onlyapassenger | [for Peggy]

Another fruitless, frustrating night in Rapture comes to a close, and Bucky's too wound up from unspent adrenaline to want to crash so early. They've had a few breaks in the Redman case lately, but haven't yet been able to make it materialize into more actionable information since destroying the Bathysphere. But that night is as much a source of distress as it is of comfort; he nearly died, in a very concrete, familiar way, and while he was able to shrug it off at the time, what few quiet moments he's had since have been filled with unsettling thoughts of the strange, twisted nature of his life.

He sits across from Peggy in the Winchester, chin in his metal palm as he pushes his food around in his plate. He extended the invite when he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep, but filling the meal with casual conversation is proving more difficult than he expected. Eventually he opts to just ask the question that's been at the forefront of his mind since they sat down.

"Sergeant Barnes," he says, glancing up. "How did he die?"

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"A train," he murmurs, eyebrows lifting in quiet surprise. That's a change in history, all right, though the falling apparently stays the same. "Whose train? Zemo's?"

"No," Peggy said with a small shake of her head. She wondered where the details differed, if there were any similarities at all between this Bucky and hers. "Arnim Zola's. We did end up capturing him as a prisoner of war."

He wonders if her world even has a Zemo, all the while hoping like hell that it doesn't. Zola's a real piece of work, but Zemo's the one guy who's perpetually come closest to killing Captain America and Bucky off for good. Much as Bucky hates to admit it, there aren't a lot of people who can claim the same.

"And the Sergeant's body, it was never recovered?"

"No, it wasn't."

It was easy enough to separate the Sergeant from her own universe with Bucky, but when she looked at him, it was difficult. She saw the boy (they were all boys) who'd barely had a chance to be a man before his life was cut short, and the pain his death had caused.

"Steve gave me the short story on how you've come to be alive again. Does your past line up with his?"

"The Sergeant's?" he asks, immediately shaking his head. "No. I was training to be Captain America's partner before we even had a Captain America, and I died when an experimental plane blew up, with Steve. But I hope for your Sergeant's sake that his future stays as divergent as his past. I wouldn't wish what I've been through on anyone."

Peggy had an inkling of what Bucky had been through, but not the whole story. She'd never asked Steve for it, and she knew Steve was loyal enough to Bucky that he might not have told her.

Her food long forgotten, Peggy pushed the half-full plate to the side, and settled back in her seat, glass in hand. "How were you brought back?"

It's not a story he tells very often. Most of the time, he doesn't think it's anyone's business, though he's tried to make exceptions for any curious members of the ITF, letting loose relevant information if they ask for it. Peggy's different, someone from a version of home and important to Steve. If she wants to know, he'll tell her.

"I was captured by the Soviets in '45," he says, listlessly pushing his food around. "They were still our allies at the time, but things had already begun to change. They thought I was like Steve, another super-soldier, so they were eager to revive me, using bleeding edge medical technology to treat what wounds I'd sustained and thaw me out from the ice. The process worked, and I turned out to be something more useful to them than a super-soldier, because I was the perfect spy. I couldn't tell you my name or who I was, but I remembered all my languages and training. They exploited my amnesia and turned me into a tool... Only after a while, I started to remember things, fight against the conditioning. I became too difficult to control, so they'd put me on ice between missions, wiping my mind each time. I operated as an assassin for decades, my existence more or less a myth in the intelligence community. I was... very good at my job."

There's no pride in the words. Just simple fact.

Peggy had often thought about the sort of life Bucky could have lived, tried to picture what could have changed this version of him so much that a smile almost seemed like a treasure.

That...well, that certainly explained a lot. Especially the arm.

"Goodness." What else did one say to a revelation like that?

"How did you break their control?"

"Only managed it once on my own. Evaded 'em for a couple of weeks 'til I was brought in and wiped," he says, finally just pushing his plate away.

"The time it stuck was when I crossed paths with Steve. He got control of the cosmic cube-- It can alter reality. And he told me to remember who I was... So I did. Wish I could say I fought it off or that... The power of friendship restored me, but it wasn't that. Just the right words spoken to the right thing. Coulda put a bullet in my head when it all came rushing back to me, the things they'd had me do... I went from not being able to remember my name to knowing everything these hands have done, and--"

He stops suddenly, thinking he's probably said too much. It's just he's he's been so damn tired these past few weeks that thoughts he generally keeps buried have been simmering too close to the surface, needing little prompting to boil over and get voiced. He clears his throat.

There were a myriad of details and moments on missions Peggy was not proud of having performed, but she could not fathom the depths of Bucky's experiences. She was glad to hear Steve saved him, but from what she could see, even now, Bucky didn't seem like a man saved. At least, not since Natasha left.

She gave Bucky a moment to gather himself. "And then you became one of Steve's Avengers?"

"Sort of," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "I was solo for a while, then worked with a couple of partners. The Avengers were on the run when we first crossed paths. They nearly gave me leadership, but they're not a military outfit so we all came to the decision I didn't have the right experience, even with the shield. Eventually things got better. Not sure I ever did get used the vigilante thing, though. It's... Different."

"I can't even imagine it," Peggy admitted. She liked to think she was a forward thinking woman and had come to understand many things about the future, but a whole team of people with powers and strengths to rival Steve's... it seemed outrageous.

"How mad the world must be in your future." And maybe a bit exciting, she would think.

"You've got no idea," Bucky sighs, rubbing his jaw. "The technology alone is incredible."

He smiles, as wryly as it is brief. "The thing that threw me for the longest time is their phones. They've got these little pieces that fit into your ear -- if you don't see it, you'd swear to God everyone was just talking to themselves."

Peggy matches the brief smile as she takes another sip of her drink. "I've seen them in some of the films I've viewed. I have to admit, I'd love any chance to experience the future for myself. I'm almost envious of everyone who doesn't realize how amazing their time is."

"Got a bit of a look at Christmas, at least," Bucky replies. "Not that New York's usually populated with ghosts. The real thing's a lot louder."

"It was wonderful seeing how much the city changed, but I did feel a bit cheated out of the genuine New York experience," Peggy admitted. "Though I suppose I can't complain, having been able to see it now instead of the ripe old age I must be in your time."

[for Peggy]

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