Steve took watch for the rest of the night. He purposely let the four-hour window expire when they usually roused the next guy for his shift. It was the least he could do after all the hours he'd spent lying prone while the rest of the guys were running rescue missions. The night was a perfect time to dwell on that fact.
Steve was embarrassed. It reminded him of life before Erskine and the serum. He'd been completely, entirely useless. Knocked out of the fight so easily. Steve hated feeling so powerless, like he made no difference whatsoever. He was supposed to be the leader of his men, and one dome filled with gas had completely knocked him off of his feet. Red Skull had escaped just as easily as last time.
From where Steve was standing, the mission had been a complete failure. He had been a complete failure. He'd failed as a leader and as a super soldier. His enhanced eyes swept the room, and he thought that his team had paid the price for his inadequacy.
Morita was hobbled by his crushed ankle. Jones and Monty were sick with God-knew-what; they were both burning with fever. Dernier wasn't far behind them, and he still looked like he'd been recently flattened by a truck. Bucky was on his last legs. He had been on his last legs since that car got ambushed on their way into Prague. Steve could pick out the distinct sound of air scraping through Bucky's blistered throat from all the other noises in the house. It was a constant reminder that his own lungs faced virtually no consequence from exposure to the gas.
It was a constant reminder that Bucky still put himself on the line to get Steve's foolhardy ass out of trouble. That Steve put Bucky in the position to have to do that in the first place. In this case, Steve supposed he couldn't be too upset about it. Bucky had been right to do it. Again.
Between Monty and Dugan's snores, the rasping of Jones's breathing, Dernier's quiet sleep-talking, and Morita's shifting, Steve heard Bucky's breath catch. The seconds ticked by and he didn't draw a new one. Tension was building in Steve's thighs, about to get up, when he finally heard steady respirations restart.
Talk to your sergeant, Morita had told Steve. Yeah, maybe he should. Maybe it was past time he did that. Bucky had been distant recently, avoiding conversations, smoking too much instead of eating. Steve knew Bucky well enough to know it was intentional. There was plenty of time between now and landing back on base for Steve to corner him and get some answers. Maybe he could even work on being comforting, like he meant to.
Steve wasn't sure how that plan went so far out the window once the guys started to wake up. Dugan was crabby about not being woken up to take a shift on watch. Bucky started doing the same thing. That started an argument between the two of them, Dugan claiming that he was the only guy who was healthy and that Bucky might as well be walking wounded. Bucky did not take that comment well at all. Morita busted up the argument before it got too loud, thank God.
It was impossible to pin Bucky down after that. He was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. All Steve wanted was to ask him if he was OK after the gas (and maybe yell at him a bit for being such a fat idiot going out on a rescue mission with only one other guy for backup and virtually no supplies). But Bucky was putting on a clinic on how to be a gold-standard sergeant.
First, he dug around in their pile of gear, coming away with a bundle of what looked like Wehrmacht-branded iron rations, and went into the kitchen to talk with their hosts. A few minutes after that, Steve watched Bucky go to Morita and check on him. He got the surly comms officer to take his untied boot off willingly. Bucky checked out Morita's ankle, bending it this way and that, and getting Morita's feedback on every angle. The bandage was changed; Bucky wrapped up the ankle in scraps of parachute silk (which they'd been carrying around since Italy) like he'd been doing it his entire life. Negotiations were made about Morita taking a syrette of morphine: not now, but when they were about to move out for extraction, he consent to taking one.
Dernier was next. Bucky gauged his temperature (no resistance from the patient) and checked all his numerous wounds for infection. The worst ones were inspected and re-dressed, and the smaller ones were declared safe to leave exposed. Despite the shape of him, Dernier seemed to be in decent spirits. The two of them kept up an easy flow of conversation that Steve did his best not to eavesdrop on, despite his new sense of hearing.
"Check-in time?" Morita said.
Steve shook himself and tried to focus again. "Right."
Dugan got up to help Morita to his feet then. Steve got up to help support Morita's other side. They got him into the kitchen and situated beside the radio. Dugan stood off to the side so that Morita's foot could be supported on the seat. Steve sat beside Morita and watched him make contact with the S.S.R. The headset was passed Steve's way after Morita and whoever was on the other end had exchanged the necessary passphrases.
"Hello, Steve," came Peggy's voice in the headset.
"Hey, Peggy," he said.
"How is the team? Anything change overnight?"
"No change. We're really going to need medical ready when we get back."
"We gave notice for them to prepare last night. Is there anything specific you'll need?"
"Morita's ankle is questionable. I don't think it's broken, but I really think he needs to stay off of it as much as possible between missions. As much time as we can get."
Morita gave Steve the most wicked, withering look that Steve thought he'd ever seen in his life.
"Limited PT then?" came Peggy's response.
"It's a start. Jones and Falsworth haven't really shown much improvement. Whatever they have, they might need some help." Steve looked up and watched Bucky administer the last of their penicillin to Jones in the other room. "May need another round of antibiotics ready for them."
Dugan tapped Morita on the shoulder, a cigarette held out as an offering. Morita nodded and let Dugan help him up. They headed for the garden.
"Easy enough to prepare that," Peggy's voice said.
"Any chance you could get something nice for the guys, Peg?" Steve said. "They've really gone through it. I'm not so sure about morale at the moment, knowing that they'll be going into another huge mission almost as soon as we get back."
"Hmm," Peggy hummed. The sound crackled a little in Steve's ears. "I think I can arrange something. It's not so short notice that I won't be able to get something. All the generals are gathering for Operation Overlord. You know how all the good stuff that's officially on shortage seems to follow them."
"Funny how that happens."
"Right." A brief pause. "Steve, you know that you'll have to report to medical, too, right?"
"Yeah."
"They're already preparing to collect blood samples from you and Sergeant Barnes. They've made two isolation rooms."
Steve couldn't stop himself from cutting in, "Isolation rooms really aren't necessary. We're not exactly keeping clear of any contamination out here. Too late for any good to come from isolating us."
"It's not up to me, Steve, and I understand how you feel about subjecting Barnes to this particular protocol."
"My feelings haven't changed." Steve stopped himself from adding that Bucky's feelings hadn't changed either, since the man in question was now moving around in the same room as Steve.
