They went to the enlistment office together. Bucky didn't much care about being a soldier one way or the other, but he wasn't about to let Steve do this alone.

It was something respectable to do, anyway, he supposed. Might as well sign up before your number gets called.

He probably should have seen it coming. Of course he should've.

Steve stared at the blotchy stamped 4F dejectedly, before crumpling the form in his hand. The laundry-list of medical ailments really was impressive when you saw it written out. He kicked a dented old trashcan as they passed and stubbed his toe.

"They can't do this to me."

"Don't take it personal, kid. You don't have to be a grunt. Maybe you can be a…. I dunno, a desk clerk or something."

Bucky kept his card folded up in his jacket pocket. He didn't really want to look at it, though he knew exactly what it said.

"I don't want to be a clerk, Buck. I want to serve my country."

"It's all servin'." Bucky shrugged.

Steve wasn't impressed.

"It's hiding, that's what it is. I can't sit around New York, safe and sound, while guys are out there dying. It's… it's not right. It's not fair."

Bucky kindly refrained from reminding him that he was hardly 'safe and sound', even in Brooklyn. Steve had nearly gotten a beating just that morning, before Bucky had come along and the creeps had run off.

"Hey, everybody's gotta help somehow. You should be glad you don't have to do it on the front-line, Rogers."

"Easy for you to say, they made you an officer." Steve muttered bitterly. The way he said it almost made it sound like this was a personal affront to Steve Rogers and all that he stood for.

"Hey, kid, I didn't ask to get promoted. It just happened. Besides, this was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah…" Steve deflated a little, hanging his head. Bucky patted him on the back, trying to be comforting. "Yeah, I know. Glad at least one of us got in…"

"Yeah." Bucky agreed. And thank god it was me. He hadn't much liked the idea of Steve getting shot at and it was a weight off his mind to know he didn't have to worry now.

He should've known better. Of course he should have.

"Get another one?" Bucky didn't look up from his comic book as Steve stomped into his bedroom and flopped down into a chair. His little scarecrow legs stuck out like straws in front of him.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Where were you from this time? Idaho?"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it." Steve slumped further, tossing a crumpled enlistment card at his friend's head. Bucky chose to ignore it. The smudged "F" was visible in one corner.

"Rogers, you're gonna get arrested."

"I am not. I just want to serve, how is that a crime?"

"Because it's illegal, stupid. You're only allowed to sign up once, and you're sure as hell not allowed to lie on the form."

"I'm not lying… I'm… ok, fine I'm lying. But it's for a good reason."

"Steve. C'mon. You aren't gonna get in. ...I know you just wanna help, pal, but this is getting stupid. One of these days you're gonna get caught."

"I don't care." Steve grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chin and folding himself impossibly small into the chair.

"Well I do." Bucky finally laid down the comic and looked him in the eye. "I gotta ship out eventually, Steve. I wanna know you're safe when I do, not locked up in god-knows-what hellhole because you couldn't take a fuckin' hint!"

Steve had the decency to look both embarrassed and a bit touched. He muttered something that sounded like assent.

Bucky should've known better.