Title: malaise
A/N: For master-obe-wan-kenboneme (ahaha, nice name) for the startrekkingaround exchange! I really love angsty with big fights, though I am not capable of writing big fights so I cut off right there. XD Hope you like it anyways!
Summary: Bucky was acting weird. There was a revolution to fight and a kingdom to save and Bucky was acting weird. Steve wasn't sure what happened, but he was going to get to the bottom of it.
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Steve winced as he pulled his shirt off, dropping it carelessly on the guardroom floor. As usual, sparring with Bucky was like jumping into a barfight, less about form and more about power. Unfortunately, with his wiry frame and short stature, that more often than not left Steve at a disadvantage. A bruise ached on his side, just above his hip, and he gently touched the purpling skin.
Pain shot up his spine like lightning and he quickly retracted his hand. He'd have to get some salve for that later. At this rate the castle healer was going to know him by name, which wasn't the best thing when you were a rebel infiltrating the place.
"He has to take it easier," Steve grumbled, reaching for his shirt. As he moved, his bindings loosened, jostling his breasts, and he frowned. Another inspection revealed that Bucky's daggers had swiped too close to the side, just cutting a piece of the cloth. "Oh, come on."
Sticking out his tongue out as he concentrated, Steve carefully tucked in the loose ends. It wouldn't last all that long, but their patrol was only an hour long and they'd be back at their quarters before it was a real problem. At least their training was over; there was no way he could make it through another sparring session.
Quickly, he donned his shirt and armour. Even at the smallest size, it was a little heavy for him. Almost everything was like that for him, to be honest; it wasn't uncommon for him to walk into the tailors and get mistaken for a teenager. Bucky had teased it about him countless times, but Steve had learned to stop minding it.
Well, that, and the first time he'd surprised Bucky by upper-cutting his jaw had shown there were some advantages to his size.
As he left the guardroom, Steve glanced around for his partner. Situated in the corner of the castle walls, he could see the entire grounds spread out before him, a long lawn of emerald green grass that stopped as it hit an imposing, white castle. In the morning light, it glimmered like a pearl from the ocean's depths, and Steve hated the sight as much as he admired it.
The King was a tyrant, and those white bricks still tinged red from the blood of his victims.
Steve clenched his hands into a fist. When the revolution succeeded, it'd all change.
They just had to make it through a few more weeks. Tearing his eyes away, he looked down the cobbled, tree-lined path leading up to the main gate. Despite the time, it was empty except for Bucky. Leaning against a tree, he watched the gate.
Steve smiled as he slowly approached him. It was rare for him to get the drop on Bucky—
A woman stepped out of the shadows and Steve froze. Her large black skirt and neatly bunned red hair marked her for a maid, her eyes demure as she said something he couldn't pick up. It wasn't entirely unusual to find Bucky surrounded by women—with this short hair, sharp jaw, and roguish smile, it was nearly impossible to keep them away.
Still. Something about this felt off. Maybe it was the tension in Bucky's shoulders, or her overly serious nature. Bucky nodded and replied. Whatever he said, she didn't like, and she glared up at him, ready to argue. However, she saw Steve, their eyes locking for a moment. Something about her expression tightened and she turned on her heel and marched off.
Bucky looked over his shoulder and grinned. "I thought you changed fast. We're going to be late for patrol."
"You try changing with a bruise." Steve was glad to still see the split lip and black eye he'd given him. He gave back just as good as he got, if not better. "Who's that?"
"The pretty red-head?" Bucky's smile turned teasing and he wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Didn't know you had a thing for reds."
Steve flushed. "I don't—"
Salaciously, he continued, "I mean, I wouldn't mind a threes—"
"Seriously?" Steve elbowed him in the gut, right in the spot he'd hit him during practice. Bucky grunted and maybe he'd managed to leave a bruise there after all. "You know it's really obvious when you lie?"
"Alright, alright, I give." Groaning, he rubbed his belly. "You can skip weight training; your arms clearly don't need it."
