This chapter is dedicated to Kawherp, who pointed out that the last chapter was too short and requested some dialogue after the battle. So here you are, Kawherp. I hope you enjoy this!
Nearly swaying on his feet, Bucky attempted to focus on his surroundings, but his mind kept slipping away, leaving him stranded in the shattered buildings around him. He discreetly stomped his feet to generate warmth, which he hoped would be enough to bribe his consciousness away from sleep. As he did so, he blew on his bare fingers, breath eerily white in the night. He glanced to his left and squinted in the harsh glare of the spotlights provided by the SSR. In the angry circles of light, metal glinted from gun barrels as soldiers escorted their prisoners through the town.
"How many more?" Bucky inquired impatiently.
Beside him, Steve flipped a few pages in the file he was holding. "Not many."
"Good," Bucky grunted. "I don't know how much longer I can keep my eyes open."
Lifting a hand to direct a pair of men and their charges closer, Steve spared Bucky a quick glance. "Just hang on for a few more minutes."
"Do I have a choice?" Bucky grumbled.
"You could sleep standing up," Steve suggested, the corner of his mouth curving up.
The comment brought its intended smile to Bucky's face. "It's so dark out here, no one would be able to tell," he agreed.
"And since you never do much of the talking anyway, no one will notice anything out of the ordinary," Steve added, making a note on one of the papers.
"That's only because I can't get a word in edgewise since you're such a chatterbox," Bucky teased.
"It's not my fault people enjoy the sound of my voice," Steve innocently defended, running his finger over a certain page before giving directions to the guards in front of him.
"They've obviously never heard you sing," Bucky muttered.
Steve turned to him in mock suspicion. "What did you say?" he queried, already knowing the answer.
"Nothing," Bucky quickly denied.
Deciding to let his friend get away with it just this once, Steve returned his attention to sorting out the captives. After a short while, he finished writing a record of each prisoner, as well as assigning a place for them to be held until the SSR could collect them. When he finally closed the folder, Bucky let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
Steve chuckled. "You ready to catch a few winks, Buck?"
"I've been ready since we first charged into this blasted city," Bucky retorted, already moving toward one of the houses, which had been transformed into a temporary barracks.
"All right, then. Far be it from me to get between a man and his sleep," Steve grinned, holding his hands up in surrender.
Bucky paused. "You are planning on getting some rest yourself, aren't you?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, rather than letting his concern show.
"I sure am," Steve confirmed. "I just need to turn this in." He indicated the file in his possession. "Go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute."
Leaving Steve with a final stern look that promised retribution if the captain went back on his word, Bucky moved forward into the street. He trudged along the frozen pavement, hating every moment spent in the chilled air. A jeep rattled past him and he followed its shape with his eyes until it turned the corner. When it was gone, he took to watching his own boots. The mud-spattered tips led him across broken sidewalks, over rubble, up chipped front stairs and through doors hanging off their hinges.
A delicate pair of off white shoes appeared in his line of sight and he traced the path from the small feet up the petite body to the face they belonged to. He smirked charmingly at the young nurse. She blushed, cheeks lightening to a rosy pink, while a fleeting smile appeared on her lips. Her arms were full of linens and she clutched them tighter as she ducked through the closest doorway and began passing blankets out to the soldiers inside. Bucky paused, leaning casually against the door frame, watching her for a minute or two. When she glanced over her shoulder, he caught her eye and gave her a wink. The blush returned and she hurriedly returned her attention to her task. After another moment, Bucky left.
He wandered around the downstairs of the home, through dining rooms, sitting rooms, studies and kitchens, all of which were being converted to sleeping quarters for the victorious Allied forces. When it became apparent that there was no room on the first floor, Bucky mounted the stairs, sliding his palm over the banister. His footsteps were heavy, leaving mud-soaked thunks in the air behind him. As if sensing how close to rest they were, every muscle in his body began whining about the abuse to which they had been subjected over the course of the day's battle. Bucky didn't blame them.
