We Were Soldiers
119. Puppy Blues
Bucky stood watching as the camp was disassembled around him. The 107th were moving on to their next mission, and as much as Bucky wanted to help, he'd only get in the way. The men knew what they were doing, and had more than enough hands to get the job done.
"They tell you where you're going?" he asked Gusty, standing beside him.
"Do they ever?"
"Good point."
"What about you, Sarge? When will your ride get here?"
"About six hours. Captain Stone is going to set down in the same place he dropped us off, so we have a bit of a march before we reach the rendezvous point. Maybe I'll have warmed up by then. Thanks for the loaner, by the way." The uniform Gusty had procured for him from the quartermaster was a little short on the sleeves, but considerably better than his own, which was frozen almost stiff.
Gusty nodded. "So. Guess this is goodbye again. Hopefully I'll see you out in the field on future missions, but if not, I'll see you at the wedding. Right?"
"Of course. Just give me plenty of notice so that I can get my speech written and practiced. That is, if you still want me as your best man."
"Sure do." A wide grin plastered Gusty's face, a reminder of simpler times. "I may want your help in picking out rings, too. I mean, I've never done this before."
"It'll be the blind leading the blind, in that case. Will you tell Audrey I said goodbye?"
"You can tell her yourself, you know."
He looked over to the medical tent where a dozen white-clad figures were prepping their patients for travel between packing away myriad pieces of equipment. "She's busy, I don't wanna be a distraction."
"You just hate saying goodbye."
He offered his friend a wry smile. Gusty knew him too well. Goodbyes were hard even in normal circumstances; knowing you might never see that person alive again made it so much harder to say them. Goodbye, hope you don't die in this mad war. It wasn't anything you could say aloud, though it went through the minds of everyone serving their country.
A tall figure stepped out from the command tent, squared his shoulders, and made a beeline for Bucky. Steve didn't look too crushed by his debriefing with Hawkswell, which meant he'd probably avoided a court-martial. But it would likely be by a very narrow margin. Hawkswell was a man of tradition, and tradition said when you were at war with a group of people, you killed them before they could kill you. And he wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"I'd better go supervise the men, make sure they pack everything away correctly," said Gusty as Steve drew near. "Excuse me Sergeant, Captain." He didn't stick around to be dismissed. Steve watched him go, a sad expression on his face.
"How did it go with Hawkswell?" Bucky asked his best friend.
Steve took a deep breath before launching into his sitrep. "Could've been better, could've been worse. He wasn't pleased about the Germans I freed, not to mention the fact that I disobeyed orders. But those books I brought back were the only intel we managed to get, and Stark got real excited about them, so the Colonel grudgingly conceded that my actions didn't warrant a court-martial. This time. But I think I better keep out his way until we leave for our pick-up."
"Good idea. You'll never hear the end of it from Phillips if you get back with a court-martial under your belt."
"Do you… do you think I made the right call?"
Such earnestness was written across Steve's face that Bucky looked back at the camp while he tried to order his thoughts. If you have to choose between being a good man and being a good sergeant, be a good sergeant. That was what Weiss had said. A good sergeant would not have let those German wehrmacht soldiers go, and Bucky had been a fairly decent one. But if he'd been standing there, faced with the same decision as Steve… it was hard to imagine what he would've done. Perhaps he would've looked into their Germanic faces and seen a mirror of his own face after his stay in Krausberg. Perhaps pity would've moved him to free them.
Or maybe he would've looked into their faces and seen Tipper looking back. Tipper and Carrot and Hawkins and Wells, and hell, even Danzig. Maybe the ghosts of his dead fellow soldiers would've made the decision for him. But neither answer would be any use to Steve. Neither answer was a definitive yes or no.
Anyway, who got to decide what the 'right' call was? Hawkswell? Phillips? Stark? Some General in Washington with enough brass on his jacket to recast the liberty bell? Every man had his own opinion of right and wrong, and in the end, when all the numbers of his life were tallied, there was only one person Steve had to answer to; himself.
