Whoo-hoo! Another update! The reason why-I'm visiting out of state relatives. So guess who has internet? ;)
"…At which point Sgt. Hamilton will flank them, forcing them through this bottleneck here, into the city square, where we will pound them with an artillery barrage before doing a final sweep to pick off survivors," Steve finished his battle plan, pushing off the map table he had been pointing and gesturing at for the past half hour while his eager audience had crowded around him, listening with rapt attention.
"Well, shucks, there's a Brooklyn boy with a head on his shoulders!" Sgt. Hamilton boomed, his ruddy face lit with approval.
Loud laughter followed and Steve blushed, hoping that the yellow light of the war room would hide the tell-tale pink. Beneath the ruckus of the gathered troops, Steve could hear Bucky's stifled chuckles. He should have known better than to think he could hide anything from his lifelong pal.
"It sounds like a great plan! A sure win tomorrow!" Hamilton's deep voice carried over the crowd of troops and they cheered more forcefully. "Let's get us some drinks, boys! To victory!" he shouted.
Steve's head jerked up and he raised a hand to calm the storm of thunderous applause. "You'll have to put a hold on those drinks," he observed as soon as he was able to be heard.
Many pairs of eyebrows shot upward.
"Whaddya mean?" Hamilton regarded him suspiciously.
Keeping an outward visage of firm command, Steve didn't betray the discomfort he felt internally. His next policy would not be met well but he would not back down from it.
"No alcohol before a battle." Steve's voice was quiet, yet strong.
A chorus of outraged protests burst out.
"How're the men supposed to fight if they've got no juice in 'em?" Hamilton opposed.
Steve smiled, unapologetic. "They'll find a way."
"Come now, not even one?" Hamilton tried bargaining.
Shaking his head, Steve would not relent. "At least it'll give them something to look forward to."
With displeasure in his eyes, Hamilton scrutinized the man before him. Steve stared back unflinchingly. He would not budge on this point. He knew what drink could do to a person and he would not allow the men under his command to fight while the lingering alcohol slowed their movements and dulled their senses. Keeping alive was hard enough sober, he would not permit them try it inhibited. Not waiting for Hamilton's approval or dismissal, Steve turned to address the men.
"Sleep tonight. We fight in the morning. And then you can drink until you can't drink anymore after we've blasted every last Hydra agent from the city!" he rallied.
The men gave a final cheer before dispersing, sufficiently placated. Hamilton waited until the troops had left before coming up to Steve.
"It's a good plan," he grunted. "Both of them," he grudgingly added before hastily exiting.
Bucky shook his head, a grin on his face. "I still can't believe they all listen to you like that."
With a final glance over his shoulder to ensure they were alone, Steve blew out a breath and planted his palms on the table, slumping and leaning his weight on his arms. Bucky's grin faded.
"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're second guessing yourself." Bucky rolled his eyes. "It really is a good plan, Steve."
"It's not that," Steve mumbled, tired eyes settling on a random point of the map.
"What is it, then?" Bucky drew nearer, attempting to make eye contact.
A second heavy sigh tumbled out Steve's lips and he rocked back and forth on his arms. Bucky waited, knowing from experience that Steve would talk as soon as he had collected his thoughts. His patience was rewarded, for, in a moment, Steve continued.
"Did you see how young they were?" he questioned, voice hoarse.
"Who? The 501st?" Bucky clarified.
Steve gave a slight nod.
"Of course." Bucky shrugged. "They're fresh from the States. Shipped out last week. Just got here a couple days ago."
"I know that!" Steve snapped.
Bucky drew back, unused to Steve's temper. It had been a rare occasion in New York. Steve barely ever lost it and he hardly raised his voice when he did. But war changed people. Steve was sometimes moody now and Bucky tried hard to keep up with his friend's abrupt mood swings. It could be a challenge. During the briefing, Steve had been the confident leader, cool-headed, in control and determined. A moment ago, he was the weary warrior. Now he lashed out before falling silent, shoulders drooping and head bowed. He seemed…defeated, in a way. And the battle hadn't even begun yet. Tentatively, Bucky placed a hand on the stooped shoulders. Steve had never been one for physical contact but it was the only way Bucky knew how to communicate when he couldn't find the words. He hoped Steve would understand the unspoken message.
