The Lamb ended up being a pretty snazzy place. It wasn't quite the same reception as they usually got in The Whip and Fiddle. Reactions from these patrons were mixed. Those that recognised them sighed in resignation, and the rest cheered in excitement.
"They think Steve's with us," Barnes whispered and cracked up. "Hate to let 'em down."
"Let's not waste any time we have until they realise it," Monty said. He led them all to the bar.
Barnes ordered his expensive shit on Dugan's dime while the rest got their beer and liked it. Thanks to Dugan's bullying, the four of them got a table right near the piano. Jim made sure to put his foot up on one of the empty seats — it was elevation for his ankle, which would swell up to the size of a cantaloupe if he kept weight on it for too long.
It was also a polite reason to tell the locals to get lost if they tried to join them.
"Still got that coffee buzzing through me," Barnes said after taking a sip of whisky. "I'm gonna explode by the end of the night."
"Pace yourself," Jim said.
"Did you even eat anything at the mess?" Dugan said.
"At least one baked bean," Monty said drily.
"There're peanuts right here." Barnes cracked one open and ate the two legumes inside. He pulled the whole bowl toward himself and took out a second. He said to Dugan, "You can buy me something to eat if you're so worried about it."
To which Dugan laughed sardonically. "Yeah, that's what I wanna do."
"You want your ass kissed while he's at it?" Jim asked.
"Nah. The ass is where I draw the line," Barnes said around a sip of whisky.
"Smart," Dugan said.
"Well, a man's gotta have limits."
Jim reached over and took a handful of peanuts. It only costed him two swats from Barnes. Peanuts went better with beer anyway, and everyone knew it.
"I've heard some interesting rumours," Monty said.
Jim flapped his hands. "Where do you keep hearing things? You only ever talk to us!"
"He's among his people," Dugan said. "He hears everything."
"What have you already heard?" Barnes asked.
"We're first wave on the invasion of France," said Jim.
"Jesus, we're no doin' combat jumps into that shit, are we?" Barnes said. The guy had gone white as a sheet.
"Haven't heard, but all sorts of airborne troops are drilling at bases around England. Your Yankee troops finally decided to show up."
"I'll take that second drink now, Dum Dum," Barnes said after kicking back the rest of his whisky.
They laughed loud enough to turn quite a few nearby heads. Dugan got Barnes his second drink — he was even smiling when he did it. They were going to hell, both Jim and Dugan.
On his way back, Dugan said in a low voice so that only Jim could hear, "You got the next one."
Jim flicked one of the peanuts he'd taken at a Limey at the next table and hid his hands below the table. The Limey turned around, face red. His eyes fell on the bowl in front of Barnes, and he scowled. Jim had to look away to keep from busting up in laughter.
"Whaddya hear, Monty?" Dugan said. The two of them had beer in their moustaches.
Idiots. It looked fuckin' gross.
"I heard," Monty said loftily, "that the Army was going to award Barnes a Bronze Star for what he did in Prague."
"What the hell did I do in Prague? Wear a German uniform better than the Germans?"
"Probably somethin' about leaving no man behind," Jim said while rolling his eyes.
"What?"
"Wait," said Dugan. "Jimmy's gettin' an award for goin' back for you goons who got stuck under a building?"
"Two buildings," Jim corrected.
"Well, when you put it like that," Monty said.
"Hey, you're welcome, Barnes," Jim said. "Maybe Frenchie'll parachute into a tree when we go to France. You can cut him down and get a Medal of Honor."
"How come I'm not getting an award? I went back, too!" Dugan complained.
"Weren't in command," Jim said. "The highest-ranking officer is always the one who gets the credit."
Monty said casually, "They said Captain Rogers has been advocating since Krausberg for Barnes to receive an award."
"You're winding me up," Barnes said.
Dugan said, "I was in Krausberg, too! We all were! Where's our award?"
"Agent Carter got in contact with some men from your old unit," Monty told Barnes. "They all gave testimony to your acts of heroism in Africa and Italy."
Stars were in Barnes's eyes. Or maybe they were bombs going off. "She talked to the 107th?"
"And they were quite complimentary. There were reports signed by some Captain Springer. Did you know him? The survivors of Krausberg had similar sentiments."
Barnes stared dumbfounded at Monty. Jim wished he had their field camera just then.
Monty continued, "All these men were under the impression that you'd acted with valour, and they said they wouldn't be alive today without you."
"It's my job," Barnes said. Jim was happy to hear that his sergeant's higher mental functions had come back. "You don't give decorations to people for just doing what they're supposed to do."