"I think it was the right decision because it was the decision you made," he told his friend. "Maybe years down the line that decision will come back to bite you on the ass, or it will be repaid in kind. But I think you made the best decision you possibly could for the situation you found yourself in, and that's what makes it the right one."
"Do you agree with it?"
Bucky kicked a loose stone with the toe of his boot. "Hell, I dunno. Part of me wants to say no, that Gusty is right, that you should've done our side a favour and removed a bunch of threats. The other part of me remembers how it made me feel to look down the barrel of a gun, pull the trigger, and end a life. Regardless of what I think of it, I support the decision you made. All the Commandos do. You'll never have to worry about being on the ropes with us to watch your back."
"Thanks, Buck." Steve's smile was tight, but relief flooded his blue eyes. "All I could think about while I was stood in front of those prisoners, was something Dr Erskine told me before he gave me the serum. He said I was picked not because I was a good soldier, but because I was a good man. And I'd like to stay that way, for him. So that his life's work, the work he died for, was not wasted."
"Well, he'd be proud of you today, I'm sure."
"I hope so. I really do. Anyway, we still have to get to our rendezvous point on time, so I'd like to be gone on the hour. If you have any goodbyes, get them said now. I'll go round up the rest of the Commandos…" He scanned the sprawling camp before him. "If I can find them."
"Just follow the sound of arm-wrestling. Wherever there's money to be won, the others won't be far away."
The smile Bucky had fixed on his face slid away as Steve disappeared in the throng of soldiers. Steve's words—the words of the late Dr Erskine, whom Bucky would never have the chance to meet—tumbled through his head, along with what Weiss had said, when Bucky had still been wet behind the ears. Good man. Good soldier. Good man. Good sergeant.
A shiver ran over his flesh which had nothing to do with the chill in the air. If Bucky hadn't left Steve alone at Stark's expo in favour of dancing, Steve wouldn't have met Dr Erskine. Or maybe they both would've met him, and Dr Erskine may have picked Bucky to take part in Project Rebirth. Maybe none of this would've happened. The deaths. The losses. Krausberg. Had one single, self-indulgent decision caused his life to go careening down a path he was never meant to take? A path on which he balanced good man with good soldier on a scales, and found it tipping towards the latter every time?
'Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.'
He shook the echoes of Robert Frost from his head and set off down the main dirt track through the camp. Whatever happened, the roads of his life had already been trodden to this point. The best he could do now was try to make sure as many of his friends as possible survived this war, and leave the moral agonising to the unattainable 'tomorrow'.
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Lizzie wasn't at work in the Fiddle when the Commandos arrived back in London, so while Steve went straight to Phillips to report on the mission outcome, and the rest of the team made for the hotel to get washed up and into their own clothes, Bucky set off in the too-small loaner uniform to Lizzie's home a good twenty-minute walk down the bank of the Thames. It was a very weary-looking Lizzie who opened the door when he knocked, followed only seconds later by a small black and white furball which flung itself at him and promptly tried to drown his face in saliva when he crouched down to scoop it up.
"I've missed you too, Blue," he said, ruffling the pup's ears as Blue tried to stick his tongue up his master's nose. "Thank you so much for looking after him, Lizzie. It's comforting to know he has a safe place to stay when I'm out on missions."
"Listen, Sergeant Barnes, I love having Blue around, I really do." He sensed a 'but' coming, and tried to quiet the pup's wriggling. "But I'm sorry to say he can't stay with me when you leave on missions in future. I don't mind having him around, but he's chewed two pairs of my papa's shoes, piddled on the sitting room upholstery, and his howling has kept us and the neighbours awake for three nights in a row. If it were just me, it wouldn't be such a problem, but my papa's gotta be rested for work on the railway, and my neighbours have a newborn babe that's gettin' disturbed by Blue too."
Bucky's heart dipped. "It's okay Lizzie, I understand. And I really appreciate you looking out for him while I was gone. Don't worry, I'll find some other arrangement. Can I still bring him to the Fiddle?"
