Wakanda, August 10, 2016

After gathering their composure and mustering their courage to see this through together, the two friends were back in the brightly illuminated white lab where they started out days ago. Since Bucky had already proven he was physically all right by literally crashing into Steve's room, there was no point in him staying in the medical room. The physicians gave him some stronger drugs against the migraines, but there was only one cure to heal the true ache in his body, heart, and soul.

"You sure ya don't want me to read this aloud so you can follow along?" he asked Steve again.

"For the third time, no," replied the latter, dropping the box with Evelyn's letters on the table. "Evy wrote that journal for you and you alone. If you two really were an item, it's bound to get personal at some points, and I really don't wanna hear about that. I may have wanted you to get together, but that doesn't mean I need the details."

"You're assuming a lot now. I may have been in love with your sister, but that doesn't mean she felt the same for me."

"What's that thing in front of you then, huh? She loved you, I'm sure of it."

Bucky wanted to argue, but there was no point. The Rogers twins didn't share a lot of character traits, but one thing both of them had plenty of was stubbornness. And Steve knew Evelyn better than anyone else in the world. If he was convinced she'd been in love with him as well, who was he to argue that? After all, he didn't remember. Not yet, anyway.

"So when was it?"

Steve's sudden question shook Bucky out of his musings. He looked across the table to meet a curious gaze.

"That you fell in love with her, I mean?" added Steve.

"Not sure," answered Bucky. "I realized it the first time she took me to this underground speakeasy on the Fourth of July. Ya know, that birthday you pretended to be sick, in '41."

"Ha, I knew it! I knew something happened that night!"

"Nothing happened. We went to the theater, then drinks, then I walked her back home and picked Pops up from your place. End of story. All we did was talk with each other, I swear."

Steve's grin wavered. He raised a questioning brow and cocked his head. "Nothing at all? Really? You just... talked?"

"Well, not all the time. Evelyn got up to perform at the request of some patrons, so she was gone for a few minutes."

"Perform? What are you talking about?"

Now it was Bucky's turn to look confused. Did Steve not know about his sister's secret activities?

"You do know about the Poppy Lounge, right?" he asked.

"The Poppy Lounge?" Steve scrunched his nose at the name. "I recall a Poppy's Pub in the... ahem, near where I drew sometimes, but nothing in terms of a lounge."

"You mean near Miss Lettie's?"

 A tomato would pale in comparison to the color rising in Steve's cheeks, as Bucky grinned in an all-knowing manner.

"I-It's not what you think," he stammered. "I-I just went there to practice. Drawing! To practice drawing, I mean. The girls weren't shy to model for me, and Miss Lettie was kind enough to come up with an arrangement for their time. A business deal. Not that they... I mean, I never... I-I could have, but —"

"My God, Steve, relax already." Bucky chuckled as his friend struggled more and more to explain his frequent visits to the bordello. "Evelyn told me all about it. She was happy Miss Lettie and her girls helped you out like that."

Steve sighed, visibly relieved he didn't have to continue in his agony. Bucky shook his head at him. No matter how he looked now, Steve Rogers would never really change. He would always be that scrawny, shy boy from Brooklyn with a heart of gold. There was one thing he was dying to know, though.

"So... you really didn't?" asked Bucky. "Not once?"

"No," admitted Steve. "There was a brunette, Dottie, who proposed havin' sex with me in exchange for a portrait she could keep for herself, but I didn't want my first time to be... What I mean is, I wanted it to be with someone who really wanted it to be with me, too. No strings attached, ya know."

Bucky nodded in understanding, wishing his own first time had been with someone who hadn't basically jumped him in his truck on their first date and then moved to the guy next door two days later.

"Dottie was my first kiss, though," continued Steve. "Every time she finished modelin' for me, she would kiss my cheek and thank me for making her look good. But when I declined her offer to have sex, she kissed me on the mouth. She called me one of the good guys and was happy she got to know me. I sometimes still think about her. Dottie wasn't as pretty compared to the other, but she had this charm about her. She was smart, too. She was handy on a typewriter and picked up shorthand, so she did all of Miss Lettie's correspondence. And she was nice. Kind, ya know. She didn't snub her nose or look at me in pity, as most girls did back then. Maybe I should've... I don't know, gotten her out of there and asked her to marry me, or somethin'. I know I couldn't offer her a fancy life, but it would have been a better one than the one she was leadin' at the time."

