Chapter Text
The soldier pulled the grey hood of his worn sweater over his head. Gathering the sides of his jacket together he snuggled down into the warmth of the old leather. The sea was grey – uninviting as it lapped up against the shore. He could just make out the bright lights of Coney Island through the spray of mist and rain. Rubbing at his left shoulder he sighed, he could feel the ache in his bones – his physical therapist had told him to make sure he wasn’t going to be outside in the cold for long spells of time but no sooner had Bucky made the promise and he was wilfully breaking it.
There was something wholly comforting about sitting alone in the rain, seagulls wheeling overhead as they scouted out their next meal. With the fairground only a stone’s throw away it was easy pickings for the scavengers. He shifted on the spot, eyelashes blinking away the fine mist of water that obscured his vision. Huffing softly to himself he turned his gaze towards the sea, the comforting rush of water against the beach lulling him towards long lost sleep.
The quiet buzz of his cell phone in his pocket brought Bucky back to the present. Quickly pulling out the sleek piece of by now out-dated technology Bucky winced at the caller ID. Ignoring the persistent buzz Bucky resisted the urge to throw the phone into the sea, he might not be willing to talk to Steve but that didn’t mean he was about to throw a perfectly good phone away.
With a grunt of discomfort Bucky pushed himself off the bench he had been perching on. It was probably time to head back to the apartment – Steve had undoubtedly been calling to ascertain where his best friend was. The clearly unslept in bed an obvious indicator that Bucky had gone on one of his all night walkabouts. The unsavoury element of Brooklyn hardly a deterrent, two tours and one injury later Bucky still remembered the combat training – the cool gunmetal between his fingers as he focused on some nameless enemy. With a growl of displeasure Bucky dragged himself away from the hot desert sands. Roughly rubbing his eyes he tired to ignore the acrid taste on his tongue. He wasn’t there anymore – he was stateside and no one was trying to kill him. He wasn’t going to be asked to hold a riffle or try and keep Morita’s chest closed to minimise the bleeding from a clearly fatal wound. The once strong heart of his comrade in arms failing beneath his very fingers. Bucky blinked, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t go back there, he wouldn’t go back to the desert and the blood.
His phone buzzed in pocket again, quickly pulling it out his eyes skimmed over the screen.
<Hey, where are you?>
Bucky sighed, he knew Steve meant well but he was a grown ass man that didn’t need checking up on every other minute.
Rapidly composing a text in reply Bucky hit send.
<Heading home – see you in a few>
Bucky winced, home meant Steve and surreptitious glances and the promise of talking. Something Bucky wasn’t inclined to do yet. But home also meant a hot shower and mug of coffee. And right now with his shoulder screaming in protest, his eyes heavy with lack of sleep thoughts of the latter won out.
The apartment he shared with Steve in Brooklyn was beautiful, all exposed brick and wood flooring. His favourite aspect to the flat was the chalkboard that stretched the entire length of the open living room. It was something Steve had put up on a whim – something about the immediacy of art. Bucky hadn’t exactly been paying attention. He just appreciated that Steve would sketch out whatever took his fancy and they had insta wall art. And then there was that one time, a somewhat memorable moment when he’d up-ed and left a disgruntled blonde in his bedroom. Upon returning from physio he’d been greeted by a somewhat colourful message in precise print emblazoned across the board.
Toeing off his boots Bucky slowly peeled off his jacket – wincing in pain as he yanked his arms out of the sleeves.
“That you Buck?”
Steve’s voice rang out from the kitchen before his head peeked out into the hallway.
“Yeah,” Bucky drawled. Running a hand through ever so damp hair.
“You want any breakfast?” Steve asked pointedly, a small frown quickly concealed as the blond took in his friend's appearance.
“Yeah, you got any coffee?” Bucky asked hopefully, blue eyes turning somewhat sheepish as he met Steve’s gaze.