"While Jimmy was lookin' out for the prisoners and gettin' the snot beat outta him by guards, who was lookin' out for him? We were!" Dugan could be one noisy motherfucker. "We're the ones that took out the Kraut that nearly beat you to death. Monty planned the whole thing!"
"Pipe down," Jim said, "you know as well as I do that support crews never get any recognition."
Barnes went back to the bowl of peanuts. "Huh."
"All you got to say is 'huh'?" Dugan shouted.
Sipping his whisky, Barnes shrugged. "Just a rumour."
"If the captain wants you to get a decoration, you'll get a decoration," Jim said. He discreetly flicked another peanut at the Limey at the other table.
"Yeah, well," Barnes said without any real interest.
"What do I gotta do for a medal? Jimmy, if you don't want it, you can always give it to me."
"Never said I didn't want it."
"Coulda fooled me," Jim said while watching the Limey glare at Barnes again.
"Maybe Captain Rogers will get all of us awards," Monty said. "He's just starting with his favourite."
"You gotta do somethin' worthy of a medal first," Barnes said with a smirk.
It was met with a round of boos and laughter.
Three rounds deep — except for Barnes, who was on round five courtesy of the combined efforts of Jim and Dugan — Monty was playing the piano. All the songs he played were unfamiliar to Jim, Dugan, and Barnes, but the rest of the pub shouted the words. It was such a classy place; Jim didn't expect it from these types. Maybe the Brits weren't so bad. The one Jim had been pelting with peanuts all night even bought Barnes a drink, and the two played a few rounds of billiards in a room off the main stage.
Jim and Dugan hustled a few Tommys playing darts and nine ball. They used their winnings to buy the whole joint a round. Not to give the wrong impression that he was a good guy, Dugan pickpocketed two officer-types and bought Barnes his seventh drink. Seven drinks! And the guy was just now starting to get red in the face and smiley.
"Where's he been puttin' it all?" Dugan said while they watched Barnes dance with some blonde broad.
"Hell if I know," Jim said. He turned back to the bar; he had some catching up to do.
Dugan nicked two cigarettes from the guy beside him. It was the guy's own damn fault for talking to a broad with his pack out for the world to see. Jim took one of the cigarettes when Dugan held them out.
"You got a thing for stealin'?" Jim asked.
"Since I was just a wee lad." It was said with a faux Irish accent.
"Jesus, what have you stolen from me?"
"Nothin'. Never take anything from my friends."
Jim had an excellent bullshit face.
"OK, maybe a few cigarettes, but that's it. I promise."
Jim made a scornful sound. "I never trust an Irishman."
"What about a friend?"
No reply for that except to smoke his filched cigarette. But then, "You really steal shit all the time?"
Dugan barked a laugh that made the people around them to turn. "Not so much anymore. I was just a bored kid."
"Whaddya take?"
"Stupid stuff. Candy, coupla baseballs. I'd take cigarettes and sell the cards to the neighbourhood kids for a Coke."
"I woulda thought you'd take potatoes."
Which made him shout with laughter again. It was a happy sound; Jim figured the world could use more happy sounds.
"Nah, we had plenty of potatoes. I did sneak some ears of corn down my trousers at a carnival once."
That was an image that was never gonna leave Jim's mind no matter how hard he tried. He was strongly reminded of his brother listening to this. All the trouble Will got himself into and on purpose.
"Ever get caught?"
"Oh, all the time! But my uncles owned the police station. They just let it happen. They'd threaten juvenile detention a few times at first though."
Jim made a sly face. "They send kids to detention for stealin' candy and cigarettes?"
"No," Dugan said, "but they do for stealin' automobiles and for carryin' booze in 1922."
Jim could only laugh. When he caught his breath, he said, "The hell were you smugglin' alcohol for when you were eight?"
"I was ten, excuse you," Dugan said. He had to shout over the tang of a trumpet; the band had just started up and was playing a rowdy number.
"You didn't answer the question!"
An annoying smile was on his face, the evasive, stupid Mick.
"All I can say is that, where I come from, the Irish stick together."
Jim tapped his cigarette out in the ashtray at his elbow. "You're tellin' me that story someday."
His laughter was easily heard over the brassy music and dancing feet. "As long as you tell me more about that girl Chiyo of yours."
"Deal!" Jim had to shout over the music. His voice just didn't carry like Dugan's did. Was that a genetic characteristic, maximum volume? Or was it something a guy could learn?
Dugan flagged the bartender and picked up the cocktail that arrived.
"The hell is that?" Jim said.
