I missed him.
That's why it hurt.
his hand in mine, the concrete room, the evil man behind the desk with the red book; it all melted away to nothing, because I remembered.
And he did too.
My Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes, my best friend in the whole world. Here, in this space, everything was right, just as it should be- why couldn't I remember my own life?
My life.
My life.
.......
Brooklyn, New York, July 3rd, 1942.
James Buchanan Barnes wasn't supposed to be up this side of Brooklyn. He was half a mile from his family's apartment, several blocks to the south of where he was now.
He didn't belong- that was evident, not by the looks that the shopkeepers were giving him at this hour of the night, as he strolled through the streets at a brisk pace, as if he belonged, as if he knew exactly where he was going.
This was entirely due to the fact that James, a young white man, didn't belong in the black neighborhood across from his own. The neighborhoods were segregated, just like the Jewish neighborhood, and a few others. That's how it was done in New York- you rubbed elbows with people of every race and color, but you didn't associate with them- especially not blacks and whites.
His hands were shoved in his khaki pockets, his hair slicked back as usual, but he was a little nervous. Scared, even, hoping, praying, keeping his fingers crossed that she would be there when he arrived.
A moment later, he was ascending the stairs, running his hands through his hair, wishing he could runs hands through her beautiful, thick curly hair. He liked it better when she didn't try to straighten it- when she kept it just the way it was, just as she was.
His heart beat a little faster as he got the fourth flight of stairs, checking behind him and at the window nearby to see if anyone was watching him- the coast seemed to be clear. He hopped up, swinging his leg over the side of the railing, gently landing on the fire escape that snaked around the building.
"One of these days, you're gonna break that metal with all of your jumping." she'd scolded him a few weeks ago. He smiled at the memory as he stepped carefully, until he was at her window. She'd said her parents were supposed to be out tonight, but it was her twentieth birthday, so maybe they whisked her away for something special.
He heard a fake cough through her window, as he tried to suppress a laugh. Only she would try to pull something off like this- he would too, but that's what made them so alike.
Her curtains fluttered, and he put his head in slowly. She was wearing that pink swing dress she liked so much, the one with the full skirt that twirled so wonderfully when they danced. She looked perfect as always- a laugh on her lips, as she faked another cough.
"You'd better make the latest lie worth it." she said in a low voice. "Because I convinced them to go out, to postpone my birthday until Sunday night."
"Doll, it's Friday, let's go out and have some fun." James said, crawling in through the window.
Grace loved the way that James towered over her, but not too much, not so tall that he couldn't lean his head down to kiss her and tell her how much he loved her.
You see, James Buchanan Barnes was madly, hopelessly in love with Grace Lorraine Alburn. Standing before her now, he recalled the time that she'd first come into his sights- she'd moved up to Brooklyn from Washington D.C.. Her papa was a skilled mechanic who designed cars and worked in the back of a white-owned garage in the upper crusty part of Brooklyn. It paid well enough, and her mother had a job as a seamstress. James nearly ran into Grace one night when he was walking home from school when they were fifteen going on sixteen. It was a warm spring night, and he was smitten with her the moment he saw her, an old raincoat pulled over her frame, her beautiful brown eyes looking back at him- the drenched boy from the opposite neighborhood, looking longingly at the beautiful girl with the raincoat and umbrella.
She was so struck by him that, against her better judgement, she'd offered him the use of her umbrella on his way back- she insisted she'd be fine with what she already had, she said, her eyes darting to and from him.
"It's my mama, you see," she said, trying to smile. "She worries that I'll catch a cold unless I'm protected from the rain in every way,"
"Not so protected as to keep you from finding me." James quipped.
"Just take it-" she said, putting the umbrella handle in his hands.
"How will I find you to give it back when the sun's shinin' again, miss?" he countered.
Now she looked him in the eyes.
"You know you can't do that, not here, not now. That's not how it works." she answered, stepping back. James closed the space that she'd made, standing near her again.
