Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7234978.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), The_Avengers_(Marvel_Movies)
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Steve_Rogers, Avengers_Team_(MCU), Howling
      Commandos, Sam_Wilson_(Marvel), Peggy_Carter, Nick_Fury, Arnim_Zola,
      Johann_Schmidt, Matt_Murdock, Franklin_"Foggy"_Nelson, Sharon_Carter_
      (Marvel), Maria_Hill, Jane_Foster_(Marvel), Darcy_Lewis, Howard_Stark,
      Winifred_Barnes, Rebecca_Barnes_Proctor, Abraham_Erskine, Sarah_Rogers,
      Chester_Phillips, Brock_Rumlow, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      World_War_II, Violence, Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Attempted
      Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Male_Slash, Consensual
      Underage_Sex, Medical_Inaccuracies, Medical_Procedures, Medical
      Experimentation, Medical_Torture, Omega_Verse, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat,
      Period-Typical_Homophobia, Minor_Character_Death, Dubious_Consent, Rape,
      Sexual_Violence
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Omega_Rights
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-19 Updated: 2016-10-24 Chapters: 24/? Words: 147611
****** The Omega Trials ******
by samwise_baggins, Steve-Bucky-Stucky_(Chemical30)
Summary
     Who would have thought than an innocent kiss on a hot summer's day
     would rock the world 83 years later?
Notes
     Spoiler: Yes, all thirteen movies of The Avengers film-line up, but,
     mainly Captain America: The First Avenger, The Avengers, and Captain
     America: Winter Soldier. This takes place after Thor: the Dark World,
     but does NOT incorporate the 2015 or 2016 movies, thus Avengers: Age
     of Ultron and Captain America: Civil War have not happened in this
     story, though there may be spoilers and references to either of these
     movies, as well as others in the timeline.
     Note: This contains sexual exploration between two teenagers. Also,
     the timeline for Steve and Bucky is matched to the Cinematic 'Verse.
     Author's Note: Having seen several different 'lists' of Steve's
     illnesses pre-Serum, I am basing mine on the list I screen captured
     in the first movie. His father died in WWI of mustard gas, and his
     mother died when he was 18 of tuberculosis. Here is Steve's health
     list from his fifth enlistment and what it means:
     - Right and Left ear discharge (wax in the ears - perfectly normal
     for most people in fact)
     - Scarlet Fever & Rheumatic Fever (actually both diseases are based
     in Strep and are generally similar)
     - Asthma (air can get in but not out, and without medications in the
     30's and 40's, this can be deadly more often than not)
     - Sinusitus and Chronic or Frequent Colds (can be related to either
     the Asthma or to the Scarlet Fever results)
     - High Blood Pressure, Palpitations or Pounding in the Heart, Easy
     Fatiguability, Heart Trouble (all related to the Rheumatic Heart
     Disease- I watched my dad with the same condition my entire life
     before his death)
     - Nervous Trouble of Any Sort (I have been informed that back then
     Asthma was considered a mental condition and that this may refer to
     the Asthma)
     - Household Contact with Tuberculosis (mother died of this)
     - Parent or Sibling with Diabetes, Cancer, Stroke, or Heart Disease
     (probably his parent had Rheumatic or Scarlet Fever as well)
***** Destined by Angels *****
Chapter Notes
     Some translations:
     Dyna chi? - Is that you? - Welsh
     Mam - Mother - Welsh
     Lladron - Thieves - Welsh
     fy ngwdadwriaeth - my sweetheart - Welsh
     Tata - Dad - Polish
     Da - Daddy - Gaelic (Irish)
     Momma - Mama - what Steve calls his mother in the comic books
     I will try to include future translations as well
     .
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Setting: AU: Saturday, February 8, 1930: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
What most people would remember about the morning was the bitter cold wind
cutting through wool and fleece, promising ice and snow by evening. The
stinging air stole the breath away, and few people dared to venture out of the
questionable radiator or coal stove heat to challenge winter's wrath.
Unfortunately, there were those who had to brave the freeze for various
pressing reasons.
One such desperate soul, a twelve year old boy with dark brown, loosely curled
hair and unusual blue-grey eyes, strode determinedly down the wide street. He
had dressed as warmly as possible, face buried in a thick woolen scarf, hands
protected by stiff woolen mittens, and head covered by an over-sized woolen hat
with loose dangling ties. In addition to the heavy rubber galoshes pulled over
his regular shoes, the boy wore stiff, thick trousers, shirt, vest, and over
coat.
Despite his gloves, James Barnes had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of
his coat, trudging one foot in front of the other as he made his way home from
Saint Mary's hospital. His father had been injured at his loading job on the
wharf, and the rather poor income of their not so small family had just taken a
serious decrease; though Bucky, as his father called him, had to admit that
George Barnes's boss had been rather nice to offer a severance pay to the
dedicated worker of twenty years.
But that small amount of money would not last long if George didn't recover
full use of his leg, and since the drop in something called stocks back the
previous October had apparently thrown the entire country into an economic
hardship, Bucky didn't quite see how their family of six would survive the
winter. Jobs had gotten scarce since the run on the banks seized up so much of
the country's ready cash.
Heaving a sigh, the twelve year old kicked at a chunk of hard frozen snow,
watching it skitter sluggishly over the uneven road surface. His father had
said that Bucky could find work once he turned thirteen next month as long as
he continued to do well in school, but if a grown woman like his Mam, who'd
even attended a full year at Brown University before leaving school to marry
his former Army soldier father, couldn't get a paying job - - who'd want to
think of hiring a school boy like Bucky?
He kicked another chunk of ice then froze at the sound of voices down the alley
next over.
"I can do this all day," a child's voice ground out, low with warning, answered
by a masculine teen's voice jeering "won't have to if you just give it up,
Mick." The sound of hard fists striking flesh echoed after.
Frowning, Bucky slid carefully to the alley entrance and peered around the
brick wall onto a puzzling scene: a boy maybe his own age stood wavering on his
feet, one eye already swelling, cuts and red welts on his exposed face. He wore
no hat on his golden hair or gloves on his balled fists, and his dark grey
scarf hung dejectedly from one shoulder where it remained steadfastly tucked
into the collar of his overlarge Army peacoat. The thin blond had apparently
been beaten quite thoroughly already by the two larger teens backing him into a
corner, but the determined stance of their victim proclaimed he still had fight
left in his small body.
"Two against one?" Bucky drawled, stepping out to block the entrance of the
alley. He felt fighting mad about his father's injury anyway, so this looked
like an ideal way to let off steam before getting home and telling his Mam,
Winifred Barnes, the bad news. The brunet slid his mittens off, letting them
dangle by the string attaching them to his coat sleeves, and lifted his own
fists in mute echo of the blond. "Unless of course you lot are the ones getting
roughed by him?" He stressed the word in a tone of derision; the blond looked
like a strong breeze would toss him into the nearby garbage cans.
The blond straightened his back and shot a look of gratitude to his rescuer,
though he felt he probably could have finished this fight on his own . . .
maybe. Steven Rogers had been on his way to the local grocer's with his
mother's hard eared money and a small list for their weekly needs when he'd
been roughly grabbed and thrust into the alley. The bigger, older of the pair
of attackers had threatened him with a beating if he didn't hand over the
dollar ten he carried, and the other, stockier dark-haired boy had gone on to
demonstrate their intentions when he'd grabbed Steve's old felt hat and
jauntily slid it on over those lank jet black locks. An only child of a war
widow, Steve wasn't about to let these muggers bully him and his Momma out of
Sarah Rogers's hard earned nurse's pay. Instead, he'd fought back against every
blow, every kick, hoping to give as good as they had . . . because the pair had
given him a rather vicious beating within two minutes of accosting him. It was
with no small hope Steve heard the third boy challenge the duo, and that cocky
voice and hard stare infused the flagging Steve with renewed energy to match
his determination not to lose his Momma's food money.
The slightly chubby older teen with tight brown curls and even tighter sneer
turned to the new threat. As if by some unspoken signal, the two thieves
launched themselves at the unmatched pair of exhausted blond at the dead end
and rather fresh brunet at the open end of the alley.
They near literally had their asses handed to them as some might say . . . and
in a matter of less than a minute.
Steve bent down and plucked his battered hat from the ground by the semi-
conscious dark-haired assailant, brushing it off then slipping it back onto his
pale-colored hair. He straightened and turned a thankful look on his helper . .
. and Bucky nearly collapsed on meeting those impossibly blue eyes.
"Thanks," the blond wheezed slightly, hoping to the Lord his asthma didn't
seize his lungs completely in the bitter cold air.
With a shrug, the brunet said "any time." He paused, forcing his eyes away from
those clear vibrant blue ones, and added, "Hey, I live next block over. Let's
get you cleaned up, okay?"
Blinking slowly, the battered eleven year old replied, "I gotta do the shopping
for Momma."
"Oh."
A small silence ensued interrupted by a groan from one of the losers on the
ground. Rolling his eyes, the brunet carefully threw an arm around the weary
blond and said "name's Bucky Barnes. We'll get you cleaned up then I can go
with you to get your Mam's groceries. You use Old Man Everton's place?"
"Yeah, we do," came the reply. "Steven Rogers," and the blond offered a pained
grin along with his swollen, skinned hand. They shook and Steve added, "Okay,
let's get cleaned up . . . Bucky."
Bucky laughed. "See, I knew you had sense, Stevie." He led the battered boy
from the alley towards his family's tenement building nearby. "You know, most
guys would've let them have the money."
Steve shrugged then winced. "It's all we got. And I don't like guys like that -
- bullies or thieves or . . ." he changed what he was saying. "Most guys
might've walked away from a fight that wasn't theirs."
"Yeah?" Bucky carefully guided Steve to the steps of his tenement. "Well, I
don't like guys like that either." At the top he pushed the door open and let
Steve go first, securing the old door behind them against the bitter February
cold. Turning to Steve, who waited patiently just inside the door, Bucky
slipped him a grin and gestured left-handed up the stairs. "Third floor, if you
think you can make it."
Looking up at the faded wooden steps, Steve nodded. "I can make it." He set a
foot on the first step and paused, right hand tracing a bright blue line almost
the color of his own eyes. It started at waist height to a full adult, right
where the inside rail might be if there had been one, and it led steadily from
front door up the stairway. He touched the painted line. "What's this, Bucky?"
Steve, an artist at heart even if his mother couldn't always spare the pennies
for paper or pencils, felt an affinity for the cheerful paint in the otherwise
drab brown and grey hallway.
"Huh?" Bucky looked over then shrugged. "I painted that for my sister, and the
landlord, Mr. Henesy, said it was all right." He started trudging up the steps,
letting his new friend lead the way. "She don't think so good on her own,
little Gracie, and gets lost when she comes downstairs. So I painted her a line
to follow so she can get home. She can follow it up to the proper floor and the
right apartment."
Shooting a delighted smile at Bucky, Steve began following that guiding bit of
blue. "That's pretty smart," he said. "So she'll never get lost if she's here."
He'd met a kid who couldn't think too well before . . . a boy with odd-shaped
eyes and a sweet smile whose father had been in the 107th Infantry with his own
Da. That boy, Job, wasn't allowed to go anywhere without his Momma, and Sarah
had said the McMillans were talking about putting Job in a special asylum for
the mentally dull since they had six other kids and no time to care for him any
more, with both of them working. Steve didn't like the idea of families having
to do that. He said "I'm thinking Gracie's got a pretty smart brother to take
care of her."
Bucky's sudden smile was so sweet it made Steve's heart ache a beat or two, and
he returned the smile with his own.
"Yeah, well, Mr. Stygar in 3B says she should be sent to a hospital for
idiots," Bucky frowned. "Tata won't even think on it. He says God gave Gracie
to us for a reason, so we'll take care of her like He intended." When they got
to the second floor, he asked, "so, did your father teach you to fight,
Stevie?"
Following Gracie's line, hand light over the bright paint, Steve shook his
head. "Nah. My Da was killed in the war before I was born. Momma has his letter
from the Army and his name discs."
Swallowing at the sudden knowledge, and the following idea of possibly having
never know his own military father in similar circumstances, Bucky practically
whispered, "did he know about you?"
The blond stopped at the top step and turned a smile on Bucky. "Yeah. As soon
as Momma figured it out, she wrote him that he was gonna be a Da. She's got a
couple of letters from him about me, too." Turning back to continue to the
third floor hallway, Steve followed the blue paint until he reached apartment
3F where the vivid color stopped right next to the doorknob.
"And here we are," Bucky said. "End of the line . . . home." He reached around
Steve to twist the knob, swinging the door open. "Mam, I'm home!" he called
over the noise of three little girls and a tall brunet woman all singing
merrily as they did laundry . . . or at least the woman and two elder girls did
the laundry, scrubbing in the large wash bucket, wringing the heavy wet cloth,
then draping things on the rope strung across the living space of joined living
area and kitchen. The third and youngest girl sat dressing and undressing a rag
doll in a hand-stitched formless dress, her voice sweet and pure as she
mimicked the others.
"Jimmy, dyna chi?" the woman stopped singing to call out, turning from the
cloths wringer with a wide smile that resembled Bucky's. She seemed surprised
to come face to face with Steve instead.
"Yeah," Bucky stepped around his friend to show his mother he'd come home.
"It's me. See what Saint Dominic Savio sent us?"
Back stiffening at being referred to as a juvenile delinquent, Steve turned and
hissed, "Jerk!"
Bucky grinned back remorselessly, "Punk." He then turned back to his mother.
"Some lladron tried to take his grocery money. I said he could clean up here,
and I'd shop with him in case he needs help carrying. Oh, this is Steven
Rogers. Stevie, my Mam, Winifred Barnes. That's Becca," he gestured to the
eldest girl then the middle, "Rose . . . and this is fy ngwadwriaeth, Gracie."
He blended his mother's Welsh with English fluidly as he scooped up the six
year old with almond-shaped silver eyes and long auburn hair. Turning to Steve
with a grin, he realized by the puzzled look that his new friend mustn't
understand the language of Winifred's father. "Uh, I said she's 'my sweetheart'
. . . in Welsh."
Steve's face lit in a smile that appeared so angelic Winifred drew in a gasp.
The blond boy said "it's a real pleasure to meet you, Ma'am, and your
daughters. Welsh? Isn't that from . . ." he thought then said, "Wales . . .
near England?"
Winifred nodded smiling. "Yes. My father's Welsh and my mother Irish, but they
live back in Dublin." Her accent sounded musical.
"Irish? My Da was Irish," Steve offered, "least ways, his people were Irish."
"Oh!" Bucky suddenly remembered his own father and the bad news. Smile fading
completely, he said, "I took Tata his paper, Mam, and his doctor said he ain't
doing so good. Mister Herndon laid him off with a couple of weeks pay." Taking
a breath he added, hopeful she'd agree, "he said I could look for work if I
keep my grades up, Mam, in the spring . . . once I'm thirteen."
Apparently, Winifred wasn't about to question her husband's decisions in his
absence because she nodded. "If you keep your grades up, then. Becca, get
Stevie a wash cloth so he can clean off that blood. Are you in much pain,
Stevie?" she dried her red, chapped hands on her apron and walked over to the
blond, carefully lifting his chin with work-worn fingers to study the black eye
and rising bruises.
He refused to pull his chin away from her grasp so answered verbally, "No,
Ma'am, not much, thank you." Thinking to stop the woman from worrying about
him, especially seeing as she had so much else to worry about, Steve tacked on
"My Momma's a nurse, Ma'am. She'll see to me when I get back from her errands."
Winifred's pale blue eyes seemed to light up and she asked "a nurse? An
educated woman then . . . good." Bucky's mother let Steve's chin go and turned
to Bucky. "Jimmy, be sure to walk him all the way home so you can tell his
father he was defending himself instead of picking fights."
Becca approached Steve and began washing his face and hands gently with a warm,
damp cloth.
With a nod, ignoring Becca, Bucky put little Gracie down next to the nine year
old Rose. "I'll be sure to tell his Mam. He's got no father . . . died in the
war."
The woman turned to look Steve over then nodded. "Lost a lot in that God-
forsaken war. Bless you, Stevie. Does your Mam need someone to help around the
house? I can send Becca on Saturday afternoons and ask only for her dinner in
return. I can even send Jimmy over to help do chores if she's willing to feed
him a bit after school. Doesn't eat much, our Jimmy, but a hard worker just the
same."
Surprise raced through Steve and he smiled at the very generous offer, his
memory playing images of his exhausted mother through his mind. At the moment
some of the ladies from the parish took turns helping Sarah with the cleaning
since she was so tired and Steve wasn't always well enough to help out, but his
mother always said she felt guilty they wouldn't let her give them anything
back. The Rogers family didn't have much, but they weren't above helping others
or repaying a debt. The parish ladies said there was nothing to repay, they did
it out of Christian goodness, but that never sat well with Sarah since they
refused her offers of similar help. "I'll ask her, Mrs. Barnes. Thank you!" He
turned his smile on Becca, too, and the eleven year old beamed back at him,
apparently not the least shy like some girls.
"Well, all clean now," the auburn haired girl said, sticking a bit of plaster
over the skinned knuckles of Steve's right hand then stepping back with a nod.
She turned and rinsed her bloody cloth in the sink. "Better get your errands
done now, Steve." She lifted her hands in a shooing motion at the boys, driving
them towards the door of the apartment. "Go on, Jimmy. Don't forget to bundle
up."
Bucky laughed as he and Steve hurriedly redressed for the bitter cold, though
neither had taken off their coats or kicked off their galoshes. They left
before Becca could scold them further. "Sorry, Stevie," Bucky continued to
chuckle, "she acts like she's the Mam sometimes."
'S'alright," Steve chuckled in return. "Must be nice to have sisters. I'm the
only one back home." Tilting his head a bit, Steve looked at Bucky, left hand
going unconsciously to the back of his neck and scratching under his hat at his
hairline. "She called you Jimmy?" His voice showed his curiosity at Bucky's
other name.
"Yeah," Bucky confirmed. "Only Tata calls me Bucky, really . . . and Gracie. My
full name's James Buchanan Barnes, so Jimmy for James and Bucky for Buchanan."
He turned his grin to Steve as the blond dropped his hand and lightly traced
Gracie's blue paint line down the steps.
"Oh," Steve looked back towards his new friend, "uh, my middle name's Grant."
Laughter continued to escape Bucky at that, and he had to hold the outside
stair rail so he wouldn't trip. "So, we're both named for presidents!"
A hesitant chuckle bubbled up then Steve joined in the enthusiastic laughter.
"Yeah, I guess so. But actually, it was the fact that Grant was the general who
won the Civil War that made my Da pick his name out for me. If I'd been a girl,
I'd have been Stephanie Victoria, Momma said."
"Nice," the brunet snickered, earning a soft punch to the arm from the blond.
They walked in companionable silence down the rest of the stairs and out into
the freezing afternoon. When they were almost at the grocer's, Steve asked,
"Uh, Bucky? You call your Da 'Tata?' Is that Welsh?"
"Nope," Bucky replied. "It's Polish. My Tata's father was Polish, but Tata was
born here in America. He was born Jerzy, but everyone calls him George. He
talks Polish most of the time, though." He grinned over at Steve and added. "In
fact, when my grandfather came over, the Immigration Official changed his name
from Barna to Barnes 'cause he said 'you're in America now, man, you need an
American name.' My grandfather just accepted it so my father became the first
actual Barnes in the family."
"Wow!" Steve breathed. "I think my Da's name was always Rogers, but I never
thought to ask Momma if it got changed when his grandparents came to America.
Do you speak a lot of Polish, too?"
With a nod, Bucky said "yup. I speak Polish and Welsh and Gaelic. My neighbor
from 3C, Mrs. Enescu, is teaching me Romanian on Wednesdays, too. Mam says I
have her ear for languages and thinks I might work for the government or
military someday."
"Wow," Steve repeated.
When the boys arrived at Everton's Grocery, the old man beamed at the pair as
if they had just given him some sort of present. "I thought you boys might know
each other, what with living only three blocks one from the other." His bushy
eyebrows shot up as he fully looked at Steve. "Oh, ho! Been fighting, Steven?"
The blond sighed. "Someone tried to take the grocery money, Sir. Bucky helped
me stop them."
"Bucky is it?" The man laughed. "Well, Jimmy, if you keep helping your friends,
I'll call you whatever you want."
Shaking his head, Bucky laughed. "Jimmy's fine, Sir. Me and Steve just met
today," he looked at his new friend, "but it feels like we known each other
forever, don't it, Stevie?"
