You have to tell Grace sometime.”

“Until I know what I’m telling her-“

“Steve,” he interrupted. “You might never remember.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe that.”

“It could be years before it all comes back. It isn’t fair to make her wait that long. She isn’t going to stick around for eighty years waiting for you to remember everything and finally tell her the truth. You’ll lose her a long time before that.”

Steve looked down. “I can’t tell her what I don’t know.”

“You do know - I’ve told you. And you know it was the truth.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that you have to tell her. The rest of us are depending on you doing that.” He paused, then added quietly, “Jessie most of all.”

Steve frowned - he hadn’t been expecting that. “If I tell Grace, she’s not going to suddenly forgive Jessie.”

“Well, you could always tell her she’s out of line banishing Jessie like this, and you won’t stand for it.”

Steve’s look was faintly incredulous, as if to say ‘have you ever tried to tell Grace to do something’? His mouth quirked - no, he hadn’t, but he’d tried to tell Steve to do something - it was the same thing.

“I could do that,” Steve said slowly, “but it would just make things worse. Besides, why would Jessie want to be here if Grace is going to be unpleasant to her?”

He shrugged. “Because it might keep her alive just that little bit longer? Maybe even long enough to save us all and take us home?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed again, but this time, he was thinking. He sighed. “So she is a HYDRA spy. I wondered.”

He nodded. “But she’s not really HYDRA.”

“She defected?”

“Not even that. She never was. They brainwashed her.”

“Like you?”

“Different method, but the same effect. They abandoned her here when they realised they’d never be able to completely control her.”

“Couldn’t they just have killed her?”

A shadow passed across his heart. “They did. In the future, she’s dead.”

Steve nodded slowly. “So she’s in danger because the others know she’s not loyal?”

He nodded again. “Right now, her access to you is all that keeps her safe. She’s their only link to you. If that link isn’t there, then she’s no use to them.”

“But it might only be temporary.”

“They don’t trust her, they don’t like her, and you know how they treat her. They won’t be sensible - they’ll see a chance, and they’ll take it. Michael protects her, but if they find out about this, he might not be able to. He might not even want to.”

“It’s still an overreaction.”

He sighed - he hadn’t wanted to do this. “They’re scared of her, Steve. She can use the stone, the one that sent you here - that’s the reason they brainwashed her. And now it’s near her again, they’re afraid of what she can do. They really are just looking for a reason. And now Grace has given them one.”

Steve frowned. “I still don’t see how me telling Grace will help.”

He sighed again - in frustration this time. “Look, it’s really quite simple. Jessie can take us all back to the future at any time. But she won’t. Not until Grace knows. She won’t take her back if she doesn’t. And the longer it takes you to tell her, the longer it will be before she’s ready to go with us, and the longer Jessie will be in danger. And if something happens to Jessie…” He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Well, we can still get back, but we’ll all lose our memories. And she’ll be dead,” he added bitterly.

“We can protect Jessie.”

“No, we can’t. She’s with them, living with them, they can get to her any time they want to. And now Grace has banished her, taking her anger at you out on Jessie, she can’t even come and stay with you, where she might be safe.” He stopped, pulling in hard, deep breaths. “You have to tell Grace.”

“It still won’t make her agree with what you and Jessie were doing.”

“You can tell her I’m not married. I don’t care what she thinks about me, but Jessie isn’t guilty of all the things she thinks she is.”

“It’s not that simple, Buck. What you were doing was still wrong.”

Bucky closed his eyes, struggling to keep his temper – this was so far beside the point. “Even so. You telling her the truth might make her more accommodating.”

Steve sighed. “Or at least so busy worrying about something else that she might need a friend.”

“That, too. It’s not like she has many of those at the moment.”

Steve closed his eyes, thinking. When he opened them, he looked at Bucky, obviously troubled. “Alright. You’re right. I’ll - I’ll try and talk to Grace, I’ll tell her.”

He smiled at him, only a small smile, because there was still so far to go, but he was still grateful. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket and offered them to Steve. “These might help.”

Steve eyed his drawings with the same distaste as he would a rattlesnake, but reluctantly took them. He sighed. “Possibly. They might just make things a whole lot worse.”

He reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, but said nothing - he’d won the battle. But as he turned to walk away, Steve spoke again. “Look after her.”

Bucky turned to look at him quizzically. Steve smiled and added, “She needs you.” After a pause, he went on, “And you need her.”

He hesitated, tempted to argue that point, but it wasn’t worth it. So he nodded, turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Natasha moved silently through the camp, sliding from shadow to shadow, leaving no trace of her passing, making her way by campfire light. She could have walked boldly through the camp - no-one would have stopped her or challenged her, but that had never been her way. She was on a mission, and missions required subtlety. As she approached the HYDRA wagon, she slowed, scanning for any sign that all was not well. Jessie hadn’t come to visit that evening - not surprising after Grace’s outburst yesterday. But staying away put her in danger - Grace wouldn’t allow Steve to fetch her any more, and if Steve didn’t come for her, her colleagues would start to wonder what had changed. It was imperative they didn’t find out, so Natasha was there in Steve’s place. Grace couldn’t complain - there was nothing wrong in Natasha being alone with Jessie…

Of course, she’d hoped Jessie would have made that realisation for herself and found a way to absent herself for a while, but there she was, still by the fire. Natasha sighed - if only Jessie had even a shred of self-preservation. Taking a deep breath as she moved forward into the firelight, she slipped into the Natalie Barnes persona, the bubbly personality infusing her bones, the friendly, but ever so slightly empty, smile fixing itself on her face.

“Jessie, dear, where have you been? We’ve missed you!”

Every single one of them jumped. Jessie leapt to her feet and whirled around to face Natasha, a look of disbelief with just a trace of fear in her eyes.

“Oh,” she replied, “I’ve been too busy this evening.” Now she’d recovered from her initial shock, and standing with her back to the others, she frowned at Natasha, as if asking what she was doing there.

“Well, you know what Steve’s rules are,” Natasha replied brightly.

“Why isn’t he here then?” Hannah asked, her tone suspicious.

“James isn’t very well,” Natasha replied, making it up on the spot. “He didn’t want to leave him, so he sent me in his place. And James really wants to see Jessie. She’ll make him feel better in no time.” She looked at Jessie expectantly.

“James is ill?” Jessie was genuinely worried - she thought Natasha was telling the truth. She looked helplessly at Hannah.

“You still have work to do here,” Hannah replied, triumphant at the prospect of thwarting Jessie.

Natasha looked around her exaggeratedly. “Really?” she replied. “It looks to me like she’s almost done.” Her voice all honeyed friendliness, she added, “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind finishing off the last few things for her. James would really like to see her.” Then, dismissing Hannah from her notice, she turned back to Jessie. “Now come along - we shouldn’t keep him waiting.” She took her by the arm and led her firmly away before Hannah had finished spluttering with rage.

But as soon as they were out of sight and out of earshot, she dropped Jessie’s arm, and Natalie Barnes. “What were you still doing there?”

Jessie looked across at her, frowning again. “You know I’m not welcome around your wagon any more. Is James really ill?”

“No, he’s fine,” she replied, irritably - Jessie should have seen through her lie. “But it’s important your ‘family’ doesn’t realise what’s happened. You don’t want to give them any excuse to hurt you.”

“When Bucky didn’t come to carry my water this morning, I thought it was a sign to stay away.”

She cursed under her breath. She should have thought of that - she could have gone instead. “He was talking to Steve, trying to get him to tell Grace the truth. To keep you safe.” Before Jessie could interrupt, she added, “Which we can’t do if you don’t show some signs of wanting to stay alive.”

Jessie shut her mouth, and didn’t reply. She winced - that had been a little heavy-handed. She took Jessie’s arm again and led her further from her wagon, to the outskirts of the camp. She turned back to Jessie, insubstantial in the half-light - she was wasting away. They didn’t have a lot of time if they were going to save her. It would help if she’d at least try to look out for herself.

“You have to help us to help you,” she eventually said, as the silence stretched between them. “We’ll get you out of this, but you have to hold your nerve.”

Jessie stared back at her, her eyes large in the dark. “I just didn’t think, ok?”

“Not thinking will get you killed,” she replied. “If you give them the slightest chance, they’ll take it.”

“Michael won’t let them.”

“Is he always there?”

Silence. Then, “It doesn’t make any difference anyway. Grace will never let me take her anywhere, least of all to the future.”

“Self-pity isn’t a garment that suits you.”

That earned her a glare - which was progress. “But it’s true.”

“What you did wasn’t wrong. She over-reacted, lashing out at you because she can’t lash out at Steve, but you should have had the sense to see it coming.”

A miserable look stole across Jessie’s face. “Bucky did. He tried to stop me.”

She sighed in sympathy, understanding why she’d ignored him. But it had still been a stupid thing to do. “He wants to keep you safe, but he’s also in love with you. It doesn’t take much for you to overwhelm his common sense.”

Jessie’s expression was strange as she listened - had she really not known? Then her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t think she’d seen us. I had no idea she was watching.” She hugged herself suddenly, a defensive gesture Natasha recognised - holding the world at bay, trying to keep herself in, and everything else out.

“You’re still her friend, Jessie. She’ll remember that.”

Jessie laughed - a hollow sound. “Grace has her pride. She won’t forgive me.”

“Steve will tell her the truth - Bucky finally got him to agree. Once he tells her, she’s going to need a friend. And you’re the only one she has.”

Jessie laughed again, as hollow as before. “Only I’m lying to her, just like everybody else, aren’t I? And when she realises that…”

“She’s Steve’s wife. She’ll understand you had no choice, just like he did.”

Impossible though it seemed, Jessie’s face drained of colour. “He knows about me?”

She nodded slowly. “It was the only way Bucky could get Steve to talk to Grace - by pointing out that his stubbornness and his wife’s actions had put you in danger. He didn’t want to break your trust, but you’re one of his now - he’ll always do what he thinks will keep you safe. And it worked - Steve will tell Grace to protect you.”

Jessie wilted. “I don’t deserve that,” she whispered.

Natasha grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “We don’t all get what we deserve. But in your case, you’re wrong. You do deserve it. And you’ll make up for what you’ve done.”

Jessie pulled away from her, suddenly angry. “That’s all you really care about, isn’t it? That I can get you home. I’m just a tool to you, to be used for your own advantage!”

It took all of her self-control not to slap Jessie for saying that. Instead, she grabbed her arm, pulled her close so their faces were right next to each other, and spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “It matters to me that you can do that, yes. It makes you important, and means even if you were the worst monster imaginable, I’d try to keep you alive, at least until you weren’t useful any more. But don’t you dare presume to know me, or what I’m thinking. You don’t have that right.”

She let go of Jessie abruptly, causing her to stumble backwards. But she didn’t look afraid, just curious. “So what else is it you see in me?”

She should have slapped her, after all. “I see a good field agent, someone who got caught up in something far bigger than her through no fault of her own, and someone who’s been fighting ever since to survive. I respect that. I wouldn’t want to see that kind of potential wasted.” Jessie’s eyes narrowed - she knew it wasn’t the full truth. So Natasha gave her no time to interrupt, continuing, “Every night, until Grace can be persuaded to let you come back, you’ll make your excuses to the others, and tell them you’re going to our wagons. I don’t care where you go, but you stay away long enough to convince them that’s exactly what you did. Bucky or I will come and keep you company - you won’t be on your own.”

Jessie swallowed, but nodded. She turned to leave, but suddenly stopped and turned back. “You’re sure James is ok?”

She smiled. “Surely you of all people should know a lie when you hear one.”

She got a small smile in response, before Jessie turned and disappeared into the night.

Chapter Text

Grace huddled over her cook fire, methodically preparing breakfast, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. She hadn’t slept; she’d had too much to think about. Steve had chosen last night to finally tell her the truth about himself. If it was truth - if it wasn’t the ravings of a madman. Steve didn’t appear to be mad, but what he’d told her was so far-fetched, she had to wonder.

But Steve believed it. He’d freely admitted that most of what he’d told her had come from Bucky, not his own memories, but alongside his drawings, which were all his, he was convinced. And the drawings made a difference; he’d drawn them, they came from his own mind, they fit with the story he’d told her, but… Bucky had seen them; so, presumably, had Natalie. What if they’d made up a story to fit the drawings to trick Steve? But what would they gain from making Steve believe he was from the future if he wasn’t?

And… However painful it was to acknowledge, Bucky’s love for Steve was genuine. It was impossible to argue against them being best friends - and a best friend wouldn’t do this. So if Bucky’s intentions were good, then by telling Steve he was from the future, he was telling him the truth.

If only she could talk to someone about it - she was winding everything up in her head and twisting it all into knots. Talking to someone else might help her get things straight. Straight – as if such a crazy tale could ever be straight! But there was no-one she could talk to. She couldn’t talk to Steve - he was the cause of her twisted thinking. Jessie was out of the question, too, after how she’d been behaving. And Natalie was still furious with her because of what she’d said about Jessie. And perhaps it had been harsh, but in some lights, it was true. Just one more thing to add to the list of mysteries that made up Natalie Barnes.

So she was categorically off the table as a confidante. She wouldn’t have been Grace’s first choice anyway - there was something insincere about her, and nothing comforting about her. She was different with James, but no one else saw that side of her, not even her husband. She’d claimed to love him, or at least heavily implied it, but watching them together, it didn’t seem likely. Perhaps it was understandable that he’d seek solace - no. Understandable or not, it was still wrong. He’d made his bed - he should lie in it. Literally.

She blushed furiously at her thought, the blush deepening when she realised that very same man was standing only yards away, watching her. His expression was neutral, as usual. She’d been so sure he’d be the one to shout and rail at her, but he hadn’t, and it was unsettling. He hadn’t said much to her, but she’d never caught him glaring at her, or looking like he was fantasising about wringing her neck; he hadn’t even tried to plead with her - he’d just said nothing. He had to be feeling most of it, but he was keeping it firmly in check.

She’d first taken it as proof that he didn’t really care for Jessie after all; Grace banishing her was an inconvenience, but also a relief. She’d saved him having to do his own dirty work. But she wasn’t so sure that was fair of her; his lack of anger came from something else entirely. But whatever it was, she was grateful for it. The ice-cold fury of Natalie was one thing; Bucky’s red-hot rage (for where his wife was ice, he was definitely fire) would be more than she could handle. Natalie was terrifying enough…

But could that have something to do with it? Natalie had frightened her, and he knew it. And the morning after Natalie had hit her, he’d taken one look at her face, frowned, winced, and then turned an expression full of reproach upon his wife. And now here he was again, watching her with that look that hid so much of what he was thinking. For all she knew, he was fantasising about wringing her neck! But - she needed to talk to someone. And he’d been trying not to scare her, and he’d told Steve the truth, and it was more than likely that he’d been pushing Steve to tell her the truth. He was a strange ally, indeed, but - she didn’t have much choice.

So before he walked away, she screwed up her courage and spoke. “Bucky?” He turned back to her, his eyebrows raised. They were surely raised in polite inquiry, not outrage at her daring to speak to him, so she continued before her courage failed her. “Could I – could I talk to you? About Steve?”

He did nothing for a very long moment - perhaps he was angry at her, after all. But eventually he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded. Slowly, he approached and sat down beside her. “What would you like to know?” he asked.

There was no malice, anger or anything negative in his tone - just a genuine desire to be of assistance. She decided to trust him. “He told me,” she began. “About who he is, what you’d told him.” He nodded, but didn’t speak. “Is it really true?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that, but she so desperately wanted it not to be true. If it could all just be some horrible joke - Bucky and Natalie’s terrible attempt at winding up their friend. But it was written on his face that it was true. “Yes, it is,” he said eventually, and she could have sworn there was sympathy in his eyes. “We - me, Steve and Nat, that is - we’re all from the future.”

She closed her eyes, defeated. The nightmare wasn’t going to go away any time soon. “How?” she managed to say. “How is that even possible?”

“A magic green stone,” he replied. She opened her eyes and stared at him - she hadn’t really been expecting an answer.

“Do you have it?” she asked suddenly. Maybe if she could see with her own eyes something that proved it, it might break through her disbelief.

He looked at her warily, and nodded. “Well, Nat does,” he clarified.

“Can I see it?”

He frowned, looking like he was going to refuse. But as he studied her face, his resolve faltered. He nodded slowly. “I’ll see,” he said.

He rose to his feet, as graceful in that as in everything else he did, and walked over to his wagon. It was hard to believe that a man so big and powerful could move so softly and silently. His voice carried to her, although as usual, not what he was saying. His wife’s voice, sharper, carried better, but only enough to tell Grace that she wasn’t happy. Their ‘discussion’ continued, but for once, Bucky stood his ground, not deferring to his wife, like he usually did. Grace smiled grimly, perversely glad that she’d been the one to make him finally stand up to her. He emerged from his wagon with a dark expression on his face, but it vanished as soon as he saw her looking. He was definitely going out of his way to be considerate around her. A pang of conscience thrummed through her - had she been entirely fair to him?

He returned to sit beside her again, holding a long, thin box. It was made out of a strange material - no doubt something from the future. He eyed her uncertainly for a moment, but then shrugged and cracked it open. An eerie green glow shone from inside it - and she immediately wished she hadn’t asked. It was going to make it all real, and she wanted to remain ignorant.

But if Bucky noticed, he ignored her reluctance, opening the box wider and holding it out towards her. Inside was a small green stone, attached to what she could only think of as a wand, like a wizard’s or a fairy’s. But the stone was glowing from within, creating its own sinister light. Something was swirling in its depths, darker and lighter shades of green mixing and twining themselves around each other. She shuddered - there was something so malevolent about it, it was surely more than capable of throwing someone through time and stripping them of their memories. But there was also something hypnotic about it, pulling her in, making her lean closer and reach out to touch it - until Bucky snapped the box shut and pulled it away from her.

“Don’t touch it!” he said sharply.

Stung by his tone, she lashed out in turn. “Why? I was hardly going to steal it!”

He forced himself to relax. “I know,” he replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Besides, Nat would just steal it back. But it’s dangerous - you shouldn’t touch it.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want to get thrown through time?”

She eyed him uncertainly - surely he was joking. But he seemed to be serious. “Of course I don’t,” she eventually muttered.

“Then don’t touch it. If you do, and it doesn’t like you, and it doesn’t like most people, it throws you through time, never to be seen again.”

He had to be joking now - how could a stone like you? But he shrugged at her skeptical look. “It’s true. And we won’t be able to find you.”

“So how did you manage to use it?”

“With the help of some very clever friends.” He sighed. “It can be used to an extent, but only a very small number of people can touch it and really use it. And neither Nat nor I are on that list.”

“And the person who sent Steve back?” Strange how she was now talking like she believed it all.

“Well, he could use it, he just wasn’t very good with it.”

“And you can get us back?”

He hesitated for just a moment, as if he’d been about to say something but had thought better of it, and then nodded tightly. “Yes.”

“Well,” she said lightly, “You’d better keep it safe then.”

He frowned at her, as if unsure of her meaning, but then nodded again. “It’s safest with Nat,” he said. “No-one could take it from her if she didn’t want them to.” As he stood to return it to his wife’s care, she frowned. How could it be safer with Natalie - surely it would be far less likely to be stolen from the man mountain that was Bucky?

She stared into her cookfire - it seemed distressingly like it was all true, and all real. She’d married a man from more than a hundred years in the future. And his friends had come looking for him, to take him back there. And if he really was the hero they said, then no doubt he was needed. And how could he be anything else with his boundless goodness and kindness?

It was a surprise when Bucky returned to the fire - she’d been expecting him to take the opportunity to walk away. But he sat beside her again and looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to ask more questions. But it was all too overwhelming suddenly – she didn’t want to know any more about it for now. There was plenty of time for all the details later.

And there was still the thorny issue of Jessie. Because it turned out that not only was Bucky married, he was also from the future. So it was even more reprehensible of him to be leading on a young girl from this time, one who knew nothing of the future he hailed from, and who’d be left behind when he went back. What was he thinking? Jessie, however awful her behaviour had been, didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to be left behind by any of them, to be fair, but to be left alone by the man she’d fallen in love with? It would surely destroy her.

So in spite of his kindness and consideration, she had to confront him. He couldn’t be allowed to entertain any notions of sneaking off to be with Jessie behind everyone else’s back. And if propriety wasn’t enough to persuade him, then perhaps the thought of Jessie, left behind and broken-hearted, might be enough. Or worse, with other consequences that she’d have to face alone and shamed…

As she met his eyes, it was clear he’d already read what she’d been thinking on her face. His expression was resigned, but at least it wasn’t angry. Perhaps deep down, he knew she was right. “If you’re really from the future, then what you’ve been doing with Jessie is doubly wrong,” she eventually said. She deliberately spoke in a quiet, measured tone, so as not to make him angry.

He sighed. “It’s not that simple,” he replied.

“Don’t start that again,” she fired back, earlier resolve not to rile him utterly forgotten. “If I hear one more person tell me I don’t understand something, I’ll - I’ll - I’ll hit them with a frying pan!”

His mouth twitched, but with an effort, he kept a straight face. “I was going to try to explain,” he said, as if making a peace offering.

She folded her arms. “Go ahead,” she said, loftily. “I can’t think of anything you could say that will make this right.”

He shrugged. “Probably not,” he agreed. “But there’s something you should know about me before you judge me too harshly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that?”

He took a deep breath and hesitated before he spoke. “I’m not actually married.”

She was rendered completely, utterly speechless. She tried to speak, but could only splutter. He held his hands out in supplication. “It was the easiest way for me and Nat to travel together without occasioning comment,” he explained. “She didn’t think anyone would buy that we were brother and sister.”

“But - but-” she floundered. “That’s - that’s disgraceful! Does Steve know?”

“He does,” Bucky replied, calmly. “He remembered Nat and I weren’t exactly friends.” The wry look on his face suggested that was an understatement.

“But you’ve disgraced her!”

He smiled. “It would be a brave man who tried to disgrace Nat if she didn’t want them to.” He saw her face, sighed, and tried again. “Look, in the future, things are different. Women can go wherever they like with whoever they like and do whatever they like. They can be whatever they want to be. No-one thinks twice about that kind of stuff.” He stopped, probably because her eyes were bulging.

“Well, I don’t think I like the sound of the future!”

He smiled, that same wry look on his face. “I thought that too,” he said quietly.

Which made no sense at all. But as she opened her mouth to question it, he spoke again, cutting her off. “The future’s really not that bad. There are a lot of advantages to it. Nat is from that time – and she doesn’t like being judged. And the idea of being treated like women are now, like second-class citizens - it infuriates her. It infuriates her when women are treated that way when she thinks they shouldn’t be.” He was looking at her meaningfully as he spoke – he meant what she’d done to Jessie.

“Jessie is from this time,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t matter what it’s like for women in the future - it’s right to judge her by today’s standards. And by today’s standards, she has ruined herself.” He took a deep breath, and his eyes flashed with momentary anger - it was obvious he really wanted to say something, and equally obvious that he wasn’t going to. She continued speaking, as she hadn’t finished. “And so perhaps you’re not actually married, but it makes no difference, because everyone else thinks you are! So in the end it’s just the same. And it’s even worse because you know you can’t be what Jessie needs you to be. You’re from the future - she isn’t. You can’t take her back with you. So you shouldn’t have been doing those things with her!”

The words ‘You don’t understand’ were forming on his lips, but with a supreme effort, he didn’t say them; instead, he eyed her aggrievedly. But she was right, and he knew it - there was nothing he could say that would change that. It was sad - but it couldn’t work. And he knew it. And therefore he also knew he shouldn’t be leading Jessie on. “Does she know the truth about you?”

He looked away from her. Clearly she didn’t. She sighed. “Just stay away from her. You know you have to. You can’t be what she wants - you can’t be her knight in shining armour, so stop making her think that you can. It’s better this way. Kinder, even.” Were those tears in his eyes? Truly? Could it be he really did love her?

But before either of them could say anything more, Steve returned from seeing to the oxen. He was surprised to see them sitting together, having an apparently civil conversation, but also cautiously pleased. Bucky took advantage of his arrival to excuse himself and hurried off, away from the train. She watched him go sadly. She’d been so angry with him, had thought he deserved all the harsh words she’d thought about him, and it turned out that perhaps she’d been wrong. And now she’d hurt him. She was right, she knew she was, but…

Chapter Text

Bucky headed through the camp - Natasha had sent him to keep Jessie company while she pretended she was visiting the Rogers. It was the best way they’d come up with to stop Jessie’s ‘family’ finding out she’d been banished by Grace.

He should be more angry with Grace. Her actions were a direct threat to Jessie, even if she didn’t know it. But that was just it - she didn’t know. So how could he blame her? And he couldn’t tell her the truth about Jessie - he’d spilled her secrets once already, to Steve; he owed it to her not to do the same with Grace. Perhaps if things didn’t change, he would - he’d do anything to keep Jessie safe, but he also wanted to keep her trust. But his silence on the subject had allowed Grace to feel comfortable in telling him to stay away from Jessie, and that his behaviour had been reprehensible. And she was right - but for the wrong reasons. Jessie wasn’t the reason they couldn’t be together; he was - broken, hijacked Bucky. He was safe here, but back in the future, he was a danger to everyone who knew him. So once they were back, he’d be going back into cryo, meaning he couldn’t be with Jessie. Being with her here and now wouldn’t ruin her like Grace feared, but it would hurt her in the end, and he didn’t want that. So Grace was right - he shouldn’t be messing around with Jessie. And he was going to put a stop to it.