Descending the stairs, a small group of soldiers gave him respectful nods as they passed, tugging a worn smile onto his cheeks. He climbed the last few steps and stood a moment at the top. A corridor stretched out before him, doors cutting into the wall at regular intervals. He blew out a breath, preparing himself for the arduous search for sleeping space. There were only so many bedrooms in the house and the mattresses had likely already been taken by men who hadn't stood out in the freezing cold for an hour while Captain America oversaw the processing of prisoners. But at this point, Bucky would be happy for a patch of floor to claim as his own. Only twenty-one hours ago, he had been curled up on the frozen earth in the forest, which made floorboards and a rug sound heavenly by comparison. He dragged a hand down his face. Had it only been less than a day since they had packed up camp and invaded this city to free it from Hydra's clutches?
With a tired sigh, Bucky poked his head through the first door on the left. A few heads lifted, though most of the men were already past sleep's threshold. As he had suspected, the bed was full and the floor wasn't visible through the crowd of soldiers laying on it. He backed out of the room and tried not to be jealous. He wasn't feeling very hopeful about the next few rooms but he knew he had to check. As he turned toward them, a young man approached him.
"Sergeant Barnes?"
"Yes," Bucky acknowledged.
"We have a room reserved for the officers," the man informed him, pointing to the far end of the hallway.
Bucky could have whooped for joy while dancing a jig. "Thank you," he said instead.
He hurried down the corridor, intent on finding somewhere quiet to rest. A large doorway beckoned him forward and he passed through it. He found himself in a spacious bedroom. The size and decor spoke of its position as the bedchamber of the owners of the house. Fully expecting to have to share the space with at least five other men, the closest thing to privacy in the army, he was pleasantly surprised to see the room empty. He was even more pleased to see the huge mattress. The distance separating him from it became nonexistent as he rushed forward, throwing himself face first into the soft material. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept on a real bed. Not on a cot, or a sleeping bag or the forest floor but on an honest-to-goodness mattress.
Boots echoed in the hallway, pausing at the door. Bucky knew he must look ridiculous, head buried in the pillows, body sinking into the blankets. But he was too tired to care. At that moment, he wouldn't have cared if the entire Allied army could see him. If it meant he could sleep comfortably on what felt like a fluffy cloud, he would gladly pay the small price of a little embarrassment. He could hear someone enter the room and if he had had energy left, he might have reprimanded them for their impertinence. As it was, he was content to ignore them in favor of paying attention to the squishy surface that was cradling all his tired muscles.
The mattress dipped as someone sat next to him and the invasion of personal space was finally enough to stop Bucky from burrowing completely into the covers. He glanced up sharply but relaxed instantly when he recognized Steve.
"It's like you've never seen a bed before," Steve observed, amused.
Bucky returned to his previous position. "Thish is sho much more cmfrtable than I rimimber," he asserted, words nearly indecipherable through the pillows.
Steve chuckled and patted Bucky's back. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
"I defnly 'm," Bucky drowsily confirmed.
"You might want to take your boots off before you fall asleep," Steve advised.
Bucky groaned, but slowly sat up. "Yeah, I probably should." He picked at the knots in his laces.
Beside him, Steve did the same with his own foot gear. When Bucky finished with his, he tossed the boots across the room. Even as he took off his helmet, Steve raised a disapproving eyebrow. Bucky shrugged, unapologetic. Quickly, he undid the buttons on his coat, draping it over the bedside table and putting his belt on top of it. He nodded once, satisfied.
"Hey, Buck?" Steve hesitantly called.
"Yeah?" Bucky turned to him.
Steve's face was creased with hesitancy, hands slowly removing his gloves and setting them on the bed.
"What is it?" Bucky pressed.
"Can you help me with this?" Steve gestured to his signature uniform.
Instantly, Bucky was off the bed and next to Steve. As he moved the iconic shield from it's place on Steve's back to the mattress, he questioned, "What's wrong?"
Steve's shoulders moved up and down in a shrug. "I don't know. I guess I'm a little stiff."
"Stiff?" Bucky repeated, moving on to undoing the straps to which the shield was customarily attached.
"Apparently my body doesn't like it when I fall off one of Hydra's tanks," Steve ruefully observed.
Bucky's fingers stilled. "You fell from one of those?"
Steve bent slightly, unbuckling the pistol holster from his thigh. "I usually land a little more gracefully."
"You need to be more careful, pal," Bucky advised, shaking his head.
"I'll try," Steve lightly reassured, taking off his belt and adding it to the growing pile of equipment on the bed.