"Of course." The smile she beamed at him told him none of this was personal in any way. "He settles right down there with a nice bone to chew on; like a home away from home. Plus he brings in women, and men follow, which leads to more custom." A shrewd businesswoman. "I'm sure if you wanted to find him a permanent home here in London, you'd have plenty of takers." She handed him over the the fancy leather leash he'd bought for Blue, along with a half-gnawed lamb leg bone wrapped in newspaper.
"Yeah, I'll think about my options. For now, I'd better get this little fella back to the hotel; it's been a long trip, and I'm looking forward to my bed."
"Good night, Sergeant Barnes. And Blue."
The door's light faded as it closed, and Bucky took a moment to fasten Blue's leash securely before placing the pup on the ground. Amazing how much he had grown in just a few days!
"Guess I should've told her about your love of chewing shoes," he said. "And to keep you off the furniture. But I s'pose I can understand you howling; there have been nights where I've wanted to cry too, during this war." And nights when he had cried, but the less thought about them, the better. "C'mon, let's get back to the hotel. I'm tired, and we need to get back into your normal routine. No more howling, okay? Or you'll get us both kicked out."
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The third cup of coffee accomplished what the first and the second could not. It was only seven o'clock in the morning, but despite having been awake for three hours already, Bucky's mind had only just roused from the fog of sleep. Blue's whining had woken him at four—an urgent toilet break was required to protect the carpet in his room from unexpected damp, and after that Blue had been too excited to fall back asleep. They'd played tug of war with one of Bucky's old socks for almost an hour before the pup had curled up for a nap, and Bucky took the opportunity to sneak downstairs to the dining room for an early cup of joe. One had swiftly turned into three, and now breakfast had materialised as well.
He mulled over his problem as he tucked into his unidentifiable meat sausages and pile of beans. When he'd rescued Blue just a few short weeks ago, it had been with thoughts of Bingo, his childhood dog, firmly on his mind, and how he couldn't let Blue be thrown into the Thames. He'd offhandedly mentioned to Steve that maybe Blue could go on missions with them, and the more he thought about it, the more it had made sense—at the time. After all, dogs served in the military. Some, like Rin Tin Tin, were even heroes. Blue could be taught all sorts of useful things, like tracking and carrying messages.
But Blue was a puppy. It would be a long time before he was old enough and trained enough to help out. And the truth was, not all animals could be trained to serve in the Army. Back at Camp Shanks, he'd heard some of the MPs, the ones who worked with dogs, talk about how much training their canines had to go through to be considered suitable for service. Training a dog to serve was a full time job, and Bucky already had one of those. Steve needed him.
Could he find Blue a home here? Maybe if Blue had a home in London, Bucky could still see him whenever he was in the city. Still be a part of the dog's life. But what would happen after the war, when all the American soldiers went home? It wouldn't be fair to uproot the pup, not if this had been his home. Besides, his new family might not want him to go. Blue was his. Bucky had saved him, and kept him as his birthday present to himself. Something to keep him company. To be there to greet him without judgement whenever he came home. To be a faithful companion, just like Bingo had been. How could he just give up a friend, after losing so many?
"Sergeant Barnes. Does your breakfast not agree with you?"
He looked up into the flawless face of Agent Carter as she studied him at the table. Steve was right there next to her, offering what looked like a forced smile. Oh yeah, Steve had gone to report to Phillips last night. Probably been chewed out. Probably in front of Agent Carter. Probably hadn't slept any better than Bucky; not that he needed it.
Carter's words sunk in, and he glanced to his plate. She was right. He'd been pushing the sausage and beans around in thought, but hadn't really eaten any despite his grumbling stomach. Some things were just more important than food. But they were his problems, and he didn't need to burden his friend. Or his friend's best girl.
"Oh, you know," he said, affecting his best jovial tone. "Just trying to play guess the mystery meat before I have to put it in my mouth. How did the debrief with Phillips go? I thought you might stop by after, to talk."
"It was late," Steve said. "Real late. Besides, it was no worse than my debrief with Hawkswell. I'm not off the team yet." As if he wasn't a whole team by himself. "I do have news, though. Phillips has another mission for us. Another HYDRA lead for us to chase down."
