Thank you to the guest who reviewed, and also all those who followed and favourited! It means a lot and it is very encouraging! Sorry for updating this a bit late, but it took me a little to decide where I wanted to go with this one. It's another filler chapter, but it's setting the stage for everything that's to come. Also, I'm using the doc manager from the FF app to upload this one! I'm trying to get used to it before I go traveling for the rest of the summer so I can still update :)) Sorry if there are some formatting problems due to that.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Marvel.
Trigger Warning: Themes of racism/racial slurs
Chapter VIII
Italy, 1942
Bucky wished he could go back to the times where he had been positive he was going to die only three times.
Now it was more times than he could even count. At that point, it wasn't even worth keeping score. After moving in from Sicily and doing the patrol where he had seen his first look at death, they had begun to march on Calabria.
Since Lewinski had died no one had brought up how bored they were, even if that was how they felt. He was the first to go from the bunch of guys that Bucky had gone through training with. So far, the rest of them had been lucky but Bucky knew that in war there were no guarantees.
Bucky had found settling into the role of Sergeant went over smoothly. It was something he was nervous about prior to his arrival and it gave him quite a bit of anxiety. He had been awarded the title while at basics after he had proved that not only was he skilled, but also a committed and natural born leader.
Bucky had been able to convince just about anyone of anything since the day he grew baby teeth. He was naturally likable and charismatic, something that most high ranking military officers needed in order to inspire the men below them to fight. He also had a good sense of right and wrong which was also a bonus, he supposed. Although, he didn't think anyone could ever have the moral judgment that Steve Rogers had.
Bucky recalled his earliest case of putting his silver tongue to good use was back in the fourth grade. At that point, most of the boys had begun to hit a growth spurt. Bucky had seemed to sprout up almost six inches one night, and his mother was constantly having to sew him new clothing or make him new sweaters. She said if he didn't eat so damn much she wouldn't have such a problem keeping up with all the growing. But he and the other boys in the neighborhood seemed to have a hollow leg, which all resulted in them growing around the same time. Bucky remembered his mother sitting with George Caraway's mom one day and sipping lemonade, the both of them discussing how much their sons were growing and how they were developing into young men and would soon have to take on more responsibilities. Bucky had always had a lot of responsibilities though, even before he had grown up. His father had passed away shortly after his second sister was born, and it resulted in Bucky being the man of the house.
As he was growing, he noticed nearly all the guys in his school were going through a similar experience. Of course, Steve was the only exception. He was still tiny and skinny, and though he ate more than Bucky and a couple other guys combined, the kid still stayed small.
There had been one boy who was always a bit of a bully to Steve. He never gave Bucky a hard time, since he managed to fit in with just about everyone. But Steve struggled a little more with that kind of stuff, and he would rather go off a draw than play ball or chase the other kids around. Part of the reason was that his lungs were shit and the kid couldn't run to save his damn life, but the other half of it was because the other's had never been the nicest to him. He was made fun of a lot, and Steve had a hard time connecting with people his own age.
Bucky recalled how one day, a bully by the name of Joe Garbacky had begun teasing Steve about his small composure and tiny stature. He called him unflattering nicknames, like 'Skinny Steve' and 'Steve the Baby' and would kick his feet out underneath him so he would trip. Steve would pretend it didn't bother him, but Bucky knew deep down he was insecure about his looks and how much smaller he was than everyone else in his class.
It didn't take Bucky too long to realize he had a special talent of convincing people of things. It wasn't until they went to school one day and Joe Garbacky was suddenly hearing his name being murmured that he knew something was up.
Due to his unflattering nicknames he had given Steve, Bucky had convinced everyone that Garbacky had breastfed until he was seven. It seemed fitting, given the fact Joe had come up with something equally degrading for Steve. Bucky's rumour spread like a wildfire, and suddenly no one was making crying noises at Steve or calling him a baby. Instead, they were teasing Joe, and he had gotten exactly what he deserved.
