Chapter 60

15th October, 2016

Avengers Facility, Upstate New York

The next day, Tony waited for Maggie outside her cell.

"Jesus Christ," she gasped when the door opened to reveal him just standing there, staring at the ground. "Do you want me to punch you through a wall? You scared the shit out of me!"

He glanced up, looking guilty, but didn't apologize.

Maggie stepped out of the doorway and let the door close behind her. "What is it?"

"Why did you open the digital lock-box yesterday?"

She reached down to adjust her collar, giving herself a moment to compose her face. "I felt like I was ready. And I wanted to see if there was anything in there about my trigger words." Not technically a lie. "Why?"

He winced. "See… I thought you did it to pass on the data to your lawyers."

"Tony. What did you do."

He held up his hands and took a step back. "Okay, so I might have mentioned something about how there was a whole vault of HYDRA data spanning a decade, all to do with how you were controlled. And then Kemp and Martinez lost their shit because apparently that sounds like something that would be really useful in trial, and I lost my shit because apparently they didn't know about it mfmmm-" Tony's words died away as Maggie reached up and put her hand over his mouth. Holding back his words, she bowed her head for a moment and closed her eyes.

"Dammit," she muttered. She'd known she would have to mention the lock-box to her lawyers sooner rather than later, but the words and images were still fresh in her mind and the idea of sharing it all… bile rose in her throat, and she had to swallow it back.

She opened her eyes. "Okay," she said, and released Tony's mouth. "Okay. They're here?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, they drove up as soon as they heard."

"Alright. Let's do this."

"Maggie, this data would be crucial for your trial."

Maggie sat at a conference table with her lawyers, Tony, and Vision. She glared at the dark wooden surface, her fingers tapping a restless beat against her thigh.

"Is it even relevant?" She asked. "It's barely got anything relating to the missions HYDRA made me go on, or the people I hurt." She knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she couldn't help but push back. This was the deepest core of her trauma, a dark pit of pain and nightmares. They were asking for it like it was just another folder full of paper to add to their piles.

Kemp opened her mouth, but Vision held up one hand and leaned forward. "Maggie," he murmured in a gentle voice. She looked up, fingers suddenly shaking. "That data is full of explicit proof that you were enhanced and controlled against your will, as a child, at the hands of sadistic scientists and ex-soviet agents." Maggie's lip quivered, and she firmly shut it down. Vision held her gaze. "I know it might not be relevant to what you want from this trial, helping the other victims of HYDRA, but it is relevant to the people trying to prove your innocence."

Maggie's gaze dropped to her hands, trembling in her lap. "I know," she whispered. Everyone else in the room leaned forward to catch her words. "But I'm terrified."

"Por supuesto que lo estás," ["Of course you are,"] Diego said in a low voice, making her glance up again. His face was creased with tiredness – they'd been working non-stop – and his eyes shone with warmth. She could see that he didn't want to cause her pain, but that he wanted her to do this. "This isn't right," he continued, "it's not fair to make you relive the things you went through, let alone in a criminal court. And I'm sorry, but you must." He held her gaze. "If not for yourself, then for the truth. The men and women who are going to decide your fate deserve the whole, unbiased truth. If we keep evidence from them, then we're no different than the people who want these truths to stay in the dark."

Maggie let out a shuddering breath and dropped her face into her hands. Tony's hand hovered over her shoulder – she felt the warmth of his skin through her shirt – but he eventually pulled it away.

In the darkness of her hands Maggie thought about the photograph of herself in the data, the only one where her face was visible. She'd been in the chair, and her mouth was wide in a scream, her eyes screwed up. A child.

Maggie felt oddly protective of the child she had been, as if by keeping the data to herself she could save her younger self from more pain. The ghost of that child flickered behind her eyes, in silent agony for eternity.

Reading those files and watching the videos had brought years-old memories back to the fore, cutting into her heart like barbed wire. She needed months, realistically, to deal with this. But the court system wouldn't wait for her mental health.

After a long minute, Maggie lifted her face out of her hands. She let out a long sigh.

"I'm going to need so much therapy for this," she muttered, then pulled up the back of her shirt and revealed the Stark tablet she'd snuck into the meeting. She placed it on the middle of the table like a shiny black omen.

Diego reached across the table, bypassing the tablet to leave his palm open in front of her. Maggie rested her hand on his. "We don't take this lightly, Maggie," he murmured. "Gracias."

In compliance with reciprocal discovery laws, Maggie's lawyers handed over the entire electronic cache of data to the prosecution the next day. The prosecution didn't respond at all, and Maggie didn't sleep that night – she was too busy throwing up in her toilet while Vision sat beside her and distracted her with funny stories from the internet.

