A/N: Super shout-out to RobotRollCall/buckywiththegoodhair86 who beta'd this fic for me, and provided the title. (Up until a few days ago, it was thrillingly titled, Oma.) This story would not be in its current state without her help and support.

A/N 2: This fic refers to the events of Chapter Twenty of The Imposter. It's not required to read that first, but some of the details might make more sense if you do.

Hope you enjoy!

"You need to start getting out."

"Out where?"

"Anywhere. Coffee shop, restaurant, taco cart. Somewhere new, and somewhere without Steve."

"I'm not ready."

"You'll never know until you try."

Bucky Barnes stood outside a small hole-in-the-wall deli in Brooklyn, while those instructions from his therapist, Sean Maguire, rang in his head.

"Just one place, one day this week. You don't even have to socialize outside of placing your order."

Bucky had driven by this place many times on his way to and from Maguire's office, so it seemed like the most natural place to stop for his first attempt at non-Avengers socialization.

And yet, his body was reacting like this was a mission. Every muscle was tense, his stomach was clenching and unclenching in time with his pulse, and his heart was pounding painfully against his ribs.

All he had to do was go in and place an order. It was a sandwich shop. How many options could they have? It wasn't going to be like that diner he'd gone to with Sam that had had at least ten pages of menu items, and Bucky had been so overwhelmed by all the choices that Sam had had to help him order.

He could do this: walk in and place an order.

Before he changed his mind, Bucky pulled in a steeling breath then stepped into the deli.

Esther Meier had lived in Brooklyn for a long time. She was born in an area of Germany that was now technically Romania in 1931, and had immigrated to the United States during the war. It was different, back then, immigrating. Her family had had to wait eight years for a family to sponsor them and pay for their passage to the States. In South Carolina, she had met her future husband, Frank Aarons, and when the rest of her family had saved enough to move to Chicago where a massive German population resided, Esther had gotten married and moved with Frank to Brooklyn, where he'd started a deli with their last pennies. Thankfully, it had prospered.

Brooklyn was where she'd borne children, and seen her daughters bring her grandchildren of their own into the world. Esther's children, though they didn't end up going into the restaurant business, had all worked in the deli while they were growing up, which had transformed it into more than just a place of work for her and Frank. Now, she was fortunate enough to have her grandchildren working there (taking orders at the counter, sweeping or bussing tables) during the summers and breaks to pay for their newfangled tech gadgets.

Frank's health wasn't what it used to be, and he'd been unhappily relegated to supply ordering and bookkeeping, while Esther continued to run the front counter six days of the week. Which was how she ended up working the Tuesday a long-haired man wearing a jacket and gloves, despite the warm summer temperatures, was standing outside the door to their deli.

At first, she thought he might be practicing a sales pitch, given the conflicted looks that kept crossing his face, but then, from the agitated way he kept exhaling, like he was resetting himself, she discarded that idea, and waited for him to either decide to come in, or move along. She was in the midst of restacking menus, when the man lifted his head, set his features, and marched into the deli. Given the mid-afternoon hour, the deli was in its standard lull, which was only punctuated by those who had skipped lunch. Today, there were only two other patrons sitting on the far side of the dining area, meaning the man could make an unobstructed beeline for the counter. Once there, he pulled a menu from the clear plastic holder and began hastily scanning its options.

"Good afternoon," Esther said, unwillingly intrigued. Over the years, she'd seen all sorts in the deli, but the man in front of her was the first to be exhibiting behavior like this. It was almost like he didn't want to be here, but was without another option.

The man nodded, almost absently, but didn't look up from the menu.

"Pastrami please," he then said, his voice thick and almost choked.

"Sure thing, honey. What type of bread?"

The man's eyes opened slightly wider, but the look was gone a split second later. Had Esther not been looking right at him when it happened, she would have missed it.

"We have rye, sourdough, nine gr—"

"Any."

"I recommend the sourdough," Esther continued, kindly, now wondering if this man had some sort of diagnosis. For the record, that didn't bother her; she treated everyone who walked into her deli with the same kindness until they proved they weren't deserving of it. She only wanted to make him more comfortable, since he looked about a loud noise away from bolting.

"Fine."