Since then, Bucky had realized he could use his skill for other things. None of it was usually for good though, and he was sure that if he ever had the desire to he would make a pretty decent politician. Once or twice it had come in handy for getting a girl to go out with him, but never before did he think he would be using it for the military and convincing guys to do things that could cost their lives.
It wasn't until they had made some progress on taking a town that Bucky knew this job wasn't something to be taken lightly. He had known it was a large responsibility since the beginning, and if he was being honest with himself, he was scared.
There was once or twice in training Bucky had even purposely sabotaged his performance. He had never been the type of person to want people to follow him blindly, and now that there was so much at stake he wasn't sure he would be up to it.
His superior's had begun to take notice of his performance at basics while learning how to fire his weapon. Before that day, Bucky had never even held a gun. Living in Brooklyn, there hadn't been much of an opportunity to go hunting, and regardless, Bucky never liked the idea of killing an innocent animal/
Before Bucky was promoted, Lieutenant Connor's had observed much of the training, watching on with curious eyes at the men. Captain McCormick was also present, worry in his expression as he wondered whether or not this new batch of soldiers would do well.
Bucky remembered how the sun had beat on his back as he loaded his rifle. He listened carefully to the instructions and did exactly what he was told. Most of the guys were excited to be able to finally use their guns, but Bucky wasn't. He had never joined the war to kill people, but to protect them.
He heard some of the other's talking about all the German's they were going to kill. One man who was in his bunk particularly irked him. His name was Gilbert Whitney, and as soon as Bucky had placed his pack on his cot when he first arrived to the training barracks, the larger and cockier man had come up chuckling,
"Slow down there, cowboy." He had a distinctly Southern accent and short, slicked back, black hair, and devilish green eyes which made Bucky immediately feel uneasy. He was likely in the best physical shape than everyone else in the barrack and wasn't shy about flaunting it, trying to prove he was tough.
"Problem?" Bucky raised his eyebrow, looking at the man who just looked like a massive piece of shit. He came from money, that much was obvious. Coming from a family that had always been on the poorer side, Bucky slightly detested the rich. He recalled seeing them in their fancy black cars as they drove down the streets in the middle of the Depression, living comfortably and lavishly despite the hard times. Bucky remembered loathing them for their wealth, especially during a time where his family could barely afford to eat and he was wearing a pair of shoes that were almost two sizes too small because his family couldn't even spare the change for an extra pair. When both he and Steve were thriteen they ended up working at a company that manufactured steel for all the building projects that were getting started. He remembered the look of the man who owned the company, and how he once pulled up in a new suit, after being chauffeured around in his fancy car. Bucky didn't know what the man's name was, only that he owned the company of "Lee's Steel and Manufacturing", and Bucky hated him for his wealth and how he had so much while everyone else had so little.
People with money always had more problems, he found. And they all looked as if the world owed them something. Which is exactly the look Gilbert Whitney had, and within the first few seconds of meeting him, Bucky already knew he hated him.
A man with glasses next to Bucky's bunk looked up and frowned, watching the interaction.
"I'd say so," Whitney began explaining after Bucky asked if there was a problem. He then gestured to Bucky's pack, "That's my cot you've placed your shit on."
"Well," Bucky began and pursed his lips together, annoyed at the man's sense of entitlement. "I don't see your name on it."
"Doesn't have to have my name on it! I already claimed it. So how about you just move your shit elsewhere and we won't have any problems, capisce?"
Bucky only glared at him, wanting to take him down a notch or rebuttal with something witty but the reality was that he just didn't care. He took his sweet time, causing Whitney to give a click and say "Get!" like he was a barn animal.
Bucky filled with anger but he said nothing, only walked over two bunks over and placed his things down. The man with glasses who was unloading a few books only looked at him, "Is this one claimed too?" Bucky asked, obviously annoyed.