Late October, 2016

"We've been offered a plea deal."

Maggie sucked in a breath. She knew Diego and Kemp had been negotiating with the prosecution but the prospect of finally reaching an agreement was a shock. After handing over the Québec data and reliving most of her traumatic memories she was tempted to put an end to all of this now and never see a trial.

She didn't think she could speak right now, but luckily she wasn't alone – Pepper and Tony sat on either side of her, and Pepper folded her hands in front of her.

"What are the terms?"

Kemp handed over a very official-looking document with the United States Attorney's Office seal at the top. "Thirty years in prison," she said bluntly.

Maggie sensed Tony bristle beside her. "Thirty years? What kind of a deal–"

"It's the lowest we could bargain them to, given the charges," Diego cut in, his face grim. "They're willing to strike off the terrorism charges, but they're not budging on the murders. They want to settle this out of court to avoid an expensive and potentially ugly trial – getting into detail about what HYDRA did doesn't look good for the government – but they've got a lot of people watching this case. They can't afford to be seen as weak."

Kemp gestured to the plea deal document, which Pepper scanned with a keen eye. "We might be able to knock a few months off the sentence but they're not going to go much lower than that. We're obligated to present this deal to you," she said, her lips pursed.

Maggie eyed the other woman. "But you don't think I should take it."

Diego sighed and turned to look at his partner. "Andrea–"

"I didn't say anything," Kemp replied, raising her hands.

He glanced back at Maggie. "This is your decision, Maggie. Thirty years is a long time, but if we go to trial and you're found guilty it'll definitely be life. Many life sentences."

Maggie met his eyes for another moment, then looked at the plea deal document. Phrases stuck out to her: Avoid a messy trial. Considering the heinous nature of the crimes. Generous.

"There's another condition," Pepper said, looking up from the document. "This one, the 'disclosure arrangement'."

Kemp's sharp eyes narrowed. "Yes, we were just getting to that. They require you to comply with any and all government investigations. Specifically, you only discuss details of your time under HYDRA with them. No media appearances, no public briefings, no online activity, not without prior approval from the Accords Committee and the State Department."

"Oh," Maggie said, shoulders sagging.

Tony scowled. "What about HERACLES?"

"Maggie would have to cut off any and all affiliation with HERACLES," Diego said, spreading his hands, "especially as regards contributing new content."

Tony, Pepper, and the lawyers continued to discuss the plea deal, but Maggie leaned back in her seat. She almost felt relieved that the decision had been made for her. She closed her eyes.

So we're doing this, then. She allowed herself to shiver at the chill of fear that ran over her, and then opened her eyes.

"No."

That stopped the discussion between the others at the table. They all looked at her, and Maggie sat up straight. "It's a no," she clarified. She turned to Kemp. "Tell them no."

A glint of satisfaction flickered in Kemp's eyes, and the other woman nodded. "You're sure?"

"You know I am," she replied, and turned to Diego. He looked exasperated, but not surprised. "They're not going to lift that condition, are they?"

He sighed and ran a hand over his beard. "No. We've only been speaking with the prosecution, but it's pretty obvious they've got powerful people pulling their strings. They were willing to drop charges, but not this. They want to keep you silent."

"Well I'm not great at doing that, historically," Maggie muttered, and Tony leaned in to her. She could feel the tension buzzing across his body, but she knew without looking at him that he agreed with her on this.

"Alright," Diego said, taking the plea deal document back from Pepper. "We'll pass it on. In the meantime…" He stood up and looked at the three people sitting across from him. "This means we're heading to trial. Do what you need to do to prepare." He met their eyes for a few more moments, then helped Kemp gather her documents and left the room with her.

Maggie found Tony's hand and squeezed it. "We can do this."

"Yeah. I mean, probably-" her head snapped around to look at him, and he grimaced. "No, you're right. Sure. Yeah, we can do this. Why not?"

As October turned into November, they went in and out of court a few times for legal matters regarding the upcoming trial: discovery negotiations, issues with witnesses and evidence, arguing about the media's influence on the trial. Most of the time Maggie sat there as her lawyers did what they did best, and then blinked in the flash-bang of cameras as they left court.

In early November her bail arrangements got tweaked to allow her to stay at the old Stark mansion in New York City, as well as at the Avengers Facility. It was getting too hard to travel all the way in from upstate every day.

