Giving Thanks

March 10, 1934

Steve knocked loudly at the Barnes' door, then jammed his hands in his pockets. He might be a terrible liar, but he wasn't going to let this secret slip. No, he should just focus on what– Bucky stepped out, startling him.

"Oh. Hey."

"Hey, Steve. What's new?"

"Oh, um I was… wondering if you wanted to go to the movies. The Strand has a double bill, Sons of the Desert and Duck Soup."

Bucky's face lit up. "Laurel and Hardy and the Marx brothers? Gee, that's swell. That's- that's the cat's pajamas!"

"My treat," Steve added, jingling the coins in his pocket. "Happy birthday, by the way."

As a thank you Bucky put Steve in a headlock, and made him fight his way out.

"We'll make a fighter out of you one of these days," Bucky said, grinning at his triumphant friend. "Wait. I mean a good one."

Steve chased him down the street as far as the corner.

They heartily enjoyed the movies, and Steve insisted they stop for a soda on the way home. He had to make sure his mother and the others had enough time to–

"Why are you grinning like that?" Bucky asked, draining his bottle of Pepsi, and jumping down from their seat in the window.

"Like what?" Steve asked, following him to the door. "Thanks, Mr. Lovitz," he called.

The man behind the counter, with the salt-and-pepper hair and pince-nez, waved back. "Gern geschehen, Steven, Bucky. See you later."

As they made their way down the street Bucky began to sing, "I will not stand for anything that's crooked or unfair. I'm strictly on the up-and-up, so everyone beware. If anyone's caught taking graft… and I don't get my share, we stand him up against the wall and…"

"Pop goes the weasel!" both boys chorused.

When they reached their apartment buildings, Steve glanced up, searching for– Aha. The curtains were closed. He seized Bucky's arm. "Come on. We've got a surprise for you at our place."

Bucky grinned and went along, but when Steve flung open his front door and shoved his friend in with a breathless cry of, "Here he is!" he froze.

In a moment he was surrounded by clamouring cousins, second-cousins, and a few aunts and uncles too.

Steve squeezed his way around the crowd, to find his mother standing in the kitchen. She smiled and gave him a big hug, kissed his cheek. "You timed that right. Gertie and Tom only got here five minutes ago."

"And Uncle George isn't mad?"

Sarah Rogers laughed and turned her son to look where she was pointing. "I don't think so."

Bucky's dad was getting a hug and a kiss from his sister, while talking animatedly with Uncle Harold, Aunt Winnie's brother who had the fruit farm upstate.

Steve knew it had been a long time since Bucky and his family had seen most of their relatives, thanks to Mr. Barnes's stubborn pride. Now that he had work, and a good job too, as manager at Loeser's, maybe life could be a little easier for Bucky and his family.

He caught Bucky's eye across the room and mouthed the words, "Happy birthday."

November 1934

Bucky moved to block the wind and Steve hunched over his sketchbook, pencil flying. He was trying to capture the shades of the lowering sky behind the battleship, with the men crawling all over her like ants.

"Swell day you picked for this," Bucky grumbled half-heartedly.

"Tell it to Sweeny," Steve murmured. He was in a hurry, wanting to move on before someone found them, and get home before dark.

"We're getting a squall," Bucky warned, peering out across the bay.

"Snow or rain?"

"Snow, by the looks of it."

Finally Steve jumped up, tucking his pencils in his pocket, and his sketchbook under his coat. Forgetting they were in a 'Restricted Area' they crossed the road heading for another shed, looking for more ships.

"Hoy!" came a shout. "Heave ho, there!"

"Dang it!" Bucky bolted, Steve on his heels. And the snowstorm closed around them.

The snow was half sleet, and thick enough that the boys couldn't see more than ten feet. Steve stumbled over something, fell, picked himself up. A gust of wind drove the little needles of ice into his face.

Wait. They'd been running with the wind on their left. Hadn't they? He turned, trying to cup his hand over his face. "Bucky!" he yelled. "Buck, where are you?!"

Off to his right, he could make out the dark shape of a boatshed, and figured he'd better duck into the lee of it, until the storm blew over. He staggered, head down, fighting the wind. Gosh, the ground was slippery.

A sudden shower fell on him, and he stopped, peering into the gloom. The snow was white, but somehow everything seemed dark. There was a sound of water, waves slapping roughly against a pier. He must be going the wrong way.

He turned back, hunching his shoulders, the cold air starting to make his lungs hurt. Another gust of wind caught him, he staggered, stepped on a patch of ice, and fell.

Ugh. Now he was covered in icy slush. His teeth were really chattering now. "Bucky," he called. "Bucky!"

He picked himself up again, more slowly this time. Then he crouched down, back to the wind, trying to stay warm. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Buck-eeey!" It surprised him how much strength that took.

Now he knelt, hunched over, coughing. He felt weak and tired. He was so cold, so… cold. Or was he?

He started awake at a voice. "Steve! Oh, God. Steve! Stevie, wake up."

Arms under him, lifting him. Strong. Bucky.

"Buck," he mumbled, rested his head on his friend's shoulder.

"Stevie. Listen you gotta stay awake gotta listen to me get you home." Bucky's rambling stopped suddenly. "Aunt Sarah. Oh, God, what am I gonna do?"