"Free as far as my knowledge goes," He said and then extended his hand, "Simon Pym." He looked extremely bookish and didn't seem as though he exactly belonged.
"Bucky Barnes." He shook his hand firmly.
"Don't pay attention to Whitney, the guy's a dick." Pym explained, rolled his eyes, "Got an ego the size of Texas by the looks of it. Sounds like he's from there too. Probably sitting on a fair amount of wealth given his superiority complex." The more he learned about the guy, the more he hated him.
"Where you from, Pym?" Bucky asked, knowing not everyone at the training camp would be from New York.
"Virginia, how about you?"
"Brooklyn," Bucky answered and was about to say something else when everyone's eyes shifted when another man came walking into the barracks. He was wearing the same issued clothes as everyone else, but that wasn't what caught everyone's eye.
He was African American, and clearly nervous as to whether or not he belonged in a barrack with everyone. He shuffled awkwardly, looking around at all who had stopped in their tracks. Bucky had believed that under the Jim Crow laws that the barracks were segregated, but it made no difference to him. He never understood why someone's colour of skin, or their religion, or gender, determined their worth. His mother always told him people were born equal, and Bucky tried to treat all people the same since then.
"Ah, hell no!" Whitney laughed, "Clearly they're just taking everyone they can now! Well, I'll tell you something, I'm not sharing any barrack with a negro!"
"Hey shut your mouth before I shut it for you!" Bucky snapped and everyone looked at him. He suddenly shifted uncomfortably, noticing people were now watching him. The man in the doorway looked grateful for someone intervening, and Bucky nodded to the cot on the other side to him, "This one's empty here." Bucky hated bullies, and he especially hated when people picked on others for things that were out of their control. He had been standing up against bullies his entire life, and Gilbert Whitney was no different from the rest of them.
Whitney glared at Bucky and then pointed at him, warning, "You better watch yourself!"
Bucky paid no attention to him, he only focused on the newcomer who was looking even more out of place and nervous than the rest of them. "Thanks," He said as he put his stuff down, his eyes shifting uncomfortably.
"Bucky Barnes, and this is Simon Pym," Bucky introduced himself and shook the man's hand. He smiled back and also introduced himself.
"Gabe Jones," He said and began unpacking some of his things, he turned to Bucky and then gestured to Whitney, who was still giving them death glares, "You know you didn't have to do that. He's got it out for you now. Besides, I'm used to stuck-up rich boys yelling slurs at me."
Bucky nodded, "I know, I wanted to. No one should speak to someone like that. And besides, we're all a team now aren't we?"
Gabe smiler again and nodded, "Whitest team I've ever belonged to, but yeah." It was obvious he was already beginning to feel more comfortable, knowing at least there were a few people willing to stick up for him.
"Hey," Another man came up to them, nodding and had a big smile directed at Gabe, "We're not all white." He was clearly of Native American descent, with dark brown eyes and the blackest hair Bucky had ever seen. "Abraham Anderson." He said and shook all their hands.
"Anderson? Your pops white or something?" Gabe asked him curiously.
The man scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, "I did have a Native family name, but they made me change it when I joined up." He had been made to cut his long, black hair as well and the new shortness of it still surprised him.
"What your real name?" Bucky asked.
"Well everyone calls me Abe since my first name is too long. The nuns hated it at the school I went to, so they called me Abraham. But my family name is Goodluck." He explained.
"Goodluck? Get out of here! Why the hell didn't they let you keep that? That's the best name to have going into a war!" Simon Pym said excitedly.
Gabe only scoffed and then said, "They make you change that but they let this fool here walk around calling himself 'Bucky'? That's not right."
"Hey!" Bucky frowned, offended but couldn't help but crack a small smile, "It's a nickname!"
"Why would you willingly go by Bucky?" Abe asked, laughing.
"Better than James Buchanan!" He laughed, "If I went by that someone might mistake me for being some rich snob."
"Like him?" Gabe gestured over to where Gilbert Whitney was sitting, carefully clipping his nails. They were lucky he didn't overhear them.
