Hello all! Hope you're doing well! So this is an idea I've been playing around with since the movie came out; I really wanted to focus on the code words and write something that centered on each of them. It's actually going to be broken into two parts: part 1 will be everything that led up to Civil War and part 2 will be everything that happens afterwards.
This story will have some pretty ugly images along the way but I'll try to warn everyone at the beginning of each chapter just in case. Also, this story might have some mentions of Stucky and m/m implications but it won't be anything explicit; it can always be read as heavy bromance too for those who aren't into that kind of thing!
Hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing =/
Longing. That's the only word he has to describe the expression on Steve's face. There's a whole list of other emotions: wistful, shocked, anxious, rejected. But above everything else is an all encompassing longing. Steve sees his uniform and he knows without ever being told, knows all the way down to his core. Bucky is leaving and Steve is staying behind.
"You get your orders?" Steve doesn't try to hide the resignation in his voice; he's known this was coming ever since the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Bucky hesitates for a split second before he answers, rocking back on his heels slightly. He knows that look, the annoyance that accompanies the realization that he's being held back once again. Held back because of his health, his size, his weight, and any of the other hundreds of reasons the world had decided to beat Steve down throughout his life. He's not angry with Bucky, he's angry with himself.
He can't deny it, it's a conclusion Steve can come to on his own, but he deserves to hear it from Bucky himself. "107th, Sergeant James Barnes," he tells him, flimsy, half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We're shipping out for England first thing tomorrow."
It's Steve's turn to hesitate, caught in a turmoil of emotions he can't begin to describe. He's proud of Bucky, so damn proud it hurts, but it's hard to feel happy when he knows he's being left behind. Knows he won't be given a chance to defend his country the way he wants to. "I should be going," he intones quietly, shaking his head and glaring down at the trash strewn concrete.
Bucky knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he allowed it Steve would spend the rest of the evening in this godforsaken alley lamenting his fate. He can't let that to happen, not to Steve and not tonight. Tomorrow he ships out to the great unknown, the pockmarked battlefields of Europe. He wants at least one last good night before he goes.
"Come on, pal," he says with a laugh that's just a little forced. He loops an arm around Steve's skinny, bony shoulders and tugs him along through the alley. "It's my last night. We gotta get you cleaned up."
Steve frowns slightly at this but makes an effort to finger comb his floppy hair away from his face. "Where are we going?"
Bucky grins and tugs him a bit tighter into the one armed hug. "The future," he tells him, slapping at half-folded newspaper to his chest and leading him out into the street.
OOOOO
The future turns out to be a fair of sorts, bright lights and demonstrations and excited, curious crowds. Bucky is still in his uniform and Steve has cleaned up as well as he can considering the short notice. His clothes are still a little rumpled and he has a bruise forming beneath one eye to match the split in his lip but he at least tries to make a good appearance.
"What'd you tell her about me?" he asks, combing his hair to the side again self-consciously.
Bucky wants to swat his hand away and tell him to just relax because there's no way he would ever tell anyone anything bad about Steve. He settles for grinning and waves at the two girls skipping their way. "Only the good stuff," he promises as the pretty brunette links her arm with his. Her friend, an equally pretty blonde, comes to a stop beside them and her smile falters just a bit when she sees Steve. Apparently she had been expecting something different.
Steve tries not to let it bother him as the brunette drags Bucky ahead of them, her friend tagging along right beside her. He can't blame her honestly; he knows he's not much to look at compared to Bucky and if she had been expecting someone similar she was sorely disappointed. Their double dates usually ended this way though so Steve isn't really surprised when Bucky ends up with both girls on his arm.
A demonstration begins on one of the stages not too far away and the girls rush over excitedly, dragging Bucky along with them. Steve follows behind them quietly. The man on stage, an eccentric inventor named Howard Stark, is discussing crazy things like renewable energy and flying cars. It sounds absurd but then he has prototype (albeit one that stays afloat for approximately ten seconds) and it feels like they've just seen something incredible.
Bucky grins broadly and turns back toward Steve but finds the place where he had been standing moments before empty. He frowns, scanning the crowd briefly but finding no trace of the smaller man. His eyes land on the sign for a recruitment center across the park and he sighs heavily, knowing exactly where Steve disappeared off to.
Sure enough, he finds him just inside the entrance, trying once again to find some loophole in the system, some technicality he could take advantage of that would allow him to enlist. And God knows Steve is a stubborn son of a bitch; if there was a way in he would find it.
