10. Boxes in Life

Steve reached into a box and pulled out another small stack of books. Many of them were old, their covers worn, spines faded, pages dog-eared, but he loved them. Loved how they felt in his hands, the musty smell of the aged paper as he turned the pages, and the way the words typed in their neat lines had the power to transport him to other times and places.

When illness had stopped him from playing sports with the rest of the kids at school, he'd gone to the library and read. When the pollen count had been too high for him to go walking in the park without triggering his asthma, he'd read. When loneliness had kept him wistfully looking out of his bedroom window at the gangs of kids rough-housing on the streets below, he'd read. Books had been his escape since he'd been old enough to read, their words a form of friendly and familiar magic. Books had never let him down.

"You sure got a lotta books," said Bucky, as he grabbed a bunch from the box and piled them onto a rickety shelf.

"I like reading," Steve admitted, though he didn't expand on why. "A lot of these belonged to my mom and dad, when they were our age."

Bucky picked up a battered old copy of The Jungle Book. "Yeah, I'd guessed." He put the book with the others and rolled his shoulders, making them go crack. "I like reading, too. I usually read a lot in winter, and when it's raining. Life's too short to be stuck indoors in the summer!" He pulled out another book—Treasure Island—and opened the front cover. "To baby Steve, 4th July 1918. Love from Mom & Dad. You were born on Independence Day? That's so neat!"

A faint smile danced across Steve's face. "It's alright. Mom always bakes me a really great cake, and it's nice to watch the fireworks and pretend they're just for me."

"1918?" Bucky mused thoughtfully. "That means you're eight. How did you end up in fourth grade?"

"Oh. That." He felt a blush prickle at his cheeks. "A couple of years ago, at my first school, I did an aptitude test, and the results were so good, they decided to put me up by a year." He'd been so thrilled to be moved up; his mom had taken him out for ice cream sundaes to celebrate. He hadn't realised his skipping a year would cause so much resentment amongst his classmates. Teacher's pet, they called him. Thought he was being singled out for special treatment. That week, he'd learnt the meaning of the word ostracism.

"Neat!" Bucky grinned. "You must be super clever."

Steve nodded glumly. When his classmates had learnt how clever he was, they'd copied off his answers on tests whenever the teacher wasn't looking, and one or two had demanded he do their homework for them. Refusing had resulted in getting his notes stolen and his face pushed into the sandbox.

"How many schools have you been to, anyway?" continued Bucky.

"This is my third," Steve admitted. He waited for the inevitable deluge of why? It was a deluge that did not come. Maybe Bucky didn't care why Steve had been to three different schools. Maybe he had already guessed. Or maybe it didn't matter to him.

"Huh." Bucky pulled a final couple of books from the box, then stood up and dusted off his shorts. "Well, looks like we're finished here. Why don't we help your mom unpack those boxes in the living room, then we can start to have some real fun?"

Real fun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had that. Wasn't even sure if he'd ever had it. All he knew was, he was looking forward to giving it a try.

o - o - o - o - o

Bucky stumbled down the road beneath an armful of flat cardboard boxes. Behind him, Steve and Mrs. Rogers kept pace, equally laden down with cardboard. Mom had said she wanted to meet Mrs. Rogers, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to allay some of her concerns. Besides, Mrs. Rogers could carry more boxes than Steve and Bucky combined.

He almost dropped one of the boxes as he raced up the steps to the front door of the house, but managed to catch it at the last minute. With this many boxes, their fort would be huge! Bigger than Fort Knox, probably. He had no idea how big that was, but it sounded big.

Bingo was waiting when Bucky pushed the front door open. He came bowling forward at the sight of strangers, knocking Steve over with one wag of his powerful tail, very nearly taking Mrs. Rogers down too.

"Bingo, sit!" Bucky instructed, as the huge dog began giving Steve's face a bath. "Don't worry Steve, he likes you."

"I think he's—argh—I think he's trying to eat my face!" Steve quavered from the floor.

"That's just how he makes friends." Bucky dropped his boxes so he could pull Bingo off Steve, then shouted, "Mom! We've got visitors."

His mom appeared from the kitchen, a flowery apron tied over her skirt, her arms covered with flour up to her elbows. She patted a stray strand of brown hair back into the bun at the back of her head, and seemed not to realise when she left her hair white with flour. Bucky smothered the grin that was trying to creep across his face.

"This is Steve, and Mrs. Rogers."

