James let her close, let her run her fingers over the hard surface, even though he'd never before voluntarily allowed anyone but Len to touch it. He knew she needed the contact to believe it was real.

"James," he corrected her, his voice taking on a rough note. "It's James, now. Bucky Barnes died in 1944. Don't get any ideas about saving me, either. Don't try to stop me, and don't ever go looking for me. Understand? If I wanted to change what happened to me, all I'd need to do is go break his legs, keep him - me - from going on that mission. I had a rough time of it, but if I don't go through that, I won't get to where I am now. And I want to be here."