"They call it a Commando."
"Jesus Christ," Jim muttered. Then, "I want one."
The asshole bartender ignored Jim's attempts to get his attention. Dugan shook his head and gestured in the air. The guy took notice then and dropped a second cocktail in front of Dugan, who, in turn, pushed it toward Jim.
"Might just forget to pay tonight," Dugan muttered.
Jim raised his glass and said, "Cheers." He drank.
"Salud," Dugan said. He tipped the glass and said, "I'm gonna deliver this to Jimmy before he miraculously sobers up."
"If we hurry, we can get two more in him before we gotta be back for our brass-ordered rest," Jim shouted at Dugan's back. After he'd gone, Jim felt all the sidelong eyes on him. He brought his glass to his face and muttered, "Fuck you, Monty, the Lamb sucks."
Vera Lynn was playing on the radio. Jacques thought her voice was magnificent. The way it warbled like a little bird about to take flight. It was lonely and hopeful.
"This is a mighty fine song," Gabriel said. He was lying in his bunk, which was next to Jacques's. The two of them were flat on their backs, staring up through the darkness at the exposed beams of Barracks 14. "Mighty fine."
True, it was. Fine, beautiful, hopeful, confident that things would return to the way they were. Home blossomed in Jacques's mind's eye even though the song was about England. The sentiment was the same, and it was universal. It was a dream. What a sweet dream.
Jacques sang a few lines, harmonising with her in French. What a serene three minutes.
Gabriel hummed. "Heavenly."
Jacques saw home painted on the backs of his eyelids. "Like watching cities fall," he said. "They will rise again."
The radio went fuzzy for a bit before it returned to singing another song. This one didn't sing like a bird taking its first flight. They seldom did. It was a hen returning to her clutch.
"You thought much about what goin' home's gonna be like?"
It was kind of Gabriel to ask like this, when it was dark and they were both being serenaded by birds on the radio. It was kind.
"I think about going home every day," Jacques said. "I dream about going home every night."
Clever man, Gabriel Jones. Certainly smarter than most.
Prompted by lovely twittering on the radio, Jacques said, "I think about going home, but my home is not there anymore. The France that raised me is destroyed. It will not come back."
"We'll get France back. They'll clean up and be OK."
"Yes," he told the darkness. "It will be a home again, but it can never be my home again. Nazis took my home, and I will destroy them for it." He already had destroyed them, albeit on a much smaller scale. "Germans took it, and France hardly said a word. Fools with the so-called best army in Europe. I do not know that France; that is not the France that I knew."
"Jacques," said Gabriel. Through the dark, Jacques could feel his companion's sympathy. "They didn't just roll over. The French didn't want occupation. They didn't just let it happen to them."
"No," he said, "but they hardly said no to it."
"You're being too hard on an entire nation. Would you say this about Poland?"
"Poland is different."
"How?"
"Poland has never been my home."
Gabriel was shifting in the dark; Jacques knew he was turning to face his way. The exposed beams seemed suddenly vulnerable.
"Are you going to be alright during all of this?" Gabriel said.
"Yes, I think so. They are people, and people deserve to be free. I want them to be rid of occupation. But I do not want to stay with them, I do not think. I am ready to move on. I'm no soldier, but I think France will need me less than elsewhere. I want to restore to them what they lost, but I know that I have no place among them anymore. They will be a new people, after, and so am I."
Was this betrayal? Jacques thought it might be. He was turning his back on his country by speaking like this, by feeling this way. It was alright, Jacques thought. The country had turned its back on its people a long time ago. He had given up his loyalty to his country only after it had surrendered its loyalty to him. It had failed its citizens by not fighting, not even trying to fight. How does the world's best army let itself be so completely and thoroughly overrun? Why did they favour their comfort when it was only theirs as long as someone else allowed it?
Jacques just couldn't understand, and he couldn't properly explain his own position. His thoughts on this topic still hadn't settled. He couldn't explain how he both longed for France's liberation from occupation while, at the same time, he wanted nothing more to do with the nation. Perhaps the people he wished to free and the institutions which allowed occupation should be separated? Emotions were not yet concrete. He couldn't call them any one thing. They didn't have to be, he knew. Jacques didn't have to know how he felt right now.
What he did know was that he would not be angry with France forever. He was not bitter. This was simply how he felt and how it would be. All of them would carry on for better or worse, for happy or for sorrow. As sure as cities fall, they rise.
Gabriel hummed and said, "Well, OK. I think I understand. If you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
Léo Marjane warbled in the dark and over radio waves.
It was kind.