Not that Jessie seemed that interested in messing around anymore. He’d met her as usual that morning, in strict defiance of Grace - after all, that water still needed carrying. But she’d been muted and closed-off, her desire to misbehave with him gone. She’d barely even acknowledged him. He’d tried to comfort her, but t no avail - he’d held her in his arms, and she’d let him, but only passively; she was like a different person. Grace banishing her had cut her to the heart. Her one friend in this whole nightmare had turned against her, and Steve, her hero of old, hadn’t fought her corner, or even really tried to help her. When she’d most needed her friends, they’d let her down, and she was alone again.

Maybe this wasn’t the right time to tell her what he had to tell her. But he had to do it at some point, and the longer he left it, the more it would hurt her. And once he’d done it, Grace would have no reason to keep Jessie away, and she was looking for a reason to climb down off her moral high horse. So he’d give it to her - Jessie would need her friends, friends like Steve and Grace, when she was back in her own time. He could do this, and he could do it now.

She was waiting where Natasha had said she’d be – just beyond the range of her own wagons, out of sight and out of mind. She was shivering, a thin, ragged shawl all she had to keep the cold at bay. He hadn’t felt the cold in a very long time, so he took his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smiled gratefully at the sudden warmth - the first time she’d smiled since that awful evening. She pulled it round herself and also moved towards him, and into his arms. He sighed inwardly - she was going to make this so much harder.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, her head against his shoulder. “You saw me this morning, Jessie,” he replied brusquely.

She stiffened in his arms, turning her head to look at him quizzically. She shook her head. “It’s not the same,” she countered. “And you know it.”

He sighed - he did know it, and this was dangerous ground. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said instead, pulling himself out of her arms. He turned to walk away, leaving her to follow. He’d gone several yards before she set off in his wake.

He led her away from the wagons, away from where they could be overheard. After her initial hesitation, she caught up with him and slid her arm through his - he didn’t stop her, but nor did he encourage her. If she noticed, she ignored it, and cuddled into him. His spirits sank even further - how was he supposed to do this now?

Once they were far enough away from the wagons, and with barely enough light to see by, he stopped, dropped her arm and turned to him. “Bucky?” she asked him uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t do this to her. But he had to. He steeled himself. “We need to talk.” His voice was hard, dark even - but it was difficult enough to speak without worrying about his tone.
Jessie took half a step back from him. “Okay,” she replied. “What about?”

He stared at her for a long, long moment, his own heart fraying around the edges. Could he really do this? He had to. Had to harden his heart the way Natasha did. Wall it all off, and pretend he didn’t care. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said, eventually.

He might as well have punched her in the face. “What?”she said, so faintly he almost didn’t catch it - her breathing was fast and shallow.

“It doesn’t work. It can’t ever work,” he replied, breathing slowly, keeping calm, not feeling. “We can’t be together, not the way you want. So I think it’s for the best if we don’t do this anymore.”

“Have you hit your head?” she asked, her voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not actually married to Natasha. There’s no reason whatsoever that we can’t be together. Is this because of Grace? Did she say something?”

“Yes - no!” he answered, suddenly flustered. “It’s not the married thing. I even told Grace I wasn’t married.”

“You told Grace that?” There was a pause. “I’m sure she took that well.”

“She took it a lot better than I thought she would,” he answered, sidetracked.

“So what’s the problem? Now she knows, surely she sees there’s nothing to stop us?”

“She thinks you’re from this time.”

“Fine,” she answered impatiently. “At some point, she’ll have to find out the truth. And then she’ll see. So there isn’t a problem!”

“It’s not Grace!” he said, his temper finally rising. “It’s nothing to do with her - it’s me. I’m the problem!”

She stepped back from him again, from the anger in his words. “What are you saying? Are you saying - you don’t?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head in frustration - this wasn’t going at all to plan. “It’s not that. It’s - Jessie, I can’t be with you, ok? When we go back - I won’t be there for you.”

“So where will you be?”

He sighed. “I’ll be in cryostasis.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m dangerous, Jessie!” he exploded suddenly - how could she not understand that? “I’m a threat to everyone who knows me. Until they can get this stuff out of my head, anyone who finds those words can turn me into a mindless killing machine! And the first people who’d get hurt would be people I care the most about - Steve, you, Nat! And I won’t do that - I won’t put you all in danger.”

“The words?” she asked. “The ones the others were talking about? You said they didn’t know them!”

“They don’t,” he said, taking deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. “That’s why here, I’m not dangerous.” He shook his head. “But back in the future, I don’t know if that’s true. One guy found them before. If he could, so could others. That’s why I was in cryo in the first place. Didn’t Natasha tell you?”

She shook her head - her eyes were huge in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight. “She told me about the Sokovia Accords and how you’re all fugitives. She didn’t mention you being in stasis!”

“There’s a country in Africa, Wakanda. It’s the most technologically advanced nation in the world. If anyone can fix me, they can. But while they’re looking for a way, I stay in stasis - so I can’t be a danger to anyone.”

“But they might never be able to fix you!”

He nodded. “Maybe they won’t. Then I’ll stay frozen forever. That’s what I’m trying to tell you-“

“What does Steve think about this?”

He stopped, sidetracked again. Why did she keep asking irrelevant questions? “He’s fine with it. He understands.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Her voice dripped with scorn.

“It’s what he said!”

She shook her head. “And you saw and heard what you wanted to.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s perfectly fair. And it’s true. And you know it.” He stared at her helplessly - he couldn’t afford to think about that now. But before he could reply, she went on, “And you really think no-one could stop you? Steve couldn’t stop you?”

He closed his eyes. “No, I don’t think he could. He wouldn’t want to kill me - I wouldn’t care.” He squeezed his eyes shut further, blocking out the memories - the helicarrier, Berlin - he’d nearly killed Steve both times…

“But these words - there are several of them, right? So you’d have stopped them before they’d got to the last one!”

He shook his head. “Not necessarily.”

“Someone would have time to knock you out before they’d finished. You wouldn’t resist - even I could do it!”

“But then I’d be a liability.”

She stared at him. “This is all so hypothetical it’s beyond ridiculous,,” she said. “You’re worrying about infinitesimal risks.”

He shook his head again, frustrated. “I won’t be used as a weapon against my friends. Not again. I’m going back into cryo as soon as we get back. I can’t be who you want me to be - we can’t have what you want us to have. I’m sorry, but - you need to know this now.”

She looked into his eyes, saw he meant it, and her face crumpled. “You can’t do this. I need you!”

“No, you don’t,” he told her softly, resisting with every fibre of his being the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. “Once you’re back, you’ll have your friends, your family - you’ll be fine. You’ll have your life back. You don’t need me.”

“But I want you,” she replied, miserably. “And I won’t have all those things. How can I?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“The stupid stone! I know about the Accords - they’ll apply to me too. I won’t be allowed to go back to my normal life; I’ll be on a watch list!”

“That’s not how they work-“ he began.

“It’s exactly how they work. Whatever they’ve dressed it up as, anyone with ‘powers’ will be on a list. And sooner or later, that list will be hacked and leaked. And then they can target all the people who love you, to get you to co-operate with them. And what price a girl who can control time?”

He frowned again - neither Steve nor Natasha had ever mentioned any of that. She had to be wrong. “It doesn’t have to be like that. You said you didn’t want your powers. So leave the stone in Wakanda and go back to your family. No-one will ever know.”

“Don’t be stupid!” she snapped. “A girl who’s been dead for three years suddenly turns up alive and well, and no-one’s going to ask any awkward questions?”

“But your family-“

She smiled sadly, her anger gone as suddenly as it had arrived. “I can’t go back to them. Ever since you and Natasha turned up here, I’ve wanted nothing more than to go back and find them. But I can’t. I can’t put them in danger.”

“So you should understand how I feel,” he countered. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“It’s not the same at all!” she hissed, her anger back in full force. “Don’t you dare equate your cowardice with me trying to protect my family! Don’t you dare!”

“I’m not a coward!” he shot back at her. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, because he couldn’t get angry. He couldn’t even risk hurting her.

“Yes, you are!” she replied, furious tears running down her face. “You want to run away from what’s happened to you, instead of facing up to it! I could end the world - did you ever think about that? And I will not run away from it. I’m not going to meekly hand the stone to someone else and let them worry about it, because it doesn’t work like that! I can’t get away from it - it will always keep trying to find me; it will always be there with me. So I have to learn to deal with it, to make sure I don’t end up killing every last soul on the damn planet! You’re worried about killing your friends? I’m worried about wiping out humanity!”

She stopped, breathing hard, furious. His mind was blank - she’d stunned him into silence. But even as he began to formulate a response, the anger drained out of her and the fear flooded back in, followed by the hurt. The tears of rage from before were still flowing, but now they were heart-broken tears. And he had to keep his own heart out of it. Whatever she said, he was right. However much she feared hurting others, she had control over herself - he didn’t have that luxury. He was doing the right thing.

“Jessie, I’m sorry,” he said. “But I haven’t changed my mind. I have to do this.”

Her eyes were full of betrayal and misery; his own heart broke. But he didn’t falter, he didn’t take it back - he had to do this. And when she finally answered, anger fuelled her words again, but this time a cold, hard anger, more like Natasha’s than his own. “I don’t think you should come here like this again. I think it would be better if it was just Natasha from now on. And I’ll carry my own water in the mornings.” Her voice broke on the last word as her tears overwhelmed her, and she turned and walked away. He followed a few steps after her, saying her name, but stopped when his foot landed on something soft. He reached down and picked up the jacket he’d given her - she’d discarded it as she left.

He stood for a very long time before he turned to go back to his own wagon. He wanted to be angry at her, to rail at her for being unfair, but all he could see in his head was her face, and the pain and distress etched across it. And he’d caused it. How could he be angry at her? How, in truth, could he have done anything to make her look that way?

Chapter Text

A noise outside the wagon woke her. Instantly alert, she sat up, reaching for her knife. It was probably just a common thief; she wouldn’t need anything more to deal with them. She slid silently towards the back of the wagon, finding Bucky’s shoulder in the dark with her hand to signal to him to stay back. He settled back down, although he’d been as ready to fight as she was.

Smoothly, noiselessly, she slid back the canopy to let herself out, only to jump as someone knocked on the side of the wagon. Whoever it was clearly wanted to get their attention. She poked her head out of the wagon cautiously - from the hint of dawn light in the east, she made out a man standing by their wagon, too small to be Steve. Her eyes narrowed - who was it? She observed him for a few more seconds. He kept looking over his shoulder, as if wary of being caught. As he raised his hand to knock again, he turned to face her - it was Michael. Her heart plummeted.

Before he could knock again, she spoke quietly. “What is it?”

He started, but recovered himself quickly and hurried towards her. She tightened her grip on the knife - he was the least villainous of Jessie’s companions, but this could still be a trap. But when he spoke, it became clear that it wasn’t - it was as she’d feared. “I need your help.”

“What happened to her?”

He hesitated, taken aback by the speed of her deduction. But as he remembered who he was talking to, he relaxed a fraction. “The others. They set upon her last night when she came back from here. I wasn’t there - I swear I would have stopped them.”

She barely had time to get out of the way before Bucky pushed past her and jumped down from the wagon. He loomed over Michael. “Where is she?”

Michael took a step back, retreating from the implicit threat. “In our wagon,” he said, the faintest tremble in his voice. He was scared but trying hard to hide it.

She jumped down beside Bucky. “Show us,” she said, laying a hand gently on Bucky’s arm. He was tense, wound tight like a spring - it wouldn’t take much to set him off. It would be better to leave him behind, but she couldn’t carry Jessie if it was needed, so he’d have to come along.

They followed Michael through the sleeping camp – he moved creditably quietly, though not so silently as either of his tails. She walked in front of Bucky - she’d see any trap quicker than he would. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if one of them got hurt. As they neared their destination, a light shone from one of the wagons. She narrowed her eyes - he’d left a candle burning in the wagon? Perhaps Jessie wasn’t so badly hurt after all.

But it was neither of those things - it was a thoroughly modern electric lamp, disguised to give off the soft glow of candlelight, similar to the ones T’Challa had given them. Jessie lay on a pallet near the lamp, and Natasha inhaled sharply at the sight of her. She turned to block Bucky’s view, but it was too late; he was too tall and too worried to be held back - he’d seen. The colour drained from his face - his eyes were fixed on Jessie’s pale, broken form, and they were haunted. Still, haunted was better than vengeful - that would come soon enough, but right now, she needed his help.

Motioning to Bucky to stay back, she climbed into the wagon and knelt at Jessie’s side, not entirely able to comprehend what she was seeing. She’d seen brutally beaten people before; she’d been one herself, even, but this - it was hard to believe Jessie was still alive. She reached for Jessie’s neck, feeling for a pulse - it was thready, but it was there; her breathing was shallow and fast. She was scarcely recognisable - both eyes were blackened, one swollen shut, one side of her face had collapsed in on itself, and blood was trickling from her broken nose. Gently, Natasha felt the back of her head and found a swelling the size of a duck egg - someone had kicked her in the head. Luckily, her skull was still intact - there were none of the telltale signs of broken, cracked bones.

Further examination revealed a broken collarbone, broken ribs, a smashed ruin of a wrist, a multitude of dark, evil bruises, and a knee that had been forcibly dislocated. Her own hands were trembling as she finished on a swollen ankle; the desire for vengeance was threatening to overtake her. She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow, and regained control. It wouldn’t help Jessie. Possibly, there was nothing that could help - the swelling on her head would be putting pressure on her brain, and could even now be killing her. But she had to try. And even if all she could do was to make Jessie’s last moments easier, then she would. Jessie would die among her friends, not surrounded by her enemies.

“Bucky,” she said softly, her eyes still on Jessie’s face, “I need you to carry Jessie back to our wagon. Make her as comfortable as you can. I’ll be along shortly.”

Thankfully, he obeyed without comment. He was still pale and his eyes were still haunted, unshed tears shining in them. He moved as if he was in a trance, but he lifted Jessie with infinite gentleness, as if she weighed no more than air, and carried her away.

Once he’d gone, she turned back to Michael. She didn’t bother to hide her anger - he quailed in the face of it, but bowed his head as if accepting his fate. But only for a second, before he looked up and offered her a box.

“I don’t know if it will help, but you’re welcome to it,” he said, opening it to show her the contents. Inside was a modern pharmacopoeia - HYDRA had come well-prepared. She took it from him and snapped it shut.

“This doesn’t make us even,” she warned him.

He nodded. “I know,” he replied. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.”

“Then like what?”

He looked at her, then away, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I didn’t want this. And they knew I’d protect her. So they waited until I wasn’t there. I should have seen it coming.”

She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. He wasn’t the right target for her anger. His distress over Jessie was genuine. “They won’t get another chance. She isn’t coming back.”

He nodded, a spark of hope in his eyes. “Do you think…?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll do everything I can.”

“If I’d just got there a little sooner, perhaps…”

“Don’t,” she interrupted him. “This isn’t your fault.” Her eyes fell on the wagon where the others, the people who’d done that to Jessie, were sleeping. It would be so easy to set it alight - they’d never know. She shook her head abruptly. Later. For now, she had to try to save Jessie; she was far more important.

Chapter Text

She was jolted awake by voices outside the wagon. Steve sat up beside her, already pulling on a shirt, even as the voices resolved into those of Bucky and Natalie. Natalie was pleading with Bucky not to do something; he was refusing to be stopped.

Steve was dressed and out of the wagon before she’d even processed that much, but she quickly followed, pulling her dress over her head and shoving her feet into unlaced boots. Outside the wagon, Natalie was pulling on Bucky’s arm, telling him not to go, that Jessie needed him more. Jessie? What was going on?

Bucky was trying to free himself from Natalie’s grasp – her grip was surprisingly strong. “Let me go!” he all but roared at her, finally pulling his arm free. He turned away from her and came face to face with Steve.

“What’s going on?” Steve was calm but alert.

“Jessie is dying,” Bucky spat back at him, and then, catching sight of Grace hovering anxiously, he turned the force of his wrath onto her. “And it’s all your fault!” Without another word, he strode away, leaving her reeling. Jessie was dying? But how? And how could it be her fault?

“Nat, what is this?” Steve had remained calm in the face of Bucky’s anger, but there was urgency in his voice now.

“They - they’ve hurt Jessie. Badly.” Natalie, usually so unflappable, gestured weakly behind her, to her wagon. “She’s in there. She’s…” Steve had already reached the wagon, pulling back a flap of the canopy. At his sharp intake of breath, Grace scurried to his side, even as he turned to stop her. But it was too late. That ruined face - could that really be Jessie? Her hands flew to her mouth; her legs gave way beneath her. Jessie…

Steve caught her before she hit the ground, and gently led her back to their wagon, sitting her down on the steps. His actions were completely at odds with his face, which was a stone mask. He was angry, angry beyond words.

“Steve,” Natalie said, a pleading note in her voice. “Please, stop him. He’ll kill them.”

It took him a moment to compose himself before he answered. “Would that be so bad?”

“Jessie wouldn’t want him to do this.”

“After what they did to her? I’m not sure that matters.”

“She doesn’t want him to - for his sake. He’s killed enough people - she doesn’t want any more on his conscience.”

Steve sighed, but he nodded. “I’ll try. But I can’t promise I won’t end up helping him.”

“Please, Steve… It will draw too much attention to them. There are things in their wagons that others shouldn’t see.” Her voice was delicate - her eyes flicked to Grace as she spoke. Grace frowned, but she was still too shocked to make sense of anything.

“I’ll do my best.”

“He’s strong. Very strong. And he’s angry.”

Steve’s look was pained as he met Natalie’s eyes. He nodded, took a deep breath, and left to find Bucky. Leaving her with Natalie, who only days before had hit her with so much force. Not enough to crumple her face like Jessie’s, though. She trembled, and the world started to spin again - how much would that have hurt? Had she even been able to feel it by then? Had they - a sob escaped her throat. Natalie looked across at the noise. She had to pull herself together, do something to help.

Natalie’s face was as cold as it had ever been. “Can I do anything?”

She turned away, going back to her own wagon. “Stay out of my way.”

“She’s my friend,” Grace replied, her voice wobbling.

Natalie looked over her shoulder. “Perhaps you should have remembered that a few days ago.’ With that, she was gone. She sat on the steps in stunned silence, willing the anger to rise, the anger that would give her back her strength and send her across to the other wagon full of fiery wrath at being kept from her friend’s bedside. But it didn’t come. Fear, shock, guilt, they were all there, but no anger - and she was shaking as hard as ever.

“Mommy?” She turned - James, his hair tousled, his serious face full of worry, stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Jessie is sick,” she replied quietly. “Natalie’s looking after her.”

“I want to see her!” was his immediate response, as he shoved his way out of the wagon. She caught him before he could wriggle past and pulled her onto his knee.

“No, darling,” she said softly, holding him close, “You need to stay out here, and not distract her.”

“But!”

“James,” she pleaded, desperately trying not to cry again. “Please.”

Something in her voice got through to him, because he subsided onto her lap. She sat there holding him, completely numb, and then she remembered Steve. He’d gone after a raging Bucky to try to stop him. Natalie had said he was strong, and she’d sent Steve, her gentle Steve, after him? He was strong, too, but he was no fighter! Bucky was all warrior - if Steve got between him and his prey, who knew what he’d do? She had to go after him, and tell him not to interfere. Whatever Bucky did to Jessie’s family, it was all they deserved. Far better they bore the brunt of his anger, than her poor Steve!

She stood suddenly. James’ startled squawk at being upended so unceremoniously reminded her that he’d been sitting on her lap, and she caught him before he fell. She sat him on the steps, and crouched in front of him. “James, I need you to do something very important for me.”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, Mommy - what is it?”

“I need you to sit here - right here - and guard our wagon. Can you do that?”

He nodded firmly, sitting up straight and puffing out his little chest. “What if someone comes?” he asked.

“Then shout very loudly,” she told him. “Natalie’s just over there. She’ll hear you, and she’ll come to help you.”

He nodded again, frowning with concentration. It was all she could do. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get bored and wander off. And if he did, he was most likely to go to Natalie, and she’d look after him.

And now she had to go.

She hurried through the camp as the day lightened around her. Steve moved much faster than she did - she was probably already too late. If only she’d pulled herself together sooner, if only she’d stopped him before he’d even left, if only she’d not had to deal with James, if only, if only, if only - it ran through her head like a refrain. People were stirring in the wagons she passed - hopefully, no one would venture out before she’d got Steve away from danger. She didn’t much care what happened to Bucky, whether they caught him or stopped him or took him down somehow. He’d always had the manner of a barely-tamed wild animal - and earlier, the wild animal had been out for blood. And it couldn’t be Steve’s…

But by the time she reached the Williams wagons, far out on the other side of the camp, she was too late. Jessie’s oldest brother was out cold on the ground, while the hired hand was slowly being reduced to a bloody pulp by Bucky’s relentless fists. Or at least he had been - as she came to the corner of the wagon, Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm, saying his name urgently and trying to pull him away. Her hands flew to her mouth in horror when Bucky, clearly in the grip of madness, turned and swung his other fist straight at Steve’s unprotected face.

But somehow, incredibly, Steve’s other hand got there first and caught the punch, taking the full brunt of it; he barely even flinched. And he kept calling Bucky’s name, telling him it was him, it was Steve, that he had to stop. At first, Bucky paid no heed, continuing to attack Steve as if he was the enemy. He moved so fast he was a blur, but even so, Steve parried every blow, moving every bit as fast. He never stopped saying Bucky’s name, not that it had much effect. It was surely only a matter of time before Steve missed and Bucky hit.

So she could only watch in open-mouthed amazement when Steve, tiring of fighting, bodily lifted Bucky off the ground and slammed him, hard, into a wagon. The wagon rocked under the force of the blow - the wheels lifted from the ground before it fell back with a thud. Where was this coming from? How could her Steve be capable of such violence?

Bucky continued to struggle, still not seeming to realise who he was fighting. Steve held him against the wagon, one forearm across his throat, cutting off his breathing, the other arm holding one of Bucky’s down by his side. Bucky’s other hand clawed at Steve’s arm, but he couldn’t get a grip.

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was sharp - he didn’t let up the pressure on his neck at all. “Bucky, it’s me! It’s Steve! Stop fighting me!”

And suddenly, it was if the world had come back into focus for Bucky. He stopped fighting, slumped against the wagon, and closed his eyes. Steve, still watchful, gently eased off his throat, at which he started to gulp in great lungfuls of air. Then he opened his eyes and stared at Steve. “Why did you stop me?” he asked, hoarsely.

“She wouldn’t want you to do this,” Steve answered sadly.

“I can’t just let them get away with it!”

“They’ll face justice - just not at your hands.”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “There’s no such thing as justice out here, Steve. If not me, then who?” He tried to push Steve aside, but Steve stood firm. “Let me do this! Why are you protecting them?”

Steve’s reply was quiet, but it carried to her. “I’m not. I’m protecting you.”

“I’m not in any danger, believe me.”

“Jessie thinks you are. She doesn’t want any more deaths on your conscience. Not on her account.”

She frowned - Natalie and Steve talked about Bucky like he was a mass murderer! But Steve’s words had hit home – Bucky backed away, his eyes haunted. “I can’t just do nothing, Steve. I can’t…”

“You should be with her. It’s where she’d want you to be.”

He shook his head violently, his eyes full of tears. “I can’t,” he said brokenly. “I’m not… I’m not strong enough.” Tears were running down her own cheeks - she never should have doubted his feelings for Jessie.

Steve put a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard,” he said quietly, “But you have to be strong for her. She needs you now.”

Bucky stared at Steve, his face that of a lost little boy. Her heart went out to him. She took a step towards him to comfort him herself, but stopped when Jessie’s spiteful sister-in-law stepped out from behind the other wagon, brandishing an outlandish weapon. It was like a pistol, but black and sleek and alien-looking - a gun from the future?

She was aiming it at Steve, completely unaware of the danger he was in, but even as Grace started to call out a warning, Bucky saw the danger and reacted. He pushed Steve behind him, shielding him with his own body, and moved with incredible speed towards Hannah, throwing his left arm up in front of his face as she fired. The sound was muted, not like the crack as a rifle fired, but it hadn’t misfired, because a bullet hit Bucky - it could hardly miss from that range. But he didn’t sink to the ground with a hole in his stomach - in fact, he barely flinched. It was as if the bullet had just bounced off him.

Hannah, panicking now, raised the gun to fire again as Bucky swiftly closed the distance between them, but Michael suddenly appeared behind her and hit her sharply on the head with another of the strange guns. She dropped to the ground, unconscious, leaving Bucky and Michael facing each other warily. Grace no longer had any idea what was going on - but at least Steve was safe.

She stepped towards him, to make sure that he was unhurt, but he strode past without seeing her, to where Bucky and Michael stood.