"Chips okay for a side?" There were other options for sides of course, but Esther suspected if she listed them, they'd be repeating their previous conversation. She might be a little biased but their house-made chips were very good, and they were portable, which was a huge benefit since the man didn't look like he was eating here.

The man nodded, quickly and jerkily, and held out his credit card, which Esther quickly ran through the machine. As she always did, she looked at the name as she handed the card back, and said, "Nice to meet you, James. I'm Esther."

This time, in addition to his eyes widening and his expression freezing, the man's breath caught audibly in his throat. Esther had seen that expression many times before, and recognized the panic for what it was.

"It's on your card," she said quickly, pointing to where the last few letters of his name were visible outside his grip.

The man did his quick aborted nod again, but didn't so much relax as look marginally less tense. After a beat, he said, "Of course."

"Your sandwich should be out shortly. Pick any seat, or wait outside." She didn't bother asking him if he wanted to eat it here. They'd pack it to-go and if he decided to sit down, that was fine with her.

The man looked around the deli, and seemed so lost that Esther reached over the counter, pushed the menu holder out of the way of the closest barstool, then motioned for him to sit. The man perched on the very outer edge of the stool, coiled as if ready to strike, and all but sprinted from the shop the minute Esther handed over his meal.

The minute he was out of the room, her grandson Eli, who had been sweeping the front of the house, raced over to her. "Do you know who that was, Oma?!" he practically shouted, causing the two other diners to look over at him as well.

There was such astonishment in Eli's voice that Esther ran through her (admittedly small) catalogue of movie stars before shaking her head.

"That was the Winter Soldier!"

The pieces started to click as Esther remembered the news articles after the Fall of the Triskelion, and the statement given by none other than Steve Rogers saying the Winter Soldier was his childhood friend Bucky Barnes, who had been brainwashed by Hydra, and would be staying at Avengers Tower for the duration of his recovery. It explained everything about the man's behavior. "We're not going to call him that in this shop," she stated, placing her hands on Eli's shoulders and spinning him around. "Now get back to work."

"How did it go?" Sean Maguire asked in their next session.

"I did it," Bucky reported, feeling one corner of his mouth lift slightly with his success. He'd been nervous and on edge, but Esther had been nothing but kind to him as she helped him through his order.

Sean smiled as he made notes in a file. "That's great, Bucky. How did you feel?"

"Uncomfortable." Then, after a pause, he elaborated, "I found all the exits and had at least three ways to take out each person in the shop before I made it to the counter. It felt like everyone was looking at me, like they knew who I was."

"Did they?"

Bucky shrugged. "If they did, they didn't act on it. Esther, who took my order, didn't seem to. But she could definitely tell that something wasn't right."

Sean nodded thoughtfully then put down his pen. "Your instincts aren't going to go away—and I suspect you might prefer they don't—but what you did was a huge step for you. You got out of your comfort zone, and did something all on your own." He paused, then asked, "How was the food?"

"Amazing." He'd waited until he'd gotten back to the safety of the Tower to eat it, so the pastrami had been cold instead of warm, but it hadn't mattered. Once the taste and flavor of the meat had hit his tongue, he'd wolfed the whole thing down in under a minute. He wasn't sure he liked the sour pickle that had been included, but the chips were salty and amazing and had disappeared very quickly as well.

"Would you go back?"

Bucky nodded.

"So, maybe this week, you should go again and find one thing to say to Esther in conversation."

Bucky must have looked uncertain for Sean continued, "Just one thing. 'How's business?' 'How are you doing today?' Just one question. Just one more step."

One more step. He could do that.

"I'll try."

"He's back!" Eli shouted from his spot at the front window, waving quickly for Esther to come see. Based on his level of excitement, there wasn't any mystery about who "he" was.

"And he'll leave if he sees you acting like that," Esther replied. "Go back to sweeping, Bursche."

"Yes, Oma," Eli said somewhat dejectedly, as he continued to push the broom across the floor. Esther then arranged herself behind the counter and tried again to look busy as James Barnes entered. He didn't wait outside to psych himself up this time, but he definitely walked somewhat hesitantly into the deli.

"Hello again," Esther said warmly.

"Hi." After a pause, he added, "Esther."