Here Dugan had been thinking that Brits were stuffy and uptight. Once they got liquored up, they were the nicest fucking people. Their snarky attitudes didn't leave them, and they never took their noses out of the air. But they knew how to have a good time. Their broads knew how to dance. They were buying Dugan and the boys drinks left, right, and centre. He was actually a little bit worried that little Jim Morita would be dead come morning — Dugan had seen that sort of thing before, death by intoxication.
These Brits loved Jimmy. Fuckin' loved the guy. They hung on every one of Barnes's slurred words. Dugan wouldn't have ever agreed to buy the guy a drink if he would have known the Brits were going to get Barnes drunk for him.
Maybe they had gotten him too drunk.
On fifteen drinks, Barnes was laughing louder than the music and hanging off the shoulder of a guy that Jim had been flicking peanut shells at all night. The two of 'em looked like old pals. They sang the Limey bar songs together, swaying back and forth unsteadily. Dugan wasn't so sure that Barnes even realised that he didn't know the Limey.
Just by lookin', Dugan knew something was going to happen.
So, of course, something did happen. At the end of a much-altered rendition of "We'll Meet Again" that only a buncha soldiers could make up, the Limey gripped the back of Barnes's neck. Which must have been meant as a gesture of camaraderie. Dugan didn't see what happened after that, but he did see Barnes clock the guy in the face a second later. The crowd made a sound of surprise or excitement; it was hard to tell which exactly. In the span of a single heartbeat, Dugan felt himself sober up.
Dugan and Monty were on either side of Barnes before anything else could happen — it took more effort than Dugan would ever admit to hold back Barnes's arm from pounding the Limey again. The guy's nose was already bleeding. Jim appeared a second later. Monty laughed and talked down what would have surely turned into an all-out brawl while Dugan and Jim backed Barnes away from the situation. Most of the GIs in the crowd were already jeering at the Limey that had grabbed Barnes. A few Brits tried to get a hand on Barnes, but Dugan made damn sure no one succeeded. His method may not have been so helpful in terms of them preventing a brawl from breaking out though.
"What the hell was that!" Barnes kept shouting. Dugan tightened his grip and laughed at the people around him, keeping things light. "What the hell!"
"I hear ya, what the hell, yeah, you're right," Jim was saying.
The three of them got outside and walked down the street toward their ride. The air was helpful in clearing Dugan's head. Warm air and good booze always carried him away fast and furious. He had a lot of ground to make up if he wanted to get the boys back to base. They'd be late getting to Peggy — and meeting with her was the whole point in getting Barnes liquored up anyway.
"What the hell," Barnes said. His feet kept getting stuck on cracks in the pavement. Dugan and Jim had to frequently adjust how they were holding him so there were no cracked skulls on the ground. Didn't help much that Jim's bum ankle was starting to act up. "The hell did he think he was doin'? I'm—…what the hell!"
"Relax, he probably didn't mean anything by it," Jim said. "Everyone was drunk off their ass. They still are."
"What'd he do anyway?" Dugan asked knowing full well that the question wouldn't calm Barnes down any.
Barnes huffed. "I'm the American Death!" Barnes shouted in a completely different tone of voice. Maybe not so different; he was starting to sound a little hysterical. "They called me the American fucking Death! I should kill that guy!"
"Yeah, good idea," Dugan said, "you can do it in the morning."
"The morning! I'm gonna do it right now."
But the guy couldn't even walk on his own. Couldn't even stand. Dugan's brain was searching for a way to calm Barnes down. Shouldn't have worked him up like that on purpose. The booze was supposed to make Jimmy more agreeable, not piss him off and make him indignant.
"Maybe you oughtta take it as a compliment," Jim said.
"That asshole can't just go around grabbing people!" Barnes shouted.
The streets were empty and the sound seemed to echo. It covered the sound of Monty jogging up behind them, so Dugan jumped when he felt the tap on his shoulder.
"Get out alright?" Jim said.
Monty nodded. "Can't say the same for the other."
"What're they doing?"
"I don't think there's any way it won't get back to his commander."
Dugan flinched inwardly.
"But I'm not so worried about him," Monty said, "are we alright here?"
"Think so," Jim said. "Listen, I'm not drivin'. I can hardly carry Barnes straight. No way I'm gonna be able to stay on the road."
"I'm the transportation specialist!" Dugan yelled not entirely on purpose.
"Yes. Yes, you are. Indeed," Monty said. He took over guiding Barnes for Jim. "Busted your knuckles on his face, did you, Sergeant?"