Steve looked at him expectantly, ignoring the easy taunt. "And?"
Bucky rolled his eyes. "You're worse than the jailors. She's a new maid and needed some directions. Must have said something wrong." He shrugged carelessly. "She got angry."
"Hard to imagine," Steve replied dryly. Biting his cheek, he peeked at his partner. Something felt just off about Bucky's explanation, but he couldn't figure out what. His words? His tone? How tense the woman had looked?
He didn't know.
-x-
The castle was big. Huge. Steve had been raised in a modest hovel, maybe the size of a horse's stall at the royal stables. His hometown was a jagged collection of houses, like gravestones jutting out of the earth. Before he'd joined the revolutionaries, he had always dreamed of such grandness, but never seen it.
Their patrol always took an hour, and that was without getting lost or doubletracking through the many winding passages through the castle. They had been defending it for months now, which was just enough time find and memorize the secret passages. Bucky was oddly good at finding them but then again, he'd always had a sharp eye.
Even when they were children, he'd always found Steve in hide-and-seek.
The last stop on their patrol was the northern spire. Taller than any other building, it was an effort and a half just to climb the ivory pillar. Once there, though, the commanding view was more than enough to make up for the journey. Steve leaned against the small windowsill, taking in the city as it spread around the castle like petals on a flower. Further off, in the distance, emerald green carpeted the land until it hit the sparkling blue sea.
"We should go there next," he muttered.
"Go where?" Bucky asked, leaning back and relaxing on a chair. They'd spend the next few hours here, he might as well get comfy.
"The sea." Steve grinned as he looked over his shoulder. "It sounds nice."
"I barely tolerate lakes, and you want me to go to the sea?" Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. "Besides, I doubt we're leaving here anytime soon."
Steve rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, guess so." Even after the revolution, they'd still have to rebuild the country. Dream vacations would have to stay just like that: dreams. "Wonder what it's like…"
"Nothing special." Bucky shrugged. "Just more water."
He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, I think you—"
A small, sharp cry interrupted him and he turned around to find a falcon on the window sill. The bird cocked his head curiously, rapidly taking in the room before crying again. On its feet, a small letter was tightly tied with red twine.
"A message." Steve quickly approached the bird, surprised. They weren't supposed to get an update till tomorrow. He hadn't even prepared the return message yet. The bird stayed still as he tugged the letter off.
"What's it say?" Bucky asked, his eyes on the door.
He stared at the message, rereading it three times before accepting it. "The attack's moved up. It's tomorrow now."
"Already?" Bucky tore his eyes away from the door in surprise. "Not next week?"
"No, looks like something came up." Steve frowned. There were no explanations on the paper, no way for him to get one. He handed it over to his partner. "We're ready…but will they be prepared?"
Bucky bit his lip, reading the letter. "Probably."
Pulling out a small scrap of paper from his pocket, Steve quickly scrawled back an affirmative response and tied it to the falcon. The bird shook its head and then flew off, sailing through the bright blue sky as it headed back to the resistance camp. "We'll have to double check our weapons and supplies."
"Yeah," Bucky mumbled vaguely.
Steve didn't notice. Rubbing his chin, he continued to list out their to-do list. "We'll split up for the gates, as planned, and then meet up after. The time will be the same."
"Yeah."
At the oddly quiet, emotionless response, Steve turned to Bucky. His partner looked oddly contemplative, still staring at the letter as though the answers he was looking for were written in there. Quickly, he gently took Bucky's hand. "What's wrong?"
Bucky blinked, pulling out of his stupor. "Nothing."
"Bucky." Steve stared at him, his lips a flat line. "I've known you for years. What's wrong?"
"Fine, fine, I'll tell you." Bucky sighed, his body relaxing as he loped a heavy arm around Steve's shoulders. He pulled him closer and smirked, his entire expression salacious. "You know how much work we have ahead of us, right?"
