The Omega Trials

by Samwise Baggins

Who would have thought than an innocent kiss on a hot summer's day would rock the world 83 years later?

12. A Full Circle

Chapter Title: A Full Circle

Author: Sam and Dani

Story: The Omega Trials: 12 of ?

Series: The Omega Rights (part two)

Stetting: AU: December 8 - 25, 1941, Brooklyn, New York, United States of America

WARNING: Graphic descriptions of war.

xxx

Translations:

Cariad - Love - Welsh

xxx

Bucky smiled sleepily at his lover as the smaller man slept, snuggled against him. The brunet couldn't begin to understand what had happened between them the day before . . . how his penis had done what it had, and he wondered if he'd actually hurt Steve when that knot had formed and locked them together. Somehow, Bucky thought not. Gently, he reached over to stroke the fingers of his left hand down the side of that beloved face. He leaned over and softly kissed Steve's cheekbone then his chin, enjoying the scent of his lover. Steve was the only man Bucky actually enjoyed smelling, though he decided to ignore the oddity of the thought.

Feeling light kisses being placed on his face, Steve smiled softly. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked up at Bucky. "Good mornin', Buck."

"Morning, Stevie," Bucky responded on a smile. "You feelin' alright?"

Humming a low noise from the back of his throat, Steve nodded and leaned up to kiss his lover on the lips. "Feelin' great . . . better than I have in ages."

"Really?" Bucky pushed himself up on one arm to study the smaller man. "I was afraid I'd hurt you . . . with what . . . uh, happened?"

Steve shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. "No, you didn't hurt me. It actually felt really nice. I don't know how to explain it . . . it's like whatever that was helped my body relax or somethin'."

Letting out a soft chuckle, Bucky grinned wider. "Well, I don't know how it happened, but if it was good for you, too, then I hope I can figure out how to do it again. But," he stretched sensuously like a great cat, "we got that class today you wanted me to take."

Groaning softly, Steve pulled himself closer to Bucky's side and rested his head on the brunet's strong shoulder. "I don't wanna go now. I wanna stay home again."

"Lazy," Bucky laughed. He sat up, pulling Steve to a sitting position, then slid out of their bed. "It's Monday. We already skipped yesterday, and this class costs money. So, we're going." The brunet leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on the blond's lips. "When we're done, you can help me look for another job, okay?"

Sighing over-dramatically, Steve pushed out his bottom lip in a slight pout. "Fine. But after that we can try whatever that was again, right?"

"Yeah, Stevie, we'll try that again . . . and again." He kissed Steve again and headed towards their kitchen sink in order to draw and heat water for a quick scrub up. After their lovemaking, both men needed to clean up before going out in public. "Get the bed, will ya?" Bucky called as he pulled out the wash basin.

The small blond slowly got to his feet, his body ached but it was a good ache. Stretching, and letting out a loud yawn as he did so, Steve began to strip the thin sheets off the mattress. Realizing that he still hadn't told Bucky about his diagnosis made the blond's heart lurch. The brunet had just lost his job, as well as almost being blown up, and Steve hadn't found a good time to talk to his lover about the cancer. He knew he'd have to tell Bucky sooner or later, but he was terrified of how his friend might react.

Sighing, Steve finished stripping the bed and bundled the soiled fabric in his arms.

Bucky, still totally nude, looked over from the small stove and smiled to his equally nude lover. "Hey, Steve, come get washed up. We can wash those after we get back." The taller man began to scrub his body with a soaped cloth.

The blond nodded and set the bundle of sheets in the hamper before making his way over to where Bucky stood. Steve reached for the other soapy cloth and began to wash away all the grime from yesterday's activities.

It didn't take long for the pair to clean themselves up, washing away the remains of sex and daily living. Finally, Bucky pulled out some clothes for them both and handed over Steve's drawers, putting the rest on the bare mattress. "I think we can make it in time if we cut across Baker street," the brunet said absently as he pulled on his own underpants.

Making a noise of agreement, Steve grabbed his trousers and tugged them on. Finally as he buttoned up his shirt, Steve looked up at the brunet and smiled, "Thanks for doing this with me, Buck."

Cocking his head as he buttoned his shirt, Bucky asked "doing what? Going to a drawing class? I think you'll be fine." He offered the other man a grin and shrug, "but I love watching you when you draw, so it's no hardship." Of course, Bucky didn't mention that the true hardship would be affording classes without an income.

As if reading his friend's mind, Steve spoke in a soft tone, unsure of his lover's reaction, "Ya' know, Buck. I was thinkin' that maybe I can try sellin' some of my art. Maybe try and get a job at Coney Island as a portraitist or somethin'. I wanna help out more."

"That's a brilliant idea, Stevie!" Bucky grinned enthusiastically. "You can make a fortunate in art. I know you're good enough. Maybe you could draw the funny pictures that are starting to sweep the midway, too." He nodded and slipped into his shoes and reached for his coat. "Maybe even make a comic book?"

Sighing with relief, Steve pulled on his shoes and grinned brightly at Bucky's last suggestion. "Yeah! How fun would that be? I can draw super heroic people and whatnot."

Bucky tossed Steve his jacket and laughed. "So, we go to this class and see if they know who we can talk to about you getting comic art work, right?" Privately, Bucky thought the idea had more than merit: in a safe drawing job, Steve would have little chance to over work himself or catch someone else's illnesses. He'd be so much safer sitting at a desk. "Just so's your first super hero looks like you, pal," Bucky shot back and opened the door.

"As long as I could make you my sidekick," the blond teased as he stepped out of the apartment and into the morning air.