"I'm afraid at least one blood sample collection will be unavoidable. If both of you were exposed to HYDRA's biological weapon, we'll want to know. Even if their gas is something else entirely, we need to be sure. Need to know what we're up against. It could be a slow-acting poison. Phillips is more than beside himself about Barnes being exposed to one of HYDRA's drugs again."
Steve looked at the ceiling and sighed heavily. Bucky looked up from where he was setting up one of their portable camp stoves across the table. One of his eyebrows arched and his head tipped in Steve's direction. Steve shook his head. It was then that he noticed there was a real, honest-to-God bowl of hot soup on front of him. His head whipped around to notice that the rest of the guys and a few of the women that lived here all had similar bowls. There was something close enough to the real thing to be called meat floating in the broth. Steve was astounded. He stared at Bucky and the tin of water he was setting to boil on the camp stove.
What? Bucky mouthed.
Steve looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know," he said into the headset. "Believe me. I know."
Peggy must have caught the tone of Steve's voice. "There was one thing that changed overnight. You might happy to know that one Jan Novák contacted us, and Howard will be coordinating the return of your motorbike to our quarters. It'll likely return some time after the rest of your team, but we will be able to get it returned."
"I completely forgot about that," Steve said blankly.
"Howard thought you might say that. He'll likely have a lot to talk to you about on the flight back here, I'm afraid."
"Can't wait."
When Steve finally signed off the radio with Peggy, he realised that Bucky had left the tin of water boiling on the camp stove. It was suspiciously close to Steve's elbow, without putting it at risk of being knocked over. How many times had something just like this been left at his bedside by his mother or Bucky during Steve's lifetime?
"Jesus," Steve said to the hands he covered his face with.
Dugan came in through the back door to the garden then. "You look annoyed," he said.
Steve gestured to the bowl of soup and the improvised humidifier. "The nerve of this guy."
Dugan shrugged. "I think it's actually making him feel better."
"I'll humour him for now," Steve said. "He go outside?"
Dugan nodded. "Having a smoky breakfast, by the looks of it."
"Didn't eat?" Steve gestured toward his own soup bowl.
"Nope." Dugan popped his lips on the word. "Says his stomach is upset."
Steve glared suspiciously at the soup.
"Which was weird," Dugan was saying, "because his stomach was growling something fierce yesterday when we went back for those idiots. Damn near gave away our position a few times." He must have caught sight of Steve's expression, because his tone changed and he said, "This doesn't sound like news to you."
"It's not. He used to do this when we were kids."
"Do what? Prove his stomach can growl louder than artillery?"
"Not eat when he's worried about something."
"Oh." Dugan sat at the table and pointed questioningly at the camp stove.
Steve moved it to his other side but didn't turn it off. If it made Bucky relax, he'd leave the thing going for now.
"There a story to go with this dumbass behaviour?"
Steve laughed through his nose. "He said I needed extra helpings just to keep up with the kids who went without. I'd always refuse him at first. But I almost always ended up taking it anyway."
"You know, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to picture you any other way than how you are now. It's just impossible to think of you as some scrawny kid getting the snot beat out of him in a back alley."
"Well, if you can get Bucky to stop thinking of me that way, I'd appreciate it."
Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Dugan said, "I think that image is in his head until the day he dies."
Steve stirred what remained in the bowl of soup. It really hadn't been that bad at all, for something made out of leftover German rations. "I got sick for a long time when I was ten or so. Bucky hardly ate for two weeks. Kept bringing me all sorts of things, in case one of them caught my appetite and cured me. He passed out at school, smacked his head on a desk on the way down. My mother took a look at him — she was a nurse — and she thought Bucky caught what I had. 'Cause he kept throwing everything up that they fed him. I ratted him out, and, God, his ma was so angry with him."
"Sounds like Sarge has always been Sarge," Dugan said.
"I dunno," Steve said said, "I think it's gotten worse since he joined the Army. He usually only got wrapped up in stupid stuff because he was following me into it. From the stories I've heard, he's been starting some of the stupid stuff himself. Shoulda seen his ma the morning he left for training."
"Told him not to come back with another one of you, did she?"
"Yes. That's exactly what she said. Said risking his life for one was enough."
Dugan looked out toward the window where Bucky and Morita's voices could be heard. "Hasn't made a lick of difference. He stuck his neck out for dumb kids at McCoy, then Africa, and Italy, in Krausberg, and for all of us now…what an idiot."
"No kidding," Steve said, but he was smiling.
They all could have done without the lecture from Bucky about cleaning their weapons later that afternoon. Steve had been amused by the reactions of the others. They had cursed and grumbled but eventually did as Bucky said. The snide comment about them thanking Bucky when their guns didn't jam up during battle was quintessential Barnes sass. Steve could have been back in George and Winnie Barnes's house playing Rummy after Sunday dinner, the feeling was so strong. It was always hitting Steve sideways that there were so many more people that were Bucky's people now. He'd created such a huge family on his own, in the Army.
By the time they were leaving for extraction, Steve almost felt like he should radio HQ to tell Peggy that morale had been increased dramatically. Even their sick and wounded didn't seem too discouraged, though they really hadn't gotten much better. Dugan supported Morita on their march to the extraction point, absolutely necessary since he made good on his deal with Bucky to accept morphine before they left. So he wasn't the steadiest on his feet, the bad ankle notwithstanding. Jones, Monty, and Dernier stumbled along and into each other behind them. Steve took lead, and Bucky brought up the rear. No resistance was encountered the whole way. The boarding of Howard Stark's aircraft was a lot slower than the last one in Italy. No one had the energy to run, apart from Steve and maybe Dugan. Bucky came up from the back of their line to help Dugan get Morita into the fuselage with minimal cursing.
Peggy was right: Howard had a lot to say to Steve about him essentially abandoning the motorbike with the old man with the horse-drawn wagon. It hadn't really seemed that important at the time. And Howard seemed to have inexhaustible resources in that lab of his. If they really wanted Steve to test another bike in the field, he assumed they could acquire another one. HQ was overflowing with Allied and stolen Axis vehicles. Steve endured the lecture for as long as he could before he stopped paying attention.