"Yes," Steve replied slowly, not sure where this was going, only that he wasn't going to like it.
"We'll have a lot of fighting, and if we both survive a lot of work. We're definitely not going to have any time to ourselves either way." Bucky grinned, pressing Steve closer, until his lips were on his ear. "Come to my room tonight?"
"Bucky." Steve flushed lightly but didn't pull away. Rolling his eyes, he gently jabbed Bucky's side. "Seriously, try to focus. Why do you always go there?"
"Always?" Bucky challenged, before raising a brow. "I'm pretty serious when I have to be. Besides, what, you don't want to?"
"Didn't say that." Steve shrugged off Bucky's arm before anything happened. "But we're at work now, so keep your guard up."
"Aye, aye," Bucky smirked, mock-saluting.
-x-
Tonight was the last time he'd walk down these halls, the last time he'd see these paintings and marbled tiles as they were meant to be seen. It was a strange thought. Steve was no stranger to the battlefield, to the destruction it wrought, and while he understood why, he never fully accepted it.
One day, there would be no need for any of it. Hopefully, tomorrow would take them a step closer to that dream.
Still, while he felt slightly nostalgic strolling over to Bucky's room in the dorms, he didn't feel too bad about losing this place. There were too many terrible deeds in the castle's dungeons. Some places had to be torn down entirely and rebuilt.
As he turned the corner, Steve stopped stock-still. Just down the hall was Bucky's door.
And standing in front of it was that same red-headed maid. Bucky leaned against his frame, talking to her quietly, but there wasn't a trace of his usual playfulness or even flirting. Now, he only looked serious.
The woman said something, jabbing Bucky in his chest before quietly slinking further off the hall and down a side-stairwell. Steve waited a moment, still staring. As though sensing him, Bucky looked up, his eyes widening before he broke into his usual grin. "What, like the view?"
"Was she lost again?" Steve asked, ignoring his question. Something about that woman gave him the chills, like he'd met her before. There was a niggling feeling he was forgetting something important but he didn't know what.
"Nah, she's just got a crush on me." Bucky preened, running a hand through his hair. "Must have seen me kicking your ass yesterday."
"I kicked yours," Steve replied automatically.
"Maybe she liked that too." Bucky shrugged. When Steve continued to stare at him, he sighed. "Look, I turned her down. Already got you, right?" He winked, as slick as ever.
For once, Steve didn't feel charmed. None of this sat right with him. He couldn't quite pinpoint why—even before he'd seen the maid, something had felt off. Bucky's crooked smile didn't meet his eyes. "Bucky…you know you can tell me anything, right?"
"What? Of course I do." Bucky hooked his arm around Steve, gently drawing him into the room. He pushed the door behind as he leaned down and whispered. "Don't believe me?"
Steve tried not to shiver. His ears had always been a weak point of his. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" Bucky asked, his breath hot on the shell of his ear.
"What aren't you telling me?" Steve asked, his hands curling into Bucky's shirt.
Bucky didn't say anything, just nibbled on his ear.
It was hard to think. Steve gasped as Bucky slowly unbuttoned his shirt, his cold fingers sliding into his bindings. "Bucky. Please."
"Tomorrow?" he breathed, his head lowering to bite his neck.
He should press. He should question. Yet, despite it all, Steve was all too human when it came to Bucky, all too ready to believe him. It was better than thinking of the alternative.
He knew Bucky like the back of his hand.
This wasn't anything serious. Just cold feet before the fight.
"Fine," he murmured, and then he let it all go.
-x-
Every part of Steve felt on edge. Whether it was eating lunch, patrolling, or even just sitting, he couldn't relax. Even the air felt tense, like the world was holding its breath in anticipation for what was to come. Bucky looked similarly off and maybe that was the issue yesterday. A similar sort of unease—Bucky had always been one to keep to himself. No doubt he'd been worrying about their plan for weeks now.