Maggie moved back into her childhood home. The empty spaces echoed with memories, but as she paced across the marble floors and ran her hands over the ornately carved wooden banisters, Maggie felt a piece of herself slot back into place. She was a little embarrassed to realize how much wealth she had grown up with, but it was nice to see hints of that grandeur marked by evidence that the house had been lived in and loved: photographs of herself with her mother, father, and brother on the walls, a portrait of Ana and Edwin Jarvis in the study, a rusted child's bike in the garage, Tony's name carved into a post on the stairs.

To her surprise and sorrow, her bedroom was untouched. A thick layer of dust coated everything within: the warm quilted bed that was too small for her now, the wooden toybox, the little desk by the window. Before she'd left with her parents that December day, she'd been working on homework from her tutors – the dust-laden papers were shuffled in a neat little pile on the corner of the desk and weighed down by a faded Game Boy.

Maggie picked her way through the room, eyeing the dusty, forgotten belongings. She felt guilty, as if she were snooping through a stranger's room, even as small things called to long-forgotten memories: the texture of the red pillow on the floor, the way the bush outside the window tapped at the glass panes. She pressed a hand against a low wooden stool and closed her eyes, so as to better remember the way her mother had looked when she perched on it, putting Maggie to bed.

Maggie couldn't bring herself to change this space. For sanity's sake she tried not to think of herself as two different people, but in this bedroom she could feel a ghost: the ghost of the girl she used to be. Maggie might have come back. But that girl hadn't.

Maggie closed the door behind her, disturbed, and moved into one of the guest rooms.

Most weekdays Maggie stayed at the mansion (which Tony had beefed up with state-of-the-art security), meeting with her lawyers in the well-stocked, comfortable library, and reminiscing with Tony when they had free time. She dusted and tuned their mother's grand piano, and started learning to play. Tony sat and listened sometimes, and once Maggie returned early from court to hear him playing, the notes melancholy and flowing and utterly flawless.

Tony had removed all the important files and documents years ago, but one night they descended together into the vault in the basement where their father had once stored all his creations, and stared at the empty shelves.

The mansion was too crowded with old, painful memories to really be their home, but Maggie needed the comfort it brought her as her trial date grew ever closer and the world waited to see the darkest, most painful depths of her past. Sometimes it was nice to sit on the marble foyer floor watching sunbeams illuminate dust motes in the air, and pretend that she was four years old and innocent.

Maggie spent most of her time on trial preparation, or on updating HERACLES, but she and Tony still somehow found time to develop ideas in the workshop at the Avengers Facility. Tony was used to squeezing in workshop time even when he was busy, and Maggie needed the distraction.

Somehow they got far enough with their work on cybernetic prostheses and exosuits for Tony to reveal the project to the Development team at Stark Industries. The team was excited about the new technology, particularly its applicability to many kinds of disability and amputation. Stark Industries's board was excited about breaking into a new market, and about the financial projections – Maggie and Tony had been playing with the technology for a while now, and they had figured out how to produce the prostheses at a low cost, while retaining maximum product performance. Maggie was new to the corporate side of engineering but she found she enjoyed it – it posed an additional problem on top of designing the best machine or part she could.

Patents were secured, regulatory requirements passed, and Stark Industries factories got to work producing the new line of medical technology.

Stark Industries hadn't wanted to mention Maggie's name at all in the process, given the whole charges-of-murder-and-terrorism thing. Tony had shouted at the board about intellectual property rights and corporate cowardice (and then Pepper had smoothed things over), and Maggie's name ended up on the patents right next to Tony's. Pepper framed the documents and put them in one of the display rooms at the Facility, next to Tony's first ever patent from the 90's. Maggie hadn't been too concerned about the issues with paperwork while they were happening, but she spent more than a few minutes looking up at the framed patent with its gold seal and the name Margaret Abigail Stark.

Pepper and Stark Industries worked their magic, and as the trial approached the Stark Prosthetics line hit the public market. The technology was affordable, smart, fast, and more comfortable to use than what the market had offered before. Some in the media and government protested technology produced by an alleged murderer, but the tech spoke for itself. Rhodey was a part of the marketing process: he affirmed the maneuverability, dexterity, and responsiveness of his own device, which was the prototype for the whole line.

Stark Prosthetics became a bestseller in every country that sold Stark products, adopted by those who'd lost body parts for multiple reasons, and Stark Industries reveled in the positive feedback and the stock market boost.

Maggie went into the pre-trial motion stage of her case knowing that even if she was about to face a trial that would send her to prison for life, she had done one thing in her life that would help people the world over for years to come.

