Chapter Text
James Buchanan Barnes the letter was addressed to. Bucky blinked as tears sprang into his eyes, blurring the words. He scanned the rest of the letter, the place and time jumping out at him.
Wisconsin, 14th March 1942
Four days after his 25th Birthday. In four days’ time. He’d known this was going to happen. How could it not? He’d purposely put off enlisting as much as he could, hoping beyond all hope that the war might be over by the time the algorithm got round to him and up until now he’d been lucky, but his luck had finally run out. He breathed out a heavy breath, his heart sinking in his chest. He heard Steve coming out of the bathroom and hid the letter under his pillow. He would tell him, just not yet. He had three days in which to let the love of his life know that he was going to be leaving him to go a training camp in Wisconsin for three months and then he’d have a couple of weeks free time before he was shipped off to god knows where. He swallowed desperately around the sudden lump in his throat, plastering a smile on his face as Steve walked back into the bedroom, a towel hanging around his shoulders, leaving damp spots on his white undershirt, his brown work trousers hanging loose around his thin hips.
Steve took one look at him and narrowed his eyes. “Ok, spill Barnes, what did you do?”
“Huh? I didn’t do anything.” Bucky replied, running his hands through his dark brown curly hair, looking anywhere but at Steve.
“Then why do you look so guilty?” Steve paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to the set of drawers in the far corner of the bedroom, “Did you find your present?” Steve asked, “Is that why the guilty face?”
Bucky smiled up at him, “Did you get me a present Stevie?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a sideways grin, his grey blue eyes twinkling.
“I might have…” Steve replied coyly, pulling the damp towel from around his thin shoulders and shivering slightly in the cool air of the apartment.
“God sake Rogers, here, put your shirt on and a sweater, you’ll catch another cold…” Bucky’s grin faded as he thought of what would happen if Steve got ill and he wasn’t there to take care of him.
Steve pulled on his shirt, his nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons before he wriggled into the sweater Bucky held out to him, thankful for the nondescript heavy wool item. He looked at the slight frown on Bucky’s face, noting the pinched expression and the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something was up, he knew it, but he also knew how stubborn Barnes could be if pushed too far; something they both had in common, so he vowed to himself to be subtle, but he’d squirrel it out of the older guy by the end of the day or his name was not Steven Grant Rogers.
Steve crossed over to the set of drawers he shared with Bucky and opened the top drawer that was his, digging under the briefs and undershirts that were in there to pull out a small, framed picture.
He turned round, a bashful smile on his face as he held it out. “This is from me and your ma. She dug out a photo of your family and well, I drew them for ya.”
Bucky took the picture, staring at it in a kind of shocked awe as he looked at the drawing of his dad, smiling up at him, with his ma next to him, Becca peeping out from behind her skirt and Bucky standing next to his dad.
“Happy 25th Buck.” Steve said, a nervous smile on his face, his fair hair flopping in his eyes.
It was all too much for Bucky to take in and he just sat, looking at the drawing, tears running down his face. What Steve had done for him was just…his heart leaped in his chest at the kindness and thoughtfulness and above all the love that had gone into the drawing and a small sob escaped.
“Buck? What’s wrong?” Steve asked, sitting down gently next to the dark haired man, “Did you not like it? I’m sorry it was the only photo your ma had of you all, and it was a bit fuzzy, so I’m sorry if it’s not perfect…” Steve broke off as Bucky threw his arms around him, crying silently into his shoulder.
Steve was taken aback as Bucky continued to cry into his shoulder, running his hands down the older guys back, tracing soothing circles until Bucky’s sobs subsided into gentle sounding hiccups.
“Ok Buck, you gotta tell me what’s wrong, cause you’re kinda scaring me now. Did something happen to your family?” Steve sat back, looking at Bucky’s red rimmed teary eyes, his bottom lip trembling as he barely held it together.
Bucky pulled back and twisted round, digging under his pillow to remove the letter, looking at the blanket on the bed as he handed it over to Steve.
Steve took the letter and opened it, scanning it quickly, his face paling as he read. Conscripted…Bucky, his Bucky had been conscripted into the US Army. He read on his heart thumping in his thin chest as he looked at the date he’d be leaving. Fuck, in four days’ time. Fuck, he had four more days with him and then…Steve gulped wetly, his eyes swimming with tears as he swallowed down the darkness that was threatening to pull him under. He needed to be strong for Bucky and he took a few deep breaths as he read the rest of the letter; information about where he needed to report to and how long he’d be training for, and all the kinds of things Steve had never wanted to be associated with Bucky’s name.
“I…I’m sorry Stevie…” Bucky muttered, his throat closing around his words as he sat on the bed, looking at the love of his life.
“Baby…you ain’t got nothing to be sorry for…we knew…,” Stevie gulped, feeling the lump in his throat. He cleared his throat and began again, “we knew this could happen…”
“But it wasn't...I thought…”
“I know baby, me too.”