Moments later, after they had attracted more people to their circle, Bucky had begun to get a real feel for the other guys in his barracks. A few were unimpressionable, but Simon Pym, Gabe Jones, and Abe 'Goodluck' Anderson, and Rob Lewinski all made Bucky feel more comfortable with going off to war. Realistically, he knew some of them wouldn't make it home, but he would try not to think about that.
The thought of leading so many good guys into battle and making a mistake terrified him. It's why when it came to shooting drills a week or so later, Bucky found himself holding back.
After his first shot had completely missed the bullseye board they were shooting at, Bucky adjusted his grip. No one besides Abe Anderson had managed to clip to the board, and it was due to him hunting his entire life.
Bucky remembered breathing in deeply and focusing. Squinting, he inhaled and exhaled and tried to fixate in his target. His gun was lodged into his shoulder tightly, and he thought of the song his mother used to sing him whenever he was anxious as a child. Downing out all the noise, Bucky exhaled again and released the trigger.
The bullet hit the target square in the centre. He looked up in shock, as did everyone else. Even Abe Anderson had only managed to get it a little off to the side, missing the centre target by a few inches.
"Holy shit," Simon Pym said beside him, "You just told me you've never even held a gun before."
"I haven't," Bucky promised, looking equally as confused as everyone else was.
"Can you do it again?" Simon asked, watching intently.
Bucky shrugged and placed his rifle back in its spot in his shoulder. He took another deep breath before closing one eye and pulling the trigger yet again.
He got the corner of the centre, and he was shocked he actually hit the target again. "Guess it was just beginners luck." He sighed before doing it once more. This time, he hit the centre again. Pulling away from his gun and making sure he actually got it and Bucky was shocked.
"Then you're the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever met," Simon said, amazed, "Maybe we should start calling you Goodluck instead of Abe over there?"
Bucky didn't say anything, he only fired again, and it was slightly off centre but still hit the target. Firing three more times, he didn't miss. Lieutenant Conway came up to him, "You ever fire one of those, private?"
Bucky shook his head, "No, Sir, I've never even held one before two days ago," They had to make sure they were comfortable carrying their weapon and also dismantling it and taking care of it.
"Interesting, what's your name?" He observed, looking at him curiously
Bucky stood up straight and then saluted, "Private James Barnes, Sir!"
"Well done Private Barnes, keep up the good work." Bucky could feel Whitney's eyes staring daggers into his back and Bucky smirked, a feeling of satisfaction welled up inside him.
He had overall done well in every single exercise. His problem-solving skills, physical ability, and well as his mental capability also played a role in him making sergeant. It also helped that he was now in higher rank than Gilbert Whitney, and the man couldn't speak down to him. Although, Bucky often heard him mumbling under his breath in an annoyed fashion. According to some of the other guys, Whitney liked to question his authority behind his back but Bucky didn't let it bother him too much.
Before Bucky had made Sargent it bothered him how often Gabe Jones was taken away from the exercises to go do other duties. Due to his race, he often was stuck doing the mundane tasks of having kitchen duties. There was even talk of making him a cook, but Bucky had intervened and petitioned to Lieutenant Conway that his talents were better to put to use elsewhere. Jones, although slightly annoyed that he was taken away from the safety of the kitchen duties, was happy that Bucky valued him as apart of his battalion.
He still struggled with the new authority, and after Lewinski died, Bucky wondered if the Captain had made the right choice. Too many times Bucky had questioned his leadership role and wished nothing more than for Steve to be there. Steve would have made a better leader than him, he realized. Not only was he brave and selfless, but he put others before him and prioritized other's wellbeing.
Bucky wasn't sure he could say the same. He wanted nothing more than to say that, but he wasn't the perfect soldier as Steve Rogers would have been if he had been born a little bigger.