Late November, 2016

Thurgood Marshall United States Courthouse, New York City

Maggie's lawyers tried a few different pre-trial motions – they attempted to have some of the charges dismissed, arguing that the prosecution was throwing the book at her, but there was evidence for each one of the crimes so the charge sheet stayed as it was. They also asked for a change of venue, given the intense public scrutiny and the daily crowds on the courthouse steps. But the attention wasn't exactly going to die down if they moved the trial to Jersey, so in Manhattan they remained.

Today they reckoned they had something that would stick. Maggie hadn't asked, she'd been too busy updating HERACLES to include an investigative section (pairing survivors and victim's family members with private investigators and interested members of law enforcement).

But now she sat in the courtroom again, giving her full attention to the judge as he called the session into order.

The courtroom was a beautiful, wide space, with a high ceiling and sturdy wooden pews. It was the largest courtroom in the courthouse, because any time Maggie appeared in court the room was always packed, even though the trial hadn't even started yet. She could hear the low murmur of conversation in the rows behind her, and her enhanced ears picked up on a few details of conversations – Tony and Rhodey, in the row behind the defense table, were arguing whose suit looked better.

The judge was a mid-sixties African American man called Benjamin Moore, and he'd be the judge for her trial going forward. Maggie had a lot of trouble reading him – she knew he was patient yet firm, and he didn't put up with legal obfuscation from either side, but beyond that he was a stone wall.

Right now Moore leveled that stone-wall look at Diego, who set several thick folders on the defense table with a thunk.

"Your honor," Diego said, pushing his glasses up his nose, "I would like to make a motion to suppress this collection of evidence, specifically exhibits 17 through 25."

Moore looked down at his notes, and Maggie heard the prosecution whispering amongst themselves. "Be so kind as to describe the nature of the evidence, Mr Martinez?"

Diego cleared his throat. "Exhibits 17 through 25 refer to the interviews my client had with various investigative agencies – the FBI, the CIA…" He kept talking, but he was drowned out by a sudden buzz of conversation throughout the courtroom.

Maggie blinked and looked up at Diego. "What are you doing?"

"Ms Stark, please," he said, holding up a hand. When the commotion died down a little, he turned back to Judge Moore and continued: "we move to suppress this evidence on the grounds that it was obtained illegally."

Moore raised an eyebrow. "Please elaborate."

"Certainly, your honor. I've asked the prosecution to invite Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross to the courtroom today, and I'd like to call him to the witness box."

"Very well."

Maggie twisted in her seat and craned her neck. She hadn't noticed Ross when she came into the courtroom, but she hadn't exactly been making a lot of eye contact. Sure enough, there he was – he'd come in full military dress, medals gleaming on his chest and his silver hair neatly brushed. Maggie scowled and met Tony's eye. "What's he doing here?" she mouthed. Tony shrugged, and gestured at Diego and Kemp.

Ross approached the witness box and took a seat, nodding politely to the judge and glancing around the courtroom with an agreeable look on his face. When he looked at Maggie blankly, as if he hadn't been spitting insults at her the last time they'd met, her brow lowered and her fists clenched at her sides. Kemp nudged her under the table and she wiped the look from her face.

As the judge explained to Ross and the court that he wasn't being called as a witness to the trial, just being asked questions about a matter of evidence collection, Maggie breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, controlling her irritation against the Secretary of State. Inwardly, she worried – if she was this affected at a pre-trial motion, how was she going to handle herself when the trial actually started?

"Secretary Ross," Diego began when the judge signaled to him. "Thank you for coming today. Do you know why you've been invited to this courtroom?"

"Can't say I do," Ross replied with a genial smile. Maggie's eyes narrowed, and Kemp nudged her again.

"Well," Diego said, "we're here to discuss a number of interviews my client had with various law enforcement and investigative organisations over the past months. Now, you have explained to the public numerous times since July of this year that Ms Stark was under the custody of the Accords Committee and the State Department. You've been invited here today under your capacity as a senior member of the Accords Committee, and the Secretary of State."

"I understand," Ross said, folding his hands on the witness box bench.

Diego smiled, all genial warmth and kindness. "Excellent. Now, Mr Secretary, how did my client come to be under your custody?"

"She was captured at the conclusion of the Avengers' clash at the Leipzig/Halle airport in Germany, in which she fought against the Sokovia Accords."

A murmur went through the courtroom. Maggie didn't look over her shoulder.

"I notice you say captured, Mr Secretary, instead of arrested." Ross frowned, and Diego cocked his head as if asking for a small clarification. "What condition was Ms Stark in when she was captured?"

Ross's frown deepened as he realized where this was going. He tried to veer off course: "Ms Stark is a highly dangerous criminal who is notoriously difficult to control–"

"Please just answer the question, Mr Secretary. What condition was Ms Stark in when she was captured?"

