Saving Grace

Chapter IX

Present day, Avenger's Tower.

Bucky sat on the sofa in "common room" of the Tower. In his hands, he held a pre-war photograph of Steve and his sister, Grace, that Steve had recovered after his thawing. Even though he had yet to see a color picture of her, he somehow knew Grace's eyes were blue. Sky blue instead of the baby blue of her brothers. How did he know that? Steve said that he had known Grace before, and the moment he saw the photograph in Wilson's hand, his heart leaped in his chest. She was important to him. Special. Precious. But why? And in what way?

Bucky sighed. He could somehow conjure up a picture of her in his mind, clear enough to know for a fact it was her. Smiling blue eyes, shining golden curls....and dancing. He immediately associated dancing with her. Maybe they had gone dancing together. And...and...roses. Roses somehow went with this mysterious blond beauty.

Yes, she was beautiful. She was small, tiny even, very thin, and looked younger than the nineteen years old Steve claimed she was, but she was beautiful. Only a complete idiot would say otherwise. She had an air of determination about her, just like her brother. Her smile, heavens, her smile seemed to light up the room, and her eyes shone with happiness, even in the black-and-white photograph.

Please let her wake up and remember me, Bucky thought. I need to know who she is.

October 20, 1942, World's Fair in New York City.

"Don't do anything stupid till I get back, Punk." Bucky hugged Steve.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you." Steve chuckled. "Give my love to Grace if you see her,

"Will do," Bucky nodded and turned to head back to his date.

"And don't win the war till I get there," Steve added. Bucky grinned and dashed back to the girls.

One month later.

It was happening tomorrow. Steve was becoming the first super soldier tomorrow. Steve so wanted to write to Grace, telling her what was happening, but he had been forbidden. Dr. Erskine came in for a bit of pep talk, and when Steve lay down to sleep that night, he pulled out the small frame he kept under his pillow. It was Grace's senior picture. He fell asleep studying his beloved sister's smiling face.

The next day, as the chamber closed up around him, and Dr. Erskine asked he was alright, he could practically hear Grace's voice in his head. You're going to do just fine, Stevie.

"Guess it's too late to run to the bathroom, huh?" He answered Dr. Erskine.

The thought of Grace and finally be able to look after her and protect her was the only thing that got Steve through the pain of the procedure. Mom, Dad, Grace, I'm finally gonna make you proud.

Frontlines of Italy.

Bucky crouched down in his foxhole with a Brit known as "Dum Dum" Dugan as another wave of machine gun fire blazed through the woods. It was getting late; he could see the moon rising. Over the next hour, the fighting died down, a seemingly unspoken agreement to cease for the night falling over everything. Bucky and Dugan, however, knew better than to try and rise from their foxhole.

"I'll take first watch, Barnes," Dugan said. "Go on and sleep."

Bucky tucked himself into a corner and settled against the earthen wall with his gun clutched to his chest. Slowly, he reached into the front pocket of his uniform and pulled out a piece of white fabric that was edged in blue. He unfolded it and gently ran his finger over the embroidery in one corner, N.G.R. with a rose. Protected in the white folds he kept two photographs. One of his family, and one of Steve and Grace. He took them out and smiled softly. They were all of the reasons that he was in a damp foxhole in Italy with no promise of ever returning to them.

"Family?" Dugan nodded to the pictures in Bucky's hand.

"Yeah, guess you could say that," Bucky answered. "This one is my parents and little sister, Rebecca. She's a junior in high school now." He handed Dugan the first picture.

"Nice family, Barnes. Bet she's already broken a few hearts." Dugan smiled.

"I dare say she has since I've been gone." Barnes grinned widely and nodded.

"The other one your girl?"

"Naw," Bucky shook his head, but he felt his cheeks heat up ever so slightly. "My best friend and his little sister." He flipped over the photograph for Dugan to see.

"Hey, let me see that," Dugan reached for the picture. Bucky handed it to him, trying to hide his reluctance. "Now, there's a doll, Barnes. She about your sister's age?"

"No, Grace turned nineteen about a month ago," Bucky answered. "She's with the 85th Field Hospital. Been somewhere here in Italy since August or September."

"Is she going steady with anyone?" Dugan asked. "If not, I call dibs...unless you've already got sights on her, Sharpshooter...."

"No, you can try your luck, Dum Dum," Bucky chuckled, but felt a little twinge in his chest. Why did he always feel like that when another soldier talked about Grace like that? She was not his girl; why should he feel....well...jealous.....at the thought of her with another fella?

"You sure?" Dugan asked slyly. "That hankie doesn't look like it belongs to you." He handed the photograph back and nodded toward the white fabric in his hand.

"No, you got me," Bucky sighed. "It's Grace's."

"I sense a story here."

"Not really." Bucky shrugged. "When Steve and I were seeing her off back in August, some tears were shed and our handkerchiefs got mixed up in the rush of things. I kept forgetting to get it back to Steve, then it somehow ended up in the pocket of one my uniforms, I figured I can give it back if we ever come across her unit."

"That's your story, is it?" The Englishman chuckled. Dugan might have been nicknamed "Dum Dum", but he was not stupid. Or blind. He saw the faint blush on the younger man's face when he asked about the picture and the girl in it.

"Yep, and I'm sticking to it." Bucky nodded.

"If you say so, Barnes."

Bucky tucked the pictures and handkerchief away in his uniform pocket and settled down in his corner of the foxhole. He fell asleep cradling his weapon to his chest, but his hand was pressed over the front pocket where the photographs and crochet-trimmed handkerchief resided.

Three months later, Captain America Tour.

Steve sighed heavily as he peeled off the tight "Captain America" costume he wore for his war bonds tour. Literally, the only thing making the whole rigmarole worthwhile even a little bit was seeing the kids happy and excited. If it were not for that tiny detail, Steve would have quit the whole humiliating thing after the first show, and told them to find another monkey to wear the suit-costume-thing. He had not gone through the agony of becoming a super soldier to be a stage attraction, but, three months later, there he stood, all six-foot-three-and-a-half-inches of him, acting like an idiot on a stage for hundreds to see, wearing a ridiculously tight, comic book hero-like outfit.

I'm sorry, Grace. You and Bucky aren't risking your lives over there so that I can play around on a stage. I've failed again. I'm sorry.