However, when he did do something good he was proud. Capturing a small town outside of Calabria with the help of the rest of the 107th was more rewarding than he let on. No one from his barracks got injured, which he deemed a success, and now that they gained ground a camp base could be set up outside the town in order to wait for reinforcements. While there, he had managed to run into the familiar face of Dum Dum Dugan, who also helped out with the taking of the town.
After Lewinski died they hadn't seen each other much, but he found Dum Dum's usually chipper attitude wore off on Bucky. He realized that while at war it was the little things that mattered, and even something as small as hearing one of Dum Dum's bad jokes could sometimes turn a shitty day into one that wasn't completely awful.
He knew that Dum Dum also understood what it was like to have the pressure of being a Sargent, and although it wasn't nearly as stressful as having a higher rank he appreciated he had a friend who he could talk to about those types of things.
It was nice knowing he wasn't alone, and that he wasn't the only one who was kept up at night worrying about the well being of his men. It made him at least believe that maybe, just maybe things would be alright in the end.
Italy turned out to be painfully different from Africa, Lucy realized. It was hot, much like Egypt was, but not quite as dry. Instead, it was humid. And instead of sand, it was mud. She missed how the sun was always shining in Egypt, she hated the foggy mornings in Italy. And she hated how eerie it grew at night; there were too many bushes people could hide in.
It took her over a week to get to her new station, and she had to say she wasn't looking forward to it.
Taking a ship over to Italy turned out to be the easiest part, despite keeping awake from Charles' vomiting in the next bunk over. Usually, as a woman, she would stay where ever the nurses quarters were but that trip had been a little different. She and Charles got their own room; complete with two bunks, which she immediately regretted once she realized that not only did he get seasick easily, but he snored like no one else she had ever heard.
She survived the journey though, without a hitch despite hearing of another ship getting sunk by a German U-boat on the way over.
It had taken a few days for her to get to the new post. Everywhere she went, it was like the men had never seen a woman before. Eyes followed her as she road in the front seat of the Jeep with the Sargent that was escorting reinforcements.
She had exchanged her clothing she had been wearing in Egypt for a new type of uniform. When she wasn't wearing a men's standard issued uniform, she was wearing a forest green mechanical jumpsuit. She found one small enough that it fit her frame, and she usually had the sleeves rolled to her elbows. She found it impractical to wear anything else since she usually ended up muddy anyway.
Lucy hated Italy, she concluded. Not only was it somber and depressing, but she knew that however bad things were in Egypt for her, it would get worse here.
It's why when she arrived at base camp with Charles she barely said anything. The truck dropped them off at the entrance, and Lucy couldn't believe just what a mess the entire place was. It might as well been in a bog, she thought for all the mud that was around.
Men slept in foxholes and in tents, lying in the earth like animals. No doubt the trench foot was out of control, and she only hoped that she had been issued good boots.
"They keep looking at us," Charles whispered to Lucy as they walked through the camp. Men stopped and stared in their tracks. Lucy didn't reveal anything in her face, she made sure her aviators were kept on. "Why?"
"Maybe they've never seen a woman before?" She smirked, joking.
"By the way they're looking at us you'd think that was true," He raised his eyebrows in wonder.
Men stopped what they were doing to get a look at the odd sight walking through their camp. Most of them had looked like they had been through hell, and Lucy hoped they wouldn't be staying at this base for too long before moving on.
She straightened her pack on her shoulders and then kept walking to where she would find the Captain and the Colonel of this division. The truck drivers had given them instructions on how to find them and Lucy did her best to navigate around the camp.
Charles looked uneasy, and she could tell he was nervous about his new living conditions. At least in Egypt, it was always sunny and dry.
Lucy recalled how she met Charles, and how despite him seeming like the opposite of what she would need to complete her work, he had surprised her.
When she had arrived in London before deployment she had met with some officers who informed her exactly what her mission was and how to execute it. They had told her she was allowed to have one assistant to help her with matters such as research, reports, and anything else that came up.