Yet, a nagging feeling told him that there was something else. Something he'd missed. Steve glanced at Bucky as they sat in the armoury, strapping on their daggers and greaves. There hadn't been time all day to ask him and Steve wasn't sure if that was just coincidence or if Bucky was avoiding him. Or maybe it was just both.
But here they were, alone. The perfect time to ask. Clearing his throat, he watched as Bucky focused on cleaning his dagger. "Bucky…"
He hummed noncommittally, "Yeah?"
Something about his tone stopped Steve and he mumbled, "I'll open the doors at sunset."
"And I'll be the glorified map," Bucky replied, running his cloth over the hilt. Despite his playful words, he didn't sound like he was joking.
"Whatever you call it." Steve pursed his lips. There weren't any chances after this. There were many things you could call him, but coward wasn't one of them. He couldn't delay this any further. "Yesterday—"
Bucky didn't look up, didn't flinch, just stubbornly wiped his all-too-clean dagger. He tried to flirt, but his expression didn't match his words didn't match his voice. Even for someone playing the part, he wasn't trying. "Still sore?"
"You know, you're not half as suave as you think you are," Steve gritted his teeth, anger flaring at the obvious lies. "You said you'd tell me."
"I did." Bucky paused, staring at his reflection in the blade. His brow furrowed as he considered his options. After a few minutes, he muttered, "But today's not over."
"Bucky," he warned, his hands balling into fists. "I'm not in the mood for games."
"I'm not playing any." Making a decision, Bucky looked up. His eyes were clear and oddly tinged with sadness. It wasn't an emotion Steve was used to seeing from him. Bucky could be angry, could be happy, but never just sad. "I'll tell you after we're done. Everything. All of it."
"Why not now?" Steve asked, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to touch Bucky. The second he did, he'd relent, and right now he had to be hard.
"There's something I have to do first." Bucky chuckled, and it contained none of his usual light.
Steve didn't like the sound of that. "I can help you."
"You can't. Not in this." Bucky set aside his knife and reached up to tangle their fingers together. "Just trust me, okay?"
Steve was an honest, straightforward man. And yet, he couldn't say that he didn't trust Bucky. The words wouldn't leave his throat. "After you're done?"
"I swear." There was something dark and humourless about the way he smiled. "After you've opened the gate, when we meet up, I'll tell you."
None of that reassured him. The bell tolled, signalling the sunset, and Steve bit back his frustration. He had to go. "Fine. And not a second later."
Bucky chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't worry about that." His eyes were dark. "Hey, Steve, have you ever just…I don't know…wanted to run away from it all?"
"Run away?" Steve stared at Bucky blankly. This wasn't the sort of question he'd expected now of all times. "Does this have anything to do with…?"
Bucky understood his unsaid words and shrugged. "…you could say that."
What did that mean? Steve frowned. He wasn't sure what words Bucky needed to hear, but the only ones he had were honest ones. "Not really. We can't turn a blind eye to what's happening. We can't abandon everyone either."
"Mr. Hero." Bucky cracked a smile, as jagged as a broken glass, and Steve knew he'd made a mistake. That wasn't what Bucky had wanted to hear. "That's just like you." Sorrow flickered across his expression all too quickly and he stood up. Ruffling Steve's hair, he warned, "Be careful, or they'll squish you."
"You be careful," he retorted, a gnawing feeling of unease growing. Quickly, he tried to make up for it. "After…this we can go away for a while."
"Sure." Bucky's expression was closed. "I'll see you at the throne room."
-x-
For all of their planning, Steve had expected something to go wrong. He'd been on enough missions to know there was always at least one thing that went wrong, if not more. Yet, he opened the gate without a hitch. The revolutionaries poured in without fear. Around him, the battle raged on as expected, guards and civilians clashing.
Maybe it was how Bucky acted earlier, but he kept expecting the other shoe to fall. Bucky wasn't anywhere in sight, but by now he had to be at the castle, the Nick Fury, the resistance leader, at his side as they took over the castle.