Offering a nod, Steve agreed. "Yeah, maybe we knew each other before the Angels
sent us down?" He didn't even flush at his own fanciful imagery, somehow
knowing this other boy would understand. He wasn't disappointed as Bucky nodded
his agreement.
"Old souls, those're called," Mr. Everton informed them. "You pair are meant to
be together." He took Sarah's list from Steve and started gathering the items
for him, leaving the pair of boys next to the wood stove. He continued to talk;
however, "you mark my words, boys, someday your lives will rely on this old
friendship."
The boys shared a look of amusement but didn't argue. Neither felt any
inclination to refute such a grand claim. And both, secretly, liked the
colorful idea that they had been friends before the Angels put them on Earth
and would remain friends for the rest of eternity.
After all, who could argue with Angels?
Chapter End Notes
     Full The Avengers Film-line Disclaimer:
     1) Iron Man: written by Stan Lee, Don Heck, Larry Lieber, Jack Kirby,
     Mark Fergus, Hawk Otsby, Art Marcum, Matt Holloway. Film: produced by
     (exec producers) Ari Arad, Peter Billingsley, Louis D'Esposito, Jon
     Favreau, Stan Lee, David Maisel, (co-producer) Victoria Alonso,
     (producers) Avi Arad, Kevin Feige, and (assoc producers) Eric N.
     Heffron, Jeremy Latcham.
     2) The Incredible Hulk: written by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Zak
     Penn. Film: produced by: (exec producers) Stan Lee, David Maisel, Jim
     Van Wyck, (co-producer) Kurt Williams, (producers) Kevin Feige, Gale
     Anne Hurd, and (assoc producers) Stephen Broussard, Michael Malone,
     John Scotti.
     3) Film Iron Man 2: written by Justin Theroux and produced by: (exec
     producers) Louis D'Esposito, Susan Downey, Jon Favreau, Alan Fine,
     Stan Lee, David Maisel, Denis L. Stewart, (co-producers) Victoria
     Alonso, Jeremy Latcham, (producer) Kevin Feige, and (assoc producers)
     Karen Johnson, Eric N. Heffron.
     4) Thor: based on Norse mythology and written by Stan Lee, Larry
     Lieber, Jack Kirby, Ashley Edward Miller, Jack Stentz, Don Payne, J.
     Michael Straczynzki, Mark Protosevich, Nicole Perlman. Film: produced
     by: (exec producers) Louis D'Esposito, Alan Fine, Stan Lee, David
     Maisel, Patricia Whitcher, (production executive) Michael Chong, (co-
     producers) Victoria Alonso, Craig Kyle, (producer) Kevin Feige, and
     (assoc producer) David J. Grant.
     5) Captain America: The First Avenger: written by Joe Simon, Jack
     Kirby, Christopher Markus, & Stephen McFeely. Film: produced by:
     (exec producers) Louis D'Esposito, Alan Fine, Nigel Gostelow, Joe
     Johnston, Stan Lee, David Maisel, (co-producers) Victoria Alonso,
     Stephen Broussard, (producer) Kevin Feige, and (assoc producers)
     Mitch Bell, Richard Whelan.
     6) The Avengers: written by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Joss Whedon, and
     Zak Penn. Film: produced by: (exec producers) Victoria Alonso, Louis
     D'Esposito, Jon Favreau, Alan Fine, Jeremy Latchman, Stan Lee,
     Patricia Whitcher, and (producer) Kevin Feige.
     7) Film Iron Man 3: written by Drew Pearce, Shane Black, and based on
     the "Extremis" Mini-series written by Warren Ellis, Adi Granov and
     produced by: (exec producers) Victoria Alonso, Stephen Broussard,
     Louis D'Esposito, Jon Favreau, Alan Fine, Stan Lee, Dan Mintz,
     Charles Newirth, Wenge Xiao, (producer) Kevin Feige, (assoc
     producers) Mitch Bell, Lars P. Winther, and (unit producer: china)
     Brad Winderbaum.
     8) Film Captain America: The Winter Soldier: written by Christopher
     Markus, Stephen McFeely, Ed Brubaker and was produced by: (exec
     producers) Victoria Alonso, Alan Fine, Michael Grillo, Stan Lee, (co-
     producer) Nate Moore, (producer) Kevin Feige, and (assoc producers)
     Mitch Bell, Lars P. Winther.
     9) Film Thor: The Dark World: written by Christopher L. Yost,
     Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, Don Payne, Robert Rodat and
     produced by: (exec producers) Victoria Alonso, Louis D'Esposito, Alan
     Fine, Nigel Gostelow, Craig Kyle, Stan Lee, (producer) Kevin Feige,
     (assoc producer) Jamie Christopher, and (line producer) Leifur B.
     Dafinnsson.
     10) Guardians of the Galaxy: written by Arnold Drake & Gene Colan (in
     1969) and Dan Abnett, Andy Lanning, James Gunn, Nichole Perlman.
     Film: produced by: (exec producers) Victoria Alonso, Louis
     D'Esposito, Alan Fine, Nikolas Korda, Jeremy Latcham, Stan Lee, (co-
     producers) David J. Grant, Jonathan Schwartz, (producer) Kevin Feige,
     and (assoc producer) Jamie Christopher.
     11) Film The Avengers: Age of Ultron: written by Joss Whedon and
     produced by: (exec producers) Victoria Alonso, Louis D'Esposito, Jon
     Favreau, Alan Fine, Jeremy Latcham, Stan Lee, Patricia Whitcher, (co-
     producer) Mitchell Bell, (assoc producers) Jamie Christopher, Daniel
     S. Kaminsky, (producer) Kevin Feige, (line producer: Italy) Diego
     Loreggian, and (line producer: South Africa) Angela Phillips.
     12) Antman: written by Stan Lee, Larry Leiber, Jack Kirby, Edgar
     Wright, Joe Cornish, Adam McKay, Paul Rudd. Film: produced by (exec
     producers) Victoria Alonso, Louis D'Esposito, Alan Fine, Michael
     Grillo, Stan Lee, Edgar Wright, (producer) Kevin Feige, (co-
     producers) David J. Grant & Brad Winderbaum, and (assoc producers)
     Leo Thompson, Lars P. Winther.
     13) Film Captain America: Civil War: written by Christopher Markus,
     Stephen McFeely and produced by (exec producers) Victoria Alonso,
     Louis D'Esposite, Alan Fine, Stan Lee, Nate Moore, Patricia Witcher,
     (producers Kevein Feige, (co-producers) Mitchell Bell, Christoph
     Fisser, Henning Molfenter, Charlie Woebcken, and (assoc producers)
     Ari Costa, Trinh Tran, Lars P. Winther.
     [Incomplete: films are still being made]
***** Boys will be Boys *****
Chapter by samwise_baggins
Chapter Notes
     Translations
     Kurde - Damn - Polish
     .
Setting: AU: Saturday, July 25, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
The day had been incredibly hot in the city, sweltering among the tenements and
multi-storied boarding houses. Too many people and too little ready cash made
for a lack of distractions from the baking July sun. At least the children
seemed able to find occupation during the heatwave: they swam in the nearby
river or chased the ice hauler or clambered down root cellar steps to hide in
the cool, dark depths until an adult found and retrieved them, reluctant and
petulant. Early July had been bearable, even enjoyable, but this late in the
month, with three days of straight out unrelieved heat, made patience short and
tempers shorter.
Bucky Barnes, fourteen, and Steve Rogers, just thirteen, perched on a
brownstone's graveled roof, had seemed to escape the general stifling
atmosphere of Brooklyn. They sat on an old plank extended between two large
soap boxes, dangling their feet and ankles in Sarah Rogers's wash tub,
occasionally splashing the warming water at one another. The thin blond boy
whose mother had allowed them the use of her tub, grinned and laughed, vibrant
blue eyes dancing, looking up at the taller, older boy beside him. He watched
as the boy with blue-grey eyes pushed his worn cap back, exposing his lightly
olive complexion and dark brown hair, cut short but with a tendency to curl as
it got longer.
For a long time the pair had been the same height, but over the last winter,
Bucky had suddenly sprouted, gaining almost half a foot over his friend. It had
to do with more than pubescent hormones versus lack of funds for proper
nutrition, however. The hard truth was that Bucky had perfect health and high
energy, while Steve had been through a series of drastic childhood illnesses,
including scarlet fever when he was eight and rheumatic fever just last winter.
The result was a too thin, weaker body and lung capacity, a compromised immune
system, and increasing signs of a heart problem that would keep many a child
stuck inside doing tame tasks.
Steve, however, was not most children. He spent his fair share of time reading
dime novels and news-sheets procured by Bucky and books from the lending
library borrowed by his mother. But he also liked to be active and so roamed
the streets with Bucky, imagining grand adventures and mysterious explorations.
His best friend of a year and a half always kept an eye on the smaller boy, to
make sure their rambling didn't push Steve's health too far. The heart
palpitations and dizziness were troubling enough, but Steve's lungs were what
terrified his mother and his doctors the most. He'd been diagnosed with asthma,
something which had no cure or preventatives. All that could be done when his
lungs seized was get the boy to the hospital as quick as possible and pray he
didn't die. Thus, during school days, Steve was required to sit on the bench or
sidelines during physical education classes, marking him a sissy-boy to some of
the crueler boys in class.
But this day, sitting on the roof with their feet in the ever warming water,
neither boy thought such of negative things as schoolyard bullies or breathing
attacks or the long hard hours Sarah worked at the Brooklyn Home for
Consumptives. Rather, they laughed over Bucky's impressions of some of the
prissy girls who'd been flirting with a pack of boys over at the local sweet
shop: rich girls, coyly using their parasols and delicate fans, who'd made
disapproving faces when they'd noticed the pair of boys in common rough clothes
without shoes, not caring that being barefoot had been a choice not a
necessity. The pack of older boys also sneered at the ragged pair, but Bucky
and Steve merely ignored the group, bought their penny candy, and hurried back
to the privacy of Sarah's apartment house rooftop.
"And did you see those shoes?" Steve asked on a laugh. "How can they stand
being so pinched up? Do they even have toes?"
Bucky snickered. "As pinched as their sour faces. Looked like the lot of 'em
were suckin' lemons." The brunet boy scrunched his face up, puckering his lips
as if imitating a fish. His words came out a bit jumbled, making Steve laugh
all the harder. "And they go around like a carp making sucky faces at
everyone."
Steve waved a hand helplessly in the air. "They look like they've been kissing
fish!"
Mischief dancing in his eyes, Bucky giggled. "I wonder if those fellas even
like kissing those fish girls." Still talking while puckered, he grabbed Steve
by the sides of the face and pulled him over. "Come give me a fishy kissy . .
." Their lips met.
And both boys pulled back, laughing at the absurdity of it.
"How . . . how . . ." Bucky tried to speak through his giggles, "how was being
kissed by a fish, Stevie?" He held an arm around his abdomen as he gasped for
air.
Steve laughed just as hard. "Why don't you see?" he asked and pulled Bucky in
for a retaliatory kiss, puckering up and planting his rosy lips directly over
Bucky's slightly paler ones.
The other boy pulled away and snickered. "At least you ain't cold and wet,
Stevie," he giggled. "Betcha those dames are, though. All cold and fishy and
nasty. And did'ja smell them? Definitely fish . . . flowery fish!"
Wiping tears from his brilliant blue eyes, Steve nodded and chuckled. His
olfactory had always been his keenest sense. "Yeah, but I thought maybe the
fellas worked down by the docks. That was the girls? Ick! When I get a girl,
I'm gonna make sure she don't smell like no fish!" He stated, laughing softly.
"Yeah, but you ain't gonna get a girl if you kiss her like a fish, Steve."
Bucky grinned back, grey-blue eyes dancing at the continued joke. "You need to
kiss like a normal fella. Like they do in the flicks."
"Really? You think I can't do that? Watch this." Steve was always up for a
dare, never backing down from a challenge. So, in order to prove his kissing
ability, despite having had no practice, Steve grabbed Bucky by the front of
his shirt and pulled him in, sealing his mouth over his best friend's lips.
Neither boy laughed as Steve slowly leaned back, watching Bucky intently,
unsure what to say suddenly. He only knew that it had felt . . . good.
Blinking slowly, Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I guess you can kiss. It certainly didn't
feel like a fish, Steve. My turn." And Bucky startled the smaller blond by
slipping a hand behind his head and pulling him back in for a solid kiss,
tilting his head. After a slightly longer time, Bucky broke the kiss and tilted
his head down, leaning his forehead on Steve's. "Wow," he murmured. "I guess
kissing's not as bad as some of the pictures make it out, huh?"
Steve smiled back, breath hitching. "Not when you do it, Buck." He blinked and
pulled his head away a little, looking around their private oasis as though
someone might just be watching. "Um . . . Bucky?" He cleared the squeak from
his throat and tried again. "Kissing's something you need to practice, right?
Like drawing or stick ball?"
"Course," Bucky stated, equally breathless, as if he knew where Steve was
heading with the question. The two had been inseparable since Bucky had rescued
Steve from some bullies trying to steal his money in January of 1930, and often
times they could finish each other's thoughts. Bucky showed that innate
understanding of his best friend yet again. "So, means we'll need to practice,
huh?" he asked.
With a nod and a small smile, Steve answered "Uh huh. I mean, until we find
girls to practice with, right? It's okay, if we don't tell no one . . . just
practicing . . . right?" He turned his vibrant eyes up to stare through long
dark lashes at Bucky, who nodded slowly.
"Sure. Hey, at school they're always saying we gotta practice. And it's not
like we can just walk up to a girl and ask her, without talking to her Tata
first, right?" Bucky lifted his free hand and stroked Steve's cheek, the other
skimming through the almost military short buzz the blond often wore for
summer. "So, let's get good at it so the girls don't think we're losers or
something." And Bucky leaned forward to seal his lips over Steve's once more.
Not protesting, Steve tilted his head to accommodate Bucky's mouth, whimpering
softly in the back of his throat at the warm, comfortable sensation of the
intimate contact with the other boy. He slid a hand down Bucky's shirt to his
waist, and left it resting there, fingers caressing over the material absently.
Finally, the pair pulled away, panting for breath, smiling at each other
despite red-kissed lips and the beginnings of a blush on Steve's fair skin.
"Hey, you ain't getting a fever are you, Stevie?" Bucky suddenly jumped up,
pulling Steve off the make-shift bench. "Kurde, it's hot out here and you ain't
been drinking near enough water." He tugged Steve unprotesting from the
lukewarm water in the wash tub, tripping over the other boy's feet as he tried
to climb out himself. Down they went in a tangle of limbs, knocking over the
tub and drenching themselves. Bucky swore, slapping at the metal tub, but Steve
broke into fresh laughter, lying on the wet gravel of the roof.
"You punk," Bucky growled at the smaller boy but heaved him to his feet,
lifting the metal tub with his left hand, and guided his friend towards the
access door. They made their way down to Sarah Rogers' apartment, dripping wet
and trying to stay quiet, despite Steve's infectious laughter. When they
arrived, Bucky had to fish the key out of Steve's trouser pocket while Steve
leaned into him, face buried in Bucky's shoulder, giggling still. Bucky
snickered and managed to unlock the door and push it open, practically heaving
Steve over the threshold. Finally, key in hand, Bucky kicked the door shut and
let the wash basin fall with a loud clatter on the kitchen floor as they passed
through. He dragged Steve to his bedroom.
"Gotta get you outta those wet clothes, Stevie," he grumbled and Steve nodded,
leaning against the door frame, laughter having finally subsided. He gasped and
Bucky shot him a worried look, so Steve waved a hand.
"I can breathe, Buck. I've just been laughing too hard." To ease his friend's
tension, Steve began to strip. "And you're soaked, too, Bucky," he pointed out,
receiving an eye roll before Bucky, too, slipped off his suspenders to get his
shirt off.
The pair quickly divested themselves of their clothing, Bucky scooping up the
mess and carrying it out to the kitchen to put in the wash basin, but neither
boy knew how to actually wash the laundry, so he merely left the pile there.
Since no one else was in the house, and neither boy felt uncomfortable at
roaming around totally nude, Bucky simply grabbed a towel and strode back into
his best friend's bedroom, kicking the door shut just in case Sarah Rogers came
home early. "Here, Steve, dry your hair or your Mam'll kill me."
Steve grinned at his friend and accepted the towel, vigorously drying the
golden tresses. Once done he tossed the rough cloth to the older boy, who ran
it over his own dark brown locks. Finally, the pair grinned at each other, hair
rumpled and damp, bodies pleasantly cool from the wetting. Bucky draped the
towel over the back of Steve's desk chair, a decrepit piece of furniture
rescued from the local dump but still stable enough for the small-framed teen.
"So," Bucky studied his friend's pretty features, the lush lips, long lashes,
and wide impossibly blue eyes. "Wanna practice some more?" He leered at Steve
who laughed in return.
"Sure," Steve answered easily, not above enjoying the feel of Bucky's mouth on
his once more. It was some of the most delightful practice he'd ever gotten to
do, after all. The blond led his friend to the bed and sank, nude, onto the
thin, worn sheet and summer quilt.
Bucky joined him on the bed, reaching over to cup Steve's face in his strong
hands. With an answering grin, he leaned in and sealed his mouth over Steve's
once more, teasing his friend by suddenly running his tongue over the seam of
the other boy's lips. Surprisingly, Steve whimpered as he opened his mouth, and
Bucky slid his tongue inside, tempted to taste his friend, not thinking of the
possible oddity of the gesture. Steve's tongue slid over Bucky's and both boys
gasped at the rough-silky feeling of pleasure.
Reluctantly, Steve pulled back and studied Bucky's blue-grey eyes, a small
smile still on his pale face. "Bucky?"
"Yeah, Stevie?" Bucky breathed, leaning closer.
But the sound of the outside door opening had the boys jumping apart and
scrambling for something to cover their nakedness. Steve grabbed his terry
cloth robe while Bucky wrapped the damp towel around his hips. They exchanged a
guilty blushing grin then Steve headed for his bedroom door, opening it as he
called out "Momma? Is that you?"
With a soft chuckle, Bucky sank back onto the bed and shook his head, knowing
he'd have to wait for his clothes to be washed and dried before he could dress
and go home. For the moment, he would just enjoy the memory of their
exploratory kisses, waiting for Steve's return. Idly he wondered if he or Steve
could be considered queer just because they'd been kissing. He thought about it
and decided that they were fine. It wasn't like he kissed all the fellas at
school or anything, and Steve had even said he'd planned on getting a
girlfriend to kiss. So Bucky figured it would be okay if they just practiced
with each other for the time being. A kiss didn't make one queer . . . right?
Steve's door swung slightly open, revealing the blond boy speaking not with his
mother but with Bucky's sister, Becca. Groaning softly, Bucky remembered his
sister did cleaning for Sarah on Saturday afternoons. He glanced around but
knew he couldn't put on any of Steve's clothes; they would be too small for him
now.
"Hey, Becca," Steve smiled at the pretty Barnes girl. He laughed a bit, waving
his right hand to indicate his robe and wet hair. "I fell in the wash tub and
dragged Bucky under, too. So, uh, we got all wet." He looked at the twelve year
old girl and shrugged.
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I figured as much. You are the biggest clutz this
side of Manhattan, Steve Rogers." She held no rancor in her voice, though.
Becca Barnes was as good as a sister to Steve Rogers. "Well, at least you had
the sense to take the wet clothes off before you got sick again. I'll clean
them up and hang them to dry." She glanced around the small apartment with the
wide open windows. "In this heat, they'll dry pretty quick." Then, pursing her
lips much as her mother did when faced with an unpleasant chore, Becca turned
to start pumping water into the large wash basin of dirty wet clothes. Almost
absently, she added, "Oh, that parcel over on the table is from Mam for Jimmy.
She said he could stay over the night and go to church with you and your Mam
tomorrow if he helped her fix that leak on her lavatory sink she mentioned last
weekend."
Nodding, Steve smiled in relief to be doing something that would take him out
of Becca's way; he hated feeling like he was underfoot when the quick teen-aged
girl helped around his house. "Thanks, I'll bring them to him." And he hurried
back to his bedroom, easing through the smallest possible opening of the door
before firmly shutting it behind, making sure it latched this time. With a grin
for Bucky, Steve laid the parcel of dress clothes on his scarred wooden desk
and shrugged. "It's your sister, Becca."
"Yeah," Bucky grinned back, still laying on the bed though he kept the towel
on, "I heard. She does like to nag at you, don't she?"
Steve rolled his eyes and sank onto his desk chair with a shrug. "I don't mind
so much, Bucky. She's awful nice."
