by DevilChild
Fandom: Captain America (Marvel Comics)
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Cap/Bucky
Author's Note: For ms_kinnikufan on LJ. I hope nobody else I did a "The Cap/Bucky story I never wrote" feels slighted by this. This story's getting written up because it's one of those ideas I know I can bang out in one sitting.
If I get any Golden & Silver age continuity wrong, I haven't had access to all the comics. I can only go off what I find in wikipedia.org, fan sites, Scans_Daily, and the one Winter Soldier trade out right now.
Copyright and Disclaimer: Captain America and the characters of Cap, Bucky, Union Jack, Destroyer, Human Torch, and Toro are copyright Marvel Comics. I make no claims to ownership or creation. This bit of not for profit modern folklore (thank you Prof. Jenkins) is mine.
Four years ago when Bucky first met Steve Rogers, he idolized him. Bucky was a gangly 16 year old with a baby face and despite all the training and despite the fact that he was damn-good at covert ops, he was still a kid. Never even kissed a girl, much less held her hand.
So they partnered him up with this tall, blonde haired, blue eyed man. It didn't matter that Corporal Steve Rogers was all of 19 at the time. He was taller. And he always seemed to know what to do, both in and out of the field. Bucky felt so ... stupid when he wasn't training. He never seemed to know what to say or do, wasn't anything beside this kid.
It's been four years, and Steve still sees that 16 year old Private. His new little brother.
Only Bucky's not his brother. And he's not so little any more. He's almost as tall as Steve. And innocence? Heh. Bucky grew up amongst the enlisted men at army bases. Four years of combat and black-ops took care of any remaining innocence he had long ago.
He smiles for the newsreels. He's kissed a girl, he's held hands. He charms all the nurses.
He's still a virgin.
He's Steve's friend. Steve's only friend in a sea of acquaintances, admiring troops, and very grateful French.
Only, lately, he's not just Steve's friend. He wants something more. But he's not quite sure what it is.
But it's there.
An itch that won't quit.
~~oo(0)oo~~
They're billeted in a not too badly damaged building on the edge of Paris. A few mortar rounds hit it, but the roof is mostly intact and the structure is stable. Union Jack and Destroyer have the room next door. Human Torch and Toro are down in what used to be the parlor.
The four of them spent the last few days busting their asses with the French Resistance to help weaken the German grip on Paris. By the time the first Allied tanks came rolling in, the job was 80% done. Better than expected, really. Saved the lives of thousands of troops and citizens.
Paris is going to be one big party for the next 72 hours. Not that the six of them will get to see it. Orders came down — get some kip. You lot roll out at 0-dark-thirty.
There's some muffled noise coming through the wall next to Bucky's head. He's so tired, drifting in and out of sleep, he doesn't think much of it until he gets up to piss in the bucket in the corner of the room. The plaster and slats are mostly gone over there, and Bucky doesn't mean to look through into the next room, but he does, and what his eyes pick out in a shaft of moonlight —
He must have gasped or frozen or done something, because Steve comes up behind him and quietly asks what's wrong and Bucky tries to back up turn around do something to get Steve away from what Brian and Roger are doing but his tongue and feet just won't move like they're supposed to. Because Steve can't see this.
Because they need to have Union Jack and Destroyer with them on some of their missions, and what —
Steve can't see this. He'll tell. And then Brian and Roger will —
But Steve does see.
Bucky stands woodenly.
Steve takes him over and sits him down on his bed.
"Bucky —" his whisper is piercing, snapping Bucky back to reality "What we just saw ... not a word, okay?"
Bucky's so shocked by this his tongue freezes anew and all he can do is make a sort of "huh?" sound.
Blue eyes bore into his. "I'm serious, Bucky. I don't care what the Army says about it. I don't care what you think about it. If word got out — it would be devastating for the morale of the British troops."
"It also wouldn't be very nice for Brian or Roger either," Bucky says softly, his voice finally returning.
Pause.
"Yes, there is that," Steve murmurs back.
Steve does pull Bucky's bed over by his, though. "Quieter on this side of the room."
Bucky studies the rafters over his head for some time before whispering, "Steve?"
"Yes?" Muzzy, on the edge of sleep.
"Do you think it's wrong, what they're doing?"
What seems like a year passes in the shadowy stillness.
"I think, Bucky, that some men take companionship where they can find it —"
As if I didn't know that, growing up on Army bases Bucky thinks, but doesn't say anything. A sick acid feeling churns in his stomach.
"— and what's really important is what a man does, in the field, under fire —"
Still not answering my question, Steve.
"— and anybody who thinks or says different has never heard a shot fired in anger."
So, I'll take that as a no. Bucky thinks. The acid's gone. Just butterflies now.
Steve reaches out and ruffles his hair in the dark, and inwardly Bucky bristles at being treated as a 16 year old kid. "They bleed just as red, white, and blue, as we do, Bucky. Don't forget it."
"'Cept they don't bleed stars. Just stripes," he says back with a lightness he doesn't feel.
Steve chortles softly, but a few moments later his breathing evens out.
Bucky lies on his back, occasionally stealing glances at Steve, who keeps drawing those slow, deep, even breaths. He stares into the gloom and shadows, stomach fluttering, and doesn't sleep at all.
Last Updated: 2/09/07