“How is she?” Michael asked cautiously. He was still holding the gun, but even as he spoke, he seemed to realise, and dropped it beside his downed sister-in-law.

“Dying,” Bucky replied, his voice breaking on the word.

Michael closed his eyes, as if genuinely grieved by the news. Grace frowned; Jessie’s family had been cruel to her before, but never like this - why would they do it? And why did Bucky think it was her fault? And why was he not trying to make Michael pay like the others? He wasn’t as bad as the rest of them, but he was still complicit. He must have known what was happening, but done nothing to stop it, or Jessie wouldn’t be the way she was. And how did they have those guns? They weren’t from the future - were they?

“I’m so sorry,” Michael said, breaking into her whirling thoughts. “I wish I’d got there sooner.” Well, that answered that.

“At least you got here fast enough this time,” Steve responded, his tone hard. Why was he so angry? But of course - Bucky’s rush towards Hannah had put him directly in the firing line, and he hadn’t cared if he got hit or not. Of course Steve was angry.

Michael looked down at Hannah, still prone at his feet. “It was a pleasure,” he said. “This was all her doing. She always hated Jessie. Because she wasn’t loyal.” Then he muttered, “At least that’s what she said.”

“That’s what happens when you brainwash people.”

Steve was still angry. Brainwash? What did that mean? “I don’t believe in brainwashing people.” Michael was looking at Bucky as he spoke. “I don’t think we needed it. It’s not like we struggled to recruit people. Why force someone who didn’t want to be part of it to join?” He paused, nodded towards Steve, and added, “I sounded her out for recruitment once, but it was obvious her loyalties lay with you. I didn’t see a staunch supporter of HYDRA’s greatest enemy ever joining us.” He paused again, looked uncomfortably at Bucky, but continued, “If only she’d never picked up that stone. None of this would have been possible. But of course, once she did, we had to have her - the only person alive who’d survived an encounter with the Time Stone.”

She reeled with the implications of his words, but put it aside - she had to keep listening.

“But brainwashing is an inexact science - not everyone succumbs to it easily, and she was no exception.” He looked at Bucky again. “I’ve only known one person more resistant than she was. Although I think the stone had something to do with it. Or maybe not - any time someone mentioned Captain America around her, it broke the conditioning.” He looked back at Steve. “You have quite an effect.”

Steve remained silent. His back was straight; she didn’t need to see his face to know his jaw would be set. Michael continued, “And that’s why she ended up here, stuck in the past with the rest of us. And it didn’t take long for the brainwashing to wear off. Since then, fear has been the only way to keep her compliant. But the others took ‘fear’ to mean not just fear of violence, but actual violence.”

“And you tried to stop them every time.” Steve didn’t sound at all convinced.

“As much as I could,” Michael replied. “Since it’s become abundantly clear that our mission has failed, I’ve done my best to stop all of it. What’s the point - HYDRA’s gone.” Who was this HYDRA? There was so much Steve hadn’t told her.

“How’d you figure that?” Steve again.

“Because Bucky Barnes turned up looking for his old friend, Steve Rogers,” Michael replied calmly. “If HYDRA was still around, there’s no way that would happen. He’d still be under their control, not working with the Black Widow.” Did he mean Natalie?

“Your other time-traveller went back to the wrong time, after Steve took down HYDRA.” Bucky finally spoke, his voice ravaged with grief.

“I figured as much,” Michael replied. “The others – they haven’t realised yet.”

“So what? You’ve just given up?” Steve’s voice carried an edge of scorn.

“What’s the point in fighting? HYDRA’s gone, and with it, the chance for the world to be safe.”

“Says you.” Steve wasn’t giving any quarter.

Michael smiled bitterly. “Says me. But things being as they are, the world probably needs its Captain America now.” His eyes flicked over to Bucky. “Maybe even its Winter Soldier. And Jessie - I’d have wanted her to live. It’s the least she deserved.”

“You don’t have to stay here,” Steve said suddenly. “We can take you back.”

The bitter smile returned to Michael’s face. He shook his head. “There’s nothing there for me now. You don’t want to take someone like me back.” He looked around, at his fallen comrades. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can, but you really shouldn’t stick around here. They’ll come for you, and they might get lucky.”

She’d heard enough. It was abundantly obvious that Jessie was from the future, that she was one of the people that, as Bucky had put it, the stone ‘liked’, and she’d been forced into working against Steve, a man she clearly idolised. Grace should be angry with her - she’d spied on them, lied to them - but she couldn’t be. Not with her dying in Natalie’s wagon. She’d never wanted to hurt them. And now, more than anything, Grace wanted to be with her, to tell her, if it was in any way possible, that she wasn’t angry anymore, that she didn’t care what she’d done, because Jessie was her friend. She turned and hurried back towards her own wagon, praying she wouldn’t be too late.

Chapter Text

Jessie lay broken in Natasha’s wagon, her pulse weak, her breathing laboured, and there was nothing she could do. Jessie was too badly hurt, too damaged for her to save. All she could do was watch as Jessie’s life ebbed out of her, powerless to stop it. Powerless and angry. She’d sent Steve after Bucky, to stop him killing the others, but she wouldn’t be disappointed if he’d been too late. They deserved to die a horrible death at Bucky’s hands, to feel the same bloodcurdling terror that Jessie must have felt as they rained blows down upon her, breaking her, ending her life. Natasha’s hands curled into fists - if Steve had succeeded in stopping Bucky, she’d go and finish his work. They would pay for this.

She’d found morphine in the box Michael had given her. It was out of date, but hopefully still potent enough to ease Jessie’s passing. It was all she could do to help. Fury overwhelmed her again - these injuries shouldn’t be life-threatening. Back in her own time, they wouldn’t be. If they got Jessie to a hospital, they could be treated. She’d be a long time recovering, but she would recover. But here, in this terrible backwater of a time, out in the middle of nowhere, there was no hope. Jessie would die, and nothing Natasha or anyone else could do could stop her.

She glared at the box that held the Time Stone. It might be irrational, but she blamed it for all of this. If it hadn’t turned up when it had, if it hadn’t found its way into HYDRA’s hands, if it hadn’t weaselled its way into Jessie’s lab that day, none of this would have happened. And she wouldn’t be here, hurting. Hurting was weakness; she hated the stone for putting her in a position where she felt this way. And why hadn’t it protected Jessie? It had before when she’d been in mortal danger - what was different this time? Had it been ordained somehow? And how stupid was that - it was the master of all of time - and it couldn’t stop Jessie dying in such a pointless way?

Master of all of time… She looked sharply at the box again. Perhaps it could help. If Jessie could only get to the future, she’d be saved. And the stone could take her there. The rest of them would be left stranded in the past, but Jessie would come back for them. She’d never leave Bucky lost in time. Or Steve. She’d come back. If she could. What if she wasn’t able to? It was a risk - but it was equally a risk to let Jessie die, and rely on her own non-existent skill with the stone to get them all home. On their way here, she’d planned to find Steve and bring him back - one extra person. But with Grace and James as well… They could all end up spinning through time, ending up who knew where. They needed Jessie to do it - she could move as many people as she wanted. But the only way to save her was to let the stone take her, and trust to luck that she’d come back for them. Natasha had never liked trusting to luck - much better to have things under her own control. But this wasn’t under her control, and if she didn’t act quickly, a young girl would die. A girl who didn’t deserve to die, a girl whose death would do untold damage to Barnes’ already fragile psyche, a girl who mattered. So she had to take the risk.

She reached for the box and reluctantly cracked it open. The stone lay on its cushioned bed, giving off its eerie green glow, even more malevolent than usual. Why couldn’t it have been bright sunny orange? She opened the box wide and laid it down beside Jessie, barely breathing, barely surviving.

“You’d better help her,” she muttered, lifting Jessie’s limp, unresponsive hand - as if a cosmic entity like the Time Stone cared for her impotent threats. She hesitated - was this really the wise thing to do? Perhaps not, but it was the right thing. With a decisive movement, she placed Jessie’s hand on the stone and pulled her own hand back sharply.

She waited for the green glow from the stone to envelop Jessie, like it had before, as it carried her off to the future. But while the stone’s glow did indeed surround Jessie, she didn’t disappear. Instead, in front of Natasha’s startled eyes, her injuries began to vanish, the swelling on her ankle dying down to nothing, her knee snapping back into wholeness, the patchwork of bruises fading from her skin, her wrist fixing itself with a crack, her collarbone and cheekbone reforming. Her broken nose righted itself, the blood trickling from it receded, her eyes unblackened. In moments, the stone had healed her, melting away her injuries. The glow persisted for a few more seconds, then dwindled into nothing, leaving Jessie lying as if asleep.

Natasha hardly dared to breathe - had she really just seen that? It was nothing short of a miracle - an awe-inspiring demonstration of the stone’s power. She reached forward tentatively, ready to jump back at the slightest sign of activity from the stone, and gently lifted Jessie’s hand from it. The stone made no objection, so with a snap, she closed the box and thrust it behind her, out of the way. She laid her fingers along Jessie’s throat, feeling for her pulse - it was strong and steady. Her chest was rising and falling, taking in slow, deep breaths. She slid her hand gently behind Jessie’s head, searching for the egg-shaped lump that had worried her the most - it was gone. She was healed.

And then Jessie opened her eyes.

For an instant, time stood still - Jessie staring at Natasha, Natasha staring at Jessie, neither moving, neither reacting. And then Jessie blinked, and time began to move again. Natasha sat back, keeping her face impassive, masking her unease. Because Jessie had been marked by the stone. Her eyes, once a clear, flawless blue, were now green like the stone. And in that frozen instant, the colours had been moving and swirling, just like they did in the stone’s depths. In healing Jessie, it had taken the opportunity to claim her. Had that been its intent all along? To allow Jessie to come so close to death, only to swoop in and save her, forever linking her to its fortunes? And was Jessie still Jessie, or had it possessed her?

Jessie had watched her silently while those thoughts had flashed through her mind. Her expression was spooked, as if things weren’t quite how she remembered them. “Where am I?”

At least she still sounded like Jessie, anyway. “You’re in my wagon,” she replied cautiously. “Bucky carried you here, after…”

Jessie frowned, as if remembering, or - listening? “After the others - hurt me,” Jessie finished. “But I’m not hurt anymore.”

“No,” Natasha agreed. “The stone healed you.”

Jessie frowned again, tilting her head to one side - she was definitely listening to something, but there was nothing to listen to. But she’d done this before - she’d said the stone tried to talk to her. Was it doing that now? “Yes,” she suddenly said, making Natasha jump, “It reversed time, reversed the effects, took me back to a time before I was hurt.” Her voice was detached as she spoke.

“So that’s how it did it,” she replied. “I thought it might take you to the future, where you could be saved. You were dying, Jessie.”

“Yes,” Jessie said again, still with that detached tone to her voice. “I was. But I’m not now.”

“Do you remember any of it?” she asked curiously – how would it feel to have a beating undone? Would it hurt as much the second time round?

Jessie shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I remember them waiting for me when I came back. I remember them surrounding me, telling me they knew my secret.” She was trembling. “I remember…” Her voice broke, and she covered her face.

“It’s ok,” Natasha said quickly. “Don’t think about it. It’s over now.”

Jessie pushed herself up into a sitting position, full of a vitality that had been missing from her before. Hard to believe that not half an hour ago, she’d been lying there, a broken wreck of a person - the stone had clearly done more than heal her. But she was taking deep, gulping breaths; whatever power now coursed through her veins, she wasn’t mistress of it yet.

“You’re not going back to them, either,” she continued calmly, responding to the frightened girl rather than the god-like entity inside her. “You’re safe now.”

Jessie turned frightened eyes on her - those strange, unsettling eyes that she hadn’t adjusted to. She flinched from them, and Jessie noticed, immediately knowing something was wrong. “What?” she asked.

Instead of telling her, Natasha wordlessly handed her a mirror, a good mirror that she’d brought from the future. Jessie took it from her warily and looked at herself. She gasped, and then looked at Natasha, horror in those strange eyes. “What has it done to me?”

Natasha shrugged. “I think you’d know that better than me,” she replied. Awkwardly, in the face of eyes that suddenly seemed accusing, she went on, “I had no idea it would do this. I thought it would take you to get help, and that you’d come back for us once you’d recovered. I didn’t even know it could do this.”

Jessie shrugged, then her shoulders slumped. “It’s wanted me for ages. Stands to reason it would take any chance it got.”

“And you’re ok with that?”

“Not remotely. But I think I always knew it would happen.” She laughed, a bitter, humourless laugh. “Of course I did. I’m mistress of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jessie shrugged again. “You did what you thought was right. Possibly what was right. You couldn’t have known.” She smiled again, still bitter. “It’s telling me that this was always meant to be; it’s been waiting for me through the ages. It is being insufferably smug at the moment.”

“You can hear it?”

Jessie nodded. “I always could, when it was nearby. It hummed at me, but I could only ever catch bits of what it was trying to tell me. But now I understand it all.”

“Is it evil?”

Jessie considered for a second, then shook her head. “I don’t think evil is something you can apply to it. It’s so old and so powerful - terms like good and evil are meaningless.”

“But it has a purpose.”

“I think so. I don’t know; it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded slowly, taking the hint and stopping the interrogation. Silence fell between them, both of them lost in their thoughts. It was broken by an insistent knocking on the side of the wagon, and Grace’s strident tones.

“Natalie! I demand that you let me in to see Jessie! She’s my friend, and I have the right to be with her! When she - when she…”

Her words died away and she gave a choking sob. Before Natasha could react, Jessie had reached over and pulled back the canopy. “Grace, it’s alright, I’m-“

Grace shrieked - she actually shrieked as if she’d seen a ghost. James, in her arms, also squawked, but it was a squawk of happiness at seeing Jessie - he flung himself from his mother’s arms into the wagon and from there into Jessie’s waiting embrace. Laughing, she cuddled him close, and all of a sudden, she was just Jessie again, the same Jessie they’d all got to know, and, to varying degrees, love.

“How - how is that possible? I saw you, Jessie! You were - you were - broken! I couldn’t even be sure it was you, you were so…”

Grace’s eyes flooded with tears, and she too climbed into the wagon and threw her arms around Jessie. Jessie, surprised at Grace’s reaction (and no wonder, considering that the last time they’d spoken, she’d banished her as a whore), nonetheless returned the hug fiercely, although she didn’t answer.

Luckily, Grace seemed more interested in the fact that Jessie was better than how such a miracle had occurred. She pulled back from their embrace and stared at Jessie. She noticed her newlyaugmented eyes, swallowed hard, and ignored them. “Well, no matter - none of that is important right now. What matters is that you’re better, and you’re safe. Because you are not going back there - you’re staying here, where we can keep an eye on you. Understood?”

Jessie, hiding a smile, nodded obediently. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered, quietly.

Grace nodded firmly, as if it was only her due. “I’m glad we’ve got that sorted,” she replied. “Now, what happened to your eyes?”

Chapter Text

Steve had helped Michael drag his unconscious colleagues into their wagons, to hide them from the rest of the train. Bucky had stayed back, not volunteering his assistance - he didn’t trust himself around Jessie’s attackers. Once it was done, Michael had gone to find the captain, to beg a day’s rest for his family, who’d ‘fallen ill suddenly’, but he was really doing it for their sakes, to give them time to say goodbye to Jessie.

And now he had to go back and do just that. It was hard to believe she was actually dying - how could she be so alive and passionate one moment, and so broken and still the next? Had it been his fault? He’d upset her deeply - had that meant she hadn’t seen the danger until it was too late? And how could the last thing he’d said to her be the words that had broken her heart? Jessie wasn’t going to wake up before she died; he wasn’t going to get the chance to make things right. She’d die thinking he didn’t want to be with her, that he was a coward - and she was right, on the second count, anyway.

Because here he was, too afraid to face up to the reality, too afraid to be with her in her final hours - too afraid to see his failure. He’d sworn to protect her and he’d failed, and her broken, battered body was the proof of that. He couldn’t bear seeing her like that again - he wanted to remember her whole and happy, not maimed and lifeless.

But he would. He had to. If there was the slightest chance she might know what was going on, she’d know he was there with her, right to the end. He owed her that much.

Steve walked beside him, silent, but there was grief in his eyes - he blamed himself, that he hadn’t protected her better, wondering if his hesitation in telling Grace the truth had cost Jessie her life. But it hadn’t - this was all his fault. Yet another death to lay at his door, another body broken and battered because of him. How could Steve even stand to look at him? Why had he kept trying to save him, and not just let him sink into oblivion? Everything he did ended badly. He brought death and suffering to everyone around him.

As they neared the wagons, his steps slowed, slower and slower the closer they came. He might not be able to do this after all. He stopped, taking deep breaths, wanting to scream, wanting to hit something. He clenched his fists, screwed his eyes shut, desperate not to cry. He couldn’t cry - he didn’t get to cry.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was gentle.

“I can’t, Steve. I can’t.” He was crying after all. Steve’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder and squeezed.

“You can. I’ll be with you. You’re not on your own.” After all this time, Steve was still saving him. He opened his eyes slowly, found Steve watching him, concern, sympathy and pain all warring in his face. Pain that he was hurting. He didn’t deserve such a friend.

He took a deep breath, nodded, and turned back towards his wagon. Praying to a God he’d long ago stopped believing in that he might have the strength to do this, because she needed him, he took one step forward, and then another. One step at a time – nothing beyond that.

But as they rounded the corner of the wagon, an unexpected scene was waiting for them. A fire was burning merrily, the smell of coffee and griddle cakes was in the air. Grace bustled around, James at her heels, as she searched for cups and plates, while Natasha knelt by the fire, cooking. But what about Jessie - she was dying, and Natasha had left her to make breakfast? Or - oh God, was he already too late? And how cold could one woman be, to be making breakfast so soon after someone had died?

But just as his temper started to rise, everything suddenly snapped into focus. That wasn’t Natasha by the fire, it was somehow, miraculously, Jessie. Jessie wearing one of Natasha’s dresses, her hair pulled back the way Natasha usually wore hers, Jessie healed and whole again. He must have made a noise, because she turned suddenly to look at him. She swallowed, wiped her hands on Natalie’s beautiful, expensive dress, and climbed to her feet, facing him. There wasn’t a mark on her - no bruises, no black eyes, no blood. She was entire and whole, unbroken and beautiful. How was this even possible? He tore his eyes away from her to glance at Steve, to check if he was seeing things. But no - Steve was staring in amazement too. If this was Jessie’s ghost, Steve saw it too.

He turned back to Jessie, still standing awkwardly by the fire. She was watching him, her expression neutral, wary even – not surprising, after their last encounter. But in spite of those harrowing memories, he smiled; how could he not? She wasn’t dead, far from it - she looked more alive than he’d ever seen her. He stepped towards her slowly, gently, afraid that if he got too close, she’d vanish like smoke and turn out to be a dream, after all. But she didn’t - she just stood there, watching him approach, nothing in her manner either encouraging or discouraging. He stopped in front of her, close enough to touch her, and she was still there. Her eyes… Her eyes were very definitely different, the Time Stone was swirling in their depths, but other than that, she was Jessie. And she was real, breathing rapidly, like she was nervous. But he still had to be sure - had to know she was real. He lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek. She flinched away slightly but she was solid and substantial - no ghost.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to pick her up and swing her round, but he was acutely aware of being watched, by Grace, by Steve, by Natasha, who’d appeared silently from somewhere. And there was a look in Jessie’s strange and bewitching eyes that said it wouldn’t be welcome. But she was alive, and well, and safe - all of his prayers had been crazily, miraculously answered. He fell to his knees in front of her, his hands coming up to steady himself on her waist, then he buried his head in her midriff, and burst into tears. She stiffened, and for a long time she merely stood there, still as a statue, letting him hold her, but doing nothing to encourage him, until her hand gently settled in his hair. Nothing more than that, but still, he cried harder. This was unexpected grace and he wasn’t equal to dealing with it.

But gradually, his sobs subsided. It was time to face her anger, or whatever else she wanted to throw at him. She had every right to be angry - however she came to be healed, she’d been beaten because of him. He’d upset her, sent her fleeing from him into their trap with no defences against it. He’d been the reason she was banished by Grace in the first place - he should have had more selfcontrol, should have seen that Grace was at breaking point, and not pushed things so far. Jessie’s hurt, her injuries, all of it was his fault. She could be as angry as she liked and he’d take it. He let her go and climbed back to his feet. He took in her frozen face, still locked in that neutral expression, drank in every other detail of her, not quite able to stop smiling. She was alive against all the odds - he’d been given another chance to protect her. He wouldn’t waste it this time. This time he’d keep her safe.

“Jessie.” He only said her name, but he put all his relief and joy and disbelief that he’d been do blessed into that one word.

“Bucky.” Her reply was guarded.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he said, trying to melt her reserve. “That you’re here, that you’re not…” He couldn’t finish, couldn’t even think it.

She nodded. “Natasha saved me,” she said quietly. “Natasha and the stone.”

“I can see that,” he replied, smiling softly. “They suit you.”

She shook her head, muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch. “There’s always a price,” she said eventually.

He nodded. “I wish I could have been the one to pay it,” he replied. “I’d do anything for you.”

Her answering look was hard and unfriendly - he’d said completely the wrong thing. “Anything except stay with me,” she replied, bitterly. She pushed past him and stalked away, leaving him watching her helplessly.

Steve tried to speak to her as she passed him, but she ignored him too, walking straight past him. He exchanged a quick look with Natasha, who motioned with her head for him to go after her - without a word, he turned and followed her. Natasha, meanwhile, had turned her attention to Bucky.

“What did you do?”

He winced. “I told her that when we go back to the future, I’m going back into cryo until they can fix me.”

Natasha’s look was so cold, he could have frozen then and there. “You idiot,” she said, her voice low and venomous. Before he could defend himself, she continued, “What is wrong with you? Making a mistake once I can understand, although I’m still not sure I forgive you, but twice? Hurting twice as many people this time?” She shook her head. “Are you actually mentally deficient, or just incredibly selfish?”

She was actually fuming - he’d never seen her like this before. “How is it selfish to want to stop myself from being a threat to everyone around me?” he fired back at her, angry in turn. “So it is just selfishness,” she replied scornfully. “Pretending that you’re doing this for everyone else, so considerate and caring, when really all you’re doing is running away!”

“Do you have any idea of what I can do?” His voice was low and dangerous - from the corner of his eye, he saw Grace pick James up and retreat. Probably wise.

“I know all too well,” Natasha retorted. “You’ve practised on me quite a lot. But this isn’t the way to deal with it!”

“I nearly killed you!”

“Only because you were lucky enough to take me on without my bites both times,” she snapped back. “If I’d had them, you’d have been on the floor twitching before you even got close.”

He glared at her, but she had a point. He’d seen her using them to great effect against T’Challa. And he himself might be enhanced, but he wasn’t proof against several thousand volts of electricity. His time with HYDRA had proved that much.

“But you didn’t,” he said eventually. “You’re incredibly lucky to be alive.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said, tightly. “But I’ve learned. Here, now, if you tried anything, I could take you down. You’re not invincible, Barnes.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I’m faster than you. Stronger than you.”

“And I’ve spent all my life training to take down people bigger, faster, and stronger than me. You don’t want to try me.” He rolled his eyes, but she continued, ignoring him, “And I’m nothing special. Just an ordinary, average human being. Just imagine what Steve could do to you. Or Wanda - you think you’re proof against the Mind Stone’s powers? And that’s assuming we can’t stop you from being triggered in the first place. Now we know there’s a risk, we have contingencies.”

“There’s still a risk-“ he argued, closing his eyes.

“And now we have your girlfriend. An Infinity Stone is hers to command - she can manipulate time. If all else failed, you really think she couldn’t stop you? She could turn you back to before you even heard the words - she can do that.” She smirked, her trademark Natasha Romanoff smirk. “Face it, Barnes, you’re not even the most dangerous one in your relationship.”

It made a sick kind of sense. Jessie had even tried to tell him, but he hadn’t listened. He hadn’t wanted to - because she’d been right, as Natasha was right - that he was running away from his past. From the monstrous things he’d done. Because how did you deal with that? How did you get past it? How many times had he thought it would be better for everyone if he was dead? Because if he was, then none of this would matter. Because living with the enormity of his crimes was too hard. He swallowed, feeling tears prick his eyes again. He was a monster - how could anyone love him? Why would Jessie tie herself to him - why would Steve not give up on him?

“Because they see the good in you.” Natasha answered his unspoken question. “You’ve done bad things, but you didn’t choose to do them. Here, now, the man you are - you don’t do that. You’re drowning under the weight of what you’ve done; a bad man doesn’t do that. Only a good one does.”

“I’m not a hero,” he ground out.

“No,” she replied. “But you’re still good. What you’ve done hurts you. And you can’t put it right. But you can atone - you can at least try. It helps - a little.” He reluctantly met her eyes, their expression haunted. She wasn’t just reading him - she knew it all firsthand. She’d been through exactly what he was going through now - and she’d survived.

“How do you do it?”