The sharp looks Morita kept throwing him that screamed, This is exactly what I'm talking about! were a good distraction. That was the signal for Steve to check on Bucky. But every time Morita's gaze would get razor sharp and pin Steve to his seat near the front of the plane, Bucky had a look on his face that might have been the distant sniper-focus. That, or he was sleeping with his eyes open. Which Steve didn't know Bucky to have ever done.
Dugan, next to Morita, would look anywhere but at Steve whenever this happened.
There was a group of S.S.R. technicians that met them all immediately upon landing. Steve didn't mind so much at first, since this kept Howard from giving Steve his full, undivided attention regarding the almost-left-behind motorcycle. The medical staff also got Morita off of his feet immediately. They took him out of Dugan and Bucky's arms, transferring him immediately into a wheeled chair. He did not look happy about the arrangement at all, but he let it happen. Jones and Monty were escorted off the runway by a small group of medics. Dernier went willingly and on steady feet with just one escort.
Peggy was headed toward Steve and Howard at the same time that the medics were herding them in her direction. She met them halfway and then started walking with the group.
"Nice trip?" she said lightly.
"Wonderful," Howard said. "We were going over how we shouldn't purposely abandon useful assets in the field."
"Still?"
"Yes, still."
Steve exchanged a private look with Peggy.
She said, "We're having the whole team be debriefed and then thoroughly examined by the medical staff. We need them in top shape for Overlord. They've all been ordered to rest, regardless of the results of their exams. The order will be lifted as we see fit."
"OK," Steve said, relieved.
"So no PT drills will wait for them in the morning. After they're examined and receive any treatment they need, they'll be released to eat as needed and rest for the night. A proper appreciative meal will be prepared tomorrow for the team. Be sure none of them miss it."
"Will do."
"That includes yourself, Captain. You have morning meetings with Colonel Phillips, myself, Mr Stark, and select Allied generals regarding the planning of Operation Overlord. Do not be afraid to put your foot down with them."
That sounded suspiciously like a warning.
Their group arrived at the low aid station building. Peggy turned and stood to the side as the medics and staff continued inside.
"I'll see you tomorrow then, Captain. Enjoy the hospitality of the aid station in the meantime. Mr Stark, if you would come with me. We have appointments of our own to attend to." She caught Steve's eye before turning on her heel and leading Howard away.
Thank God for medical. Steve never would have been able to corner Bucky if they hadn't all been sent there. Steve sat through the whole thing. He answered the nurse's questions and let her listen to his lungs and heart and look at his throat. He let her collect all the blood that she wanted. Steve was more than used to this procedure, especially since they did it so many times when recreating the serum was a goal Phillips thought he could achieve in a week. Steve's offhand questions to his nurse revealed that the medical staff had been fully informed about the gas. Nearly all of Steve's symptoms had become distant memories by now, but he did his best to describe what he remembered about the castle.
All during his exam and debrief, Steve's thoughts were on his sergeant, two doors down the hall. He already knew Jones, Monty, Morita, and Dernier had been seen, medicated as needed, and ordered — literally ordered — to rest. That intel was thanks again to the helpful nurse. Being a captain sure did entitle him to any bit of information he wanted. Steve had even passed along through the medic staff the assignment that Dugan was to ensure that the rest order was enforced.
All that remained was Bucky.
The nurse left with a final sample of Steve's blood, and, when the door opened again a beat later, a different nurse hovered in the doorway.
"Captain Rogers?" she said.
"Yes, ma'am. Am I all clear?" He was already getting to his feet.
"Oh, I don't — c-could you help with something?"
Steve's mind jumped immediately to Bucky. "Is he alright?"
The nurse said, "Yes, I think so. It's just that he won't move at all now that we're done."
He shoved her out of the way as politely as he could. Since he already knew where Bucky was, Steve let himself into the room. Bucky was sat there in a chair nearly identical to the one Steve had just vacated. If he hadn't known any better, Steve would have said Bucky had been waiting for him. The look on his face was eerie. It looked like it had that time they'd been ambushed on their way up the boot of Italy. Steve was convinced that the episode then had been a black out; he'd heard of hysterical blindness in the field. Perhaps hysterical black outs weren't too far out of the realm of possibility either.
Bending forward and putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder, Steve said, "Bucky."
Bucky blinked and tilted his head toward Steve's voice. His eyes stayed locked on the far distance. It was a gesture he used when he was sniping but wanted to let someone know that he was listening.
Steve looked over his shoulder and said to the nurse standing there, "Do you think you could give us some privacy?"
Face flushed, she hastened to comply with the request.
Back to Bucky, Steve shook him a little and called his name. "Bucky. Come on back, pal."
It did nothing.
"Need your help here, Buck." That got a twitch of the eyes.
Bucky blinked, flashed his gaze to Steve for just a second, and said, "What?" in a cracked voice.
They could have at least given him some water, Steve thought.
What he said was, "C'mon. Follow me." Steve reclaimed his full height then and waited for Bucky to do the same.
There was a pause that was just on this side of too long before Bucky pushed himself upright. At the same time, he rolled the sleeve of his shirt down over the arm that Steve assumed had just given a blood sample. There wasn't any doubt in Steve's mind that the needle stick had been the straw that broke the camel's back for Bucky.
On the way out, Steve told the nurse that Bucky was just tired and to please send a runner to let him know about the blood test. Steve didn't say whether he was talking about Bucky's test or his own. They'd never told him anything about Bucky's tests after Novara while they threatened to pull Bucky from the team. Sure, Steve had no right to Bucky's medical records, but come on!
Again, thank God for Peggy Carter for getting Steve through that crisis, too.
Bucky followed Steve obediently, almost like a dog. He acted appropriately; he smiled and returned gestures to people that saluted them that Steve only half-recognised. But Steve knew Bucky wasn't all there. From the way he walked, Steve knew the lights were on but nobody was home inside Bucky's head. It was like when Bucky drank too much, except he wasn't stumbling when he walked. It was the strangest combination of behaviours Steve had ever seen from his oldest friend. They got all the way to Steve's private quarters, which wasn't exactly a quick trip from the aid station, without running into someone who actually tried to stop them.