Dugan looked at Barnes's left hand and saw the proof. "Jesus."
"Shoulda done worse than that to 'em," Barnes slurred. The fight had drained out of him surprisingly fast. "Can't just go 'round grabbin' people like that."
"It was rather rude," Monty said placating.
It wasn't public knowledge, so maybe Dugan should have been more forgiving in his judgement. But he couldn't help but marvel at the stupidity of a guy going anywhere near Barnes's head when he wasn't sober. Being loopy and having people manhandle his head were two things that just didn't go together for Jimmy anymore.
Rogers could probably get away with it though. The only person who could ever get away with anything on Barnes's watch.
"Was rude," Barnes said. In their arms, he slumped so that they were dragging him.
"Your boots are gonna be scuffed something awful, Sarge," Jim said.
"Fuck 'em."
"Not gonna be feelin' that way in the morning," Dugan said in a sing-song voice. He felt like the type of guy that had kids he cared about.
"Yeah, that's for the morning, isn't it?" Barnes looked up at him with a droopy smile. His head fell back so that he was looking skyward. He shouted, "I just want to go to sleep!"
Jim cracked up, and that got Monty smiling. Before Dugan knew it, they were all back to shoving and laughing. Hell, he didn't even hit anything with the truck on the way back to base. Nothing big anyway. The ride was more than a little bumpy, but they were all just fine by the time they got back. No puke, just laughter.
"I'll go check to see if the coast is clear with Carter. Meet you guys at the barracks," Jim said. He snuck away while Dugan returned the jeep they had taken. Barnes was so far gone that he didn't even notice the absence. Monty did a good job at keeping him occupied, too.
The walk back to Barracks 14 was much too loud given the hour, but Dugan figured that the rest of the base could just deal with it. They'd done a lot of shit for these people — they were Captain America's gang!
"Hold up," Barnes said as they walk through the trampled yard they'd all spent November and December shivering and drilling in. Pulling himself out of Dugan and Monty's support system of arms, Barnes made a crooked line for the cluster of flagpoles.
"Jimmy, what're you doing?" Dugan trailed half-heartedly after him.
"I wanna get Union Jack."
"I beg your pardon," said Monty.
Barnes began scrabbling pathetically up the pole. Dugan held in a laugh. "I want the flag," Barnes said. "Gonna send it home to Becca."
"What's she gonna do with it?" said Dugan.
"Have it."
"Jimmy, get down. You're gonna hurt yourself."
"Let him learn," Monty said.
They drew near and watched Barnes scrabble at the pole. He clung to the thing, arms and legs locked around it. Dugan couldn't hold back his laughter as Barnes began to slide down the pole with an incredibly loud squeaking sound. Even Monty's mouth was twisting upward with amusement.
When his ass bumped into the ground, Barnes said, "Damn it," through his own laughter.
"May I suggest you use the pulley?" Monty said.
"There's no challenge in that," Barnes shouted back. "I'm the American Death, and my sister is gonna have a flag with a story." Barnes kicked his boots off — he'd never properly tied them after leaving Rogers's quarters — and yanked his socks off, too.
"C'mon, let's get goin'." Dugan took a few drunken steps forward. "I thought you wanted to hit the sack."
"I do," he said. The pole aided Barnes back to his now-bare feet. "But I'm getting' this flag first. I'm gettin' it for Becca." His jacket and dress shirt fell next so that he wore nothing but his undershirt, trousers, and dog tags. Had Barnes always looked like that? Were the ropes of vessels and tendons always so prominent in his neck? "I'm going to get it."
Dugan picked up the discarded clothing and watched Barnes struggle halfway up the pole. Jim and Peggy were going to be waiting for them.
"I'm gonna get it," Barnes said again. "I'm the American Death. They're givin' me an award for killin' people. I have the best left hook in all of Brooklyn. I missed my baby sister's wedding, and I'm gettin' her a flag."
There was a sound from Barnes that could have been a laugh or it could have been a sob. Dugan looked back at Monty. They shrugged at each other.
"What're they gonna say when they see it gone in the morning?" Dugan asked. "When they see a flag missing? They're gonna think they've been infiltrated."
"Hell if I care," Barnes panted.
"They're gonna think it's a threat," Monty said with a smile. "Someone's vowed to take His Majesty's army out."
"Or they're gonna think some drunk hooligan stole it."
Barnes cackled with laughter; he had reached the top of the pole and was undoing the fasteners on the flag. "They're gonna think it's you, Dum Dum."
"Like hell."
"You're the drunken idiot that's always stealing people's shit."