Throwing his arm around his best friend, and secret lover, Bucky laughed long and loud. "Right, Steve. I'll be your sidekick whenever and wherever you want. But first, I must get my Captain to art class." He guided Steve towards their destination only five blocks away.

"Captain?" Steve chuckled, "I like the sound of that. What would that make you?"

Bucky laughed. "Well, as a sidekick, I'd be a lower rank . . . probably enlisted. How about I be your private?"

"I could boss ya' around." The blond smirked, "You'd hafta listen to me . . . do as I say."

"Ha," Bucky chuckled, "like I don't already?" He grinned and let his arm drop from Steve's bony shoulders in order to open the door to the enclosed stairwell leading to the non-descript training studio above the newspaper office of the Brooklyn Eagle. Loud sounds of industry came from the large bottom floor presses and editorial offices: people yelling, machines running, and the sounds of newsboys purchasing their papers in order to sell them at a profit on the streets.

Within minutes, the pair had stepped into a small, practically bare room with a group of stools situated before blank easels, a small pedestal in the center containing a chair and sheet. There were about four other young men in the room, but apparently no professor yet. Bucky smiled. "See? On time."

Steve beamed up at the brunet before taking in the room. The blond couldn't wait for the class to begin, happy that his lover had convinced him to go.

"Think the professor will let us choose which easel we get to use?" Bucky gestured around.

A short, thin man walked into the room. Dressed in thick winter coat and galoshes, the man removed a snow covered woolen hat. He turned to the six young men and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, normally I would collect your fee and begin to evaluate your skills before allowing you to draw one another then a chosen model. However, this day class is canceled."

Disappointment made Steve's face fall; he'd probably jinxed it by not wanting to come this morning.

Confused at the announcement, Bucky asked the teacher, "why did we all come in this weather if the class was cancelled? Couldn't you have told us on Friday or something?"

The professor shook his head. "Yesterday in the early morning hours, Japan attacked our military base at Pearl Harbor in the territory of Hawaii." Serious green eyes raked over the shocked men. "We are at war, gentlemen. The United States of America has gone to war once again. You may wish to consider the path of heroism and honor and enlist to help our fine soldiers and sailors." With that, the teacher once more pulled on his woolen cap followed by his jacket then turned towards the doorway of the room. Pandemonium erupted from the other students and Bucky tugged Steve out of the group towards the wall.

"They attacked us yesterday, Buck." Steve snapped, his voice low to avoid being overheard.

Bucky pulled Steve flush, the smaller blond's back to the taller brunet's front. He wrapped his arms around his lover and watched as the other men made their disordered way from the small studio. "Yeah," he finally answered Steve when the pair were at last alone. "That's what he said."

"Yesterday morning, Buck! We . . . we were . . . while they were being attacked . . . we were having . . ." Steve couldn't form words as his body seemed to tremble with fury.

Sighing, Bucky looked down at Steve in his arms. "What do you want me to say, Steve? That God's punishing America because of what we did? That I shouldn't . . . feel like I do about you?" He pulled Steve into a tighter spooning hug, lowering his mouth to Steve's ear. "Are you sorry we did that, Stevie? Cause if you think what we did was as wrong as we've been told . . . I won't touch you any more." His voice held misery and worry laced with utter shock and horror over what had happened in that far off island territory.

Steve pulled away slightly, "What? No! Of course I ain't sorry for what we did! It's just . . . American men and women were losing their lives . . . while we . . ." The blond flushed unable to complete his sentence.

Shaking his head and turing Steve around to face him, Bucky harshly whispered, "there are five million people in New York City, Steve; four thousand of them are richer than sin. And I'll bet out of those millions, especially the rich ones, that we were not the only couple in New York making love." He shook his head again, narrowing his blue-grey eyes. "And that goes for most of the rest of America . . . including Hawaii. No one knew the Japanese bastards were gonna start a war, Steve! They were just here talking peace with our president!"

Steve's eyes hardened and his hands balled into fists by his sides, "I need to go out there and fight for our country, Buck."

"You wanna go into the trenches and die of mustard gas, Steve?" Bucky asked, horrified.

"Of course I don't wanna die, Bucky," Steve ground out, "But I want to serve our country . . . you don't?"

Not answering that challenge, Bucky said "they won't take someone not fighting fit, Seve. You haven't been trained . . . not to fight. You got heart," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "but you tend to lose."

Fists bunching up tighter, Steve narrowed his eyes at his lover. "Then train me."

"Steve," Bucky moaned softly, distressed at the demand, "I don't want you . . ."

"You don't think I can do it!" Steve nearly shouted, his face red in anger and embarrassment.

"That's not it, Steve!" Bucky clenched his fists and shook his head. "I hate seeing you fight."

"No . . . you don't think I can do it! Well you know what? I don't care what you think! If you won't train me, I will find someone who will," Steve growled and began to turn away from Bucky.

"Stevie!" Bucky grabbed for Steve and pulled him in tight. "No, don't . . ." he sighed and pressed his face to Steve's hair. "Fine, I'll take you to Goldie's. I'll train you to box." He felt deflated at the promise forced from him, but the brunet didn't trust anyone else to train the small, sickly man. At least with Bucky training him, Steve had a chance of not getting overworked.

Steve nodded once but he didn't speak. His body still shook in anger and the smaller man felt somewhat betrayed that Bucky didn't believe that he could do this.

