Preface
Ash is falling. The wind is bitter, cutting right to the bone. Bucky huddles further into his jacket, a vain attempt to keep out the chill.
The field around him is a dull gray, the ash is darkened by mud and blood and the footsteps of a thousand weary soldiers. Underneath him, the truck shakes and rumbles, bumbling across a battle-scarred landscape; it passes groups of exhausted men stumbling away from the field, their faces pale, eyes haunted.
He watches them go. Each man is different, but every expression is the same.
"Ambush hit them hard in the middle of the night."
Steve's face is solemn, tired. They've been fighting for weeks, months maybe - Bucky's lost count of the number of Hydra bases they've hit now.
Every time they think it's over, another one appears.
"How many fatalities?"
"Too many," Steve says.
Bucky turns back to the men shuffling alongside the truck. One looks up, meets his eye. A haphazard bandage is wrapped around one side of his face, but the angry red skin is still visible, peeling away at the top of his eyebrow, cracking in other places. His ear is gone.
The truck continues - leaving the man behind.
"Where to next?"
"Undecided, waiting for more intel on Zola," Steve scrubs the side of his face. "We picked up that they are moving him by train. Might lead us to one of the last bases."
"One of the last, huh?" Bucky smiles, "Wouldn't that be swell."
Steve grins, "Getting tired already, buddy?"
"Me? Tired? Never," Bucky says. "I've just got a gal waiting impatiently for me is all."
Steve raises an eyebrow.
"What?" Bucky laughs, "You've got Carter. Can't I have a gal worth fighting for?"
"Just the one?"
Bucky elbows Steve, "Watch it."
Steve laughs as Bucky scowls at him, his shoulders tense. He looks away, towards the desolate landscape, the falling ash. The truck rattles, distant shouts are exchanged between those left on the field; the hunt for the last survivors continues.
Steve sobers.
"You're serious."
Bucky nods, his hand drifting towards his neck without thinking.
"Who is she?"
"You really want to know?" His voice is gruff, awkward.
"Of course."
"She's a nurse, met her in London, just before we set out," he paused, "actually, I met her in Italy first after we got back to camp. Then again in London."
Steve groans, "You hit on your nurse."
"I tried, it backfired big time," Bucky laughs. "She was tougher than she looked - and meaner. Threatened to confine me to bed on medical leave in London. Something about giving myself proper time to heal before following Captain America into the jaws of death. 'Course I set her straight - told her I was following a little guy from Brooklyn into the jaws of death instead."
"Can't imagine she was happy about that." Guilt cracks Steve's jovial expression.
Bucky smiles, reaches out to clasp his friend's shoulder, "She understands. We're all fighting the same war. She just made me promise one thing."
"What?"
"That I bring you and Carter over for dinner when we get back home."
Steve grins, "Only if you're not cooking."
"Watcha talking about, I'm a great cook!"
"Since when?"
"Since always!"
"Did you tell her that?"
Bucky pushes at his friend, grumbling to himself as Steve laughs. The corners of his eye's crinkles, and for a moment, Bucky can see the weight lifted from his friend's shoulders, can see the younger Steve who used to sit next to him on creaky fire escapes, halving his food and sharing old jokes.
And Bucky is happy. 'Cause he can see what the future could be.
But then the moment fades, and Bucky is back where he has been for so many years already. The truck rattles on, the soldiers trudge alongside them, their limbs heavy, defeated. Ash continues to fall on a rubble strewn battlefield, blanketing the dead.
"What's her name anyway?"
"Who's name?"
"Your gal's."
Bucky smiles, thinks of the rich Italian sunset shining through golden hair, how it felt to hold those strands between his fingers.
"Sarah," he says. "Her name is Sarah."