"Just- just keep it. I'm sure I'll see you again, perhaps someday." she said.
"Perhaps? Perhaps I'm a gentleman and I must make it up to you." he said.
"No- keep the umbrella. I'll tell my mama I gave it to someone who needed it more than me. That'll be enough." Grace said.
"It'll be enough, if- when the sun is shining, you'll kindly meet me for ice cream down the street at Wally's? How about Thursday at lunch, or whenever works for you?" James asked with his suavest smile.
She gave him a small smile, blush creeping onto her cheeks. She didn't look like the girls at school- maybe that's why he took her in like she was the rarest diamond in the world, like nothing he'd ever find again. No, he wasn't going to pass up on a girl like this.
"Here's my address, my apartment number." she said. "There's a fire escape at the back. I'll be at Wally's on Saturday evening."
"I'll be seeing you, Grace." he said.
......
"What are you daydreaming about, James?" Grace asked him, waving her hand in his face.
"Just remembering the day that I first saw you, darling." he said, smiling at her.
"You ready to go? How long will your folks be out?" he asked.
She frowned, turning back to look at herself in her big mirror.
"I guess I am, except my hair, and my lipstick is missing."
"Oh, you mean this?" James asked, twirling his fingers at Grace's right ear, a little bullet-shaped tube of lipstick seeming to come out of thin air.
"Where'd you find that?" she asked, smiling and taking it from his hand. He closed his fingers around it, holding it out of her reach above her head, grinning at her.
"You didn't answer my second question, and you look amazing, by the way." he said.
She tried to frown. "My parents won't be back until ten, at least, that's what they said. Now give me my lipstick." she said indignantly.
"I saw it on the windowsill," he said. "I knew you'd be looking for it- kiss me before you put it on."
"James, why?" she whined.
"Because what will my parents think when they see lipstick on my neck-" he started.
"James, stop it!" she exclaimed, kissing him. He kissed her back, bringing his hand down to give the lipstick to her.
"I love you." he whispered in her ear.
He went back out through the window and the fire escape, and Grace left through the front door of the apartment. Leaving a note for her parents would do no good- they just had to leave and hope that they didn't come back earlier. if they said ten, then Grace knew that she'd better be back by a quarter after nine, back in bed, looking as sick as possible. It was so risky, a black girl sneaking out with a white boy, but she didn't care. She knew that James wasn't as careful as she tried to be, because he always wanted to see her. He was pretty much the only white boy who swaggered through her side of the neighborhood without a care in the whole damn world- because he didn't give a damn who saw him, except Mr. and Mrs. Alburn, of course. On that end, he kept the lowest profile possible, hard as it was.
She couldn't do the same, not without risking life and limb. A black girl had no business being on the white side of the neighborhood, poor as it was. You just didn't do that, not without being taunted or having trash thrown at you. Grace knew from experience, and James had apologized to her for endangering her, the first few times he'd asked her to meet him. Now he always came to her, to keep her safe.
They were dancing in the Brooklyn Swing Club, a place where, at least here, it was so mixed in its reputation that no one cared who you danced with. Here, at the swing club, formerly a speakeasy during hr e prohibition days, was no stranger to breaking and bending the rules.
That's why they loved it there- what happened there, stayed within the walls of the old brick building, where no one knew or cared for their names or what color they were. This was the one mercy that New York permitted them that most of the country wouldn't-a taste of freedom from the bigotry and prejudice.
Only two hours, James thought. Two hours to be with the girl he loved with all of his heart, the girl who somehow turned twenty right under his nose, almost literally. She spun around, like an angel in a dream that had come to visit him. She was Grace in every way, he couldn't stop marveling at her. She always walked with such nobility, even from the first time he saw her, she carried herself with all the grace of a princess, the grace of a queen. She was like the Hollywood stars, only better, because she was with him- none of them were quite like her.
