When the Lights Go On Again by @spacecasewriter13
Synopsis: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.
Chapter 18: Contemplating a World Tour
Chapter Summary: Bucky has a series of interactions and conversations that bring his feelings about his hook and the feelings of those around him further into focus.
Excerpt:
“Well, would you look at that?” Sousa said with a whistle, drawing Bucky’s attention to the windows facing the bullpen.
There, strolling through the SSR office like he owned the place, was none other than Howard Stark.
Bucky’s stomach soured, the acidity of the coffee he’d been guzzling down on an empty stomach all morning finally catching up with him, helped along by Howard’s presence in the office. “Great.” He managed in a tone of what he hoped was bland indifference.
He wasn’t indifferent to Stark. How could he be? There was baggage there from the war and, of course, since. During the war, Bucky had thought little of Stark. True, he’d been a little star-struck at first that the genius inventor was here helping them. However, very quickly, he became simply just their tech guy, and since he was trying to keep Steve, him, and the rest of the Howling Commandos safe while also unraveling (to the best of his abilities) Hydra’s technological secrets in an attempt to give the allies an edge, he’d been all right in Bucky’s book.
Since the war, specifically after the dropping of the bombs on Japan, Bucky had different feelings about Howard Stark. The man he’d known had been thrown into sharp relief against the weapons manufacturer and genius. It wasn’t that he hadn’t realized what Howard was capable of. It was just a reminder that this was more than just one of Steve’s personal friends. This man was interested in technological wonders without a second thought about the long-term costs. This had been further cemented into Bucky’s brain back in April with the Bad Babies and the havoc they’d wrought. Yes, Howard was remorseful about a lot of it, but Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how much a bit more self-control on Howard’s end might have saved him the necessity for remorse.
All of which cast their meeting in an interesting light.
He wasn’t surprised Howard was here. It was all that Steve had talked about since their usual Sunday lunch—when Howard was supposed to visit, what he was looking at in the SSR office, and of course, that he wanted to talk to him if Bucky could spare a minute. The chorus of ‘wish you could’ve been there” had been replaced by the refrains of ‘well, next time you should come with us,’ and ‘after you talk with Howard next week.’
That didn’t grate on Bucky’s nerves half so much as Steve’s hovering. Steve was constantly on the edge of his seat, jumping up to do things for him before he had an opportunity to get to them, jumping up to collect their boxes and files, moving and arranging things on the table to give Bucky plenty of space to maneuver, cutting in front of him to help with doors and latches or getting his tray for him when they were at the automat. Had Steve been like this before he and Carter had left for Europe or had time and distance softened that irritation? Or was this a new preoccupation of Steve’s now that he was back? Bucky didn’t know.
“You, Rogers, and Carter worked with him during the war, right?” Sousa continued after a moment.
“Some.”
“What was that like?”
“Steve and Carter worked more closely with him than I did. He was just the guy who gave us our gear. But,” Bucky motioned outside where Howard was putting on a show for the agents, talking about Heady Lamar and Gene Tierney at some volume, “more or less like that whenever there was anyone worth performing for.”
Sousa snorted but nodded, “Fair enough.”
The whole thing was an act, Bucky knew. In fact, he knew that they had more in common with their upbringing than either of them would care to admit. They were both of immigrant stock who’d grown up dirt poor. Only Howard was clawing his way up, while Bucky had never had such ambitions aside from simply making ends meet and seeing to it that his sister had a better shot at getting out than he did. The fact that he was more comfortably middle class, now after the war, seemed more like a bit of luck than anything he’d done to earn the position. Howard, through his genius and luck of his own, had risen and didn’t seem like the type to stop and ponder the whys and hows very much.
“He’s not a bad guy. He just lives on a different plane of existence than the rest of us,” Bucky added for good measure.
It wasn’t that Bucky disliked Howard. On the contrary, Bucky liked Howard quite a bit, and the man was a hell of a lot of fun to be around at the best of times. He just trusted him about as far as he could throw him—therein lay the issue.
“Well, good. Because Rogers just pointed to you, and he’s heading this way,” Sousa said, retrieving his crutch from the floor. He levered himself from the chair and picked up his coffee cup. “Which I think is my cue to leave.”
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