Ross scowled, his brow lowering and his eyes darkening. "She was unconscious," he said gruffly.

"And why was that?"

At that, the prosecutor David Mallory got to his feet and said "your honor, what is the relevance of this?"

"We're not at trial yet, Mr Mallory," Moore reminded him.

Diego spread his hands. "I assure you I'm about to get to the point. Mr Secretary? Why was my client unconscious?"

Ross was struggling to hide his glare now. "She'd been injured in the fight."

"So she was incapable of receiving her Miranda rights at that time."

Another murmur went through the courtroom, louder this time.

Ross managed to grit out: "That's right."

"And at any point from regaining consciousness after her injury, to when she was taken into Department of Justice custody on October 5th, did any member of law enforcement read my client her Miranda rights?"

Everyone stared at Ross. He glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, and it was plain to see how angry he was. He didn't need to be prompted this time. He looked back at Diego, practically murdering him with his eyes, and said: "No."

Everyone in the gallery burst out talking, and Diego turned to the judge to say "Your honor, any statement my client made to any member of law enforcement before October 5th is clearly inadmissible in court as it violates her fifth amendment and sixth amendment right to counsel–" at that point the volume in the courtroom got too loud, but Diego had made his point. Judge Moore reached for his gavel, and Ross turned murderous eyes on Maggie. She glared right back.

After court, Maggie cornered Diego and Kemp. "Why did you do that? I gave them that information of my own free will, I want them to use it–"

Kemp held up a hand. "They can use it, Maggie, for everything except as evidence against you in court."

Diego continued: "I promise we're not hiding your truth, Maggie. We're just making sure you get to keep your rights. Ross really screwed up with this, and it's our job to make sure he doesn't get away with it."

That calmed her down. "Fine. But the second someone legally asks me those questions again I'm going to answer them."

Diego sighed. "Believe me, I am painfully aware of that." He and Kemp shared a commiserating look, then turned back to her.

"Besides," Kemp continued, "Now you've got a decent start to a civil suit against the Accords Committee, if you want."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you got enough work as it is with one trial?"

The other woman shrugged. "You're the one footing the bill."

"That's true. But since the arresting officer was technically my brother, I don't really feel like opening that can of worms."

"Fair enough."

Maggie nodded and turned to go find Tony and Rhodey, but then stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Diego."

He glanced up and raised his eyebrows.

She grinned. "You kicked his ass back there. Thanks."

He rolled his eyes. "De nada."

The New York Bulletin Article: Secretary Ross's Legal Blunder

CNN: "Well Bill, this is a bad look for the prosecution and the trial hasn't even started yet!"

The Wall Street Journal Article: Revoking Rights: at what point do the Accords Committee's special powers go too far?

December 2nd, 2016

Stark Mansion, Manhattan

"Ms Stark."

"Mrs… Kemp?"

"I'm sorry for coming without calling ahead, but… may I come in?"

Maggie nodded to the security agent standing at the door, who let the lawyer in. The trial had technically started, but there'd been nothing but jury selection for days (that had been a mess in itself – there wasn't a person in New York who didn't know the name Stark, and the intense publicity made finding neutral jurors almost impossible). Jury selection was over now, though, and the opening statements were scheduled for after the weekend. Maggie knew both Kemp and Diego were run off their feet preparing, so she didn't understand why Kemp had shown up at the mansion after business hours on a Friday.

Kemp's eyes darted around the foyer, taking in the marble floor and sparse furnishings, then flicked back to Maggie. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

A spark of dread flared in Maggie's chest. "Sure."

She led the lawyer to the library and gestured to two upholstered seats at a reading table. Tony was somewhere in the mansion (probably the old workshop if she had to guess) but if Kemp had bad news then Maggie wanted to break it to Tony gently.

When they sat, Maggie scrutinized Kemp's face: the normally stoic, sharp-eyed lawyer was uncharacteristically nervous, tucking her black hair behind her ears and adjusting her bag.

"What is it?" she asked, sinking back in her seat and preparing for the worst. The warm light and subdued atmosphere in the library weren't calming her down.

Kemp looked up and finally noticed the dread on Maggie's face. She sighed. "Look, I want to tell you something up front. I am professionally 100 per cent dedicated to your case. However, I should mention that…" Kemp fidgeted again, and Maggie's jaw clenched. "My grandmother's name is Shirley Kemp."

There was a second of silence.

Maggie blinked. "Um… what?"

Kemp cocked her head and took a breath. "She used to be Shirley Barnes."

Maggie froze. Holy shit.