At first, they had tried to give her someone who was already enlisted in the military. As Lucy found out, must of them were bozos who thought her work was mundane and unimportant.
She had seen dozens of soldiers, and each was as useless to her as the next. During general interviews, one had even told her that he was prepared to help her out with anything, and take care of her every need, no matter what it was. He then gave her a wink and Lucy then knew what he was getting at. She only scowled and told him to get the hell out.
After no luck, she reported to her superiors that she thought they were taking the wrong approach. She needed who knew more about her area of study than just the average person. She needed to find someone who had actually studied and knew how to record things in a context, since teaching someone new how to do it would only waste time.
That was when she and a Lieutenant had gone to Oxford University to find some other recruits. Clearly, military men weren't cutting it so they had to find someone who was more of an academic.
After the interview after interview, Lucy was all about to give up. No one was prepared to uproot their lives for the job, and the people who were weren't exactly the type of person she was looking for. It wasn't until she wandered down from the lecture hall they were conducting their interviews in need of some air that she found herself in the library.
Browsing through some of the books, Lucy's fingers ran down the spines as she touched their leather binding. She loved the smell of old books, and being in a library gave her a nostalgic feeling of being back on one when she was finishing up her Ph.D.
She had Daniel to help her with most of it, even though when it came to research for her doctoral thesis. Well, at least he tried to help. Mostly he distracted her, sitting across the table from her at the library as she tried to work. Often, he would grade his own student's papers but every now and then when he wouldn't have work to do he would just sit there and read. Other times, he would make paper airplanes and throw them at her, causing her to laugh when it crashed into her face.
Sometimes, she would attempt to get work done without him. When it was late and she hadn't come home, he would head to the library once everyone had mostly left, finding her under a single lamp with the yellow from its light shining on her work as she was completely passed out and drooling onto her papers.
Lost in her nostalgia and memories that were still much too painful to dwell on for long, Lucy nearly missed a young man studying due to the tears welling up in her eyes. Reading a book and copying down information on a notepad, she recognized the cover. It was on the Elgin Marbles, and she gathered by the other book titles he had sitting on the desk that he was studying archaeologist. She even recognized a book in which she had been published in, and she smirked as she sat across from him at the desk.
He didn't even look up from what he was reading when she slipped into one of the chairs. Completely immersed, he didn't notice the woman in front of him who had her hands folded together on the wooden surface. She cleared her throat and he jumped in surprise exclaiming, "Jesus!"
The librarian shushed him, but he didn't care, he only looked at Lucy in wonder as he stuttered "W-who-"
"Hi," Lucy smiled and then extended her hand, "I'm Lucy,"
"Ummm, alright?" He rose an eyebrow, still a little shaken up from the surprise of her sitting there. "Pleasure. I'm Charles Tenabum." He shook her hand and Lucy continued with her wide smile. Charles, who was a little odd looking, with wiry glasses and a face which never looked like it shed its baby fat and the little wisps of a mustache he couldn't grow, wondered why such a beautiful woman sat in front of him. By the looks of it, she was taller than him by a few inches, and she sat there with rigid posture which he had seen very few people execute before. The only people he knew who sat like that were the people hardwired to do so their entire life, and it was due to them having to keep a certain image. He figured she came from money, which made sense given the fact she wore very fashionable clothing. She had long eyelashes framing her large hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a small nose, and dark brown hair that was pinned up stylishly.
She only sat there and then asked, "So Charles, why aren't you in the war?"
Again, he was shocked. "I beg your pardon?" He didn't know who this woman was (although she was clearly American) or who she thought she was asking questions like that.
"Why aren't you fighting in the war?" She repeated.
"I never volunteered, and then when there were the conscriptions I wasn't passed due to health issues… Not that it's any of your business." He frowned and tried to redirect his focus on his book.
"So, you don't want to fight?"
"Bloody hell, of course not! Why would anyone want to?" He exclaimed.