"Whoa!" Bucky sat up with a clap of laughter. "Don't tell me you're thinking on
maybe practicing kissing with Becca, Steve!"
The blond flushed bright red, even under his hair. "No!" He protested quickly,
nearly shouting, then hushed down so the girl in the other room wouldn't hear
him. "No way, Bucky! Never! Becca's like my sister. I couldn't kiss her." His
blue eyes met Bucky's blue-grey and he continued to blush, his left hand going
up to rub at the back of his neck.
Bucky flopped backwards laughing even harder. Finally he gasped, "I don't mind,
Steve. I know you. You'd treat a gal right if you started courting her." Bucky
glanced over and let his grin turn to a smirk. "But, of course, Tata might have
other plans, being her father an' all."
With a groan, Steve shook his head and turned to face his beat up desk, still
rubbing his neck. "I'm serious, Buck. I'm not interested in courting Becca. I .
. . I think I'm too young to actually go courting yet, anyway." He glanced over
at his older friend, who'd already started talking over the spring about the
pretty girls in his language classes up at the High School building.
Snorting, Bucky merely nodded. "Sure, whatever. Give it a year or two, Stevie,
and you'll be lining up behind every other guy in town to walk with her. At
least, you got an advantage." At Steve's glance, Bucky grinned wickedly. "Becca
don't smell like fish."
Steve dropped his face into his right hand and groaned, "Shut up, Jerk!"
***** Those Little Life Lessons *****
Chapter Notes
     Note: I now have a co-author so this has gotten even better (the
     length practically tripled with Dani’s input!) Thanks, Dani, for
     making this reality a true fantasy.
     Translations:
     leanbh - baby - Irish Gaelic
     Dia dhuit - Hello - Irish Gaelic
     Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
     Mamaí - Mam - Irish Gaelic
     sperma - semen - Polish
     wytrysk - ejaculation - Polish
     Sczcepan - Steven - Polish
     Salomeja - Sarah - Polish
     mały kwiat - little flower - Polish
     tak - yes - Polish
     Piekło - Hell - Polish
     Kurde - Damn - Polish
     Setting: AU: July 25, - 27, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States
     of America
     .
Setting: AU: Saturday, July 25, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
After a few minutes, Bucky stood from the bed and walked over to Steve at the
desk. He slid his left hand under Steve’s chin and forced the smaller boy to
lift his head. Bending, Bucky cupped that delicate face and sealed his lips
over Steve’s one more time, giving a small groan of pleasure as he did so.
With a sigh, Steve slid one hand into Bucky’s dark hair, enthusiastically
returning the kiss.
“I rathered it was me you practiced with, any way, Stevie,” the the fourteen
year old brunet breathed into the blond’s mouth, earning a small chuckle.
“Let’s make a pact, Bucky,” Steve smiled up at his friend. “Any practicing we
need to do, we do together.”
Bucky straightened up with an answering grin. He spit into his palm and held it
out. “Deal, Rogers!”
“Deal, Barnes!” The thirteen year old spit on his own palm and gripped Bucky’s
hand firmly, shaking and sealing their oath.
“Hey, Jimmy,” Becca’s voice came from just outside Steve’s bedroom door,
drawing the attention of both boys. “Mrs. Rogers just got here and said you can
borrow one of Mr. Rogers’s outfits to fix the sink in. Hurry up. Steve can get
it for you.” The sound of her footsteps moving away drew a relieved look from
the boys: she wasn’t coming in at least.
With a small grin Steve shrugged. “Yeah, I didn’t think of that. She has his
Army foot locker with some of his clothes she couldn’t sell.” He opened his
door to check that the twelve year old girl had her back to them then shot a
grin at Bucky behind him. Leading the way, Steve slipped into the hall. Bucky
held the damp towel around his hips for their dash to Sarah’s room.
Glancing over at the taller boy, Steve gestured to a crocheted afghan draped
over a rectangular structure. “Right there,” he said and stepped over to
uncover a metal footlocker with the stencil ‘ROGERS, JS - 107 INF - USA’ across
the lid. Squatting in front of the chest, unaware his robe gaped open to reveal
his lack of other clothing, Steve flicked the metal latches then threw open the
lid and drew a in a tremulous breath. A rush of mothball scent escaped amid the
rustle of tissue paper in the sudden movement of stale air. He began to cough.
“Steve?” Sarah’s tired voice came from the hall. “Do you need help, leanbh?”
“No!” Steve called desperately, catching his breath, at the same time Bucky
snickered at Sarah’s pet name for her son. “Shut up, Jerk,” Steve hissed at the
older boy then turned back to the trunk.
Carefully, Steve lifted the top outfit from the chest and stood, turning to
place it on the bed. He parted the protective wrapping of thin paper, revealing
an infantry dress uniform complete with decorations of valor and name plate
reading: ‘Rogers, J.’ The uniform sported a Captain’s bars, dull after years
tucked away in the foot locker. “He was with the 107th,” Steve reminded Bucky,
though the other boy knew that information already. Steve felt a wave of
sadness and longing wash over him as he thought about the stranger who had worn
that uniform. Who was he? Had he been as excited about his son as he sounded in
his letters?
Almost reverently, Bucky nodded. “He was a real American hero, Stevie. What’s
the 'JS' stand for?” The brunet reached over to touch the war medals, though he
referred to the initials on the lid’s stencil.
“Joseph Steven,” the smaller blond responded, almost absently.
“Nice,” Bucky said and meant it. Giving Steve some time to think about the
father he’d never met, the older boy turned to the trunk and found an old work
shirt and pair of dungaree pants he could wear, if he borrowed some suspenders
to hold the trousers up. “Hey, Steve, think this is what your Mam meant?” He
held up the deep maroon shirt and dark grey trousers.
Drawing his attention from his Da’s uniform to glance over Bucky’s choice of
clothes, Steve nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. Go ahead and take my other
suspenders. You can adjust them longer to fit.”
Bucky nodded and headed back to Steve’s room, flushing as he came face to face
with Mrs. Rogers in the hallway. He clutched the towel around his narrow hips,
trying not to show her more than he figured she’d want to see.
She looked tired, her eyes bruised from lack of sleep, her mouth lined around
by worry. But she smiled that sweet smile her son had inherited, and her vivid
blue eyes seemed just as lively as Steve’s. Still in her nurse’s uniform and
cloth cap, the still young woman nodded at the sight of the boy who had
befriended her only child. “Dia dhuit, Seamus,”: she greeted in her soft, sweet
voice.
“Dia dhuit, Mamaí,” he responded to her Irish Gaelic greeting, pleased by her
expression of joy at hearing the soft syllables, as always. Steve wasn’t very
good at the language, so Sarah had taken to practicing it on Bucky once she’d
found out his mother had taught him.
“I’ll have supper on the table in a couple of hours, Seamus.” She smiled at him
as he grinned at the Irish version of his name. “Mr. Rogers’s tools are by the
door as always.” And the brown-haired woman turned back towards the kitchen and
her weekend assistant, who had moved to a straight-backed chair and the basket
of sewing and darning that seemed never to empty.
Watching her for a long moment, Bucky finally shook himself from the quiet
spell Mrs. Rogers always seemed to cast around her. He turned and darted into
Steve’s room in order to hurriedly slip into the borrowed, still too large,
clothing, fishing in the neatly ordered clothes box for his friend’s second
pair of suspenders to hold the pants up on his slender hips.
Steve came in to dress in his second pair of clothes. So when Bucky finished
the pair found their way into the tiny washroom with the pull chain toilet and
the rusting sink with the leaking pump. Bucky bent sideways to take a look at
the top of the pump then knelt down to see to the handle and attached pump. He
pulled out what he needed from the old tool box and began to take the pump
apart, losing himself quickly in the work.
Plopping down on the cold metal of the toilet seat, Steve watched as his friend
worked. He wondered if Bucky knew that the tip of his tongue caught between his
teeth when he concentrated so hard. Grinning, but wisely not interrupting the
older boy, Steve merely tried to see, to understand, what Bucky seemed to know
innately. He leaned closer to get a glimpse, nearly knocking heads with the
brunet when he unexpectedly shifted.
“Whoa!” Bucky sank back onto his haunches and shook his head, grinning at
Steve. “Really? You so interested in getting knocked across the room, Stevie?”
Bucky shook his head, chuckling. “You’re lucky it’s me and not Tata. If you
spook him, he hits . . . hard!” Bucky felt no rancor for his father’s ready
fist; Mam had explained that he got that way from being around enemy fire in
the war. It made a man jumpy. Bucky and his sisters had learned young not to
frighten Tata.
“Sorry,” Steve breathed. “I just want to know how to do that, too. So, I can
fix things for Momma if you ain’t around.”
Bucky turned and grinned at his smaller friend. “Is that all? Well, then get
off the pot and come on over here. The only way a fella can learn is hands on,
Tata says.”
Practically leaping over to squat next to Bucky, Steve grinned up at him.
“Okay. Show me.”
“You got it, Steve.”
The pair spent the next couple of hours on the finer parts of a pump-sink’s
inner workings and a slow realization that Steve had little aptitude for
plumbing. Finally, with a laugh, Bucky once more sealed the large structure and
wiped a grimy wrist over his forehead, leaving an inadvertent streak. “I think
it’s going to need replacing, Steve. But we got it for now.”
“So, that metal and rubber bit? That’s what keeps the water back?” Steve asked
a third time, causing his friend to laugh and shake his head.
“Don’t worry about it, Steve. Not like I’m going anywhere. I’ll always be right
here at the end of the line, ready to fix the pump or let you draw me or,” and
he softened his smile, a teasing glint in his eyes, “kiss you breathless,” he
whispered.
Flushing, Steve ignored the suggestive remark and went for a different part of
Bucky’s words. “I only drew you that one time, Buck! And it was for school. You
said it was no problem. No one else had a model who sat still so long as you.
My teacher was amazed.” The blond stood, wiping his dirty hands down his back-
up trousers and bringing a wince to Bucky’s face.
Standing with a shake of his head, Bucky rolled his shoulders to ease the
kinks. “She was marvelling at your drawing, not my sitting, Stevie. No one can
capture sitting still in a painting. It just happens, you know? Like one of
them pictures people take of their weddings or their dead Auntie.” Moving to
the tool chest, Bucky carefully cleaned the tools he’d used and put them away,
one by one.
Steve sighed and shrugged. “She said she could tell you stayed still when she
looked at it.”
A chuckle rose up and Bucky shook his head, grinning wider. “She did, did she?”
He turned his head to glance at the blond. “Well, if you still got Miss
Simmons, then it’s ‘cause she always liked me. Said I had a talent if I
bothered to work it. But I think she likes you more ‘cause you’ve got even more
talent than me.”
“Every one of my teachers liked you, Bucky. Everyone does,” Steve stated
simply. It had been readily apparent to the younger boy that Bucky had a sort
of charm about him. He seemed to make friends wherever he went, and girls were
always following him around at school; even when he went up to the High School
for his extra classes in French and German, girls seemed to flock him.
“Well,” Bucky turned to drop the drain plug in the sink then began to pump
tepid water into the old stained bowl. “You can draw me any time you want.
Don’t even hafta ask. Now, let’s get washed up before you completely wreck
those trousers, Steve. You’ve got dirt everywhere already.”
Steve nodded, grinning, and they washed quickly, finishing just as Sarah Rogers
called them for dinner . . . and thoroughly scolded Steve for getting his only
two pair of clothes, other than his Sunday best of course, wet or dirty or both
in just one day.
“Sorry, Momma,” Steve breathed, full of remorse.
Then the mother and son and the brother and sister sat down, joined hands to
say grace, and ate their Saturday evening meal. Very shortly thereafter, Becca
left, before it got dark, and Sarah sent Steve and Bucky to Steve’s room to go
to bed, telling them she’d hang their clothes to dry over night, after
scrubbing out the dirt they’d acquired working on the pump.
Stripping completely in the hot July night, both boys tumbled nude into Steve’s
bed and exhaustion overcame them quickly enough.
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, July 26, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Bucky turned over, stretching, but froze when he felt Steve trembling next to
him. “Stevie?” He touched the other boy’s shoulder, voice laced with worry.
Steve groaned slightly and let out a confused whimper. “Something’s wrong,
Buck.”
“Wrong?” Bucky felt his concern increase and rolled fully to face the blond.
Steve was sick? And he’d slept through it? “What happened, Stevie?”
Flushing with embarrassment, Steve murmured, “I don’t feel right. There’s . . .
stuff leaking . . . from my penis.” At least he didn’t find using the terms to
describe his medical conditions too awkward since he’d been doing that his
whole life.
Bucky looked down at the mess on Steve’s thighs and crotch then relaxed, but he
didn’t laugh. He pulled his friend into his arms and gave him a cuddle, trying
to sound reassuring. “Oh, that all?”
Steve let out a gasp. “Something’s wrong, Bucky! Th . . . This isn’t normal!”
“Yeah, it is, Steve.” Bucky pulled Steve to a sitting position and gestured to
the mess. “Tata told me about it a couple years ago, when it happened to me.
It’s a sign of growing up, becoming a man. He says it happens sometimes, just
like erections.”
The younger boy felt himself blush deeper, “Really? Is this gonna happen every
morning?”
“Maybe sometimes, happens a lot for me, ‘specially when I have a real good
dream.” The brunet shrugged and offered a reassuring smile. “I get erect more,
though. Those happen at the most embarrassing time, let me tell you.”
Steve’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion, “Erect? What’s that mean?” He
knew the word, but not how Bucky seemed to be using it.
“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know, huh?” Bucky nodded and grimaced in remembered
embarrassment, flushing a bit when he recalled how Betty Sue had noticed his
stiffy in class last year. “It’s when your penis gets really stiff and hard,
and the foreskin pulls back from the tip. It stands up, ready to get a gal
pregnant, Tata says. But until you get a wife, you gotta take care of it
yourself.”
Looking down at his hands and then back up to meet his friend’s eyes, Steve
asked, “Does . . . does it hurt?”
“Only if you let it stay hard too long,” Bucky said simply.
Feeling completely embarrassed, Steve mumbled, “How do ya’ make ‘em go away,
Buck?”
The older boy gestured towards Steve’s lap. “Gotta touch yourself until it goes
down, but that usually makes the sperma . . . the white stuff . . . come out
faster. Tata says gotta get rid of the sperma to make the erection go away, and
then the body can make new sperma for babies. Tata says it gets old so the body
kinda throws it out, like old milk.” He felt his flush deepen. “It actually
feels good when it comes out, but kinda feels like you might explode first, ya
know?”
Steve shook his head, not understanding in the least how feeling like exploding
could feel good. But as he opened his mouth to ask further, his mother’s voice
came from the other side of the door.
“Leanbh, you’re awake, good. You both need to dress. I slept in accidentally.”
She sounded worried and distracted.
“Yes, Momma!” Steve called back then looked at Bucky, who shrugged with a small
grin.
“I keep a washbasin by my bed all the time now. Maybe you should start, huh?”
Bucky slid from the bed and peeked into the hall. He turned back around. “I’ll
get my trousers and drawers on then go get you something to wash with. You stay
there or you’ll mess up your sheets.” He reached for his clothing parcel on the
desk. “I mean, I know your Mam’s a nurse and seen everything under the sun, but
who says you wanna put her through extra scrubbing, right?”
“Right,” Steve agreed, holding as still as he could, afraid the white stuff
drying on his legs would get everywhere else. His Momma was too tired to have
to clean up after this . . . this . . . “Uh, Buck? What’s this called anyway?”
Bucky glanced over, pulling his trousers up over his drawers and tugging his
suspenders up over his shoulders to hold them in place. “Tata called it sperma.
That means semen according to Mam. It’s the stuff you make babies with.”
Rolling his eyes, Steve shot back, “yeah, you said that. I mean when it
happens. Is there a name for it?”
“Oh,” Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, Tata called it wytrysk, uh, ejaculation. I’ll be
right back, Steve,” and Bucky darted from the room, leaving his smaller friend
sitting with a lap full of drying semen and nothing to cover his genitalia
with.
Fortunately his best friend didn’t take long, and shortly the pair were washed,
dressed, and fed for church in near record time for a pair of young teen-aged
boys.
xxx
The Holy Father droned on in his Latin service, back to the congregants, and
Steve barely caught one word out of ten, though Bucky sat leaning forward,
enraptured with everything he heard. Then again, Bucky had been taking
catechism classes for years and even studied Latin on Monday afternoons, so he
understood the sermon.
Steve, however, didn’t have a knack for languages when they were used so
quickly, having only learned some words from Bucky when the other boy used them
slowly and repeatedly. So, the smaller blond boy sat and stood and kneeled on
cue, following a lifetime of habit, but generally let his mind wander over the
morning’s revelations . . . and what it must be like to actually have a father
around to explain those parts of growing up exclusive to the male of the
species. And George Barnes would know, Steve felt certain, since the man’s
father had been a dairy farmer back in Poland before emigrating.
Finally, the long service ended and Sarah stood, nodding to the pair of boys to
precede her from the pew. They quickly made their way to the back of the church
where they met up with the Barnes family. As a group, the two families walked
into the sunshine, heading to the home of George and Winifred Barnes for lunch,
as had been the habit since the boys had met nearly two years before.
The only adult male in the group led the pack, carrying his youngest daughter,
and cheerfully whistling a Polish dance tune. His dark brown hair and grey eyes
nearly matched Bucky’s, and a body could easily see what the son would grow to
look like in a few years time. And, despite his noticeable limp from his injury
two winters before, and the ever changing temporary labor George went through
as a disabled man with little hiring prospects since no one apparently wanted a
skilled carpenter in those tight times, George Barnes seemed to be ever an
optimist. It was extremely easy to see where Bucky came by his charm.
Steve trotted happily behind his Momma and Bucky’s Mam as well as the two older
Barnes girls, who strode in front of their mother gossiping about the dresses
they’d seen their friends wearing and the fact that Sylvia-Ann Michaelson had
spent more time watching Peter Lykens than following along in her testimonial.
But the boys didn’t feel the need to chatter on like that, having fallen into
one of those companionable silences good friends often had; a sign of comfort
and not needing to fill the air with constant talking. Steve liked that they
could be quiet together.
In fact, that quiet came handy on Sundays when he and Bucky shut themselves
away in Bucky’s room to work on drawing or Bucky’s studies or whatever.
It actually was a rule in the Barnes house that Bucky got a day free of
feminine influence, as his Tata called it, to be a man and relax. Winifred and
the girls respected the rule and spent the day, with Sarah, baking and sewing
and doing other relaxing tasks that women seemed to always need time for. No
one asked what really happened behind Bucky’s door, and the boys often laughed
that the girls would probably be stunned that nothing special went on different
from other days of the week. The boys just did those familiar things in
solitude away from parents and sisters.
Unfortunately, as always happened on Sunday afternoons, time flew past faster
than Steve or Bucky liked. But this day there was a bonus, which came more
often during the summer than at other times. This day after the shared evening
meal George stretched out his legs and waved his hand at Steve and Sarah, who
were getting ready to leave, Steve carefully putting his treasured pencils and
paper in the small satchel Momma had made to protect them.
“Oh?” the man drawled in a slightly accented chuckle. “And here I thought I
would have two sons overnight.” As Steve and his mother looked over, and Bucky
straightened hopefully in his chair, George chuckled low. “But, if you want to
hurry home so quickly, Sczcepan, who am I to stop you.”
A warmth shot through Steve at the Polish version of his name. Nearly holding
his breath, Steve turned to his Momma, “May I stay here the night, Momma? I
don’t feel sick today.” The claim was automatic, if true at the moment, and
seemed to help his mother relax.
Sarah stood and gave her son a kiss on his cheek. She felt his forehead and
cupped his face to study his eyes. Then, with a slight nod of apparent
approval, in her soft voice she claimed “Behave yourself, Leanbh, and do what
they say.”
As the Barnes family knew about Steve’s precarious health, they never asked
more from him than he could handle, but what Steve’s mother apparently didn’t
know was that George often asked Steve to help out around the house on small
cleaning chores or aiding him when he did some carpentry for extra cash. If
Steve helped, he got a few pennies to bring home for his secret stash to buy
his mother a gift or refresh his art supplies. Since George never asked Steve
to do anything morally wrong or even mildly strenuous, Steve saw no harm in
leaving his mother in the dark about how much more active he was when staying
over at Bucky’s.
He nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Yes, Momma. I will. I promise.”
George clapped his hands in a very European gesture Steve liked. “Done. You go
home and put your feet up, Salomeja, and we will make sure Sczcepan is well
looked after, hmmm?”