Steve steered Bucky by the shoulders to a chair and had him sit. Keeping his hands tight on Bucky's shoulders, Steve stared until Bucky stared back. It took a minute or two, but he saw it the moment Bucky came back.
"Why're ya lookin' at me like that?" Bucky said. He'd leaned away, and his eyes roved over the room. Trying to figure out where he was, Steve knew.
Steve wanted to hit something very acutely in that second. Instead, he tightened his grip so that Bucky looked at him again. There had probably never been as much seriousness in Steve's voice as there was when he said, "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine," Bucky answered, perplexed.
An eyebrow arched itself, and Steve tilted his head doubtfully.
"Kinda tired," Bucky conceded.
He looked it. He looked smeared around the edges, as though someone had tried to erase him. Not even when Bucky was seventeen and working nights at the docks after spending all day in school had he looked so utterly worn down.
(Steve never did figure out what exactly Bucky did down at the docks. He knew his friend wanted to be away from his father as often as possible, and it wouldn't be at all surprising if he'd taken the absolute first job that gave him an excuse for not being home. Bucky never really talked about the job. Steve always imagined it was hauling crates or something. The docks were far from a safe and luxurious place to work.)
Steve let go of Bucky's shoulders and stood up. He sighed, eyed Bucky, and said, "You always take care of everyone but yourself."
"Careful. You're startin' to sound like my ma."
"I know." It was why Steve had said it. "You're sleeping here."
The patented duck face frowned back at him. "What?"
"You heard me. Right now. Go to sleep." Steve pointed to his bunk. Bucky just sat there, so Steve added, "I can make it an order."
"You wouldn't," Bucky said. The words were almost a growl because of the dryness in his throat.
"You can stay awake, but then you'll have to answer all my questions about Krausberg. I know how much you like to talk about it."
Bucky leaned forward after a short stare down to start untying his boots. He was lying in bed a minute later, glaring at Steve, who sat in the chair Bucky had vacated. A runner brought over a packet of briefings Steve was meant to read before going to meet the generals tomorrow.
"I'm going to miss dinner," Bucky said.
"I'll wake you up," Steve lied easily. It wasn't as if Bucky was eating anything these days anyway.
Bucky snorted and rolled so his back was to Steve.
Twenty minutes later, Steve said, "Bucky, you have to actually sleep if you don't want me to ask about Krausberg."
"I'm trying," he mumbled. "Can't."
"Give me a break. You can't fall asleep when you're dead on your feet?"
"Yes."
Steve thought of his childhood and decided to give comforting Bucky another shot. He'd never been good at it; distraction from what was upsetting Bucky had always come easier to him than outright comfort. It was always easier to just come home and let Winnie Barnes handle that. But, damn it, Bucky deserved for Steve to at least try. Getting up, he gently tapped the toe of his boot against the side of the bed and said, "Budge up."
Bucky didn't even complain before he sat himself up. Steve sat on the bed orthogonally. The two of them shifted until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, backs against the wall and toes dangling off the long end. There, Steve thought. They could have been sitting out on the fire escape of his apartment back home. Steve went back to reading the briefing packet. As the minutes ticked by, Bucky leaned harder and harder on Steve's shoulder. Which was how he realised Bucky's skin was ice cold.
"You catching what Jones and Monty got?" Steve said lowly in case Bucky was about to drop off.
"Dunno. Maybe," Bucky mumbled.
It was a testament to how not right Bucky was when he didn't complain at all when Steve (feeling very much out of his element) tucked a blanket around Bucky's shoulders. Taking a moment to hesitate and reconsider, Steve decided to take the plunge and throw an arm around Bucky. He pulled him into his side. Steve wished he knew why it was so much harder to put an arm around Bucky when he was unwell. Every other time, it didn't take any thought. It was natural. It was nothing. They'd slept in the same bed as kids; they had very little issues with contact. They'd been tactile with each other since they were seven years old. Whatever it was, Steve felt very aware of himself when Bucky was ill or upset. The feeling made him unsure of himself. It had always been that way, and Steve still couldn't figure it out twenty years later.
It took about twelve minutes for Bucky's head to drop onto Steve's shoulder. Bucky's eyes wouldn't close though; they'd stayed stubborn and heavy at half-mast, staring at the packet of papers that were in Steve's other hand. Forty minutes after that (two and a half times through the packet), Steve noticed Bucky twitching. It had been so small that Steve was sure he never would have noticed in his old body. (Was it wrong to think of it that way? His old body? Was that quite right?)
Strange: Five or six twitches would go by and then Bucky would get a little rigid. It was almost as if he were holding his breath.
"Bucky." The papers dropped to Steve's lap.
"Mm?"
"You're sure you're OK?"
"Mm."
"Think you could sleep if you lie down?"
"Mm." Like his lips were stuck together. "Time to eat?"
Steve didn't know how Bucky managed to ask without opening his mouth.
"No. Time to sleep."
"Nuh uh."
Steve ended up bullying food out of the mess and bringing it back to his quarters. That was when, half-awake, Bucky raised hell about boiling some water for Steve's lungs. For the first time in the history of their friendship, Steve hadn't thrown a fit over it. Only because Bucky needed it. The breath scraping through his throat was hard for Steve's new hearing to ignore. For all the whining he'd been doing about getting food, Bucky hardly ate anything. Steve nagged and threatened to ask about Krausberg until Bucky ate enough to satisfy Steve. Then he got him to lie down. It was hard work, Steve decided. Having a good bedside manner was not going to be in his wheelhouse. How had Bucky done this so often for Steve and not gone insane? What patience all of this took! Steve had renewed respect and love for his sainted mother.
He tried to focus on the briefing packet again and read through it without being distracted, but Bucky started twitching and holding his breath again. Steve looked toward the ceiling and thought, You haven't been OK for a really long time, Buck.
Dugan and Jones and Morita were all great guys, and Steve was grateful for them. But it was past time that Steve started taking care of his best friend. So he thought as hard and long about Winnie Barnes as he could and then did what he remembered her doing for Bucky when he was upset: He pressed small and gentle circles into the vertebrae of Bucky's neck. A breath was unlocked from his chest.
Steve picked up the packet again with one hand, keeping the other on Bucky.