Phillips' timing was awful. Bucky quickly swallowed a mouthful of beans before asking, "When do we leave?"
"Two days. Is something wrong?"
Damn. He must've let something show on his face. "No, nothing's wrong. Well, nothing major. It's just… well, it's Blue. Lizzie won't be able to look after him again so soon, she's got a lot going on at home. And he can't stay here on his own. But I know he can't come with us, either. I thought I'd have more time to figure something out."
Agent Carter offered a sympathetic smile. "If you like, I could ask Michael if he'd be willing to take Blue in. It might give him something else to focus on. Something to keep him occupied."
"Thanks, but I've got some ideas of my own," he said quickly. "No need to go burdening your family with a destructive puppy. He's still in that pee everywhere stage, y'know." It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the offer, or that he didn't think the Carter home would be a good one. Its garden was bigger than Bucky's family home, and the orchard out back was probably twice the size. No, the quality of the home was not an issue. This came down to something more personal, more petty, than that.
Michael had already stolen Antje away from him, though in truth he hadn't so much stolen her as simply been a reliable tour guide when Bucky had found himself incapacitated and unable to convey his apologies to her. And if Michael had developed feelings for her, and her for him… well, the heart wanted what it wanted. Much as Bucky had enjoyed Antje's company, he would never stand in the way of a blossoming love, even if it hurt him to do so.
But Michael would not get his dog as well. That was just salt in the proverbial wound. He could already picture Michael and Antje playing with Blue, laughing together at his cute puppy antics, fawning over him and ruining him by treating him like a baby. No sir, not on his watch. If anyone was going to ruin this puppy, it was Bucky Barnes.
"Very well. The offer stands, just in case you're not able to find a more suitable arrangement," she said.
"Appreciated." He shovelled the beans on his plate into his mouth in three swift scoops of his fork, and chewed half the sausage before swallowing with a grimace. Probably horse. The other half went into his napkin, for the pup. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta give Blue his morning walk then see to some business."
"Good day, Sergeant Barnes," said Carter. Steve added a quick, "See you later, Buck."
Bucky dashed off to the staircase before Agent Carter could try bundling up Blue and driving him off to Michael right there and then. Two days. One and a half, really, since at least half a day would be spent prepping and travelling. Would it be enough?
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Late afternoon in the Fiddle was usually the calm before the storm, but today things seemed to be in full swing; even before he reached the front door, Bucky heard Morita's voice belting out one of the favourites of American troops in time with the pianist on the Fiddle's instrument.
"Don't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, no no no,
Don't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me,
Till I come marching home!
Don't go walking down lovers' lane,
With anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, no no no,
Don't go walking down loves' lane
With anyone else but me,
Till I come marching home!"
It seemed a little early for the guys to be getting merry… Oh yeah, Phillips had another mission for them in two days, and the guys always liked to take advantage of the day before the day before a new mission. As Dugan had said once or twice when Agent Carter gave them the stink-eye over their drinking: Darlin', this next mission might just be my last, and the last thing I want to be filled with as I lay there filled with Kraut bullets is a heart full of regret that I didn't have that last round of drinks with my friends.
It's not the last round of drinks I take umbrage with, Sergeant Dugan. It's the eight rounds before that.
Bucky could hear Carter's cultured voice dripping with disapproval as if she were standing right next to him. He pushed the door open and stepped inside the pub to be away from it.
What few patrons were present were just finishing up their round of applause for Morita as the pianist tinkled out the last few notes of the song. Bucky glanced over to the man, and his heart faltered inside his chest. With his russet hair, broad shoulders and easy smile, the guy was a dead ringer for Carrot. So much so that Bucky was halfway across the floor to the piano before the man stood to take a bow—and revealed he was no taller than Morita himself. Definitely not Carrot. Of course not Carrot. Carrot was dead. Idiot.
"Hey Barnes," Dugan called. "Come sit down and get some liquid dinner in you. You've gone so pale we might just have to box you up and send you to Schmidt to use as a white flag when we kick his ass."