“Just put some on.” Steve answered. “Pancakes too.” A bright smile suddenly erupted across his features as he went back to flipping the fluffy goodness.
“Thanks, I’ll be out in a minute.” Bucky called out, already his thoughts drifting towards the hot water.
Ducking into the bathroom Bucky efficiently stripped himself of his clothing until he was standing in a tee shirt and boxers. Gingerly pulling at the white fabric he slowly pulled the top over his head. Ignoring his reflection in the mirror Bucky went straight for the shower. His cotton boxer briefs quickly joined the pile of clothes on the floor as he stepped into their walk in shower. The strong jet of hot water hit his back and Bucky hissed in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Squirting a dollop of shower gel into his hands he soon worked the soap into a lather across his wet skin.
Leaning against the tiled wall Bucky let loose a shuddering sigh, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes he tried to force out the images that were currently running through his head. The weight of his dog tags around his neck was suddenly unbearable; clawing at his skin Bucky roughly grabbed the tags in his fist before swiping them up and over his head. Choking back a sob he slowly unfurled his fingers, the water still pounding down across his body, wet hair dripping into his eyes as he stared at the metal plates that hung off the practical ball chain.
Barnes
James B
442-03-4732
O Pos
Catholic
Shoving his now sodden hair from out of his face Bucky eyed the simple print, his name engraved in metal - permanent, unwavering and enduring. James Buchanan Barnes was still a sergeant in the United States Army but the thought of being redeployed left Bucky gasping for air. The word coward echoed through his head. He couldn’t leave the service, not now, not ever. Not when every member of his squad and been cut down and he was the last man standing. He owed it to them to carry on - to not let the desert and blood claim him. To be the soldier they expected him to be.
Pressing his body against the tiled wall Bucky tried to shake the tumultuous wave of emotion that was threatening to drag him under. With a grunt of frustration he yanked the chain back over his head and turned off the water. Standing in the steaming shower he blinked back the fear and rage before pushing open the glass door. Towelling himself dry he scooped his clothes up into his arms before hurrying to his room. Every mirror passed studiously ignored, his left shoulder an unwanted, ugly reminder.
Settling into the couch, a steaming mug of coffee clutched between his hands Bucky took an appreciative sip. Sighing his eyes snapped open; he could feel Steve’s eyes boring a hole into the back of his head.
“What is it pal?” Bucky questioned, scratching his neck as he sent Steve a hard look.
“So, Clint’s asked us out for drinks – wants us to meet this girl he’s been seeing.”
“What bar?” Bucky sighed, he knew that he wasn’t going to get out of this, not with the combined forces of Barton and Rogers.
“Oh some place in Williamsburg.” Steve shrugged. “Clint’s gonna text the address.”
“Sure,” Bucky nodded. “S’long as there’s vodka.”
Steve expelled a sharp burst of air through his nose but held his tongue; Bucky could see the signs that the blond wanted to talk. To give him the wide, non-judgemental eyes and sit with him until Bucky could choke out a hazy account of what had happened.
“Buck…” Steve began, his voice imploring, eyes liquid silver as he started forward, his hand reaching out to clasp Bucky’s shoulder.
Jerking backwards Bucky instantly regretted his reaction, the look of absolute anguish that Steve wasn’t quite fast enough to hide was enough to make Bucky feel like a complete jerk. He knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault, he knew the other man didn’t mean anything by it but he couldn’t stop himself. The sense of disgust and self-loathing he felt for his arm was like a molten pit of despair in the depths of his stomach. It served as a constant token of his survival – of his failure.
“I’m sorry – “ Steve rushed, his voice only slightly strangled as he fixed Bucky with a look of such utter sorrow that left the soldier wanting to take it all back.
“Nah –“ Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “I was just startled is all.”
“You don’t have to … “ Steve intoned firmly, his voice taking on the gravely tone he only reserved for, the quote unquote, serious conversations.