Bucky used to talk about his three little sisters all the time – Rebecca, Nancy, and Shirley. Shirley who had been twelve when Bucky went off to war, who had replied to his letters with all the latest news from Brooklyn, who had once sent him a pressed dandelion. Shirley who never saw her older brother again.

She'd be eighty five years old, now.

"Oh my god," Maggie said. "Oh my god."

"Yes," Kemp replied, watching Maggie's reaction. "Quite."

"Oh my god," she repeated, then met Kemp's eyes. "I told you about–"

"Yes, and everything you told me remains within attorney-client privilege."

Maggie's hand flew to her mouth, then dropped. "But still, I… that's… he's your…"

"My great-uncle, yes."

Maggie's head dropped into her hands. "Oh my god." She'd known, she'd known, that Bucky's sisters had kids and grandkids – she just hadn't expected her brother to hire one as her goddamn lawyer.

Kemp cleared her throat. "I understand if you don't want me to represent you any more, but I would strongly encourage you to remain with Diego. We can get another lawyer from our firm to pick up the slack–"

Maggie's head jumped up. "What? No. Just… give me a second, here." She took a few steadying breaths and gripped the table. "Okay. Um… so I don't want to fire you, but are you sure? Do you really want to represent me, even with… y'know?"

Kemp smiled – Maggie blinked, and realized she hadn't really ever seen the other woman smile. It was a small, sharp thing, but it made her face kinder. "I absolutely do," she replied.

Maggie let out a breath. The second of relaxation prompted a new thought: you totally told this lady that you've been dating her ninety-nine year old great-uncle. Her cheeks burned.

"Don't get me wrong," Kemp said, "this trial is going to be tough. But I think I'm the woman for the job." She met Maggie's eyes, determined.

"Okay," Maggie breathed. "Thanks for telling me. How is… how is Shirley doing? She lives by herself, right?"

Kemp's eyebrows raised, as if she hadn't been expecting that question. "She's doing alright. How much do you know about her?"

Maggie swallowed guiltily. "Um. I know that she married at twenty, to a local Brooklyn baseball player. I know she ran a seamstress store from the fifties to the eighties, and that she had five children and twenty grandchildren – one of which is you, I guess." She ducked her head at the incredulous look Kemp shot her. "And I know that Shirley was involved pretty heavily with veteran and bereaved family support groups."

"You seem pretty well-informed."

"I might've done some research. Clearly not enough." Maggie sighed, and rubbed her hands over her face. "This is weird. Do you want a drink, Mrs Kemp?"

"Sure. And at this point I think you can call me Andrea."

As Maggie fetched a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the library liquor cabinet – thanks, dad – she gathered her thoughts. When she sat back at the table with Kemp – Andrea – she eyed the other woman's face. She couldn't see any traces of Bucky there, but she hadn't really been expecting to. Still, this was… she swallowed. It was strange to see a living, breathing reminder that Bucky wasn't alone on this earth – he had family.

"Do you know…" Maggie frowned. "Did your grandmother ever talk about her brother?"

Andrea sipped her whiskey. "Not to me, not really. We all talked about him of course, we all knew we were related to Bucky Barnes – the Howling Commando and Steve Rogers' best friend."

Maggie smiled, unreasonably happy that she hadn't said Captain America's best friend.

Andrea continued: "But it was… history, you know?"

"I know." Maggie rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm, uh… sorry. About all the stuff I told you about Bucky."

Andrea's lips curled into a smile. "I can handle it." Then a thoughtful look crossed her face. "But ever since you spoke about him, I can't help wondering… is he… okay? Bucky Barnes?" Her words were hesitant, as if she wasn't used to referring to Bucky as being alive.

Maggie sighed and looked into her glass of whiskey. She knew she couldn't tell Andrea that her great-uncle was currently frozen in cryostasis. "I haven't seen him in a while," she murmured. "But he was doing okay. He remembered…" she swallowed. "He remembered his family. His sisters. We looked them up together." She remembered the pained expression in Bucky's blue-grey eyes as he looked at the photographs of his sisters, old and grey. Rebecca and Nancy, the elder sisters, had both died before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. They'd lived long, happy lives, but Maggie remembered thinking how unfair it was to all of them that they and Bucky had missed each other by a matter of years.

Andrea eyed Maggie's expression and sighed. "I know this is a complicated situation, but would you…" she hesitated, and Maggie looked up. "Would you like to meet her? Gran? Or rather, Shirley, that is."

Maggie's eyes widened. "Oh, I… Is that a good idea?"

"It's up to you. Gran's doing pretty well for her age, she's got a strong will. She already knows that her brother is alive, after all the UN bombing news–"

"Christ," Maggie swore. She hadn't even thought about that.