He joined his friends and watched as Falsworth and Dernier fed Blue some of the sausages and chips they'd saved from their earlier lunch. The guys were doing to be disappointed about the pup as well; each one of them had gotten more dates since they started using Blue as a dame magnet than they had collectively in the three months before. But he laid out the problem before them and asked for possible solutions.
"I would be wary about leaving him in London," said Monty, his blue eyes troubled. "When news of war first broke out, a sort of mania gripped the city, and a lot of people had their pets euthanised to save them from the imagined horrors of war."
"Yeah, I heard about that from a zoo keeper. You don't think something like that will happen again, do you?"
"Even if it does not," Dernier chipped in, "these Londoners, they get 'ungry, they look for anything to make sausage from, oui?"
"Now now Mr Dernier," said Lizzie. She sauntered over from the bar with a tray of drinks perfectly balanced on a wooden tray and set them down one by one in front of the team—except Dugan, who had two placed in front of him. He grinned like the madman he was. "Don't you go spreading any vicious rumours about people eating their pets. Sure, we're all tightening belts, but things are not that dire."
"Not yet, anyway," said Morita.
"Why don't you send Blue home, back to your family in America?" Jones asked. "That way he'll be waiting at home for you after the war."
"I already thought about that," Bucky admitted. "Back when I first found Blue. But when I asked one of the guys in logistics, he said that moving animals was a lengthy process, and that Blue would have to be quarantined six months over here, and then six months when he reaches the States. He'd live in a box and be taken out three times a day for toilet breaks. A year in a box is no life for a puppy. No life for anything."
"You could ask Mr Stark to help you."
"In what way?"
Jones took a large swig of his drink, as if drowning out some painful memory. "Well, during our last mission, I had the seat next to him in the plane on the way out. So of course, he spent every moment yammering on about his experiments, and how they were gonna change the world." The rest of the team nodded sympathetically. They'd all been in Jones' position at some point. When Stark had the seat next to you, and you were strapped inside the belly of a flying tin, there was not much you could do but pretend to be interested and listen. "Anyway, he was saying how when the SSR moved his base of operations here, he had to import some American lab rats for his test. Because apparently British lab rats don't like the right sort of cheese. Rats aren't known for their long life spans, so to get around a full year of quarantine and the risk of them being sunk on the ship ride over by U-boats, he brought them in via private charter airplane and just had them listed on the inventory as 'scientific equipment'. It only took two days from start to finish."
"Jones, you're a genius!"
"Tell that to Stark."
"I will." He picked up Blue and tucked the puppy into his jacket. Though Blue was old enough to walk everywhere Bucky went now, time was of the essence, which meant sneaking the pup onto one of London's streetcars—trams, as the locals called them. "Wish me luck."
As he dashed out the door he heard Dugan call after him. "If you're not gonna drink your beer before you go, mind if I take it off your hands?"
"Knock yourself out!" he called back.
The nearest streetcar—tram—stop was two streets away, and Bucky jogged in an uncomfortable hunched position as he supported Blue inside his jacket. The puppy whimpered at being jostled, but didn't try to squirm away. Luckily, a tram had just pulled up at the stop when Bucky arrived, and he thrust a few coins at the conductor as he hopped on and turned his back to the guy. Oddly, the other passengers edged away from him as he took up a position near the tram's open door. He didn't look that suspicious, did he?
The journey seemed agonisingly slow. Should he have walked? What if Stark wasn't in his lab when Bucky got there? What if he refused to help? What if he wanted to keep Blue for himself? The pup was a dame magnet, after all.
He snorted at his own paranoia. Stark didn't need a puppy to attract dames; he had fame and money. No, if he got his hands on Blue, it would be more likely to use him in some sort of crazy experiment. Oh God, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all!
Too late for regrets; the conductor called the stop at Whitehall, and Bucky had no choice but to step off or be swept off by the mass of people wanting to depart. His decision made for him, he took the now-familiar route through the SSR's headquarters that led to Stark's domain. None of the MPs stopped him despite spotting the fluffy black and white head poking out from the top of his jacket. In fact, one or two stifled grins. No doubt Dugan had been regaling some of them with stories of the 107th's bullshittery, of which Bucky himself had played almost no part.