The flap of one of his belt pouches got caught on the edge of the shield, and as Steve dragged the belt forward, the flap lifted, spilling the pouch's contents. His notebook slid out, spine cracking to a random page. As Bucky rounded the captain to face his front, he caught sight of the book. It was opened to the battle plans he and his troops had carried out earlier that day. Thin black lines outlined what had become history. Arrows and circles nudged squares, and Bucky wondered at how simple it looked. Reality had been far messier.
Keeping an eye on the drawing, Bucky only gave half his attention to his task. Stifling a wince as sore muscles protested, Steve lifted his arms to the sides, allowing his friend access to the buckles holding his chest piece in place. Once Bucky undid them, he carefully lifted the chest plate off of Steve. Relieved of the weight, Steve's lungs swelled, taking in a copious amount of oxygen.
"Thanks," he gratefully breathed.
Bucky gave an absent nod, focused instead on the notebook. "Boy, it sure looks easier on paper, doesn't it?"
Mesmerized, he reached out and picked up the book. Disturbed by his touch, the pages shifted to a fresh position. His own face looked up at him in black and white. He barely recognized it. It took him a moment to realize why. There was no dirt smearing the cheeks of the man in the portrait. The skin under the eyes wasn't sunken in and the eyebrows weren't fixed in a perpetual frown. Gone were the wrinkles and the scrapes and the bruises. The paper was smooth, the pencil strokes flawless. This was a picture of the Bucky Barnes who had left Brooklyn for the opportunity to serve his country. Disconcerted by the revelation that there was a disconnect between that confident young man and the weary soldier he had become, Bucky lowered the notepad.
"Everything looks better on paper," he muttered, tossing the book back onto the rest of Steve's belongings.
"It depends on the artist," Steve suggested, gathering his things off the bed and carrying them to the desk on the other side of the room. After depositing his burden, he came back to sit on the edge of the mattress. "Bucky?"
Bucky laid down, stretching himself on his back, enjoying the freedom of personal space and comfortable furniture. "Hmm?" He closed his eyes, knitting his fingers behind his head.
"Do you remember what strawberries taste like?" Steve questioned, facing forward.
"Huh?" Bucky's eyebrows knit.
Steve took a shuddering breath. "I can't remember what strawberries taste like."
Opening his eyes, Bucky frowned, confused. "So?"
"I don't remember what hot dogs taste like either," Steve admitted, eyes skittering to Bucky's face and then away again, as if he were confessing some shameful crime.
"Why are you talking about all this food? Have you had dinner yet?" Bucky inquired.
"That's not the point," Steve protested. "I can't remember what they taste like," he repeated, forcefully.
"All right, Steve. Calm down," Bucky advised gently. "You want to tell me what's really bothering you?"
Steve swallowed and turned his head away.
"Come on," Bucky encouraged, subtly shifting closer, his shoulder just barely bumping Steve's.
"What if..." Steve trailed off, threading his fingers through his blond hair. "What if I forget everything? Everything good, everything from home. And it's just...gone." He looked up then, blue eyes dark with muted fear. "What if I never remember?"
Disturbed by the notion that the war could scrub clean a person's mind, leaving only blood, death and instinct, Bucky felt his mouth go dry.
"It seems like the longer I'm out here, the further away I get from home," Steve murmured.
"That doesn't mean you'll never find your way back," Bucky returned quietly.
Steve glanced back at him, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Bucky smiled back before he raised an eyebrow.
"Of course, you could always make a new home," he suggested.
Steve cocked his head to the side.
"With Agent Carter," Bucky elaborated, deliberately knocking Steve's shoulder with his own. At Steve's self-conscious expression, Bucky smirked. "I knew it."
"Knew what?" Steve inquired.
"I knew you liked her," Bucky answered simply.
"Yeah, I do," Steve agreed softly, a shy smile brightening his eyes.
Bucky slapped Steve's bicep. "All right, Romeo. Forget your day dreams. It's time to get some real shut eye."
"Right," Steve absently agreed, lying down.
Shaking his head fondly, Bucky climbed off the bed and turned out the lights. He found his way back in the dark, settling onto the mattress for some well-earned sleep. He drifted off to the familiar sound of Steve's even breathing.