She looked away. “Mostly by not thinking about it,” she said eventually. “It’s done - I can’t change it. Crying over it isn’t going to bring anyone back. But I have these skills, and now I use them to save lives instead of take them. Try to balance the books - I never will, but it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. I’m still a monster, but at least I’m on the right side now.”

He had no words for her. This was a side of her he’d never seen before - a side he didn’t think existed. It should have been comforting, but it wasn’t - he could only feel pity. He didn’t tell her that - she’d never forgive him.

“And you have people who want to help you,” she continued. “You should let them.”

“I don’t deserve them,” he replied miserably.

“We don’t all get what we deserve,” she replied flippantly. Then, more seriously, she added, “What happened to you – what HYDRA did to you - you didn’t deserve that. Whatever you’ve done since, whatever you have to atone for - maybe Steve and Jessie are recompense for what you suffered. Your victims weren’t the only victims in this, so take it for what it is and don’t question it. It’s a gift. Don’t run away from them. You need them - and they need you.” Her gaze slid over his shoulder and she smiled softly. She was gone before he’d turned around to see.

He found Jessie and Steve watching him. Jessie’s expression was still contained, giving nothing away; Steve’s was full of concern. Bucky tried to smile at him, but it fractured and broke, never making it to his eyes. But Natasha was right - whether he deserved them or not, these were his people; he had to take care of them. He smiled again; it held this time. Jessie didn’t respond but Steve smiled back at him. He moved forward, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he went past, muttering about seeing if Grace needed any help.

Leaving him alone with Jessie. Natasha’s comment about him not being the dangerous one ran through his head - what if Jessie decided to use her powers on him? He didn’t want to spend the rest of his short life pursued by angry, hungry dinosaurs. He grinned – Jessie frowned. He stopped smiling abruptly - best not to tempt fate.

After a few seconds, he crossed to her and drank in the sight of her, still not quite able to believe she was alive. She eyed him uncertainly, but there was no hostility in her gaze. He’d tell her what he should have told her last time, and hope.

“Jessie,” he began, “I’m sorry. What I said last time – last night - I was wrong. You were right; I was being a coward. Running away instead of facing up to it.” Her expression hadn’t changed but she was definitely listening. “I still think you’d be better off without me holding you back, but I accept that’s not my choice to make. When I saw you this morning - when I thought I’d lost you - I… I couldn’t do that to you. I won’t go back into cryo - I’ll face up to what I did. Try to atone. Stay with you. If you’ll - well, if you’ll let me, anyway.”

His words were met with silence. He sighed inwardly. He had to make the realisation too late, didn’t he? He’d ruined everything before it even had a chance to start. Natasha was right - he was an idiot.

“You can stay.” Her voice jolted him out of his recriminations - he stared at her, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “But don’t you ever do anything like that to me again.” He shook his head, trying to keep the wild grin off his face. “Or I don’t know what I’ll do. And I have a lot more power at my disposal now.”

Now she was struggling not to smile. They stared at each other for a few seconds more, then she flung herself into his arms, his willing, waiting arms. “Don’t you ever leave me,” she said into his shoulder, her tone fierce.

“No, ma’am,” he replied into her hair. “Not ever.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take Steve long to follow her, leaving Bucky and Jessie to their reconciliation. Once he’d ascertained that Grace had things in hand with the breakfast and James, he came across to her. “How did that happen?” he asked, his voice registering his disbelief that Jessie could be healed as if nothing had happened to her.

She shrugged. “The stone. It’s a cosmic entity, with cosmic abilities - it probably wasn’t much of a challenge for it.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m just glad it could help,” he said, eventually. “I felt like it was all my fault. And to do that, to her, to Bucky-”

“I think we all felt like that,” she replied quietly. “We all messed up.” Her eyes flickered across to Grace.

Steve caught her look and frowned. “It wasn’t her fault,” he said. “She had no idea what the consequences would be.”

She eyed him coolly but let it go - as Bucky kept reminding her, she couldn’t judge Grace by her own standards. “At least she knows now,” she said finally, the best she could manage as an olive branch.

Steve shrugged awkwardly. “She only knows what I’ve been able to tell her, and that’s only what Bucky has told me.” He sighed, then continued, “We spoke to Michael earlier, when… He said we shouldn’t stick around here much longer. The others will come for us and they’ll target the weaker ones.”

She nodded. “You won’t find me arguing with that.”

“But that’s the problem. I can’t tell Grace any more about the future. I don’t remember it. And I don’t think it’s fair to ask her to go there without at least giving her some warning of what it will be like.” He sighed again. “So what I’m saying is - could you talk to her?”

“I’m really not the right person,” she replied immediately. “I’ve already told her too many lies, plus - she’s not exactly my favourite person right now. And nor am I hers.”

A flicker of impatience crossed his face. “You could always try apologising.”

“I can’t apologise for something I’m not sorry about.”

“Nat,” he said, warningly.

“I mean it,” she replied, interrupting him before he could say any more. “What she said was inexcusable.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he spoke. “I know,” he eventually admitted. “But the same could be said of you hitting her.” Her eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of that, but he hurried on, “You’re a terrifying woman, Nat. You’re also a lot stronger than she is. You shouldn’t have done it.”

When the stoniest look she could muster didn’t move him, she rolled her eyes. He had a point. “Fine. I’ll try. But you’re still better off getting Bucky to talk to her about the future.”

He nodded. “He’s done a lot to try to help her. I don’t entirely understand why.”

“Yes, you do. He’s your best friend for a reason.” He smiled, acknowledging her point. “He doesn’t think much of himself, but you know better. You know him for the kind, decent, good man he really is. It’s a good thing that someone does.”

“I don’t think I’m the only one,” he replied, looking at her meaningfully. She shrugged, accepting his point in turn - she hadn’t expected the Winter Soldier, stone-cold assassin, to actually be a goodnatured, empathetic, caring man, but he was. And she should have known it - like she’d just said, he was Steve’s best friend for a reason.

She sighed. “I just hope that I haven’t turned Jessie into some kind of otherworldly god-like being, and she’s not going to evolve into something far beyond the petty concerns of mortal man,” she said, finally releasing the worry that had been building up inside her. “I really don’t think that would be good for him.”

“You haven’t,” Steve replied firmly.

“You’ve seen her eyes… The stone is inside her now.”

“She’s still Jessie. She’s still our friend.”

He was just like he’d been about Wanda. “She could probably end the world if she wanted to.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think she wants to.” He paused, then added, “But if her friends and family, the people who love her and are supposed to protect her, if they’re afraid of her, that’s when things might start to change.”

She smiled suddenly. “Oh, Steve,” she said, “I’ve missed you.” At his look of confusion, she continued, “You always see the best in everyone. And you always expect the best of them. And you always believe in them. And then, it generally turns out that way. You have no idea the effect you have on people.”

“She’s my friend,” he replied, as if it was obvious. “She’s a good person, and I do believe in her. And whatever that stone has done to her, whatever powers it’s given her, she’s still Jessie.”

Whereas she’d never be able to look at Jessie without seeing a threat. She liked Jessie, she’d fight for her, protect her, help her and work with her, but she’d always be waiting for the moment she became a danger, would always have a hundred and one contingency plans to deal with her when that moment came. If only she could see the world the way Steve did.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t see the potential for danger in her,” Steve said, breaking into her thoughts. Sometimes he was nearly as good as she was at reading people. “It’s not a bad way to be.”

“I-” She stopped, took a breath and tried again. “I used to see myself in her. Who I could have been, I mean. But I think she’s gone way beyond that now.”

“I still think she can learn a lot from you.” He grinned. “She could do with a big sister.”

Her look was calculated to freeze his blood in terror but instead, he laughed, actually laughed. He was worse than Bucky. Something would have to be done about that. “She already has one,” she replied, biting off each word at the end. But even as she spoke, an idea occurred to her. She missed Steve’s response, too deep in thought - Jessie had used the stone’s powers to show her and Bucky her past. Could she do the same with Steve and give him back his memories? He’d lost them because of the stone - could Jessie persuade it to give them back?

“What is it?” Steve asked her, realising she’d been ignoring him.

“I have an idea,” she replied slowly. “I need to talk to Jessie.”

Chapter Text

They shared a strange, silent breakfast that morning, everyone lost in a world of their own. The silence was eventually broken by the trail captain, come to tell them the party was resting for the day on account of illness in one of the wagons. He meant the Williams’ wagon, of course (or HYDRA or whoever they were), no doubt still recovering from being knocked unconscious. Quite possibly still unconscious - Bucky hadn’t been gentle.

But Jessie’s reaction to the captain’s appearance was very odd. She was putting the dishes away when he arrived, and deliberately ducked out of his sight into the shadow of the wagon, only emerging once he’d gone. But before Grace could ask about her curious behaviour, Jessie walked across to Bucky, an entirely unreadable expression in her peculiar eyes.

“What exactly happened when you went to confront them?” Jessie asked, mildly enough.

But Bucky was having trouble meeting her eyes. “I…” His voice trailed away to nothing. “I didn’t really confront them, as such,” he tried again. “I more just started hitting them.”

Jessie raised her eyebrows, but didn’t speak. Presently, he continued, “Steve stopped me before I did too much damage. And then Michael knocked your sis-Hannah out before I could.”

She couldn’t help but interrupt at that point. “Which was a good thing, before she shot you with that funny gun.”

Jessie went very still, but continued to look steadily at Bucky. He’d turned to look at Grace in surprise, with a hint of betrayal, like she’d just got him into trouble. But of course, he hadn’t known she’d been watching. “It was very brave the way you confronted her,” Grace continued. “Although I still don’t understand how you didn’t get hurt when she shot you the first time.” He closed his eyes, wincing slightly.

“Shot you - the first time,” Jessie repeated.

Bucky slowly opened his eyes to look at her uncomfortably. “It was me or Steve,” he muttered. “And there are parts of me that can take it.”

“It’s hardly a shield, Bucky,” Jessie replied steadily.

He shrugged. “It works pretty well, though,” he said, extending his palm towards her.

Jessie took his hand and studied it. Grace, afire with curiosity, moved forward to look, and gasped. Right in the middle of Bucky’s hand was a hole, slightly scorched and blackened around the edges. But there was no blood, no tendons or sinews as one might expect, just a neat round hole. But inside the hole, there was a gleam of - metal?

“You have a metal hand?” she asked, scarcely able to believe it.

Bucky looked over her head to where Steve stood, listening. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I figured it was for you to tell,” her husband replied.

Bucky sighed. “Great,” he muttered, but he turned his attention back to Grace. “Yes. I do. A whole metal arm, in fact.”

“What happened to your real one?” She belatedly remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

He shrugged. “I lost it in an accident. I fell off a train in the middle of some mountains. It broke my fall.”

She stared at him. “Like in Steve’s nightmare? That was you?” He nodded. “But how? How did you survive the fall?”

It took him a long time to answer - during which time, Jessie took his other hand and squeezed it gently. “When someone’s pumped you full of super soldier serum, it’s amazing what you can do.”

She frowned, struggling to understand. “Like Steve?”

He smiled bitterly. “Not really. Steve got his from the good guys. Mine came from the bad guys. Along with a bright, shiny, inhumanly strong metal arm.” There was a look in his eyes, a faraway, distant look, that warned her to be careful.

She looked down at his hand again, at the hole in it, and the metal beneath. “So this came from them? HYDRA?” she asked, the word foreign and unfamiliar in her mouth.

He began to nod, then stopped and shook his head instead. “No. I lost that one too.”

While she tried to make sense of that, Jessie finally spoke. “Losing one arm, now that’s bad luck. But losing two? That’s just careless.” Her tone was light, attempting to deflect Bucky’s mood before it got too dark. Bucky turned to her, trying to smile; Grace also took the hint and changed the subject.

“So why were you hiding from that man?” she asked Jessie.

Jessie turned to her, frowning. Then she sighed. “Because I’m supposed to be dead.”

Grace frowned in turn - she didn’t understand any of this. “But he didn’t know that.”

“No, but he might mention to someone that he saw me here, looking all hale and hearty, and that might get back to my fam-to them. And that would put us all in danger.”

She wasn’t any nearer to making sense of it now. “Why?”

Jessie sighed. “Because they’d know the only way I could be well was because I’d used the stone to heal myself. They were already afraid of what I could do with those powers, even when I had no control over them.” She laughed bitterly. “Not that I have control now.’ She sighed again. “But if I’m well and I’m here, they know their secret’s out, and I can take you all back to the future whenever I want. They’ll stop at nothing to prevent that happening.”

A chill passed across her heart. “Nothing?”

Jessie nodded. “They’ll target the weak ones. Me, mostly, but - you and James too.”

She stared at Jessie in horror, legs trembling. Steve moved up behind her, James in his arms, and laid a hand on her shoulder – but not even his presence could chase away the chill. Someone would hurt her? Hurt her precious baby boy?

Natalie, no, Natasha’s voice broke in, practical and unemotional. “You’re not exactly a weakling, Jessie. You could take us all down single-handedly if you wanted to.”

Jessie shook her head firmly. “No. I don’t know what I’m capable of. Maybe it’s true, but I’ve no idea how I’d do it. And my powers have only ever been erratic.”

“That was before the stone bonded to you,” Natasha continued remorselessly.

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Jessie, agitation building in her voice. “It doesn’t just do what I want it to.”

“Unless you’re threatened.” The woman really was relentless.

“Nat.” Bucky and Steve spoke at the same time, Bucky’s tone warning, Steve’s remonstrating. She glanced back at her husband - he was frowning at Natasha.

And Natasha backed down in the face of it. “I’m just saying.”

“Maybe I can protect myself, but I don’t know,” Jessie said, her voice trembling. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for protecting anyone else. And if they know I’m alive, they’ll come for me first. If they kill me, it makes you getting back so much harder. So it’s better for all of us if they think I’m dead.”

The others exchanged glances, communicating in a way that Grace couldn’t follow. But in their faces was resignation, an acknowledgment that Jessie was right, and that things were difficult and dangerous.

Natasha finally broke the silence. “There’s no need for them to think you’re dead. You’re safe being battered and broken and slowly declining.” Jessie shook her head and opened her mouth to interrupt, but Natasha continued, “If you’re dead, we have to bury you. They’ll notice we haven’t done that. But if we make it clear you’re dying, slowly but surely slipping away, they’ll wait and let time do its thing.” She sighed. “It does mean you have to stay in the wagon.” She glanced at James. “And we have to stop him from talking about her. He could give everything away.”

Grace glared at her, fiercely protective of her baby boy. “You leave him to me. I’ll make him understand.” She turned and smiled at James, who had a very serious expression on his face – he was trying to follow the conversation, but not understanding any of it. She knew exactly how he felt.

Natasha nodded; her mouth quirked in what might almost have been a smile. “Good.” She turned back to Bucky and Steve, her expression once more serious. “One of us must always be with them. Steve, it makes sense for you to stay with Grace and James - they’re your family. But if you do have to leave them, make sure you let me or Bucky know - we’ll watch them for you.” She looked at Jessie. “You’ll be our priority, though. Without you, none of us may make it back. It’s crucial we keep you safe.”

“I’ll be hidden in a wagon,” Jessie responded.

“That doesn’t matter,” Natasha fired back. “One of us will be with you at all times.” Once she’d stared Jessie down, she continued, “At night, Steve, you’ll be in your wagon with your family, Jessie will be in ours with either me or Bucky; the other one will be outside, patrolling. No-one is going to get anywhere near them.”

“Now, wait a minute!” Grace interrupted - this was something she felt comfortable arguing about. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for Jessie to be alone in a wagon with Bucky!” Jessie rolled her eyes in irritation, but it didn’t make it any less true.

Natasha also looked annoyed. “I’m not making their job any easier for them than I have to. I won’t put all three of their targets in one place. Michael knows we took her back to our wagon - he’d expect her to be there.”

“All the more reason for her to be in ours!”

“But then what happens if they come to find you one night? Steve will have to protect all three of you.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “Can’t Bucky always be the one patrolling outside?”

He answered her, an amused edge to his voice. “I do need to sleep sometimes.”

“You won’t be sleeping, though, will you?” she snapped, before flushing bright red at what she’d just said. She looked straight down at her feet, mortified.

Jessie sighed in exasperation, but it was Bucky who answered her. “I will most definitely be sleeping. I have three very important people to protect - and I have to be at my best to do that.”

She looked up reluctantly, sure he was teasing her, but his eyes were sincere. Why did he suddenly have to be so reasonable all the time?

She nodded, a tiny nod, but enough to signal that she trusted him. “Good, then,” said Natasha abruptly. “It’s sorted.” She turned to Jessie. “You need to be in the wagon, before someone else sees you.” Jessie nodded resignedly and turned away, heading for her confinement. “And I’ll come with you. I need to talk to you about something.”

Which left her staring between Bucky and Steve, her world upside-down and no-one who could make it safe again.

Chapter Text

Bucky lay awake in the darkness; Jessie was breathing peacefully beside him as she lay sleeping in his arms. It had been her idea - she’d snuggled into him before he could stop her. She’d refuted every one of his arguments with her infallible logic - she was cold, he was warm, the wagon floor was hard, he (at least some of him) was soft - she even got around his bad dreams and how it wasn’t a good idea to be nearby when he was having them by insisting the stone wouldn’t let him hurt her. He’d stopped arguing after that - and by then, she’d been lying in his arms long enough for it to have stopped feeling completely alien and instead feel something more like right. She’d accepted her victory serenely and promptly fallen asleep. Since then, he’d lain beside her, listening to her breathing, still uncomfortable about having someone so close to him, but glad to have this particular someone so close to him. But lying in his arms asleep, she was vulnerable; he had to keep her safe and protect her from anything that wished her harm. Whatever he’d said to Grace, he wouldn’t sleep that night; every sense was on high alert, every noise a possible intruder - Natasha patrolling outside was no comfort whatsoever.

“Go to sleep, Barnes,” came a soft voice in his ear - Natasha had broken out their old comms units and insisted they keep them on at all times. He didn’t answer for fear of waking Jessie, but gave the smallest of laughs, enough that Natasha would hear him. Then he reached up gently to adjust their settings, so she couldn’t hear him anymore. She wouldn’t like it but he didn’t care. She could still talk to him if she needed to - that was enough. Now he could stay awake and watch over Jessie in peace.

He shifted slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable - for all her comments about softness, Jessie was using his metal arm as a pillow. He wouldn’t get a dead arm, but it was still an awkward position, and the muscles in his back were starting to cramp in protest. He didn’t want to wake her, so he moved as gently as he could.

“Are you still awake?” Her voice was drowsy, but coherent - she hadn’t been as asleep as he’d thought.

He sighed. “I’m not used to this,” he eventually replied. It was a good thing he’d switched the comms off - this wasn’t a conversation Natasha should be hearing.

“To what?” Jessie asked, as she turned to face him.

“This,” he answered awkwardly. “Being so close to someone. I’ve not exactly had a lot of practice at it. I’ve never slept with someone before.”

“You mean, you’ve never…” Her voice trailed into silence. Thank God this conversation was taking place in the dark.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied. “I meant, I’ve never slept beside someone before. Like this. Holding them.” Could the earth just swallow him up now?

“Oh,” she replied - there was so much smugness in her tone. She snuggled closer. “It’s quite easy,” she continued.

“Not when you’ve spent seventy years sleeping standing up,” he muttered.

“Bucky…”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair,” he replied softly. After a pause, he added, “It’s not just that. I have to keep you safe. That’s a lot easier if I’m awake.”

“Natasha’s outside, keeping watch.” When he didn’t reply, she continued, “But you don’t want to trust this to anyone else, do you?” He kept silent as long as he could, holding himself completely still, but eventually he shook his head, a tiny movement, but one she’d feel with her head against his chest. “Bucky…”

“I nearly lost you.” His voice was rough.

Her hand came up to stroke his cheek. “I know,” she replied. “I understand, I do. But… I can’t go to sleep until you relax. I can tell - I can feel how you’re holding yourself in readiness.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t sleep so close to me.”

“No chance,” she fired back, a little too quickly. She added, quietly, “This is the first night in a long time I’ve felt safe.”

He pulled her closer - her lips curved into a smile against his neck; he had to concentrate very hard to not be affected by it. “Fine,” he said, a few seconds later, “then you should stay here.”

“Will you go to sleep?”

“I’ll try.”

But a few minutes later, as he tried vainly to make himself relax, she spoke again. “Natasha wants me to use the stone to get Steve’s memories back.”

“Can it do that?”

“I don’t know. It can show him his past, like when I showed you mine. Maybe he’ll remember if he sees it. I don’t think it can just give him his memories back though.”

“Surely it’s worth a try?”

“I guess,” she replied, but something in the way she spoke suggested she wasn’t happy.

“What is it?”

She shrugged and stayed silent. But a short while later, she spoke. “He’s happy here.” He didn’t say anything - he’d thought the same himself once, until a cold dose of Romanoff realism had put him straight. He didn’t have it in him to do that to Jessie. “And his past-” she laughed bitterly and corrected herself, “His future, should I say - it’s not at all happy.”

“It’s not,” he replied quietly, “But it’s his. If he wants it back, he should have it.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if he says he does out of duty, but really he’d rather not know?”

He smiled. “Steve and duty have always gone hand in hand. If it’s his duty to do something, he wants to do it.” She didn’t reply, so he asked, “Do you really think he’s happy here?”

She shrugged again. “He seems to be. He has a family, a manifest destiny…”

“And a mind full of holes that keep nagging away at him.”

“He wants to remember you, I know that much,” she replied, sadly. And remembering him would be a bittersweet pill to swallow. Steve knew his past was dark, but there was knowing and then there was knowing. And he wanted to remember for Bucky’s sake - because of that day in St Joseph’s and his distress when Steve hadn’t remembered him. Steve, even with no memories of Bucky, would still do anything for him. But Steve’s past had its own share of darkness and bad memories, and not all of it was because of Bucky. Jessie didn’t want to inflict that on him. But she had to. And he had to make her understand that - he, who only ever wanted to keep Steve safe from harm.

He sighed. “What does the stone tell you about a future where Steve doesn’t go back?”

“I’m not taking that into consideration,” she replied quickly - without a shadow of a doubt, it was bad.

“Jessie…”

“I don’t want that,” she said, her voice wobbling - she was on the verge of tears. “I don’t want that kind of knowledge.”

He pulled her towards him again. “I know,” he replied gently. “But it’s yours. Might as well use it to do good.”

“While causing pain and suffering to one poor man who’s been through more than enough?”

“It’s Steve,” he replied. “Suffering to save the world - it’s what he does best.”

“I don’t want to do that to him,” she said, finally dissolving into tears. “I don’t want this kind of power.”

He held her, searching for a way to answer her. “He’d want you to do this,” he eventually said. “The Steve I know, he wouldn’t hesitate. I don’t think the Steve out there would either. And he definitely wouldn’t want you to agonise over it. It’s the right thing to do - in his eyes, that’s enough.”

She shook against him, crying silently. “It’s just so hard,” she eventually managed to say.

“I know,” he replied, moving his hand up to stroke her hair. “Doing the right thing usually is.”

She sniffed. “Natasha told me I had to do it, to atone.”

He rolled his eyes - trust Natasha to be so manipulative. But… “She has a point. If you want to put this right, you have to do this.”

She nodded against his chest, sniffing again. “I know. I just…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence - he knew. “It will be ok,” he said. “You can be strong, right? Steve needs you to be strong for him.”

There was a catch in her breath as she answered. “Yes. I can do that.”

“Good,” he replied, as the tension drained out of her. “So how about we try to get some sleep now?”

She nodded again and snuggled into him - this time it was a lot more comfortable to wrap himself around her. And perhaps he might finally get some rest.

Chapter Text

Grace sat in the corner of Bucky and Natasha’s empty wagon, trying not to get in the way. Jessie was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the wagon, where she was most hidden from outside view. Steve sat opposite her, his face determined. Bucky was off to one side, inhumanly still as he watched Jessie and Steve. The only sign of his nerves was the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fist – his metal one. He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it. And of course he was nervous - the two people he loved most in the world were about to undergo some magic ritual; what if something went wrong? It was why she’d insisted on being there too - Steve was her everything, and if something happened to him…

She eyed Jessie uncertainly. Over the past few days, her idea of who Jessie was had undergone a startling change. Since they’d met, she’d been Jessie the vulnerable waif, in need of Grace and Steve’s protection, but it turned out that not only was she also from the future, she’d been transformed into some kind of time-controlling goddess. She’d been so fiercely protective of Jessie - had that been incredibly presumptuous? From the way Bucky was watching Jessie anxiously, maybe not. He certainly didn’t think so; to him, Jessie was as much in need of protection as ever. So she’d take him as a guide, and even if the tables had turned, and Jessie was now more likely to protect her than the other way round, she’d still take care of her. At the very least, she sorely needed feeding - she was half-starved.

Still, Jessie was about to do something extraordinary. Apparently, the strange green stone at the heart of this could ‘show’ someone the past – in Steve’s case, his own past. The others hoped it would trigger the return of his memories; they didn’t know how (or if) it would work, but they were all convinced it was worth trying. And since Steve had found out about it, he’d been filled with determination, as if nothing mattered more to him than regaining his memories.