After the factory in Poland, Peggy had ridden for a lifetime on a too-small ship and did mind-numbing work in the London bunker translating and de-coding the documents they'd taken from the factory. When they stopped receiving reports from the field quite inexplicably, she began to worry. It couldn't have been more than two days that the S.S.R. had gone without a report from Steve and his men, but it had felt like a lifetime to Peggy. Strangely, her anxiety only got more powerful once she'd heard from them. The extraction seemed, to her, to take much longer than it actually had.
Peggy had restrained herself when she greeted Steve on the tarmac. She was entirely professional during debriefings. She made sure to stay clear of medical. She didn't even hover over the men while they ate an enormous meal (relatively speaking, for wartime) in the mess. No, she waited until all the hubbub had died down before she went to Steve's quarters.
Peggy knocked four times on Steve's door and then took one and a half steps back. It was stupid of her heart to flutter like that. It was just Steve for pity's sake. But time went on without an answer and her body didn't return to baseline. There were lights on behind the door. She could see them. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep with the lights on. Perhaps he simply didn't want to be disturbed.
But then she heard, "Come on in. It's open."
So Peggy gripped the doorknob and entered. She just got the door closed behind her when she took in the scene and hesitated. "Er, I'll come back tomorrow, shall I?"
It appeared Peggy wasn't Steve's only guest. He was sitting sideways in his bunk, back against the wall and legs hanging off the long edge. She was pretty certain that that was Sergeant Barnes lying across Steve's bed. Barnes was on his stomach with his head pillowed on his crossed arms and Steve's lap; he was seemingly asleep. Steve held a report file in one hand and the other seemed to be pinching at the vertebrae around the sergeant's neck one at a time.
It struck Peggy as an intimate position. It wasn't sexual; there was nothing erotic or arousing about it. But it implied a complete and total sense of trust, a closeness among family that was palpable. It made outsiders inadvertently hyper-aware of their outside-ness. It was a mother nursing her new-born; sisters braiding each other's hair; brothers tending each other's wounds.
"What?" Steve said. The words shook Peggy from her thoughts. She blinked owlishly at him. "Of course not," he went on. Sergeant Barnes turned his head toward the sound of Steve's voice and pressed his head down into his crossed arms.
"You look occupied," she said. She still hadn't stepped away from the door.
"Nah." Steve reached over to place his report on a little table by the bed. There was one of those little camp stoves on the table. A metal cup was on the flame. Peggy stepped forward at last and saw it was boiling water — a humidifier. Steve said, "He's sleepin' like the dead. We can talk."
Floundering for a bit, she gestured to the improvised humidifier and said, "Clever."
A smile bent Steve's lips. He pointed at Barnes (the other hand was still moving up and down the sergeant's spine). "Was Bucky's idea. Old habit of his. Did stuff like this when I used to get sick all the time."
"I take it that's you telling me you're fine."
That smile again. "Yeah. It was a little rough when I first got up back in Prague. But it's gone now, Pegs, honest. The water's still going for Buck's benefit, not mine."
"After all the excitement with the cut on his hand in Novara, I'd've expected him to be fine as well," Peggy said teasingly.
"No kidding."
Barnes's whole body went tense, and Steve moved his hand to the base of Barnes's neck. Steve pressed his fingers down and moved his thumb in slow circles. The tension bled out of Barnes little by little. Peggy released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding in. Steve seemed to do the same.
"Keeps doing that," Steve muttered. A furrow formed between his brows as if Barnes were a riddle he just couldn't figure out.
Peggy assumed he was speaking to himself and didn't reply.
He looked up to Peggy and said, "I'm getting kind of sick of HYDRA messing with my friends."
Which Peggy didn't doubt, but she was also sure that when Steve said "friends," he really just meant Barnes. They spoke of families until the sun threatened the horizon.
0815: Steve woke up.
He couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours — he and Peggy had stayed up so late. (And a part of Steve suspected that his body was more efficient with this whole 'rest' thing lately.) Just talking; the two of them had done nothing more or less than talk. Peggy reminded Steve of a card game. Slowly, the two of them were showing each other their cards. There was nothing to gain from bluffing in this game. It was exactly the opposite. This was a game of truth, a contest to see who would blink first. Which of them could go longer? Steve was certain Peggy would win. But it was still fun to play along.
Steve thought about Peggy while he got himself ready for the day. The creases in his dress uniform could have spilt atoms — it looked damn uncomfortable. The uniform was necessary for his meeting with the generals today. Steve still couldn't quite believe five-star generals wanted his opinion on an operation. Maybe they just wanted to have a photograph taken to show the folks back home; they'd plaster it on a giant advertisement for war bonds.
At least Peggy would be there. Peggy, Phillips, and Howard would all be there. Steve remembered Peggy saying last night what she'd do if one of the generals asked her to get coffee or serve refreshments. It had been funny, but the truth of it made Steve prickly inside. He'd never really thought too hard about things like that — woman things — until he'd met Peggy. Now, he supposed it ought to have been something he thought about more often. What with his ma and . . . Steve was sure he was going to think of Bucky's sister in a different light now, more aware of what life had been like for her, what it was like now, and what it would be like if this war ever ended.
Steve shrugged at himself in the mirror and turned around. He was across the length of his quarters in a few short strides. Leaning over his bunk, Steve shook Bucky's shoulder.
He said in a relatively quiet voice, "Bucky, wake up, pal."
No response. So Steve shook him a little harder. It earned him a hint of a groan. Subsequent shakes got him nothing. What had Bucky always done when Steve was the one that wouldn't wake up? Dumping water was temping, but Steve quickly ruled it out. It'd just make Steve's bed wet, which was really just hurting him. So Steve tried tickling the sole of Bucky's foot. He got kicked for it, but at least it was a response. Emboldened, Steve tried again and caught him by the ankle when he kicked. That turned out to be stupid (and Steve should have known it would be stupid), because Bucky's whole body locked up like it had been doing all night long.
It was difficult to reach the back of Bucky's neck because of the way he was laying, but Steve managed to coax the tension out of his friend. Steve frowned and kept kneading the back of Bucky's neck like his mother used to do.
"Whuyerdoon?" Bucky said, making Steve jump in surprise.
"Hey," he said, "you OK?"
