As promised, here's another chapter for today! I hope you all like it! :)) No trigger warnings for this one!
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything Marvel.
Chapter IV
The Louvre, France, 1937.
Over the course of her life, Lucy found very few things took her breath away. After studying so many beautiful pieces of art throughout her university days, she thought she had seen everything there was to see.
But standing at the foot of Winged Victory of Samothrace in the Louvre, she could only gasp. It was like she could hardly breathe while looking at it, being so completely still that it was almost as if she were a statue herself.
Seeing pictures was one thing, but standing in Nike's wake of beauty in person was another. She stood there, in a red polka dotted dress that wrapped carefully around her waist and black high heels. Her lips were painted crimson, and her dark hair was in tight finger curls cascading down her back and pulled back from her face.
She stood there and could only stare. She wasn't sure how long she had been there, but she knew she could spend eons at that moment and it still wouldn't be enough.
The room, although bustling with people seemed empty to her. The echo of voices was drawn out, and she wondered what human feats had to have been accomplished in order to create a work as marvelous as the sight before her.
Truly, there was no greater accomplishment that building something that lasted thousands of years, and was still appreciated by people all over the globe for its beauty. For a long time, all Lucy wanted to do was make something like that. She wanted to create something that would outlive her and be a statement of the times she lived in.
But alas, she was cursed with only the ability to appreciate art and not be able to create it herself. Captivated by the statute and her fierce yet violent beauty, Lucy failed to recognize another thing of beauty approaching her.
"Amazing, isn't it?" A masculine voice asked her in French. "Victory is a woman."
Lucy turned to see one of the most gorgeous men she had ever witnessed. Towering above her already tall 5'9 frame, Lucy was almost taken back by the creature before her. He stood there in a short sleeved button down white shirt and brown slacks, a matching brown belt and shoes. He had dark sandy brown, slicked-back hair and wide-rimmed turtle glass revealing dark chocolate eyes. His strong jawline was covered by dark scruff, making him look like Adonis himself.
Lucy was taken aback for only a moment before she regained her composure, a pink blush crept to the back of her neck. She was never one to get nervous around the opposite sex, but this man before her looked as though he belonged as a piece of art himself.
Lucy replied back in French, "And Liberty and Truth are also women."
He smiled at her before answering, "As is Justice and Dignity."
She chuckled before stating, "You know your mythology, I see."
"As do you. Sorry, I wouldn't usually come up to someone so lost in themselves, but I noticed you standing here for a while."
"I couldn't help it," She breathed out and blushed at his words, looking down, "She's just so beautiful."
"Definitely one of the finest pieces to come out of the Hellenistic Age." He nodded, "I actually have to admit that I came over here to talk to you because I recognize you from one of the lectures I attend."
Her eyebrows raised, "You go to the School of Paris?" How had she never seen him before? Had she had known he was in her lecture, she no doubt would have been able to pay attention to the content.
"I'm doing a PhD. in Classical art history. I'm taking a few courses to freshen up my memory and keep my inspiration. You sit at the front of Dr. Lanier's class, right?"
She smiled wider and nodded, "I do. I'm doing my Master's in archaeology and art history."
His eyebrows raised and he laughed, "You don't say! Archaeology? That's an adventure. Not many women chose to go into that field." As she was about to shoot back at him, assuring she was more than capable to enter the profession as an archaeologist, he surprised her by gesturing to the statue in front of them, "I think our lady Victory here would approve."
Lucy grinned softly, and she watched as he placed his hands in his pockets, almost nervously. He had the kindest eyes she had ever seen, and a smile that reflected a gentle yet fun-loving nature. He was absolutely beautiful, and Lucy was determined to know more about him. Before she could retort back, he stuck his hand out to introduce himself, "Daniel Réhal,"
She took his hand in hers, and she was surprised by the softness of his skin. She shook it firmly and said back, "Lucy Heinrich."
"German?" He asked her with his eyebrows raised, "I could have sworn you were French. You speak it so well!"
She chuckled, "My father was German. We moved to New York when I was three years old."
"German and American? Interesting. What brings you to Paris?" He inquired, clearly very interested in her life. He had an attentiveness about the way he listened to her, as though he was processing each word she said and genuinely wanted to know more.