"You're really gonna do this again?" Bucky asks, resigned and tired because he already knows the answer.
Steve just shrugs and buries his hands in his pockets. "It's a fair. I figured I'd try my luck."
"As who?" Bucky asks, suddenly irritated with the situation. "Steve from Ohio? They'll catch you or worst of all they'll take you."
This causes a flash of annoyance to flicker across Steve's face and he sets his shoulders back a bit to make himself seem taller. It doesn't work. "Look I know you don't think I can do this-"
And actually that comment is worse than the undying stubbornness. Steve actually thinks that about him, thinks that Bucky thinks he can't do it but it's actually completely opposite. Bucky knows Steve could and would do it and that's the problem. Steve doesn't know when to quit, won't ever back down from a fight even if it kills him in the process, and Bucky knows this as an absolute truth. He knows Steve can do it and that's why he doesn't want him to.
"This isn't a back alley fight," he tells him as patiently as he can. "It's war, Steve. There are plenty of other important jobs out there-"
But Steve's not having it. He's not content to sit on the sidelines and watch while others take their place on the front lines. He's not content with being not strong enough, not being good enough, with being left behind. And there it is again, that longing look. The desire to prove himself, to show the world and everyone in it that he can do whatever he sets his mind to regardless of the obstacles.
"There are men laying down their lives," Steve insists, equally exasperated by the argument. "I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."
Bucky sighs heavily, letting his shoulders slump. "Right. Cause you got nothin' to prove."
Steve doesn't answer, meeting his gaze evenly. If it's a challenge, like so many other things in Steve's life, he doesn't back down.
The girls come up behind them, calling for Bucky's attention. He breaks his gaze with Steve to look back at them, flashing them a charming smile and the promise of taking them dancing.
He turns back to Steve then, sighing again and shaking his head. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."
"How can I?" Steve retorts easily. "You're takin' all the stupid with you."
Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh and walks back to catch Steve in a brief hug. "You're a punk."
"Jerk," Steve mutters back, reciprocating the embrace and watching with the same longing look as Bucky steps away again. "Don't win the war until I get there," he calls after him, earning a short salute from the other man as he disappears into the crowd to find their (his?) dates. Steve lingers behind, hands dug deep in his pockets, longing to go but forced to stay.
OOOOO
The night passes by in a blur of dancing and whiskey. The girls are beautiful, the liquor is strong, and Bucky does everything he can to quell the crushing sense of dread that's been building in his chest ever since he got his orders. He puts on a brave front, smiles easily and laughs at the appropriate time and tries his best to act like tomorrow will never come. Tomorrow represents the unknown, a dangerous terrain he's never crossed before. Tomorrow could be the last time he ever sees Brooklyn. Tomorrow, frankly, is terrifying.
He would never admit it, would never confess it to anyone (especially not to Steve) but he didn't enlist of his own accord. He was drafted just like every other able-bodied young man in the country. He received the conscription notice in the mail before he ever even considered enlisting. Honestly, had it not been for the draft, he doesn't know if he would have joined.
Not that he didn't want to do his part and defend his country, he wasn't a coward or a slacker, but he hesitated because he knew that he'd be leaving Steve alone. Steve who went out of his way to do the right thing even though he usually ended up with a black eye because of it. Steve who caught pneumonia once a year, without fail, and refused to go to the hospital even when he was coughing so much he couldn't stand up. Steve who has no one else in the world and would be completely and utterly alone once Bucky left.
He would never, ever tell him that though, enforce that idea that Steve needed someone to take care of him. He did (stubborn bastard) but Bucky would never tell him that. He doesn't know if that makes him less of a man, not jumping at the opportunity when it came. Honestly he hardly even thought about it.
So yeah, Bucky had been hesitant to join and might not have if there had been a choice. Luckily for him there hadn't been a choice; he was drafted and given the title of Sergeant and expected to do his part to defend America and support the Allies. Sometimes he wishes he was as brave and fearless as the front he puts on. As the man Steve saw in him.
The girls provide good company for the evening and for a short time he's able to forget that he ships out in the morning. He dances with them, holds them close and allows them to hang on as well. When he drops them off later that night he has two different shades of lipstick on his collar and his uniform smells like floral perfume.