"You're the queen of Brooklyn-" he'd told her one summer night when they were 18.
"You're the queen of the whole damn city as far as I'm concerned."
And she was. Every week, every day, every hour that he was near her.
"Happy birthday, darling." he whispered, pulling her close as the song came to an end. He'd surprised her with cake and dinner, catching her by surprise. He didn't miss the happy tears that came to her eyes, or the way she kissed him again. How could he tell her what he knew was coming up in only a few weeks? That he was getting shipped out and he wanted to marry her more than anything in the world- he even had the ring and everything, but the stupid law was the stupid law.
Damn the law, he thought. Damn what everyone thought and what everyone told them to do or not to do- it was skin color, for heaven's sake? Why the hell couldn't anyone understand that? What the hell did it matter if they had darker or lighter skin?
He couldn't stop the hot, angry tears that came to his eyes as the next song kept playing, as they kept dancing.
Grace noticed, concerned.
"James, what's wrong?" she asked, slowing them down.
"Let's go where it's quiet." he said, hoping that the emotion wasn't showing in his voice. They left the dance floor, away from the couples that swung to the Charleston, away from the noise that they had lost themselves in. Upstairs, there was a quiet area that had served as an overflow area for dining. Now there was no one, just the soft light from the bar area.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked him again, looking into his blue eyes.
"You're right." he said. "You're the only thing that's right in this messed up world-" he said, taking her left hand. With his left hand, he twirled his fingers behind her right ear, a tiny wooden box seeming to come out of thin air. Before Grace could answer or react, he was bent down on one knee:
"Grace Alburn, will you marry me?" he asked. "I know- but we can disappear, find a place where they can't tell us what to do- surely there are other people like us-"
Tears fell from Grace's eyes.
"Yes," she said, after what seemed like an eternity. "But they'll never let us-"
Ans with that, she burst into tears, James sliding the ring onto her finger, standing up, wrapping her in his arms.
"Shh, it's all right." he said, tears coming down his own cheeks. "We'll find a way, somehow, when I come back-"
She stiffened, then held him to her tightly.
"You're being shipped out, aren't you?" she asked, her voice broken.
"Oh god, James, why now? It's all gone to hell- what will our parents say? What if you don't come back?"
"Don't worry about that now." he said soothingly, running his fingers through her hair.
They held each other for what seemed like a long time, but not long enough.
"I can't wear it for them to see." she said, her voice sad. "I'll have to wear it on a long necklace, hide it when they're around."
"I know, darling." he said. "I love you."
"I love you, James." she said.
There was a sudden rush as scenes where Grace's parents discovered the ring on the necklace and demanded to know where it came from- where James' parents found out and were shouting terrible things at him, saying he'd made a mess of things and that he should be ashamed- but the worst by far was how Grace's father tore the necklace out of her hands, yelling at her for being so stupid to put herself in so much danger.
"He'll never come back for you!" her father had yelled. "He's white, and if he's not dead before the war's over, he'll move on to someone he can marry properly!"
Grace's father yelled many more things, but from where he stood in the present time, wrapped up in the memories of two people from 1942 who had become assassins with their memories locked in a deep dark place they couldn't normally access- T'Challa couldn't bear to see any more. He pushed through it, his resistance to magic giving him some sway, and made the terrible mistake of breaking the connection. Seeing all of this made him hate Barnes all the more- and now he saw a side of this girl- the girl who once wore a pink dress to the opera- in an entirely different way.
There were so many broken pieces to pick up, some that could never be fixed.
......................
AHH THERE IT IS. You wanted the truth? Well I hope y'all can handle it because there's more coming your way. I'm sorry I'm a pathetic piece of Bucky trash, but I swear I cross my heart and hope to die, this WILL be about T'Challa. I just had to break his heart and yours first, okay? I couldn't get these scenes out of my head. Next update tomorrow or Monday night. AND WE GOT TO 8k YOU GUYSS.
Love you all!!