Bucky bit his tongue. As good as Steve's intentions sounded, it was nothing more than a pipe dream. A delusion, really. A scenario that could've only played out in a perfect world where everyone accepted everyone. Nobody would have hired a former prostitute or welcomed such a girl in their 'respectable' neighborhood. But Bucky wasn't about to tell Steve that. There was no point to it, anyhow.
Instead, he turned the topic back to the Poppy Lounge. He spoke about everything he could remember, which was more and more every minute; the way in, the room itself, Bobby, meeting Lucas there... and Evelyn singing. Steve's jaw dropped at the revelation about Lucas, but hearing that his twin was a singer in an illegal nightclub that welcomed all races and genders and held no prejudices just blew his mind.

"I can't believe she never told me about any of that," he muttered, struck by awe. "I didn't even know she could sing. She sometimes hummed along with the radio when she was cooking, but nothin' more than that."

"Maybe she was embarrassed?" argued Bucky. "It's a lot easier to go up for a bunch of strangers who you'll probably never see again than for those you live and talk with every single day. And considering where she performed, I suspect she just didn't want too many people to know about it."

"But I was her twin. We knew everything about each other. At least, I thought we did."

"People always have secrets, Steve. Just look at Lucas."

"Yeah, I know..."

Steve glumly pulled the strongbox containing his sister's letters to him. The metal lid clang against the table. He gave out a weary sigh, rummaging through the neatly kept packages. Bucky meant to continue with the journal as well, already preparing for another wave of excruciating migraines, when Steve hummed.

"Ya got somethin'?" Bucky asked, looking back up at his friend to find he was still combing through the box, lips and brows pinched in concentrated thought. 

"Well, the letters started out in the forties and went up chronological, but now they're descending in date. This package from the early fifties is stuck between those of the sixties."

"Evelyn could've just misplaced them," offered Bucky. "Stuffed them in without looking."

"When have you ever known my sister to do something like that?" rebuffed Steve. "Evelyn was meticulous in everything she did. This wasn't random."

He opened the pack and spread the letters out over the table like puzzle pieces. The first thing Bucky noticed were the black streaks on each letter. He glimpsed up at Steve, noting he was just as confused, and then reached over to examine one. It was a cluttered mess. More than half of the letter was crossed out with a ballpoint pen. He squinted, but couldn't make out anything of what had been written underneath. And what little wasn't crossed out was just like some of the other letters Steve found in the box. The sentences made no sense and read as utter gibberish.

"My God, Lucas!" Steve jumped off his stool.

Bucky's heart stopped at hearing that name. Every fiber of his being was on high alert, dreading learning the fate of one of his best friends. Though there'd been no law against being in a same-sex relationship back in the forties as in some other countries, the consensus was they should be 'frowned upon'. The sad reality had been more than that, though.
Men and women who got caught in such relations, and even those brave enough to openly out themselves, were ostracized by their own family and friends because they believed them to be 'ill'. Many had been forced into facilities by their supposed loved ones, out of fear that if they didn't at least try this, they themselves would be shunned or even set upon simply by association. The few groups advocating for rights had gotten raided and disbanded, sometimes for the most ludicrous reasons that were clearly an excuse to keep them in check. 

The war in Europe had changed some opinions, thankfully. Living in close quarters with each other, fighting side by side, and hearing each other scream as they lay dying, the men in Bucky's unit had all come to be more than comrades. Some secrets that men — and women in the auxiliary forces, too — had tried so very hard to keep hidden came out.
Yet out at the front, it hadn't mattered what a man's sexuality was. What had mattered was their readiness to give their lives for the man on their left. And each and every single soldier of the 107th certainly had been prepared to sacrifice themselves for their brother. It was one of the reasons Bucky had always been proud to serve in that company. 

Unfortunately, Bucky had read, seen, and heard enough in those few solitary weeks before the incident in Vienna, trying to make sense of the world he had woken up in to learn that things got much worse before they got any better. Even in this modern age, there were still those who were strongly opposed to even the mere notion of something that really wasn't any of their damn business to begin with. And with all the horrid things he'd learned now flashing before his mind, he desperately prayed Lucas had been spared of that. 