He smiles at them while they disappear inside, waves until the door closes behind them. The apartment is only a few blocks away and it's not a far walk. The only problem is that now he's alone and there's nothing to keep the apprehensions about tomorrow at bay. Hell, tomorrow is now today and in just a few short hours he'll be making his way to the train station.
A flare of nervous energy causes his stomach to flip uneasily (or maybe that's the whiskey) and he rolls his shoulders back to stand up straighter. He digs his hands in his pockets and begins the walk home, ignoring the flutter of anxiety that accompanies each step.
He fishes the key out of his pocket as he gets closer, taking the stairs two at a time and coming to a stop in front of their door. He pauses, hand hovering in front of the lock. The thought suddenly comes to him that this is the last night he'll be spending in this apartment, in this city, possibly ever. It shouldn't be as profound as it is, he's known this was coming for months, but the realization now freezes him in place.
He shakes his head, taking a slow breath to steady himself. He's blaming a good majority of his anxiety and apprehension on the whiskey. Everything will be fine; what's the worst that could happen? He jiggles the key into the lock and pushes open the door.
The lights are off already and Steve's asleep on the flimsy, threadbare mattress they share. Their apartment is tiny, little more than a shack with four sturdy walls, but it's been home for the past four years. It's home for the last night. Bucky sighs again softly and closes the door behind him, keeping the lights turned off.
He undresses down to his shorts and hangs his uniform on the back of the door carefully. It's a little past two in the morning and he knows he'll have to be up and dressed no later than 5:30 in order to make it to the train station on time. He's not worried about it at the moment though; right now all he wants to do is sleep and spend one last night in his apartment.
He walks across the room the mattress pressed up against the wall and sinks down slowly onto the edge of it. Steve is curled up on his side of the bed, facing the wall and breathing slow. Bucky stares at his back for several long seconds, watching him breathe and taking in every detail he can. He wonders if he'll forget them once he's gone, if the tiny details that made up everything in their lives will disappear in a cloud of ash and gunsmoke.
He shrugs it off and slides down onto the mattress, honestly too tired to focus on it right now. Steve shifts slightly beside him but lays still once more. Bucky isn't fooled.
"Hey Stevie," he whispers quietly in the humid, stale darkness of their apartment. "You awake?"
Steve doesn't answer for a second but finally relents with a quiet huff. "Hard to sleep with you yappin'," he retorts softly with no heat in his voice. "How was the dance?"
"Hot," Bucky admits, stretching out slowly and staring up at the darkened ceiling. "Don't know why they don't turn on fans in those dances halls. You'd think people sweatin' all over the floor would give 'em a hint."
Steve chuckles quietly and keeps his back to him.
"Weird to think this'll be my last night here," Bucky mutters, more to himself than Steve at this point. He's thinking out loud, voicing his concerns when before he had kept them to himself.
Steve huffs again, haughty and slightly irritated, and flips over to face him. He grumbles something under his breath that sounds and awful lot like "stupid jerk" before reaching out and grabbing two fistfuls of Bucky's shirt. In less than a second he's buried his face against the taller man's chest, holding tight and breathing slow and ragged. Bucky wraps his arms around him gently, pulling him close and resting his chin on the top of Steve's head.
"You gotta promise not to get yourself killed over there, Barnes," Steve grumbles into his chest, his fingers tangled tight in the fabric of his shirt. "You gotta promise me."
Bucky nods but he knows it's not a promise he can guarantee. "As long as you promise to write to me," he counters easily, fingers tracing down Steve's bony back carefully. "I heard soldiers get real homesick over there, Stevie. Start doing crazy, reckless things. You writin' to me, keeping me up to date on what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into over here, it'll probably keep me from doing anything stupid."
Steve laughs (or maybe it's a quiet sob) and hides his face against Bucky's chest. "You're such a jerk, you know that?" he grumbles and it's a quiet, intimate admission to something much deeper that neither of them have the courage to say.
Bucky smiles thinly and pulls him closer; he feels the same but tonight isn't the time to talk about that. It would feel cheap and forced and timing is everything but timing is also fickle. "I know, punk," he mumbles back, arms still circled around Steve tightly. "I know."
They stay that way for the rest of the night, holding onto each other like it's the last time. Maybe it is. For as much as Steve wants to go, Bucky wants to stay. The morning will come, as it always does, and Bucky will be forced to leave, Steve forced to stay behind. It was almost like a cruel song or nursery rhyme: longing to go, longing to stay; neither one will get their way.
Thanks for reading guys! More to come soon! :D