"Pastrami again? Or are we branching out?"

"Pastrami." He had only barely reached the counter at this point, and was once again visibly uncomfortable.

"Sure thing." Esther rang him up and he handed over his credit card. He then stood there, awkwardly, while the kitchen prepared his food.

When they were finished and Esther was grabbing some napkins and a fork for the to-go bag, James spoke up, "How's business?"

The words raced out of his mouth so quickly Esther almost didn't understand him. "It's good, Jimmy," she replied, once her brain had caught up. "Thank you for asking."

At the nickname, James froze again, eyes wide and panicked, forcing Esther to backtrack. "James, sorry. You just don't look much like a James to me."

James-not-Jimmy shook his head. "Jimmy is fine," he ground out with effort. Then he snatched the bag out of Esther's hand and hurried out of the deli. At the door, he nearly crashed into Frank, who was slowly hobbling in.

"Was that who I thought it was?" he gaped as he entered.

Esther shuffled out from behind the counter and met her husband halfway across the room. "What are you doing here, Frank?"

"I came to see how the shop is doing. Don't deflect. Was that The Winter Soldier?"

"His name is James Barnes, and yes."

"Has he been in here before?"

"Once."

Frank looked over at Esther, and from his expression, she knew she wasn't going to like what he said next.

"I don't want you working here when he shows up. He's dangerous."

"He absolutely is not," Esther countered, pulling her hand out of Frank's grip. "He's nervous and keeps to himself when he's in here."

"You've seen what he's done! I don't want you to be next."

Esther's expression hardened. "I won't be." Then she stormed off as best as her arthritic hips would allow to back behind the counter.

"Esther, wait," Frank said, hobbling to catch up with her.

Ignoring him, she busied herself finishing wiping down menus.

"Fine," Frank snapped before heading to the office to do whatever work he'd shown up to do.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Frank asked, later that night, as he climbed into bed beside Esther. They hadn't said a word to each other from the time she'd gotten home until now. She was currently lying in bed facing away from him.

"Only if you change your mind."

Frank was quiet for so long that Esther thought that was the end of the conversation. "I'm just worried about you," he finally said, running a frail and bony hand along her spine.

His words tugged on Esther's heartstrings so painfully, she had to roll over to face him. "He deserves a second chance after everything he's been through," she stated.

"I know he does."

"Then why are we arguing?"

"Because I only get one of you," Frank replied, looking at her with a lifetime of emotion in his eyes.

Esther snorted, but reached out and rested a hand on the side of his face. "I'll be fine, Frank."

Frank didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "What does the Winter Soldier order anyway?"

"James Barnes orders pastrami. On sourdough. With chips."

She could immediately see the scheming in Frank's eyes and swatted his shoulder. "We will not be publicizing this. At all."

"I'm just sayin', we could be open to the–"

"No."

"Fine." Frank crossed his arms over his chest and scowled up at the ceiling. "I love you, mein Schatz," he said, as he did every night before falling asleep.

Esther leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I love you, mein Süßer."

"She called me Jimmy," Bucky reported to Sean over a video call two days later. "Said I didn't look like a James."

"And what did you say?"

"I panicked. Said Jimmy was fine."

Bucky looked up hesitantly, but all he saw was understanding on Sean's features. "As long as you're okay with it, that's fine. But maybe one day you'll want to tell her what you prefer to be called."

Bucky nodded. "I don't think I mind it, though."

"So again, that's fine, as long as you don't mind it. But if that changes, we can work through how you might bring it up." He waited for Bucky to nod, then asked, "So what else did you discuss?"

The next time Esther saw Jimmy, he walked straight in to the deli. It was only when he saw that there was a line that he balked; there had been some convention at a hotel not far away and its attendees had flocked here during their break, which was during the deli's normal lull. Normally, Esther was very strict about her line policy, but knowing who Jimmy was, she could understand why he looked about a half second away from leaving.

"Jimmy!" she called and motioned for him to step toward the counter.

The rest of the restaurant's patrons spun around to look at him, and Jimmy very visibly tensed.

"Be nice," Esther reprimanded the line, still waving for Jimmy to come closer. "I'll get your pastrami going. And I'll throw in a free cookie and drink for everyone who waits just a few minutes longer."