Lucy shrugged, "Couldn't say. People have their reasons. You're becoming an archaeologist though, I'm assuming?"
"Trying to, why do you ask?" He was confused as to why this beautiful woman was talking to him, let alone about such an odd subject matter.
"Because my name is Dr. Lucy Heinrich and I'm a professor of archaeology of The University of Chicago." She specified, and Charles' mouth practically dropped.
"Oh-OH! Oh, Goodness! Dr. Heinrich! Holy shi- I mean! Wow, it is such an honour to meet you!" He grabbed her hand and shook it again, this time more vigorously and had a beaming smile on his chubby face, "I am a massive fan of your work! I've read everything you've ever published! And may I congratulate you on your incredible works on pseudoarchaeology and rare cultic items! It was - Wow! Just magnificent! This is such an honour! And let me just say, how incredible it is to be in the presence of such an accomplished scholar, especially when you're so young! And a woman! Not-not that has anything to do with your ability to do work it's just - Goodness! You are- you are incredible!" He continued shaking her hand far longer than he needed to, making it slightly awkward.
"Why thank you!" She said, "Those are umm, all quite the compliments!"
"I am so sorry for being so cold before. It's just I didn't expect someone to sit by me and ask such personal questions. May I ask what you're doing at Oxford? Are you giving a lecture?"
She sighed and then explained, "I was actually trying to find an assistant-"
"I volunteer!" Charles said a little too eager and excited.
Lucy bit her lip and then said softly, "I don't know. It's not exactly the job that you're probably thinking of."
"Doesn't matter. I'll do anything to work with you." His earnest tone was followed an even larger smile. "You are literally everything I aspire to be when I graduate."
Lucy only sighed, "Charles, I appreciate how eager you are, and how dedicated you are to learning, but I'm not sure where I'm going is for you after what you just told me…" She watched as his facial features began to shift into disappointment and then heartbreak.
"Oh..I see. Well, where are you going?"
"To the war." She replied quickly.
"Oh." That was odd, was all he could think. Charles was a little shocked, to say the least. "Um… May I ask why?"
"I've been placed in charge of a mission to not only salvage art from the Nazis, but I also have to record sites before they get even more damaged, and then I also have to stop certain artifacts from getting into the wrong hands."
"I volunteer!" He said again, this time more confidently.
"After what you told me about how you didn't want to volunteer for the war in the first place I don't think that would be such a good idea. Plus, you said you failed your physicals."
"I didn't want to sign up to fight. This is different! This is something I would actually be useful at and would be able to help with." Charles tried to explain to her.
Lucy sighed once again and told him no. Over the next little while, they talked about his passion for archaeology and what had made him want to study it in the first place. He had grown up listening to the stories his father told him of Lawrence of Arabia, and all Charles wanted was to live a life as adventurous as him, only he lacked the bravery to do so. Eventually, Lucy determined that often brains were better than brawn, and she told him yes. Charles had practically leaped up in excitement, and promised her he wouldn't let her down.
When she returned back to the Lieutenant with Charles in tow, the man only raised his eyebrow. She told him she found an assistant, and he gestured to Charles and asked, "Are you sure you want to go with the chubby one?"
She told him absolutely, and since that day had not had a single regret.
Lucy was especially happy that Charles was with her as they walked through the new camp in Italy. She wasn't sure if she could manage alone, and was scared for what was next to follow. At least she had a friend, she thought. At least she wasn't completely alone in this terrifying, new adventure.
The story is beginning to catch up with the backstory, which means we'll be getting to all the good stuff soon enough! Perhaps even the next chapter? But who knows! I might just end the build up and make them finally meet, but it depends on how generous I'm feeling... Though, I would say at 50k words already it's past overdue...
Also, I'm not sure how obvious I made it, but Bucky and Steve used to work for Mr. Lee! Which should make for an interesting converstion in the very near future between our two mains...
Don't forget to follow, favourite, and review!
-Amelia