"Wuzleepin." Bucky was blinking and squinting. He licked his lips and swallowed deliberately.
Steve wanted to get the water boiling again when he saw Bucky do it. "Need somethin' to drink?"
Rocking his head back and forth, he said in a croaking voice, "No."
"That's real convincing, Buck."
Bucky grumbled something unintelligible and stopped trying to hold his eyes opened.
"I gotta go meet those generals. Stay here as long as you need."
"Why'd ya wake me up if yer not kickin' me out?"
"Go back to sleep, jerk." But Bucky had made a good point. Steve guessed he just wanted to make sure Bucky could wake up. After what Morita had said in Prague, Steve had been — not worried exactly, but definitely more aware.
Steve straightened up and leaned away from Bucky and the bunk. Anxiety over meeting with the brass of the brass rushed Steve. An impulse to shake Bucky awake flashed through him again. He resisted acting on it. After Poland and Czechoslovakia, Steve didn't have the heart to put his petty insecurities and self-doubt on Bucky, no matter how much Steve craved the reassurance talking with Bucky always brought him.
No, it was better to let the guy sleep. God knew he needed it. He needed it bad. Besides, Steve was fairly confident Morita and Dugan would cave his head in if he disturbed Bucky at rest. Those two were terrifying. The way Dugan acted was scary in particular, though Morita's bark wasn't something to scoff at. Steve didn't know whether to fear for his life or be glad that someone else was out there looking out for Bucky. It was obvious that Steve hadn't been doing the best of jobs at it lately. Not good enough anyway.
Which had made him think: Steve was sure Bucky's father, very, very deep down, was proud of his son. The Great War had left George Barnes permanently shell shocked, and Steve knew first-hand how hard it was to live with someone like that. He'd been over when George had episodes. Steve had nearly wet himself from fear the first time. They were terrifying to experience. Steve had always considered himself a fighter, and Bucky liked to call him stupid. But Steve wasn't brave or stupid enough to stand up to George Barnes when he was having an episode like Winnie Barnes had. Like Bucky had when he'd turned fourteen, trading off the role of punching bag and protector with his mother.
Bucky had always resented his father's shell shock; he saw it as an unforgivable weakness. Winnie hadn't seen things the same way, and their differing opinions sometimes drove a wedge between the two of them. There had been a lot of nights spent out on the fire escape of Steve's mother's apartment, and, later, out on Steve's own apartment's fire escape. Bucky would sport some new bruise and unload on Steve all the things he'd like to say to his father.
Now, Steve wondered if Krausberg (and everything that had happened since) changed Bucky's opinion of his father. Surely sitting around smoking cigarettes he'd taken off a dead body with a thousand-mile stare wasn't normal, wasn't the picture of health and coping. Henning and fussing over the men just to keep his head above water wasn't normal. Refusing to eat, barely being able to sleep…that wasn't normal.
Steve spent the night thinking about all of these things, even after Peggy came to visit. When he weighed all of it and really thought of it all at the same time, added up and totalled instead of as isolated incidents, he decided that this was something he wanted to do. Who cares if he had to, if he was obligated as the CO. All of the shit that Bucky was living could turn out OK still. It wasn't all that bad. Steve could be there for him like he never really had before. Comforting people wasn't that bad when that person was Bucky. (And probably Peggy.)
"Can't sleep with you sweatin' like that next to me," Bucky said with his eyes closed.
"Sorry," Steve said, "I was just leaving."
Jumping out of planes and directly into enemy fire couldn't hold a candle to how Steve felt about going into a room filled with generals.
"Nope," Bucky groaned. Steve flapped his hands uselessly as Bucky hauled himself into a sitting position. "No, you weren't, you punk." Both hands scrubbed at Bucky's face, and he blinked too many times in a row to be written off as natural. "OK. Tell me. What is it this time?"
"Bucky, go back to sleep. You're in awful shape."
"No, no, no. You're givin' me the eyes; you obviously need something. What is it?"
"It's nothin'. I gotta get goin' or else I'll be late for the generals."
"Ah! OK, so it's that." Bucky straightened up, but he still looked . . . saggy. "Steve, you're great, you're more than your circumstances, don't let those assholes get to you, be confident but God help you if you get combative, keep an open mind, trust yourself because you know I do, no matter what, you're my best pal, you've got Carter and the guys, we'll never desert you, you've faced things worse than a coupla guys with more decorations on their jackets than you. Did I forget anything?"
Steve had started laughing at "you're more than your circumstances." He nodded and said, "No, Buck, you didn't forget anything."
"D'you want me to come with?"
"I think it's invitation only." Steve might as well have shown up holding his mother's hand.
"All you gotta do is get through it, man," Bucky said. "Doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done."
The United States Army motto; Bucky had told Steve the story about how Dugan had come up with it when the two of them were still at Camp McCoy.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious about going with. I can stand outside the door the whole time. Or tell 'em that you don't go anywhere without your second-in-command. You're gonna tell all of us what happens in there anyway."
"None of that is the point, I think. Don't get up. I don't need you hounding the outside of the door." Tempting though the offer may be. Steve never realised how self-conscious he was until he'd been separated from Bucky. Fights were easy regardless of time, space, or body. But anything else caused him hesitation. Women, for one. Audiences filled with buyers of war bonds, for two, though Steve had eventually gotten used to — and dare he say good at — that.
Bucky threw a loose, almost drunk, arm out that caught Steve on the shoulder. The weight of it made Steve's face bend.
"Listen," Bucky said, "I'm glad you're big and all now—"
"No, you're not."
"Let me finish, punk." He shook his head and blinked some more. Steve was patient, and he was rewarded. "I'm glad you're big and all now. I am. You're happier. I'm — dealing with it. I'm happy. I am. But. But," Bucky said and shrugged sleepily, "I'm kind of glad you still need me around."
"Jesus, Bucky—"
"No, no! Don't do the eyes and go 'aw, Bucky'." (Steve held back a laugh.) "Don't. None of that. This is serious stuff, you know. I mean, you got the Adonis body, Carter, everybody wants your attention — I'm glad. OK? Everyone can finally see you the way I've always seen you and all that...shit."
Steve wasn't worried about the generals anymore. Hell, he couldn't even remember when he'd stopped caring. He was just laughing with his best pal.