"Well, after I finished my degree at Columbia, I thought why not go study art in one of the most artistic cities in the world? I moved here a few weeks after graduation. I haven't been back to the United States since."
"And how do you find Paris so far?" His eyes locked with her, and there was only one word that Lucy could use to describe the moment that followed:
"Enchanting." Was all she answered with.
Daniel smiled again, the corners of his pink lips turning up and he asked her a simple question, "Well, Lucy Heinrich, I would love to get your take on a few more pieces if you wouldn't mind accompanying me throughout the rest of the museum?"
She couldn't help but grin even wider, absolutely charmed by him, "It would be my pleasure, Daniel Réhal."
He extended his arm for her to take it; her heart fluttered in her chest. She knew in that very moment that what they had was special, and form of connection that she had never experienced before. Before they continued on, she couldn't help but notice something around his neck. A glimmer caught her eye and resting between the top button his shirt revealed a small object.
It was a silver Star of David.
London, England, 1942.
There had been a couple times where Bucky Barnes had been positive he was going to die. Once when he was twelve he had pneumonia so badly that he figured it would be the end. This is it, he remembered thinking as he laid in his small twin bed. This is how I go.
He remembered being cooped up for days, and how his mother fussed over him with a damp cloth, patting his sweaty forehead as concern reflected on her tired face. And despite his poor immune system, good ole' Steve Rogers was there by his bedside every second. That boy was more loyal than anyone else he had ever met.
Of course, the idiot caught pneumonia right after him and nearly had a run-in with death as well. But the point was that he was there for Bucky when none of his other friends were.
The second time Bucky thought he was going to die also involved Steve. There had been a couple broads at a pub they were at being heckled by their boyfriends. Bucky minded his own business, drinking a cheap beer at the bar. But Steve Rogers and his damning sense of honour was much too involved in the argument. He kept listening to what they were bickering about, stretching his skinny neck to overhear whether or not if one of the lady's needed someone to intervene.
Steve had a moral compass always pointing North. While most found it annoying, Bucky found it was one of the things he liked best about his old friend. Call it what you will, but Bucky figured keeping Steve around made him a better person in the long run. But goddamn that kid had a nose for trouble.
The moment the couple went outside, Bucky knew how the night would end up. The boyfriend backhanded his girlfriend on the street, causing her to call out in pain. Bucky remembered wanting to tell him to leave it. Don't get involved, he tried to tell him, but Steve was on his feet before he even got the words out. He ran out the door to the lady's aid like a 95 pound, 5'4, knight in shining armour.
Sighing and knowing both of them were about to get their asses handed to them, Bucky threw a couple bucks on the bar to settle his tab. He knew he'd be too busy watching imaginary birds chirping around his head afterward to pay the bartender. Chugging the rest of his drink for liquid courage as he watched the guy grab Steve by the shirt collar and wind up a punch, Bucky finished his beer and slammed his pint down before rushing out to stick up for his pain-in-the-ass best friend.
He and Steve really had it handed to them that night. As it turned out, the guy had friends in the bar. And there were lots of them. Bucky remembered struggling to stand as he was punched over and over, reminding himself to let Steve know how much he hated him after the beating they were getting doled out finished up.
It wasn't until he shoved the guy off of him and punched him square in the jaw that Bucky knew he was in trouble. He felt a bottle break over his head, and after feeling the warmth of blood rush down his face he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
After that was a blur. There was only darkness and pain following that. He woke up in the hospital with stitches and a pounding headache, hardly remembering what happened the night before.
What he did know though, was the girl he and Steve rescued was by his bedside when he woke up, blushing madly and thanking him. Meanwhile, in the hospital bed one down from him, Steve was completely ignored.
He could almost hear Steve's voice at that moment, chuckling as they limped out of the hospital together all bruised and battered. "I've never felt so ignored! It's like what am I? Chopped liver?" Steve laughed as they walked out together. Bucky knew it was hard on him always being the little guy and going unthanked for all he did. And although he made wisecracks about it, Bucky knew Steve wasn't looking for thanks or recognition. He did it because it was the right thing to do.
The third time Bucky thought he was about to die was the only time Steve wasn't involved, and it was in that very moment.