"– and she knows he's on the run. She knows I'm handling your case, too. She knows the Wyvern is connected to the Winter Soldier" – a shadow crossed Andrea's face at the names – "so there's not a lot you could say to shock her."

"I don't know about that," Maggie said, cheeks burning again.

Andrea's eyebrows lifted. "Like I said, I think she could handle it. What do you say?"

"I… uh… well," she bit her lip. Bucky's sister. "Yes. Please."

"Great, I'll see if she can come by tomorrow. Your bail conditions don't say anything about visitors."

Maggie's mouth dropped open, but Andrea had already pulled out her phone and started tapping away. She'd gotten to a point where she felt like she knew Bucky's sisters, knew their stories and their triumphs and their secrets. The prospect of meeting the only surviving sister was… terrifying.

She tossed back her whiskey.

December 3rd, 2016

Stark Mansion, Manhattan

Apparently, Andrea hadn't thought to warn her grandmother about who she would be meeting.

When an elderly woman walked into the mansion's east sitting room (Mr Jarvis's favorite, Maggie remembered), she glanced up, took one look at Maggie standing by the door and exclaimed "Oh, it's you!" with a look of utter delight on her face.

Maggie knew the polite thing would be to say something back, or to help the woman to her seat, but she could only stare.

Shirley Kemp had aged well – her hair was a white cloud around her head, and though she was hunched by age she stood on her own two feet, looking comfortable in her smart jacket and trousers. She beamed at Maggie as if they'd known each other for years. Maggie spotted Shirley's similarities to Bucky immediately – her eyes (though dimmer with age) were a memorable shade of grey-blue, and she resembled her brother in the shape of her wrinkled face.

"Are you alright?" Shirley asked, her voice low and slightly husky. She raised two fine, white eyebrows.

Maggie blinked. "Yes, I… come in, I'm sorry. Have a seat." She helped Shirley to one of the white upholstered seats with a view of the courtyard garden. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Got any gin?" the woman replied with a twinkle in her eye.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Maggie asked, then realized that might have been rude. But Shirley just smiled again, the skin around her eyes creasing into dozens of wrinkles. "Ooh, you sound just like my son. Alright, water then."

Maggie poured a glass of water, watching Shirley out of the corner of her eye. She'd been thinking about this all night and morning, and she still didn't know what to say. She sat at the chair across from Shirley and found herself staring again. Those eyes.

"Lovely weather we've been having," the older woman commented wryly, eyes fixed on Maggie's. She didn't even glance out the window.

"Um. Yes," Maggie agreed. Shirley's eyes glinted, and Maggie sighed. "Okay, so… I know who you are, and I figure you know who I am?"

Shirley smiled. "I have been keeping up with the news, yes." She held Maggie's gaze a few seconds more, but then a shadow crossed her face. "Though I'm not sure why you've asked me to come, Ms Stark. Would you mind telling me?"

Maggie sighed and leaned forward. "You've been keeping up with the news?"

"I have." Shirley's eyes softened.

"Then you know… who I used to be."

"The Wyvern," the older woman breathed. "Scary name. I know about that, Ms Stark. And I've read the HYDRA files, what I can stomach of them anyway. I know you fought alongside the Winter Soldier. My brother." The smile was gone from her face now but she wasn't angry – she looked tired, and sad. "I know you fought beside him again this year in Germany."

Maggie swallowed and pressed her hands together. "It's true. I knew – I know your brother, Shirley." The confirmation seemed to hit Shirley hard – her faded grey-blue eyes filled with raw pain, and her mouth turned down. Up until this point Maggie hadn't known what to say, but now it came to her. "He's a good man."

Shirley's eyes welled up. "I know," she said hoarsely. "Or I.. I hoped he was still a good man, even after everything that happened with that bombing-"

"That wasn't him," Maggie cut in firmly.

Shirley smiled. "I know, I've kept up with the news. Where did he go?"

Maggie pressed her lips together.

"You know where he is," Shirley whispered, leaning forward. Maggie blinked – Shirley was quick.

"I… not really," she hedged. "I can't tell you."

"That's alright," Shirley sighed, and sank back in her seat. "I know… the world is complicated right now. He can't come home so easily."

Maggie's heart wrenched.

A frown crossed Shirley's face and she eyed Maggie. "He's not helping you out with all this…" she waved a hand, "this trial nonsense?"

Maggie smiled. "No, but I don't mind. It was sort of my idea, anyway."