In fact, she was the only one who was unsure about letting uncanny magic energies loose on her beloved husband. Maybe the stone had used those same energies to heal Jessie, showing they could do good, but look what it had done to her! Her eyes were now swirling green pools that only Bucky was comfortable looking into.

And Steve, of course - Steve who never flinched from anything, least of all a friend. But what if the stone marked Steve in the same way? Jessie was sure it wouldn’t, but it didn’t reassure her. And if she was being entirely honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted Steve to get his memories back. The more he remembered, the less he was ‘her’ Steve; every memory he regained changed him a little more. If they all came back to him suddenly, he might become a completely different person, no longer really her husband. At least, not the man she’d made her husband…

And there were other people in his life now, and they were pulling him away from her. For as long as she’d known him, she’d always been the only person that really mattered to him, and now she had to share him. With Bucky most of all - even with no memory of him, there’d been something about Bucky that had drawn Steve to him, made him want to remember, made him want to protect him. And she resented it. It was shameful of her, but she still resented it. Resented Bucky. Made so much worse when he kept being kind to her…

And even beyond all that, it was clear that Steve was important to the world in the future. He was one of its guardians – it needed him to help protect it. So if he remembered, if they went to the future, she’d have to share him with the whole world. A world that was immeasurably bigger than her own. It was terrifying - and it would tear a massive hole in her life.

But she’d done everything she could to hide her misgivings. Steve knew she had doubts; there was no hiding them from him, but she’d tried to hide the rest - her fears of losing him, of him turning into a stranger. He needed his memories back so he could be complete again, and she wouldn’t deny him that. Even if it meant her life being turned upside-down, it mattered to him, and it hurt him not to have them, so she’d support him - she’d stand by his side. So she smiled, at Jessie’s troubled face, at Steve’s determined one, even at Bucky, until she probably looked deranged. But they had to know she gave her blessing to what was about to happen. Not one of them could doubt her; her traitorous feelings had to stay hidden where no-one could ever find them. Steve was her husband, her rock, the centre of her world - and she’d support him in whatever he wanted to do. And he had to know that, and so did anyone else who was watching.

Not that anyone was paying attention to her - she sat in the corner, surplus to requirements, a spectator while Jessie eyed Steve uncertainly, and Steve looked straight back at her with such conviction that it finally allayed her doubts. And Bucky watched them both protectively, possessively even. She’d have been better waiting outside, after all.

But before she could excuse herself, Steve looked across at her and smiled. But there was a question in his look - was she really happy for him to do this? And realising he did care what she thought, that he might stop and not do this if she didn’t want him to, she changed her mind. Tears starting in her eyes, she smiled brightly and nodded at him. He searched her face for a long moment, looking for the lie, but simply asking her permission had changed everything – she wanted this for him now, too. Convinced, he nodded, smiled again briefly, and turned back to Jessie. Jessie had also turned to scan her face anxiously, but she couldn’t find a trace of hesitation in Grace’s expression either, so she turned reluctantly back to Steve. She held her hands out and he took them gently in his own strong hands, smiled reassuringly at her, and closed his eyes. She hesitated a few moments longer, but then she too nodded, having found her own resolution from somewhere. She fixed her gaze on her hands, intertwined in Steve’s.

There was complete silence in the wagon; even outside, it was like the world held its breath. But just as Grace started to wonder if it wasn’t going to work, Jessie’s eyes began to glow a strange, unearthly green, the same green that swirled in their depths. She watched in horrified fascination as the glow enveloped Jessie, and as it crept towards her hands, linked with Steve’s, it covered him as well, until they were both completely surrounded by a green cocoon of light. She focussed on Steve’s face, trying to shut out the otherness of the situation, but found no comfort there. He looked shocked to the core, his eyes flicking side to side, faster and faster, like he was reading impossibly fast, seeing things she couldn’t. His face tightened in pain, an involuntary shudder ran through him, and his distress was so palpable that before she could stop herself, she’d moved forward to offer him comfort.

Only to have her way blocked by Bucky, whose firm arm held her back, keeping her from Steve, who needed her. But as she turned to argue with him, an angry glare in her eyes, his eyes were full of sympathy.

“If you touch him, you’ll see everything he’s seeing. I don’t think he wants to put you through that. I know I wouldn’t,” he said in a softer voice.

His words raised more questions than they answered, but his obvious concern for her made her accept his intervention. She retreated back to her corner, mind racing. What could Steve be seeing to cause him so much pain? She badly wanted to know, but Bucky was right - Steve wouldn’t want her to see; he’d share it with her later. She could wait until then, and trust that the man who emerged from that eerie green cocoon would still be her husband.

So she watched, and she waited, the moments stretching out like an eternity, as pain, grief, sorrow, and not much joy flickered across her husband’s face. And finally, after what felt like hours, but which, judging from the light outside, had been only minutes, the green glow faded, retreating into Jessie’s body, away from Steve. Grace had eyes for no-one but Steve, not even for the deep sorrow written across Jessie’s face, and the tears that tracked down her cheeks. But she couldn’t care about that - she could only care about Steve. She shifted to go to him, to bury her face in his shoulder and hold him, only for him to turn towards Bucky. Shock jolted through her - he’d gone to Bucky before her. All her fears were coming true. She’d lost the man she loved - he was someone else now, and that man cared about Bucky first. She sank back against the wagon canvas, her world and her certainty about her place in it shattered, watching numbly as Steve pulled Bucky into a rough embrace. Steve had abandoned her – would he abandon James and his unborn child too?

“You shouldn’t have done this - come back for me,” Steve said, a world of unspoken meaning in his voice. Bucky’s face was a mix of emotions - relief, happiness, anxiety, but mostly relief; he had his friend back, but the price was that she’d lost her husband. She’d have fled if she could, but it would draw attention, and she didn’t want anyone to see her at that moment.

“Yes, I should.” Bucky’s voice had that hoarse edge that it always did when he was struggling with his emotions. He’d been looking at Steve, but as he spoke, his eyes slid over Steve’s shoulder to Jessie, still sitting on the floor, shoulders hunched, struggling with her own pain. He looked back at Steve. “Yes, I should,” he repeated more firmly.

Steve had tracked Bucky’s gaze to Jessie. Sympathy flooded his face as he moved to crouch beside her. It was like he’d forgotten all about his wife, sitting in the corner, waiting for him to remember her. Perhaps in the flood of his old memories, he had forgotten her, and his life since he’d arrived in the past.

“Jessie,” he said softly, gently tilting her head to look at him, tears still running down her face, “thank you.” Jessie stared at him, lost and confused, as if she didn’t understand what he was saying. He tried again. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but you’ve given me back my life. I needed that, to be me, who I really am. I don’t want you to feel bad about it.” She nodded, but her expression was still wretched - whatever he said, she’d carry the guilt for a long time. But she straightened, sniffed hard and wiped at her tears, trying to be brave for Steve. Grace’s heart cracked in two. She should be the one looking at him like that, like she’d try for his sake, but it was like she didn’t exist anymore. In all the time since the ritual had ended, he’d not even looked in her direction. If she’d known this would happen, she’d have done everything in her power to stop it.

And then, finally, he turned to her. And everything she’d feared, all her sorrow, her anger, her despair, vanished in the warmth of his look. He was different; there were lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, a strain in his eyes that was new, and a bearing like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders, but he was still her Steve. His eyes, through the strain, still looked at her with love, like he loved her more than anything in the world, the way he’d always looked at her, and his smile, for he was smiling, still took joy in seeing her, still provided the comfort and strength she relied on. He’d changed, yes, but he hadn’t forgotten her. Perhaps he’d wanted to deal with the others before turning to her, as if he’d known that once he did, he’d not be able to go back to them. Could that really be true? The look in his eyes said it was.

“Grace,” was all he said before she stumbled forward, a wordless sound coming from her mouth, and threw herself into his arms. He pulled her close, holding her tight against him, his arms saying all the things he couldn’t. And who knows how long she’d have stayed there like that, safe and warm in the circle of his arms, sheltered from the world outside and all the pain and doubt that came with it, had their unborn child not had other ideas. Maybe Steve had been holding her a little too closely. A firm kick reminded them that they weren’t alone in their embrace. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the baby move, but the kicking hadn’t been this strong before. Steve pulled back from her immediately, face full of confusion. He’d never have felt such a thing before - when she’d been carrying James, she’d never spoken of him moving inside her. And Steve, like all men, knew nothing about childbirth and its attendant mysteries. He stared down at her belly, now swollen with their child, a look of wonder on his face. He really hadn’t known. A silly, boyish grin spread across his face as he reached out a tentative hand and laid it gently on her stomach, that look of wonder still in his eyes. And as he smiled down at her, overwhelmed by this new miracle, she knew they’d be fine. He’d changed, yes, and his memories would make him different, but he was still, at heart, hers. He was still the man she’d married, and whatever life had in store for them, they’d face it together.

He was still smiling at her when his face suddenly changed. “James,” he said, as if one child had reminded him of the other. Stepping back from her, he reached for her hand and led her towards the back of the wagon, and the way out. They passed Bucky and Jessie, his arm around her shoulders as he talked softly to her, but neither one noticed as they left the wagon, Steve jumping out first, before turning back to lift her gently down beside him. But if she’d hoped to be held tenderly in his arms, her hope was dashed almost instantly by a cry of “Daddy!” and a small whirlwind crashing into them. Steve laughed as he bent to scoop his son up in his arms, and then held them all close, only to be interrupted again by Natasha, close on James’ heels. There was anxiety in her eyes - did she realise it was there? She normally hid her feelings so well, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Did Steve really mean that much to her? From the way her eyes scanned his face, it seemed he did.

And Steve didn’t let her down - he pulled away from his family long enough to embrace Natasha instead. She stiffened in his arms, but then tentatively returned the embrace. Natasha never willingly touched anyone, except for James, maybe. Even when she’d had Grace convinced of her undying love for Bucky, she hadn’t often touched him - in hindsight, it was suddenly obvious they hadn’t been married. She should have seen through it.

But now, there was a smile on Natasha’s face that had never been there before, and a look of genuine affection in her eyes. She cared a great deal about Steve, and her relief at seeing him remember her was palpable. For that, she’d endure a bone-crushing hug.

“You remember now, then?” Natasha asked, once Steve had finally let her go.

He nodded. “Nat, I’m so sorry I didn’t remember you. I…”

She shrugged, a quick, sharp movement. “It’s no big deal. You didn’t remember anyone who wasn’t Bucky.”

Steve watched her for a second, clearly not satisfied with her response, but in the end, he let it go. “Well, I remember you now,” he said. “And everything we’ve done together.”

Natasha smiled. “There were some good times,” she replied. Then, with a hint of mischief in her voice, she added, “And some less good ones. Your best friend trying to kill me - those times weren’t so good.” Grace stared at her - Bucky had tried to kill her? And she’d travelled all that way with him?

“Nat,” Steve said warningly, catching Grace’s look.

Natasha grinned impishly at him. He struggled not to smile in return, but when he spoke, his tone was serious. “I’m glad you’re here. I feel safer knowing you’ve got my back.” Grace frowned - how could Natasha, slender little Natasha, make her big, strapping husband feel safer?

Natasha nodded slowly, before her eyes flicked across to Grace’s bewildered face. “I think perhaps you need some time,” she said delicately. And with that, she was gone.

He turned back to Grace, eyeing her nervously. He cleared his throat. “We should talk,” he said. He looked at their wagon. “Somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

She nodded, although she was reluctant to go back under canvas so soon. Wagons were stuffy and close, and unlike Natasha’s, which was light and airy, theirs was crammed with their possessions. But he was right - they wouldn’t want anyone else to hear what they were about to discuss. So she followed him to their wagon, preceded him into it, and settled herself as comfortably as she could among the pots and pans and trunks. Steve followed her, James still in his arms. He didn’t seem the least bit curious about his father - he clearly had no idea of what had happened earlier. She’d done her best to keep it from him, and it seemed that Natasha hadn’t told him anything either.

Once they were seated in the wagon, filling the space to bursting, she spoke before Steve could. “Are you… Is everything alright?”

He smiled, although it was brief. “I’m fine. Really. In some ways better than that - I hadn’t realised how much not remembering was eating at me. Since we left New York, it’s been easier. It was why I wanted to come out here. But then Bucky and Natasha turned up, and everything got difficult again.” He was rushing, like he wanted to say too much at once, and it was spilling out every which way. He paused, took a deep breath, and tried again. “There’s so much I want to tell you. About me, my life, where I’m from, all the things I wanted to share before, if I’d only known them.” He paused again and frowned. “And there are things… Things you should know, even though they’re hard and unpleasant. But I want to share them with you because - because you’re my wife and that means there’s finally someone to tell.”

Tears had formed in her eyes as he spoke. She’d been so afraid that Steve’s memories would take him away from her. But he was still here, still her husband. And now he remembered, now he knew his own truth, he wanted to share it with her. Gone was the uncertain man he’d been before, avoiding her, hiding his pictures - now he didn’t doubt himself any more. And because of that, he didn’t doubt her any more. It turned out that him regaining his memories would bring them closer in the end.

But he hadn’t finished. “I promise you’ll hear it all, every last bit of it. But there’s a lot to tell.” Her eyes narrowed - where was he going with this? “And we need to go back soon. Everything you’ve heard from Bucky and Natasha about me is true. I have to go back with them.” He added softly, “But I can’t, not without you.” He looked down at his son, still sitting peaceably in his lap. That wouldn’t last much longer. “Without you both,” he corrected himself. “James, did you hear what I said?”

James looked up at him. “You’re going somewhere with Bucky and Natty?” he ventured.

Steve smiled and pulled him into a hug. “That’s right, my clever boy. I have to go back home. There are things I need to do there. But I want you to come with me.”

James’ face wrinkled in confusion - he didn’t understand what Steve was saying. “You mean, back to Grandpa’s?”

Steve chuckled. “No. I mean back to my home before I lived at Grandpa’s. It’s somewhere very different. It won’t be like anywhere you’ve ever been before. You’ll have to be brave. Can you do that?”

“I can be brave!” James answered firmly, sticking his chin out, his expression so like his father’s when he was being stubborn that it was like looking at a miniature version of Steve. So determined to do what was right, no matter the cost. “It will be an adventure,” he added, decisively.

Steve, struggling not to smile, ruffled his hair, and gave him another hug. “That’s right, an adventure.” His tone was more serious as he turned back to her. “But only if your mother agrees.” He looked at her, the question in his eyes, and the dread that she might refuse.

She swallowed. It was right that he went, it was necessary and even inevitable. And she couldn’t ever resist him, not for long. And if he really was a hero the world needed, she wouldn’t stand in his way. But while he was strong, and James was too young to be afraid, she wasn’t. The very idea made her feel faint. But she had to hide her doubts, and her fear - if Steve saw them, he might not go. And that would be the wrong choice. So she steadied herself and said brightly, “I can’t be any less brave than my son, can I?” There was only a slight wobble in her voice.

Steve had caught it, although James hadn’t. As soon as he’d found out he was going on an adventure, he’d started shifting restlessly, wanting to be away. He didn’t care that his mother was trying to be brave and selfless - he just wanted to escape. He twisted round to look at Steve, who’d been watching her closely. “Can I tell Natty I’m going on an adventure with her?” Steve, distracted, looked down at him, frowning as he processed what James had been asking. Then he nodded, letting James slide down from his lap and hop out of the wagon.

At least now she could be more honest. But only a little; she couldn’t let Steve see how scared she was. She couldn’t bear for him to think less of her. But he’d seen it anyway. “Are you sure about this?” he asked her, gently. “James doesn’t understand - it’s a fun day out to him. You’re not less brave than him because you have doubts.” There were times she wished she’d picked a less perceptive husband. Sometimes it would help to be able to hide things from him. But he always knew - always.

She sighed. “I’m scared. Scared of all of it. But Steve, I won’t let that stop you. You’re needed in the future. And you won’t go back without us. So - we have to go. There isn’t really a choice, is there?”

His expression was sympathetic, even as he shook his head. “No, not for me.” He sighed heavily. “And that means there isn’t for you, either.” He looked down at his hands and then suddenly burst out, “I wish my life could be normal.” Pain vibrated in his voice – and it was raw. Something terrible must have happened to him to make him say that - if only she could share it. But this wasn’t the time. Right now, he needed her strength. He needed her help, not for her to be the hindrance she had been. And she knew exactly what to say. “You’re not normal. You’re extraordinary. Not just because of your amazing strength - in fact, not even because of that, but because of your incredible heart and your unflinching sense of duty. I wouldn’t have you any other way - they’re what made me fall in love with you.” She took a deep breath before she continued, “So - we do what has to be done. It’s fine. It really is.”

Her words lifted the weight from his shoulders. So much of that weight had been down to her, how demanding she’d been, how unwilling to trust him. She should have trusted him. But she had one more thing to say - one more time she had to be difficult. “I know I should have done this before. But I hate going into things blind. You know how much research I did about the trail before we set off. I need more time to find out about the future - can I have that?”

Steve was silent for a moment, thinking through the consequences of granting her request. He wanted to be gone, but he was trying his best to be fair to her. Eventually, he nodded. “I think you can have that.” She smiled at him gratefully, but he hadn’t finished. “But I meant it when I said we need to go soon. Jessie’s family…”

“Are the bad guys. I know,” she interrupted him - she’d figured that out when she’d gone after him, to try to keep him safe from Bucky’s wrath.

Steve nodded, as if he’d forgotten she’d been there that day. “And they’re really bad.”

“HYDRA,” she supplied. “They did something bad to Jessie to make her do what they wanted.”

Steve eyed her for a long moment, and then nodded in agreement. “They did. They’re ruthless; they’ll stop at nothing to achieve their ends. They were sent here with one job, to keep me here and stop me interfering with the past.” He smiled briefly before he continued, “They’ve already failed at the latter, and they’re about to fail at the first, too. Natasha thinks they’ll do anything to sabotage us, and I believe her. The longer we stay here, the longer you, James and Jessie are in danger.”

A chill ran down her spine. Jessie had said much the same thing - but it had barely seemed real then. But Steve was deadly serious - it was all too real. But it was equally terrifying to face travelling to the future with no idea of what she’d face when she got there. She had to have time, however little. “Just a few days? Please?”

His eyes scanned her face, registering the very real fear written there. He nodded. “A few days. No more than a week. Less if you can.” As she started to smile in relief he added, “And you may not get that long. If they come for us, we may have to leave then and there.”

She swallowed hard but nodded her understanding. A handful of days to find out all the ways in which the world had changed in a hundred and seventy years…

Chapter Text

At first, Natasha wasn’t sure what had woken her - she’d been unusually deeply asleep. But even someone as formidable as she was couldn’t go without sleep indefinitely - and it had been three days since she’d had a decent night’s sleep. But as she realised what had woken her, it was clear she wasn’t going to get one this night either. Jessie lay sleeping at the other end of the wagon, tossing and turning. It was her whimpering, her fear and pain, that had woken Natasha. Jessie was deep in the grip of a nightmare, and she wasn’t waking from it. She waited a few moments, praying it would stop, or that Jessie would wake herself up, but after she cried out, a small, pitiful noise, Natasha sighed softly. Why couldn’t this happen when Bucky was with Jessie? He’d know all the right things to say and do.

But of course, this didn’t happen with him because he spent the whole night holding Jessie safe in his arms. He’d also be listening in, wondering why she wasn’t doing anything to help his lady love – it was a surprise he hadn’t already been importuning her over the comms to do something.

And she’d have to do something. She couldn’t sleep through it, and besides, friends didn’t leave their friends suffering like that. She pushed aside her blankets and moved quietly through the dark, following the sound of Jessie’s whimpers. Her hand, stretched out in front of her, encountered Jessie’s shoulder - taking a firmer hold, she shook her gently. At first, it didn’t work; Jessie continued to thrash under her hand, still making piteous little noises of entreaty for whoever it was to stop. So Natasha shook her a little harder, saying her name, first quietly and then more loudly, until suddenly, with a gasp, Jessie’s eyes flew open. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she gulped in breaths. And Natasha had the answer to one of her questions - Jessie’s eyes didn’t glow in the dark. It was only that she was so close that she could see they were open at all. Staring right at her, in fact, panic and dread slowly receding from them. It must have been a bad dream indeed for the sight of the Black Widow to be comforting.

“You were having a nightmare,” Natasha stated, matterof- factly. She wasn’t Bucky; she couldn’t be soft and kind. She didn’t know how he did it, after all the years of abuse and torture he’d been through, but somehow he did. For the second time in as many minutes, she wished he was here to deal with this.

Jessie swallowed and sat up, hugging her blankets around her knees, a forlorn figure. She nodded. “I was…” She trailed off, unable to say it.

“Reliving the past?”

“Yes,” Jessie replied quietly. She was silent for a moment, then asked, “How do you get past it?”

“Truthfully?” she answered. “I’m not sure you do. You learn to live with it as best you can.” She paused, then added, “It might have been kinder if the stone had taken away your memories of it too.” Jessie shook her head. “Then I’d only have had your word for it that they’d done that to me. With no way to prove it, I might not have believed you, and I’d have gone back to them, so they could do it all over again. I had to remember, so I wouldn’t go back.” She hugged her knees even closer to her body. “But I - my body is whole, but my mind knows it shouldn’t be. I move to do something, something that would hurt if I really were broken, and I flinch. It’s like I don’t trust my body anymore.”

She grimaced, grateful for the dark that concealed her open show of feeling. This wasn’t a comfortable subject for her. “Well, it betrayed you.” Jessie turned questioning eyes on her, forcing her to reluctantly continue. “Your body is what keeps the outside at bay. When you’re beaten like that, the outside comes crashing in, and it hurts. And forever more, you can’t ever quite trust your body, that it won’t let itself be broken again. You realise how fragile and weak you really are.” She spoke mechanically, no inflection in her voice.

Jessie pondered her words. “So you learned to become unbeatable. So it couldn’t ever happen again.”

“Oh, it could happen again. It could happen any time. But I do my best to ensure that whoever does it to me next pays a high price.”

“I don’t think I have that in me.”

She laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think that really matters anymore.”

Jessie’s response was bitter. “I’m not as invincible as you think. It still happened to me, didn’t it?”

“That was before the stone bonded itself to you,” she replied. “You’re something else now, something different. I don’t think anyone could hurt you like that again. Not unless you let them.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem likely, does it?” Jessie spoke lightly, but it was no joke. There were situations a person could find themselves in where they might be willing to do just that. If Jessie didn’t pull herself together and come to terms with her new future, and her new abilities, she could end up in just such a place. She didn’t say it, though - she didn’t need to. Jessie already knew it.

“I’m scared.” Jessie’s voice was so quiet, Natasha wasn’t sure she’d actually spoken. She sighed inwardly. She really didn’t need this - for some frightened little girl with cataclysmic powers to bond to her. Wanda had at least had the sense to seek help from Clint and Steve - people who were programmed to help. Jessie had Bucky; he fitted that mould, too - so why was she choosing to attach herself to her? She wasn’t good at this and didn’t want to be - she worked best alone, or with the one or two individuals she’d formed a hard-won partnership with over many years. Steve’s comment about Jessie needing a big sister floated into her mind, but what Jessie really needed was a big brother - her own big brother. She was a poor substitute. And yet, of all of them, Jessie had chosen to confide in her. So she had to do something. If she pushed her away now, who knew what damage it would do.

“I know.” She forced the words out. “But you’re strong. Stronger than all of this. You’ve survived on your own for over five years in this godforsaken time, using only your own wit and your own skill and your own bloody-mindedness. Not many would have lasted like you have. And this is hard and frightening - but you’ve faced down hard and frightening things before, and you’ve won. This is just more of the same. You can do this - you don’t need anyone else to help you.” She paused, then added, “But you have people who want to help you - so let them. It’s hard to let go of that rigid self-control, I know, but…” It was a long time before she could make herself finish. “…But it’s worth it. You’re not alone anymore - we’re not going to let you fall.” She hadn’t meant to say that last bit - at least, not phrased that way. She grimaced again. Damn Steve and his know-it-all ways…

Jessie’s shoulders were shaking - she was crying silently, trying not to let it show. Natasha sighed again - she knew what came next. Slowly, reluctantly, she reached out and pulled the weeping girl into her arms. Jessie was startled at first, but with a strangled sob, she collapsed against her shoulder and burst into a storm of tears. It took all of her self-control not to push her away and to keep holding her, even if it was with a body rigid and on-edge. She even reached up a hand to stroke Jessie’s hair - but she drew the line at making soothing noises. Some things would always be beyond her. But she stayed there, holding Jessie awkwardly in her arms, and waited the eternity it took her to stop crying. She was profoundly relieved when Jessie sat up and pulled away from her.

Jessie’s voice was hoarse with tears when she spoke. “I should probably try and get some sleep. Let you get some too.” She stifled a smile - there were ways in which they were so alike; Jessie would never speak of this again, and pretend it had never happened. That was an outcome she could more than live with.

“That sounds like a plan.” But as she moved to go back to her own blankets, Jessie reached out a hand to stop her.

“Will you - will you stay close?” She didn’t want to agree, but there was no way she could refuse.