Bucky wasn't sure if he could die from a hangover, but hell, it sure felt like it. He felt like death and was positive those were his final moments.
With basics finishing up the day before and two days left of being a free man before shipping out to Italy, he and a couple fellas decided to paint the town red.
And boy, was it a mistake. Reeking of whiskey, Bucky rolled over in the bed he was laying in. Feeling a wave of nausea settle over him, he groaned and covered his eyes with the crook of us his arm as the sunlight leaked in from the curtained windows.
Sighing, he attempted to choke back some of the vomit rising in his throat and try to sleep a little longer. He could hear cars drive by the window and hear the hustle and bustle of the city on a Saturday morning. For a blissful moment, he thought he was back in Brooklyn. Thinking he had to get ready to wake up and go catch a Dodgers game with Steve, Bucky groaned thinking of the long day ahead of him.
Then something hit him. He wasn't in New York; He was in London.
Jolting awake, Bucky realized he wasn't in the military barracks like he was supposed to be. Instead, he was in a small room, in a small bed, absolutely as naked as the day he was born.
Wearing only his dog tags, Bucky tried to recount just how exactly got to where he was currently, and how he got into this particular state. He sat up in the bed and looked around, only noticing at that moment that the shower was running.
And shit, it just turned off. Having absolutely no recollection of the night before, he felt uneasy with the fact he had gotten so drunk and had no idea where he was and how he got there.
Pushing the blankets back and having the cold air hit him, Bucky rushed to find his uniform. Pieces of it were strewn about the floor, and suddenly he had flashbacks of how it ended up there. He recalled arriving in that very room the night and madly kissing an attractive blonde before having his uniform ripped off rather roughly and thrown onto the floor.
He wasn't usually the type of guy to go home with random girls. Steve would always give him disapproving looks whenever he tried to leave with one. It wasn't usually his own sake but for the dames' instead. And deep down, as much as Bucky didn't want to admit it, he knew Steve was right. Steve was always going on about waiting for the right partner and all that crap that Bucky never really bought into.
But this time Steve was right. This type of behaviour was not gentlemanly, and he was sure his good Catholic mother would have given him a swift hit on the back of the head should she ever learned of his actions. But he was going off to war in a few days and knew it would be several months and possibly years before feeling the touch of a woman again. And as it turned out, the gals in London were also feeling the absence of their men. Bucky quickly discovered that girls loved a man in uniform. To put it bluntly, they were willing to do just about anything to ensure the guys were well taken care of before heading off to battle.
At least there was one good thing that would come out of this war, he thought bitterly as he found his shirt crumpled on the floor.
Throwing on his undershirt and then quickly buttoning everything up, he scrambled to find his boxers and pants. The bathroom door opened as he finished up the last button, and a petite blonde exited out of the room and made a gasped in surprise at the sight of him. Bucky was caught like a deer in headlights, standing completely still and pursing his lips together as the woman stood there in nothing but a towel. She chuckled as she looked over his body once and leaned against the door frame, saying in a sultry tone, "Well hello there, soldier."
The overwhelming urge to vomit came racing back to him. For that very brief moment of not realizing where he was and panicking Bucky almost forgot he was hungover.
And goddammit, why couldn't he remember the woman's name? From where he was he could almost hear Steve's disapproving tone.
"Umm, hi." Was all he could lamely say. But what more was there to say to a woman he couldn't remember having intercourse with the night prior and being caught trying to sneak out and being dressed from only the top down?
She laughed, throwing her head back as she did so. He remembered that the melodic sound of it was what made him attracted to her in the first place the night before. "I must say," Her accent was something he had grown accustomed to hearing over the last few days, but hearing it now reminded him how far away from home he was. What he would give to be back there, heading to that Dodgers game he thought he had to make it to before coming to his senses that morning. "You were far more articulate with your words last night." She bit her lip flirtatiously, almost causing Bucky to forget what he was doing and go with the ache deep in stomach telling him to try to convince her to get back into bed. She smirked at him again before playing with a lock of her damp blonde hair, "I must say though, I've never experienced a man who was quite as good with his tongue as you were last night."
Bucky exhumed a long breath and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "That's quite the compliment." As he stood there and thought about it he knew the ache developing in his stomach wasn't from desire. It was from the good, old fashioned whiskey he had downed the night previously that was causing a rotting feeling to develop deep in his belly.