Steve could make out the line of his jaw, the clouds formed by Bucky's breath. "S'okay, Buck," he murmured. "M'fine."

Bucky looped Steve's arm around his neck, then stood, cradling his friend against his chest. "You won't be if I don't get you home."

There followed a confusing blur of voices, jostling, lights, dark, a ride in a car, and finally his mother's face, and the enveloping warmth of home.

He was shivering again, so hard. And, gosh his chest hurt.

The world blurred again. He was cold, hot, cold. Coughing, couldn't stop coughing. So hot, so thirsty. He heard his mother's voice, Bucky's. He tried to ask for water, but started coughing again.

Bucky's face. Cool water sliding down his throat.

His chest hurt. Hurt so bad. He couldn't breathe. Could not breathe. Can't breathe!

"Breathe. C'mon, Stevie. Just breathe." Was that Bucky? Or could it be his father, home from the war at last? He tried to call out, but only began to cough.

At some point he drifted off into a blessed darkness.

He awoke slowly, enjoying the peace and quiet. Opening his eyes, he took a few careful breaths. Okay, that worked, though the cough lurked close to the surface. Slowly he turned his head to check the time on his mother's alarm clock. He blinked, a trifle surprised.

Bucky slept beside him, on top of the blankets and fully dressed. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair in disarray, and the dark smudges under his eyes were accentuated by his pale face. His head was tilted as if he'd been listening to Steve's breathing.

For some reason Steve found himself smiling. "Buck," he murmured.

The other boy did not stir. Steve was weak as a kitten, but he managed to reach across to pat Bucky's cheek with a shaky hand. Bucky stirred, putting up his own hand to cover Steve's. He blinked awake, and stared into Steve's face.

"Hey," Steve croaked, and immediately took a coughing fit.

"Good gosh!" Bucky blurted, sitting up so fast he almost fell off the bed. He snatched a glass off the nightstand, the water sloshing dangerously. Sliding one arm under Steve's shoulders, he helped him sit up, then held the glass to his lips for him to drink.

But Bucky's hand was shaking so badly, Steve finally summoned the strength to pull the glass away and drink by himself. When the cough was under control Bucky took the glass back and made to put it back on the nightstand, but fumbled and missed.

"Bucky?" came a worried, hoarse whisper from the doorway. Steve turned his head on Bucky's shoulder, to see his mother leaning against the doorframe. She looked, if anything, worse than Buck, and was just putting up her hand to hide a yawn.

She froze, hand in the air, mouth open. "Steve. Oh, Stevie." She flew to the bed, and held him so tight and cried into his hair and said over and over, "Oh, thank the dear Lord. Thank the Lord. Oh, thank the Lord."

The doctor came in, to peer down Steve's throat, shake his head, and smile.

Bucky, who had run off, came back with greetings and get-well wishes from his family.

Steve was happy, because they were, but he was also a tad confused, and very tired. He could see his mother drooping suddenly.

Bucky took charge. "Aunt Sarah, you're done in. You'd better take a nap before you get sick too, or something." He gently led her from the room, and Steve closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he could tell by the light that it was evening. Bucky was facing him, slouched back against the footboard. He smiled and moved to feel Steve's forehead.

"What happened?" Steve mumbled.

"Pneumonia. You had it pretty bad." The light in Bucky's eyes flickered. "We thought–" He looked down, then back at Steve, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "It's my fault. I didn't realise you weren't with me until I was almost at the gates." He sniffed, swiped his sleeve across his nose. "I wondered if you'd walked off the pier or something. My gosh."

"What about my sketchbook?" Steve asked suddenly.

Bucky made an odd noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Yeah, pal. Finding you half-frozen and thinking you're dead, I'd have to remember your stupid sketchbook." He got up, and went over to Steve's cot in the corner; came back with the water stained, wrinkled pad of paper.

"What day is it?" Steve asked, slowly turning a couple ruined pages.

"Friday, the twenty-third. Yesterday was Thanksgiving."

Steve looked up, startled. "But we went to the Navy yard on Sunday."

"Yeah," Bucky said. "We did." He smiled suddenly. "Hope you'll be up for turkey dinner on Sunday. Mother's already started cooking. She sent over some chicken soup, whenever you're ready for it."

Steve nodded absently. He stopped flipping, stared for a moment, and tore a page out. "Here."

Bucky stared down at the paper held out to him. The swift, accurate lines depicting the battleship and the little figures of the men, swarming around her. The grey lowering clouds and angry water in the distance.

He looked back up at Steve, unable to speak.

"It'll just remind me how you saved my life," Steve said quietly.

Bucky's lips trembled and he turned away, standing abruptly. "You hungry?" he asked, then cleared his throat and repeated the question.

"Sure."

He turned back and ruffled Steve's hair. "I know what I'm giving thanks for now, pal."

Steve smiled. "Me too."

Author's notes: The Strand, later renamed Bell Cinema, was a small theatre on Washington Avenue at Eastern Parkway. Now it's a grocery store.
German:
Gern geschehen: You're welcome.
Bucky sings lines from (what else) Duck Soup. (I had so much fun tracking down lines from that movie.)
Loeser's Department Store was on Fulton Street, on the edge of downtown Brooklyn.

And no, I've never had pneumonia but I have been caught in a snowstorm and had some nasty colds and flu over the years. I try to build on my own experiences as much as possible throughout this story.