Steve moved closer to Bucky and hugged him tightly, feeling him sink into the embrace, his head settling on his shoulder, Bucky’s warm breath tickling his neck.
“I can’t tell them…not tonight.” Bucky whispered.
Steve and Bucky’s family had arranged for a surprise birthday dinner at Bucky’s parent’s place and had been working on it for weeks. Steve had been squirrelling away every spare cent he’d earned so Winnie Barnes could buy some good food to surprise her 25 year old son with, when they just happened to pass by that evening. Steve had been round to the Barnes’ place the night before and had seen the beautiful birthday cake Winnie had made, with real sugar she’d managed to get, no questions asked. The smell of it had made Steve’s mouth water and he’d smiled all the way home, telling Bucky he’d been in a meeting at the newspaper to explain why he was late home. Bucky had just smiled and had pressed a kiss on the top of the shorter man’s head, ruffling his fair hair, before serving him dinner.
“You know?” Steve asked, pulling back to look at Bucky.
“You ain’t as good at keeping secrets as you think Stevie, you always look so damn guilty when you’re trying to hide something…,” Bucky sighed, “I can’t tell them tonight, I just can’t, I wanna give them one good evening before I break it to them tomorrow…dammit, I shouldn’t have told you, I shouldda kept it until after the dinner…” Bucky huffed, sorrow shadowing his every breath.
“I can keep this secret, Buck. For you…” Steve whispered, holding him close, dropping a soft kiss on his forehead, “I’ve kept us secret haven’t I?”
“Yeah, I guess you have Stevie, kept us both safe.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he sobbed, his heart breaking open.
“Ah baby don’t cry, please, you’re gonna make me cry and then I’ll be all blotchy and wheezy and then they’ll know something is up…” Steve murmured, hugging Bucky tightly, listening as his sobs grew quieter until he was just sniffling.
“Come on baby, let’s get you washed and ready, ok? Everything will be ok baby…” Steve grasped Bucky’s hand and, standing up, led the man out of the bedroom into the bathroom.
“Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…happy birthday dear Bucky, happy birthday to you.”
Bucky grinned at the sight of a cake making its way from the kitchen into the darkened living room, carried by his ma, his family and his Stevie following behind singing. He winced slightly as he heard Steve’s dulcet flat tones, really the man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but he never let that stop him and Bucky loved him for it.
“Happy birthday son.” Winnie said as she put the vanilla sponge cake, with strawberry jam filling, down in front of him, “make a wish.” She prompted as he stared at the single lit candle.
“I wanna survive the war and be reunited with Stevie.” he thought furiously, his eyes closing for a moment before he opened them, and, staring at Steve, blew out the candle.
He managed to keep that thought uppermost in his mind throughout the entire evening as he laughed and joked with his family, telling the most outrageous stories of his days on the docks, growing silent in commiseration as his ma told him about Mr and Mrs Johnsons’ son, Michael, who Bucky had gone to School with, and how he’d died on the front line one week after being deployed. He’d been cut down by Nazi gunfire and his funeral was the following week. He nodded, tight lipped when Winnie asked if he and Steve would attend with her.
Looking back Bucky wondered if his dad had known the night of the party; the little glances he’d given him, the slight frowns, and tight looks, followed by a hug at the end of the evening. His dad had never been one for displays of affection and Bucky had laughed it off at the time, blaming the apple cider Steve had managed to acquire.
Bucky sat on the edge of their bed, looking around the darkened, quiet, familiar, comfy bedroom; the room he’d allowed his love for Steve to become known, the room in which Steve had reciprocated and shown how much Bucky, in return, was loved. This room was theirs and theirs alone. The lone pearl backed hairbrush on top of the drawers that had belonged to Steve’s ma, a small handful of change on the nightstand, along with a couple of torn pages full of Steve’s scribbles.
How do you pack up a life and go on?
Bucky knew that no matter what happened to him it would never be the same; he and Steve would never be the same, even if he did manage to come home at the end, he’d be different, and Steve would have changed too. Fervently he thought of the wish he’d made the night of his birthday. If he could have anything in the world it would be that. To come home and be with his Stevie; to settle back into a soft, quiet life, full of love and affection.
They’d started to say their goodbyes that evening when they'd gotten back from Bucky's parent's through the whispered words of love, the soft sighs, heated skin rubbing against more heated skin, minds spiralling off, forgetting everything; just being in that moment, the scent of musk and them lingering in the air.
Bucky breathed in the room, filling his lungs with the faint smells of him and Stevie, closing his eyes to see the fair haired man smiling at him, love shining in his eyes. he smiled as he heard Steve snuffling in his sleep next to him.
Sighing, he slipped down into the bed, snuggling up against Steve's sleep warmed body, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close, breathing him in. Bucky lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. they had three more days. he thought of his wish, the one he'd made over the birthday cake and slipped into sleep.
“I wanna survive the war and be reunited with Stevie.”