Frickss75's seminal Stucky series, The Recovery of Bucky Barnes, and its follow-up Life In Pieces, can both be accessed via this link:
https://archiveofourown.org/users/frickss75
mature readers only
mind the tags!
_____________
For the series The Recovery of Bucky Barnes alone: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542769
Book links:
1 Until It Sleeps mature
2 In a Little While mature
3 A Life Less Ordinary mature
_____________
For the series Life In Pieces alone: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3690295
Book Links:
1 Sweetness Follows mature
2 Living Proof mature
3 Fragments mature
Frickss75 specializes in Bucky as a recovering war hero, brutalized and exploited by the Soviet Union and Hydra, building a new life and family with his lover and spouse, Steve Rogers. Her stories are alternate universes following Bucky's canon recovery in Wakanda.
Her very first work lays the groundwork, which underlie both series, and is still an active theme. This means if you like or love one of her works, be sure to subscribe to the main link above and catch up at your leisure, as well as receiving subsequent works in your mailbox.
Main tags:
Multiple personalities, ptsd, recovery and counseling, sexual acts, mild kinks, angst, issues with the Serum, fighting Hydra, domestic tiffs (and making up!), male pregnancy, childbirth (not very graphic), domestic life, raising children, cats. There's more, but just check tags before opting to read.
Darcy Lewis is good at her job but bad at time travel
The Howling Commandos were huddled outside Colonel Phillips’ mud-spattered tent, droppin’ eaves like it was going out of style. Oh, they posed all nonchalant-like around the side, pretending they wouldn’t all rather be inside their barracks tent, gathered ‘round a hot stove than sat in the chill drizzle, listening to their CO get reamed a new one.
Their damp tableau was broken up by one Darcy Lewis, the strangest of all SSR’s administrative field staff, which was saying somethin’. She tromped past them in her silt-brown boots and slicker. Her thick glasses were speckled with rain, and she looked at least as miserable to be in the wet as they were. She stopped anyway.
“What’s kickin’, fellas?” She always had some wacky greeting; it was one of her many quirks. Another was never calling Cap by his name if she could avoid it. “Where’s Ol’ Glory?”
“The Colonel’s bustin’ his chops,” Jones offered before any of his compatriots could say something cruder. They never forgot they were talking to a woman, not out here, but they did sometimes forget that they’d been taught the manners to talk to a woman properly.
“What’d he do this time?”
Sargent Barnes didn’t like the cheerful, sure way Lewis asked it. “Maybe it was one of us that did somethin’.”
She waved a hand. “Nah. Dude’s been jumping out of planes without a parachute for-” She visibly stopped herself from talking, and glanced around at the Commandos. “'Sides,” she continued, tugging her hand-knit cap down over her ears, “I heard Phillips shout 'reckless’ at least twice earlier, when I walked past and stopped to listen.”
The Howlies started to laugh, but the Colonel’s steady lecture tone rose sharply. Captain Rogers’ voice- stubbornness in every syllable- was trying to placate.
Ms. Lewis smirked a bit, her lips contraband red. “I guess that’s my cue to go rescue ya boi.” She stumped around the tent corner before any of the men could ask what she meant.
A moment later, the men heard Phillips’ raspy, permanently-exasperated voice say, “Not now, Ms. Lewis.”
“Sorry, sir, but I was told this couldn’t wait.”
The Commandos huddled closer to the tent wall, careful not to touch it and give themselves away.
Rogers’ voice broke in, “Is that the intel on Hydra’s munitions supply chain?” He sounded, to the Howlies’ experienced ears, both eager for the lead, and the distraction.
“Uh, no. Sorry, Cap. I mean- Captain. That’s not in my wheelhouse.” Barnes and Dugan exchanged glances; what the hell did Hydra intel have to do with boats?
“What am I looking at?” Colonel Phillips prompted.
“Well, sir, those are the aerial photographs we took from Stark’s plane.”
“You mean the plane that nearly got shot down last week, despite Stark swearing up and down that his plane would be undetectable to the naked eye? The plane that had to set down two miles away from the landing strip, and I had to commandeer a tractor to tow it back to base? The plane that Stark promised would be up and operational within two days, and it has been a whole damn week?”
“Yes, sir, that plane.”
Morita covered his snicker, but only just. Lewis had perfected that innocent, too-dumb-to-live tone that all military personnel tried to emulate.
“These photographs appear to be of some sort of town, Lewis.”
“Yes, sir. They show the town of Svitz. It was overrun by Hydra five weeks ago, and razed to the ground.” The men tensed. An entire town destroyed by Hydra? It wasn’t the first, but they hadn’t heard anything about Svitz, and they’d made it their business to know everything Hydra was doing.
“And these photos are from last week?”
“Yes, sir,” Ms. Lewis said. Her voice hedged into the careful neutrality of SSR agents, “The town appears to be back.”
“Back?” Rogers’ incredulity was plain as the mustache on Dugan’s face. “From where?”
“Yes, back, Captain. We don’t know how- or from where, as you put it. Agent Carter is anxious to get a team out there and see if we can’t figure it out.”
“And I imagine,” the Colonel drawled, “Agent Carter wants to use the commando unit to babysit the boffins?”
“The boffins, sir?”
“The eggheads.”
“Oh. The science division. Yes, sir. As well as Agent Carter and myself.”
Steve’s voice choked out, “You?”
“Yes, Captain Rogers, me,” Ms. Lewis’ voice was chilly. “See, this is my wheelhouse.”
She had roundly dismissed Rogers in two seconds flat. Barnes was impressed; she must have learned that skill from Carter.
She continued as though she’d never been interrupted, “Sir, if this anomaly is what I think it is, we only have a limited time to reach Svitz before it reverts. I’ve brought the documentation from Agent Carter. It’s all in order.”
Colonel Phillips’ tone couldn’t get much drier, “I’ll bet it is.”
Barnes could hear papers being shuffled, and the distinctive scratch of Phillips’ pen on army paper.
“Alright, Lewis,” the Colonel said, all business. “You and the commandos under Captain Rogers will rendezvous with Agent Carter and your science squad, and investigate Svitz. Captain, you’ve got one hour to deploy. I want to know what the hell is going on with that town.”
“Yes, sir,” Rogers barked. A moment later, his boots retreated.
“Y'know, Colonel,” Ms. Lewis said, her voice projecting clear to the men on the other side of the canvas, “if I were going to be deploying in less than an hour, I’d get off my patootie and jump into some dry clothes while I had the chance.”
She was about as subtle as a brick to the face, and the Howling Commandos didn’t need to be told twice.
As they began to trail towards their bunks, and the all-too brief pleasure of getting into fresh, dry clothes, Barnes’ ears caught one last long-suffering line from the good ol’ Colonel:
“Get the hell out of my office, Lewis.”
The term “in (my) wheelhouse” to mean stuff you’re good at wasn’t used until the 50s. http://www.chronicle.com/blogs/linguafranca/2013/09/09/in-ones-wheelhouse-from-boats-to-baseball-to/
Svitz is a “European” state (which I modified) from Welcome to Night Vale.
