The first time Steve saved Bucky's life, he was six years old.

Marvel's a little confused about Bucky's age, but, according to the "SHIELD Files," he was born March 10, 1922. (The museum display in Winter Soldier may disagree. I didn't catch it.) Steve was born July 4, 1918, making him close to four years older. And in the movie, Steve said Bucky had known him all his life. So … assume for sake of this story that Steve is older.

Our Little Presidents

Mrs. James Barnes brought her peas out to the front stoop to shell them where her toddler could play in the sunshine and she could spy out her new neighborhood.

Little Bucky played happily with a wooden horse, bouncing it along the sidewalk.

Mrs. Barnes' fingers worked automatically to remove the peas from their shells. Her eyes wandered up and down the street. She nodded at passing neighbors, wondering what they were like, if any of them would become friends.

The "Ah-oogah!" of an automobile horn startled her. In the moment her attention was distracted, her boy had run into the street enticed by the shiny rarity of a horseless carriage. Barreling along at more than 20 miles per hour, the auto would never stop in time.

Mrs. Barnes leaped to her feet, scattering peas everywhere, but she would never reach her three-year-old before the auto hit.

Another boy no bigger than Bucky darted out, grabbed the toddler by his arm and pulled him to the side of the road.

Brakes locked, the auto slid well past where Bucky had been standing before it jolted to a halt.

"You boys stay out of the street!" yelled the motorist, made angry by his fright.

"Sorry, sir," the blond boy replied politely.

Mrs. Barnes wasn't going let this pass. Twice as angry as the driver, she swooped on him like a harpy. Pulling the boys protectively into her skirts, she berated the man for his reckless driving. Red-faced and apologizing, he slammed the auto into gear and departed — at a much reduced speed.

Safely on the sidewalk again, Mrs. Barnes hugged, kissed, hugged, scolded and hugged her confused son again, then she turned to her young savior and thanked him effusively. The boy scuffed his foot abashedly.

"I didn't do much, ma'am," he protested. "Anybody else would have done the same."

"But you did it and nobody else," Mrs. Barnes relied.

Now that she'd had a chance to talk to the blond boy, she realized he was older than her son, despite his small stature and skinny frame. He looked sickly and coughed whenever the breeze blew dust their way. She unobtrusively moved Bucky away from the sick boy. Too many fearsome diseases were spread by coughing.

"My name is Steven Rogers," the blond introduced himself.

"I am Mrs. Barnes and this is Bucky," she said, patting her son's shoulder. "How old are you, Steven?" she asked curiously.

"I will be seven years old next week," Steven said.

"Stevie?" a woman's voice called from down the street.

The boy called back and waved. A slender, blond haired woman came to greet her new neighbor. "Sarah Rogers," she introduced herself. She had tired eyes and more lines on her face than her age would warrant, but her smile was warm.

"Ruth Barnes," Bucky's mother replied. "And this is Bucky." She stroked her son's dark hair. "Your son pulled mine out of the way of a reckless motorist just now. He saved my boy's life. He's a hero," she said with no doubt.

Sarah petted her son, as if checking to see if he was all right. "I'm very proud of you, Stevie," she said, earning a huge smile from Steven. Sarah exclaimed over the spilled peas and offered to help pick them up.

"Why don't you boys play together while I help Mrs. Barnes," Sarah said. She noticed Ruth's hesitation and understood it. She'd seen it before. "Stevie has the asthma," she stated firmly. "The dust makes him cough. It is not contagious."

Ruth nodded an apology. She and Sarah started gathering the fallen peas while Bucky showed Stevie his horse.

"What does Bucky stand for?" Sarah asked.

"Buchanan," Ruth answered. "My maiden name. His proper name is James Buchanan Barnes, but since my husband is also a James, we call him Bucky."

Sarah chuckled. "Our little presidents."

Ruth tilted her head in a question.

"My son is Steven Grant Rogers," Sarah answered. "My husband was a soldier. He much admired President Grant. So we have a Grant and a Buchanan."

Ruth laughed obligingly, but her mind had focused on another topic. "You said your husband 'was' a soldier?" she asked hesitantly.

Sarah sighed. "He went to the war, but returned in a coffin," she said sadly. "He didn't live to see his son born, but Stevie has the name Joseph chose."

"What do you do to keep body and soul together?"

"Practical nursing." Sarah sat on the step and automatically began shelling peas beside Ruth.

"Long hours. It must be difficult to take care of Stevie," Ruth said.

"I've been lucky to be able to take him with me for the most part," Sarah said. "He's a good, quiet boy for the most part. Now he is in school, but he comes home to an empty house. One day last winter I came home to find him lying on the floor with the start of pneumonia. I'm afraid to leave him alone now."

"I can look after him," Ruth volunteered. She nodded at the boys happily playing together. "Stevie can keep an eye on Bucky and I can watch them both. Two boys are no more difficult than one, especially when one is as well-mannered as Stevie."

"Are you sure?" Sarah asked. "Stevie has many health problems," she said frankly. "He has bad lungs and a bad heart."

Ruth smiled and pointed to Stevie patiently teaching Bucky how to count to five. "He has a good heart," she countered.

"Mama!" Bucky ran over in excitement. "Stevie says they're going to have fireworks for his birthday!"

Ruth looked puzzled at Sarah who smiled at her son.

"Is that what you said, Stevie?" she teased.

He smiled. "Not exactly. I said we can see fireworks on my birthday."

Ruth was still puzzled.

"Stevie's birthday is July 4," Sarah explained. Then it made sense, of course.

"Can we see the fireworks on Stevie's birthday?" Bucky demanded.

"I don't see why not. Your father loves fireworks as much as you do. I'm sure he will take us to see them."

"With Stevie?" Bucky demanded.

"If that's all right with Stevie and his mother," Ruth said firmly.

"It's just three blocks," Stevie offered. "You can see the fireworks from the riverbank and it doesn't cost any money."

How sad was it that a six-year-old was already worried about money?

"Stevie, would you like to stay with Mrs. Barnes and Bucky while I go to work. I know you get bored, sitting in Mrs. Flannigan's kitchen," Sarah said.

Steve regarded the women with doubtful hope, while Bucky jumped up and down beside him. "Could I?" the blond boy asked. "Thank you. I'd like that," he said politely.

"We'll be best friends, Stevie," Bucky said in excitement.

"Best friends," Stevie agreed. "I promise I'll look after him, Mrs. Barnes."

Bucky aped Stevie's serious mien. "I promise I'll look after Stevie," he told Mrs. Rogers.

The women chuckled to think of the toddler protecting the older boy.

"There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother," Sarah quoted from the Bible.

Stevie threw his arm around Bucky's neck and the younger boy grabbed his friend in an exuberant hug. "Closer than a brother," Stevie promised.

A/N: Yes, this all started because I realized they both had presidential middle names.