Poppies

Bucky walked in to see see Stark talking to Steve. He shut up abruptly when he saw Bucky, but then relaxed. "Thought you were Emma," Stark said. He returned his attention to Steve. "But this is a really good bet."

"What are you trying to talk him into?" Bucky asked, with a certain amount of jaundice.

"Just a cure," Stark said intensely. Then backpedaled. "Well, a treatment, anyway." Bucky passed Steve a glass of water as Stark explained that a couple of biochemists thought that they had a way to revitalize the serum in Steve; perfuse the cells with a jump-start cocktail, then hit it with the Vita-ray, the plans for which had just been rediscovered.

"There's a drawback," Steve said quietly as he set down the glass. Bucky got a pang as he looked at his friend, older every time he saw him.

"Of course there is," Bucky sighed.

"I have to die first," Steve said with resignation.

"This is not a good idea," Bucky said immediately.

"Actually, it is, James," Natasha said, coming in with Barton close behind. Bucky's light and her shadow. "It might take a couple of months until the Vita-Ray is tested, but after the treatment, odds are really good that we'll have Steve back. We need our field commander. You know there's nobody like him." She gestured to the four of them. "We're all that's left from the original Avengers. We've expanded, but we're the core group. We're responsible for each other."

"Does Emma know?"

"No, and if Steve agrees, you have to agree not to tell her," Stark said rapidly. "She could shut this whole thing down, but it really isn't her call. It's Rogers', to decide whether he wants to do it or not."

Bucky couldn't argue with that, but... "Do you want to to this?" he asked his closest friend.

"I do, Buck," Steve said immediately. "I'm not ready to die. There's so much I still want to do. We've got a lot of time to make up for, you and I. And I just got married, Buck. An eternity isn't enough with her, but I want to at least make it past our first anniversary."

Bucky leaned back. "Tell me," he said resignedly. He listened as Stark described the treatment, Natasha adding helpful details. Barton listened and watched. After the others left, he had a heart to heart with his friend.

"Honestly, Buck, if you and Emma weren't in the picture, I probably wouldn't be jumping at the opportunity. All I'd have to look forward to would be more battles, more scouting, just...more of the same. And that's not much of a life. But I don't want to leave the two of you without at least putting up a good fight." He was silent a moment. "Continuing as the Avengers' leader is just the price I'll have to pay, and I'm willing to do it because the reasons for it are so powerful. If I die in spite of the treatment, well, at least I'll have tried. The thing is, there's a third possibility--live, die, or...something else. I might be a vegetable, or something that isn't me anymore. Stark promised that if that third possibility is what happens, he'll put me out of my misery. And that's why I don't want Emma to know about this. She'd never give up. And I don't want to be...not me."

"I think you're misjudging her," Bucky said quietly. "She's strong enough that she'd let you go." But his friend wouldn't listen.

"There's another thing," Steve said, then hesitated. Bucky waited. "I'm starting to get a little foggy now, so I want to be sure to tell you this when I'm in my right mind. I've already talked to Tony about this. When I die, if it's possible, I want you to take up the role of Captain America." He held up his hand to still his friend's protests. "People don't know me, they know the symbol, and it's reassuring to them to have somebody they feel is on their side, fighting to protect them. Whoever takes it up after me is going to have a hard time of it, because it's a change and people don't like change that impacts their feeling of security. And there's nobody I trust more than you to get the job done. Get people accustomed to it not being me. Everybody knows we're friends, knows the story. I'm not asking that you do it forever, just long enough that people understand that while the person carrying the shield may change, the commitment doesn't. Sam would be my choice to take it after you. I like the idea of it being a role that a veteran can be slotted for."

Bucky nodded; that seemed reasonable enough. "Ok, I'll be your transition guy," he said.

"One more thing," Steve said. And fidgeted. "Emma. I know you'll keep an eye on her anyway, but I'd like to make a special request that you do, if this doesn't work right. She'll take it hard, but I want her to be happy, to move on. She deserves all the happiness in the world, everything good. So do you, for that matter." He twisted his arthritic, gnarled fingers together restlessly. "I want both of you to be happy, to live long and fulfilling lives, however that works out." He smiled briefly. "Live long and prosper, as that guy Emma likes so much always says." Bucky managed an equally brief smile.

