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After a hardy pat on the back from Dugan in encouragement, Bucky stumbled forward several steps, nearly falling on his face. He grimaced and rubbed a hand along what was sure to become a bruise. As he neared his destination, the conversation of the other Howling Commandos faded. His boots stepped in prints that had been left by hundreds of other boots. Stopping in front of a large tent, he paused. There wasn't really a door to knock on, even if there was such a thing as privacy in the army. Shrugging, he entered without any preamble.
"Hey, Steve, the men are hungry and we were wondering if…" he trailed off as he caught sight of his friend.
Upon his entrance, Steve had jerked upright from a kneeling position. Blue eyes wide in surprise, Steve hastily snatched up a threadbare blanket, throwing it around his shoulders, effectively covering his exposed chest and abdomen. Bucky would have rolled his eyes if it hadn't been for the guilt written all over Steve's face.
"You know you don't have to cover up on my account." He aimed for levity but it came out as poorly disguised concern. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before."
"Y-you let in all the cold air," Steve stuttered over his excuse.
This time, Bucky did roll his eyes. "Come on, Steve, it's just as cold in here as it is out there. And why aren't you dressed anyway? It's way past breakfast time. The men are starving and so am I. Hurry up so we go eat already."
"You fellas go on ahead. I'll catch up." Steve tipped his chin in the direction of the tent flap.
"Okay. What's wrong?" Bucky inquired, not believing Steve's nonchalant routine.
"Nothing," Steve replied, albeit a little too quickly.
Raising an eyebrow, Bucky scrutinized him closely. "What's wrong?" he repeated.
"Nothing," Steve insisted. "Go on, I'll be there in a minute."
"I don't get you." Bucky crossed his arms, accusatory. "You're the one who's always up before the crack of dawn, shoving us out of bed. But now, the day after we finally push Hydra out of Austria, you sleep in and lounge around while the rest of us stand out in the freezing cold, listening to our stomachs growl instead of enjoying a well-earned victory meal."
"It's not like that!" Steve protested.
"Oh, it's not?" Bucky shot back. "Because that's sure what it looks like."
"Well, it isn't!"
"Then what is it?!" Bucky shouted, invading further into the tent.
Steve looked away. "Nothing."
Bucky threw his hands up. "There you go again. It's obviously not nothing. Either you're sleeping in like a hypocrite or you're suddenly slacking off your precious schedule."
"Bucky," Steve exhaled tiredly. "I'm not being a hypocrite or a slacker…Trust me when I say that."
"It's kind of hard to trust you when you don't trust me!" Bucky clenched his fists.
Steve's jaw dropped. "I do trust you! I've always trusted you, Buck."
"Then why won't you tell me what's really going on?" Bucky glared.
"I….can't." Steve refused to meet his gaze, rubbing a knuckle against the tip of his nose.
"See?!" Bucky leaped forward. "You don't trust me!" He shoved Steve in the chest.
Gasping, Steve collapsed, slamming his side into the corner of the table. The blanket fell from his body and it left Bucky staring.
"I'm-I didn't mean-damn, Steve. Why didn't you tell me about this?" Wanting to apologize but unable to leave the real issue alone, Bucky froze above Steve, staring down at the blood leaking from a previous injury.
Grinding his teeth, Steve pushed one hand over the gash in his side, red liquid sliding warm between his fingers, while he used his other hand to lever himself into a sitting position. "It's fine."
"That doesn't look very good," Bucky observed, cringing at Steve's heavy breathing. He glanced up into the captain's pale face. "When did you get that?"
"Yesterday morning," Steve grunted.
Bucky's eyes widened. "But that means…Why the hell didn't you tell anyone?! You mean you were fighting with…with that?"
"Obviously I was able to," Steve defended, wincing as he applied pressure to the freshly reopened wound.
"What happened?" Bucky questioned quietly.
Steve shrugged. "Hydra must have gotten a lucky shot."
"That's from a bullet?" Bucky queried softly.
He received a nod in reply. Feeling sick at the thought of how close he had come to losing his friend, Bucky bit his lip to keep from vomiting.
"It's only a graze," Steve placated. The blood dripping down his stomach disagreed.
"Why-?" Bucky swallowed back bile. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Steve turned troubled eyes up to him. "If the men knew…it'd be bad for morale."
The queasy feeling in Bucky's stomach boiled into anger. "What?"
"If they knew I'd been hit, it would've brought them down. I couldn't do that to them. Not before a major battle," Steve explained.
"You can't go into a major battle with a wound like that, Steve!" Bucky countered, disregarding the fact that Steve already had. "Morale be damned. You were injured and you didn't tell anyone because you're too proud to-"
Steve interrupted hotly, "I didn't tell anyone because if I had, they would have pulled me from duty. You know Phillips. He would have. I had to be there. It was my plan, my men. My responsibility."
"Steve, you were bleeding, for heaven's sake!" Bucky tossed an agitated hand toward the site of the wound. "Does that mean nothing to you?"
"No, it doesn't!" Steve gained his feet in one swift motion.
Chests heaving, the two stared at each other. Anger swirled through the enclosed space, thick and oppressive.
"Um…Captain?" A hesitant voice called from outside.
Steve twitched, eyes never leaving Bucky's. "Yes, Falsworth?"
"Is everything alright?" the Brit queried.
"Everything's fine," Steve smoothed the tension from his voice and Bucky himself would have believed him if he hadn't been the one Steve was arguing with.
"You men go ahead and have breakfast. Barnes and I will join you in a moment," Steve invited.
"Very well," Falsworth agreed and the sound of his footsteps was audible in the silence.
Bucky didn't relent in his glare. "I'm not done talking to you, Rogers."
"I know," Steve sighed, deflating. "But can we talk about it later? The men are expecting us and-"
"Is everything about the men?" Bucky snapped.
Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You get shot and you don't tell anyone because of what the men will think. You're bleeding again and you won't say anything because of the men. You should be in the hospital but instead you want to go to breakfast because the men are expecting you." Bucky didn't bother keeping the venom out of his voice. "When did what everyone else think of you matter so much that you won't even take care of yourself?"
"Since I grew fourteen inches, gained one hundred and seventy pounds of muscle, and a rank in the army." Steve bowed his head wearily.
"Hey, listen to me. They don't own you." Bucky ducked his head to catch Steve's eye. "They. Do not. Own you."
Steve shrugged. "They made me what I am."
"You made you who you are," Bucky persisted. "Five rejects and you still went on to try at that stupid fair." He shook his head. "They had the tech but you had the heart."
Steve shifted self-consciously, a secretly delighted grin sneaking onto the left side of his mouth.
"You're a person first. A soldier after," Bucky stated wholeheartedly. "That means that when you get hit, you see the damn doctor."