"If you wanna get good at it, you can't just do it once a week, Steve," Bucky whispered in his lover's ear, still holding him tight. "I'll need you to come to the gym at least an hour every day, more if you're real serious." He lifted his face. "And that's more than hitting a bag. You need stamina training, so you'll need to run with me every morning. I can take it slow until you're used to it, but fighting's not done on flat fields so much as in muddy trenches and burnt out cities. I think we can find an obstacle type course at the kiddie playground . . ." Bucky fell silent, dropping off his suggestions.

"I can do it, Buck." Steve mumbled. "I'll prove it to you."

"Prove it to me?" Shaking his head, Bucky looked surprised. "God, Stevie, you don't gotta prove nothin' to me! I know you'll fight until you're dead or the other guy begs. You're talking getting you fit to join the Army, Steve! Not a back alley brawl, but guns and gas and planes and bombs and stuff . . ." misery welled in the brunet's normally smooth voice. "That's a lot of people trying to kill you, Stevie." He hated that his lover asked this of him. He didn't want Steve fighting fit; they Army might just take him then.

"Obviously I do need to prove it to you. I don't get it . . . you've never doubted me before. You've always been in my corner . . . why is this any different?" Now Steve's voice trembled with the anger he felt in his core.

Finally letting the other man go, Bucky took a step back and hugged himself. "Because, Steve, these people don't care if you drop down bleedin'. They aren't gonna stop until they leave you rottin' in a field, broken with no way to get your body back for burial." He shook his head, eyes haunted. "Tata told me about when he went to the Great War in 'Seventeen, Steve. He saw his friends ripped apart by bullets and mines and stuff . . . right in front of him. And he couldn't do anything about it! Even as trained as he was, Tata couldn't save them." He turned towards the window. "And I won't be able to save you, either."

Shaking his head, Steve clenched his fists tighter; he felt his nails begin to dig into his palms. "I don't need you to save me! I can take care myself!"

Nodding, Bucky sighed, his voice soft and sad. "I gotcha, Steve. I'll train ya and then you can go to war." Bucky grabbed his coat from the wall hook and shoved his arms through the sleeves. "We start running tomorrow morning, but you can learn to make a proper fist right now. Let's go to Goldie's." He didn't look at his lover, simply turning and walking out to the hallway.

Steve knew that he hurt Bucky, and as he watched his lover walk down the hallway, guilt flooded him. "Wait! Bucky!" The smaller man shouted as he ran to catch up with the brunet.

Bucky froze at the top of the steps above the newsroom. He didn't look at Steve, merely stood, stiff and still. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Steve mumbled, "I wasn't thinkin'. I didn't mean what I said. I need you, Bucky. I'm sorry."

Softly, Bucky said "you know, Steve, I think Becca could fight in the war. I think Rosie can do it, too. So, I have no doubt you can fight any German or Jap that comes by." He turned his face to look at the small man, grey-blue eyes hurt, trying to fight his tears, "but that doesn't mean I want any of my loved ones to go over and fight and suffer in war."

"I know." Steve nodded, his tone laced with guilt. "I'm sorry. I - -"

Bucky lifted a hand, "shut up, Stevie."

The smaller man snapped his jaws shut at the order and listened to what Bucky had to say.

He sighed. "Let's make a deal, okay? We'll train you up so the Army can't say you can't hold your own, right? Then, we'll go down together and sign up." He took a deep breath then let it out, "but if they refuse me, for any reason, you don't sign that paper, okay? You don't ever leave me behind, right?" The tall, athletic, intelligent man ran a hand through his dark brown curls.

"I wouldn't ever leave you behind, Bucky," Steve stated, his voice now trembling with sadness.

Unable to pull Steve into his arms on the public stairway, the taller man nodded. "Okay, and I won't sign if they don't take you, either. 'Cause I won't leave you unless they drag me screamin' and kickin' from your side." He offered a shaky smile. "But I need another promise, Stevie."

"Anything." Steve stated, his tone sharp.

Taking a deep breath, knowing Steve wouldn't like his next demand, Bucky pushed ahead anyway. "You weren't well a couple days ago. Your doctor said you were okay, you told me. So, before we sign up, I want your doctor to check you over one last time. I wanna make sure someone who knows you does your physical. I hear those military doctors don't exactly catch everything, after all, and I don't want you going overseas if you're not well."

Steve froze. There was no way that Doctor Johnson would give Steve the go-ahead to join the Army. Not when he had just diagnosed Steve with cancer, something he had yet to tell Bucky. Figuring that he could figure out how to get Johnson to agree later, Steve simply nodded and forced a small, tight smile. "Sure, Buck."

Blowing out his breath in relief, Bucky smiled widely at his lover. He nodded and began down the steps. "Okay, then let's go to Goldie's and teach you to throw a proper punch."

xxx

Setting: AU: Tuesday, December 23, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America

Standing outside the office door of his fertility doctor, Christopher Johnson, a warmth seemed to radiate from behind the wood and frosted glass. It had been two weeks since Steve had begun training, running and boxing every day with Bucky. The older man had not gone real easy on Steve, though he always seemed to know just when the small man reached his limits. Bucky never pushed him too far, but he did push. If the younger man hadn't believed his lover's sincerity before concerning his belief in Steve's prowess, the amount of physical labor Bucky had pushed the blond through would have erased those doubts. And having gotten the weapons factory job after a week hadn't caused Bucky to slack in his training of Steve.

Finally, slowly, Steve took another calming breath and touched the warm metal doorknob. He was here to get a preliminary physical, to satisfy Bucky that he, Steve, was healthy enough to go to war. And all along, Steve knew that there was no way on Earth he could be considered well: he's been diagnosed with rectal cancer just days before their decision to sign up for the Army. How could he get Doctor Johnson to understand why Steve needed to be cleared for this? Finally, when he turned the knob and opened the office door, Steve was met with a blast of hot air from the roaring fire in the fireplace behind the doctor's scarred wooden desk as well as the sight of the red-haired young doctor putting a few papers in the blaze and watching them burn with an intensity in his eyes..