"I"m going to say this just once, then I'll drop it, Stevie," Bucky said. "If Emma finds out about this--and she will, unless the outcome is that you really are dead. She's going to be absolutely furious. She's going to see it as a betrayal of trust. You think she's been mad before? I suspect that you haven't seen the half of it. Her rage is going to be pretty much apocalyptic. And at the heart of it all, it's not respectful to her. It's about what you want, not what she deserves. And I really think you're going to regret it." But Steve wouldn't listen, and then his mind started to wander.

That night, Bucky was getting ready for bed, still thinking about Steve's decline and the treatment that Stark was proposing. He still didn't like it, but he wouldn't do anything to stop it. It was, in the final analysis, Steve's choice. He just thought that the man's wife had the right to know about it.

"James," Natasha purred, coming up behind him soundlessly and wrapping her arms around his torso, caressing the solid muscle before sliding one hand into his pajama bottoms and stroking him. He dropped his head back. If there was one thing he craved, it was to be touched. Contact with another human being. Touch meant that he wasn't subhuman, that there was affection and caring. Steve touched him, pats on the shoulder or arm, thumps on the back, clasps of the hand. Emma always touched him when they spoke, pats on the hand or the forearm or the shoulder, hugs, pecks on the cheek, almost unconsciously, and completely unaware of what it meant to him. Natasha would have sex with him, but she was very reserved unless it was just the two of them. Privately, he felt his ideal woman would be a blend of Emma and Natasha; a woman who was willing to accept him into her body but who would be affectionate in public too. And someone who wasn't his best friend's wife. He let her draw him to the bed, stepping out of his pajamas, stretching out on the sheets, touching and being touched. She parted her legs for him and he kissed his way down to their apex, making her come before moving up her body again and penetrating her. He'd just established a good rhythm when she pushed him onto his back and took over. She'd said, when he'd asked her in irritation why she always had to be on top, that if she was on top, she'd be able to respond to a threat faster. She'd winked at him and said that caution was why she was still alive. Bucky accepted it, but he wished she could trust him more. He refrained from pointing out that 'they' would have to go through him to get to her, and that while she was good, he was better.

He loved her, but was starting to feel that they were together more because of their past affair and because there weren't really a lot of options for either of them. People got twitchy about sleeping with notorious assassins.

He stimulated her more, and she came, her muscles clenching and releasing around him so pleasurably that he came too. He was still catching his breath when she slid off him and lay on his left side.

"So tell me what's really bothering you about this thing with Steve," Natasha said finally.

"What are the estimated probabilities?" he asked getting his head together. "And why are you so set on keeping Emma out of the loop? It's not like she's against experimentation or even being a test subject, for that matter."

"Stark's pet doctors think that the success rate is about 80, 85%," she said immediately. "So it's high, but not a sure thing. So why tell her? If he dies anyway, she never needs to know. If it's a success...well, she's got him back. I don't think she'll be too fussy about how that happened."

"I thought you were friends," he said quietly.

She shrugged. "As much as I can be. You know I have trust issues. Emma's fun and a good person, but... I haven't known her for very long. And I've known Steve for long enough to be loyal to him. He's saved my ass before, trusted me when... well, you know. Trust is hard to come by for people like us." And Bucky understood it. He could see her side, but knew she was underestimating Emma. And that if it didn't go perfectly to plan, with one of the two perfect outcomes--death or his friend's restoration--the consequences were going to be catastrophic.

When he woke up again the next morning, she was gone and he was alone. As usual.

***

Gray light filtered in the windows of the hospital room. It had been cloudy for days and the light was thin and cold. Bucky shuddered. He'd give anything for the warm rich light of a fall day. He stood beside the bed, looking at his best friend, who was chatting. He was glad Steve was alive again, he was, it was just that there'd been... a hangup. He'd been in a coma for a week following his...what? Resurrection? Bucky wasn't comfortable with that, it seemed to be a term that should be reserved for Jesus. Steve was a lot of things, but holy he wasn't, despite a brief stint as an alter boy before the close proximity to so much incense kicked up his asthma. After Steve woke up from the coma, there was still a problem. His memory was scrambled, some of his memory gone, mostly from the past few years. The doctors felt that if he could see his wife and other friends again, that might help stimulate his brain, recover the memories. Bucky was very strongly opposed to this, wanting to give his friend more time to recover on his own. It wasn't like pretty much everybody hadn't been in to see him now, anyway. They'd tried to limit the knowledge to the five of them, but Wanda had found out, then Pietro...word had spread, but nobody wanted to tell Emma, not wanting to run foul of her rather fearsome temper.

