Absolute Gravity

I'd had brief moments of freedom before. Walks on the beach with Clara. Trips to Tony's lab to try out his nano-tech suit. Clara and Tony's wedding and reception. And brief meetings with Liv to go over the rapidly declining state of my body and organs.

But nothing like this. Those freedoms had been so brief they were limited to ten-minute intervals (with the exception of the wedding). I'd been under close watch. Or limited on how long I could be in any place at any given time.

But this—this was better. The sun was shining on my skin. The wind was blowing my hair in every direction. And Graham was in the driver's seat, talking my ear off about Ezra's band and the show they were putting on soon. It was the biggest gig they'd ever had. Even though it was just a local bar.

I wanted to go but didn't think it was a good idea. I'd be in a closed space with a bunch of people. Plus, I didn't want to be Graham and Ezra's third wheel the way I'd been for Clara and Tony those months I recovered from being shot. They deserved to have time together. Without worrying about me collapsing in the bathroom and killing everyone in the venue.

Even though the drive along the Pacific Coast was a taste of freedom, I knew it wasn't real. The watch sat heavily on my wrist. The glasses felt permanently affixed to my face. And Tony had to authorize it before they even let me out of the building. Even though he was out of the country with Clara and Bernie for their honeymoon.

The freedom was false, and I was still on limited time. Tony disagreed with what I was doing, but it was my choice. And Graham had been down for the road trip the moment I suggested it. He didn't even question why. He just knew it was something I needed to do. For myself as well as Bucky.

The building was on the nicer side of care homes. At least from my experience. My grandma had lived and died in an old facility that felt more like a hospital than a home. But Bucky's family had been well compensated after he'd seemingly died in the act of service. And while Rebecca Barnes had married, had children, and moved across the country, she was still set up in a place that felt more like a home.

I left Graham to bake in the parking lot under the hot California sun. He promised to get us some iced coffee and meet me in about a half hour. I wasn't sure how long this would take. And I felt anxious and skittish as I entered the front lobby.

"He'd want you to do this," Chaos said as I looked around.

"Are you sure this isn't a violation?" I whispered back, hoping no one noticed I was talking to myself. Or maybe they'd just pass it off as Bluetooth.

"He may not get the chance to see her again before her time comes. If he had to choose—he'd want it to be you."

I sighed and approached the front desk. I hated using my connection to Tony Stark as a way in. But there were some instances where I was glad for it. This was one of them. I wasn't family, and I couldn't exactly explain that I was there to see an old woman because I was in love with her older brother. Thankfully, enough people had been around asking questions, checking in to see if Bucky reached out to his only surviving family. And dropping Tony's name basically made it sound like I was there on official Avengers business.

So the nurse, despite her nervousness, led me back through the hallways and to the room Bucky's sister called home. She tapped gently on the door before poking her head inside.

"Miss Rebecca?" she asked. "There's a guest here for you. Her name is Johanna Hayes."

"Send her in," a voice replied. And she let me into the room.

Rebecca Barnes was a frail old woman seated in a hospital bed. She had the TV on, and despite the facility's best efforts at making it look like a home, it still had the vibe of a sterile hospital room. She smiled when I stepped into the room. Her blue eyes reminded me so much of Bucky's that it was almost startling.

"Hello," I said. "My name is Johanna Hayes."

"Hello, Johanna," she replied. The nurse seemed to realize all was well and left us alone, shutting the door quietly behind her. But by the time I turned back to Rebecca, she was frowning. "Forgive me," she said. "But I don't actually know who you are."

"Oh—I'm sorry. We've never met." Then she looked relieved.

"Oh, that makes me feel better. I was afraid I was going to hurt your feelings. But who are you exactly?"

I stepped forward and took the seat beside her bed. I looked around the room, wondering if anyone was paying tabs on her. My guess was that it was highly likely. But I didn't think my being there would raise any red flags. At least none that weren't common knowledge by now. Hydra and the CIA knew Bucky and I had lived together in Romania. They knew everything I was going to say. So I took a deep breath.

"I'm a friend," I explained. "Of your brother's." Her expression dropped into a deeply wrinkled scowl. Which wasn't exactly the reaction I expected. She turned back to the TV and picked up the remote like she was about to turn the volume back up to drown me out.

"If you're here to ask questions, I've already given my statements to those men in suits. I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him. And I didn't know he was alive."

"I'm not here to ask questions. I'm actually here to tell you something." She set the remote back down and focused on me again. But her expression was still hard and untrusting.

"Is Jimmy all right?"

I smiled at the sound of her name for him. He'd told me once that his family called him that. It had been Steve who'd started calling him Bucky. Until that stuck all through his time in the military. I'd called him a variation of all three of his names at some point or another. And he'd never asked me to choose one over another, even though I typically stuck with Bucky. Or the few times I'd called him James in bed just because I liked how he'd grab me.