"Doctor Johnson? What are you doing?" Steve asked incredulously as he shut the door behind him.

Whirling around, eyes large behind his glasses, Christopher reached up and pulled the wire-framed lenses from his face and let them dangle by the chain around his neck. Clearing his throat, he said, "oh! Mister Rogers, I thought I'd cancelled this week's appointments. Or are you here for an emergency? Not enough medicine? More bleeding cramps?" He nervously glanced over at the papers curling and charring in the fireplace and the several stacks of files piled on his desk.

"I . . . uh. I needed to ask a favor of you." Steve sputtered his eyes flickering between Doctor Johnson and the burning papers.

"Yes?" Doctor Johnson cleared his throat. "What can I do?" He scooped up a file, marked Patient 42, and glanced at it then at Steve, getting redder.

Taking a deep breath, Steve pushed forward. "I need your medical clearance to join the Army."

"What!" The doctor looked shocked, dropping the file, and shook his head. "Why would you want to join the Army?" He grabbed another file from the desk, marked Patient 23, and turned to pull the papers out of the cover and toss them in the fire.

"Why are you burning those papers, Doctor Johnson? Are you in trouble?" Steve asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Me?" Christopher turned and glanced at the closed door then back at Steve, "trouble? God," he almost whined and shook his head. "Yes, Mister Rogers, we are both in very much trouble, I'd say. Don't you know we're at war now?" He reached for the file marked Patient 5.

"Of course . . . that's why I asked for the medical clearance . . . but that doesn't explain why'd you be burin' those files." Steve looked at his doctor with confused blue eyes.

Groaning, Doctor Johnson opened the file and tossed the papers into the fire, letting the empty file cover fall to the floor among so many others. "Because I'm trying to protect my patients. Don't you realize we're at war with Germany? And Doctor Rolf Keilmeyer is German!"

Realization caused Steve's eyes to widened, "Will the government come after us? B-but Keilmeyer is a good man."

"And Doctor Abraham Erskine is German, too!" wailed Christopher, his Bronx accent coming to the fore. "I don't want the government thinking I was helping the enemy!" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter how good a man is, Mister Rogers. I got word, through sources I won't even dare mention out loud, that Rolf was arrested and is awaiting trial in some work camp called Dachau. If he is found guilty of something, anything, me, you, and all of his patients could be in danger." Doctor Johnson picked up the file marked Patient 73 and turned to burn the papers inside, letting the file cover drop.

"Doctor Keilmeyer got arrested? What for?!" Steve asked, fear for the older man he'd come know as a friend coursing through his veins.

Christopher shook his head. "I don't know. But he's in holding right now, and I suspect it might have something to do with the research we've been doing. Remember my cousin? And that man from Peru? We've been trying to help people like that . . . and like you. If word got out to the wrong authorities, that would put us up there with Judas and the two thieves!" With a long sigh, the doctor leaned against his desk, his skin flushed brightly from being near that hot, hot fire for so long, feeding it repeatedly with patient files.

"I don't understand." Steve muttered, "You guys aren't doing anything illegal or anything . . . just helping people."

"Ever heard of eugenics, Steve? It's controlled birth . . . where the government has the right to dictate who can be sterilized to prevent future abominations or undesirables from being produced or reproducing. And the Church is totally against our work, saying God chose things to be the way they are and we should stop meddling . . ." He shook his head and reached for Patient 61's file. "Well, eugenics is alive and well in this country, in some of the hospitals and on the reservations and other places. But more importantly, Adolf Hitler is a big proporter of eugenics. That means he's a supporter of sterilization, not fixing it!"

"Hilter? So that means . . . Keilmeyer could be in real trouble." Steve murmured, "For just helping people."

"Well," the doctor sighed and threw the papers into the fire, dropping the folder, "he was apparently put under house arrest for being Jewish, to investigate something about his business ethics and such. But then he was taken from home in the night and transferred to the work camp to await trial. That's the last news I got . . . just a few days ago. So, I cancelled all appointments and began trying to clear up any evidence." He looked back at the fire. "And destroy any trail that might lead to my patients . . . his patients." He looked over at Steve. "Just in case."

"So that means . . . we're done?" Steve stated, his stomach tightening, "I can't come here anymore . . . can I?"

Slowly, Christopher turned to Steve and sighed. "Look, I've already burned your file, Mister Rogers, so there's no evidence you've ever been here. So, if you need a clearance for the Army, don't worry about it. They'll never find your records anyway, so they can't prove you have cancer." He shook his head. "I'm actually signing up once I'm done. I'm planning on doing my part, too. Maybe I'll see you over there?" He shrugged, voice as miserable as his eyes. "But, if you want to see that oncologist I recommended, I can see about getting him to let you have your medications at discount or something?"

"No . . . that won't - - that won't be necessary. Thank you, Doctor Johnson. I'm sorry we have to part like this. Maybe we will see each other overseas."

The doctor finally left the fire, walking around his desk and offering his over-flushed hand to Steve. "I, too, Mister Rogers. You have been a most informative, and pleasant, patient. If this damn war hadn't happened, we might have truly made a breakthrough in the Gamma problem."

Taking the doctor's hand in his own, Steve shook it firmly before letting his hand fall to the side. "I wish you well. Be safe, Doctor Johnson."