But he'd been overruled. Steve had wanted to see his wife again, and the doctors felt that at least it wouldn't hurt. They'd cautioned him that he might not ever remember what was missing.

And now the door was opening. Emma slid inside the room. Stark, the coward, stayed in the hall. From the look on his face, he might be understanding the depth of the fuck up now. Bucky's heart twinged at the sight of her face, still so worn from her grief. The past several months had been very hard on her; she seemed diminished with her cares. She looked curiously at him, twisting the wedding band on her finger, then her gaze fell on Steve, who was looking at her pleasantly. Stark had told him that his wife would be coming to see him, but there was not only a lack of recognition, but a flash of disappointment.

"I remember you from the forest," he said pleasantly as he looked at her. "You made my shield." Her face drained of color.

"Is that all you remember?" she asked faintly, and he nodded. "It's kind of a blur after that," he admitted. "Apparently I got married, though," he said, nodding to his ring on the table. "Where are the kids, Buck?" he said, turning to me. "You don't get married and not have kids. They thought the serum would have prevented me from passing my original defects onto any offspring. I always said I'd name my son after you, remember?"

"Shut up, Steve," he said quietly. Her face had gone so white he couldn't figure out how her brain was still working. And his damned idiot best friend had no idea what he was doing to his wife. Bucky remembered the sacrifice she'd made in the arena as if it had just happened. She wobbled out the door without another word, and he heard the cadence of her voice, speaking to Stark.

"She seemed nice," Steve said, slightly puzzled. "But I thought my wife was coming to see me."

"That was your wife," he hissed. Steve frowned.

"Isn't she a little old for me? Is that why I don't have kids?"

His teeth ground together. He told himself that his brain was scrambled, which is why Steve didn't recognize the light of his life.

Bucky could hear Stark's voice raising in panic as he babbled about how it happened that Steve was alive again.

"Why didn't anybody tell me?" she whispered as he walked to the door.

"Uh--"

"Because we were afraid you'd put a halt to it," he said simply, stepping out of the room and closing the door.

"We thought that if it went wrong, you'd never have to know," Tony babbled. "But then you'd be so glad to see Steve again." His voice faltered. "No?" He wasn't surprised when she hit Stark, and patiently awaited his turn. He deserved it, and more.

"He doesn't remember me, asshole," she hissed to Stark. "Not past when I made the shield."

Tony tested his eye first, then the back of the head. "Con didn't say you'd hit. I thought you'd gotten past the hitting."

"Con? My friend, Constance? What does she have to do with this?" she asked, bewildered.

"We've been dating these past five, six months," Tony muttered. "I mentioned that to her in therapy though." Her face went white again at this additional betrayal, and she looked at Bucky. He couldn't begin to decode all the emotions there, but pain was winning, sucking out the little light and grace she'd recovered after Steve had died the first time. He couldn't keep eye contact, but looked up again when she walked away. She was almost running by the time she hit the end of the hall.

And Bucky knew that the worst part was only beginning.

He gave her some time, then went over to the house. She wasn't answering the door or her phone, and with no sign of Torburn or Sigurd either, figured that she was walking in the woods. Her workshop was also shuttered.

That night, he'd fretted. Nobody had seen her once she'd left the hospital, and nobody'd heard back from the messages they'd left. "It'll be fine," Natasha predicted confidently as she caressed him. "It's got to be a shock. But you know her, she can't resist a challenge. Even if his memory doesn't come back, they can make new ones."

"He might not fall in love with her again," Bucky said tensely. Her hand dropped to his cock, which remained utterly uninterested in play. She dropped to her knees and put her mouth on him, but was still unable to get a reaction. Bucky pulled free and went to the bed, where he held out his hand for her. "Stay with me," he asked her. She lay beside him for awhile, but when her renewed attentions didn't get the result she wanted, she got up.

"I've got some things to do," she said, and left.

He finally fell asleep, hoping that Emma was ok.

The next morning, when he went to visit Steve, his heart froze over when he saw his friend frowning over a note; he had Emma's sapphire engagement ring and her wedding band on his index finger. Bucky dropped nervelessly into the visitor's chair. "She really was my wife?" he asked, his brow knotted up. "These are my rings?" Bucky nodded.

"But she seemed older," he said again.

