The Barnes Blues

Author's Note: Yes, I am of the opinion that based on the devoted attention he shows towards the women in his vicinity in Captain America: The First Avenger, Bucky Barnes was, once-upon-a-time, a shameless man-whore. And, I have to write about it. :) This short story also features 'prude' Steve just for fun. Once again, timelines loosely based on the movie.

Brooklyn, New York City - October, 1940

Steve was tiredly walking home from work on an overcast Monday when he saw his best friend headed across the busy street in his direction. The taller, dark-haired young man was looking a little down, which was completely out of character. Concerned, Steve greeted him, and automatically fell into step beside him.

"What's got ya' looking so down, Buck? Tough weekend?"

Bucky gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. "You ain't kiddin'."

Steve thought about it, realized he hadn't seen Bucky in a few days, in fact, then snuck a look over at his friend and asked simply, "Dame?"

Bucky groaned in response.

"Is it that redhead...what was her name? Matilda?"

Bucky coughed a little. "You mean Tillie."

"Yeah, thought you two were actually dating. For what, a month? Gotta' be a record for you. Plus, your ma' liked her, and she doesn't like anybody. I kinda' thought you might be snake-bit, y'know?"

"Steve, you know that ain't my style."

"Uh-huh. How come I haven't seen her around lately?"

Bucky had the good grace to wince a little in regret. He plucked at the cuff of his coat. "Heh...uh. Yeah...about that - "

Steve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Aw, c'mon, Buck, what'd you do this time? She was the one who ended it, right?"

Bucky stepped off to the side away from the crowd, pulled Steve with him, and then put his hands up in defense. "Hey, can't end something that never really began."

Steve was disappointed. He leaned against the wall of the building they were in front of and shook his head. "All the same, Buck, she was a nice girl!"

Bucky nodded, lips in a thin line. "She was a nice girl, she really was...until she saw me at the theater with that extra-nice blond that works at that Automat on fourth."

"You didn't. Wait, that one, the icy blond - th-the one who insisted she was only working there because she was 'between roles'? The one with the - " Steve caught himself with his hands in the air at chest level and blushed. "Yeah, uh...the, ahem. Yeah, um, Greta?"

"Grrr-et-tah." Bucky growled lowly, smirking.

"Greta," Steve repeated with an awed, kind of unwilling respect, and then, "Hey! You said she wouldn't go with you, she shot you down! I actually had respect for the woman! Maybe she ran out of options."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Keep it up, kid, I'll show you options."

Steve laughed. "So, c'mon, what happened?"

"Well, turns out that slick-chick was just playing hard-to-get. I stopped by there with Tillie last Saturday and she did everything but wrap herself up to-go when she saw I was taken, pal. It was pretty gratifying, I gotta' admit. It had to happen sooner or later, you know they can't resist the Barnes Blues!"

"I have blue eyes, too, Bucky." Steve pointed out dryly, but his friend was like a steamroller.

"So I go back on Monday, check things out, next thing you know, we're on for Friday night. How was I supposed to turn that down?"

Steve knew his friend wasn't the kind of guy who could - or would.

"So what happened?"

"Man, I brought her flowers, treated her to dinner at Rudy's, paid for a taxi to the theater, and got her popcorn to-boot." Bucky whistled low, shaking his head. "I'm tellin ya', it was a sure thing. We got settled in, third row balcony seats, you know what I mean - "

"No, actually I don't," Steve muttered dejectedly, "but knowing you, I have a fair idea. How many does this make since the summer began?"

Bucky chuckled. "What can I say, Stevie. What kinda' guy would I be if I kept count? I'm a crowd-pleaser."

"Oh, is that what they call it? So where'd Tillie come in?"

Bucky's face fell. "Oh, it was bad. Like that incident with Dot Huffman bad."

Steve made a pained face and groaned sympathetically, but said, "You do understand you've got no one else to blame for that but yourself?"

"I hate it when you give me that 'I told you so' face. Yeah, see, this is why I didn't tell you about her before."