She only hummed before saying softly "You are most welcome." He watched as the woman bent down on the other side of the bed and grabbed his pants and boxers, handing them to him. God, he wished he could remember her name.
What was it? Marie? Mary? He was pretty sure it was Mary. "Thanks, Mar—..." he trailed off, looking at her as she began to frown and he raised an eyebrow, "Mare—,"
"Margery!" She snapped at him and Bucky quickly threw his boxers on before mentally kicking himself.
"Margery!" He quickly snapped his fingers as he said her name before she could finish so it would seem like he knew what it was all along "I was going to say Margery!" He put on his pants as fast as he possibly could.
She only rolled her eyes and shoved his socks, boots, and jacket at him as he did the belt up on his pants. "You bloody flyboys are all the same," Her tone wasn't happy, that much he could tell. But why was she calling him a flyboy? He wasn't in the Air Force... Unless...? Wanting to groan even more, he remembered how the red-haired Private from his barrack he had been with the night before had told a group of dames that they were both in the Air Force. Before meeting them, the Private (who's name was Campbell) had told Bucky a theory he had that he could get any girl to get into bed with them if they told them they were pilots. And although Bucky wasn't fond of the idea of lying to a girl to get her to sleep with him, after a few drinks he wasn't protesting.
"Hey listen, I am so so sorry—," Bucky began to explain as she pushed him out the door of her apartment and into the hallway. She was still clad in a towel, looking red in the face from anger. He had his boots and tie in hand, and he was shoved in the hall in only his socks and with the clothes he had put on sloppily.
"Yeah, yeah, save it!" She didn't want him wasting his breath on an apology he didn't mean.
Slamming the door in his face, Bucky has really only been this ashamed of his actions a few times before. This is why he needed Steve, he realized. To be his voice of reason and tell him the difference between right and wrong.
But why was he such a shit person that he couldn't even tell the difference himself? He should be able to determine these things on his own. One would think that all those years of going to Sunday school would have added up to something but really he was fooling himself.
Sighing and taking a shaky breath before closing his eyes in annoyance, Bucky tried not to think of the poor choices he made. Inhaling deeply and trying not to both physically and emotionally feel worse than he already did, he frowned when he looked down and noticed something was missing.
If he wasn't kicking himself before, he sure was now. Knocking on the door softly, Bucky presses his forehead against the wood before calling out remorsefully, "Hey uhhh, Mary? I um, I forgot my hat. Could you just throw it out here, please? Sorry again."
He could hear distinct shuffling behind the door before it opened. She looked at him in a rage before throwing the hat down the hall. Furiously she roared, unable to keep her decorum of properness around the infuriating man any longer. "It's Margery!" The door slammed loudly in his face, causing him to wince.
"I knew that this time!" He called out, once again placing his forehead against the wood of the door. "Sorry!" Bucky yelled, ashamed.
He faced away from the door and murmured another soft sorry under his breath.
As he put on his boots and then did up his tie and fastened his jacket, he wondered just how the events of last night lead to that morning's fiasco. He wasn't the type of guy to sleep with a girl and forget her name the next morning. He was the type of guy to kiss a girl and forget her the next morning sure, but what he did that day crossed a line and lacked class.
Normally when he ended up in bed with a lady, it took at least a month or two to forget who she was. And even then that was bad by his standards, and Steve made of known just how he felt on that whole situation.
Never before had Bucky Barnes acted so abhorrently. He thought that without Steve he would be given some freedom at last, to be able to do what he wanted without getting lectured afterward. But after all this, maybe that was actually what he needed. Bucky came to the conclusion he didn't like himself very much without Steve.
But Bucky soon realized that perhaps he was acting this way because he missed home, and he felt guilty about leaving his best friend behind to collect scrap metal when all he wanted to be was in the action. If Steve were here he wouldn't even have to give a lecture. Bucky was already giving himself a much harsher one, thinking that maybe all the lessons that his mother and Steve always gave him actually was beginning to rub off on him.
Finishing up the buttons of his jacket, Bucky walked down the hall to pick his uniform hat up off the floor. Brushing it off with his hand and getting some of the dirt off the fabric, he placed it on top of his head.