"You're almost a hundred, punk, you were robbing the cradle," Bucky said, trying to lighten the mood, speaking past the lump in his throat. "The past few months have been really rough on her. But you can trust me when I tell you that she was the light of your life and a huge reason why you tried the treatment. Next time you see her, I strongly advise you to tell her that you were starting to get Alzheimers. That's an excuse she can accept. Blame Stark. He can take it."

"I don't think she's coming back," Steve said, still frowning. He waved the note. "She said she's leaving, and that since death parted us that we are no longer are married and that the doctors aren't encouraged that I'll remember what I've forgotten, she says that my things are in the residence. Where's that?" He shook his head. "You can tell me later. There's also an account number. She says it contains the payout for my life insurance, the money I had in the bank when I died, half the value of the house--we bought a house together?--and interest." He looked at the rings on his finger. "There's no contact information." He was silent, and Bucky couldn't think of anything to say. When Steve spoke again, his voice was tentative and small, like it was when they were kids and the doctor had just told him that he probably wasn't going to grow any taller, and that he was probably not going to be able to do the things he'd dreamed about. Even hiking in the Grand Canyon, a trip they'd been talking about for almost a decade at that point. "Bucky, I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Yeah, kid," Bucky said heavily. "I told you when I found out about this that she wasn't going to take it well, that she'd be furious."

"See if you can find her, will you?"

"I've been trying, Stevie. She's not at home or not answering the door, nobody's heard from her or seen her since she left the hospital."

Bucky stuck around long enough for the doctors to come in and do their cognition tests, hearing that Emma'd been by that morning for answers. They didn't really have any. He slid out of the room and went to her workshop. It had been opened, and he could see that things were missing. He walked the path through the gate to her house and found movers taking out boxes and a little table, and a realtor pounding a sign into the yard. He returned to the campus and sought out Fury, who showed him a very tersely-worded resignation letter. At the team meeting that afternoon, Stark reported that she'd put her SUV into long-term parking and vanished.

"You and your schemes," Fury had said tartly to Stark. "Now look where we are."

"We managed without her before," Natasha pointed out.

"But now there won't be any new engines for that motorcycle you liked," Fury snapped. "There won't be any more of the weapons she produced. We've lost the knowledge she'd collected in her head that came in handy when nobody else had answers. Like when you all came back from the Yucatan. And just as important, we've lost the fulcrum that kept us balanced, evened us out. Mark my words, without her abilities and the sacrifices she was willing to make" his gaze flicked over to Pietro "we're headed for the rocks."

Fury was prophetic. Natasha was irritated that he didn't bounce back after Emma's departure; they'd had words about his feelings for Emma, hers for Barton, his visits to Loki, all the irritations that built up in a relationship as well as the foundational issues, and she'd broken it off abruptly. To his relief, the reasons for their breakup remained private. Thanksgiving was the usual celebration at Barton's home, but Christmas was celebrated in the game room. Maria'd hired decorators, so it looked festive and had a tree, but it had been professionally done. The tree was perfect, but it could have belonged to anyone. Nobody's personal ornaments had been incorporated. The whole thing looked corporate and essentially barren of personality. The dinner was delicious, but it lacked homemade rolls and dessert was a bland pumpkin cheesecake rather than something different and spectacular. New Years had confetti and champagne and music, but there was no dancing and it broke up quietly after the toasts to the new year had been made. At the end of the month, Fury had a stroke and the doctors recommended against him trying to go back to work, so he'd reluctantly retired. And then things really went downhill. Thor and Sif spent as much time as possible on Asgard to avoid the infighting. Stark and Steve were at each other's throats more than they were on the same page. Aside from missions, nobody really talked to each other or spent downtime together. Bucky took to visiting Loki instead. First to fill the void Emma had left, then because he started to actually like the guy. He was there when packages that Emma sent from Amazon were delivered. She actually wrote Loki physical letters, delivered by the postal service. There was never a return address, but sometimes she'd include a sprig of some plant or other. Pine, sage, a leaf, a flower. Loki never let him read the letters, but would tell him that she was unharmed--he never said that she was 'ok' or 'fine', and that worried Bucky.