"Are you proposin' to me?"
"Actually, I was gonna wait 'til we liberated Paris to do that."
A shout of laughter jumped out of Steve's mouth. He didn't plan it or expect it, but it felt damn good to laugh like that.
"Go to sleep," he said and took Bucky's hand off his shoulder. "I really do have to get going. I'll see you later."
"Yeah, yeah."
Steve heard Bucky collapse back into the bed just as he shut the door.
Whether or not England ever got properly warm, Gabe would like to know. It was damn near May and this sodden rock couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Right now it was pleasant, but experience told Gabe that it wouldn't last for long. Pessimism really wasn't in his nature; sometimes a man couldn't help what he was. Hell if Gabe didn't appreciate the truth in that. So he put his face over his tin cup of real coffee and breathed in the scent. Steam clung pleasantly to his cheeks.
Coffee always smelled better than it tasted, even when it was damn good.
"Agent Carter really outdid herself this time," he said. "There's even milk and sugar. The real stuff."
Beside him, Jacques was nodding. He hadn't poured himself a cup, electing instead to warm his hands on a tin of hot water. "You'd expect tea from an Englishwoman."
"I'm glad she's on our side," Dugan said. He'd gotten himself coffee of the Irish variety. Gabe knew the corporal had been holding out on all of them. "Could you imagine going up against her?"
"What a dark day that would be," Falsworth said. "I'd be willing to wager that the captain'd fall victim to her charms first."
Dugan snorted. "You don't say."
"He's already done that," Gabe said. "I've never seen a man so deeply sunk in it."
Morita spoke up, "D'you reckon she'll come into the field with us again? She's a mighty fierce fighter. You guys see her swing around on that string of hers in Poland?"
"I was more impressed with her than I've ever been with Rogers," Dugan said with a laugh. "You don't see a gal like that too often."
"You don't see a person like that too often," Morita said, "and that counts Cap. Ain't nothin' about Carter came from a lab. That's pure human ferociousness."
Falsworth said, "I was talking with the boys earlier, and it sounds like we'll be part of the first wave of attackers invading France. Perhaps she'll be with us."
"It's France for sure?" asked Morita. He shrugged and said with side eye toward Dugan, "We can ask 'er when we talk to her tomorrow. She'll tell. Carter's in."
"Paris, here we come," Dugan said with his cup raised. "French girls are cuter, right, Jonesy?"
Gabe shrugged without commitment. "Hell of a sight better than the German gals," he said passively. But he was looking at Jacques.
"Ready to go home, Frenchie?" Morita said.
"Oh, I'm looking forward to it very much," he said. "All sorts of fireworks to celebrate my homecoming."
It didn't sound very sincere to Gabe's ears.
"Gonna whip up something special?" That was Dugan.
"Yes," he said. "Been planning for this day since 1940."
"I'll drink to that," Morita said.
They all drank from their assorted vessels. Jacques looked a little droopy around the eyes, Gabe noticed. Best to chalk it up to recovery after the last missions. They'd all stay sane this way. Morita was really starting to rub off on Gabe, so he made a resolution to ask Jacques if he wanted to talk when the others went to the pub and there would be more privacy.
"Get up already," Dugan said. His patience was lost, rusted away by worry but mostly annoyance. He'd have grey hair before the war had a chance to kill him. And wouldn't that just be a crying shame? Grey and dead. No pretty corpse for Timothy Dugan, no, sir.
Barnes groaned and rolled onto his other side.
"For Christ's sake, Jimmy, I know I told you to get some shut eye, but I didn't mean forever!"
Nothin'.
"I think Rogers needs you!"
Nothin' but a sleepy snort of amusement.
"Well, it was worth a shot."
"Go away," Barnes mumbled.
"You've been here for eighteen hours. You gotta get up."
"Why?"
Because you're worrying the guys. Because you're worrying Rogers. Because you're worrying me.
"It's time to eat and then we're going to hit the town. You're comin' with, Sarge."
"Meh."
"C'mon, drinkin' and dancin', your two favourite things."
"'M too old for that sort of thing." Was it possible that Barnes was sinking even deeper into the blankets?
"No one's too old for gettin' drunk as a skunk."
"I am."
Even if Dugan didn't get Barnes out of bed, at least he got the kid alert and carrying on a conversation. Woulda been nice to get some proper food into him. It had only been ersatz coffee, cigarettes, and half cans of ham for the kid this whole time. When they'd gotten back from Czechoslovakia, Barnes had said he was so hungry he felt sick. Dugan thought it shouldn't be so complicated to get a starving man to eat.
Then again, Rogers had said Barnes's behaviour wasn't out of the ordinary. Rogers told Dugan that Barnes had frequently skipped meals during their youth. He hadn't said it, but it was clear as day that Rogers passing out from the gas was what really kicked off this latest round of malaise from Barnes. The way Rogers explained it, Dugan gathered that the finicky eating was a stress response of Barnes's. He was glad to have never known the kid to be that stressed. Until now.
Dugan pushed Barnes and said, "I'll buy you whatever you want at the pub if you get up."
A single squinted eye peered at Dugan from under a mass of dark hair. "You gonna buy me a drink?" he croaked.
"I'll buy ya two drinks if you get up."
After a moment of consideration, Barnes started shedding all his blankets. He griped and groaned a lot. It was all very "the things I do for you."
"Atta boy," Dugan said and slapped Barnes's back once he was upright.
"The hell are my boots?" he mumbled.
Dugan collected the stray footwear and dumped them in Barnes's lap with his shirt and belt. "I'm not tyin' 'em for ya," he said.
"Too bad."
Funny thing was, once he got his boots on, the laces did give Barnes trouble.
"If you ever get those figured out, we might get to the mess while there's still coffee. Real coffee." Dugan punctuated the statement by tapping his toe.
"Real coffee?" Barnes showed enthusiasm for the idea.
"Peggy got it for us. Hurry — Gabe was goin' to town on it."
"Bastard. Why didn't you come get me sooner?"
"I thought you'd be more interested in the booze, to be honest."
"Wrong." Barnes gave up on his laces and tucked them inside his boot instead. He nearly jumped to his feet. "Let's go. Real goddamn coffee, Dum Dum."