The mutiny subsided and the eight in line stepped aside, leaving Jimmy an unobstructed walk to the counter.

"I don't need special treatment," he said softly, as he handed over his card. It wasn't said unkindly, just a statement of fact.

"We all need a little help sometimes," Esther replied, as she passed the card back. "Now, if you wanted to wait over there," she pointed toward an empty table a few feet from the counter, "that'd be fine too."

Jimmy nodded and took an uneasy seat, perched again on the edge of the chair, looking battle-ready at any second.

"Thank you," he said, moments later, as he took the paper bag from Esther. It wouldn't be until later that he'd find the latke she slipped in, free of charge.

"You are most welcome, Jimmy."

And so became the pattern that every Tuesday, Jimmy stopped by the deli. It took a few weeks for Esther to realize it was around the same time: 2:10 PM. Given that that was not a standard eating time for most and factoring in the deli's distance from Avengers Tower, it was presumably an appointment or something scheduled that drew him here week after week.

As the weeks passed, Jimmy didn't exactly look comfortable in the deli, but he looked less and less skittish. He still shied away from waiting in line, but if Esther wasn't busy, he could hold a fairly decent conversation. It also helped when she realized he liked his hands being busy, and started offering that he wipe down the menus or roll silverware while he waited (for which she always threw in a free dessert), which seemed to set him more at ease. It was only when she saw him shed his right glove in order to dunk the rag for wiping the menus into the cleaning solution that she remembered his metal left arm, which remained hidden beneath the long sleeve and matching glove. She almost offered something else for him to do, so he could keep both gloves on, but he didn't seem the least bit bothered by the discrepancy, so she let the suggestion drop.

It was about his eighth or ninth visit when Esther realized Jimmy was also woefully behind on his pop culture. On that particular day, Esther was doing the ordering in back since Frank wasn't having a good day, and had left Eli to work the counter. Once she'd heard Jimmy ordering his typical pastrami, she made her way to the dining room just in time to hear Eli sing back, "On rye with a sour pickle?"

Still in the hallway, Esther waited to see how Jimmy would react. "Sure?" he eventually replied, with a confused shrug.

This would not stand, especially for someone who was born and raised in Brooklyn.

"Jimmy Barnes, you mean to tell me you haven't seen Newsies?"

His head swiveled to look over at Esther. "No?"

"A Broadway musical about the Newboys' Strike of 1899? Jeremy Jordan, Ben Fankhauser, Kara Lindsay?" Esther continued, hoping that the description or the actors would jar a memory.

Jimmy shook his head.

Esther walked over the counter and looked down at Eli. "Do you think you can get Jimmy a copy?" To Jimmy, she explained, "Eli's a computer genius. I don't understand half of what he does, but when I want to watch something, he can always find it."

"Sure, Oma," Eli said with a grin. "I'll have it for you next week," he said to Jimmy as the bell to the kitchen dinged, indicating Jimmy's food was ready.

Sure enough, the next week Eli handed over a flash drive, explained how to use it (Jimmy seemed to know, but he allowed the lesson anyway), and that was that. Esther wasn't intending to press the matter, but then she heard Jimmy humming "Once and For All" the next time he placed an order.

"So, did you like it?" she asked as she accepted his credit card.

Jimmy nodded. "A lot, actually. St—my friend—really did too."

"I'm glad," Esther said with a smile. And when she hummed the refrain of "Brooklyn's Here" the next time he walked into the shop, just loud enough for Jimmy to hear, she was rewarded with a rare smile of his own.

By that point, Esther suspected Jimmy knew that she knew who he was, but they never formally discussed it. She wasn't sure how to let him know that she knew, and as the weeks wore on, she found herself unwilling to broach the topic, in case the fact that she knew his true identity would cause Jimmy to go elsewhere. So Esther resigned herself to waiting for him to bring it up at his own leisure.

They passed his waits with small talk about the deli, Esther's family, and eventually, what he was doing in Brooklyn every Tuesday.

"Therapy," he replied, dunking the rag into the bucket with his flesh hand and setting about wiping the menus.

"Is it helping?"