Bucky grinned and shot to his friend’s side, relieving him of the satchel of
art supplies. “Right. Have a nice evening, Mrs. Rogers. I’ll look after
Stevie.” He offered a smile to Sarah in apology for his quick words.
Sarah gave a small smile in return and nodded, stroking Steve’s military short
hair. “Very well. Good night.” She waved to the family and let herself from the
apartment, Bucky reaching to shut the door behind her.
After several long minutes, waiting to see that she had really left, Bucky
finally let out a breath. “Okay, Tata, what plans did you have for us tonight?”
Young Rose giggled at that, her merry blue eyes dancing. “Oh, I just love when
Sczcepan stays over. We get to do wonderful things.”
“And what would these wonderful things be, Mały kwiat, that you do with your
second brother?” George teased his middle daughter.
She laughed and threw her arms in the air. “Wood work!”
“Ah, you will be a carpenter, I see now. Come, Mały kwiat, you shall help me
tonight and we will let your brothers have their art time, tak?”
Steve tilted his head, puzzled. “Sir? You don’t need me to help out?” That was
a rarity. Since the beginning, if Steve had been asked over, he’d been more
often than not expected to work with the other kids even if it was at mild
tasks.
Winifred laughed. “No work tonight, Stevie. You and Bucky go enjoy yourselves.
It’s been too hot for anything else, and I feel the weather about to break.”
She reached up and massaged her left shoulder, a silent reminder of an injury
she’d gotten during the war while helping refugees. The injury had never healed
clean, though she used it as much as her right arm, and had become what she
termed ‘weather wise’ since that day. If Winifred Barnes said there would be a
change in the weather, there would be.
And suddenly Steve knew why they’d asked him to stay the night.
Little Gracie had a terrible fear of storms. Unfortunately, she also had a deep
attachment for her older brother. Thus, when the thunder rumbled and the
lightning flashed, she would often crawl into bed with him for safety. She
never did that with Steve in Bucky’s bed, because, as she’d told them quite
clearly after the first stormy night Steve slept over, ‘he hugs too tight.’
They’d thoroughly teased the small blond boy as a 'storm cuddler', but nobody,
except Gracie, seemed to have minded. Winifred even said that Steve hugged
because he was lonely. Thus, with this unrelenting heat, and the fact that
Bucky would want to shut his door and sleep completely undressed, Winifred had
found a way to keep Gracie from going to her brother for comfort. The morning
would most likely find the youngest Barnes in Rebecca’s bed, instead.
Steve had been invited so the boys didn’t have to wear clothes. And where Sarah
would have thrown a fit that Steve needed to at least keep his drawers on to be
decent, George came from an entirely different background, insisting that boys
will be boys and needed to breath, not that Steve understood what the man meant
by that.
Not minding in the least, Bucky and Steve had never been uncomfortable nude
around each other, the blond smiled at the brunet who shrugged and headed
towards his room, Steve trailing behind with a wave for the others.
George was busy pulling out his woodworking tools and a small cabinet he had
apparently been commissioned to fix. It was a pity, according to Bucky, that no
one hired the man full time. The Depression left little work to spare, even for
the most gifted craftsmen.
Once the bedroom door had latched securely, Bucky began stripping immediately.
“There might be a storm coming, Stevie, but it’s hot as Piekło in here.” The
brunet checked his window, screened thankfully to prevent bugs coming in, and
then verified his wash basin was set up with water and clean cloths. The
nightstand sat next to Bucky’s bed, which had been pressed against the wall on
one side. Before it sat a makeshift desk of cobbled-together soap boxes and a
bench seat constructed of another soap box.
A little flushed, Steve finally knew why his friend kept that bowl on the small
chest of drawers; he’d never actually asked about the habit. Looking around,
smiling at the freedom of Bucky’s little room, Steve stretched. “So, what d’ya
wanna do, Buck?”
Laughing, Bucky handed over Steve’s art supplies. “Well, you could draw me if
you want,” he challenged, referring to their earlier conversation.
“You’re on!” Steve jumped at the chance to draw his beautiful friend again. So,
to beat the heat a bit, the blond quickly stripped down then moved to pull out
his art supplies, lining the pencils up on the wooden soap box desk. Pausing
for just a moment, Steve turned the sketch book backwards. Bucky had made it
for him, and it consisted of loose papers bound together with string. Opening
the thick, battered cover to the last page, Steve looked over at his friend,
and nearly dropped the book. “Buck?”
Laughing softly, Bucky asked “yeah?” The boy had stretched out on his bed, arms
behind his head, looking down the length of his own body to the smaller boy
near his desk. “You want me to pose a certain way?”
“N . . . no,” Steve breathed then smiled. He liked the relaxed look Bucky wore
and the way his muscles showed on his bent arms, his flat abdomen, and his
thighs, slightly bent up but not blocking the view of his friend’s pretty face.
“No, if that’s comfortable, I can do that.”
“Good.” Bucky closed his eyes and kept smiling. He felt totally at ease with
Steve, not worried in the least that he was letting his friend draw him in the
nude. “Cause I’m gonna just rest my eyes. You let me know when you’re done,
okay?”
Steve chuckled and nodded, sitting down on the makeshift chair before the
constructed desk. He reached for his lighter pencil that he did his original
figures with and began to draw, quickly falling into a comfortable rhythm of
pencil scratching on paper, Bucky’s even breathing, and the occasional puff of
cooler air heralding the coming storm. His friend looked serene, beautiful, and
made a very pleasant subject to draw, his lines soft with youth but angular
with masculinity.
‘Maybe someday,’ Steve thought, 'Bucky’ll keep his eyes open so I can draw
them, too.'
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, July 27, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Steve groaned quietly, feeling the strange stiffness from the the other morning
again. He glanced over and saw Bucky sleeping soundly next to him. The blond
bit his bottom lip before carefully reaching over and gently shaking the
brunet’s shoulder, “Bucky?”
Bucky, ever a light sleeper, shot awake, sitting up and looking around. “Huh?”
He looked over at Steve and reached up a slender-fingered hand to scratch at
his dark head. “Whatcha need, Stevie? You’re on the outside if you need to
pee.”
The smaller boy shook his head and felt a familiar blush rise into his cheeks,
“No . . . it’s not that.”
“What, then?” Bucky grumbled. The morning hadn’t even properly come out, dawn
just barely starting to lighten patches of the city sky.
“I . . . uh . . . I need some help.”
Sudden fear jolted through the older boy at his friend’s tone. When Steve
needed help, it usually meant the kind a doctor needed to provide. “Okay, uh, I
can get Tata or Mam? Are you bleeding?”
“No . . . it’s . . . it’s nothin’ like that. I just want it to go away, Buck.”
“Go away?” Bucky's brain started functioning a bit more, but he still didn’t
understand why Steve had woken him up. “If it’s another spider, I’m making you
eat it.” A curl of fear circled in his gut and Bucky tried to push it away; he
hated spiders, even if Becca would have laughed to hear him.
Steve groaned, “It ain’t no spider, Buck.” Steve finally motioned to the
erection that had woken him up in the first place.
Looking down, Bucky’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Then he understood completely, “Oh!
Uh, yeah. You’ll be okay. Just gotta touch it.” He, too, had a morning stiffy
but was used to that sensation by now so Steve’s problem became primary to his
own.
“I . . . how do ya do it?”
Finally Bucky saw Steve’s real dilemma. Of course he didn’t know how to
masterbate. Bucky nodded and spit into his palm. “It’s easier if you’ve got
moisture, Stevie,” he explained. Then, without thinking, he reached over and
wrapped his hand around Steve’s erection instead of his own. He started sliding
his hand up and down, carefully, not very tight.
Instantly, a jolt of pleasure shot through Steve’s body, “Wow. That feels
really good.”
“Yeah, told ya,” Bucky breathed in Steve’s ear. He felt a bit surprised at how
. . . pleasant it was to touch Steve. Yeah, touching himself was great, but
something felt . . . right about helping his best friend . . . and the velvet
hardness in his hand actually made his own member throb in neglect.
Noticing Bucky’s erection, Steve didn’t even think twice about spitting into
his own hand and wrapping it around Bucky’s length.
Bucky groaned and leaned closer, slanting his mouth over Steve's in a hungry
kiss. He tightened his hand a bit on Steve and increased his stroking, his own
member inadvertently brushing against Steve’s as he pressed closer into the
kiss.
The blond’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a small gasp when Bucky’s
hardness brushed against his own. “Oh . . . Buck. Do that again.”
“Yeah,” Bucky breathed and gently pushed Steve down onto the mattress. He lay
over the smaller boy, rubbing his erection against Steve’s. After a couple of
thrusts, he wrapped his hand around both of them and began stroking them in
synch. He whimpered at the sensation of Steve’s silken hardness against his own
and pumped a bit faster.
Steve bucked against his friend and his head fell back. It didn’t take much of
Bucky’s wonderful touch to drive him to the edge of something . . . something
that felt like he was going to explode. With a loud groan, Steve thrust his
hips up. “Bucky . . . I . . . I . . .”
“God, yeah, Stevie,” Bucky moaned back, breathless with the rising pleasure. He
could feel his orgasm building and began to babble in a mix of his four native
languages.
Somehow the sound of Bucky pronouncing those foreign words in his breathless,
near broken voice, drove Steve completely over the edge, and he came, biting
his arm when he sensed a scream coming on. Bucky stroked them a couple of more
times as Steve’s cum covered their members and his hand, then Bucky, too, felt
release, shooting thick jets of hot semen across both their bellies. He moaned,
burying his face in Steve’s neck, lightly nipping his friend’s shoulder without
leaving a mark.
Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, his chest heaving and his voice
coming through just above a whisper, “that . . . that was somethin’ else,
Buck.” He didn’t think it was possible to feel as good as he did at that
moment.
Bucky chuckled, still trying to catch his breath. “Yeah, it was, Stevie. It
never felt that good by myself.” He lifted his face to smile down at his best
friend, gently laying a kiss on those flushed lips.
The smaller boy leaned into the kiss and beamed up at the brunet, “We can do it
again if ya want? Just to help each other out, right?”
“Yeah,” Bucky grinned enthusiastically. “Like the kissing. We help each other
out until we get dames.”
Steve smiled at the suggestion, “Yeah, just until we get ourselves some pretty
girls.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said again, somehow not bothered that his vocabulary had seemed
to shrink since his mind was blown. “Really pretty. With big blue eyes and
blond hair . . . “ he let the joke hang there, waiting.
The blond lightly punched Bucky’s shoulder, laughing as he did so. “You are a
jerk.”
“And you’re a punk, Stevie.” Bucky began to sit up then frowned slightly as he
looked at the mess they’d made. “Steve?” he hesitated, all laughter gone.
Steve flushed again looking down at the mess, “Gee, Bucky. I’m sorry about
that.”
“Sorry?” Bucky’s voice rose in anxiety. “Don’t be sorry, Steve. That’s not
right . . .” He looked at the different liquids, one thick and white, the other
seeming more . . . watered down, thin and liquidy. Since he knew his own semen
from experience, he instantly could tell the thinner, weaker stream must have
come from Steve.
Steve studied the mess, unsure what Bucky meant. “What’s not right?”
“That!” Bucky pulled away completely and dipped his fingers into Steve’s spunk.
“This isn’t right, Stevie! It’s supposed to be thick and white . . . not . . .”
he dropped off, unsure how to say it or even what to say. Worry filled him at
the thought that Steve might be sick or something even worse.
The smaller boy flushed even deeper, “Oh . . . I . . . I guess I can ask Momma
about that.”
“Kurde, you are definitely going to ask your Mam about this. I’m getting you
home right now!” Bucky stood and reached for the washcloth he kept in the basin
by his bed. He squeeze the water from the cloth and began to clean Steve up
with a shaking hand.
Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and squeezed it soothingly, “Calm down, Buck. It’s
gonna be fine. I’ll ask Momma when I get home . . . just calm down for me
please?”
The brunet took a shaky breath. He lifted his troubled blue-grey eyes to meet
Steve’s impossibly blue ones. Taking another deep breath he nodded and stopped
washing the other boy. “I don’t know what to do, Stevie,” he whispered. “I
wanna help, but . . .”
Steve smiled and put his hands on either side of his friend’s face. “You are
helping me. Trust me. You are definitely helping me.”
Bucky nodded slowly, still looking uncertain. He leaned into Steve’s touch,
eyes searching. “You sure, Steve? I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me.”
***** Seeking Answers *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: Monday, July 27, 1931, Tuesday, July 28, 1931, and
     Tuesday, September 15, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
     America
     Note: The anti-religious or Anti-cultural aspects of this story
     reflect an era over a hundred years ago. Please do not take these
     prejudices as indicators of anything more. These beliefs do not
     reflect those beliefs of the authors. Thank you.
     Translations:
     moja miłość - my love - Polish
     wujek - uncle - Polish
     Jakub - James - Polish
     tak - yes - Polish
     anioł - angel - Polish
     anioły - angels - Polish
     Polska - Poland - Polish
     Mateusz - Matthew - Polish
     Katolicki - Catholic - Polish
     Żydowski -Jewish - Polish
     Niebo - Heaven - Polish
     homoseksualista - homosexual - Polish
     Ameryka -America - Polish
     Amerykański - American - Polish
     syn - son - Polish
     Sczcepan - Steven - Polish
     Salomeja - Sarah - Polish
     lekarz - doctor - Polish
     lekarze - doctors - Polish
     sperma - semen - Polish
     leanbh - baby - Irish Gaelic
     .
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, July 27, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Bucky leaned into Steve’s touch, letting his worried grey-blue eyes close. He
took yet another trembling breath and lifted his mouth to meet Steve’s,
capturing the soft breath of the other boy. “I promise I’ll always take care of
ya, Stevie,” he breathed into Steve.
Steve nodded, breaking the kiss but keeping close to the older boy. “I know.
And I’ll always be here for ya, Buck. You’ll always find me at the end of the
line.”
A small sob tore from Bucky’s lips, and he smiled shakily at his best friend.
The sound of the bedroom door opening had the startled boys jumping apart,
flushing, but nothing could hide the guilty sight of semen covering both of
them from chest to thighs. Tata stood there, looking sleepy and solemn in the
beginnings of the dawn light. With a small, indecipherable nod, he turned and
called “the boys are awake and talking. You check on Gracie, moja miłość. I’ll
see to the boys.” With that he walked into the small room and shut the door
firmly, yet quietly. Softly he padded across the floor in his bare feet and his
one-piece suit of underclothing. Carefully, he began dipping Bucky’s stack of
cloths into the room-temperature water, squeezed out the excess, and handed
each to Bucky, one by one.
Without a word, too stunned and uncertain to try to speak, Bucky accepted each
cloth and passed every other one to Steve so they could clean up. He didn’t
know what to do to protect Steve. What they’d done had gone beyond practice
kissing; it had been straight out queer to touch each other . . . to rub their
intimate parts together so willingly . . . to cum together in such ecstasy.
Helping the thirteen year old blond to stand on still shaking legs, the smaller
boy obviously trying to get his staggered breathing under control, Bucky turned
to strip the bed, and found his father already doing the chore. Flushing even
more, the fourteen year old brunet dropped his head and finished cleaning
himself up, glancing to the side to make sure Steve didn’t need help.
Steve offered a small, reassuring smile, though his vibrant blue eyes held as
much worry and embarrassment as Bucky’s own blue-grey.
After bundling the sheet neatly and placing it on the soap box chair, Tata
looked at the homemade art pad opened to the lone drawing in the back, seeing
the relaxed nudity of his son captured so precisely in Steve’s beautiful style.
The man didn’t seem to react even to that, rather turning and moving back to
the boys. He sank onto the end of the bare mattress and patted next to him.
“Sit, boys.”
They sank onto the bed, still nude, but neither made any move to pull on
clothes. The pair merely waited for the recriminations of the middle-aged
carpenter and jack-of-all-trades.
Finally, Tata sighed softly and asked “Have I told you of my wujek Jakub, who
you were named for, Bucky?”
“No, Tata,” the son answered, subdued, worrying if he should interrupt to
explain that their shame started out with him helping Steve . . . then just
kind of went further. Instead, the brunet said, “I didn’t know you have an
uncle James.”
Tata nodded, a smile lighting his face, so much like Bucky’s when he saw Steve
after a hard day at school. “Ah, Jakub was beautiful! He was good and kind. He
loved the children in the tiny village, tak? He would make them toys and tell
them stories and watch over them when their busy mamas needed some time to
think and rest. Everyone loved my wujek Jakub.”
Knowing his father had a purpose for telling them this, Bucky asked, “Why don’t
you ever talk about him? Why haven’t I met him?”
“Tak, let me tell you now.” The man looked around his son’s simple room and let
out a long sigh. “The good Lord has many anioły . . .”
Bucky whispered “angels,” as a clarification.
His father nodded, “many infants . . . to share the world with. And so he does,
does he not?” He shrugged and smiled at Steve, who very much looked like the
epitome of the European blond haired, blue eyed angel.
The smaller boy smiled back, flushing, already almost lost in the story.
“Well, sometimes the Lord has a baby anioł he wants to share with the world.
Jakub . . . ah, Jakub was such a baby.” Tata patted the hips of his
underclothes as if patting the pockets of his pants, then stopped, as if
realizing he wasn’t dressed in pants. He shrugged again.
Bucky kept his hands loose on his thighs, paying close attention to his
father’s tale, but keeping an eye on his friend, as well. He still worried that
Steve’s semen revealed some illness they had yet to diagnose. As soon as Tata
had finished his story, Bucky planned to sway the man’s attention to the
blond’s health. He’d deal with their behavior, and the repercussions and even
deeper questions, later.
Mr. Barnes’s gentle voice continued. “Well, one day our good Lord says to the
Anioł Gabriel, ‘see this beautiful boy? This boy is kind and brave and good. He
will do good things and teach the men of earth many things. I wish to send him
to the earth to make it better. But, Anioł Gabriel, I need him to have a friend
- - a friend who will love him and help him and protect him for the rest of
their lives. He needs a very special friend, Anioł Gabriel. I want you to find
another anioł baby and send them both to earth, born to humans, so they will
meet and share their lives helping others and showing my goodness through their
actions and words.’ And the Anioł Gabriel, he agrees and goes to do the Lord’s
bidding, tak?”
Tata nodded and looked at the two teens; he seemed not to see their nudity.
Clearing his throat, Tata said “And the mighty Anioł Gabriel, he sends Jakub to
a small village in Polska to live with a newly married couple. But, what is
this? Jakub, he is Katolicki . . . and Anioł Gabriel sends Mateusz to a
Żydowski couple two or three villages away! How are these two to meet and be
friends when they are so different and so far apart? Because, in those days, my
boys, there are no motor cars to take you everywhere in a gasp of breath. You
walk or ride the horse if it is not being used on the farm. And Katolicki and
Żydowski do not live near each other or shop with each other or talk to each
other. They are not friends.”
Bucky translated “Catholic and Jewish”, but confusion crossed his face,
mirrored in Steve’s. They shared a glance then looked back to George Barnes for
his reasoning behind the convoluted tale.
Tata sighed and shrugged, “but what can you do? Anioł Gabriel, he knows his
work, tak? The two boys are not much younger than you when they meet in the
middle, at a street fair in a different village. And they know,” Tata clapped
his hands, making the boys jump at the sudden loud noise. “In their hearts they
know they met before in Niebo and will forever be friends, tak? And so they
travel often to meet and play together, and they grow into men, one Katolicki,
one Żydowski. But they do not mind. They both love the Lord and that is where
they leave it. They do not talk of religion, just life.”
He nods as if there is a great lesson in that alone if the boys would see it.
He offers his smile to first Bucky then Steve. But before either can puzzle
through the enigma of the story, Tata continues. “Everyone who meets them loves
them. They love Jakub for his gentle wisdom, care of children and animals, and
his child’s joy. They love Mateusz for his strong honor, his bravery, and his
kindness to those who are weak and in need. Jakub is a farmer, like our family
has ever been in Polska. And Mateusz is a doctor who helps the sick and
injured.”
Shuffling a bit on the bare mattress, Tata looked at the boys one by one once
more, then he nodded as if certain they are listening. “Well, one day, when
Jakub is not so old but no longer young, he goes to his friend Mateusz and
tells him he is sad. He says he wants to share his love and joy with a child,
but he has no wife to bear him an infant. And Mateusz, he is the cleverer, tak?