The blast door on Stark's lab was closed when Bucky arrived, so he pulled the little string that rang an internal bell and waited to be admitted. This was the only place inside HQ that had its own anti-explosive door, and it was designed more for keeping explosions in than out. Phillips was a shrewd man.
"Come in," said Stark's voice, emitted through the small speaker set into the wall. "But be careful not to step on the blue tiles."
What the..?
When the lock on the blast door was released, Bucky understood what he meant. The entrance to the lab had been recently tiled, and some of the tiles had been painted blue. There was no pattern to them, but they didn't give Bucky any trouble as he nimbly avoided the potentially lethal colour. At the far end of the room, Stark was fiddling with something small and mechanical-looking behind an engineering desk, but he seemed to be watching Bucky's advance through the corner of his eye.
"Is this some sort of booby-trap?" he asked. "Part of a new security system that'll trigger your lab to burst into flames if somebody steps on the wrong tile?"
"What, and destroy months of hard work?" the scientist scoffed. "No, it's part of my new fitness regime. I realised after the last mission that since we decamped to London, I haven't been getting the right amount of exercise. I'm sure you recall how strenuous it was marching through Europe with the 107th, digging pits, erecting tents every night. I was the fittest I've ever been!"
Bucky gave the guy a hard stare. All he remembered of Stark in Europe was the guy riding on jeeps, instructing soldiers to carry and set up his equipment, and avoiding any sort of hard or physical labour at all. He probably couldn't even tell a shovel from a pick.
"Anyway," Stark continued, oblivious to the stare, "I decided I'd get a little bit of exercise every day. This is my second one of the day; a bit of light footwork and balancing to improve my dexterity and coordination."
"If this is the second exercise of the day, I hate to ask what the first is."
Stark smiled. "The first is some simple sit-ups and push-ups Denise uses the proverbial carrot-and-stick method to encourage me to do them before I get out of bed. Denise is my new bedroom assistant, by the way."
"Great. I'm sure she'll have you fit as a soldier in no time," he offered. Gotta be nice to the guy he needed a favour from. "Anyway, I came to see you because I really need your help."
"Of course you do! What is it this time? Help with women? Medical assistance for your mysterious condition? Surgical removal of that small dog head you seem to have sprouted from your shoulder?"
"The latter, mostly." He unzipped his jacket to stop the wriggling Blue from worming any higher up his neck. "This is my puppy, Blue. I've had him for a few weeks but it's getting harder and harder to leave him behind when I go on missions. He needs a home, a place where he'll be safe and cared for, and as much as I hate to admit it, that isn't with me. Jones told me you have an arrangement to get animals to and from the States—"
"Whoa, hold your horses, Sergeant. Who is Jones, and how exactly does he know about my animal trade?" The scowl on Stark's face was almost genuine.
"You told him. In the plane on our last mission. You know who Jones is!"
"Ah yes, Corporal Spy-kit. I do recall him showing a keen interest in my experiments."
Bucky shook his head. "Do you think you could arrange to have Blue sent to my folks back home? I'll write a letter explaining it all, to be sent with him. I know they won't have any problem taking him in."
Stark reached out to ruffle Blue's furry head. The puppy tried to lick him, so he quickly withdrew. "Of course. It's the least I can do for a friend who will owe me a future favour."
Should'a known the guy wouldn't do it out of the goodness of his heart. Still, it was a big thing Bucky was asking of him. Charter planes didn't come cheap. Well, not for regular people like him. Stark probably had a fleet of them.
"Of course," he agreed. "Whatever you want, as long as it isn't illegal."
"I would never dream of doing anything illegal! Now, let's forge some transportation documents and gather a bribe for the air traffic controller at RAF Tempsford. We've got a puppy to smuggle."
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It was B-Day. The last day of having Blue with him. When Bucky opened his eyes and fended off the puppy's tongue, he knew it would be for the last time. At least, for the last time here in Europe. After the war, Blue would be waiting for him back home with Mom and Dad and Janet, but he wouldn't be a puppy anymore. He might not even remember the man who'd saved him from being thrown in the Thames.