"You, too, Mister Rogers. Be safe and be well. I hope your cancer holds off the most debilitating symptoms until you can get overseas and fight for freedom. I think we wouldn't have any truer soldier than you." He offered a watery grin and headed back around towards his fire and the remaining files. "I can't sign a clearance for you, Mister Rogers, because we never met."

Smiling weakly, Steve nodded, not replying to Doctor Johnson, and left the office. Bucky didn't wait for him in the hallway like usual; Steve had told his lover to stay home, unable to risk Bucky finding out about the cancer. If the brunet did find out, he would stop training Steve, and the blond would never make it into the war. Because of the war, Steve didn't need to tell his love about dying from a disease, if everything went his way . . . Steve would end up dying an honorable death overseas rather than slowly in some hospital.

The snow began to fall once more, beginning to erase the trace of footprints on the sidewalks of the city.

xxx

Setting: AU: Wednesday, December 24, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America

As Bucky and Steve stood outside the recruitment office, the tall brunet took a deep breath of the cold air. He looked at Steve. "Okay, we go in and answer some question, fill out some papers, and get the physical. I wanna look over your papers and you can look over mine, okay?" He touched Steve's sleeve, almost afraid the man would be whisked up and stolen away to go to that godforsaken war. With two fronts now, one in Europe and one over the islands of the Pacific, the government was starting to instill a civilian draft.

The smaller man nodded, "Yeah, alright," Steve murmured, his eyes focusing on the building in front of him. Bucky and he had been working nonstop to get him 'combat ready' but Steve couldn't stop feeling nervous. He still looked sickly; he was still small. Nothing like what a soldier should look like.

"Okay," Bucky nodded and slipped his hat to a rakish angle, giving his friend and lover a cocky grin. "Let's knock 'em dead, Steve."

Returning the grin, a lot less sure of himself, Steve followed the brunet into the recruitment office.

A woman dressed in khakis, a volunteer, stood at the desk looking bored as she put up with the flirtatious comments and occasional grabs by the men applying for the Army. Sighing, she offered Bucky the sheet of paper and glanced at Steve. She gestured to the chairs in the waiting area. "You can wait for your brother over there, kid," she said.

Bucky interrupted, "I think I'd rather stand with him while he fills out his form, ma'am," Bucky handed the paper to Steve.

Taking the paper from Bucky with a slight huff, Steve's cheeks burned with embarrassment.

The taller man shook his head, "think she don't know her history, Captain," he referred to their private comic book joke. "After all, Emperor Napoleon of France was a General in the Army and he stood only five foot four . . . like you," he offered a simple smile at Steve.

The woman flushed and produced a second paper, handing that one to Bucky as well. "Fill out your papers then bring them to the other desk so you can have your physicals," she intoned, trying to avoid looking at Steve at all.

Steve, used to the treatment, simply walked over to the small desks meant for filling out the forms. The blond slid into one of the open desks and began to fill out the questions.

Bucky offered a glare to the WAC and followed his best friend. Slipping into the desk next to Steve's Bucky began to answer his medical and history questions."So, uh, Steve," Bucky whispered softly, leaning close, "I'm not sure about the question marked "eating disorders" or the one marked "psychological problems." He turned blue-grey eyes on the blond.

"Ya don't have either one of those, Buck," Steve answered back softly, "Eating disorder means you don't eat as much as you should on purpose."

"But psychological problems? That one says 'history of' . . ." Bucky slipped the pen in his mouth and sucked on the blunt end.

"Don't chew the pen." Steve admonished, "And it's just asking if you or anyone in your family have any mental disorders."

Groaning, Bucky slumped in his seat, pulling the pen from his mouth. "So, it's a 'yes'?"

Thinking of small Gracie, and the line that Bucky painted to make sure she'd make it home to the right apartment, Steve shook his head. "I don't think Gracie has a psychological disorder . . . she's just a little . . . slow? For her age."

"Retarded is what her papers say at the doctor's," Bucky said bitterly.

"Well the doctor's wrong. Gracie ain't retarded. She's real smart. Just takes her a bit longer to answer questions and whatnot." Steve didn't like to think about the sweet girl being labeled something like that.

Bucky looked at his smaller friend and softly smiled. "You know that, and I know that. But, Steve, the government says she's mentally disordered. So, I've gotta check yes . . ." He shook his head and reluctantly marked the paper with the pen. "Shit . . ." he swore so softly it was almost inaudible.

Barely hearing his lover's curse, Steve's eyes snapped back over to Bucky. "What's wrong?"

Without saying anything, Bucky pointed to a simply question on Steve's form. 'Homosexual' was listed among the questions. Steve's heart lurched and he stared at the word for what felt like hours.

With a shaking breath, Bucky marked the form with a check mark . . . in the 'No' box. He glanced at Steve, his eyes apologizing for the lie.

Shaking his head, Steve marked the 'No' box as well. "Don't feel much like getting arrested today." The blond muttered in a low tone.

"I don't much like other guys," Bucky whispered and continued to mark his sheet. He meant that Steve was the only guy he liked that way, but he certainly wouldn't clarify the statement in this public setting. Finally, he sat back and offer his paper to the blond. "Done. Wanna check it over?"

Steve finished answering his last question, worried about his lie of omission since he did not mark down about his cancer, Steve swapped papers with the brunet. The blond looked over the sheet carefully reading each and every question.

Glancing over the sheet, Bucky nodded, not surprised by the honest listing of health problems and history. Finally, he handed it back. "So, we ready to go? Get our physicals and sign up to help our soldiers?" He didn't sound too enthusiastic.

Releasing a shaky breath, Steve nodded, choosing not to notice his lover's less-than-thrilled tone. "Yeah, let's go."