Mateusz tells him that there are many orphans who need good loving fathers to
raise them. He tells Jakub to take in an orphan. So Jakub says ‘but I have
never raised a child, and do not have a wife to help me do so.’ Mateusz, he
laughs and says, ‘We are not stupid men, Jakub. Between us, we can figure out
how to raise a boy. We were boys ourselves, were we not?’ But Jakub says ‘I
work in the field and, after I cook and clean and tend the animals, I have no
energy to guide a child in this great world.’ And Mateusz asks him ‘is that
all? Well, I am able to heal people no matter where I live. So I will move in
with you. It will add no burden for me to cook and clean at your house when I
do so at mine as it is. I can tend the child in the day between my patients and
you can tend him at night. He can learn to love animals and people. Is it not a
perfect match?’ And Jakub sees Mateusz’s wisdom and agrees. So, Mateusz moves
into Jakub’s tiny home, and they ask the orphanage for a baby to raise and
love.”
Steve nodded, sure that the story had been heading in that direction all along.
Bucky, however, had long been familiar with his father’s stories; he waited for
the moral. There was ever a moral with Tata’s stories. He didn’t have to wait
long.
“Now, the people who have always known and loved these men are shocked when one
moves in with another and they offer a child a family.” Tata sighed, voice
sounding shakier, deeper. “They do not listen to the Lord’s message of peace
and understanding and love. Instead, they scream ‘homoseksualista! You are a
sin before the Lord! You are evil and should be made to suffer for your evil
ways!" The townspeople will not listen to Jakub or Mateusz when they try to
tell them that the Lord wants us to care for one another, especially an orphan
with no other family. Instead, the people of the village hunt them down in the
night. They kill Mateusz when he tries to protect Jakub. And they take Jakub to
the village center and hang him until dead. Then they burn down Jaku's little
house and say they had done the Lord's work."
A gasp escaped Steve, eyes wide in horror, and his hand shot to cover his
mouth. “They were killed for wanting to help an orphan?”
Touching Steve’s shoulder, Bucky cleared his thickening throat and corrected,
“they were killed because the people thought they were queer, Steve.”
“But they weren’t queer,” Steve muttered, looking down at his lap before
raising his eyes to look at Bucky. “They weren’t. They just wanted to help
someone.”
“Doesn’t matter what they were, Stevie. It’s what the others saw, right, Tata?”
Without clarifying either boy’s claim, Tata nodded and added, “My father,
Jakub’s younger brother, saw this evil and feared it would come to him. So he
took his wife and young daughter and came to Ameryka, where men are free and
good and hard working and kind. And five days after they are allowed into this
great city, bam!” Tata slammed his hands together once more, again startling
the boys, causing Bucky to pull his hand from Steve’s soft shoulder. His father
seemed not to notice, claiming “I am born. So, I am an Amerykański in this
great land of Ameryka.”
He shook his head and leaned in towards the boys, voice lowering as if telling
a secret, finally coming to the crux of his story. “But this Ameryka is not the
land of the free, my boys. They are just men, like everywhere else. They are
afraid and do not understand and many times do not hear the Lord speaking in
their hearts. And so, you have a great love. You help each other and would die
for each other. I can see it in your eyes.” He nodded sagely.
Bucky looked as he felt, shocked by the understanding tone and the dire
prediction. Steve glanced at his best friend, recalling that he had always felt
like he would be forever friends with the brunet boy.
“But men?” Tata said, “they do not understand the love that is deep in the
heart. They see the love on the surface and scream ‘homoseksualista!’ And so
they will fear you and hate you and not let you tell them what is true from
what is not. And so you must be careful, tak? Or you, too, will be killed like
Jakub and his Mateusz.”
Finally he nodded, as if satisfied with his words. Then he slapped his thighs
and rose to his feet. “It is the way of people.” Without explaining what his
very sad story was about, Tata patted Steve’s hair and placed a hand on Bucky’s
shoulder. “You both get dressed now. I will walk Sczcepan home so I can tell
his mother about this.”
“What?” both boys gasped and protested, tears of worry and fear beginning in
Bucky’s eyes, as Steve shook his head, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture.
Bucky tried to explain. “Please, Tata, it was . . .”
But Tata shook his head firmly, smile ghosting away. “I saw what I saw, but I
know what I know, syn. You help each other, tak? But for now, it is not your
care of one another that must be spoken of to Salomeja.” He gestured to Steve,
alone, and shook his head once, just as firm as ever he could be, though
surprise crossed his face as if he couldn’t believe the boys would argue with
him. “Of course she must be told! This can be a serious problem . . . or
nothing at all. A man’s sperma should be strong and thick and bright. Your
mother will want to make sure you are not ill again, Sczcepan . . . or is it
your sperma, syn, that looks like watered milk?”
Flushing in absolute surprise, Bucky responded in a soft, worried voice, “no,
sir, it’s . . . Sczcepan’s . . .” Desperation rose once more and he asked,
“what’s wrong with him, Tata?”
Again George Barnes shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Who can say except a lekarz.”
Bucky murmured, “doctor,” for Steve’s benefit, but Tata ignored his son and
continued.
“I am a carpenter not a prophet. I will listen to the lekarze the good Lord saw
fit to put on this earth. Come. If we hurry, she may be able to get you to a
doctor today and the knowing will stop the fear sooner.”
The man stood, gave the boys another soft smile, then turned and opened the
door. “Do not keep me waiting, tak?” With that, he walked from the room, softly
closing the door behind him.
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, July 28, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Sarah Rogers held her son’s hand as she walked steadily up the outside steps
leading to the tenement house containing the first floor doctor’s office she
had been told of. With a sigh, Steve didn’t even try to pull his hand away,
despite being far too old to need guiding around. He saw the worry in his
Momma’s eyes, put there the day before when George Barnes had told her that
Steve had a night sperma that looked like watered milk. Much to Steve’s
embarrassed relief, the man never mentioned that Bucky, too, had been covered
in semen because the boys had brought each other to release.
Once they arrived at the doctor’s door, Sarah knocked firmly and turned her
worried gaze on her son. Her gentle voice sounded soft as she told him, “I know
that this will not be an easy thing to discuss, leanbh, but tell him the truth.
He is a specialist in men’s problems of this nature.”
Steve nodded, “yes, Momma.” He knew that Sarah must have called in numerous
favors to get Steve seen in just one day by a specialist. He determined to tell
the truth, as always, so they could figure out everything. He knew he didn’t
want to expose Bucky, but he could admit he’d done something . . . queer . . .
with someone. At least, if it helped and the doctor needed to know. Maybe the
doctor would think Steve had just had an orgasm by touching himself, alone, and
no mention of acting queer would come up.
A voice came from the other side of the door, faintly accented with what could
be German, or at least something that sounded incredibly like it to Steve.
“Yes, yes, come in.”
Sarah let Steve’s hand go and opened the door, following him into the
surprisingly airy room. It had a standard bed in the center back, along with a
sturdy wooden desk and several plain chairs. The screened windows had light
curtains, and an electric fan whirred noisily, hanging from the ceiling.
The doctor, tall and thin and clean shaven, rose to his feet. He wore thick
glasses with heavy dark rims; his clothing appeared neat and professional,
covered by a crisp white butcher’s apron, minus the normal butcher’s bloody
stains. The man nodded once. “Sarah Rogers. It is good of you to be early. We
can start now. Is this the boy I was told of?”
Something very like pride and defiance warred in the woman’s tones as she
claimed, “Yes, this is Steven. Steven, this is Doctor Keilmeyer.”
The doctor turned and offered his hand for Steve to shake. Liking the respect
that displayed, Steve gave the warm hand a hearty shake with his own cold one.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Sir.”
With a nod and a small smile, the doctor gestured to a standing screen by the
bed. “Please undress behind there, Steven, while I talk to your mother. Put on
the robe you will find, open in the front, please.”
Walking quickly behind the screen, made of a material called Chinese Silk
according to something Bucky had said once, Steve spotted the startched white
robe lying over the back of a chair set behind the privacy screen. With a small
sigh for the ever familiar procedure, Steve undressed, folding his clothes onto
the chair and neatly lining his shoes up below the piece of furniture, a
straight-backed chair with circular embroidered back and round armrests.
Straightening, Steve slipped the robe on, wondering why the doctor thought to
mention keeping the opening in the front. Wasn’t that were all robes opened?
Stepping around the screen and back into the main room, Steve cleared his
throat, though he needn’t have. Neither the doctor nor his Momma had been
talking at all during his stripping. They sat beside the doctor’s desk, one
reading a thick ream of papers and the other staring at the mini blue flowers
papered across the walls.
“I’m ready, Sir,” Steve called and the doctor lowered his paperwork.
“Yes, please stand there. I will examine you first then we shall speak.” The
man walked over and pushed the robe open, studying Steve’s penis and testes
almost indifferently. After long minutes, he reached over a warm hand to feel
the boy’s genitalia. He weighed the boy’s sack in one hand and asked him to
cough. Then, finally, the doctor nodded and pulled the boy’s robe shut. “Come,
sit by my desk. We shall talk now.”
The doctor looked steadily at the patient. “When was your first ejaculation?
You know what that means, son?”
Steve felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment before nodding meekly, “I know
what it means, Sir. It was two days ago”
“No, not most recent, the first?” the man clarified in a patient voice.
“Two days ago,” Steve repeated, trying to look anywhere but where his mother
sat. Sarah reached over with one soft, calloused hand and covered Steve’s.
Doctor Keilmeyer looked over glasses at the tiny blond. “I don’t think you
understand the question, son.”
The boy groaned, hating that he had to discuss this in the first place. “Yes, I
do. And it was two days ago. It never happened before that.”
Sighing the tall man turned to Sarah. “When did you start noticing night
emissions?”
Sarah shook her head. “I never saw any evidence, but Steve’s a very clean boy,
doctor.”
The doctor sighed again and rolled his eyes. “You may have seen something
unusual when changing the sheets in the morning? Maybe having to do the laundry
more often even if you didn’t change the sheets.”
“Nothing, sir. I saw nothing out of the ordinary.” Sarah reaffirmed.
With a nod, as if having solved that problem, the doctor asked “how often has
Steven been doing his own laundry?”
Sarah shook her head. “He doesn’t. He doesn’t know how, so he hasn’t been
cleaning up after himself that way.”
The man looked at Steve a long time before asking firmly “So, this is the first
time?”
“No, that was two days ago, Then it did it again yesterday morning,” Steve
paused for a moment, unsure how to continue, “I was at a friend’s house, and he
got worried when he saw it cause he said it didn’t look right.” The blond felt
heat creep up his neck and bit his lip. That sounded wrong.
His mother made no comment, but she studied her son, lips pressed together in
apparent worry . . . or disapproval?
Doctor Keilmeyer stared at Steve. He made a murmuring noise then notated on his
file. Finally he asked “And do you manipulate your penis for pleasure?”
“No!” Steve answered quickly, his whole face turning red with embarrassment.
Seeming to jump on that, the man asked “So, does your friend manipulate your
penis for pleasure . . . your pleasure.”
Sarah drew in a sharp breath at the implication the doctor had just made, but
still she said nothing.
“No!” Steve snapped. He took a deep breath before saying his next words, “I
only did it to make the erection go away. And it was only yesterday. Never
before that.”
His mother studied Steve with worried eyes, but she didn’t voice any opinion on
his answer, keeping her hand on his in warm comfort and support.
With a deep frown, Dr. Keilmeyer looked up. “And how often has your penis
become erect?” he asked.
Steve didn’t think it was possible to blush as much as he had in the past few
minutes, “Two times,” he answered hesitantly, “once two days ago and once
yesterday morning. It woke me up both times. Bucky said his Da says it’s
normal.”
With a knowing sort of smile, the doctor murmured wordless again then asked,
“And how old are you, son?”
Steve sighed, finally a question that didn’t make him feel mortified to answer.
“I turned thirteen three weeks ago.”
Surprise crossed the man’s face. He shook his head then, in a patronizing
voice, he stated firmly, “You’re nine, aren’t you? Tell the truth, son.”
Both mother and son straightened, neither one liking to be called a liar, and
simultaneously exclaimed,“thirteen!”
Doctor Keilmeyer finally sat back and sighed, studying the woman and her son.
Softly, he said “Well, there are several things which can cause this. Various
illnesses, and I see you have had many over the years, Steven. Different kinds
of medications for the illnesses, too, can create a similar result. Most often
low spermatozoa count is a culprit. All can cause this watery semen and most
often infertility.”
“Infertility?” Steve muttered, his voice coming out just above a whisper. “You
mean I won’t be able to have any children . . . like at all?”
Sarah sucked in her breath, looking down at her son, worry and something akin
to guilt in her eyes.
With a nod, Doctor Keilmeyer confirmed the dark suspicion. “It is a
possibility.” He seemed to see the pair’s distress because he added softly,
“however, there is some hope for you, son. Get dressed and we will talk
further.”
Letting her son’s hand go, Sarah watched as Steve stood and walked behind the
screen. Fortunately, his mother wasn’t the type to talk with his doctors behind
his back. Steve changed quickly into his street clothes, folding the robe
neatly over the back of the chair, continually listening for, and not hearing,
Sarah or the doctor talking. Finally, he returned and sank back onto the hard
wooden chair in front of the doctor’s desk.
The doctor made a note in his file then placed his pen carefully on the paper,
neatly perpendicular to the top edge. He looked straight at Steven as he spoke.
“The is a fertility doctor in Germany; he is a pioneer in sexual medicine, as
well as the link between sexual health and the general healthiness of the human
body. Among his many studies, he claims that a perfect specimen of humanity
with be able to regenerate his own body faster and more efficiently than others
. . . and that this will also eliminate any infertility problems he might
have.” He watched Steve as if expecting a question, but when Steve merely
nodded his understanding so far, Doctor Keilmeyer continued.
“This Doctor Erskine studies human nature as well as fertility and healing.
Recently he had presented some very interesting theories. In fact, specialist
in the field have noted with skepticism these ideas, they have not dismissed
his claims outright. They listen and weigh his words.” Doctor Keilmeyer sat
back, still staring at Steve, not speaking for a long moment.
Neither Steve nor Sarah broke the stillness. What could Steve say, really? He
had no idea what his doctor seemed to be hinting at, or if the man would try to
talk them into a very expensive trip to Germany to see this Doctor Erskine.
Finally, the man too of his glasses, polished them on a bit of cloth he pulled
from his apron pocket, then put the glasses back on and tucked the cloth away.
He looked back at Steve. “Erskine has determined that beyond the male and the
female genders that humans have three specific sexual natures. He’s using some
sort of Greek lettering system for them, but to make it easiest to understand,
I shall translate. The A nature is the dominant male who takes leadership and
governs others. The B nature is the loyal, protective mate of the A nature. She
will defend her mate and their young to death. And the C nature is everyone
else who falls between those extremes, basically normal people.”
Steve couldn’t see how this classification could be important. True, no one had
really put names to the different types of people, but it just seemed like this
Erskine fella was merely talking personalities, not actual fertility medicine.
So, Steve ventured a question. “Why does a dominant male and overprotective
female rank differently than everyone else in . . .” he took a breath and
almost whispered, “in sex or fertility?”
As if Steve had gotten to the very heart of the matter, Doctor Keilmeyer
smiled. “Ah, that is a great question. The A and B natures are very fertile,
Steven, and pregnancy is almost guaranteed. In fact, they have been known to be
extra fertile with other people, or Nature C, as well. Fertility doctors wish
to harness this fertility, the ovum or the sperm, so they can eliminate both
infertility and unhealthy fertility.”
“Unhealthy fertility?” Sarah finally broke in, earning an encouraging seeming
nod from the doctor.
“Yes,” he replied, voice enthusiastic. “Eliminate the possibility of genetic
abnormalities rendered through the fertilization process. Cogenital disorders
will still, unfortunately, be present for some years to come. But,” he smiled
happily, proudly, “if our research holds true, Doctor Erskine’s theorem and all
our work with it can eventually provide a means of preventing birth defects
before they happen.” The doctor placed his hands on his desk and beamed down on
Steve as if the boy were the answer to some great question that had been
worrying doctors everywhere. “Imagine a world, Steven, Mrs. Rogers, in which a
baby who would have been handicapped or retarded is, instead, born healthy and
free thinking? Ah, what a world that would be!”
Steve thought briefly of Gracie Barnes, with her oddly shaped eyes and ready
smile and her difficulty remembering how to get home without Bucky’s painted
blue line. He nodded his understanding of the end results the doctor sought.
As if realizing Steve understanding, Doctor Keilmeyer went on, in a calmer
voice. “Other doctors have taken Erskine’s research a step further and have
identified a fourth fertility nature: Nature D, the unmated. These are the ones
who are infertile, not from disease or medicine or accident, but from birth . .
. congenital infertility.” He glanced from Steve to Sarah then back to Steve.
“According to your medical record, and I assume this is the full record and
nothing has been hidden from me, none of your illnesses or medications should
have ended in any form of permanent infertility.” He sat back as if his words
explained everything.
With a slight frown, Steve ventured “does that mean you think I’m one of these
D people? That I was born unable to have children?”
Sarah made a choking noise in her throat, but kept silent. Steve turned to his
mother, seeing in her eyes the grief at such a loss. He took her hand with an
encouraging, if wane smile. She squeezed back softly.
“Well, we will need to do Semen tests to know if you are actually infertile,
Steven. The watery fluid could just be the product of his first emission, or
from having his emissions so close together. Your testes might not have had
time enough to produce more spermatozoa to fill in the semen. But, your late
beginning for night emissions and erections is a sign of possible fertility
issues.” The doctor stood and nodded.
“I will need a sample of your semen right now, Steve, and another in a week.
Another is required after two more weeks and a fourth a month from the third
sample.” His voice sounded clinical, now, almost detached. “I can compare the
results under a microscope to see how much semen you produce. Naturally,” he
looked over the surprisingly small teenager, “you are discouraged from
purposely pleasuring yourself. Of course, if you remain erect for too long, you
may be required to do so, but until then you may try to control unwanted
erections by concentrating on something revolting, say dead puppies or other
such things.”
Sarah made a choking noise at the recommendation, but before she could speak,
and Steve could tell his mother wanted to say something, the doctor began
again.
“Once we figure out if you are infertile, I can definitely discover how you
became so, whether it was disease, medication, or if you are indeed part of the
Nature D group: the genetically infertile.”
Finally Sarah whispered, “how much for each appointment, Doctor?” She held her
head high, proud, but admitted “we have little money for special tests that are
not for something life threatening.”
Surprise crossed Doctor Keilmeyer’s lined face. He shook his head, lifting his
hands in a placating manner, the movement causing his apron to gap on one side
and revealing a very shiny, pretty brooch of silver in the shape of a grinning
octopus. He lowered his hands, the apron moving back into place, and smiled
down at Steve. “I would add to Doctor Erskine’s valuable research, Mrs. Rogers.
And, so, if you and your son agree to the tests, I will waive all costs.” He
stood and walked around the desk with a single piece of paper. “In fact, since
it is in our best interest to keep our volunteers healthy, we would provide a
weekly food allowance until he is out of school.”
The exhausted looking nurse frowned, never having liked charity, but the shame
warred in her eyes with the possibility of feeding her ill son better than ever
she could on her own. She turned to Steve. “It is your body, Steve. What do you
wish?”
Steve looked over to his mother, then the doctor, and then back to his Momma.
He took a few moments to think about the offer before nodding his head once.
“Yeah, I wanna do the tests. I wanna know what’s wrong with me.” And, he had
some small hope that even if it lasted only two months, his mother wouldn’t
have to worry about feeding him.
Sarah nodded and turned. “May I read the paper, Doctor?” With a smile, the
doctor seemed to relax and offered the paper to the worried mother. After she
read it through, she nodded and quietly said “where do I sign?”
“Right here, Mrs. Rogers,” the man stated and offered her a pen.
Doctor Keilmeyer turned to a large glass-fronted cabinet of various containers
and tubes. He opened the case and pulled out a clear glass cup, closed the case
meticulously then turned and handed the cup to Steve. He looked over the signed
paper briefly then nodded to Steve. “Go behind the screen and touch yourself
for pleasure, Steven. I need you to ejaculate in this sample cup for me. Your
mother and I will wait in the hallway so you can be private.” The man’s voice
sounded soft and understanding of Steve’s embarrassment. The doctor ushered
Sarah from the room, leaving Steve alone.
The boy slipped behind the screen and pulled off his clothes once more, not
wanting to get them messy. With a frown, he looked at the specimen cup and down
to his very limp penis. He didn’t even begin to know how to make it erect.