"Traitor," Dugan said with drama.
Barnes slid down the pole with his prize. When his feet hit the ground, his knees failed to catch him. Barnes hit the dirt for a second time. Dugan pulled his inebriated sergeant up and held him by the upper arms until he stopped swaying.
"I've been working against you the entire time," Barnes said. The flag was stuffed down his shirt and then he took his dress shirt out of Dugan's arms. It hung unbuttoned on Barnes's shoulders. The jacket went on in the same manner, decorations shining in the patchy moonlight.
"You look expectant," Monty said.
Barnes patted the bundled-up flag that made his stomach appear to protrude over his belt. "I am," he said. He made a show of bending down to collect his boots and socks. Dugan and Monty snorted. "Expecting a hangover."
"So are we all," Monty said.
Barnes waddled for show and from drunkenness all the way to the barracks. The boots and socks never made it to his feet; he carried them. The three of them frequently bumped into one another. Monty hummed "Beer Barrel Polka" and before long they were shouting their way through the whole thing. Dugan was the only one to take a tumble, but it was because Monty had hip checked Barnes, who subsequently knocked into Dugan.
Both Monty and Barnes offered Dugan a hand up after they got their fill of laughter. Dugan accepted both offers. The idiots both yanked on Dugan as hard as they could. The three of them stumbled in the opposite direction. Monty and Barnes's backs slammed into the exterior wall of Barracks 8.
"Shut the hell up out there!" a voice from inside shouted.
They snickered and carried on stumbling to their quarters.
Dugan threw open the door to Barracks 14 and shouted, "Honey, I'm home!" He threw the lights on.
Gabe and Frenchie looked at the three of them with bored expressions on their faces.
"Pipe down," Gabe said. "We're listening to music."
"What, this European garbage?" Barnes said. He stumbled over to his bunk and pulled the flag out of his shirt, hiding it in his footlocker.
"Yes," Frenchie said.
"Jim back yet?" Sitting on his own bed, Dugan shed his jacket and put his bowler on the table beside his bed.
"Not yet," Frenchie said.
Monty collapsed, sighing, in his own bunk.
"Back from where?" Barnes was already down to his underpants.
"We're gonna have company," Monty said.
"Oh," Barnes said. "Anyone gonna put on a pot of coffee? It's only polite if we're havin' guests." He squinted out the window.
Dugan thought about running out to the mess and grabbing a can of peaches or beans. Hunger was tickling him like it always did after he spent a night drinking. Plus, Barnes had to be starving. The chance was gone though, because the door opened just then. Jim came through with Peggy.
"Hey, Pegs," Dugan said. He sat up from his reclined position but couldn't seem to make himself stand up and be at attention.
"You all smell like a brewery," she said, scrunching up her nose.
No wonder Rogers was over the moon for her.
"Sorry," Monty said. "It was necessary."
That look on her face was back. The one that rolled its eyes and meant she was thinking that all soldiers were of the same disgusting breed — but they were special.
"What's all this about?" she said impatiently.
"She's just mad that I dragged her away from Cap," Jim said.
"How'd you manage to get her here without him tagging along?" Dugan said.
"Said I needed a lady's touch writing to Chiyo."
"That would do it," Gabe said.
"What is this really about then?" Peggy flapped her hands. "And what's Barnes staring at?"
Dugan, remembering Barnes was sat there naked, turned his attention to his sergeant, already laughing. The humour melted from his face.
"Shit, he's doin' it right now!" Dugan tripped over his boots in his haste to get to Barnes's bunk.
Gabe made it there first, and Peggy was second, curiosity writ across her features. Dugan muscled past both of them to grab Barnes's arms.
"Jimmy. Jimmy, hey, c'mon," he said. He tapped with the fingertips of one hand on Barnes's cheek. "Idiot, cut it out."
"What's this?" Peggy said.
Jim slunk through the crowd to sit on the edge of Barnes's bunk. "We're not sure."
She put a hand on Dugan's shoulder that made him pause. Releasing Barnes, he stood back and let her have centre stage. His every instinct screamed at him not to do it. Peggy crouched and waved her hand in front of Barnes's face. She snapped her fingers and called his name.
"Strange," she said to herself. Turning, she said to the others, "Is he having some sort of fit?"
Dugan shrugged. "It's been happening on and off since Italy. We were ambushed there, and he fought like a machine. Pin-point precision, didn't hesitate to do anything, but you could tell that he wasn't…in there. Then this started to happen."
"On the plane back from Prague he acted like this," Jim said.
"It looks like he has seizures all night long, in his sleep," Frenchie said.