Once they handed over their medical history forms, it didn't take long for Steve and Bucky to be brought into separate medical cubicles to be examined. The doctor with Steve merely looked over the paper then at the small blond man sitting on the bed with the determined stare. "Son, you have asthma?"

"Yes, Sir. But I've been training real hard. I've been gettin' better," Steve answered honestly.

"But you do have asthma?" the doctor stressed.

"Yes, Sir." Steve mumbled.

"Speak up, son, clear and proud. You have asthma."

Flushing a deep red, Steve nodded. "Yes, I do." His voice came louder and clearer than it had been before.

"Fine," the doctor looked back at the sheet. He studied it and didn't make another comment before nodding and placing the page on his small desk. Pulling out a rubber stamp and inking it, he pressed a clear, black 'F-4' on the page and handed it back, without clarifying what the code meant. "Take that back to the WAC out front, son."

Taking the paper, Steve nodded, "Thank you, Sir," the small man answered before leaving the room and heading towards the instructed area.

There was no sign of Bucky yet, but the WAC flushed at the sight of Steve. Once he got to her side, she whispered, "I'm sorry about before. Next to your friend, you look maybe sixteen?" She reached for his paper.

Handing over the paper, Steve offered her a small smile, "It's alright. Common mistake."

"I never knew an Emperor and General was so . . . short!" she breathed, glanced at the paper, and nodded. "Okay. Well, you can wait for your friend over there if you want. There's a canteen set up out back, but you don't get a free meal since you didn't have to give blood." She offered a smile to Steve.

"Do you know what 'F-4' means? The doctor didn't explain it to me," Steve asked, his nerves making him impatient.

Blinking slowly, she nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, means you can't join the military for health reasons." She glanced over the paper. "Probably because of the asthma," she added, "but it could be the heart problems, too."

Sighing, Steve nodded and felt his chest tighten. "Thank you," he mumbled before going over to one of the open chairs and collapsing into it. He didn't understand . . . what did it matter if he had asthma? He wanted to fight for his country . . . why couldn't that be enough?

After fifteen more minutes Bucky came out of the cubicle with a bandage on his arm, slipping on his shirt over his under shirt. He shook his head and stepped to the woman at the front desk. She glanced at the paper and nodded. "If you'll sign here, Mister Barnes, you can get your train tickets from the bursar . . ."

Head snapping up at the mention of Bucky's name, Steve quickly made his way over to where his lover stood. Train ticket? Bucky had been accepted . . . of course he'd been accepted.

". . . in the room at the end of that hallway." she finished and offered a pen to Bucky. He began to take it and smiled as Steve stopped next to him, though his eyes didn't hold the smile.

"Hey, Steve. They say there's a troop forming right now in Wisconsin," he said just to be talking. He hated that they'd be joining the Army, but a promise was a promise.

"I didn't get in, Buck." Steve murmured, his voice trembling and cheeks tinged red with embarrassment.

"Wait, what?" Bucky blinked in genuine surprise at his lover He put down the pen and picked up his paper, clearly stamped 'A-1' across the top. "What do you mean you didn't get in?"

"I didn't get in . . . my asthma." Steve grumbled.

"Asthma can hold you out of fighting for your country?" Bucky groaned, suddenly remembering some of Steve's more severe attacks, sending the blond to the hospital and his loved ones pacing the floor in fear for his life. "Ah," he nodded and began to fold his paper.

"Wait! What are you doing?" the woman asked, puzzled. "I need that back. You sign it, take it to the bursar to get your tickets and a pre-check to provide for your family, and you go to Camp . . ."

"I ain't goin'," Bucky shook his head, continuing to fold his medical history paper. Finally, he pocketed the paper. "C'mon, Steve, let's go." He couldn't hide the relief in his voice and eyes.

Eyes trained on the floor, Steve let himself be guided out of the recruitment office. The smaller man felt so stupid; why had he thought he could actually get into the Army? Why had he allowed his hopes to get high? Now, he'd have to figure out a way to tell Bucky about his diagnosis.

Bucky slipped into his heavy coat, putting his hat on his head. He strode from the room, his long stride matched to Steve's smaller one, as he'd always done. "So, you . . . wanna keep working out at Goldie's, Steve?" Bucky offered.

"What's the point?" Steve snapped, "I'm useless. Can't do nothin'."

Wincing then looking at his lover in surprise, Bucky shook his head. "To keep fit. And you can do things, Steve. I don't wanna ever hear you put yourself down again! So the Army doesn't want you, big deal. There's plenty for us to do here."

"Like what? Collect scrap metal with all the little kids? C'mon, Buck. I know you didn't want to go . . . but I did. I wanted to do something that mattered."

"Well, they need machinists and factory workers to make the weapons, don't they?" he brunet asked back. "Like that don't matter?"

"If I can't be in the Army . . . I sure can't be in a factory with all that smoke and whatnot." Steve grumbled back.

Muttering under his breath, tone frustrated, Bucky growled, "yeah, but unlike the Army, they won't have the good sense to refuse you, so you can die just as horribly for the cause there as you woulda overseas in a trench." Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and turned towards their apartment.

"Good sense?" Steve stopped walking. "You never wanted me to get in. Bet you were hoping that they'd refuse me."

Stopping, Bucky turned slowly to his lover and friend. "I never made a secret of my not wanting you to go, Steve, so don't get on your high horse all of a sudden. My reasons haven't changed. I think you'd do the job great . . . if the enemy didn't shoot you first."

"I wanted it, Bucky!" Steve shouted, "I wanted to make a difference! At least I'm not going because I can't . . . what's your reason?"