Sighing, Steve closed his eyes, carefully grasped his member, and thought . . .
of Bucky. He recalled how Bucky had looked, all sleepy eyed and flushed, as he
had reached over to stroke Steve’s hardness.
The imagery worked, and Steve’s erection began to grow. Well, he didn’t have to
tell the doctor how he’d pleased himself, right? So, pushing away the guilt for
using his best friend’s image, Steve let memories of the morning before wash
over him and guide him. Soon, he was cumming in sharp jerks, the cup held
firmly over the tip to catch the thin liquid streams. And, just as he’d known
and prevented the morning before, a scream built. But this time Steve was
unable to bite his arm to keep quiet; the scream of release pulled from him,
sounding almost triumphant in its proud declaration of completion.
Steve flushed bright red as he heard the office door open.
Within another ten minutes, Steve and Sarah were on the street, heading back to
their apartment, Steve having been signed up for experimental fertility
research in return for weekly cheques and some health benefits. Sarah held her
head high as they walked. This time the pair did not hold hands.
When their tenement came into view, a tall brunet boy stood up from the steps.
He had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, clear worry written across his
face. “Stevie? How’d it go?” Bucky asked in a rush.
Shrugging, Steve tried to look nonchalant. “It went alright. Doctor has to do
more tests.”
“But it’s not super serious right now? You ain’t real sick and gonna need to
stay in bed or anything?” Bucky pulled his hands from his pockets, still
clenched in worried fists, studying his friend, trying to see if he could tell
what the doctor looked for in Steve.
The blond smiled slightly, “Nah, Buck. Nothin’ like that. They just gotta get
some more tests done before they can know anything for sure.”
Bucky frowned, still studying Steve’s face, his eyes. “Do they have any idea
what it might be, Steve?”
Steve lowered his eyes and kicked a small rock, wishing that he was talking
about anything else at the moment. “I mean, yeah. They got some. But nothin’
for sure yet.”
Softly, Sarah interrupted the boys. “Let’s go inside, out of the heat.” She
opened the main door and gestured the boys in before her, looking around as if
checking that they hadn’t been overheard.
The brunet followed his blond friend, worry radiating from the older boy. He
quickly grabbed at Steve’s arm and whispered, “I didn’t hurt you, Stevie, did
I?”
The smaller boy looked around, making sure no one could see or hear them,
before answering in a quiet voice, “No, Buck. Ya’ didn’t hurt me.”
Bucky nodded and pulled the other boy into a quick hug. “Well, just you get
better, okay, Punk?” He didn’t push for Steve to tell what was wrong, figuring
he’d open up eventually. He always did.
Steve grinned, “Whatever you say, Jerk.”
Bucky flung an arm around his best friend and walked with him up the stairs,
grinning and feeling lighter than he had all morning.
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, September 15, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
After that first appointment, Sarah hadn’t been able to come to any more.
Instead, since the doctor agreed to appointments in the afternoon, Bucky had
accompanied Steve to the sessions. The older boy never asked what kind of tests
were being done, though the doctor’s office had a discrete sign proclaiming
“Doctor Keilmeyer, Men’s Health” on the door. Instead, still not pushing his
friend for answers to his silent questions, Bucky waited patiently on a chair
placed outside the office door, letting Steve see his newest doctor in private.
Fortunately for Steve, the doctor had offered him a towel to keep in his mouth
for his sample taking . . . to mask the boy’s screams. He had explained at the
second appointment, when Sarah was no longer there to make Steve self-
conscious, that screaming was a healthy and normal reaction to the body’s
sexual release. He pointed out that some people, Steve had thought of Bucky,
could keep quiet, but others were quite vocal in their pleasure.
This time when Steve handed over the specimen cup, yet again containing a
watered milk-colored substance, the teen knew, deep down, what the doctor would
find. Steve had determined by the second test that he couldn’t have kids. After
all, he’d been so sick his whole life, why should he think this would be any
different? Only of small consolation was the fact that Steve wouldn’t be
passing on his sick genes to anyone else. But an even bigger problem loomed
over him: how could he honestly marry a dame if he couldn’t give her babies?
The doctor smiled softly at the boy, accepting the specimen. “Thank you,
Steven. I will test this and compare results and if you can come back next
week, I should have answers for you.”
Steve knew not to ask anything right then. It had been explained, rather
hurriedly, that the spermozoa would survive only a short time out of the body,
so the tests had to be performed immediately. The boy nodded and slipped his
felt hat onto his pale hair then let himself from the office.
His best friend stood with a worried smile, as he did every appointment over
the last few weeks. “It go okay, Stevie?” he asked, worried by Steve’s frown.
Steve nodded and shrugged. “Not much to go on until the tests come back.”
Surprisingly, the doctor pulled open his door and called out, “Steven, I have
preliminary results for you.”
The boys turned, shocked, and waited, Steve reaching out unconsciously to grab
his friend’s hand. Bucky didn’t let him down, squeezing gently back. “Yes,
sir?” Steve asked, breathlessly.
Nodding, Doctor Keilmeyer smiled. “As we discussed earlier, you do have the
condition we spoke of.” Thankfully he was discreet enough not to blurt out the
condition’s name in the hallway or in front of Bucky, but the man made no move
to bring Steve back into the privacy of his office. Instead, he continued,
“However, based on your medical history and research I’ve been doing these last
two months, I can safely assume you are indeed part of Nature D group.” This
seemed to please the doctor greatly and he rocked on his heels. “So, next week,
we will begin discussing how this will help in the research we are performing
for your condition. We can even, hopefully, begin trials in a few months, if
you are still amenable to further research in this field. We have heard great
things, great progress, in Doctor Erskine’s preliminary trials. I am anxious to
begin, myself, to contribute to this very valuable research and you are the
only one of your kind I have come across. Please think carefully before coming
back next week.” And the doctor closed the door, his footfalls sounding excited
even through the muffling barrier.
Bucky whirled Steve around, frowning softly, searching his best friend’s eyes
with worry. “Condition? Nature D? What’s he mean, Steve? What’s wrong with
you?” Bucky kept his voice to a whisper, not wanting to telegraph Steve’s
business to anyone who might be near, but he felt too worried to wait until
they got to his friend’s apartment.
Sighing, Steve shrugged and leaned in close, knowing he had to . . . no he
wanted to tell Bucky. If medicine had any hope of curing this problem, or even
using his results to help stop problem births in the future, Steve needed to be
a part of that, and keeping Bucky in the dark would just be a secret that tore
at them. Steve never kept secrets from Bucky. The younger boy hadn’t even liked
keeping this secret for almost two months. So, he cupped his hand around his
mouth, directing the sound to Bucky’s ear but blocking it from escaping to
anyone else. “I was born infertile, Buck.” He pulled back to look nervously at
his friend.
Turning an incredulous gaze down at his best friend, Bucky rocked back on his
heels. “Hunh,” he said. Then he nodded and said again “Hunh.” Relief flooded
the older boy, followed by a wave of guilt. Bucky understood that Steve would
be heartbroken not being able to give his future wife children, but still,
infertility wouldn’t kill the weak, skinny blond. And to Bucky, Steve’s life
held precedence over any possible children in the future. He held back his
smile upon seeing the worry in Steve’s eyes.
“Didn’t this doctor say they had good results so far? Means he’s working on a
cure, right? So, we keep coming back until he can fix you. Come on, your Mam
said I can cook dinner for you tonight since I’ve been learning, and I wanna
practice my meatloaf on you.” Bucky slid his arm companionably around Steve’s
shoulders, noting the relief flooding his friend’s eyes, and tugged him along.
Steve nodded, knowing that Bucky had to be right. Someday, Doctors Keilmeyer
and Erskine would find that cure . . . and the cure for congenital birth
defects, too. Steve just had to continue the tests, and possibly samples, to do
his part to help. He flushed at the memory of how exactly he managed to bring
himself to release each time; he didn’t have to tell Bucky about that. Not that
Bucky would mind, Steve felt certain . . . they still kissed in private after
all, but somehow, telling his best friend that he could only get erect if he
thought of Bucky laying decadently across his bed seemed . . . . Determinedly
pushing away the negative idea, Steve grinned up at Bucky and said “if you
poison me, Momma will skin you, Buck.”
“Yeah?” Bucky grinned down at him. “Who says I’ll poison ya, punk? I’ve gotten
better since last time.”
“We’ll see about that, jerk,” Steve teased back, feeling just a bit of peace
settle over him: with Bucky by his side, nothing could touch him . . . even
fertility natures and crazy tests.
***** School Exams *****
Chapter Notes
     Note: This contains graphic dubius/ non-con fingering of a minor with
     an adult. Be warned!
     xxx
     Translation
     tyłek - ass - Polish
     Piekło - Hell - Polish
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
Setting: AU: Tuesday, September 5, 1933: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Bucky grinned as he watched the Sophomores join his own class of Juniors in the
old gymnasium of the school building. Picking out the small blond among the
other students wasn’t hard at all, but Bucky smiled wider once he saw his best
friend. He waited, practically bouncing, as he watched Steve looking around at
the mass of teen-aged males, all larger than him.
Once Steve spotted Bucky he waved excitedly. He’d never shared an actual class
with his best friend before. Even though Steve would be sitting out the class
and only watching, he couldn’t think of a better way to pass a double-period
than to watch Bucky basically trash any competition in athletics; the lithe
brunet had always been a great athlete.
Laughing, Bucky strode over. “Heya, punk.” He gestured to the beat up wooden
bleachers along the side of the large room. “Come on. Coach gives a speech
first thing.”
Steve allowed himself to be ushered over to the bleachers and took a seat next
to Bucky, looking around at the group of about fifty or sixty boys, all bigger
than him, filling out their physical education uniform, while Steve’s hung
loose on his skinny frame.
A tall, thick set man in brand new training clothes stepped to the middle of
the floor, raised his beefy hands, and shouted, “Okay, quiet you lot! This is
the first time our school is mixing the classes, so you’re gonna have to learn
to work together. None of the bigger boys picks on any of the littler boys, got
it?”
Several snickers issued and Bucky glared around, figuring those had been aimed
at Steve.
“Now, I’m Coach Mulligan. Call me Coach. Any of you got restrictions?” The man
crossed his arms, looking over the class of fifteen and sixteen year olds.
Steve squirmed a little in his seat and anxiously raised his hand. “I do, Sir,”
he called out meekly.
Bucky leaned closer and whispered “gotta bring him a note, Stevie.”
As if in echo of the brunet, the coach nodded. “Got a doctor’s note?”
The blond nodded his head and stood up, he didn’t raise his eyes as he handed
over the note, slightly crumpled from being in his pocket.
Taking the piece of paper, Coach Mulligan read through the cramped handwriting.
“Heart and Asthma, right?” He looked down at Steve and grunted “Scarlet Fever
or Rheumatic, son?”
Steve forced himself to look up at the burly man that towered over him, “Both,
Sir. I had Scarlet Fever when I was eight and then Rheumatic when I was
twelve.”
The coach just raised his shaggy eyebrows and nodded at the thin boy. "Okay,
Rogers, you'll be sitting things out.” He let his voice boom out, “But I expect
you to pay attention and give me full written reports of everything we do. Just
because you can't play doesn't mean you can't learn."
Steve nodded his head quickly in understanding, “Of course, Sir.” His blush
returned to his cheeks when he heard the whispers from the other boys in the
class.
Bucky’s face settled into a scowl, hands clenching. He hated their laughter and
whispers of ‘sissy boy’ and began to rise in challenge but stopped when the
coach responded instead.
Glaring thunderously around at the giggling boys, who stopped instantly, the
coach roared, "You got a problem? You talk to me. Otherwise shut the hell up!
Now, line up alphabetically," he rolled his glare over the class, doubt evident
in his voice, "if you can manage that. We've got health checks today. Then next
class we'll start boxing."
“Health checks?” Bucky let his hands relax as he settled next to Steve. “Wonder
what he means by that.” He found out soon enough when the student
alphabetically before him came out and called, in a surprisingly shaking voice,
“Barnes, you’re next.” The brunet nodded, standing, and gave Steve an
encouraging grin. “Be right back, Steve, keep that seat warm for me.”
As he walked towards the coach’s office, with its shutters drawn for privacy,
Bucky noted that the few boys who’d been checked before him stood awkwardly
away from the main group, not even talking or looking at anyone. Those who
hadn’t been checked yet were gossiping, shoving each other, and generally rough
housing, with a few brave souls pulling out the basket balls to work out on the
large wooden floor.
Bucky opened the office door and stepped in. “Barnes, James, coach,” he
reminded the man, though he needn’t have bothered. The large coach nodded in
familiar greeting with a wide grin. Bucky turned and made sure the door latched
as he shut it then moved to the wide desk and took off his shirt, placing it
neatly on the smooth surface. “Haven’t been sick in the past year, Sir.”
The coach shrugged. “The rules, Barnes. And we got a new test this year, so
you’ve gotta drop ‘em.”
“Drop ‘em?” Bucky repeated, confusion in his grey-blue eyes. “Sir?”
Rolling his dark brown eyes, the black haired man nodded. “Yeah. You’re pants
and drawers, Barnes. Don’t have to take ‘em off completely, just drop ‘em to
the floor.” The man turned and pulled over a folder with Bucky’s name on it,
flipping past the annual school checks for freshman and sophomore years and
opening to a clean page marked ‘junior’ across the top.
Uncertain what kind of test would need him to expose his genitalia, Bucky
slowly undid the fastenings on his gym shorts and pushed them off. He followed
that with untying the drawstring on his briefs and lowering them, too.
Coach Mulligan glanced up and nodded. “Okay, heart and lungs first.” And the
man breezed through his standard checking of the boy’s pulse and listening for
wheezing as he breathed deeply in and out. Finally, he turned and, after
marking his paper, reached over to slip his finger in a large tube of slick
ointment. “Okay, Barnes, turn around and lay over the desk. And just relax.
Breathe normal.”
“What?” Bucky couldn’t hide the squeak in his voice as his eyes widened. “Why?”
There wasn’t any reason he could think of the coach needing to slick up his
finger and make him turn around; only one hole was back there and no one ever
put anything up there except a thermometer if he felt sick.
“Because,” and the coach sounded almost bored, “I have to check your prostate,
Barnes, and that’s the only way to reach it without cutting you open. Gotta
make sure you’re healthy.” He waved and Bucky reluctant turned as the coach
continued, “men get cancer back there, Barnes, and not enough check for it
early enough.”
Bucky took a shaky breath. “Oh,” his voice felt small. Reaching out, Bucky
grasped the wooden desk then lay over it, feeling the wood cool against his
chest and pelvis. “So, how can you tell if I got cancer, Coach?” Bucky tried to
keep his calm, trusting the man but still feeling odd. Idly he wondered if he’d
feel odd if it were Steve behind him instead. Feeling his manhood twist in
response to the thought, Bucky immediately reminded himself just who stood back
there. There was no way he wanted to pop an erection for his coach!
A thick finger probed at his tight opening, causing Bucky to hiss and clench up
in defense.
“Gotta relax, son, or this will hurt. Come on. Only takes a moment. Take a
breath and let it out and relax.” The man probed again.
Following instructions, Bucky sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a shaky
whoosh. He tried to relax his muscles back there, and felt the finger actually
slide into him. Bucky had to fight the urge to clamp down and let his hole suck
that fat digit further up. He pressed his forehead into the hard desk, eyes
closed tight, and concentrated on breathing.
“Good man,” the coach said and slid his slick finger up further, twisting
around slightly as if searching. Finally, he seemed to find what he looked for
because he caressed over a spot Bucky hadn’t even known existed.
An explosion of pleasure nearing pain washed over the teen. With a soft moan,
Bucky fought the urge to move against the stroking digit. He had no idea why
that felt good, but his manhood had certainly taken notice and begun to thicken
in interest. Bucky pictured the coach’s beefy face in his mind and the erection
wilted, thankfully.
Just as quickly as he’d found the spot, Coach Mulligan pushed past it until his
hand came flush with Bucky’s buttocks. Then, the coach pulled his finger out
and turned to grab a damp cloth and clean his hand. “Okay, grab a washcloth and
clean it up, Barnes, then go send in Calloway.”
Trembling at the confusing experience, Bucky reached for one of the coach’s
seemingly endless supply of washing cloths, dipping it into the bowl of tepid
water on the desk. He wiped at his butt, trying to get the feel of slickness to
go away. Finally, he gave it up as a lost cause and tossed the cloth at the
dirty hamper, easily making the shot. He heard the coach’s grunt of approval
but ignored it as he pulled on his drawers, tying them quickly, then slipped
his shorts back on and fastened them.
Finally, Bucky turned to the dark haired physical education instructor. “So, do
I have cancer, coach?” His voice trembled and he swallowed.
“Nah,” Coach Mulligan shot him a brief smile, which dropped away as quickly as
it had appeared; the coach wasn’t one for warm fuzzy gestures, as he called
them. “You’re clean, Barnes. Good to know, ain’t it?”
Bucky nodded and turned, opening the door. He took a breath, strode out, trying
to look calm, and called out on a squeak “Calloway.” Clearing his throat, he
hoped the other guys would think it was just his ever changing voice; it had a
habit of changing octaves or going completely silent at odd times over the day
. . . had been doing it since he’d turned fourteen a couple years back.
Calloway, a tall, cocky young man on the rowing crew, offered Bucky a smirk and
trotted into the office. Bucky would bet real money that guy wouldn’t be quite
so cock-sure once he got done his prostate exam.
The tiny fifteen year old noted his friend’s sheepish body language, giving the
brunet a concerned look, Steve asked. “You okay, Buck?”
Eyes latching onto Steve as if to a life raft, Bucky slunk over to his best
friend and lowered himself gingerly to the bench then sighed when he felt no
pain. He looked at Steve and nodded, keeping his voice low. “Yeah. Coach is
doing something called a prostate exam, Stevie . . . and he has to put his
finger in your tyłek to do it."
Steve nearly choked, his whole face blushing a deep red, but nodded, thankful
for the warning. He'd had all kinds of odd and even painful tests from doctors
throughout his life, so this kind of thing didn't really surprise him as much
as the other boys, even though he'd never had this test done before.
A sigh escaped from the older boy and he grimaced. “At least he used something
to slick his fat finger with, Steve, or it woulda hurt like Piekło. And he
reached up pretty far, I could almost taste it.”
The blond grimaced when he pictured the Coach touching his friend like that.
“It doesn’t hurt at all?”
“Didn’t hurt much at first, like a stretching . . . like when you tried to put
that tennis ball in your mouth last year? Like that. But once he got it
slicked,” Bucky blushed, “he moved around to stretch it out, then it went
smooth. But . . . I never thought anyone would even think to put anything up
there except Mam’s thermometer to check for fever.”
Steve nodded in agreement, unsure if the Coach’s fat finger would fit. “Sounds
pretty painful to me.”
Shrugging, Bucky shook his head. “Just gotta relax and not clench up, he said.”
Bucky stayed pretty quiet from that point, answering anything Steve asked, but
in a small, quiet voice.
Eventually Richman came out of the office, looking thunderstruck, like every
other boy before him. He called out in a wavery voice, “Roger’s, coach wants
you!” then the sixteen year old walked straight into the adjoining locker room.
Bucky turned to Steve and nodded. “I’ll be here when you get out, Stevie. Just
do what he says and it won’t hurt, okay?”
Steve grimaced and gave his friend a terse nod of his head before he stood up
and walked into the office.
Once the door latched behind the small blond, the coach nodded at him, opening
a folder marked ‘Rogers, SG.’ He flipped past freshman year and lay a pen on
the Sophomore year page. “Okay, Rogers, drop ‘em.”
“Drop what, Sir?”
The coach looked at him, but not like he was stupid, just like he’d been
answering that exact question all day. “Gotta check your prostate, son, and
that means you need to lower your trousers and drawers so I can get to your
butt. Your prostate’s in that hole you dump from.”
Steve opened his mouth but no words seemed to come out. He snapped it shut and
shakily began to untie his gym shorts. Once the shorts pooled around his ankles
he looked over at the Coach before lowering his eyes to the floor. Slowly, he
loosened the strings on his briefs and let those fall down his slim legs.
With a firm nod, still eyeing Steve, Coach Mulligan added, “look this here’s a
check for cancer, which most men don’t do until it’s too late, Rogers, and with
your health history, I think you’d welcome the opportunity without paying a
hospital. So, bend over the desk and we’ll make this easy.” He dipped his
forefinger into the jar of slick ointment.
The boy looked over at the desk warily, as if it would jump out and bite him.
He shook his head and took a deep breath. 'The sooner I do this . . . the
sooner it’s over,' Steve thought to himself. He turned his body and carefully
bent over the wooden surface.