Jimmy nodded. "It's actually why I'm here. Trying new things. Getting out in the world."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he left it at that for the day. And that was fine with Esther. He was supposed to feel comfortable in this place, not interrogated. But she was honored that he was opening up to her.

The next week, Jimmy showed up on Tuesday, two hours before his usual time, looking slightly frazzled around the edges.

"Jimmy? What's wrong?" Esther asked, immediately hobbling around the counter.

"I need to talk to you," he said. "In private."

Esther waved for Caleb, one of the busboys, to take over the counter and led Jimmy to the back of the house.

"What is it?" she asked once they were in the office and he'd closed the door behind them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he was quick to say. And physically, he looked it. There was no blood or bruises on his face and his cheeks had filled out slightly since he'd first walked in. If it wasn't for the tense set of his features and the furrow of his brow, Esther would have thought it was just another Tuesday. "But I need to tell you something," Jimmy continued nervously.

At this point, Esther suspected she knew what it was, but she didn't rush him. All she said was, "No matter what it is, Jimmy, you will still be welcome here."

He looked up at her in surprise. "You might not think that after you hear what I have to say."

We'll see, Esther thought as she motioned for him to continue.

Jimmy took a deep breath then said, "I'm going on trial next Monday. For the crimes I committed as The Winter Soldier." As he spoke, he'd been looking at the tile pattern on the floor, but now his eyes quirked upward, worriedly.

Esther reached over and laid her hand on the desk, not quite touching his hand, but it was a close thing. "I've known since the first day you've walked in," she said softly. "But thank you for sharing that with me. It doesn't change how I feel about you, or the fact that you're still welcome here anytime."

Jimmy blinked up at her in surprise. "Really? You're not upset?"

She shook her head. "Not in the slightest."

His lips pursed together and he had to swallow hard before he could speak again. "Thank you," he breathed, barely louder than a whisper.

Esther patted his hand quickly before pulling back to her side of the room. "Since you're already here, the least I can do is feed you. How do you feel about branching out from pastrami?"

Jimmy still looked thrown, like he hadn't expected their conversation to go the way it had. Esther tapped the counter next to his hand then rose to her feet. "Come try our smoked turkey. I think you'll really like it."

That seemed to jar Jimmy out of his stupor. He stood and popped open the office door for her, then followed her into the deli, where the line had subsided. At the counter, when he pulled out his credit card, he suddenly asked, "Can I get two?"

"What's this?" Sean asked, staring at the paper-wrapped sandwich Bucky was holding out to him.

"It's from the deli," Bucky said, shaking it gently. "I ordered two." After a pause, he added, "It's turkey. Esther said it's excellent."

"That's very kind," Sean replied before accepting the sandwich. He put down Bucky's file, unwrapped a corner of the sandwich and took a bite, finding he couldn't argue. "Thank you. It is."

Bucky beamed. "She'll be thrilled." He unwrapped his own sandwich then said, "Also, I told her."

"Told her what?"

"Who I was. I think she already knew."

Sean put down his food and looked over at Bucky. "That's great, Bucky. And how did she react?"

"She didn't, really. But she slipped a cup of matzoh ball soup," Bucky pulled out the styrofoam container as proof, "into my bag, so I don't think she cares."

Sean jotted a note in the file then smiled warmly at Bucky. "I'm so happy you've found this person, Bucky, and that you felt comfortable telling her who you are. How did it feel, to have that out in the open?"

"Good." Bucky thought for a moment then added, "It was a relief to finally say it, and for her to almost not care."

Sean nodded. "I am so proud of you. And you should be of yourself."

"I don't know if that's the word, but I'm thankful." Bucky shifted in his seat. "For all your help. For encouraging me to get out there. For Steve, who is always there. For Tony, who lets me live with him, rent-free, even though I…" he swallowed and then made a gesture with his flesh hand, as if to say 'well, you know.' "For the team and for people like Esther and her family who aren't judging me by who I used to be."

He looked up to find Sean nodding again. "Just remember that you are the one who is making that happen. You got yourself back to the team, wanting a different life, and you are the one who is putting in the work. It's important that you're giving yourself some of this credit." Sean then glanced at his desk and when he looked back at Bucky, his expression was somber. "As much as I want to continue that today, I'd like to suggest we switch gears and focus on your upcoming trial and revisit these feelings another time. Is that okay with you?"