“Okay,” she eventually replied, “But no snuggles. I’m not Barnes.”

Jessie’s quiet chuckle eased her heart to a degree that made her uncomfortable. She really wasn’t supposed to care like this. Silently, she retrieved her blankets from the other end of the wagon and laid them alongside Jessie’s now reclining form. As she settled herself down, close enough to be a comforting presence, but far enough away to maintain her sanity, she noted with approval that Jessie’s breathing had relaxed - she was already drifting back to sleep. Somehow, she’d navigated the minefield and sorted things out.

“Thanks.” Bucky spoke softly in her ear, just that one word, but she sensed the gratitude behind it. She didn’t say anything in response, wary of disturbing Jessie, but as she laid her head on her own pillow, she smiled.

Chapter Text

They’d reached Fort Boise early in the afternoon. And despite his intention to lose himself in the fort the second they arrived, to get some time on his own, he’d ended up staying with Jessie while everyone else disappeared into the fort.

But how could he leave her behind? She was suffering enough as it was, trapped in a stuffy, close wagon, while the rest of the train thought she was dying, in terminal decline from some horrible illness.

And then there was Grace, plying her incessantly with questions about the future. She certainly made the most of having a captive audience who couldn’t escape her. Her questions were growing increasingly complex, and they were tiring Jessie out. It had taken her an age to get Grace to even vaguely understand what electricity was (she’d described it as ‘bottled lightning’), and that it was used to power life in the modern age. Grace had been deeply interested in washing machines, but was having a hard time believing in cars and planes, despite Steve drawing some for her.

But it was all wearing Jessie down. Being stuck in the wagon, answering endless questions and fearing attack at any time - she just wanted to be gone. She was sleeping better, at least when he was there, but her nerves were frayed to snapping point. The end of Grace’s allotted week couldn’t come soon enough…

Which was equally true of Natasha. She’d taken Steve’s decision with incredibly bad grace, remonstrating with him at some length about the need to go back immediately, but it hadn’t worked. Steve had told Grace a week, so a week was what she’d get, unless some outside threat intervened. Jessie hadn’t been happy either, but she’d raised no outward objections. And so here they were, still with two nights to go before they were back in the future.

Once they’d parked the wagon (right by the river that ran alongside the fort), and the others had left them to sample the delights of Fort Boise, he pulled back the canvas, letting in the sunlight and the cool breeze that had been blowing all day. The way the wagon was parked meant no-one would see Jessie unless they came right up to it, and he’d hear them before they even got close.

Jessie’s grateful smile said he’d done the right thing. She shifted to sit as close to the back of the wagon as she dared and drank in the fresh air, closing her eyes and letting the sun wash across her face. He watched her indulgently, his ears sharpened for the sound of anyone approaching. After a while, she opened her eyes and looked out over the river, her smile slowly fading to a pensive, faraway look.

He followed her gaze across the river - but there was nothing special to see, only trees and behind them, the land rising into the mountains. There was nothing that should make her look so sad. She caught his questioning look, and smiled softly.

“On the other side of the river is Oregon,” she explained. He nodded, her melancholy suddenly all too understandable. Born and raised on the other side of the country, he’d never felt much curiosity about the land of Oregon beyond the pioneers. But it had been the people, the hardy souls who’d travelled the continent that had captivated him, not the lands they were seeking out. And he’d always been more attracted to the gold fields of California than the farms of Oregon. Oregon had just been another state he’d had to learn, another capital, another date of accession, not the Holy Grail of a new life that it had been to the pioneers. And he’d never really thought of it as someone’s home either, just a faceless, shapeless mass on the other side of his continent. But home is home - wherever it is that you call by that name, it exerts a pull on you, calling you back to it. All of that and more was written on Jessie’s face, a yearning to go home. No matter that her home didn’t exist yet, it still called to her through the ages.

“The river is the Snake,” she continued suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. “My father was very proud of his pioneer heritage - he used to bring us out here to learn our history. I don’t know how many times I’ve sailed up and down this river.” She gave a sudden, choked laugh. “You know, it’s entirely possible that I’ve stood right here, in this very place. Dad brought us to Old Fort Boise once - well, where they thought it used to be. Only that hasn’t happened yet, has it? In a hundred and seventy years or so, a little red-headed girl will stand here, having no idea what life has in store for her.”

He didn’t say anything - there wasn’t anything to say. He took her hand gently in his. She looked across at him, her pain clear to see. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m being very self-indulgent.” Her face twisted in disgust - and he couldn’t stand that.

“No need to apologise,” he replied softly. “You haven’t seen your family or your home in years. It stands to reason that being so close would remind you.”

She met his eyes for a few seconds more, then looked away from him, holding herself rigidly in that way Emily used to when she was trying not to cry. And there was so much he wanted to say to her; that she should go back to them, not stay with him - he was much the poorer choice. But he said nothing. She’d made her choice, and she’d chosen him. But she’d always be torn in two - she could have him but be separated from her family, or have them, but never see him again. If only there was some way she could have it all, but there wasn’t. Whatever she chose would hurt her, but it was her choice to make - and he’d respect the choice she made.

He reached out and pulled her into his shoulder. For a moment she resisted, and then she suddenly subsided against him, shaking with silent sobs. He pulled her properly into his arms, holding her close against him; she burrowed into him, her head against his chest. His hand found its way into her hair, and he leaned his head softly against hers. Presently, she stopped shaking, gathered control of herself and finally pulled away from him. She stared out over the river again, tears slowly drying on her face. He watched her but didn’t speak.

Eventually, she turned back to him, and there was a bonedeep sadness in her eyes. And his desperate desire to do something for her must have shown in his eyes because her face, trying so hard to be brave, crumpled again. Without thinking, he reached for her, pulled her back to him, and kissed her. Anything to make her forget, even if only for a while. The way she responded suggested she wanted to forget just as much, and he lost all track of time as they melted into each other.

He was so intent on her, in fact, that he lost all sense of the outside world until an indrawn gasping breath brought him hurtling back to the present. He pulled away from Jessie and turned to stare straight into the shocked faces of Holland and Michael. Holland only had eyes for Jessie, his shock slowly turning into anger, tinged with fear; he’d seen the change in Jessie’s eyes and knew the source of her miraculous recovery. He turned to look at Michael, his expression accusing - as if he held him personally responsible for Jessie’s survival.

Michael’s expression was inscrutable - he wasn’t sad to see Jessie alive and well, but he was hiding those feelings well, and the shock on his face was all too real.

Holland turned to look back at Jessie, then his eyes flicked across to meet Bucky’s, and suddenly Bucky could move again. He leapt from the back of the wagon, but he was too late - as soon as he moved, Holland turned and fled, out of his reach, and he couldn’t leave Jessie undefended to go after him. He didn’t trust Michael enough to leave him alone with her. So he stopped, watching helplessly as he escaped, heading back to his comrades to tell them the news, his heart sinking. Then he turned back to Michael, who was still staring at Jessie.

“You shouldn’t still be here,” he said, his words for Bucky even though his eyes were still on Jessie.

“I know,” Bucky replied. “It’s not by choice.”

Michael finally tore his gaze from Jessie to look at Bucky. “Well, whatever’s holding you up, deal with it and go. They’ll come for you now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.” And with one last look and half smile at Jessie, he was gone, heading in the opposite direction to Holland, towards the fort.

He barely noticed him leave, already reaching for the comms. “Nat? Nat!”

“What is it?” Her voice was sharp.

“They know,” he replied tersely. “Holland just saw me with Jessie - he knows she’s not dying.”

Natasha swore impressively in Russian. “How could you let this happen?” she said, her voice clipped and precise. She was very angry.

“I got distracted,” he admitted. “Jessie was upset, and…”

“I’ll find the others, bring them back,” she replied. “Stay where you are, and stay alert this time. Is Jessie ok?”

He looked across at her; she was in deep shock. “Physically, yes. Mentally, she’s pretty wrecked.”

Natasha swore softly again. “Just keep her safe. We’ll be back soon.” She broke off the signal.

He turned back to Jessie, acutely aware that this was all his fault. So much for keeping her safe from harm… But no matter. If they came for her, they’d have to go through him. And they wouldn’t manage that.

He was still on high alert when the others returned.

Chapter Text

She breathed a sigh of relief as the train came to a halt the next evening. They were away from the fort, on the other side of the river in Oregon proper, and far enough away from civilisation that they could make their escape back to the future unnoticed. After Bucky’s idiotic showing of yesterday - how could he possibly have dropped his guard so much that he didn’t notice Holland and Michael walking right up to the wagon? - they were on borrowed time. Being in love was bad for him - he’d have to sharpen up if he was serious about protecting Jessie. She’d been in no real danger from HYDRA - but one day the people coming for her would be more skilled and less friendly. He’d need to have his wits about him.

He really did have problems thinking straight when it came to Jessie, though. Yesterday, after they’d been discovered, he’d wanted nothing more than to head back to the future right then, so intent on keeping Jessie safe that he’d given no thought to how odd it would look if six people suddenly disappeared, leaving their wagons and all their possessions behind them. They’d return to their own time to find themselves immortalised as an enigma of the Oregon Trail, featured on conspiracy theory TV shows like ‘Mysteries of the Past’ or somesuch. He’d paid her no heed, only subsiding when Jessie had taken her side, and refused to take anyone anywhere.

But she’d taken steps to ensure they were left unmolested. Both Steve and Bucky had insisted on standing guard last night; she’d retired to her wagon as normal, although Steve had eyed her as if he knew she was up to something. She’d waited until the early hours of the morning, when Jessie’s breathing had settled into the regular rhythm that meant she was fast asleep, then she’d silently risen and slipped out of the wagon. She’d had no problems getting past Steve; Bucky had been more of a challenge, but he wasn’t expecting her to try anything, and he’d have agreed with her plan even if he had caught her.

She’d made her way through the wagon camp, using the full moon to light her way, to the HYDRA wagons. Her first plan had been to kill them all; after all, dead men can’t come after you. But she’d eventually discarded the idea; six people vanishing into the ether would cause a stir, but four dead bodies would cause an uproar. An uproar that would delay them, and it was well-known that there was no love lost between Jessie’s ‘family’ and Steve’s; they’d have come under suspicion.

But the Williams family were known for their heavy drinking. And there was a plentiful supply available at the fort - it was entirely plausible they could have drunk themselves into a stupor over the course of the day. It would be easy to make them look like they were all dead drunk - there were ways to render someone unconscious without hitting them over the head and leaving tell-tale bruises, and she knew them all.

The first wagon, containing Williams and Hannah, had been easy - the wagon, and their breath, had reeked of drink already. The smell alone would have been enough to make people see what they wanted to see, but she’d scattered a few bottles around the wagon, just in case. The second wagon had been more problematic. For once, only Holland was inside - no sign of Michael. He also hadn’t been drinking, so he’d woken as she laid her fingers against his neck. He’d struggled and tried to shout, but she’d had him out cold before he could. Still, he’d seen it was her - she’d hoped to avoid that, but it didn’t really matter. She’d scouted round for Michael around the wagons, but had found no sign of him, nor on the way back to her own wagon, either. He probably wasn’t a threat - he’d wanted them to get away. He’d probably run away - once the others knew Jessie wasn’t dead, or even dying, they’d have blamed him. He’d have known that, and might have disappeared to avoid it. Wherever he was, he’d survive. He was tough, clever, and willing to work hard - he could make something of himself in this time, perhaps in the gold fields of California. And if he did try anything, he’d have to get through Bucky. He didn’t seem the suicidal type.

Michael aside, however, they’d all been put to sleep for long enough that the rest of the train wouldn’t be able to wake them, and would abandon them at the fort to sleep it off - she’d bought them the time they needed to get away. And her plan had worked perfectly. The next morning, the rest of the train, exasperated over time by the behaviour of the Williams family, were only too happy to leave them behind, roaring drunk, and no-one had looked too closely at their slumbering bodies. Steve had given her a narrow look, knowing exactly who was responsible, but she’d admitted nothing.

And so they’d made their way the ferry crossing and over the river into Oregon. She’d kept an eye out for signs of pursuit all day, but there’d been nothing to alarm her by the time they made camp. They’d get Grace’s extra night after all, and when they made their journey to the future, they’d do so in the most remote area she could find. She had a back-up near their current camping site, but they weren’t likely to need it. If all went according to plan, they’d seen the last of their HYDRA adversaries…
399

Chapter Text

He sat in the wagon, silent and still, while Jessie slept. Natasha was outside, patrolling - HYDRA were probably still stuck at the fort, but they’d be desperate - so who knew what they might be capable of? And then there was Michael - he’d probably run away, but they didn’t know for sure. His motives were unclear at best. Steve had wanted to stand guard as well, but Natasha had told him to get some sleep. He’d agreed, but was almost certainly sitting in his own wagon right now, watching over his loved ones. Just like Bucky.

Jessie slept soundly beside him, a hand resting on his foot; she’d reached out for him in her dreams. She’d tried to make him lie down with her, but he needed to be ready. Natasha didn’t think HYDRA would attack tonight, but he had a bad feeling. It was probably nothing, just him overreacting, but he wanted to be alert, just in case. He’d failed to keep Jessie safe at the fort - he wasn’t going to fail her again. He’d bring her home safe, or die trying.

His head snapped around at a noise outside, his knife sliding into his hand. He had the gun he’d taken from HYDRA (Natasha had the rifle), but he’d only use it as a last resort; the bullets were unlike anything from this time. There’d be awkward questions if a corpse turned up with an outlandish alien bullet embedded in its forehead. He’d stick to the knives if he could; he was as lethal with them as he was with any gun.

But after a moment, he recognised Natasha’s steady, quiet breathing, checking in on one of her sweeps of the area. They exchanged a few terse words through the wagon canvas, Natasha confirming that she’d seen nothing, before she left to continue her watch. She hadn’t been in the least bit worried, but he didn’t let her relaxed attitude settle him. He sat in silence, ears straining for the slightest sound, ready to sit like that all night. But not long after that, there was a footstep, someone
sneaking up to the wagon. It wasn’t Natasha – it was someone unpractised, trying to be stealthy. His knife slid into his hand again and he moved, far more silently than the interloper outside, edging towards the opening in the canvas, ceaselessly tracking the movement of the person (almost certainly a man) outside. They stopped beside the wagon - but even as he moved to attack, a struck match and a sudden flare of light had him hurtling across the wagon, grabbing the Time Stone in its box, his jacket, and finally Jessie, before he shoved them all out of the wagon in front of him. Even as he did so, the light flared into a blaze as their assailant lit a bottle of spirits and hurled it against the side of the wagon. It broke, the flames catching the dry wood and canvas immediately - within seconds, the wagon was ablaze. He’d got them out not a moment too soon - if he’d been asleep…

Beside him, Jessie stood, disoriented and only half-awake, shivering in the cold. He pushed her away from the burning wagon and into the space between his and Steve’s wagon, then he draped his jacket over her shoulders, dropping the Time Stone into the pocket. He turned to Steve’s wagon to shout a warning, but before he could, Steve emerged, turning back to lift James and then Grace down beside him. They met in the space between the wagons, Steve’s face grim. A few seconds later, Natasha joined them. She stared stonily at their burning wagon, evidence that someone had got past her. A second later, she turned back to them, focussing on the issue at hand.

“We need to get the non-combatants to safety,” she said. “Steve, you know where the rendezvous is?” When he nodded, she continued, “Good. Take your family and Jessie there now. Barnes and I will deal with them, and then follow. Understood?”

Steve nodded again and turned away, picking up James and ushering Grace and Jessie in front of him. Jessie looked back at Bucky uncertainly, wanting to stay with him, but he shook his head. “Go with Steve, Jess,” he told her quietly. “Help him protect his family.” His words hit home - she swallowed and straightened, nodded, and followed Steve.

“I’ll go back out there,” Natasha said. “You stay here –they’ll target the other wagon. When they do, you’ll have your chance.” But even as she spoke, breaking glass and a roar of flames cut off her words - Steve’s wagon was ablaze in seconds. She hared around the corner of the wagon in pursuit of the perpetrator; he headed round the other side to cut them off. Only to be stopped in his tracks by Grace, Jessie at her heels, entreating her to come back. Bemused, he watched as Grace hurried past him, heading straight for her wagon. At the last moment, he came to his senses and pulled her back before she entered the wagon, seemingly heedless of the conflagration. She wouldn’t last three seconds in there - whatever she wanted to salvage, it was gone.

“Let go of me!” she demanded, straining to get away from him. He ignored her, restraining her with ease, and turned a quizzical look on Jessie.

“She wants to get her mother’s silver hairpins,” Jessie told him in exasperation. “I told her they weren’t worth risking her life for, but…” She trailed off and gestured at Grace, still trying to free herself from his grasp.

“They’re all I have left of her!” she told him, hysteria growing in her voice. “I must have them!” She pulled violently against his grip, but he stood firm.

“Grace, it’s too late,” he told her gently. “You can’t go in there - you’ll die. And they’ve probably already been destroyed by the fire.”

“You don’t know that!” she retorted. “I know where they are - I can go straight to them!”

“You’ll be burnt to a cinder if you go in there,” he replied patiently. “And you won’t be able to breathe. I’m sorry, but they’re lost.”

“Well, I don’t accept that!” she shot back. “Let me go, and I’ll prove it!”

His temper frayed, and he had to push down the urge to shake her. But as he took a breath to try once more to persuade her, he was distracted by Jessie’s cry of “Look out!” Shoving Grace away from him, towards Jessie, he swung round to face his assailant, only just parrying the knife with his metal arm. He pushed back at his attacker, sending them sprawling back as they struggled to regain their balance - he had time to recognise Williams. He moved towards him, his own knife in hand, a murderous rage in his heart, but Williams thrust his knife out in front of him, holding him at bay. He stopped, waiting as Williams tried to circle round him. Whether he was trying to escape or to attack Jessie was unclear, but as Bucky moved to counter him, Grace appeared from behind him, and shoved Williams hard. Surprised by the attack from an unexpected quarter, Williams took a step sideways towards the burning wagon. She pushed him again as he tried to find his feet, stepping between him and Bucky.

“You did this! This is your fault! All my beautiful things destroyed - how could you!” He tried to circle round her, to get between her and Williams, but she stepped in front of him again. She shoved Williams hard and he stumbled back, losing his footing and landing heavily against the wagon. Even over the roar of the flames, there was the sound of glass breaking; he closed his eyes, knowing what came next. Even as he opened them, Williams lit up like a torch, the alcohol soaking into his clothing and igniting at the same time.

Grace stumbled backwards into Jessie, who grabbed her to restrain her - she stared in horror at Williams, while Jessie was white in the firelight. It took Williams a moment to realise what had happened - he’d even begun to push himself back to his feet before the pain hit, and then the screaming started. Reacting to the sickened look in Jessie’s eyes as much as his instinct not to draw attention to what was happening, Bucky pulled out his gun and shot Williams in the head, the silencer dulling the noise of the gunshot. He dropped instantly, dead before he hit the ground, though his body continued to burn.

Bucky took a deep breath, immediately wishing he hadn’t - the smell of roasting human flesh was bringing back memories he wanted to stay buried. He turned away, back towards Jessie, struggling not to lose himself in a flashback - he had to stay in the moment; he had to protect his womenfolk.

He stared hard at Jessie, grounding himself in her eyes. She stared back at him uncertainly, taking a step forward towards him. Then her gaze shifted over his shoulder, her uncertain expression changing to fear. He swung around, alert again, ready to face the threat. This time it was Hannah, aiming a gun at Jessie’s head. He pushed himself forward, to get between Jessie and the bullet, lifting his own gun to shoot Hannah first, but he’d only taken a single step before her head exploded in a welter of blood and brains, which set Grace off screaming. He turned, stunned, to find Natasha standing behind Jessie and Grace, rifle at her shoulder, the grim expression on her face making him thankful, not for the first time, that he was on her side. That had been an impressive shot in the dark, with the notoriously inaccurate rifles of the time; he couldn’t have done any better.

She approached and looked down at Williams’ still burning body lying by the wagon. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, a disapproving expression in them. But it hadn’t exactly been his intention to burn him to death.

“We should put the bodies in the wagons,” she said. “People will assume it was us.”

He frowned at her callous reading of the situation, but there was logic in it. He turned to do as she’d suggested, saying, “I haven’t seen Holland anywhere. Keep an eye out for him.” Then he turned back briefly, to hand her the gun - it was still loaded and better than the rifle.

She took it and headed off to hunt Holland down, replying, “You keep an eye out too.”

He dealt with Hannah’s corpse first, manhandling it into his burning wagon - despite her mutilated head, she was easier to deal with than Williams. The smell of his charred flesh was giving him trouble. Blood and brains he could handle - roasted human less so. He turned away from his wagon, patting out the sparks that threatened to light him on fire, and unwillingly went to deal with Williams, sparing a glance at Jessie and Grace as he did. Grace’s eyes were haunted – she hadn’t meant to set Williams on fire. She’d been angry, but not murderously so, and couldn’t possibly have known he was carrying flammable spirits. Jessie had an arm around Grace’s shoulders, trying to comfort her, but she wasn’t much better - still deathly pale, a green tinge to her face like she was a step away from being violently sick.

Perhaps once he’d disposed of the evidence of brutal death, they’d both feel better. He turned back to Williams, now only smouldering, took a deep breath before he got too close, and after a quick scan to check there were no threats, he bent to pick up the body. Only moments later, Jessie shouted another warning, although his own instincts had told him there was someone behind him. Ducking, he turned, and the second knife that had been aimed at his unprotected back that night went into his shoulder instead. Even through the blinding burst of pain, he lashed out with the arm, ignoring the stabbing hurt, and connected with Holland’s side with enough force to make him stagger sideways, grunting in pain. His knife was still embedded in Bucky’s shoulder and out of harm’s way, but even as he staggered he was reaching for his gun. Once more, their assailant was between Bucky and the people he was trying to protect, so instead of attacking Holland outright, he moved to cover them instead. It hadn’t been the wisest move, as it drew Holland’s attention to them; his eyes fixed on Jessie, an insane light in them that drove ice into Bucky’s heart - her life was in real danger. He moved to close the distance, but Holland only had to raise his gun and point it at Jessie’s heart. Everything slowed down – he was moving as fast as he could but he was wading through treacle; he wouldn’t make it in time.

But Jessie would - of course she would. She was, in fact, the cause of his inability to move - she was slowing him down, keeping him out of harm’s way. She stood tall, like a goddess out of legend, Grace cowering behind her, as crackles of green lightning flashed around them. Her face was a stone mask, eyes filled with the eerie green light of the stone, barely even recognisable. She stared at Holland, gun still pointed at her, but he was frozen in place. Slowly, inexorably, she raised her hand, palm out, towards him. There was no beam or pulse of light connecting them but Holland was held in her grasp nonetheless, and he couldn’t escape. And he started to age - within half a minute, he was an old man, within another, he was an ancient, emaciated husk of humanity. It was impossible to tell at what moment Holland actually died, but as Bucky watched, the flesh melted from his bones, and in another few seconds, those bones had turned to dust, though still held in the shape of a man. The spell broke when Jessie, still otherworldly and strange, lowered her hand - the dust, all that was left of Holland, scattered on the breeze.

And he could move again. The green light had faded, and the goddess was Jessie again, staring numbly at the place where Holland had stood. She slowly raised her hand to look at it, trembling violently. She turned to Grace, who stared back at her, fear written in every plane of her face. Jessie’s face fell, but he was moving towards her, pulling the knife from his shoulder as he did so, before she had a chance to cover her face, and pulled her into his arms. She couldn’t be allowed to think everyone feared her - her powers were awesome but she was still Jessie, and that was all that mattered. So he held her, letting his closeness soothe her, letting her feel that he wasn’t afraid of her, and gradually her trembling eased.

Natasha was watching them - she’d returned to the wagons, no doubt alerted by Jessie shouting. Who knew how long she’d been there, or what she’d seen, but her face was grave. Grave, but not afraid. If he didn’t know better, if he didn’t know Natasha Romanoff didn’t feel such things, he’d say there was sympathy in her eyes.

“We need to get out of here,” was all she said. Grace turned at the sound of her voice, swaying as she did so.

“Agreed,” he answered. “But we also have to deal with him.” He nodded over his shoulder to where Williams still lay.

She sighed and nodded, walking across to the body. “I’ll deal with it. You get them to the meeting place.”

“Be careful. Others will be here soon.”

Her answering look was exasperated; he took the hint and placed a hand on Grace’s arm, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. He led her and Jessie away from the grisly scene, towards Steve, the future, and safety. Grace let him lead her unresistingly. Jessie was more of a problem, unwilling or unable to move; he eventually swung her up into his arms and carried her.

He took them through the darkness to the copse of trees that Natasha had identified. Steve was waiting for them, pacing back and forth, James asleep in his arms. He hastened across to them, pulling his wife into his arms and holding her tightly against him, but he’d seen her face, and didn’t say a word in reproof. Bucky quietly filled him in on the HYDRA team’s end; he nodded in acknowledgment, but gave nothing away about what he thought.