Settling one of his beefy hands on that slender back, the coach caressed around
Steve’s puckered opening, letting the ointment coat the boy. Then, slowly, he
eased the finger into the hole, pushing past the sphincter.
Steve sucked in a deep breath, taken aback from the intrusion, and hissed. His
heart thumped against his chest and he felt himself involuntarily clench around
the Coach’s finger.
Talking, the coach paused his finger. “Now relax for me, Rogers, don’t let your
butt tighten up like that. It won’t help me reach your prostate.”
The blond nodded and released the deep breath he’d been holding in. He forced
his body to try and relax.
Nodding, the coach crooned approvingly, “Good lad, Rogers. Now, keep relaxed
for me so I can find it.” And he slipped his finger in further, letting it
slide around, looking for the bundle of nerves he needed to check. Suddenly, in
a gentle caressing, the coach’s finger moved over the prostate.
Steve shivered and jumped slightly as a wave of pleasure coursed through him.
The blond bit down hard on his bottom lip as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide
the whimper that tore through his throat.
Coach Mulligan looked over the slight boy, finger still in his ass, then
stroked again over that sensitive spot, watching the boy’s reaction.
Steve gasped as the Coach gently stroked the bundle of nerves. He gripped the
edge of the desk hard as he forced his body not to buck with the movement of
the finger buried deep inside him.
The man nodded and slid his finger in all the way, bottoming out his palm
against Steve’s round buttock. Moving the fat digit slightly, the coach slipped
it back outwards, but then when he got near the opening, he pushed it in again,
sliding over the prostate once more. Again he seemed to watch Steve’s reaction.
Drawing in a shallow breath, Steve clenched the desk harder; making his
knuckles turn white. The blond desperately tried not to buck as another jolt of
pleasure ran down his spine. He blushed wildly as he felt his member begin to
rise.
Again out then in, this time the coach slid his finger in palm deep, moving it
around slightly inside. He seemed to freeze suddenly. Finally the coach slipped
his finger all the way out, one more caress over the prostate as he exited. He
turned and picked up his cleaning towel to wash off his hand then held it
loosely in front of his pelvic area, as if without conscious thought. Softly,
he said "You need to get that checked, Rogers." With a frown, he picked up a
dry towel from his desk and tossed it at Steve.
Embarrassment clearly written on his features, Steve grabbed both his trousers
and his briefs. Pulling them both up quickly, desperately trying to hide his
growing erection, he tied the pants haphazardly.
The coach continued, as if Steve wasn't hard at all. "I felt something, like
lumps, in there. That's not good." He seemed very clinical and withdrawn as he
wrote quickly on a piece of paper then handed it to Steve. "Take that to your
mother. She needs to get you seen. I'll need a doctor's note to let you back in
the class." He turned away a bit, seeming to adjust his pants . . . maybe got
some hair caught down there - - at least that’s what happened to Bucky during
the summer at one point and the brunet had cursed a new stream of swears Steve
had yet to fully learn.
"But, Sir, I don't even do anything but sit . . ." Steve sputtered, not wanting
to leave the only class he’d ever been enrolled in with Bucky. The small boy
took the proffered note.
Whirling back, moving quickly for so large a man, the coach offered his
fiercest scowl. "Don't care. It's the rules, Rogers. You need a doctor's
clearance to set foot in my gymnasium, understood?" His dark eyes narrowed and
his brows beetled over the stern orbs.
Eyes wide, Steve nodded, not wanting to upset the burly man any further.
"Send in Rolston,” the coach ordered and turned back to his stack of files, the
left hand file stack steadily growing taller while the right hand stack was
almost gone now.
Steve exited the room quickly. The only good thing was that his erection had
gone away because of the mere thought of having to see another doctor. Blinking
away the tears that threatened to spill, he gingerly sat down next to Bucky,
who, like he promised, hadn’t moved.
Bucky looked over his pale friend, worry evident on his pretty face. He sounded
puzzled, "took a while in there, Steve. Longer than anyone else . . .”
Unable to look at his friend, he simply nodded. Shakily, he handed over the
note that the coach had given him, not wanting to explain to Bucky the reason
he’d been in there longer.
The brunet took the paper with a frown and read it then went pale under his
late summer tan. He hissed, "Stevie!" Shooting a look at his friend, who looked
miserable, Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist and called out "Coach, I'm taking Rogers
to the nurse!"
Coach Mulligan called out “That's fine, Barnes,” and Bucky dragged Steve out of
the gym. He pulled him, without a word, down the hall, but they didn’t go to
the nurse's office. Instead, Bucky lead him into the drama storage room, which
was not in use that early in the year.
Slipping his arms around Steve, Bucky held him, and Steve began to cry in
Bucky's chest.
"He thinks I have cancer, Bucky!" The boy sobbed, finally letting out all the
fear and anxiety overwhelming him.
Bucky nodded and continued to hug his friend, dropping soft kisses to his hair
then slowly, gently, moving his lips tenderly down Steve’s pale, wet face to
seal over his full lips. He didn’t say anything, merely being there for him.
Steve let himself get lost in the kiss, clutching desperately onto Bucky’s
shirt as if his life depended on it. When the two boys finally separated, Steve
looked up at his best friend. Bucky pulled out his handkerchief and carefully
began to wipe away the trails of tears. After Steve’s cheeks were dry, Bucky
wordlessly handed the cloth over so Steve could blow his nose.
Once Steve was semi-presentable, still without a word, Bucky began kissing him
again.
The younger boy only whimpered. After a while, Steve pulled back and sighed,
one hand pressed to Bucky's chest. He whispered, "I got hard when he was
checking me, Bucky." He sounded troubled.
Bucky nodded. "Yeah, when he touched there, I felt good, too, Stevie. It's
okay. Must be normal or he'd have said something, right?" He stroked the back
of his left hand down Steve’s still flushed cheek.
Steve nodded weakly. "I don't feel much like finishing school today," Steve
murmured.
Touching his forehead to his friend’s, Bucky nodded again. "Then let's go. I'll
bring you to the hospital and you can let your Mam know about the note." Bucky
kissed Steve one last time, a sweet lingering kiss, then lead him from the
drama room to gather their stuff from the gym locker room, not meeting any of
the other boys, who were still gathered inside the main gymnasium.
The younger boy groaned when he felt his abdomen and rectum ache. A tight pain
making him almost double over. He clutched his gut and leaned heavily into his
larger, sturdier friend. “Ah!” he screamed, making Bucky jump and grab at him.
“I think my guts are trying to come out my butt,” Steve’s voice shook in
terror.
Eyes widening in horror at the sudden onset of the strange, painful symptoms,
Bucky wrapped his left arm around Steve securely and stooped, sliding the other
under the smaller boy’s legs. He lifted easily and began carrying the doubled-
up boy towards the nearby Brooklyn Home for Consumptives where Sarah Rogers
worked. “Don’t worry, Stevie. We’ll find out what’s wrong. Maybe even go to
your Doctor Keilmeyer? He might recognize it, since it happened right after
that exam and that . . . uh . . . pleasure feeling?” Bucky flushed, embarrassed
but wanting to take care of his friend.
Steve nodded, unable to form words over the pain that seemed to radiate from
his core. He rested his head against his friend’s sturdy shoulder, content with
just listening to Bucky’s steady breathing.
***** Helping to Relax *****
Chapter Notes
     Translations:
     leanbh - baby - Irish Gaelic
     Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Tuesday, September 5, 1933: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Bucky felt out of breath when he arrived outside the Brooklyn Home for
Consumptives, but he none-the-less made his way directly to a bench outside the
front door. Carefully, he lay his burden on the wooden surface and bent over
Steve. “I’m gonna go inside and find your Mam, Stevie. You lay here and rest.”
The small boy looked up at his best friend and smiled, nodding his head.
Not long after the brunet disappeared into the open windowed tuberculosis
hospital, he re-emerged with Sarah Rogers in tow. Dressed in her crisp white
uniform and thick stockings, the worried mother knelt next to her son on the
wooden patient’s bench. “Leanbh?” she cooed, reaching out to stroke his hair
gently. “Seamus says you’re in pain?”
Nodding, Steve groaned, “I started crampin’ real bad after my exam at school.”
“And what exam would that be, leanbh?” she asked softly, her voice sounding
soothing as ever.
“Coach called it a prostate exam. Started hurtin’ right after.” Steve doubled
over as another rush of pain surged through him.
Bucky held out the coach’s note to Mrs. Rogers. “He gave Steve this, too. He .
. .” the brunet looked down at his friend, “he said something about lumps?”
Sarah raised her soft blue eyes, worry creasing her features. With a nod, she
looked down on her son. “Did he hurt you when he put his finger in to look for
your prostate, leanbh, or after he took it back out?” Her words, at least,
confirmed the coach had done a real medical exam and nothing havy cavy.
“It was real uncomfortable at first . . . but I didn’t start crampin’ until
after.” The son answered, his voice strained from the obvious pain he suffered.
“Alright,” she cooed again, standing. “Seamus, stay with him. I’m going to call
his doctor.” And Sarah pushed back into the hospital in search of a phone.
Bucky stroked Steve’s hair like his mother had, watching through worried blue-
grey eyes. “Your doctor’ll fix you right up, Stevie, you’ll see.”
After an agonizingly long time, Sarah walked out with her boss in tow. “Boys,
this is my supervisor. He’s going to drive us to Doctor Keilmeyer’s office,
since it’s too far to walk.” She scooped her son up into strong arms, muscled
from years of lifting patients. Once by the shiny black Ford, she waited for
her boss to open the door then placed Steve prone on the back seat. Bucky
clambered in and sat directly on the uncomfortable floorboards beside the
leather seat.
At the office, Sarah’s boss picked up Steve in careful arms and carried the
small boy up the steps, letting Bucky open the front door then the office door.
Bucky hadn’t knocked, but Doctor Keilmeyer merely stood up with a small worried
frown. “Lay him on the bed, please.” After obeying, the boss and Sarah walked
into the hall, talking softly, but Bucky removed his cap respectfully and
looked from Steve to the doctor.
The blond boy whimpered when another cramp coiled tightly, but he look over at
his friend. “Ya’ don’t hafta stay for this, Buck.”
Nodding, still worried, Bucky sighed. “Okay, but I’ll go to your place after
school, okay?” He turned back to Doctor Keilmeyer. “You take good care of him,
doc.” Shoving his cap back on his head, Bucky let himself from the room and
allowed Sarah’s supervisor to take him back to school.
Sarah knocked. “Do you want me in there or out here, leanbh?”
“Ya’ can stay out there, Momma.” Steve muttered, not wanting his Momma to watch
as Doctor Keilmeyer would, undoubtedly, perform another prostate exam.
Her soft voice drifted back. “I’ll be right out here then.”
The doctor, true to Steve’s suspicions, did want to perform another exam. But
first he softly asked “can you tell me what this pain feels like, Steven?” The
tall, thin man moved around the bed preparing ointment and other things,
pulling out a sheet from his vast cabinets.
“It feels like something inside is tearing me apart and pulling my guts out my
. . . butt,” Steve whispered the last word.
With a nod, Doctor Keilmeyer gently lifted the boy’s shirt. He began lightly
pressing on Steve’s abdomen, watching for any signs.
Steve groaned slightly in discomfort as the doctor prodded the sensitive area.
Nodding again, the doctor removed his hands. “This could be related to stomach
issues, gas or even food poisoning. Have you had any watery stools? Any
vomiting?”
“No, Sir.” The blond reported, sighing weakly when the doctor stopped pushing
down on the abdomen.
“Hmmm,” the doctor sighed. “Well, I will have to do an examination of your
rectum, Steven. I will be gentle, I promise.” The doctor had never once hurt
his young patient, and had always kept his word, right down to regularly
providing ration cards for Steve over the two years the boy had been coming to
him on a monthly basis. “If you can undress your lower half . . . I can help
you if needed. I’ll cover you with this sheet.”
The boy shook his head, slowly standing. “I think I can do it on my own.” Steve
shuffled behind the screen and, for the second time that day, slowly stripped
off his trousers and briefs, folding them neatly on the waiting chair as
always.
With a nod, Doctor Keilmeyer put the sheet carefully on the bed and walked back
to Steve’s chart on the desk, making notations and not watching the young man
of fifteen undressing behind the privacy screen. When the boy emerged, the
doctor waited until he got to the bed before speaking up, “don’t sit or lie
down, Steven. This will be least uncomfortable one of two ways. Either you can
bend over the bed and I can do the exam, or, if it’s more comfortable, you can
kneel on your hands and knees, which opens the rectum even wider.” His voice
remained detached, yet gentle. “I do suggest the second choice, and then I can
use a scope to see inside . . . a very narrow tube and light that will show me
what’s inside. Not the most pleasant of exams, but the best to figure out what
is wrong. But, only if you agree, Steven.”
Not wanting to risk the chance that he might have to do this again, Steve
decided to take Doctor Keilmeyer's advice. Wordlessly, the small boy kneeled
down in the position the doctor had described.
With a small nod, the doctor walked up next to Steve and presented the very
thin tube to his view. It was hollow and only half the width around as the
coach’s finger had been. “First, I will use my finger for the regular exam, and
then I will look in with this scope. Is that understood? You accept?”
Releasing a shaky breath, Steve nodded. “I understand.”
“Right then.” And the doctor proceeded to put a slick ointment on the tube then
placed it carefully on the sheet near Steve. He then dipped his finger in a
generous amount of the same lube and brought his hand to Steve’s rear end.
“Breathe deep and let it out slowly, Steven, pushing a bit backwards in your
rectum while you do so.” As the boy obeyed, the man gently slid his finger into
the opening, finding the prostate with no problem but not dwelling there like
the coach had. Instead, after apparently feeling for lumps or lesions, he slid
the finger all the way as far as he could, still feeling. As quickly as the
exam began, the doctor removed his finger, a rather impersonal and mostly
unerotic testing.
“Did I hurt you, Steven?
“No, Sir. Not at all.” To be honest, the boy was a little surprised. He had
been expecting the same, drawn out process that had made him hard and yearning.
Offering a small smile, the doctor asked, “are you ready for the scope now,
Steven?”
Releasing another deep breath, Steve nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Doctor Keilmeyer picked up his scope, carefully removed any lubricant blocking
the end, and touched the warmed metal next to Steve’s inner thigh. “See? There
it is. Now, same as before, deep breath in then out and push very slightly.
This will be less thick than my finger, I assure you.” Again, the doctor waited
for Steve to obey then he carefully slide the metal into Steve’s rectum,
looking through it, using a bright light over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be
wonderful if we could make a light so tiny, it fit on the end, Steven?” he
mused then pulled the tube straight back out with equal care. “Done. There are
wet washcloths and towels behind the screen. Feel free to take your time
cleaning then dress and come back around to my desk.”
Steve shot up and nearly ran over to the shielded comfort that the screen
offered. Just as the doctor had said, a few wet washcloths and towels were
piled on the counter.
The doctor ignored his young patient dressing in favor of putting his scope in
a large bowl of iodine then walking to the sink and scrubbing his hands
thoroughly. “If you wish soap, Steven, you’ll find some back there as well,” he
called. He then moved to his desk, sat down in his large chair, and began to
write on the file’s first blank page, starting with the date and procedure
performed.
Quickly, but thoroughly, Steve cleaned himself. Picking up his briefs, the
fifteen year old stopped, his eyes widening at the sight of blood spotting the
linen. Holding the briefs out in front of him, Steve walked out from behind the
screen.
“Sir.” He called out.
“Yes, Steven?” Doctor Keilmeyer rose to his feet and walked over, concern on
his face. “What is it?”
Holding out the briefs so that the doctor could see, he stated, “There’s blood.
I must’ve not noticed it before.”
“Yes, but I did, Steven,” the doctor’s voice sounded soothing, matter-of-fact.
“I saw a slight lesion high up on the wall of your rectum. I believe your coach
was too rough and hurt you.” He shook his head. “I wish to talk further about
this, as well. Please, if you want new briefs there are some in the cabinet.
Find your size. Keep them. Put the damaged ones in cold water. It is how I
remove blood from my apron after surgery.”
Steve nodded and walked back behind the screen. He opened a few cabinets before
finding the one that held a pile of briefs. Luckily, Steve didn’t have to sift
through the multiple pairs because a size small enough for his slight frame
rested on top. Quickly he pulled on the pair and his trousers, just as he was
tightening the drawstring on his athletic shorts, a realization came upon him.
The painful cramps seemed to have dissipated, he no longer felt the tearing
cramps.
Shuffling out from behind the screen, Steve made his way to where the doctor
currently sat. “The cramps. They’re gone.” The boy reported as he took a seat.
Relief crossed his doctor’s thin face. “That is great news, Steven. It also
supports my theory. Let us talk first about your condition then about your
teacher.” Looking directly into Steve’s vibrant blue eyes, meeting the boy’s
gaze with respect, the doctor said “aside from that small lesion, which should
heal on its own, I found no problems whatsoever. Not a single lump or
abnormality. You are perfectly normal inside, Steven.”
“Really,” Steve beamed at the great news, “There’s nothin’ wrong with me?”
Laughing softly, the doctor shook his head and smiled gently. “Not this time,
Steven. The cramps were probably from tension . . . it is terrifying to have a
prostate exam, even for a full grown man. If you never tried to explore your
anus, or let your friend do so,” he acted as if it were normal for boys to play
that way, but then again, he had been Steve’s doctor for two years and knew
Bucky and Steve were uncommonly close, “then of course you would not known how
to take a full grown man putting his fingers up you.”
Eyebrows furrowed, Steve asked, “You sayin’ Coach caused my cramps?”
Doctor Keilmeyer nodded firmly. “I think he did, Steven, but it is also
possibly another symptom of your nervous disposition . . . the asthma? I think
the cramps may be an extension of that.” Leaning back in his chair slightly, he
frowned softly. “This teacher. When he did your exam, it hurt? Honesty, Steven,
tell me exactly what you felt, what he did.”
“It was real uncomfortable at first, nothin’ like how you did it. Had me bend
over the desk and slicked up his finger . . .which was bigger than your’s… he
pushed it in. But I tensed up, said I needed to relax so he could finish the
exam.” Steve took a deep breath before he continued, “so I tried to relax. I
just wanted it to be over. But Coach, once he found my prostate, kept strokin’
it.” Steve left out the fact that he’d felt intense pleasure at the feeling.
The doctor nodded at Steve’s words. He continued to frown, but listened
patiently. “And, how did that make you feel, Steven?” his doctor asked, as if
reading his mind.
Blushing, afraid of getting in trouble but not wanting to lie to the doctor, he
said, “Felt good? I don’t really know how to describe it.”
“Like a jolt of electricity through your penis that felt good, not bad?” the
doctor supplied.
“Sure,” Steve shrugged, “I guess that’s how I felt.”
Looking over his glasses at the boy, smiling kindly, he asked “and this
teacher, after finding your prostate continued to stroke it?” He didn’t sound
surprised by Steve’s admission.
“Yeah, kept watchin’ me too. I just wanted the exam to be over, honest!”
With a gentle nod the doctor added, “but it felt good and you secretly wanted
more, Steven?”
“Well . . . I mean it did feel good. But I didn’t want Coach to keep starin’ at
me like that.”
Soothingly, the doctor asked “And when did he put his finger all the way in,
Steven? When did he scratch you like that? Did he do that more than once, too?”
Shrugging slightly, Steve muttered, “Towards the end, I guess? He pushed in
real deep, twice. I could feel his hand on my butt.”
With a final nod, the doctor stood and walked over to Steve but didn’t touch
the boy. Instead, he put his hand in his apron pocket and pulled out some penny
candy . . . black licorice in a twist of paper and real butterscotch. “Here,
for your nerves, Steven.”
Steve’s eyes lit up at the sight of the candy. “Gee, thanks.” Steve could
imagine how happy Bucky would be when he shared the sweets with the other boy.
The small blond took the candy.
Doctor Keilmeyer moved back to his chair and sank onto it. “Let me first assure
you that your reaction was normal. In fact, I would be rather surprised that
with repeated stimulus you failed to get an erection, given that even with your
infertility you still reach orgasm and leak semen without spermatozoa.” He
watched the boy for his reaction.
The blond looked back up at the doctor, concern pooling his his blue eyes, “I’m
normal though, right, Sir? Even though I got a stiffy when he did that?”