“Steve, seriously – you just freaked me out for second, wasn’t expecting you in my space.” Doing his best to ignore Steve’s searching look Bucky flexed his arms before rising to his feet. “I’ll get Clint to text the details – I’ve got errands to run and stuff.”
“Sure,” Steve nodded.
Bucky offered his friend a tight smile before bundling himself back into his coat and heading out into the cold autumnal air. The brisk breeze going someway to distract him as he hurried towards the subway and the graffitied trains that would take him into the city.
“No way!” Darcy Lewis exclaimed as she stared at her friend sitting opposite her. “You cannot be serious? No way is that his actual name!”
“I swear to you Darcy, I am dating a guy named Thor.” Jane nodded solemnly as she took a sip of her tea.
“And next you’ll be telling me he’s named his penis Mjolnir.”
Jane visibly blanched, “Oh God…”
Darcy let rip an exceptionally loud cackle at the look of sheer consternation stamped across Jane’s face, Darcy tried to clamp down on her giggles but to no avail. “Have you got that far yet?”
“No we have not,” Jane stated primly. “He is a gentleman.”
“How’d you meet him?” Darcy asked, keenly interested in her friend’s exploits as she only really had Jane to live vicariously through. The majority of Darcy’s other friends were either perpetually single or wrapped up in long-term relationships.
“We met at a seminar over at Columbia,” Jane sighed dreamily. “He goes there.”
“When you say goes there….”
“He’s a research fellow,” Jane rolled her eyes.
Darcy smirked, “Just checking. We don’t want a repeat of last year’s Christmas party.”
“He had a beard Darcy! 18 year olds shouldn’t be allowed to have that much facial hair.” Jane wailed, slumping forward across the table. “You’re never going to let that go are you?”
“Unless it does turn out Thor is in possession of his very own Mjolnir then no, no I am not.” Darcy’s red lips widened into a smug grin before taking a triumphant sip of her hot chocolate, licking away the foam with relish and fixing Jane with a look of sheer, unadulterated glee.
“I wish I could say he was worth it,” Jane groused. Tugging at the string attached to her tea bag she stared into the steaming depths of her mug, a small frown marring her otherwise delicate features. Finally snapping out of her reverie Jane looked back towards Darcy, “You up to anything tonight?”
“Working…” Darcy sighed. “Seriously in between this internship at SI and the bar I literally have absolutely no time to watch Netflix. Like at all.”
Jane rolled her eyes, “You said you were going to quit. You are taking a paid internship after all.”
“I know…” Darcy sighed. “But I know I’ll miss the social side. Besides cute boys who try and buy me drinks is just about enough of an incentive.”
“Any cute boys of late?” Jane asked off hand, eyeing a pastry as it travelled past on a plate bound for another customer.
“No.” Darcy rolled her eyes, “Totally bums that I’m not into the facial hair.”
“Darce –“ Jane glowered.
“I am not making fun of you. It’s a genuine thing, I’m just waiting until we hit Peak Beard.”
“Peak Beard?” Jane questioned, scoffing. “That isn’t a thing.”
“So is. I read an article.” Darcy nodded sagely, taking another gulp of her drink.
“So – what is it?” Jane’s eyebrow arched as she studied Darcy critically.
“Well, we’ll get to the point that there is literally so much beard around that being clean shaven becomes attractive again.” Darcy shrugged nonchalantly. “Or something like that.”
“Negative frequency-dependent sexual selection.” Jane nodded in understanding.
Darcy rolled her eyes, “Do you like all science?”
Jane laughed, “Talk to me about linear graphs and I’ll be putty in your hands.”
“Does Thor talk to you about linear graphs?” Darcy waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Jane flushed, causing Darcy to send her friend a look. “Well, there isn’t actually that much talking.”
“And you two aren’t boinking?”
“No,” Jane sighed. “Just a lot of making out. Anyway, weren’t we supposed to be supplementing your extensive selection of knitwear with another jumper?”