The gnawing feeling was back. Quickly, Steve headed there, taking the side paths that were left unguarded. There was no time to delay. As important as the battle out here was, nothing would end until the royal family was removed.
Ahead of him, the castle doors were slightly ajar. Nervously, Steve glanced around, but unlike in the gardens, there were no guards here. There were no civilians either; the fight hadn't made it this far yet. Carefully, he pressed against the doors and listened.
Silence greeted him.
Swallowing hard, Steve gingerly stepped inside. A bloodbath greeted him. Dead guards littered the floor, their blood washing the marble tiles a dark red. Steve covered his mouth. He had expected death, but not so gruesomely.
His training hadn't readied him for their fearful, frozen expressions. What was worse, though, were the castle staff splayed on the ground, their throats cut. They weren't supposed to kill the staff. They were supposed to let them escape.
Something had gone wrong.
Recovering, Steve lowered to a crouch, studying his surroundings warily as he inched his way forward. He drew out his sword, gripping it tightly as he made his way to the central staircase. The castle was oddly quiet and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. There were even more bodies on the staircase. Just what had happened here? Was Bucky okay? Nick? Steve's heart leapt to his throat and he braced himself as he headed up to the throne room.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight inside. The first thing he spotted was the thrones on the other end of the room, the golden, bejeweled chairs he'd seen on almost a daily basis. The king and queen sat on them, their children at their feet, and all of them had the same red smile as the maids.
Death had a way of equalizing everything.
A woman stood next to the throne, a blood-stained dagger in her hand. A red-headed woman, the only body missing from the carnage below.
He'd been right. She wasn't an ordinary maid. Yet, it was hard to feel anything about that when he looked down from the top of the dais. Two men stood there. The first, Nick Fury, gasped for his life. The second was Bucky, his sword hilt-deep in Nick's chest. His expression was cold, withdrawn, and nothing at all like the man he'd known and loved for years now.
Steve almost dropped his sword. "Bucky?"
Bucky looked up, his expression still icy. Slowly, he pulled out his sword, not even flinching as Nick groaned. The red-headed woman didn't hesitate before flicking her dagger and Steve dropped instinctively, barely dodging the weapon.
"Don't," Bucky growled, glaring over his shoulder. "I'll deal with him."
"Can you?" The woman snorted, but relaxed nonetheless. Turning around, she headed toward an open window. Now that he was looking, Steve noticed a rope attached to the sill. "Finish it quick."
"Wait!" Steve barked.
Before he could spring after her, Bucky dropped Nick. He landed on the ground with a soft thud and groaned, a sign of life though Steve wasn't sure for how long. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening until all he looked was tired. "Steve, I…"
Steve gritted his teeth. It was all starting to fall into place and he didn't know what made him angrier, Bucky's actions, the fact that he'd lied, or that he was willing to overlook it all in the first place. "Is this what you meant before?"
"Did say I'd tell you right after," Bucky mumbled, his expression unreadable. "Sorry."
"For what?" Steve growled, his sword raised as he stepped forward. There were some things apologies couldn't fix.
"For all of this." Bucky shrugged, raising his own sword. "Obviously, I'm not really with the resistance."
Steve tightened his grip. "For how long?"
"A while." Bucky slipped into a familiar stance.
It was like they were sparring again. Steve already knew his first move, the first line of attack. He stopped in front of Bucky, his body taunt. "We've known each other for years, don't bullshit me," he snarled. "How long?"
"All of it." Bucky's jaw tightened.
It was another lie. Too late, Steve was starting to recognize the signs, to tell when Bucky was holding out on him and when he was honest.
A lie, but that didn't make the words hurt any less.
Steve took a deep breath. "It doesn't have to be like this. Whatever hold they have on you-we can fix it."
Bucky laughed, a dark, bitter thing, like the coffees he'd like to drink every morning. "You can't fix this, Steve. You can't fix everything."
It was like a bell rang and they leaped at each other, steel ringing as their swords clashed.