Not really having anything else he wanted to contribute to that conversation at the moment, Bucky took a large bite of his sandwich and nodded. "That's fine."

The trial dragged on for four long weeks, during which Esther didn't see Jimmy at all. She supposed that was because he was in court all the time instead of going to his weekly therapy appointments. She didn't want to watch the news, because she was terrified he was going to get committed, but she also couldn't stand not knowing what was happening in the Manhattan courtroom. So the trial played on silently on the tablet Eli had set-up behind the counter, with Esther catching glimpses of it while she worked.

The prosecution had dug up footage and records of The Soldier's missions, released during last year's Hydragate, and played them for the jury. Esther wanted to punch the smug prosecutor in the face, and had actually made it all the way to the doorway one day before Eli had pulled her back. Thankfully, Jimmy's lawyer seemed just as capable at showcasing that Jimmy hadn't been operating under his own volition, and the videos he showed to prove that point were just as painful (if not more so) to watch.

When Jimmy was declared innocent, the smile that lit across his face and the hugs he received from the rest of the Avengers were like a breath of fresh air, even at the deli miles and miles away from the courtroom. As Eli danced around in relief, hugging his friends, Esther gave everyone in the restaurant a free latke to celebrate.

The next Tuesday, Jimmy showed up at 2:10 exactly, wearing his typical jacket and baseball cap, but this time his hands were stuffed in his pockets. Esther met him halfway across the room.

"Prepare yourself for a hug," she informed him, arms held wide. He tensed slightly as she approached but let her wrap her arms around him and pull him close. "You deserve it."

His arms very slowly slipped out of his pockets and around her back, not quite making contact with her, but it was a close thing. "Thank you," he said as he relaxed into her grip.

"You're welcome." Then, before she pushed her luck, she pulled away. "Now, the pastrami is extra good today. I can't imagine the food at that courthouse was any good, so you'll be getting a double portion. Without argument."

"Yes, ma'am," Jimmy replied, a grin flitting across his lips.

Just like that, their routine was back, and for two more months, Jimmy showed up at the deli every Tuesday at 2:10 PM like clockwork. But then, the Costa Gravan First Family flew in town to meet with President Garcetti, and Captain America was injured by the attempted assassins. When Esther heard that on the news, she began worrying like hell about Steve, knowing he was Jimmy's friend, but mostly about Jimmy and how he was coping. She hoped he'd still show up on Tuesday, so she could check up on him, but she wasn't surprised when he didn't: Steve was still in the hospital after all.

She wished she had a way to contact Jimmy. Up until that point, she hadn't bothered to get his phone number or email, since she'd been seeing him weekly. But now, she couldn't check up on him even if she wanted to, so there was nothing to do but wait and hope he'd show back up once things began to normalize.

One week passed, and according to an official statement, Steve had been released from the hospital the previous Wednesday and would continue recuperating at Avengers Tower. This left Esther hopeful she would see Jimmy on Tuesday, as he began to return to his routine. However when 2:10... 2:15... 2:30... 3:00 came and went, Esther's worry only intensified. It reached fever pitch thirty-six hours later when she found Eli sobbing instead of bussing a table, having just seen a YouTube video of Captain America trying to assassinate President Garcetti.

At this point, Esther actually called Avengers Tower as a Hail Mary that she'd get put through, but not surprisingly, she was politely told that connecting her to the private Avengers floors was not allowed. The first thing she was going to do when Jimmy showed up again was get his phone number, for emergencies only. In the meantime, all she could do was console Eli and tell him it probably wasn't what it seemed. The Steve Rogers Frank admired and had shared stories about would never do something like this. And now that she knew Jimmy, she still believed that with all her heart.

Three days after that footage hit the internet, the deli halted normal business to watch Tony Stark give a press conference and reveal that it hadn't, in fact, been Steve Rogers who had tried to assassinate President Garcetti, but instead a lookalike named Clarke Robinson. That had set Eli into another round of tears for ever doubting one of his heroes, but some streusel à la mode was all it took to calm him down.