For the next ten minutes Shirley explained just how much she knew about Bucky's return from the dead – apparently Steve had come to visit her after he came out of the ice in 2012, to see how she was doing. He'd visited her at least once every few months, but apparently the visits made him sad ("He was stuck between the world that had grown old without him and the new one he'd found himself in – he was very lonely, I think"). After the fall of HYDRA in 2014 Steve broke the news that Bucky was still alive, and had given her periodic updates on the search from then until the UN bombing. But Shirley had figured Bucky was okay, since the Accords Committee had named him as a fugitive. She'd gotten plenty of interview requests as one of the last surviving people who had known Bucky before his time in HYDRA, but she'd denied them all.

"I wanted to do what was best for him, but I wasn't sure what to do."

At this point Maggie had migrated to the seat next to Shirley's, her arms wrapped around her knees as she listened to the elderly woman talk.

Shirley sighed. "So you know Bucky well? I only knew him for twelve years, and I've stacked another seventy three years on top of those memories, I'm afraid. Tell me about him."

So Maggie did. She tried to describe the man that Bucky Barnes was in 2016, but she found the description was oddly stilted, incomplete. And she knew why.

Eventually she sighed. "Look, this is going to sound weird, for a lot of reasons, one of which is the fact that you're… y'know–"

Shirley smiled. "Old?"

Maggie blinked at her. "Well, that, but I was going to say the fact that you're Bucky's sister…" she bit her lip. "Bucky and I were – are – sort of… together." She winced, and looked up at the other woman from under her lashes.

Shirley's eyebrows shot up, but almost immediately she was nodding as if she'd expected something like that. "Well I did see the photos of him in Germany, and he's certainly aged better than I have."

Maggie hiccuped a laugh. "Uh, yeah… I guess he has. HYDRA had this cryo-tube, it… preserved him. Between missions."

Shirley's face went dark and Maggie's heart sank, but she didn't want to sanitize this. There was a long silence between them as they processed.

Eventually, Shirley leaned forward and asked: "Is he good to you?"

She smiled. "Yes. He treats me better than I probably deserve. I really miss him."

"That's wonderful," Shirley beamed. "You know, he had a bit of a reputation back in Brooklyn–"

Maggie laughed. "I know, back when we were remembering our pasts it seemed every other story began with 'I was out with this blonde,' or 'I'd just taken a redhead on a date.'" She rolled her eyes, and Shirley's eyes sparkled. "I've teased him a few times about it."

It was Shirley's turn to laugh, the sound worn by age but filled with something like nostalgia. "I was a little young to really understand all that before he left for the war, but Rebecca told me she used to warn Bucky that one day or another, he'd find someone who caught his eye – really caught his eye – and then he'd have all the trouble he caused turned back tenfold on him."

Maggie's gaze dropped and she smiled to herself. "I wish I could have met them. Rebecca and Nancy."

Shirley raised an eyebrow and Maggie suddenly remembered that Shirley hadn't actually mentioned Nancy by name yet. Oops.

"Well," Shirley said, "you've managed to catch me before I follow them on, and I have to say – it's wonderful to meet you."

"Likewise. You're a lot like him, you know."

"Oh? Nancy and Rebecca used to say so, but what makes you say it?"

Maggie tipped her head. "You're… driven, I guess. You weren't going to let me get away with small talk earlier, and Bucky's the same when he's got a goal in mind. Andrea's got a similar intense focus, now I think of it. But I guess you mostly remind me of him when you smile – Bucky's kind, which I thought was pretty incredible after all we went through. I guess it runs in the family."

Shirley's eyes crinkled, and she reached out. Maggie didn't second guess herself – she laid her hand in the other woman's wrinkled, papery one, and smiled when Shirley's fingers tightened around hers.

Maggie and Shirley talked for the rest of the morning and through lunch (Maggie hadn't planned that far ahead, but she made sandwiches for them both under Shirley's instruction). They talked about Bucky, Steve (who they were equally admiring of and exasperated by), and Shirley and her sisters. Maggie knew that Nancy never married, but she hadn't realized that Nancy was actually in a long-term relationship with another woman when she died, and had made a name for herself in the civil rights movement in the sixties and seventies.

But by mid-afternoon Shirley needed to return home. They made plans to meet up the next weekend, if Maggie wasn't busy with the trial.

"I'll see you next week, Shirley."

"If I'm still alive by then. Oh don't look so horrified, I'm allowed to make jokes about my own mortality!"

As Maggie watched Shirley's car leave the mansion's driveway she pressed her hands against her stomach.

The last time she'd cared so much about an elderly person had been with Mr Jarvis and his wife. She hadn't had much of a concept of death back then, but now… it was terrifying.

(images)