Nausea returned once more when he left the building and entered into the London street. He always expected London (which was a big city) to have a similar smell to New York. It didn't though, and the entire place smelled like a mix of dirty water and factory smoke, the later clearly coming from all the places making gear for the war.
He tucked his hands in his pockets as he tried to remember how to get back to base from where he was. He barely had any recollection from the night previously except the small interaction he had with Private Campbell and then running into another man by the name of Timothy Dugan who he had met on board The Odyssey on the way over. Dugan, who went by 'Dum Dum' for some reason unbeknownst to Bucky at the time, had told him he would buy the next round of drinks if anyone could out drink him. Feeling up to the challenge, Bucky agreed and clearly, this morning regretted that decision.
The Boston native drank him under the table but bought him and his company the round regardless. It was then they got to talking about London and their experience so far in the barracks. As it turned out Dum Dum was apart of Bucky's infantry and was in the next barrack to him. At the pub, they had begun discussing the little differences between London and home, and what each of them had heard about it.
The Brit's has been at war for nearly four long years. Most of the men who came back were injured and defeated, while new men replaced them every day with the draft. Most of the men who couldn't serve were bitter about the American's late arrivals, and Bucky had even heard one of the bartenders call the American soldiers in the pub 'over sexed-up Yanks' at one point.
Dum Dum laughed when he heard that. And only clapped Bucky on the back before yelling "Well it's true, ain't it Sarg?"
He then proceeded to tell him how London wasn't all bad. He liked the rain, as it turns out. The fact it was getting warm also helped. "The dames are pretty enough," Dum Dum noted, "But goddamn the coffee is bad here."
"Try the tea!" A man said coming up behind him, also in uniform. Bucky didn't catch his name, but he continued drinking with them for most of the night, "Much better than the shit cups of joe they make. Doesn't wake you up as much though."
The more they spoke, the more Bucky realized how different London was compared to home. It was clear people were fed up with the war, and the Blitz had massively impacted the city.
By the time the Americans arrived, the bombing had mostly stopped but drills still took place. Bucky has been fortunate enough to not have had to take place in a drill yet, but when he mentioned that Dum Dum only laughed. "Fortunate? I'd say that's unfortunate if you ask me! Do you know how many fellas I've spoken to who've described what it's like the be in a bomb shelter with a lady they fancy? Things can get pretty cozy in there pretty quickly if you'd ask me." He chuckled, "But not for me. Nah, I got a real nice gal back home. She's one hell of a cook, let me tell ya! I told her we'd get married if I get back in one piece, but that doesn't mean I can't live vicariously through others. What about you? You got a lady?"
Bucky shook his head, "Nope," He popped the 'p' at the end. "No one special. Haven't met the right dame to make me want to settle down yet. Brooklyn's filled with too many possibilities, it's too hard to commit to just one person." He said before taking a sip of his drink. At that point, Bucky was well past the point of intoxication, and in hindsight, he should have stopped drinking before he reached to that point.
"I hear you there." Dum Dum said, "It's strange coming here and seeing so many gals desperate for male attention. Almost makes me wish I didn't have to old ball and chain back at home... But if I didn't, I don't know what I'd do here. It's nice having something back in the States that's home, you know?"
Bucky didn't know the feeling. He always thought the home was a place to rest your head, not a person. At 27, he knew he should probably start looking for a partner to shack up with. But he wasn't ready, and if he was being honest with himself he wasn't sure if he really ever would be.
But the blonde across the pub was giving him eyes. Smirking, he turned back to his drink and finished it quickly. He resumed his conversation with Dum Dum, "Never really gave it that much thought." He admitted.
"Well, then let's hope for some kinda drill to happen then." The larger man chuckled, "Who knows, guys go off to war and find ladies all the time. And even if you don't, it doesn't hurt to have some fun once in a while, right?"
No, it did not, Bucky thought as he got another drink and turned his attention back to the woman who continued to glance in his direction. Bucky has always found it easy to get a girl's attention. He had never really had to peruse anyone for too long since eventually they usually reciprocated his attraction. He had only even had one long term girlfriend, and it had ended fairly poorly. Their break up was less than amicable, and since then Bucky had found it difficult trying to find a connection with a woman like the one he had with Caroline.