Moments later, Natasha joined them, her eyes scanning the group, making sure everyone was present and correct. Having satisfied herself of that, she looked at Jessie, still in Bucky’s arms - he hadn’t put her down, and she hadn’t stopped clinging to him. Natasha’s eyes met his, an unspoken question in them - is she going to be able to do this? He gave the tiniest shrug in response - he wouldn’t make Jessie do anything she didn’t want to, and Natasha knew it. She frowned, but then shrugged, leaving it to him.

“Jessie?” he said softly. She looked at him unwillingly. “Are you up to this? Because if you’re not, we can wait.” Natasha shifted impatiently in front of him, but he didn’t take his eyes from Jessie’s, and Jessie didn’t notice.

It was a long moment before she responded, but eventually she nodded her head, although her face told a different story.

“You sure?” he pushed, eliciting another impatient sigh from Natasha. But not everyone was like her. Not everyone could live in the moment the way she did - do what needed to be done now, and deal with the fallout later.

Jessie heard the sigh and looked at him again, trying to smile. It didn’t quite make it to her eyes, but she found her voice. “Yes. I can do it”

He smiled softly back at her. “I’ll be right here with you,” he told her. “I won’t leave your side.” Her smile was stronger this time, steadier, as he set her down beside him. She stood on her own feet, but still clung to him, like she’d fall if he wasn’t there. That wasn’t likely to be a problem for her ever again. She glanced back at him, her eyes scared and lost, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms and tell Natasha where she could stick the Time Stone, but this wouldn’t get any easier for being put off. Besides, they were stranded now – their only hope of survival was Jessie getting them back to the future.

And she found her courage from somewhere, straightening and turning away from him, one hand still firmly clasped in his as she reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the stone. Holding it in her left hand, she reached behind her with her right hand, searching him out again. He took her hand gladly, the green glow of the Time Stone spreading out to envelop her even as she did so.

“Wait!” Natasha’s voice was sharp. “Don’t we all need to be touching you?”

“No,” Jessie replied, a confidence in her voice that hadn’t been there before, as the power of the stone coursed through her. “You could be on the other side of the world - I could still find you and take you with me.”

Natasha’s eyebrow flickered - she was impressed, though she said nothing, merely motioning for Jessie to continue. “Just don’t move,” Jessie added. “It’s easier that way.”

In response to her words, Grace shrank closer into Steve, Steve’s arms involuntarily tightened around his family, and Natasha braced herself. Then Jessie turned to Grace.

“Are you ready, Grace?” Impatience flared in Natasha’s eyes again, and he understood why – there was nothing left for Grace here. All her possessions, all her future here had gone up in flames; if she stayed, she wouldn’t last long. But he also knew why Jessie had asked – it was about control, and even if it was just the illusion of control, it could make all the difference to how Grace handled the transition. Grace’s eyes were wide and frightened, but she swallowed and nodded. Jessie also nodded, acknowledging her choice, then she turned back to the stone, focussing her attention on it. The green glow grew and brightened, enveloping them all, and with a small jolt, they were gone.

Chapter Text

Time travel with Jessie was very different to when she’d been the one using the Time Stone. No jarring, violent jerk to one side, no dizzying sense of dislocation, not even the same blinding flash of green light. With someone attuned to the stone in control, the experience was much smoother, just a tiny jolt, in fact. There was a flash of green light, but it was muted, more controlled - the difference between an amateur and a professional. As the green glow faded, she scanned their surroundings eagerly.

At first, it was like nothing had changed, but as her eyes adjusted to the dawn approaching on the horizon, all around her were neat cultivated fields, not the wilderness they’d been travelling through. They were in the middle of nowhere, just as she’d planned; there was a highway nearby, but at this time of day, there was no traffic noise. Grace stared around uncertainly, also noticing the changes, her eyes wide and frightened; Steve was also assessing his surroundings, but he was checking for threats. Of course - they were in the US, a country that desperately wanted them all behind bars (or possibly worse, in Barnes’ case) - Steve was right to be on edge. In the anticipation of finally going back to her own time, and the relief of arriving there safely, she’d almost forgotten where they were going back to. Time to sharpen up. But this was why she’d picked this place - T’Challa’s datapad had allowed her to overlay modern maps with past ones and identify a safe place to land, away from civilisation. The nearby highway aside, there wasn’t a human construction for miles. This was one of the safest places in America that they could be – no people and no surveillance. They had time to regroup and plan their escape.

She turned to Jessie and Bucky. Jessie was looking around her, a hopeless yearning in her eyes, of someone so close to their heart’s desire and yet so far. This was the closest she’d get to her home and family for a long time. Bucky’s expression as he watched Jessie was unreadable - but his face was pale and his right shirtsleeve soaked with blood. How typical of him not to say he’d been hit! She hastened towards him, although there wasn’t a lot she could do without a medkit. He turned to her as she approached, his expression questioning. She gestured to his arm.

“What happened?”

He glanced at his arm, as if only just remembering he’d been injured. “Oh. Knife. Shoulder.”

She glared at him. “Let me take a look.”

“It’s nothing-” he began, before she grabbed his arms and physically turned him - his protest trailed off into a yelp of pain. She almost laughed to hear the fearsome Winter Soldier make such an unthreatening noise. But her smile vanished as she inspected the wound - it was clean, but deep. If it had gone a centimetre further in, it would have punctured his lung - he’d been lucky.

“It will need stitches,” she told him. “Annoying place too - you’ll have to keep it immobile while it heals, or you’ll be ripping it open again every other minute.”

He looked sourly at her over his shoulder. “Once we’re all safe, that’ll be an option,” he replied.

“Be careful,” she warned him. “Human beings have a tendency to keel over when they lose too much blood.” His look could have crumbled mountains. “You’re still a human being, Barnes,” she added softly.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, and turned back to Jessie, who’d been listening in and was now eyeing him anxiously.

“I could try and-” she ventured.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Bucky said quickly. “I’ll survive until we can find some help.” Natasha frowned - Jessie could heal him as soon as look at him - but before she could speak, the comms unit in her ear suddenly crackled into life. Holding her hand up to forestall any further conversation, she moved away from them, adjusting the settings on the comms unit until she found an open channel.

“Romanoff here.”

“Nat.” It was Clint. She closed her eyes in relief. She was home - really, truly home. “Welcome back. I take it you had fun?”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m not picking you up in New York. You seem to be a lot further out west. Where are you?”

“We’re in Oregon. It’s a long story. Can you get us out of here?”

“I’ll send the jet right now. Sam and Sharon will come and get you.”

“Sharon? That’s… Not a good idea.”

“Is something wrong with Steve?”

“No, he’s fine. But…”

“Is he seventy or something? Did you go back to the wrong time?”

“No! Barton, this isn’t funny. He’s…” She sighed. “He got married during his stay in the past.”
In the silence that followed her statement, she could vividly picture Clint’s expression of slack-jawed amazement. “I don’t think Sharon wants to find that out in public,” she eventually continued. “So, if you could find a way to stop her coming, maybe come yourself, that would be better.”

He sighed. “How am I supposed to do that? She’s been on edge ever since you left, manning the comms day and night. You’re lucky you’re not talking to her now. As soon as she knows Steve is back, nothing will stop her.”

“You could not tell her, and just come and get us?”

He snorted. “Right. Cos that’s going to be possible. How did it happen, anyway?”

“The stone took us back to five years after he arrived. He’d lost all his memories when he was thrown back, and in that time he’d got married, had a child, and decided to move to Oregon.”

“There’s a child as well?”

“Yes. A three-year-old. Handsome lad - James. And another one on the way.”

There was another silence. Finally, Clint spoke. “I’ll see what I can do. But I make no promises.”

“Bring medical supplies - Barnes is injured. HYDRA stuck a knife in him. Not serious, but it needs stitching. Preferably before he bleeds out all over his lady love.”

There was another pause. “So, did you bring back someone special from the 1850s too?”

She laughed. “No, I didn’t, don’t worry. I’ll explain it all when you get here. But you need to be on your way.”

Clint sighed. “I’ll get up in the air as soon as I can. And… I’ll do what I can about Sharon. But you owe me for this big time.”

As she smiled and opened her mouth to reply, the comms cut out. She frowned - it wasn’t like Barton to cut her off like that, but he was in a hurry. And the sooner he got here, the better. She’d be a lot happier when they were all on the jet and heading back to safety.

A few hours later, it became abundantly clear why the comms had cut out. They’d been jammed by someone listening in, someone who’d got their co-ordinates and then blocked the signal so no-one else could find them. As Iron Man hurtled towards them, she could only pray that Barton had got the co-ordinates in time. If he had, he might - might – be able to save them. If he hadn’t, they were in big trouble. Tony would have heard her mention Bucky - and if he was still out for revenge, things were going to get very unpleasant.

Not helped by having a native of the past with them, who, at the sight of the Iron Man suit streaking towards them, a blur of red and gold, started screaming in fear. She took a deep breath, taking a firm grasp on her temper - it wasn’t Grace’s fault; of course Tony-as- Iron-Man would terrify her, but it grated. It always would, until Grace had adjusted to her new time. Who knew how long that might take?

Especially if she ended up separated from her husband, while he languished at the bottom of the ocean in the Raft. And who’d be there to get him out? Certainly not her or Bucky - they’d be in there with him.

And while Bucky and Steve had been a match for Tony previously, Bucky hadn’t sustained a knife wound then, and more crucially, Steve had still had his shield. Which left the slight redhead next to Bucky, cuddled into him, small and scared and unwilling – she was their only shield now, the only one who could really stand up against Tony. But would she? To save Bucky, she probably would. But what might it cost her? Only hours ago, she’d turned a man to dust, spinning him through his lifetime and beyond in moments, and it haunted her - it was written in the lines on her face, in the strain around her eyes. Could she turn her powers against someone else? Would that even be the best outcome? They might be at odds, but she didn’t want that fate for Tony. Nor would Steve. And nor would Jessie - she’d find another way. Hopefully in time.

Tony landed in front of them, the usual slight stutter as he cut the power to his repulsors and gravity took over. Grace whimpered, but James was staring up at Tony in awe. To the plastic mind of a child, such things weren’t miraculous. She met Steve’s eyes over his wife’s head - Grace wouldn’t make it easy for him to fight, if it came to it. And Tony was likely to make it come to it - he wanted Bucky punished, or dead, or possibly both. She had to make sure that didn’t happen.

She stepped forward, putting herself between Tony and a clear shot at Bucky. She wasn’t Tony’s favourite person, but he wouldn’t hurt her, not even to get to Bucky. She chanced a look over her shoulder - Bucky was shielding Jessie, as if he could shield her from Tony; his expression was one of deep resignation. He’d hand himself in if he thought it would buy the rest of them their freedom. But Steve needed him, and Jessie needed him. Tony would just have to do without him.

“Stark.” She spoke first - he’d said nothing since he’d landed, visor still down, protecting his face. He was facing towards Bucky - she’d no doubt irritated him by getting in his way.

“Romanoff.” His tone was cool, not at all like Tony’s usual manner. He was still angry with them.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she ventured.

He didn’t respond, at least not directly. His attention had been captured by James, and, still huddling in Steve’s arms, Grace. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Tony, this is Grace, Steve’s wife. And his son, James.”

Tony silently absorbed the information, before he turned to take in Jessie. Jessie was hiding her head in Bucky’s shoulder, trying to conceal her strange eyes from Tony. “And this is Jessie.” She said no more than that; Jessie was their secret weapon, and Tony always underestimated people he thought were less clever than him. So let him think Jessie was another bumpkin from the past - the longer they kept him in the dark, the bigger Jessie’s advantage over him was. Tony was smart enough to think of a way round her eventually - no point in giving him a headstart. It wasn’t Jessie’s motivation for hiding; she was trying to avoid the attention of the Accords, to keep her family safe - but she’d reveal herself is she had to. She’d use her powers to save them. She’d help Jessie keep her edge for as long as she could.

And thankfully, Tony’s attention had already wandered back to Steve and his wife.

“Time travel, I take it,” he eventually said. “But it’s not like Rogers to be so irresponsible as to take a wife out of time.” He paused before adding, “At least, I used to think so. Now I know better.”

“Stark…” Steve’s tone was both weary and a warning.

“He lost his memories when he was thrown back through time,” she explained. “Or I’m sure he wouldn’t have done.” Or maybe he would, judging by the look she got for saying that.

“And you went back to save him, is that it? You and-” He gestured towards Bucky, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say his name.

“Yes. I knew there was a good chance Steve wouldn’t remember who he was. It made sense to take the one person that really mattered to him to help jog his memories.”

Tony snorted. “Of course. Figures.”

“Tony…” Steve said again, but Tony talked over him, changing the subject.

“So who invented time travel?”

She held up the box. “An Infinity Stone,” she replied. “The Time Stone.” Tony’s attention was riveted on the box - good. Let him think she had it. Let him think she was the threat. Let him keep on completely overlooking the real danger. “HYDRA got their hands on it and used it on Steve. I took it from them and used it to go after him. And bring him back,” she added, carefully not looking at Jessie.

“Along with all his waifs and strays.”

She nodded. “We couldn’t leave them there. They knew too much.” Let him think it was a clinical Natasha Romanoff decision. Let him think she might be willing to dump them off a cliff somewhere to tidy things up - it didn’t matter what he thought about her, just that he didn’t think they were important.

“Haven’t brought them back to much of a future,” he replied.

“And why’s that?” Steve was all belligerence. He needed to shut up and not antagonise Tony any further.

“Because three of you are fugitives from justice and I’m here to rectify that.” He waited a beat, then continued, “I might settle for just one of you.” He turned to face Bucky as he spoke - she sidestepped to keep herself between them.

“Tony - you don’t want to do this,” she said, before Steve or Bucky could speak.

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his tone implacable. “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”

“It wasn’t his fault. And you know that.”

“I also know he killed people,” he replied. “People who shouldn’t have died.”

“He didn’t have a choice.”

“Then he shouldn’t be afraid of facing a court of law. If it wasn’t his fault, they won’t find him guilty.”

“You know that isn’t how it works. Can you guarantee he’ll get a fair trial? After what’s been said about him in the media?”

Tony remained silent.

“Of course he can’t.” Why couldn’t Steve just stay quiet? “Besides, he doesn’t want justice, just revenge.”

“I want him to pay!” Anger sparked in Tony’s voice. “I want him to suffer for what he did!”

“I’ll go with him.” Why couldn’t they just leave this to her? She’d handle it!

“Stay out of it, Barnes. You’re not going anywhere,” she told him.

“But-“

“Shut. Up.” She turned to glare at him - he held her stare for an intolerably long time before he looked away. But when she turned back to Tony, she realised her mistake. The moment she’d turned her back to him, he’d moved. He now had a clear shot at Bucky, a hand up ready to blast him, and she didn’t have time to intercept.

She closed her eyes - she’d wanted to talk him down without getting Jessie involved, but only Jessie could save them now. But she was still cuddling into Bucky, refusing to look up. What was she up to? Being a human shield? It wouldn’t work.

“Lady, I don’t want to hurt you,” Tony told her. “But if you don’t step back from him, I will.”

Jessie didn’t reply, just pushed her face even further into Bucky’s shoulder. It was only then that Natasha could see what she was doing - her hand was sliding into the pocket of Bucky’s jacket, still draped over her shoulders. She was reaching for the stone; she was going to act!

Tony sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

But even his repulsors warmed up to fire, Jessie’s hand fastened around the stone and she and Bucky vanished. Baulked of his prey, Tony’s suit powered down, his visor flicked open, and he glared at Natasha.

“Where did they go? What did you do with them?”

“I didn’t do a thing,” she replied calmly. Her initial spike of anger at Jessie for running away had ebbed. She’d know what she was doing. Tony didn’t want to hurt her or Steve, not really - his anger was all directed at Bucky. As long as he was there, there’d be no rapprochement. Focussed on the object of his rage, Tony couldn’t be negotiated with. Take Bucky out of the picture and there was a chance.

And Jessie had done the least conspicuous thing she could have done with her powers; she’d given no indication of its (and her) tremendous power. And she’d kept him from seeing her face. He couldn’t identify her now. The only problem was, there was nothing she could do to help them out here and now.

Tony gestured at the box in her hands. “Really? They vanish into thin air while you’re holding an artefact of incredible power that happens to be able to move people through time, and you’re telling me it had nothing to do with you?”

In response, she opened the empty box and showed it to him. He looked at the box, then back at her, his eyes narrowing. “The girl from the past? She can use an Infinity Stone?”

She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. If he thought Jessie was from the past, so much the better - it would make it a lot harder for him to find her.

“Where did she take him?”

“When, not where,” she corrected him. “And I have no idea.”

He glared at her. “Then I’ll just have to take you two into custody. He’ll try to rescue you - I’ll get him then.”

She sighed inwardly. She’d been afraid he’d react like this, and her only strategy was to keep stalling him until Barton could get to them. Assuming he was even on his way. “You’re not going to arrest us, Tony. You know as well as we do that the world needs us, all of us. You don’t want to face a world-ending threat with me and Steve trapped at the bottom of the ocean.”

“I’d know where you were,” he replied. “I could get you if I needed you. In the meantime, you’d be out of trouble, and Barnes would be out of protectors.”

She hesitated before she spoke - Tony was smart enough to have figured out where he’d been hiding, but this could be an attempt to trick her into giving him proof. She didn’t want to start an international incident. “You know that isn’t true. He still has other friends; they’ll help him. Because Steve would want them to, if nothing else.” Not to mention his time goddess girlfriend. She sighed, tried a slightly different tack. “And you know this isn’t fair on him. He knew your father, he was his friend - do you really think he would have willingly hurt him?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is the point, Tony. It’s the only point. However angry you are about what happened to your parents, blaming Bucky isn’t the answer. He was no more in control of what happened than you were. I’ve been brainwashed. I know what it’s like. There’s no choice – you do what you’re told.”

“You broke free of it.”

“Only after I’d done a lot of damage. Possibly more than Bucky ever did. And he’s broken free, too - at least as far as he can on his own. He needs help, not to be hunted down and killed. This is HYDRA’s fault, not his. He’s more of a victim of HYDRA than any of us ever were.”

“So why did Steve hide it from me? If none of this was Barnes’ fault, why didn’t he tell me?”

She sighed impatiently. Tony knew why. This was just going round in circles, not solving anything.

“I didn’t tell you the truth for a number of reasons, and all of them were wrong,” Steve said from behind her. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you with the truth. You had every right to be angry when you found out, every right to react the way you did. It was my mistake, and I’m sorry. In trying to protect one friend, I badly let down another.”

Silence. She let it hang - Steve’s apology had been frank, unreserved, and in person. There was a chance it would get through. “He still killed my parents.” Tony’s voice was subdued, almost like he regretted what he was saying. “Maybe you’re right; maybe he didn’t have a choice. But every time I see him, it’s there. I watched him kill them - he has to pay.”

She closed her eyes, hiding her disappointment. She couldn’t blame Tony for being angry with Bucky, with Steve, with her - she’d taken Bucky’s part, too, and turned her back on Tony in doing so. Maybe time would heal the wounds, but right now, they were still too raw.

“I’d have let you go,” Tony continued, “if he’d handed himself in. Why did you stop him? He wanted to.”

“Because he’s needed,” she replied, before Steve could say anything. “He’s a warrior, and the world needs those right now. Something’s coming - something big. Fury thinks so, and I believe him. We need every fighter we can get, and he’s one of the best. But it’s more than that - whatever you think of him, he deserves a chance to show who he really is, that he’s capable of being a hero.” She sighed - she hated what she was about to do. “But even apart from all of that, there’s another reason we need him. I think he’s the only one who can ground our time-bending friend.”

“The girl?” Tony sounded interested; was he looking for a way out of the impasse too?

She nodded. “You’ve seen what happens to people when Infinity Stones get hold of them. She’s powerful. I honestly don’t know what would happen if she ever took Wanda on - which one would win. But there’d be a lot of collateral damage. Wanda struggles with her powers, even surrounded by people who care about her and want to help her. Bucky might be the only one that can help this girl. She’s - very attached to him.”

“In spite of what he’s done?”

“She can see through time,” she replied impatiently. “She can look at someone and know their past. She knows everything he’s done, but she’s also seen what they did to him to make him do those things. She sees him as a victim, a vulnerable person who needs help. As well as someone who, for as long as she’s known him, has only fought to protect her. So yes, he matters to her, no matter what he’s done, and yes, it means he has an influence over her that no-one else does.” She shrugged. “You can try to take him in, use us as bait - but if you do, she’ll protect him, and if anything happens to him…”

“So you’re trying to coerce me into letting him go. If I don’t, the world ends, that kind of thing?”

“Not necessarily the world, but maybe you. And this isn’t coercion, it’s the truth. She’s more stable than Wanda, more sure of herself, but she hasn’t had her full powers for long. I don’t know what they’ll do to her. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“If she’s as dangerous as you say, she needs to be somewhere we can keep an eye on her.”

“She’s not dangerous.” Steve spoke again, struggling to hold onto his temper. “You did the same thing with Wanda, and look where that got you.”

“She is dangerous,” Tony fired back. “If her powers are on a level with Maximoff’s, she’s incredibly dangerous.”

“And how do you propose to help her, Stark? The only thing she’s ever seen you do is threaten the man she loves - you think she’ll trust you?”

“I can make sure she gets the help she needs. Can you?”

“You take her away from Barnes, you’re not helping her,” she interjected - if they started squaring up to each other again, they were doomed. “And there’s no way she could go with you, and stay with him.”

“She’s not safe with him.”

“She’s safer with him than with anyone else.” Why could Steve not just stay out of it?

“You’re seriously telling me she’s safest with a massmurderer? That he’s got the best chance of controlling her? More like corrupting her.”

“He’s not trying to control her, he’s trying to protect her. There’s a difference, Stark, if you treat people like they’re people, not weapons.”

“She is a weapon! She has cataclysmic powers that are going to destabilise her, and you don’t think that’s a problem?”

“She won’t be destabilised if she has people around her who have her best interests at heart. If you stick her in a cell and experiment on her, on the other hand, there’s every chance she’ll blow up in your face!”

“Enough, Rogers - it’s obvious your judgement is just as flawed as it was a year ago. She needs to submit herself to a higher authority, and she needs to do it now!” His visor whirred as it came down over his face, and his laser-guided missile array clicked into place. “I’m going to take the two of you in - that should get her attention. Stand down, and don’t resist.”

“You’re making a mistake.” She tried, one last time, to reason with him. “This won’t end the way you think it will.”

But before he could reply, there was a sound she’d been waiting for, a sound she hadn’t expected to hear - a jet approaching. Against all the odds, Clint had made it; he’d gotten the co-ordinates and come to their rescue. She frowned - he’d made it to them much faster than he should have been able to. Assuming he’d been at their usual base when she’d been talking to him, he couldn’t possibly have got to them by now. What if this was Tony’s back-up, called in to help arrest them? With his visor down, she couldn’t tell.

Chapter Text

[Four days previously]

He blinked as Natasha and Stark vanished. Looking behind him, Steve, Grace and James were gone too. He was alone except for Jessie, still clinging onto him. Everything else was the same - the same fields, the same trees in the distance, the same quality to the light. They’d travelled through time, but not far, maybe only a day or so. Far enough to escape Stark, but also far enough that he couldn’t save Steve. “Take me back.” He spoke roughly, almost angrily. He was angry - how could she take him away and leave them to face Stark’s wrath?

“No.” She spoke quietly, but with finality. “There’s nothing you can do for them then.”

He stared at her. “So we’re just leaving them to their fate You don’t care what happens to them, as long as you’re safe?”

“Of course not!” Her own anger sparked in response to his. “There’s nothing you can do for them then. We’re going to help them by what we do now.”

He frowned at her, unable to follow her reasoning. She saw his confusion, and sighed in exasperation. “All you were doing by being there was antagonising Stark. He doesn’t like you, and with good reason. Whatever the rights and the wrongs of it, the sight of you infuriates him; he won’t listen to reason when you’re there. He won’t hurt Steve or Natasha - they’re his friends.”

“They weren’t last time I checked.”

“Of course they were. It’s not like friends can’t ever be at odds with each other. Look at how Grace treated me when she thought you and I were… Look, the point is, she’s still my friend. Some things matter more than stuff like that. He won’t hurt them.”

“He might put them in prison.”

She sighed again, and started to walk away. “That’s what I’m trying to stop. Are you coming?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Take me back.”

She stopped and looked back at him. “What exactly are you going to do, Bucky? How do you propose to take down Iron Man? At best, you have one hit before he blasts you into oblivion!”

“I’ll make it count.”

“Stop being an idiot.” She turned and walked off again - despite himself, he followed her. Then she stopped suddenly and turned back, nearly colliding with him. “Your comms - where are they? Are they on?”

He fished them out of the pocket of his jacket, which she was still wearing. “They’re here. And no.”

“Good. We need them.” She turned and stalked off again.

“I assume you’re going to explain why,” he commented, as he moved up alongside her - despite her irritation lending her speed, he kept up with her easily.

“We need them to contact your friends, so they know where they have to be and when.”

He frowned. “Won’t that just lead Stark to us instead?” “ Almost certainly,” she replied calmly. “Which is why we need to be as far away from here as it’s possible to be in two days. We want to draw his attention away from this place.”