"As far as I know," I told her. "He was the last time I saw him. When we uh—we were living together." Her frown deepened. So I shifted. "Bucky—Jimmy, sorry—he is—how do I explain this?"

"Your lover?" I snorted. He would have laughed to hear that. We'd never clearly defined what we were to each other. He'd called me his girlfriend plenty of times. But he'd also called me his wife. Even though that wasn't true. So it was hard to tell what was a ploy and what he actually meant. Though "lover" was probably the most accurate.

"Well," I said, "I was going to say the love of my life, but I guess that works too." Her expression softened now.

"You love him." A statement.

"Yes. And he loved me too."

"How…?" I took a deep breath to prepare to launch into the story.

"I used to work for SHIELD. After SHIELD fell, Captain Rogers asked me to help him track Jimmy down. We used my house as a safe space. A potential meeting point for them. But Jimmy came to me first." She studied me for a moment.

"Of course he did."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He always went after the pretty ones with the doe eyes." I snorted again and shook my head.

"Yeah—maybe so. But yeah—we had a connection—I helped him, and—we fell in love."

"You were with him when he was on the run?" I nodded.

"We lived together in Romania. It was the happiest I'd ever been."

"And why aren't you together now?"

"I got sick. And there was no way for me to get better on the run. So I made a choice. Unfortunately, that separated us. It wasn't an easy choice. And if I still had the opportunity—I'd still be with him."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. And even if I did, I couldn't tell you. Just in case." She nodded as if she approved of this.

"But you still love him."

"Yes. I wanted us to have a life together. I knew we really couldn't, but—if we could, we would. He, um—he told me that if things had been different, he would have asked me to marry him. I told him that I would have said yes." She turned away and tapped her fingers on the remote.

"I was just a girl when he died," she told me. "I remember—the agony—of that loss. Like it was just yesterday. It felt wrong. Unfair. And for so long, I grappled with that wrongness by blaming it on grief. And I remember begging—praying more like—that he was still alive somewhere. That he'd come back home one day. That it was just a mistake and he'd survived. I said that I would give anything." I reached out to take her frail hand. She looked back at me again.

"So when I found out the truth, that he had survived, and what they'd done to him all those years? I felt guilty. Like I was somehow at fault for all the horrible things they did to him. What they made him do. I know my brother, Miss Hayes. And I know he's a good man."

"He is."

"Which is why I know it must be destroying him to think of all they made him do."

"It did. He still struggles with it. But it wasn't your fault."

"I know that now. But I've still spent these last few years wishing I hadn't made that bargain. Some things are worse than death. And I forgot that in my grief. He'd never had a chance to live. Never fell in love. Not really. Never get to have a family and a life, and along with all that guilt, I just felt pity for him."

"I have something for you," I remembered. I let go of her hand to get it from my bag. Then I held it out to her. A copy of the photo of us. She smiled when she took it and traced her fingers along his face.

"He looks just like I remember. A little broader in the shoulders. A little rougher around the edges. But—just look at that face."

"He is unfairly handsome." She laughed.

"Never tell him that. It'll go straight to his head."

"Too late. I told him all the time. He never believed me, though." She shook her head.

"No—I don't imagine he did. He's not the same man I knew."

"Part of him is."

"Look at how he looks at you." I smiled. I knew we were brought together by circumstance more than anything else. But that didn't mean we lacked in the most essential parts. It didn't mean we lacked passion or that I loved him any less. And whenever I looked at that picture, I knew he felt the same for me.

"I miss him," I admitted. She smiled sadly.

"I do too." She looked up at me again. "Why did you come here, Miss Hayes?"

"Because I wanted you to know. I figured you'd been told he's alive, but—I wanted you to know that it hasn't all been bad for him. For a moment there—he was happy. And as long as I'm alive—there will always be someone around who loves him. So I wanted to give you a chance to see him like that. Even though we're separated right now—I still have hope we'll find each other again."

"I appreciate you bringing this to me."

"I'm glad."

"The point I was going to make earlier—I'm glad to know he still has a chance for a life. Knowing that he was able to find real love—that means everything to me. So I want you to do something for me—if you find your way back to him."

"What's that?"

"When I was a girl—I made Jimmy promise me something. I want you to hold him to that promise. He'll know. And if he doesn't remember, I want you to remind him. It was just a silly game between us, and you don't have to follow through, but—make sure he remembers."

"What's that?"

"I made him promise to name his first daughter after me." She grinned. A wicked and mischievous one that told me something of that little girl was still inside her. It was the wicked grin of a little sister. And I wished that I could follow through on that childhood promise. I wished it was an option. I didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't. So I just smiled.

"I will." She turned back to the photo.

"And when you see him again—tell him to get a haircut." I laughed.

"I kind of like it long."

"Of course you do. You're young." I didn't feel so young anymore.