Steve's expression became pinched and more than a little self-righteous.

Bucky got twitchy, trying to ignore him, playing with his cuff again, and then gave up and threw his hands in the air. "Okay, so I'm to blame for this, too, you told me so, I'm guilty of the crime, happy? Fine? Fine. You wanna' hear how it went, or not?"

Steve shrugged carelessly, but he really did, and Bucky knew it.

"So, anyway, we can't be more than ten minutes into the first reel, and she leans over and kisses me! I'm thinking, damn, I am officially the luckiest guy in New York!"

"She...sounds really confident. This Greta must've had an awful lot of practice," Steve interjected bemusedly.

Bucky paused, arched a dark brow, and, deciding his friend wasn't intentionally being a smart ass, went on.

"Anyway, it all goes downhill from there. Things are just getting good when some punk kicks the back of my chair. I ignore it at first, too cosy to care, when damn if it happens again. I get up, turn around mad as hell, and who do I see but Tillie...and her mother."

Steve tried not to smile - he really did - but he had to duck his head to hide it.

"Oh, I'm not finished," Bucky added. "She also had her four brothers with her."

Steve choked on his laughter and had to turn away. He had a sudden thought and turned back, confused.

"I thought all she had were kid brothers? Aren't they all around eight and twelve years old?"

Bucky snarled a little. "Yeah, and all of 'em are rabid."

Steve bent over, howling.

Bucky huffed. "It's not funny, Steve, those brats are gonna' be somebody's gorilla's one day, you watch! They got 'mob thug' written all over 'em. Greta got tarred and feathered by those little shits!"

"No!" Steve mocked.

Bucky pointed a finger at him. "I know what you're thinkin', and my sister's got nothing on these kids. Greta was covered in soda, candy, popcorn - God knows what else the little monsters got their hands on! I ain't kidding, she looked like a goddamn fruitcake when we finally got out of there."

"Stop, s-stop," Steve begged, hands on his knees.

"Then Tillie's ma was spitting - spitting! - on me, screaming about how all along, I'd been leadin' her daughter down the garden path! Then she stabs me in the ribs with her umbrella! She was still on me even after the ushers came and threw us out into the back alley! I'm black and blue all over!"

Steve could only cackle.

Bucky stopped and kicked Steve's foot in retaliation. "Knock it off."

Steve took a second to breathe and said, "I'm surprised you just stood there and took it. Why didn't you leave?"

"Believe me, If I could have, I would've." Bucky rolled his eyes and thoughtfully rubbed the knuckles on the back of his left hand. "You know, you could tell that old broad used to be a redhead. She's lucky I don't slap around women - not that that witch would let you get in close enough."

Steve stopped laughing long enough to ask, "W-what'd Greta do?"

Bucky's expression turned bitter. "Made me pay for her taxi fare home, and the tip, and she was gone with the wind. I can't show my face in that Automat ever again. A whole week's pay and nothin' to show for it," he muttered flatly.

Steve was trying not to wheeze - his lungs weren't made to withstand the hilarity. "I wouldn't say nothing - balcony seats?"

Bucky blushed, but he had a smug smile on his face.

Steve enjoyed it a little too much that Bucky could still blush, but it gave him hope for the big guy. He took a deep breath to clear the tightness in his chest from laughing so hard, and then smacked Bucky in the arm. "So what happened to you, Buck?"

Bucky looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Steve saw his jaw muscles clench.

"C'mon, I know those kids didn't let you off that easy. Did you make Tillie cry?"

"Hell, no, she didn't cry! She was the one who - well...let's just say I left with a bad limp," Bucky sighed roughly. His blue eyes slid back to Steve's and he reluctantly added, "the kind it takes five pounds of crushed ice and a bi-hourly inspection to make sure you're still as God made you."

Steve broke up again, and he wiped tears from his eyes, but he winced sympathetically.

Bucky gave him a dirty look and sighed again. "It's just as well - she was raised Catholic. She practically had touch-me-not written all over her. It wouldn't have lasted."