"I'm sorry," Steve murmured, relaxing under the gesture. "I didn't mean to yell at you but, gosh, Buck. I don't think any of them are even old enough to drink."
"Like you are?" Bucky snorted.
Steve gave him a half-hearted glare. "You know I haven't had a drop."
"What about all those bars we've been to since this thing began, huh?" Bucky prodded.
"If you weren't so drunk yourself, you'd have seen that I never actually drink anything," Steve pointed out, a small smile trying its best to lighten up the edges of his mouth.
Bucky had no reply but a sheepish grin. The moment passed and Steve's mood dipped into moroseness once more.
"Some of them won't get that drink," he exhaled.
Understanding dawned on Bucky and he squeezed his hand in order to grip Steve's shoulder. "But most of them will."
Steve's tightly clenched fist dropped suddenly onto the table, pounding into the wood. Pens rattled to the floor, paperweights shook, table legs trembled and Bucky's hand flew off the tension-riddled mound of muscle.
"Damn it, Bucky! That's not good enough!" Steve yelled.
The echo of his voice traveled around the room. Bucky swallowed. Over and over, Steve's fist slowly lifted off the tabletop a few centimeters before returning to its original position. Bucky watched its movement while he listened to Steve's heavy breathing fill his ears.
"I just…I…" Steve seemed unaware of his hand's motion, eyes locked on the markers he had been manipulating across the map only minutes before. "Each of them has a family who is expecting them to come home. Hell, the men themselves wanna get back. And I'm supposed to…" he trailed off, face despondent.
A twinge of pity pricked at Bucky and he winced. He hadn't known the extent to which Steve was affected by his position of leadership. Steve was too caring, too compassionate and took too much responsibility. Bucky knew firsthand the burden of leadership. But he also knew that it didn't have to be one that drove a man to despair.
"Hey, Steve, look at me," he called softly.
Steve mutely stared at the metal pieces on the paper map, seeing not numbers but faces. Coffins instead of statistics.
"Steve." Bucky grabbed his upper arm and tugged until Steve was forced to look at him. "It's not your job to make sure everyone gets out alive." Steve's mouth opened but Bucky interrupted. "You're just supposed to think up the best plan that gives everyone the best chance at keeping themselves safe. Okay? You can't save everyone and you shouldn't try." He held up a hand as Steve began to argue. "No. You need to listen to me. You know what it's like out there, when the bombs are falling and the guns are firing. There's no way for anyone to be able to say where those bullets are going. It's all chance, Steve. Or fate. Or whatever you want to call it. Some people make it out okay and some don't. We know that. We all knew that when we signed up. But we chose to come anyway. You just have to remember that we value our freedom more than our lives. We're fighting because it's the right thing to do and if we're dying for the right thing then that's not a bad way to go. Right? Steve?" Bucky gave the arm he held a rough shake.
Doubt was plain in Steve's face and the weight of responsibility still hid in his eyes but he nodded at Bucky's words. A sad smile lifted one side of his mouth.
"Thanks, Buck." He looked up at the ceiling. "I guess sometimes…it's just hard, you know?" He dropped his eyes and met Bucky's gaze.
Unsure whether Steve meant it was hard to be a leader or hard to believe the concepts Bucky had just told him, Bucky didn't know, so he settled for merely nodding. "I know, Steve."
Straightening, Steve gave Bucky one final grateful look, accompanied by a slap to the shoulder. The doubt and fear were gone. The Captain was back. He opened the door and stepped out, grinning at the shouts of recognition as if he hadn't just broken down and been put back together by his childhood friend. Bucky looked down at the map. Captain America might have had all the answers but he got most of them from Bucky Barnes.