"Come here, you little devil," he said, rolling over in bed to capture the pup and sit him on his chest. So light! Bingo had been a huge puppy. "Some scary stuff is going to be happening to you later today, but Mr Stark has promised me that somebody will be with you at all times, and you won't be in a shipping crate except for when you're actually on the plane. When you get to the States, a really nice family is gonna be waiting for you; my family."
Granted, they didn't yet know about the puppy, but Bucky had written a letter and firm care instructions that the serviceman escorting Blue could give to them. Maybe he should'a called on the telephone, but there had been such a rush to get things done, and the time difference between the two places… plus, Mom got all weepy on the rare occasions they were able to speak on the phone. This way was better.
He dressed himself in his uniform then clipped the leather lead onto Blue's collar for the last time. For the last time, he walked the puppy down the stairs, to the waiting gaze of Mr Chipperton. The hotel concierge handed over a newspaper-wrapped package, and said, "I had the kitchen make up these sausages for his journey. Consider it my farewell gift. I only wish all residents of this hotel were as quiet and clean as Blue. It would certainly make my job much easier."
"Thank you Mr Chipperton, I know Blue will appreciate a little taste of home on his trip. Thank you for letting me keep him all this time."
Mr Chipperton sniffed and removed his spectacles to wipe them with his handkerchief. "Well. Let it not be said that I'm not fair. You promised to keep him out of trouble, and you did. Now, be off with you, I have a lot of work to get through this morning."
Mr Chipperton wasn't the only one waiting to give Blue a proper send-off. Outside the hotel, a small crowd had gathered around the car pool. Steve, the Commandos, Agent Carter, and even Freddie, had all brought gifts for the pup. From Monty, a lovely leather collar that would fit Blue when he was fully grown. From Morita, three toy balls for him to chase. From Dugan and Jones, a choice selection of meaty bones for chewing on his journey. From Dernier, a bottle of fancy shampoo. Probably made for women, but it would do for a dog. From Agent Carter, a fluffy pillow. "It belonged to Picasso," she said. "He used to love lounging on it in the sunshine." From Steve, a small book of sketches of the pup, and from Freddie, an envelope filled with photographs of Blue and Bucky on walks together, or sitting in the Fiddle together.
"When did you even manage to take these?" he asked.
Freddie tapped his nose. "Been practicing my covert tailing skills. That you didn't notice me means I'm improving!"
"Thank you, everybody," he said. "These gifts are amazing, and I appreciate the effort you put into them. I know Blue would thank you himself, if he could."
"You want me to come with you to the air strip?" Steve asked.
"I don't mind coming too, if you need the company," said Monty.
"Got nothing better to do," Dugan added. "Fiddle doesn't open till twelve."
"Thanks, but I wanna do this on my own." Besides, if he started blubbering like a little girl, it would be better if he were alone. "We got that mission tomorrow, I'm sure Phillips wants everyone briefed and ready to go. I got this, honestly."
Steve looked skeptical, but the others accepted his words. One by one they gave Blue one last head-ruffle and then wandered away. They'd definitely be going on fewer dates, without the pup to draw the dames in.
Blue was happily oblivious as an SSR driver brought a car around and helped Bucky load all of the gifts into the trunk. At least Blue would be wanting for nothing in his new life. Fresh bones, a new collar, a fluffy pillow… he'd been pampered more than any soldier ever was! Oh, the spoilt life of a dog.
It was Blue's first time in a car, and he watched out the window as the London scenery sped by. Two paws up on Bucky's shoulder, tongue lolling out, he seemed the happiest puppy in the world. And in just two short days he'd be taking another car ride, this time to his new home. Mom and Dad would love him. So would Janet. Hopefully he wouldn't pester Bonnie too much; the spaniel was getting on a bit. But the three of them could handle it. After all, it was only until Bucky got home to take over his care.