Peggy turned back to Barnes. "Not exactly sleep if he's seizing all night," she said under her breath. The hum she made got Dugan wondering if she'd already known something about this. "Is that what's happening now?"
"I don't—" Dugan began.
Peggy spoke over him, "Look at his eyes."
Dugan did so. It was odd. They looked blank and staring, but when he looked carefully, it almost looked like Barnes's eyes were shivering in their sockets.
"Weird," Dugan said. He shook Barnes around Peggy. This was creeping him out. "Barnes, come on!"
"What on Earth is he doing on battlefields like this?" Peggy's glare was almost accusatory.
Dugan tried not to look guilty.
"Steve doesn't know?" She looked shocked.
"He knows something's wrong," Jim said quickly.
"He's a liability—" Peggy began, gesturing sharply at Barnes.
"Hey," every last one of them said, outrage in their collective voice.
"You're not pullin' our sergeant," Dugan said.
Peggy argued right back. "What if this happens in battle?"
Jim said, "It already has. We were all OK."
"Yes, that time—"
"Agent Carter," said Monty, "the S.S.R. has tried once before to remove Sergeant Barnes from the squad. They were unsuccessful. If they attempted to do so again — I, for one, would not hesitate to accept the risk of execution for mutiny."
Dugan had to blink several times at Monty before his brain started up again. Not once had Monty ever expressed such steadfast commitment to anyone or anything. The alcohol didn't help the look of surprise on Dugan's face.
"The only way we let him off the team is if he chooses to go," Jim said.
Peggy looked around at all of them, and they nodded as her eyes fell on them. "Why have you shown me this and not Steve?"
"We were hoping you could help him."
Her eyes narrowed. "Help him how?"
Gabe shrugged. "Maybe a sedative so he can get some actual sleep. It's worse the longer he's up."
Back at Barnes, Peggy said thoughtfully, "Is it possible that he's epileptic?"
All eyes turned to Dugan. This must have been how Rogers felt.
He said, "I never noticed 'til after Krausberg. But I wasn't really looking before."
"And we can't ask Steve," she said.
Jim shook his head. "Barnes doesn't want 'em to know. We'll respect that." The implied for now wasn't necessary. "Besides, I don't think they'd let him in the army if he had epilepsy."
"He could have hidden it," Peggy said. Gesturing to Barnes, she said, "It would be difficult to tell there was anything wrong if he simply got...distant every so often. He might not even know he has it."
Monty was shaking his head. "I'm confident this is a consequence of Krausberg."
"Could have been exasperated by Krausberg," Frenchie suggested.
They all watched tremors build in Barnes's hands. Dugan jumped when the hands clenched to fists.
"Woah," Barnes said. He blinked at all of them. "Think I drank too muc—Jesus! Carter, what're you — Jesus, Carter, I'm naked!"
Laughter overtook the entire room. Even Peggy's eyes were tearing up.
"Since when do you care about modesty, Sarge?" Jim shouted. He dissolved into laughter a moment later.
"Since I'm drunk!" He smiled a little, calming down. "And since a da—a lady—an agent like Carter's here!"
"Believe me when I say I haven't seen anything worth gossiping about."
God, Barnes went red. The others laughed all the harder.
"For all your talk about soldiers, you're worse than any of us, Peggy!" Dugan said.
The fact that she looked flattered made the whole situation that much better. Monty was holding Jim upright so he didn't slide off the bunk and onto the floor; he was laughing that much.
"The captain's much more impressive to look at, I'm sure," Monty said. His timing was impeccable.
Peggy didn't go red like Barnes, but there was definitely a colour change in her cheeks.
When it all died down, Barnes said, "What's goin' on here anyway?"
"You," Peggy said.
"Me?"
"Your seizures, Sarge," Jim said. There were still loose tears of mirth on his cheeks.
Barnes's face went red again, but the reasons were dramatically different. "What're you talkin' about?"
"Don't insult our intellect," Monty said.
"I'm not in—seizures?" His eyes were wide, but Dugan thought it might be the alcohol. "Who invented that lie?"
"Sarge," Jim said seriously. "C'mon."
"I've had trouble sleeping. I'm not having seizures."
For the first time since Dugan and Jim had come up with the plan to get Peggy's help, it occurred to Dugan that Barnes might feel betrayed. Maybe this wasn't the best approach, but something had to be done.
"Sarge," Dugan said. He shook his head and did something he hadn't done since their first day at Camp McCoy. He said, "Bucky."
And weren't those the most desperate looking eyes that had ever been turned on Dugan?