“It’s cold out – alright?! Besides, novelty knitwear is totally my thing.” Darcy shrugged defensively as she shouldered her bag and motioned for Jane to follow her.
Shoving her bag into her locker out back Darcy quickly gave herself a once over in the mirror, despite her earlier declaration about knitwear she knew it didn’t exactly hurt to have her natural ‘assets’ uncovered. Pulling her hair into a topknot she made for the stairs and the already heaving bar. It was a Saturday night and the crowds were out in full, that and the bar did stock some of the best ales in the city. Ducking under the worn wooden counter Darcy flashed Lacey a smile before motioning for the next customer to place their order.
“You paying by cash or card?” Darcy asked as she quickly dipped down to relieve the well-stocked fridges of six bottles of bear.
“Card,” the man answered, a good-natured smile tugging at his lips.
“Sure,” Darcy nodded as she pulled out a card reader. “Just gimme a sec.”
“Busy in here,” the blond commented mildly, eyeing the various clientele The Anvil had to offer.
“Yeah,” Darcy replied slowly. “Saturday night and all.”
“Right. Obviously.” The man muttered somewhat bashfully, a pink tinge creeping into his cheeks.
Suddenly a tall, slender built man slung a dark brown arm across the blond’s shoulders, a pitying smile plastered across his face.
“C’mon man, I’ve been sent over to help carry the drinks. That, and Barnes thinks you might be dangerously close to striking out. And I am after all the world’s best wing man.”
Darcy snorted.
“I really wasn’t…” Steve stuttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Darcy smiled graciously. “Enjoy your night guys.”
Offering a small salute the black guy quickly dragged Steve back towards their table, the rest of their companions raucous laughter rising up from the table in the corner. Resisting the urge to chuckle Darcy settled for shaking her head as she moved on to her next customer.
With the continuous bustle and constant stream of customers Darcy barely had the chance to look up at the clock. By the time 11 o’clock rolled around she was just about ready to drop, taking a hasty sip of water from her glass stashed at the back of the bar she ran a hand through already messy hair.
“Hey, can I have another six of whatever we’ve been drinking all night?” A rough voice asked, interrupting Darcy from the brief break she was attempting to snatch.
Head snapping round, a warm smile affixed to her features and Darcy suddenly found herself crowded by the presence of a strikingly handsome man, Barnes, she thought to herself. Doing her best to lean back without being completely obvious Darcy shot the man another more genuine smile. It was a testament to her self-control that she managed to produce the bottled beers without a fault when she wanted to do nothing more but lean over the bar and shove her tongue down his throat
“Anything else?” Darcy asked, only the slightest lilt to her voice betraying the current thoughts that were swarming through her head. Namely she wanted to taste every bit of him.
“Nah, we’re good thanks.”
Darcy nodded slowly before somewhat impulsively she blurted out, “Let your friend now I totally didn’t think he was hitting on me or anything.”
The man laughed, “I dunno doll, ever think that he was hitting on you and me telling him that would pretty much be the ultimate smack down?”
“He really wasn’t,” Darcy chuckled somewhat nervously. Unsure of where her sudden shyness had come from.
“Well, I know I would have. Remind me to smack him round the back of the head next chance I get.”
“Are you?” Darcy called out, and the man faltered.
“Am I what?” Barnes asked, the smallest of teasing smirks dancing across his mouth.
Darcy blushed.
“You know…”
Bucky smiled ruefully, his eyes suddenly a whole shade darker, his shoulders hunched forward as he gathered the various beers into his hands. “Not today dollface. Ask me tomorrow.”
Darcy nodded mutely as she began to pile the dirty glasses into the tray ready for the dishwasher.
“You’ll be here tomorrow?” Darcy shouted to his retreating figure, the black jeans that encased his legs doing him all sorts of favours.
At that Bucky grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners and Darcy could feel the warmth radiating off him.
“It’s a date.”