"Calm down, tiger," he said.
They exited Rogers's quarters single file but walked side by side once they were outside.
"Almost forgot how brown bases are," Barnes said.
"For some reason, I don't think Gabe shares that opinion."
"That's not what I meant, jackass," Barnes laughed.
"I know. It's true though. We should ask him about it."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'm surrounded by idiots."
Dugan laughed and splashed mud on Barnes's boots. "He'd get a kick out of it. S'not like it's a secret. Jimmy, he knows he's not white. And don't get me started on Morita. That guy's convinced he's an American from Fresno. I'm not sold, though. No, sir, not me."
"The things war does to a man's head," Barnes said, shaking his own solemnly.
The rest of the team was already gathered around a table in the almost-empty mess hall. They were considerably quieter than usual, but Dugan expected as much; they were all still recovering. But the guys made an effort and brightened up to give Barnes shit about having an eighteen-hour lie-in in Rogers's bed. Lucky for them that Barnes's mouth was filled with coffee. Each of them was all too familiar with his ability to give just as bad as he got. Maybe that was why they guys did it while Barnes drank — no chance that he could fight back.
Hey, they might've been idiots, but they weren't stupid idiots.
Dugan sat with a loaded plate between Jim and Gabe. Barnes sat by Monty with his face firmly hidden in his cup of coffee. The guy was nearly moaning.
"You want us to give you some privacy, Sarge?" Jim said pointedly.
"I don't care what you do," he said. It echoed in the metal cup. "Goddamn real coffee in my mouth right now. Not that black piss they try to sell us out in the field."
"Monty." Dugan redirected the focus of the group loudly. "Where're we headed tonight?"
"There're a few places within a reasonable distance."
"I wouldn't worry about how far away anything is," Dugan said. "You're talking to a transportation specialist. Tell us the good place."
"How foolish of me," Monty said. "In that case, I'd recommend the Lamb."
"What else is out there?" Jim said.
"Nowhere stuffy and uppity," Barnes said.
"You've just eliminated eighty percent of our choices," Dugan said. "We're in England; the whole place is stuffy and uppity."
"I'm not sure they'd take you in any case," Monty said with that delicate Limey attitude.
"What're you talkin' about?" Jim shouted, knowing exactly what Monty was talking about. "We're Cap's gang!"
"All the more reason to barricade the door."
"Hey, you're a part of it. There's no getting out," Barnes told Monty.
"Oh, I'm not complaining."
"Sure sounds like it." Dugan flicked a baked bean off the edge of his plate. It ricocheted off Monty's cheek and landed in Barnes's lap.
"Thanks," Barnes said. He plucked the bean out of his lap and dropped it into his empty cup.
"God created the English to complain," Gabe said with a smirk.
"That's true. I learned it in school," Frenchie chimed in.
"Did you know there's a difference between Frenchmen and toast?" Monty said.
Dugan could see this coming a mile away. He stuffed his face with questionable ham to keep from spoiling the joke.
"Yeah? What's that?" Barnes said. He was busy flipping the bean out of his cup and catching it again to pay attention to what he'd just encouraged.
Maybe he'll be able to tie his shoes now that he can catch beans in cups, Dugan thought while he chewed.
Gabe muttered, "Uh oh," and disappeared behind his own cup.
"I'm stayin' outta this one," Jim said. He held his hands up in surrender when Monty looked at him.
"Pass," Dugan said around his mouthful.
"Go on, tell us then," Frenchie said.
"You can make soldiers out of toast."
"You can do better than that, Monty, please," Jim said. "What's the shortest book ever written?"
"French War Heroes!" Dugan couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Why don't the French eat M&M's?" said Jim.
"Too hard to peel," Barnes said to his bean nonchalantly. "Only I heard that about Italians."
"You should hear the things we say about the Irish back home," Jim said.
Still in a voice that hardly indicated interest, Barnes said, "Heard it all and it hasn't made a lick of difference." His head jerked up at once, suddenly interested. "We ever decide where we're going? Dum Dum's buying."
"Shit, no one told me that," Jim said.
"Hold up," Dugan said, "I said I'd buy you — only you, Sarge — two drinks! Only you, only two."
"Me, everybody — what's the difference?" Barnes said. He turned in his seat, muttering, "Any more of that coffee?"
"I'm not buying and driving!"
"I'll drive," Monty said.
"I'm the transportation specialist!" Dugan realised the hole he was in, but he couldn't stop taking a spade to it.
"I'll drive back," Monty said.
"I'm not gettin' in no car with a drunk Limey behind the wheel," Jim said flatly.
"Dugan, you're driving and paying. That's an order," Barnes said. He was already halfway back to the pot of coffee.
"You can't give me orders to buy everyone drinks!"
"Why not?"
"Yeah, why not?" Jim said. He threw his dirty napkin at Dugan. "Listen to your sergeant, Dum Dum."
"Yeah," Barnes said. "Listen to me."
"Gabe, help me out here," Dugan said. He tried his best to rearrange his face into an innocent expression. It hadn't once worked since Dugan turned ten. And he'd had a lot of run-ins since then.
"Keep me out of it. I'm stayin' on base," Gabe said.
"Frenchie, please!"
"Sorry. Not well enough to go falling off my seat like you youngsters."
What was wrong with these people? No one outgrows getting drunk off their ass. No one!
"Shoulda left you in bed, Jimmy. Yer nothin' but trouble."
"Agreed." He brought his second cup back to the table and buried his face in it.
"So it's settled," Monty said, "our dear Dum Dum will be driving us to the Lamb, buying us all two rounds, and taking us back at the end of the night."
"That's what I heard," Jim said. "Team James ratifies the plan. No take-backs."
Gabe made an unhelpful face when Dugan looked to him. Frenchie was equally useless.
"Aren't we just the best team there ever was?" Dugan shouted and threw up his hands.
Barnes moaned and said, "I'm having a love affair with this coffee."
"Oh, dear," said Monty. The look of concern on his face ought to be captured and shared with the entire world.
"What'll Cap say?" Jim said.
Note: Whew, that was a lot of Steve. I need a break. Thanks so much for sticking with me this far. Cheers!