His relationship with his best friend suffered a bit too. He put all his effort into helping Steve recover, helping him unpack his boxes in his room in the residence, going through his sketchbooks with him, including some eye-popping sketches of Emma that mad both of them blush, the pictures and video he'd taken on his phone, the wedding video and photographs. He filled in with information where he could, and gradually Steve recovered most of his memory, which was when the impact of events really hit him. Bucky kept to himself a small, unworthy feeling that Steve deserved what he was getting. If he'd just been honest with Emma from the start, she'd still have been there, helping him through his recovery. But no, she'd gone, and the light and warmth she'd shared was also gone. Steve went out on some dates, but nothing seemed right. Bucky knew he'd slept with a couple of the women, but it didn't seem to fill the hole inside his friend; if anything, he was more restless and out of sorts after the sex. Stark wanted him to track her down, but he refused, and when Steve had added his weight to the argument, he still refused. They'd had the worst fight in the history of their friendship, and finally Bucky had ended it by saying that it was Steve's decision, ultimately, that had put them all on this road and it wasn't up to him to fix it. That she had a right to live her life, having made it very clear why she had left. He'd thought that Steve was going to slug him when he said that Steve should take it like a man, own up to his actions, that he wasn't going to harass Emma, but Steve had just turned abruptly and left.

A few days later, Steve had come by with beer and an apology. And a couple weeks later, he and Stark had hatched a plan to go to her home in Colorado and bring her back. He went along willingly to keep things from getting out of hand. And, frankly, for safety reasons. Emma's temper was kind of scary, and she had the right to be mad. He wanted to keep her from doing anything she'd regret later. Or might regret, anyway. Down the line. Someday.

Besides, he had an apology to make. Long-overdue. He'd emailed her once, but he wasn't sure if she'd ever read it. And he had a little plan of his own. It was kind of craven, but he was desperate to spend a little time with her again. He was scheduled to go out to Wakanda for an upgrade to his arm. He was going to ask if she'd do it instead. It was insanely nervy of him, all things considered, but he was desperate. His life was reduced to work and hanging out with Steve, which was fine as far as it went, but it didn't go far enough. Steve cared, but there was nobody actively checking on him, making him interact, bringing him out when he withdrew. Nobody patting his hand, learning from him, accepting his care, checking to see if he was fine after a mission. He needed to let her know what exactly he had done and why, and apologize for his actions. Even if she didn't agree to help with the arm, he owed her that. It was a burden on his soul that he didn't want to carry, and he was willing to accept the consequences. He didn't have any real hope that Steve and Stark would succeed on their mission; they hadn't reached his point yet, or they'd know that the best they could hope for was to be heard out and to give her a heartfelt apology. Any demands would be rejected, regardless. What was needed was a delicate approach, which is something both of them lacked. Stark was willing--reluctantly--to admit that he'd made a mistake, but he wasn't ready to ask for forgiveness.

He felt lighter as the quinjet lifted and headed to Colorado. One way or another, he'd be doing penance. He might not get absolution, but he'd have made his confession, and he could live with that.

They drove up to a charming house, where she was working on some gardens. It was probably her finest ability, and least appreciated, that she could make any place welcoming. A home, not just a structure to keep the weather off. Even her workshop had been welcoming. Out of habit, he slipped out of the car when Steve and Stark went to talk to her. He was concerned that the dogs weren't in evidence. Surely Thor would have mentioned it if something had happened to them. He also wanted to have a better understanding of the property; he was going to come back later by himself to talk to her and didn't want to trip over a stump or fall into a water feature. He listened as he moved around. She seemed dissociated, and that worried him. And when she mentioned him and he saw her fully for the first time, he'd almost been struck by the knife she'd flipped at him. It was a reflex action; he knew what it was like when she was really dialed in and looking to score the target. He'd been distracted by the toll the past months had taken on her. She'd already been careworn when she'd seen Steve again. Now suffering had etched lines in her face, she'd lost weight, and although she was grooming, she didn't seem to care for her appearance. She'd never been one for hair dye or perfect makeup, but her hair seemed dull, she wasn't putting her usual care into her appearance, and to see her was to be a little depressed too. She radiated pain. She wasn't going to be able to help the Avengers. She couldn't even help herself.

He went back later than he'd planned, but Stark wouldn't go to bed. He kept drinking and muttering about what had gone wrong, questioning why she looked so broken. He didn't get it.

She let him in to talk; he could tell she didn't want to but probably felt that maybe by talking to him she could get all of them to shove off. He laid out his apology--not as eloquent as he'd have liked, but it was sincere--for her and listened to what she had to say. He didn't argue with her or make any suggestions. She didn't need that. He felt that what she wanted was for somebody to understand. To be on her side. And he was, but he pushed her anyway. And after a terror-filled moment, she deflated and said that she would help. He knew not to push his luck and left immediately after thanking her. He'd done what he could. The others... well, they were on their own.