Buildings gave way to rolling countryside, and at last RAF Tempsford came into view. A plane was already waiting on the runway, the crew scrambling around it as they prepared it for flight. It was reassuring to see Stark hadn't scrimped on anything. This was possibly the plane's most important flight ever, its most precious cargo. Stark himself was there on the runway, overseeing everything. Probably just looking for any excuse to boss people around. As Bucky exited the car, Stark gestured for another US soldier to join him.
"Sergeant Barnes," he said, "this is Corporal Puppysitter."
"Corporal Smith, sir," the young soldier corrected. "Don't worry, sir, I've been fully briefed on this… err… mission. Your dog will be safe with me. I won't take my eyes off him until I've delivered him safely to his new home."
"And?" prompted Stark.
The Corporal heaved a long-suffering sigh. "And I understand I'm to bring back a new shipment of rats in return, Mr Stark."
"Good. Make sure all of their needs are seen to during the journey. Kaufmann will throw a fit if I don't deliver them alive and healthy."
"Kaufmann?" Bucky asked.
"Nothing. Nobody. You didn't hear that." Stark clapped his hands and gestured to Blue. "Well, come on, let's get on with it then!"
Now that it was finally time to hand Blue over, he found himself oddly reluctant. What if something happened on the flight? What if Bonnie didn't get along with Blue? What if the pup was too much work for his parents? This was a terrible idea. Why had he ever even thought about giving the puppy up? He should've asked for a leave of absence. Just until Blue was a little older.
"At some point, Sergeant Barnes, you're going to have to learn to let go," said Stark.
Bucky bristled at his words. "Whaddya mean? I can let go as well as the next guy. I have absolutely no issue with letting go of stuff." Stark gave him one of those looks. "Seriously. Here, I'll prove it."
He held Blue out to Corporal Smith, who took the puppy and cradled him in him arms. Blue immediately started whimpering and squirming.
"Okay that's enough, give him back." Bucky made to snatch at the pup, but Stark blocked him bodily.
"You've done the right thing," the scientist said. "You've let go. That's the hardest part. The next thing you have to do is move on."
"But—"
"No buts!" Stark waved Corporal Smith away, then folded his arms across his chest. "I don't claim to be a great observer of humanity," he said. "Unless it's the half of humanity that possesses a rather fine bosom. Rest assured, you do not. My point is, despite my lack of observational skills, I have observed that you seem to have issues with change. Life is change, Sergeant Barnes. Change is inevitable. Sometimes it's admirable to fight it. But sometimes that fight is a futile struggle against an imaginary opponent. Don't be the guy who tilts at windmills."
"Huh?"
"Don Quixote. Worth a read, even if you can't find it in Army Editions." Stark gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "What's done is done, and you've done a good thing. What you have to understand is, you can't carry the weight of the world on your own shoulders. Nobody can. Not Atlas, not even Steve Rogers."
What on Earth was Stark waffling about? That wasn't Bucky. Not at all. He didn't have any issues letting go, and he didn't think he had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sure, he had responsibilities. People to look out for. People to protect. But that was just duty. Just… life.
Blue had stopped whining and was trying to eat the corporal's collar. He didn't even look back as he was carried into the belly of the plane. He was going to be just fine. Soon he'd be home forever. In a few days, this would be a hazy puppy memory to him. But it still hurt in his chest, to watch him go.
The plane's engine chugged to life. The propeller blades whirred with motion. The crew finished securing the loading bay, and retreated to the safety of the runway shelter. Bucky watched as the plane manoeuvred out into the middle of the runway, wishing that he'd said a better goodbye. Not that Blue would've understood a single word.
"You wanna go get a drink?" Stark asked, as the plane made its departing run and took to the sky.
No. It was 10am. He hadn't eaten. He had a mission to prepare for and an early-morning briefing to attend.
"Sure," he said. Because he thought that Stark might need it more than he did.
Author's Note: Thank you, kindly reviewers, for your continued feedback and support! If you're a new reader checking out this fic for the first time, welcome to the party!
Speaking of parties, our boys have had some pretty heavy stuff going on over the past few chapters. Next chapter is a bit of light-hearted fun and April Fool shenanigans. Hope you enjoy!