"You feelin' any better today?" Steve asks, pleased that the thin stew is vanishing steadily.
Bucky hesitates.
"Some." he says after a moment, busying himself with chasing a chunk of what is probably beef around the tin plate. "Ain't dead."
Steve tries to study him discreetly, watching for the little tells of pain that he knows Bucky's got. As best he can tell, his friend is honestly doing better. Much better, in fact, than Steve would've expected so soon.
"Keep it that way, huh?" Steve tells him, trying for levity.
Bucky doesn't smile. He spends a long time staring at his spoon, then sets it down with a resigned sigh. His shoulders square almost imperceptibly.
"Look… Steve… Are you ok? You can tell me."
When Steve doesn't answer, the mess plate comes to rest in Bucky's lap, mostly empty.
"You just got turned into Superman, what… a couple'a months ago? Gotta be weird…" He shakes his head. "And how the fuck'd you end up gettin' picked to blow up one of the nastiest shit-holes in the war that fast?" Bucky finally raises his eyes to study Steve back. They are disconcertingly intent. "You get on somebody's bad side already?"
"Nobody important." Steve shrugs. The guys that used to harass him all backed off when he came back 100 pounds of muscle heavier. The brass don't really care what he does, as long as the bond sales keep coming.
"They don't send people they like on suicide missions, Steve-o." Bucky smirks at him, wry and charming like he always used to be at home, for just an instant. He shifts himself a little further upright, grunting uncomfortably as a stiff wrinkle of fabric prods against a bruise. "So what'd you do? Mouth off to a general?"
Come to think of it, yes, Steve had done that. But that wasn't what'd landed him here.
"I uh… I didn't get sent, exactly." He evades. Bucky's eyes widen a fraction and he can see the pieces falling into place. "I might possibly be in a shit-ton of trouble when we get back - just fair warning."
"Jesus, Steve… What'd you do?" Bucky looks like he isn't sure he wants to know.
"I came looking for you." Steve tells him simply. "I heard your unit got taken, and you didn't come back…" He studies his own feet with sudden interest. "They said they weren't going to mount a rescue. Too risky… So I mounted my own."
"Holy fuck… you went AWOL…" Bucky's got his head in his hands, looking dazed again. "Steve... this is serious. You know what they do to guys who take off like that?"
"Ticker-tape parade?"
"Stockade." Bucky snaps, grim. "If you're lucky."
"I don't care." Steve answers firmly, setting his jaw. Even if they shoot him on sight, it was still worth it. "I told you to get your stupid ass back here in one piece and you didn't listen. What was I s'posed to do?" Bucky glares at him. "And hey, we made a great big mess of whatever it was they were doing in there. That's gotta count for something, right?"
"Fuckin'- ..." Bucky throws his hands up, resigned, wincing as something pulls in his shoulder. He rubs at it absently. "I got your back, Steve. You know I do. But there's not much I can do if they take you away…"
"Don't worry about me." Steve tells him with a self-deprecating shrug. "They got a lot of money sunk into me. I don't think they'll do anything too bad. Maybe keep me on a leash or something."
"I hope you're right." Bucky says, still doubtful. He sizes Steve up, a reluctant smirk flittering onto his face at that image. "Have to be one hell of a big leash at this point."
"Wouldn't work anyways." Steve remarks, standing up to join the men who are gathering to resume their slow march to safety. "I don't do so well at behaving like a good boy."
Bucky snorts, handing over the used mess-kit, but keeping the canteen, as he settles in for another long ride. "Nope." He agrees. "Never did."