Esther tried again to call Avengers Tower or contact them through their online form, but she received the same brush-off from the receptionist and no response to her inquiry. Despite how much she was worried, time passed, and she slid back into her non-Jimmy routine: working the deli from 5 – 3; sometimes babysitting her grandchildren while their parents ran around to after-school activities and appointments; other times collapsing on her couch with Frank and watching movies through the NetFilms service Eli had set-up for them, and left printed instructions by the remote on how to access it.

Then, just under four weeks since Esther had last seen Jimmy, the bell on the front door of the deli rang and Esther walked out of the office to find Jimmy standing next to a tall blond man, who she easily recognized despite the sunglasses and hat. Steve Rogers didn't seem like himself at all, standing with his hands jammed into his pockets and his head tilted down slightly. She could understand why, after all he'd been put through these last two weeks, and could see, even from this distance, that this, or something if not this, was weighing heavily on him.

"Jimmy!" she called, as they entered. "You're back!" Her arms itched to hug him, to bundle him into her arms and demand the whole story, but it'd been so long since she'd seen him last and so much had happened that she needed to take it slow, so as not to overwhelm him.

She bit back a laugh as Steve took a long look around the deli, as if looking for a Jimmy, and couldn't help but grin when his gaze finally landed on his friend.

"You let her call you Jimmy?" she heard him hiss as she stepped around the counter.

Even though Steve was the one who had been through the public wringer these past two weeks, it had clearly taken its toll on Jimmy too. His face was gaunter, eyes slightly more haunted, and he seemed less at ease than he had on his last visit.

"You're losing weight," she declared, seeing how both their clothes hung in places they shouldn't. "Are they not feeding you enough in Manhattan?"

Predictably, Jimmy scowled, and for that brief second, a glimpse of normalcy was achieved. "I'm eating just fine." He hooked his thumb at Steve. "It's this one you have to worry about."

Didn't she know it. Esther waved off Steve's protest, confirmed that he was in fact too skinny as well, and began mentally assembling an order that would help both of them put back what had been lost.

When the two Avengers had left, Eli burst out of the back room where he had been rolling silverware since one of their busboys had gone home early with a cold. "WAS THAT CAPTAIN AMERICA?" he screeched, sprinting to the front window and pressing his face against it. "OMA, YOU SERVED CAPTAIN AMERICA!"

"Get away from there, Eli," she ordered by way of response. "You're smearing the glass."

"Yes, Oma." He turned away, not allowing her reprimand to dampen his mood. "Do you think he'll be back? Do you think he'd sign my shield? What did he order? Was he as awesome as he seems on TV?"

Esther walked around the counter then looked down at her grandson. "Don't tell anyone, but Captain America doesn't like pastrami."

Eli looked at her very seriously, then shook his head. "I guess no one's perfect."

"How did it feel?" Sean asked the following week. "Bringing Steve along."

"Good. Right, almost."

"Can you expand on that?"

"They gave me so much when I turned myself in to them; Tony obviously because it was his place, but Steve has been there for me through all the nightmares and withdrawals and me not remembering the most basic things. It felt good to give something back, to share something that was 'mine'," he said the word with invisible quotes, "with them."

Sean nodded as he scribbled in Bucky's file. "That is a huge step for you, and to be honest, one I wasn't thinking you'd do so early."

Bucky looked up sharply. "Should I have not?"

"On your own time, absolutely." Sean paused. "As I'm saying it out loud though, I really shouldn't have been surprised you shared the deli with Steve, after all he's been through of late." He looked up at Bucky and smiled warmly. "You did great. Though I want you to still feel comfortable telling Steve 'no', if you don't want him along. Just because he's been there now, doesn't mean he always has to come. It's okay for you to want some space on your own, just as it's okay to always bring him if you want."

Bucky considered that for a moment. "That makes sense. And I think I would be. For things like this, Steve knows when to push and when to not."

"But if he pushes and you don't want him to, you should feel able to tell him you want to go alone."

"I will, I promise."

Sean hummed absently as he jotted down some more notes. "So, how is Steve anyway?"

It's mostly Bucky and Esther in this chapter, with a small cameo from Steve as we incorporated the events of The Imposter, but in the next (and final) chapter, we will see Esther meet the rest of the team. And yes, Esther will get another interaction with Steve once he's fully recovered.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!