"C'mon, man. We all just watched it happen."
Jim slapped Barnes's bare shoulder. "You're not gonna make us admit that we're worried about you out loud, are you?"
Barnes mumbled, "Just did."
"You do have seizures in your sleep," Peggy said.
Barnes looked positively violated. Dugan held back a smile; it really wasn't funny.
Peggy added, "I saw last night. I came to speak with Steve last night while you were there. He doesn't realise they're seizures. Neither did I until now. He thinks you're cold or having dreams about Krausberg."
Even Dugan and his life of hooliganism knew no one would dare make a comment about bad dreams in front of Peggy. It was code.
Barnes looked irritated. "What's the point of talkin' about this? You gonna try to send me home again?"
Peggy shook her head. "No. I've already been threatened for suggesting that."
Dugan nodded when Barnes looked to him for confirmation. Hopefully it made up for the betrayal earlier.
"And?" Barnes said.
"They suggested medication."
Vehemently, Barnes shook his head. "No way. I'm not — when I feel like that —"
"How's it any different from how drunk you are now?" Gabe said.
"And how hopped up you were on coffee earlier?" Jim tacked on.
Barnes kept shaking his head. "Wasn't on a battlefield any of those times. You drug me in the field and I'll fall asleep when I'm supposed to be sniping."
"At least you'll be getting some sleep," Dugan said.
"It'll cost one of you your lives," Barnes said. "No. Absolutely not."
"A chance we are willing to take," Frenchie said casually. "If nothing is done, it will cost us your life. Every one of us agree that that is not an acceptable cost."
"Then no one will have a sniper watching their back," Dugan said.
The alcohol was doing its job; it was already clear that Barnes was going to cave.
Maybe Peggy didn't know Barnes enough to pick up on that fact, or maybe she just wanted to lay it on thick. She said, "I'm certain Steve would prefer to have you medicated than having seizures in the field. That would give him a terrible fright, don't you think? The things he would do to try to protect you during an attack would make your hair curl."
A little grin cracked Barnes's face. "Carter, my hair's been curlin' since 1925." A sigh. "What exactly d'you have in mind?"
Dugan wished he knew about Rogers sooner. Sure, Barnes never shut up about the guy since day one of boot camp, but never would Dugan had thought it would be so easy to manipulate Barnes.
"I'm not sure quite yet," Peggy said. "I've an idea, but I'll need a few days to make arrangements. This'll all be off the record book, of course. No paperwork."
"Thanks, Pegs," Jim said.
Dugan and the rest nodded and murmured their gratitude — except for Barnes. He just looked apprehensive. Well, as apprehensive as a drunken man could look.
"I'm not taking anything from Stark," he said.
Peggy said, "Of course not. Nothing experimental. That was the last thing on my mind." She looked thoughtful and added, "The dosage might be tricky since you won't consent to getting an actual recommendation from a proper doctor?"
Barnes made a gesture that affirmed that statement.
"Might take some time for your body to get used to it, if the dose is too high."
"Great," Barnes said drily — again, as dry as a drunken person could be.
"We'll have to get you sorted before you all ship out for France. The hardest — and most foolish — part will be hiding it from Steve."
Dugan nodded his head at the truth of that statement. Would battlefields be enough to distract Captain America from the fact that his best friend was drugged? Maybe, Dugan thought, it had gone this far without him noticing.
"We'll be fine on that front," Jim said. "Guy's dumb as rocks."
"Dumber than that," Barnes said flatly.
Peggy smiled and said, "Expect to hear from me by the end of the week. I've got to invent a reason to go out to a proper hospital." The look she gave Barnes seemed very private. "Hang in there until then. And I want you all to know, officially and on the record, that I think Steve should be made aware of this. You shouldn't keep secrets from him, especially not like this. I don't want to keep things from him, but I'll keep this."
Barnes nodded and blinked a lot. Deliberately, he swallowed. He said, "I'm drunk. None of this counts in the morning."
"Oh, it counts, Jimmy," Dugan said. "Just 'cause it sucks doesn't mean it doesn't count."
Barnes groaned and flopped back on his bunk.
"What about your modesty?" Gabe said.
Lifelessly, Barnes pulled a blanket over his chest and face. "I'm gonna be sick for a million reasons tomorrow morning."
Jim patted his shoulder. "So will all of us."
Peggy cleared her throat. "If that's all, I think I'd better be going."
Everyone but Barnes said thank you and wished her a good night. They were all asleep in short order.
Overall, Dugan thought, not bad.
Note: Dialogue city, amirite?