“But if we couldn’t handle him with Steve and Nat beside us, what makes you think we’ll be able to this time?”

She flashed him an irritated look. “He’s not going to find us. Once we’ve contacted Barton and told him what he needs to know, I’ll jump us again. By the time Stark turns up to investigate, we’ll be gone.”

Once upon a time, he’d been fascinated by time travel. In reality, it was just one great big headache. “And what happens to us?”

“They’ll come and get us once they’ve rescued Steve and Natasha.”

“How do you even know all this?” She flashed him another look. “Oh, the stone told you.”

“No, I figured it out,” she replied tersely. “Stark picked up Natasha’s comms signal so fast, he had to have been looking out for it. But how would he have known what to look for? The only thing I can think of is that he’d heard something like it before, and that gave me an idea.”

“I’m pretty sure Stark can’t detect these comms signals. Wakandan technology is too advanced, even for him.”

She smiled. “Normally, yes, but that’s not what’s in your comms units. Back in the 1850s, they didn’t have GPS, or wireless, or anything we have now. Your comms had to work in that environment - and they do. Because they’re basically the equivalent of two tin cans and a piece of string.”

“And Stark can track them?”

“I assume he’s been scanning global communications networks for anything that might help him find you. But it’s still like looking for a needle in a haystack. Think how many people called Barton, Rogers, Barnes there must be - even the best algorithm in the world will take time to sort through all that. That’s why I think Stark found Natasha’s signal far too fast - meaning he knew what he was looking for. Meaning he’d heard it before. And the only way he could have done that is if someone had used your comms units before we arrived. Which can only mean me - it’s not like anyone else can travel into the past.”

“He couldn’t have just got lucky?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. And either way, the end result will be the same. Whether us contacting Barton tips Stark off or not, we know he’s going to turn up - so we have to make sure Barton also knows so he can get there in time to save them.”

He nodded. It made sense. “OK, I’ll go along with it. But how do you propose we get a long way away from here? Neither of us can fly.”

She turned to him, a wicked grin on her face, as they crested a small rise and could see the highway stretching out in front of them. She gestured up the road at a small crop of buildings about a mile away - farm buildings. “You’re going to steal us some transportation.”

A short while later, he strong-armed his way into one of the barns they’d seen from the road - this far out in the middle of nowhere, security was pretty lax. Jessie could have probably broken in without any help from him. There’d been a collection of farm vehicles, including a pick-up truck and a motorcycle outside the barn, but Jessie had insisted he break them into it anyway. Now, she moved into the barn in front of him, searching for anything that might be useful.

A few moments later, she returned, carrying an armful of clothing, a bag, and a first-aid box. She’d already changed her own clothes - gone was the 1850s dress, replaced with jeans that were at least three sizes too big, tied round her waist with rope, and an oversized shirt. She pushed the clothing and the first-aid box into his hands, then started bundling her dress and his jacket into the bag. He frowned. “My shoulder can wait.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you try driving anywhere with a blood-soaked arm like that, the police will pull us over for sure. And we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Take off your shirt.”

“There’s no need, really. I’m fine, we should just get out of here…” His voice trailed off as Jessie, ignoring him, started to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers were icy when they caught against his skin, and his pulse quickened. It was ridiculous - it was neither the time nor the place, not to mention the fairly serious hole in his shoulder. With ruthless determination, he controlled his breathing so Jessie wouldn’t notice his reaction to her stripping him half-naked, turning when she told him to turn so she could inspect his wound. She sucked in her breath when she saw it - but it really wasn’t that bad. He’d had a lot worse… He closed his eyes - it wasn’t just the current wound she was reacting to. He turned his head to try to gauge her reaction - she took it in her cold fingers, and turned him back to face the front.

“It’s not that bad,” he tried again. “It can wait-ow!” Whatever she was applying to his skin, it stung.

“Big baby,” she teased him.

“I just wasn’t expecting it, alright?” he muttered. Her chuckle transmitted to him through her fingers on his skin, and he smiled, despite himself.

“Now hold still.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and passed the time listening for any warning sounds from outside. He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t notice the subtle green glow until it was too late. When he finally did, he whirled to face her. “What are you doing?’

“I’m healing you,” she replied, as if it was completely normal for people to do such a thing. “Now turn back, let me see. You interrupted me…” She trailed off, swaying on her feet, her hand rising to her head. “I feel a little…” He caught her before she could fall.

“Jessie? Jessie!” She leaned heavily against him, her skin pale in the light filtering through from the roof.

“I’m ok,” she said, her voice faint. “It just took a bit more out of me than I thought it would.”

“What were you even thinking?”

“I couldn’t stop it bleeding. It just - it seemed easy when the stone did it to me; I thought I could do the same for you.”

“You’re not the stone. It’s immensely powerful - you’re not. Don’t push yourself too hard, especially solving problems that don’t need to be solved.”

“I’m fine,” she said, pushing herself away from him with her hands on his chest, still freezing cold, still causing his heart to race at the feel of them. She must have felt the pounding, because she looked down at her hands, one of them straying across to the scar where his metal arm joined the rest of him. It jolted him out of the moment, and he pulled away. She looked up at him, confused.

“We should get going,” he said brusquely, taking the shirt she’d found for him and pulling it on. He glared at her. “And seeing as you’re in such a state, we’ll have to take the truck.”

They drove for a long time in silence - Jessie fell asleep within minutes of him pulling onto the road. All his instincts said to go north, to head for Washington and beyond, away from people, towards safety and seclusion in the cold. But instead he headed south, towards the people; there was more noise to hide inside. And the further away he could get from the west coast, the better - they couldn’t give Stark any clues as to where the others might be.

His stomach rumbled. Despite its complaining, he could go a long time without food, but that wasn’t true of Jessie. She hadn’t eaten in some time, and weak and fragile as she already was, she couldn’t cope with an enforced fast. But they had no money, and any shops he might find would be bristling with CCTV. But a few hundred miles later, when the truck (blessedly full of gas) finally gave up the ghost, he still hadn’t found an answer to his problem. He barely had enough fuel left to get the truck off the road and hidden in a copse of trees - it wouldn’t hide it for long, but long enough. He scouted their surroundings before he woke Jessie, still fast asleep in the cab. She opened her eyes reluctantly, clearly not wanting to wake up - as she struggled to keep her eyes open, he was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of protectiveness. She might have been high-handed with him earlier, but she was trying to save their friends; she was under a lot of strain from that, and didn’t need him making things tougher. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he said softly.

She sat up, stretching like a little kitten, and yawned. “Where are we?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“A little town called Tremonton, somewhere in Utah,” he replied.

“What?” she said, sitting bolt upright. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours,” he replied. “I drove until the truck ran out of gas. And you needed the rest.”

She nodded, not disputing the fact. “It’s getting dark. We should find somewhere to hide for the night.”

“Why?” he countered. “I can drive all night if I have to. It’ll be easier to steal another ride when it’s dark. And get you some food.”

“And you,” she replied. “I know you think you’re Superman, but you still need to eat. And I can drive for a bit, too. Where are we heading for, anyway?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just drove.”

She smiled. “Let’s go find ourselves a new car to steal.” A couple of hours later, they were on the road again, in a new truck. They’d raided a supermarket in Tremonton, Jessie demonstrating an uncanny facility for disabling security systems. Loaded up with food and drink, they’d set off again, with him still at the wheel. Jessie had fallen on the food with a vengeance - if he’d not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed she could put so much away; where did it all go?

But once she’d finally eaten her fill, she curled up on the passenger seat, laid her head against the back of the seat, and fixed him with those spellbinding eyes. “So, what was all that about earlier?”

“What was all what about?” He kept his eyes firmly on the road, his tone carefully neutral.

“Earlier, in the barn. When you got all weird about me touching you.”

“Well, it was hardly the time or the place, Jessie…”

“Very funny. That’s not what you were thinking at the time.”

He smiled, reluctantly. “That obvious, was it?”

She grinned, but only for a moment - her look became serious again. “You didn’t want me to touch your arm.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I thought it was time we were on our way, before someone found us.”

“What gave me that impression? Maybe it was the way you pulled away so roughly just as my finger touched the scars.”

He sighed and shook his head. “It’s - it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Are you ashamed of it? Because it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He stayed silent for a long time before he replied. “You shouldn’t have to see it. It’s not - it’s - it’s a reminder of all the bad things I’ve done. And it’s - not attractive.”

He could feel the disbelief radiating from her. “It’s just a part of you. And it wasn’t even that arm that did all those things. And - not attractive? Seriously?”

He finally looked across at her. “You think it is?”

She stared at him. “Bucky, you’re attractive. With your handsome face and your soul-destroying smile, and your quite frankly god-like body, you are incredibly attractive. Your arm - it’s just a part of you.”

He ignored the fulsome compliments; that wasn’t a blush creeping up his neck at all. “Not a very nice part.”

She shifted in her seat and sat up straighter. “Well, as an engineer, I have to say I think it’s marvellous. It’s just like a real arm - that’s amazing.”

“I killed people with it.”

“Not this one - not technically.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Can we just not talk about this?”

Jessie settled back against her seat. “OK. But you’re going to have to let me see it sometime.”

He made a non-committal noise, hoping that would be the end of it.

“I’m serious! There are things I’m planning to do with you in the not-too-distant future, and they will definitely involve me seeing your arm. And quite a lot more…”

He’d gone so far past blushing, it was a miracle he hadn’t gone up in smoke. “Jessie…” he mumbled.

She looked across at him, took in his embarrassment and a guilty grin stole across her face. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I was just teasing.” She turned her head and looked out of the window, giving him space to recover. Truth be told, his reaction surprised him. He hadn’t been the most golden of boys back in the day - but the girls of his time had never been quite so frank. It would take some getting used to. He glanced at Jessie, still studiously ignoring him, and grimaced. His life was going to be very different from now on.

They drove through the night - he eventually let Jessie drive while he got some sleep. They made slower time with her at the wheel – not really a surprise considering she didn’t have his stamina or reflexes. When the truck ran out of fuel, he stole a motorbike and they continued on their way. He had no idea where they were and didn’t think Jessie had either, though they’d made a concerted effort to avoid Salt Lake City, and had crossed into Colorado some time ago. They stole a map the next time they stopped to take on supplies, and Jessie decided they should head east towards Kansas and Missouri. At the rate they were going, they’d be back at the beginning of the trail before their two days was up. There was an irony in that - a measure of how much the world had changed since the time of Grace Rogers. What had taken months could now be done in days - hours, even, if you flew. How would she cope? He’d found it hard enough to come to terms with - what happened when you were from a hundred years further back? He didn’t envy her the adjustment she had to make - but for her sake, and Steve’s and her children’s, he hoped she could.

The motorbike finally gave out, just as it was starting to get light. They ditched it and kept going on foot across the countryside, Bucky carrying Jessie piggyback fashion so they could make more ground. But after an hour or so, even he was tiring, and Jessie had fallen asleep against his back, a dead weight around his neck. He found an out of the way shed, broke them in, and hid them in a hayloft. Jessie snuggled in and went back to asleep instantly, and he quickly followed her example.

They slept long enough that it was dark by the time they woke, but he was much refreshed for it, and there was a colour in Jessie’s cheeks that hadn’t been there before. It had probably been the first time in a long time she’d had a comfortable bed to lie in. She was full of energy as they ate the last of their food, consulted the map, and set off again on foot. It took an hour to find a road, another hour to find a town, and another hour to steal more food and another truck, before they set off again in earnest.

They were within view of St Louis, and dawn, before they stopped. Jessie had kept them away from populated areas, just in case Stark did turn up to cause trouble. They’d found another copse of trees, hidden from view, although it wouldn’t do much to conceal them from a determined seeker. Jessie had explained her plan to him in some detail, most of which he was bound to forget. She’d told him he had to do all the talking; Barton knew him and trusted him, and they wouldn’t have much time before Stark was onto them. Assuming Tony was in New York, or at the Avengers compound, he was much closer than before - he could get to them much sooner.

She pulled the comms unit out of his now very crumpled jacket, inspected it more closely, and smiled. “Maybe they’re a bit more than a tin can and string,” she said. “And that’s all to our advantage.” She adjusted them quickly, then pushed them into his hands. “When you switch them on, it won’t take long for Barton to find you - he’ll be listening out for you. I’ve scrambled the signal, but they’ll have the decoder. You need to make sure they’re scrambling theirs too, the first thing you do. We don’t want Stark overhearing any of this – otherwise he’ll be there waiting when we arrive…”

“Wouldn’t that cause a paradox?” he asked - she wasn’t the only one who knew about time travel.

She hid a smile. “Yes, it would,” she replied. “But - I think I can actually change the past if I want to. So I have to be extra careful.”

He stared at her for a long moment, unsure if she was making fun of him or not. She appeared to be deadly serious. He took a deep breath. “OK, here goes nothing.” He switched the comms on.

At first there was just crackling, but then a voice cut through the static. “Barnes? Is that you?”

It was Barton. He sighed in relief, grateful beyond words that it wasn’t Sharon. “Yes, it’s me,” he replied.

“You’re back? Where’s Nat? I’m not reading her signal.”

“I’m back. The others - well, they will be. They’re safe for now.” Jessie was motioning urgently at him, so he quickly added, “Before you do anything else, you need to scramble your transmission.”

“Already done.” Barton’s voice came through loud and clear. “I was a secret agent once upon a time. Not a bad one, either. What’s going on? Where’s Nat?”

“Right now, she’s still back in 1852. But she’ll be turning up in two days’ time. Up in Oregon.”

“Oregon? Seriously, you go back in time to find Steve and decide to stop off and fulfil your manifest destiny along the way?”

He gritted his teeth, even as he marvelled at Barton’s razor-sharp deductive skills. He wasn’t used to the way that people of this time, and especially Barton and Stark, talked. So glib, so quick, so clever - he couldn’t keep up. “It’s a long story. And technically, we were fulfilling Steve’s manifest destiny.” He sighed. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time. Stark is going to pick up on this signal, triangulate to where we are, and come and check it out. There’s a lot to get through before that happens.”

“Stark? You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.” Where was he supposed to begin? “Look, in a nutshell, we went back, we missed Steve by five years. He’d lost all his memories, and when we got there, he’d set off to travel the Oregon Trail.” He didn’t mention Grace or James - Jessie had been clear that Barton should hear about that for the first time from Natasha. “We went after him - found him - he didn’t remember us. We travelled with him, trying to make him remember. Eventually, he did, with a bit of help from the Time Stone, and someone who knows how to use it.”

Jessie flashed him a look, but after all, she wasn’t going to be able to hide from Barton forever. “You found someone who could use it back in the past? Well, that’s - oh, wait. You turned a HYDRA agent, right?” He finally understood why Natasha liked Barton so much - he came across as dopey, but in reality, he had a mind like a steel trap.

“Kind of. She was brainwashed into it. Seriously, she’s a bigger Captain America fan than I am.” Perhaps he did have some of that snark in him, after all.

“Ouch. That’s rough.” There was sympathy in Barton’s voice - Jessie had nothing to worry about. “So she brought you back? Why just you?”

“She brought us all back, in two days’ time. Stark turned up.”

“So she took you away to protect you. Wise move.”

“That’s what she said. She insisted he wouldn’t hurt them, that it was me antagonising him.”

“She was right.”

“Anyway, she jumped us back four days, and for the last two and a half, we’ve been travelling across the country, trying to get as far away from them as we could before we contacted you.”

“This girl - she’s clever. I bet Nat likes her.”

Bucky smiled. “Yes, she does.” Jessie frowned, unable to work out what they were talking about.

“And it explains why you were talking about Oregon when you’re just outside St. Louis, at the wrong end of the trail. That’s an impressive distance to have covered, even for a superhuman like you.”

“I stole a lot of cars.”

“Seriously, with your rap sheet, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Bucky closed his eyes - he’d meant it as a joke, he was being friendly, he hadn’t meant to poke an open wound.

“I’m sorry. That was - that wasn’t appropriate.” And he was even sensitive enough to know it.

Bucky shook his head firmly - this was no time for a meltdown. He reached for Jessie’s hand, found it, squeezed it hard, and opened his eyes. “It’s not important right now. What’s important is that you know where you have to be and when.”

“I’m listening.”

“We’re going to come back from the past at dawn the day after tomorrow. Just south of the US-26 in Oregon, near a place called Willowcreek, just over the Oregon-Idaho border. I can’t be more specific than that.”

“It should be enough.”

“Good. As soon as we arrive from the past, you’ll be able to pick up Nat’s comms signal; she always had it on and open. You’ll contact her, and you mustn’t let her know you knew we were coming. The way we figure it, Stark’s also listening out for it now, picks it up straight away, listens in, realises I’m there, and heads straight off to find us once he has our position, jamming the signal and cutting you off in the meantime.”

“Before I had a chance to get your co-ordinates?” His super-sharpness was starting to grate again.

“That’s what Jessie thinks. She’s probably right. Anyway, we live in hope that you have them, but Stark turns up four hours or so later, just as the sun’s getting to its highest point. We have a confrontation, he threatens me, Jessie jumps us back in time. I don’t know how long after that you have before Stark loses patience and arrests them, but even on his own, you know he can. Nat and Steve don’t have anything to protect themselves with.”

“That he’s on his own is comforting. The jet should make him back down. If he had back-up, it wouldn’t be so pretty.”

He hadn’t considered that. “We don’t know that he hasn’t called for it. You don’t have a lot of time. You need to be there by noon day after tomorrow, or it might be too late.”

“By my calculations, that means I need to be on my way before you get back.”

“Yes. And… don’t bring Sharon.”

“Any particular reason?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he replied. “Nat will explain. Bring Sam if you have to bring anyone. Oh, and a med kit. Not that I need one anymore.” He muttered the last under his breath with a dark look at Jessie; she narrowed her eyes back at him, completely unrepentant.

“So do I really need to bring one?” Barton’s confused voice broke the impasse.

He shrugged. “She asks you to. You don’t want to disappoint her. And it can’t hurt.”

“Fair point. I’ll sneak one out somehow. Along with a jet and Wilson - should be easy.”

“Whatever,” Bucky replied, suddenly tired of it all. “Just make sure you’re there.”

“Yes, sir,” Barton responded, clearly picking up his change in mood. “And what about you two?”

“Pick us up afterwards. We’ll be around here somewhere; I’ll hear you coming.” He waited for a response, but didn’t get one one. “Dammit,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Jessie spoke, her voice crackling with tension.

“Signal just cut out. Stark must have found us.”

“At least you got everything across that you needed to. We can get out of here now.”

“Don’t you mean we can get out of now now?”

“Wow, Natasha’s really starting to rub off on you.”

He laughed. “I was always like this, lady.”

Her answering smile, as she reached for his hand, and the stone in her pocket, was glorious.

Chapter Text

As soon as she heard the voice over the loudspeaker, she knew they were saved. “Stand down, Stark. This isn’t a fight you can win.” Clint, usually so laid-back, was deadly serious. The jet hovered above them, guns out and aimed at Stark - it could certainly take him down. Assuming it hit first.

“Can’t do that, Barton. They know the whereabouts of a wanted and dangerous criminal.”

“Aren’t we all, as far as you’re concerned?” Clint’s response was strained - there was bad blood there. Tony’s actions had seen Barton imprisoned in the Raft, and even once Steve had broken him out, the Accords meant he was a fugitive, unable to see his wife and children. Clint still held a grudge.

“Some of you are more dangerous than others.” As Tony replied, tiny movements in his armour told her he was preparing to take on the jet; hopefully, Clint had noticed them. If the jet was destroyed, they were all doomed, and she’d brought him into trouble for nothing. More than trouble - he’d most likely go up with the jet.

“So that’s your solution? We don’t play ball, so it’s mutually assured destruction?” Clint’s tone was withering. “And how exactly does that help with protecting the world, if all its heroes annihilate each other?”

“You’re not going to shoot at me,” Tony replied, his tone confident. And he was right. Clint, Steve, even herself - they were all good guys. They wouldn’t kill one of their own just to escape.

“And you’re not going to arrest us.” Clint’s response was just as confident. “If you’d really meant to do that, you’d have brought back-up. Back-up you know we couldn’t have resisted.”

Barton’s comment hit home; he was right. Tony had come hurtling out to confront them because of Bucky. If they’d handed him over, he’d have let them go - he’d said as much earlier. But he must also surely have known they’d never do it, and still, he hadn’t called in any help. If Vision was here right now, they wouldn’t have a chance; he’d have them all in custody. But Tony hadn’t involved him. If he wasn’t pushed too hard, he might still let them go.

“Stark.” She spoke softly. “Barton’s right. You can’t win this without a fight. And none of us want that. Let us go. The one you really want isn’t here anyway. And the world is better off with us outside a prison cell.”

At the mention of Bucky’s name, Tony’s stance changed. He was going to fire!

“Clint!” she shouted, just as he spoke over the comms.

“Is there anything you can do about this guy?”

Green light coalesced around Tony’s form and he froze in place, his arm just beginning to rise - to shoot her. “Jessie?” How could she be on the jet?

“That’s quite the impressive skill you have there.” Clint’s quiet comment was her only response. Then, louder, he said, “I’m coming in to land. Try not to get in the way.”

As the jet landed, her knees went weak with relief. She’d been genuinely afraid that Tony was going to take her in and lock her up. Being caught had always been her biggest fear - Clint had saved her yet again. The number of things she owed him for was getting uncomfortably large. Grace started whimpering as the hatch opened. She’d been frozen with shock by Tony and his strange suit - a hi-tech flying machine was another step too far. Her introduction to the world of the future hadn’t been subtle - more like in at the deep end. But they’d had no choice. They’d have needed a jet at some point, and Tony - well, when you have someone with the world’s biggest intellect (according to him) on your trail, it’s hard to keep out of his way. He always seems to be several steps ahead of you. She looked across at him, fearful that he might have somehow freed himself from Jessie’s time-freeze. But he was still immobilised, green light crackling around him. She breathed a sigh of relief.

As the floor of the hatch met the ground, standing just inside were Jessie and Bucky. How on earth they’d managed to be there - but Bucky’s comms and a time-travelling witch would probably account for it. Who knew what they’d been up to since they’d disappeared? They were both wearing modern, clean clothes – Jessie was wearing a pair of her jeans as well as one of her jackets; hilariously, Bucky was in Steve’s clothing, and he was deeply uncomfortable. She stifled a grin; Bucky Barnes was not a fan of tight clothing.

Jessie, oblivious to her beau’s impressive musculature, leapt down from the jet and dashed across to her - and before Natasha could stop her, she’d thrown her arms around her. She stood stock-still, fighting the urge to throw Jessie to the ground, and even managed to raise her arms to return the embrace. She caught Clint’s eye as he emerged from the jet - he was grinning at her discomfort, and in spite of herself, she smiled back. She liked the girl; she didn’t like the hugs, but Jessie had just saved them all, so she’d tolerate one. She’d make sure it didn’t become a habit later.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Jessie breathed into her ear. “I was afraid we’d be too late.”

“You, mistress of time, were worried you’d be too late? Surely not a problem you’re ever likely to have again.” She spoke lightly, glibly, trying to ignore the warmth that had bloomed inside her at the realisation of how much Jessie cared about her, trying to turn it to one side. Jessie pulled back, smiling at her joke, but it didn’t quite make her eyes. “I’m not infallible,” she said seriously. “I can’t just do anything I want.”

Natasha smiled back at her, hiding her feelings behind it. “For now, just make sure Stark stays dormant. We don’t want him popping up and ruining everything.”

Jessie nodded tightly, her eyes flickering across to Tony’s rigid form. “We shouldn’t stick around for long,” she replied. “Just in case.”

Natasha nodded, then motioned towards Grace. “You think you can do anything to help with her?”

Jessie looked at Grace and shrugged. “I can try. I think Steve is better qualified though.” She moved off towards the Rogers family; Natasha wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that Jessie hadn’t realised she’d been suggesting she use her powers. Her momentary distraction meant she didn’t see Clint coming until it was too late - before she could evade it, she was pulled into her second embrace in as many minutes. She considered throwing him to the ground, but decided not to - she’d missed him too. Barnes wasn’t a bad travelling companion, but he didn’t have Clint’s way of lightening a situation by not taking anything too seriously. Not his fault - but as someone who tended towards the darker, moodier end of things herself, she needed Clint to balance her out. With Barnes, she had to be the light entertainment, and it wasn’t her forte. Still, there’d been signs towards the end that Barnes was reverting to his old self - and by most accounts, he’d been a snarky companion too. There was hope for him yet.

“Glad you made it back,” Clint said, trying to squeeze the breath out of her. “Next time you go on one of these adventures, you take me with you, ok?”

“Why?” she replied. “So I can waste time saving you every time you get into trouble, instead of getting on with the mission?”

He laughed. “That too,” he said. He released her and crossed to the others, to offer what assistance he could in getting Grace onto the jet. It left her on her own for a moment. She turned and looked out over the plains of Oregon.

“Why on earth would anyone want to live here anyway?” she asked of no-one in particular. She shrugged and turned away, heading for the jet, and safety.