Taking a swing of his whiskey and having the liquid burn his throat on the way down, he had a grin on his face as he leaned against the bar and focused back on the blonde. Dum Dum's gaze fell where Bucky's was and he laughed, "Hell, do you even need a bombing drill to get close to a lady?"
Bucky only clicked his tongue and said slyly, "No, I do not." His smirk didn't leave his face. The blonde, although talking to her friends, kept catching his eye.
"You know, in order to get a date you actually gotta go up and talk to her." Dum Dum only watched the two, wondering why Bucky didn't make a move.
"Just wait." He told him and swallowed down more of his drink. The blonde smiled and Bucky gave her a wink. He knew she'd come to him eventually and apparently that's all it took. Private Campbell joined them and started talking a big game, and the next thing Bucky knew was the blonde was coming over and chatting him up.
After a while she made her intentions clear, shifting her weight on her heel and putting a hand in her hip before smirking, "So, you coming home with me or what?" She eventually asked.
Bucky replied with a definitely and then settled his tab. He overheard Dum Dum ask just how he managed to do that, to have a woman not only come up to him first but also invite him over to her place. Campbell only laughed, and Bucky was following the girl out after telling the guys so long.
Bucky should have never left the pub. He should have stayed where he was, drank some water, and then head straight to bed. But instead, he followed home a woman he didn't know to gain a night of action, and he was sorely paying for it that morning.
Not only did he feel bad for his behavior, but it was finally the one sunny day they had since arriving in London. He wished he had his pair of aviators on him since the brightness was only making his pounding headache worse.
Breathing deeply through his nose, he tried his best to choke down the feeling of getting sick. All the unusual smells were making his stomach turn more; he swore to himself to never drink that much again.
Although the air was cold, sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he walked. He thought to try to get a cab but wasn't sure how exactly to hail one outside of New York. He also hadn't necessarily seen one driving on the street yet either, which posed another problem.
The fresh air was probably good for him though. And although he stopped a few times by alleys when he was positive he was going to throw up. He managed to keep it down, although it would have likely been best if he did end up getting sick to rid his body of the alcohol.
Knowing he was going to ship out the following day, Bucky really wished he wasn't hungover. He typically never drank that much, since he had to end up looking after Steve after three drinks was too much for the small man. There were a few times where the roles had been reversed though, and Steve was there as Bucky's head usually ended up in a toilet. But never before had he been as hungover as he was in that moment. He wasn't sure what it was, and maybe it was just the pressure of going off the war and trying to enjoy his last night without someone shooting at him, but Bucky wished he could do it all over again. But this time he wanted to do it right.
He wouldn't have drunk so much, and he wouldn't have gone home with Margery. Instead, he would have stayed with his friends and then the next morning actually woke up without feeling ill to explore around London. It was a missed opportunity, and possibly one he may not ever have the chance to do again.
He never thought he was a bad guy. After all, he had lots of friends, and if Steve thought he was good enough to keep around then that must have counted for something. But Bucky was still ashamed and displeased with himself. And as he stumbled down the London streets, still struggling to breathe from his pounding head and twisted stomach, he swore to himself one thing. He swore he would be better. If he survived this war and managed to keep most of his sanity, he'd go back to New York. He'd find a decent job and an even more decent girl and actually make something of himself. No more getting piss drunk and going home with strangers. It was time he grew up, he thought. It was time to grow up and get his shit together like Dum Dum and some of the other guys. No more goofing around, and no more funny business. He was in the military, and he had a job to do. It was time to give up his antics and actually make not only his family proud, but also himself.
But the thing about growing up was that it didn't just happen. Almost always it was forced, and war had a funny tendency of turning boys into men. Little did he know it at the moment, but he would end doing a lot more growing up than he wanted. Innocence would be stripped away, and there would be no going back to his old way of life.
So Bucky finally makes his appearance and he's gone about getting himself in a bit of trouble. I'm not sure if I did a decent job writing him, but at least I tried. I tried to make him a little more mischievous than what we see in the Cap movies/Avengers.
Since I've uploaded 4 chapters in the last two days I likely won't release any more for a couple more days. I try to write a couple ahead before I publish just so I can stay ahead of the story and not leave it sitting for a long period of time.
- Amelia