Steve looked at him questioningly. "But - weren't you raised Catholic?"

"You know I was. So?" Bucky gave him a blank stare.

"You should be ashamed," Steve muttered, shaking his head at his friend in disbelief. He wasn't going to get into it, though, because the stuff Bucky got up to with girls made him blush.

"So," Steve continued pointedly, "it's not her fault you're the one who's always on 'active-duty', Buck."

Bucky cleared his throat and looked around, his cheeks still coloring a little - but his lips twitched in amusement. "Is it my fault I get restless? I'm young! Who wants to get married and settle down at our age?"

Steve looked at up at his friend with a wistful expression.

Bucky sighed. "You don't wanna' get hitched right now, Steve, no matter what my ma' says."

Steve shrugged. "I guess not, not really. But...it'd be nice to be considered, to have the choice at least." He watched Bucky earnestly for a second before shrugging again and shoving his hands in his coat pockets. He focused on the dirty sidewalk under their feet.

"Girls don't look down when they're looking for Mr. Right."

"Look, kid - trust me, no dame is looking for Mr. Right in this day and age."

Steve looked up, hopeful. "They're not?"

Bucky snorted. "No way! They're looking for the lettuce! Mr. Moneybags! It's that simple, buddy, figure out a way to get rich." He patted Steve on the head.

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, a wry smile curling his lips.

"Hey, just saying, what's the point in spending your whole life lookin' for a dame who might not even exist?"

"Get a few more years under that belt, I bet you'll wonder why you ever asked that," Steve announced wisely, then punched his arm. "Tell me you don't miss Tillie."

Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve's narrow shoulders and turned him to start walking down the street.

"Well, I...er, miss...certain parts of her," he said mischievously.

Steve slid him a look from the corners of his eyes.

"C'mon, Steve, she was meant to be somebody's wife. Could you really see me with her? Girl had a temper like her ma, and her old man's been hen-pecked to death. Seriously, he's always got this look on his face, man, like...like he smells somethin' funny." Bucky scrunched his nose. "Nah, I'd have ended up bein' 'Mr. Tillie'."

"Are you serious? So, what, you're just 'done'? On to the next dame? After this, you'd think you'd be traumatized."

"There's always another dame, Steve."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. Something tells me you're on a long road to ruin, Barnes. Someday a girl's gonna' break your heart, and you're gonna' come up and ask me why I never beat some sense into you."

"Ha! Yeah, and I'll already know why you didn't," Bucky put his elbow on Steve's head and leaned on it. "Geez, you sound like ma'! 'Road to ruin', are you kidding me with that stuff?"

Steve ducked away from it and scowled up at his friend, rubbing the smarting scalp under his sandy blond hair.

"Jerk."

"Punk," Bucky shot back.

Steve growled. "I swear, if I was a foot taller - "

"But you don't swear, Steve, and you could be two feet taller, you still couldn't beat me. Maybe on a step-stool - "

Steve muttered something rude under his breath and Bucky laughed out loud. "You're still young, Steve, anything could happen. You could hit a late growth-spurt and be 6'4 by New Year, man. You never know."

Steve knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. He figured he was way past any sudden height developments. Bucky was just trying to be nice.

He looked longingly at the dark shadow his friend was always complaining about having to shave, and rubbed a hand over his own smooth, baby-bare chin. He looked down, glaring at the secondhand leather shoes on his feet. They were a little too big, but his Ma had gotten a good price on them a year or so before she died, and thanks to living through the Depression, they'd always been thrifty. He always had to stuff newspaper in to make them fit - and in an attempt to keep his feet drier and warmer during the winter. He hadn't had the heart, or honestly, the dough to get a different pair yet.

Steve's heart hurt for a moment as he thought about his mother, but then he sighed and said, "I'm five-four and it's three months 'til New Year, Buck."

"Well, then, maybe next New Year. Happy thoughts, kiddo," Bucky put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, you can treat your poor, broke friend to some grub. Trust me, we're young, and when you're young, time don't mean a thing."