"Did someone write about him?" he asked, his throat suddenly parched. "Did... something happen?"

"No, no, the letters are his," said Steve. "It took me a moment, but I recognize his handwriting now. And the initials at the bottom; L.E. — Lucas Evans."

The brief fear that had held Bucky in a horrid grasp melted away. He took another look at the letter in his hand, trying to see what Steve saw. 

"I don't know," he said. "How are you so sure this is Lucas? Lots of people's names start with L.E. and do I need to remind you of what I said about forged handwriting?"

"I figured you'd say that," said Steve. "Read how the letter closes before the signature."

Bucky's eyes searched for the ending line. It read 'And remember, there's no place like home.' 

"Didn't you say the Poppy Lounge was all about The Wizard of Oz?" asked Steve. "Wouldn't it make sense for Lucas and Evelyn to keep up the same code?"

"No, no, don't do this, Steve," warned Bucky. "Don't overthink and look for the hidden meaning behind everything. That movie was insanely popular in our time. It still is, I think. Anyone could've used that quote."

But Steve, clearly, wasn't inclined to dismiss his theory. He sat back down with a huff and grabbed the tablet from the corner of the table. He typed and scrolled furiously for a few seconds. Suddenly, he froze. The corners of his mouth turned up in a triumphant grin.

"Why don't we ask Lucas himself, then?"

Steve turned the tablet to Bucky. He gasped silently, leaving his mouth agape. The tablet showed Lucas' picture, with next to it another picture of an old graying man. And right beside that, a status — Lucas Evans, aged 101, alive.

***

The wait was agonizing. Steve kept pacing from left to right, eyes locked on the screen before him. Sam and Natacha left over seven hours ago with Shuri in one of the Wakandans' vibranium-powered aircraft and should've already arrived in California a while ago.

"Dammit, why is this taking so long?" he complained, starting yet another lap across the room.

"Steve, calm down," said Bucky. "I'm sure they're fine. They probably just have to talk to Lucas first. I mean, how would you react if a couple of random strangers showed up at your doorstep and told ya your friend from the forties who was considered dead is still very much alive and wants to have a video chat with you?"

He was right, of course, but it didn't keep Steve's stomach from tying in knots. He'd always assumed everyone he knew from his friends, families, and allies during the war were dead and buried. After all, why wouldn't he assume such a thing after losing over sixty-five years of his life? Finding Peggy should have moved him to search for more people, but her Alzheimer's and resulting death had kept him from doing so. Fear had kept him. Such a goddamn coward...

Steve's head jerked to the doors of the lab as they opened. The Crown Prince of Wakanda entered with his usual regal composure, even though the injuries from his fight with Nemesis still showed. He walked slowly, his hand up to where his ribs were for support. Bandages around his wrist peeked out from the white sleeve. 

"T'Challa, what are you doing?" asked Steve. "You should be resting."

"Do not worry for me, Captain," replied T'Challa with a smirk. "The only thing that was truly injured was my pride. Nemesis caught me unawares. She will not succeed again."

His onyx eyes lingered on Bucky as he passed him. Steve realized it would be a while still before they both came to terms with what had happened in Vienna. Though T'Challa no longer held Bucky directly responsible for his father's death, it was still a sore topic between them. 

"My sister has contacted me to say they have established a good connection," continued the Prince. "We can start streaming when you are ready."

When he was ready... Steve glimpsed at Bucky, knowing they were both thinking the same. As difficult as it was, this had to happen. He took a deep breath and nodded his okay. T'Challa activated the screen with a few commands on the tablet he brought with him. It flickered a moment and then the image cleared. Shuri sat in front of the camera, with Natasha standing behind her. 

"Captain Rogers, do you hear me?" the Wakandan Princess verified. 

"Loud and clear," he said. 

"Good. There is someone here who would very much like to speak with you."

She turned her computer, and the image shifted to Sam sitting next to an elderly gentleman. For being over a hundred years old, Lucas looked remarkably well. The once youthful, smooth skin of his face was wrinkled and gaunt, yet still held his fine features. His soft white-pinkish hair, which used to be light copper, was combed back, perfectly kept as always. Yet it was by those grass-green eyes, enlarged by big rounded spectacles, that Steve truly recognized his friend and neighbor, for they sparkled as brightly as when he'd last seen him.
Lucas frowned and set his glasses on straighter. He looked at the screen, then at Sam, who nodded and smiled encouragingly, and then back at the screen. His withered lips turned up into a grin. A crackled laugh erupted. 