Stepping back as if slapped hard, Bucky's eyes widened and his skin paled. He shook his head and whispered, "I'm the only thing my sisters and Mam have left, Steve . . . and you." He turned and strode quicker.

"Stop using me as an excuse!" Steve shouted louder.

Finally, Bucky whirled around and, from his position halfway down the block, he screamed back "I'm not a killer, Steve! I'm sorry I'm not bloodthirsty enough for you!" And he turned and kept walking, head bowed, shoulders hunched, hands deep in his pockets. Under his breath, he muttered, "and I don't have a fucking death wish."

Steve didn't follow the brunet, not wanting to be in the same room as his lover right then. Tears of frustration burned in his eyes as he turned on his heels and stalked away in the opposite direction. He had a few cents on him, maybe he could get a cup of coffee and try to calm down before heading back to the apartment.

xxx

Setting: AU: Thursday, December 25, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America

When the sun weakly broke through the window near the bed, it fell over Steve's eyes. Bucky's corner of the bed remained undisturbed, cold to the touch. He'd slept on the couch the night before, not saying anything when Steve had finally come home.

Steve couldn't help but think of the awful fight the two of them had yesterday, the worst one they'd ever had, and feel another wave of guilt crash through him. He had said some horrible things to Bucky, but his pride had gotten in the way when the brunet didn't say a word to him when he'd gotten home from the diner.

The smell of cooking eggs filled the air, coming from the ll-purpose room. Soft sounds of silverware on plates being placed on their tiny table echoed briefly. Finally, a sound like sizzling bacon . . real, honest to god bacon, came from the stove out in the other room.

Sitting up, the small blond took a deep breath. Steve hadn't smelled bacon in a long time; he and Bucky didn't make enough to afford such a treat. Having slept in his clothes from the day before, the small man walked out of the room and smiled slightly at the sight of the brunet cooking in the kitchen, wearing only his long johns and slippers. The blond noticed Bucky's coat hanging by the door, dripping slowly onto the towel beneath it. The taller man's galoshes also were still soaked where they sat by the door. Bucky had gone out in the night.

"Uh . . . Bucky?" Steve called out meekly, not sure what mood his lover would be in.

Turning with the hot pan in his right hand and the spatula in his left, Bucky walked the couple steps to the table and slid eggs and bacon on both plates. "Yeah?" he asked, sounding subdued. The brunet turned back to the sink and poured the grease into the jar set aside for it.

"I . . . uh . . . Merry Christmas?" Steve winced at the question in his tone.

Putting the pan back on the stove and switching the large appliance off, Bucky turned and studied Steve for a long moment. Finally he sighed, tension seeming to leave his shoulders. "Yeah," he smiled a bit, "Merry Christmas, Stevie."

"Look . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry for what I said last night. It wasn't fair to you," Steve said.

"Yeah, me, too," Bucky answered. "I missed you at Midnight Mass . . ."

Eyes widening, Steve had completely forgotten about Mass . . . that's why Bucky's outdoor clothes had been wet. "Oh my . . . Bucky why didn't you wake me up? I - - I completely forgot."

"I didn't know you forgot, Steve." He looked sheepish. "I thought you didn't come out because you were too angry with me. I thought maybe you wanted to walk on your own, so I just left." He sat at his place, poking his eggs with his fork.

Steve hated the fact that he was the reason for Bucky's sad mood on Christmas . . . that he'd made his lover so upset. He didn't move from where he stood, the guilt he felt making him immobile.

Swallowing, Bucky finally pushed his plate back, having eaten nothing. "Well, uh . . . work's given me the day off for Christmas, even if it's Thursday. Whatcha wanna do?"

Shrugging softly, Steve's eyes fell to the ground. "I don't . . . I don't know. Whatever you want . . . of course I would understand if you wanted nothing to do with me today. I was a real jerk yesterday."

Bucky raised his face, confusion in his eyes, one hand slipping down over his abdomen. "Why would that be new? You're a jerk all the time, punk." He gestured with his right hand. "Your eggs and bacon are gettin' cold, Stevie."

Steve smiled, but the expression didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bucky. Really . . . you were just tryin' to help me, and I said those things . . ."

Rolling his eyes, Bucky said "yeah, you've said sorry about fifty times now, Steve. I forgive you. It's really okay. Now eat already," he stood and walked into the bedroom.

Eyebrows pulling together in confusion, Steve fought between doing as he was told or following Bucky into the bedroom. Sighing, the small man decided that he should allow the brunet to have his space, and he shuffled over to the table and sat down at his normal spot. With his fork he pushed around his eggs and stabbed at the piece of bacon. He didn't feel much like eating, but he didn't want the food to go to waste so he forced himself to take a few small bites.

Finally, Bucky came back out of the bedroom, carrying something lumpy and small wrapped in a handkerchief in his left hand. He walked over and sat back at his place then set the cloth-wrapped package in front of Steve. "Here," he said softly with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

Steve eyed the package with surprise and humiliation. "But . . . I- - I didn't get you anything! We said no gifts, Buck!"

"No," Bucky shook his head and pulled his plate closer once more, picking up his fork. "You said no gifts. I said okay." He stabbed his eggs and began to eat slowly.

"Bucky!" Steve whined softly, "But I didn't get you anything . . ."

"You said we'd do anything I wanted today, right?" Bucky glanced up, his grey-blue eyes mischievous.

"Well . . . yeah but that ain't - -" Steve started.

"Well," Bucky added, after taking a bite of his bacon and chewing and swallowing, "I want you to draw me, like you did when I was fifteen." Bucky took another bite of bacon.

Eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, Steve murmured, "Really?"

Bucky looked at Steve, fork in his mouth, and smiled at him. "Yeah, really. It's been almost ten years, Steve. I think I've changed a bit since your last drawing . . . like that."

"Yeah, your mug got a bit uglier," Steve teased.

Laughing, Bucky shook his head. "I didn't say draw my ugly mug, Cariad," he practically purred.

"Oh . . . oh!" Steve blushed heavily as he slowly took a bite of the bacon.

With another grin, Bucky pulled his fork from his mouth and scooped up more eggs to eat. After a few seconds, without looking away from Steve, Bucky breathed, "open your gift, Stevie. I bought it for you the day after you said you were joining the Army." He shrugged and broke the look, glancing at his plate. "I thought you'd need it. Guess I was wrong, but I still want you to have it."

Reaching out to take the wrapped gift in his hands, Steve carefully unwrapped the handkerchief to reveal a long, silver chain, much as a man might put his watch on. "Bucky . . . it's beautiful."

Shrugging, flushing a bit, Bucky said, "it's for the wedding rings. So you can always have them with you."

Eyes filling with tears and spilling before Steve could even stop them, the small man launched himself from his chair and wrapped his arms around his lover, breathing in the comforting smell deeply. "Thank you, Buck. Thank you so much."

With a lap and arms full of his Stevie, Bucky smiled and buried his face in the blond's soft hair. "I love you, Cariad. If those stupid Army guys don't see the true heart under the skin, it's their loss. I want you with me, always, to the end of the line."

Steve pressed his lips passionately against Bucky's before breathing into his lover's mouth, "I love you so much, Bucky."

"I'd ask you to marry me, if it was legal," Bucky breathed back, kissing Steve with a matching passion.

"And I'd say yes," Steve muttered in between kisses.

Pulling back slowly, Bucky studied Steve, expression serious. Slowly, softly, not daring to imagine what the answer might be, Bucky said, "why don't we? Why don't we get married?"

"We can't, Buck. You said it yourself . . . people can't know. Plus . . . no pastor will marry two men," Steve returned his lover's gaze.

Bucky lowered his forehead to press gently against Steve's, breathing his lover's scent. "I mean, you and me . . . we 'change vows and rings in private. With God as our witness and pastor?"

Shuffling out of Bucky's lap, Steve ran into the bedroom and began to sift through his meager belongings before he found what he'd been looking for.

Bucky whimpered as his love left him, but he stayed in his chair and let his head hang down. He took a deep breath, trying not to feel disappointed at the odd reaction. He should have known he'd been pushing too far . . . too much. Steve never broke the law.

Running back into the room, Steve presented his father's ring to Bucky. The simple gold band had dulled over the years but it still shone slightly in the light.

Blinking slowly, Bucky looked from the ring up to the blond's face. "Steve?"

"Take it, Buck." Steve offered again and then held up his mother's own gold band. "I wanna get married."

Flushing a bit, Bucky fished into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened the small leather purse and retrieved his father's ring. "Mam gave this to me after I got better. Said it was to replace the dog Gracie claimed," he whispered. Looking back at Steve, he held it out. "I wanna marry you with a man's ring, not a woman's? Is that okay?"

"Of course." Steve nodded, more tears falling down his cheeks, the blond pocketed his mother's ring,

Relieved at his lover's acceptance, Bucky nodded and slipped to his knees. "I've never been to a wedding, but I know it's taking vows before God, and that's best done on your knees, right?" He smiled up at Steve, holding up Tata's old ring. "I, James Buchanan Barnes, before God, promise to love and cherish, obey and help, you, Steven Grant Rogers, no matter what happens. If we're sick or poor or starving, I'll still be here, at the end of the line. I love you and always will." He held out the ring.

Letting out a small sob, Steve shakily held out his hand and Bucky slid the ring on Steve's left ring finger, curling the small digit over the golden band when it threatened to slip off; it was too large for him.

The smaller man, pulled Bucky to his feet before kneeling down in front of his lover. "I, Steven Grant Rogers, before God, promise to love and cherish, obey and help, you, James Buchanan Barnes, no matter what happens. I love you with my whole heart, my whole soul, my whole being. You are the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. 'Til the end of the line, Buck, I'll be here always."

Bucky held up his hand, his eyes never leaving Steve's, love shining. The blond slipped the ring on Bucky's left ring finger, smiling as the ring seemed to be just the right size.

"I guess you'll need to keep your ring on your chain after all, Steve. We can't risk getting it resized. People would wonder." Bucky leaned down to pull Steve to his feet, slipping his lips over his lover's in a gentle kiss of promise.

Returning the kiss before grabbing the chain off the table, Steve unclasped the necklace and slipped the ring off his finger. Carefully the small man put his wedding band on the chain and clasped the chain again, locking it in place around his neck.

"Now the most important question: are you going to secretly be Steve Barnes or am I secretly Buck Rogers?"

Pondering the question for a moment before pressing his lips to his husband's, the small blond whispered lovingly, "I think Steve Barnes has a nice ring to it . . . what do you think?"

"Okay, Steve Barnes . . . my husband," Bucky kissed his lover again, breathing the sweet scent of the other man. "God, I love you, Stevie."

Nipping at Bucky's earlobe, Steve whispered, his voice heavy with desire, "What do you want to do now, Bucky? I'm all yours for the entire day."

Laughing, Bucky nodded. "I want you to draw me." He set Steve away carefully and began to unbutton his long johns, winking. Bucky turned and headed for the bedroom as he stripped.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Thirteen: Worrying Changes