"Mrs. Rogers, it's a pleasure to meet you," his mom said. "Please, come in and sit down. I'll make us something to drink. And please, excuse the state of the house; if I'd known Bucky was bringing guests, I would have dusted." She scowled at Bucky, and he affected not to see it. Mom was always complaining about the house getting dusty, but Bucky never saw any of the dust she moaned so much about.

"Thank you very much!" Mrs. Rogers said, aiming a dimpling smile at Mom. "I only wish our apartment was as lovely and clean as your house; we've been living out of boxes for the past week. James has been great helping us unpack today."

Bucky rolled his eyes as his mom directed Mrs. Rogers to the living room and inundated her with questions about her apartment, and work, and other boring stuff. "C'mon, Steve," he said, grabbing a cardboard box that Bingo was having an experimental chew on, "let's get this into the back yard and make a start on our new fort." He threw his free arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. "You can think up a name for it!"

A tentative smile crept across Steve's face. "How does 'Fort Bingo' sound?"

o - o - o - o - o

Sarah Rogers placed her empty coffee cup on the protective doily on the table top, and finished the last crumbs of oatmeal cookie Mrs. Barnes had practically forced on her.

"I hope my greedy son didn't empty your cupboards out," Mrs. Barnes continued, after a sip of her own coffee. "Would you like another cookie?"

"Oh, no thank you. It was delicious, though. And James was no trouble at all. It's a pleasure to cook for someone who enjoys what I make; Steve can be a very picky eater, at times." Feeding up a child who had little interest in food was a challenge.

"I'm glad to hear it," Mrs. Barnes smiled. She had the same cheerful blue-grey eyes as her son. "Have you made any friends in the neighbourhood yet?"

She shook her head. "My job has unsocial hours, and taking care of Steve, and fixing up the apartment, takes up most of my free time right now."

A brief flicker of sympathy danced across Mrs. Barnes' eyes. "Well, I host a ladies' bridge club on Wednesday nights. We start at six-thirty, and are always on the lookout for new players. You're more than welcome to join us."

"I have to work alternative Wednesdays on night shifts, at the hospital," Sarah told her. How long had it been since she'd last enjoyed the company of adults? It seemed like a lifetime ago. It probably was. "But… it would be nice to join your bridge games every other week. If that's not too much of a problem for you."

"Of course it's no problem!" beamed Mrs. Barnes. "Most of the women who play are mothers, so we all have something in common. Cal takes the kids to the park or the moving pictures, to give us the house to ourselves. I'm sure Steve will love playing with the other children, or watching the movies. We all bring a little something to nibble on, too. Just something light. I handle the cookies."

They chatted for a while about small things: about the chaos of moving house, about the best way to bake fish without it drying out, about the best way to get a picky child to eat their greens. When Mrs. Barnes' youngest son—Charlie—woke with a hungry cry of complaint, Sarah decided not to overstay her welcome. She managed to make her apologies despite Mrs. Barnes' insistence that she was quite welcome to stay, and thanked the woman again for the coffee and the company.

"If you want to let Steve know you're leaving, I think he and Bucky are out in the back yard," Mrs. Barnes said, as Charlie struggled and fidgeted in her arms. Probably teething, thought Sarah. She made a mental note to bring a little chamomile oil the next time she visited the house.

She found the boys in the yard, practically buried under a pile of cardboard boxes. The large, imposing dog lay not far away, in the shade of a chestnut tree, watching, in a way that seemed almost protective, the children at play.

"Steve, I'm heading back to the apartment!" she called.

"Okay Mom," he replied. "I'll be back for dinner." Then, to his new friend, "Do you think we need to make a flag for Fort Bingo?"

Steve didn't look up as she left the house, for which she was glad. She didn't want her son to see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. For months she'd wrestled with the decision to move Steve to another new school; had lost sleep over the thought of her small, awkward son growing up friendless.

For the first time in months, she realised she'd done the right thing. For the first time since he'd been born, she didn't fear that her son would go through life feeling forever alone.

Author's Note: I don't know how American schools would have worked in the 1920s, but here, students with the age difference of that between Steve and Bucky in MCU canon, would not be in the same class/year/grade. However, when I was a young spaceperson, the class below mine was too large, so two of the most capable students were moved up to my class. That's how spacepeople did education, and that's what's happened with Steve.

Also, looking at my story stats, the number of visitors to this story has surpassed that of my main fic, 'We Were Soldiers.' I'm glad so many people are enjoying reading about Bucky and Steve as kids! I'll soon be skipping ahead, to when the BFFs are a little older (and girls are a little less icky ;-)