"Steve?" Lucas' voice was still melodious, despite the brittle edge that could be heard underneath. "Steve Rogers, is that really you?"

"Hi, Lucas." Steve smiled back at him, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "Long time no see."

"You can say that again. But... hold on now." He patted Sam's arm. "Sonny, is there one of those fancy modern filters on this gimmick? 'Cause I could've sworn Steve Rogers was a lot shorter last time I saw him. And thinner. And I'm fairly certain he was only a few years younger, not several decades."

"No filters, Mr. Evans," assured Sam.

"I'll explain everything in a minute, Lucas, I swear," said Steve. "And I'm really sorry I couldn't come in person, but I couldn't leave here. We need your help."

"We?" asked Lucas curiously.

Steve stepped aside. Bucky, who had silently risen from his chair, made his way over to stand with him. 

"Hey, Lucas," he greeted. 

The old man stiffened in his seat. His eyes widened, not in surprise, but in silent horror. Sam quickly held him by the shoulder. Lucas held up his hand to wave him away, indicating he was fine, and took a sip of water from the glass in front of him. It shook all the while he held it in his trembling hand. As Sam glimpsed into the webcam, Steve and Bucky quickly exchanged a worried glance. Something was wrong. 

"I'm sorry, Steve, I can't help you," said Lucas, looking down at the table. "Or rather, I won't."

"What?" Steve furrowed his brow. "Lucas, you don't even know —"

"Yes, I do. More than I care to. For almost seventy years, I've lived with the horrid memories of that time. I can only guess what happened to you, Steve, and I'm sorry for what you went through. But I know what happened to him. And I'm telling you now, I refuse to help that son of a bitch!"

Lucas pointed an accusatory finger at the screen, directed at Bucky. He gasped and recoiled a little. Steve stepped in front of Bucky, shielding him from Lucas' condemning gaze.

"You knew Bucky was still alive?" he asked.

"Of course I did!" sneered Lucas. "I was there to pick up the damn pieces after what he did to Evy!"

"What I..." Bucky's voice caught, and he turned as white as a sheet. "N-No, I didn't... Lucas, I —"

"You can spin the story however you want, Bucky, but it won't change anything about what happened. It won't change all the suffering she went through because of you!"

It was a slap in the face. A wrenching twist to the heart. A crashing wave of ice-cold water, drowning Steve with every word Lucas uttered. He slowly turned to face Bucky, but his friend stood perplexed, his expression a mix of disbelief, dismay, and sheer terror. When he finally caught Steve's pleading eyes, he could only stammer incoherently and shake his head before eventually averting himself. T'Challa had kept himself diplomatically out of the situation by staying silent, but at that moment, he moved closer to Bucky. Obviously, he was expecting needing to step in at any moment.

"Mr. Evans, with all due respect, but whatever Bucky did, it wasn't really him." Natasha's voice resonated through the speakers. "He was taken prisoner and brainwashed. His actions weren't his own."

"Some were," spoke Lucas bitterly. "And that, Miss Romanoff, is all I will say on the matter. Pack this thingamajigger up and leave my property as soon as possible, please."

Steve tore his eyes away from Bucky to look back at the screen in front of him. He couldn't let Lucas go like this. This was the only living link he had to his twin, the other half of his heart and soul. The hell he was just going to give that up!

"Evelyn left us letters and a journal!" He yelled in despair. "We know you kept in touch with her. And whatever you wrote to her was important enough to keep. She crossed out entire sentences rather than destroying your letters, Lucas. There has to be a reason she did that. Please, I'm begging you, tell me what happened to her. Tell me what happened to my sister."

Lucas' green eyes bore into the screen, latching on to him. The intense glare nearly made Steve quake. Yet he had to hold his ground. For Evelyn. 

"You have her journal. Read it. Then you'll know. And then... you'll kill him. Goodbye, Steve."

The connection broke when Lucas slammed the laptop shut. The screen went black. And the little hope that the love story might be stronger than the tragedy evaporated. There was nothing left. Nothing but sadness, sorrow, and the most agonizing torture.