“Perfectly normal. What the coach most likely failed to mention is that the
prostate gland is a sexual organ. It releases lubricant into the semen when
stimulated. Thus, it is meant to be stimulated, as well as meant to cause
pleasure and erection and even orgasm. Most men can achieve this during sexual
intercourse by squeezing their own rectum, something they do unconsciously
during the sexual act. But other men find it more pleasing to have manual
stimulation.” The doctor offered his smile once more to Steven. “As far back as
the last century, medical science has been prescribing prostate massage to
relieve tension and prevent or cure prostate cancer, Steven.”
“Huh,” Steve mused.
“In fact, if you find it pleasant, and you have clean hands, I would encourage
you to incorporate it when pleasuring yourself. It can relieve the stress and
might even prevent your cramping,” the man told him.
“Really? Doing that could help stop my cramps?”
The doctor nodded. “I highly recommend it, Steven. It might not work, but it
would not hurt to try . . . if you find it pleasurable and are careful not to
cut yourself.” The smile dropped away. “Now, what your teacher did was not
correct.” He stood again and strode to the office door, listened without
opening it, then walked back to stand by Steve. “I cannot do much about him,
except give you permission to either go back to his class or to skip it all
together. But a grown man should never handle a developing boy as if he is . .
. a sexual partner. And if he needed to check you with more than one stroke,
and felt the need to go palm deep, and had to watch you so closely, I think he
was taking pleasure for himself, not helping you.” The doctor crossed his arms,
looking suddenly fierce for the first time ever. “I cannot have them remove the
man, as it is a child’s word against a trusted teacher, but I would suggest
that if he needs to perform any more tests or exams on you, refuse and leave.”
Shaking his head, not wanting to be taken out of the only class that he shared
with Bucky, Steve said, “I think I’ll be okay, Doctor Keilmeyer, thank you
though. If he wants to do anymore tests, I’ll leave. But right now, I think I
wanna stay in class.”
“Very well,” the doctor let his arms uncross, looking worried but obviously
respecting Steve’s choice. He strode around his desk, quickly penned the note
to get Steve admitted back into class, and offered it to him. “Do you need
lubricant, Steven?” he asked, straight faced, eyes serious. Despite the initial
idea that the man might be denouncing him for a queer at that first
appointment, he had been nothing but supportive of anything Steve had said or
hinted at.
Heat rising into his cheeks, Steve nodded, “Uh . . . sure. Just so I don’t hurt
myself or nothin’.”
“Naturally. Why else would you need it?” He turned to his medicine cabinet and
pulled out a jar the same size the coach had used. “Now, try to use this
sparingly, but if you run out before our next appointment, tell me and I’ll
make sure you get it more often. I would recommend using it to make your
erection easier to pleasure, as well, or you may chaff.” He handed the ointment
jar to the boy without the hint of a smile or derision.
Steve took the jar and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks Doc,” he said,
smiling up at the man who had become much more like a friend over the past few
years.
Smiling back, finally, the doctor nodded and patted the boy’s thin shoulder.
“Well, if I was able to take on all your conditions, Steven, I would. But at
least with sexual problems, I am an expert. So, please, if you feel you need
help in this area, come to me. I will always give you my total honest opinion
and my full knowledge. Now, I shall talk to your mother? Or do you wish to tell
her the cramps were from tension over the unexpected exam? You don’t have to
tell her more than you are comfortable with.”
“I don’t want her to know about Coach. It’d just make her worry more. I’ll tell
her it was the tension. No reason to make her fret over nothin’,” Steve decided
after a moment of thoughtful silence. He knew how much his Momma worried about
him, and if he could do anything to give her one less thing to worry about, he
would.
With a nod, Doctor Keilmeyer opened the office door. “Mrs. Rogers? Your son is
fine and you can bring him home. He will tell you what we discussed.” He smiled
back at Steve and nodded. “Good luck, Steven. I will see you at our next
appointment.”
Sarah looked to her son. “Do you want to talk on our walk or after we get
home?” It was an almost obvious attempt at judging how good or bad the
diagnosis had been.
“We can talk on the way.” Steve answered.
Relief flooded Sarah’s sweet face and she smiled at her boy. “Then, let us get
home. Bucky must be beside himself with worry for you.” She thanked the doctor
and listened carefully as Steve spoke about his tension cramps while they
walked the few blocks back to their small apartment. Finally, with a nod, she
said “I’ve heard of stress making someone sick, so I believe he’s correct,
leanbh. What a relief!”
Smiling, Steve hummed a noise of agreement.
Bucky sat leaning against the cement balustrade of their tenement steps. He
rose, with a hopeful, worried mix of emotions across his pretty features.
“Stevie? What’d he say?” At his feet sat Steve’s school clothes and books.
Steve shrugged, flicking his eyes over to his Momma before returning them back
to the brunet.
Scooping up Steve’s school things into his arms, Bucky nodded in understanding.
“Why don’t we talk inside instead of where the neighbors can eavesdrop?” He
followed Sarah, grinning softly at Steve, as the woman led them to the
apartment, unlocked the door, and held it open for the two boys, as always.
Bucky led Steve down the hall to the tiny bedroom, but made Steve latch the
door once they were both inside, busily dumping the stuff from his arms onto
Steve’s chair.
Finally, he turned. “Okay, your Mam was smiling, so it can’t be serious,
right?”
Steve grinned, “Doc said it was a false alarm. Couldn’t find anything wrong
with me. Said the cramps were probably caused by my nerves like my asthma. Also
said that a prostate massage, ya’ know, strokin’ the place that felt good
inside, is good for stress relief.”
Tilting his brunet head, Bucky grinned almost lazily at Steve. “So, it’s
supposed to feel good . . . and touching it can make your nerves better,
Steve?”
Blushing the blond boy smiled, leaning up and pressing his lips to Bucky’s
before saying, "Yeah. That's what the Doc said. Also said that it could prevent
cancer."
"Well, we'll have to make sure you get plenty of touching, won't we?" Bucky
breathed into Steve’s mouth on a chuckle. He lightly traced his tongue across
the seam of Steve’s lush lips. “Want some now?” he offered throatily.
Smiling into the kiss, Steve nodded his head slightly. “Yeah, might settle my
nerves. I can give you one if ya’ want, too, Buck.”
Bucky laughed, and said, “maybe sometimes. It didn’t feel bad after all.” He
pushed Steve gently onto the mattress and began to untie the younger boy’s
athletic shorts then moved onto his drawers. “but let's start with you,
Stevie.” Finally, after two years of carefully obeying the restrictions the
doctor had put on Steve, Bucky slid his calloused hand into Steve’s pants, and
drawers, and stroked along his length. The brunet leaned in to kiss his best
friend.
Steve crashed his lips against Bucky’s, arching his back in an attempt to push
himself further into his friend’s hand.
Chuckling softly, Bucky breathed, “needy little thing, ain’t ya?” He gently
pulled Steve’s bottom clothing from that thin body and pushed the shirt up over
his head, stealing kisses every few seconds. Sitting back, having straddled
Steve during their foreplay, the lean older boy stripped off his shirt and
reached to untie his trousers, his own erection beginning to strain at the
fabric.
“Wait,” Steve breathed, “Doc gave me somethin’. It’s in my pocket.”
Leaning down to shuffle through Steve’s pockets, Bucky came out with the jar of
ointment. “This?” his voice rasped in growing desire.
“Yeah, should work a lot better than spit.” Steve mumbled, slightly distracted
as his long fingers pulled at the waistline of Bucky’s school pants. “Gotta get
these off, Buck.”
Sliding his weight from one leg to another, Bucky helped Steve remove the
restrictive clothing, he hardness jutting up proudly towards his abdomen.
“Yeah, hard to do this with ‘em on,” he breathed back, kissing Steve’s
collarbone.
Arching his back in pleasure, Steve gently nipped at Bucky’s earlobe; causing
the brunet’s erection to twitch excitedly.
Once they were nude, Bucky carefully sat upon Steve’s hips once more, his
pelvis pushing into Steve’s, the base of his manhood and his heavy sack hanging
over Steve’s erection. Carefully, Bucky unscrewed the jar lid and placed it
aside, then dipped his finger in the slick, oily substance. “Kinda like
before?” he asked, "or do you wanna lay on your back this time?” he referred to
the coach’s exam, though not in words.
“Yeah,” Steve assured, “I need ya’, Buck,” making little sense in his lust.
Bucky nodded and kissed Steve’s lips then got off of his friend’s hips. “Open
your legs, Cariad,” he instructed hoarsely.
Doing as he was told, Steve spread his legs, openly displaying himself for his
best friend. The blond’s cheeks flushed as Bucky took in the sight of Steve
sprawled out on the bed below him.
“Beautiful, Stevie,” the brunet murmured and reached down between the blond’s
legs to stroke the slicked finger across the bud of his opening. He leaned in
and kissed Steve then sat back again and pushed gently at the passage. “Breath
for me, Cariad . . .”
Steve took a deep breath and nodded, “Alright, Buck.” After another breath,
Steve’s body relaxed. “I’m ready.”
“Okay,” Bucky carefully, gently, slid his finger into the tight opening,
already loosened twice that day. His eyes opened in wonder at the radiant look
on Steve’s beautiful face. “Steve,” he murmured, and slid his finger deeper
inadvertently right over the other boy’s prostate.
Gasping as the jolt of pleasure shot through him, Steve arched his spine again.
“There. Right there.”
Bucky nodded, smiling at giving his friend such pleasure. He carefully moved
his finger around, caressing the hot walls inside Steve’s tightness and once
more finding that bundle of nerves. “There?” he asked to be certain he’s
discovered the right spot.
Throwing his head back against the bed, Steve let out a loud whimper, “There,
Buck,” and his member began to fill immediately.
The older boy slid his finger gently, pulling it slowly in an outward motion
before caressing it back and and over Steve’s erotic spot. He watched Steve
intently, but this felt far different from the coach’s creepy observation. This
was Bucky, and only care and love shone in the other boy’s eyes as he stroked
Steve over and over.
As Steve began to leak precum from his manhood, Bucky grinned almost wickedly.
He leaned over to lap at the tip of Steve’s erection, over the slit, tasting
the salty bitter drop of fluid. Bucky’s gentle licking drew a low moan from his
friend, and the brunet wrapped his free hand around Steve’s member, stroking
him in time with his internal caresses and his lapping.
It didn’t take long before Steve tumbled over the edge, erotic stimulation
overwhelming all his senses. He brought the crook of his elbow to his mouth and
bit down as he came hard and fast.
Smiling at the other boy’s release, Bucky gently began to clean the cum from
his friend’s thighs and shaft, not minding the taste at all as he tended to
Steve’s needs.
The smaller boy groaned, a noise that came from the back of his throat, as he
watched the erotic, dirty sight of the brunet lapping up the remaining seed on
Steve’s skin.
Finally, Bucky slid his finger gently out of Steve and crawled up his friend,
kissing him from his root, up his abdomen and chest, and finally ending in a
long, deep kiss across Steve’s mouth..
Tasting himself on Bucky’s mouth, Steve let out another low groan. He began to
reach to wrap his hand around the brunet’s very hard and needy shaft but a
better idea crossed his mind. Smiling wickedly, the blond slid down his
friend’s lean body, trailing his tongue over the sweat-salted flesh, tasting
Bucky with every lap. Without hesitating, Steve took the brunet’s tip into his
mouth. Swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, Steve took in more of
Bucky’s length. The blond made a low, humming noise from the back of this
throat.
The brunet clutched at the sheets, trying to keep his hips still under the
erotic onslaught of Steve’s wonderful mouth. He began babbling almost as soon
as he felt the vibrations down his member and into his sack, right back to his
ass. “God, Stevie!” he whimpered on a bare whisper, then fell back into the
indecipherable babble.
Steve, encouraged by the praise, hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard.
“I’m gonna lose it, Stevie,” Bucky’s hoarse voice moaned a soft warning.
Ignoring Bucky’s warning, Steve continued to hum as he used his tongue inside
the suction of his mouth, tasting and caressing Bucky’s throbbing shaft,
feeling it begin to thicken. Suddenly, Bucky shot thick ropes of cum into
Steve’s hot mouth, gasping and whimpering, babbling in a mix of languages, as
he’d done the other time he’d orgasmed with Steve. He watched with wide blue-
grey eyes as the rosey mouth and dusky pink tongue lapped up every bit of cum.
Finally spent and somewhat cleaner, Bucky pulled Steve up to seal a kiss over
his mouth, sharing their flavors.
"Well, that's got me relaxed, Stevie," he breathed.
Chuckling as he pulled the summer quilt over them, Steve murmured, tucking his
head under Bucky’s chin, “Me too, Buck. Gotta relieve stress more often.”
With a nod, slipping his chin over Steve's head, Bucky rumbled, “Yeah, gotta do
that, Stevie.” He cuddled his friend close to his heart and sighed in sleepy
bliss.
***** Tata *****
Chapter Notes
     Note: This was a difficult chapter to write. Thank you for your
     patience as we sorted through the strong emotions and trauma.
     WARNING: Death of a minor character and post traumatic stress. Please
     skip this if you cannot handle active death, funerals, or the grief
     related aftermath. Next chapter picks the regular mood back up again;
     and we are posting Chapter Eight at the same time to help relieve the
     pressure on our readers. Thank you.
     Settings: AU: February 28 thru March 10, 1934: Brooklyn, New York,
     United States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Gentiles - Other Nations (non-Jewish) - spoken Yiddish or Hebrew
     "Tak, Tata, jesterm Jakub." - "Yes, Father, it's James." - Polish
     "Zawsze, Tata." - "Always, Father." - Polish
     Sczcepan - Steven - Polish
     Leanbh - Baby - Irish Gaelic
     Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     fy ngwdadwriaeth - my sweetheart - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Wednesday, February 28, 1934: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Laughing at Bucky's latest absurd observation of some snooty rich man whose
life seemed to have been spared by what the news sheets had coined 'The Great
Depression,' Steve led the way into the butcher's shop. Sawdust coated the
wooden floor, counters and cold boxes lined both sides of the room, and five
men stood ready, waiting to serve the customers who could afford meat on any
sort of basis, regular or otherwise. The smells of blood and raw meat filled
the air, but something mixed with the wood shavings on the floor dampened any
lingering odors . . . though Steve, whose nose had always been sensitive, could
still detect the hint of decay from a side room. He stepped to Bucky's other
side, away from the slaughter house or garbage room or whatever lay behind that
solid-looking door.
Looking over the long, clean counter, Mr. Kratz, the owner, smiled at the two
boys, stepping down the room to meet them; his other staff were currently busy
with various customers, thus the master of the butcher shop moved to serve the
teens. "Hello, hello," he called merrily in his accented English - - Bucky had
told Steve some time ago that the man spoke a language called Yiddish. Calling
merrily, Mr. Kratz continued "Ah, Missus Barnes wishes a flank of beef. I . .
."
A stern, pinched woman's voice interrupted. "Hello? I need service."
Mr. Kratz and both boys looked over at the woman dressed in some kind of fur
coat and muff along with heeled shoes. She could have come from a fashion sheet
with her stylish, new-looking outfit and furred hat. The shop owner offered her
a smile. "Yes, Mrs. Fleischman. I'll be with you directly."
The woman eyed the two teens in their worn, plain clothing and drew her coat
closer around her. "I am a regular, paying customer, Mr. Kratz, as you well
know. My husband purchases only the most prime selection of meats. And . . ."
she looked imperious. "I am too busy a woman to wait while a Jewish shop serves
Gentiles."
A small, frustrated sigh escaped the butcher as Steve bristled at the woman's
implied insult that the teens weren't worth the time to serve. Bucky smiled
easily. "Go ahead. We'll wait," he murmured, to Mr. Kratz, and the shop owner
sent the sixteen year old a thankful smile in return, hurrying off to tend to
his rich, impatient client.
Neither friend spoke as they moved to watch one of the younger shop keeps
serving a very pretty lass from school. Steve offered her a shy smile when she
glanced over, but, like all the girls around the pair, she only seemed to
notice Bucky - - who gave her his normal, everyday devastating smile in return.
Privately Steve wondered when he'd hit his next growth spurt and shoot up like
Bucky had when he'd been fifteen. The older boy stood at exactly six feet in
height by then, while Steve remained precisely five foot four inches . . . an
entire eight inches shorter than his best friend. The smaller height and
delicate build of the skinny blond often fooled other people into the belief
that Steve might be twelve or thirteen . . . still.
Before the pretty girl could encourage Bucky to flirt with her, as he
inevitably would wind up doing if left near most females too long, Mr. Kratz
returned to the teens. His rich customer held her bag extremely tight to her
fur-coated body as she eased past the two young males, everything about her
screaming that she felt the boys might try to rob her of her purchases and
remaining money.
Waiting until after she left, Bucky snorted with amusement, pulling Steve into
an answering grin. The tall brunet rolled his eyes to the butcher and said "I
guess she's a bit upset that we non-Jewish people like your meat and service so
much, we'd shop here." Mr. Kratz seemed to relax at the amused rather than
annoyed reaction from the patient pair. "Mam called in an order," Bucky
smoothly reminded the butcher. As if the man had never stopped waiting on them
in the first place.
"Yes, a beef flank," the butcher replied and carefully selected a very prime
cut before wrapping it in thick white paper and tying it with string. He beamed
at the teens as he handed over the parcel, meeting Bucky's knowing eye - - that
cut had been more valuable than Mam's order. With a grateful nod towards the
door, as if that explained everything, the man pushed the parcel of meat into
the near-seventeen year old boy's hands. "And thank you very much for your
patience, young James. Oh!" He added, lifting one hand, "And happy birthday,
isn't it?"
Bucky laughed. "In about two weeks, Sir, but thank you." He accepted the
unspoken present of the better cut and slipped Tata's money on the counter.
"It's all . . ."
". . . there," finished Mr. Kratz without even counting. "You may only come in
around very special occasions, James Barnes, but you have always been honest
and patient. I've no need to count your bill." And the man smiled heartily,
tucking the money into the clunky register, and moved off to help another
customer.
"Momma's always sayin' 'honey catches more flies than vinegar,' intoned Steve
with a grin.
Bucky shot him an answering smirk, handing the package off to his friend.
"Yeah, but who wants to catch vinegar or flies?" he quipped at the poorly
structured old saying.
They laughed and walked from the shop into the freezing February air, snow
crunching underfoot and just beginning to drift down in fat flakes.
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, knowing Steve would refuse to give the
meat back despite how cold his hand would be outside his own pocket, Bucky
merely strode ahead, keeping an eye out in order to spot his father. "So,
Steve, you and your Mam'll come for my birthday and help us eat this good beef,
won't you?"
"Of course," Steve answered readily. "And we'll even come for the company."
Laughing, Bucky shunted his shoulder sideways into his smaller friend with an
affectionate "punk."
"Jerk," Steve shot back as he shoved back against Bucky's sturdier frame. As
always, the brunet let himself sway with Steve's effort - - not precisely
stumbling but swaying in acknowledgement of Steve's weaker shove. They shared
another grin.
Down the street, the pair caught sight of Tata limping towards them, using his
thick wooden cane, coming from the warehouse he'd found yet another temporary
job at, this one packing glassware inside straw-filled wooden boxes in
preparation for spring shipments. The brown haired, grey eyed man raised a hand
in greeting, smiling widely as he spotted the teens coming towards him. Picking
up their pace to meet the Barnes Patriarch, neither youth paid attention to the
chill wind, the crunching snow, or the jostling crowds on their own errands.
Suddenly, inexplicably to Steve, Tata's attention seemed drawn to the road
right before he threw himself off the pavement and into the path of a fast
moving delivery truck.
A scream tore from Bucky's throat, and he took off at a run towards the finally
stopping vehicle and the gathering crowd. "Tata!"
Steve followed at a sprint, beginning to pant in the cold air. He knew the
older boy had been clearly able to see the full accident and reason for it;
Bucky's vantage from the far side of the sidewalk, plus his greater height, had
given him a superb vantage point as a witness. Thus, Bucky would have actually
seen the truck hit and drive over his father. Somewhat thankful, if feeling a
little guilty, Steve could only be glad he'd been spared the gruesome sight - -
he'd merely seen Mr. Barnes disappear before Bucky had screamed and the truck
screeched to a sickening, thumping halt - - the blond managed to somewhat keep
up with his larger friend’s pace.
After pushing through the gathering crowd of onlookers, Bucky slid in the road
slush to Tata's side. "Tata?" He reached out a hand to his broken, bleeding
father, confusion and horror ranging through him. "Tata?"
The man's tense body seemed to relax slightly at his son's voice, and he tilted
his oddly misshapen head, a large swelling already beginning to disfigure the
man's normally good looks. As George's body canted to the side, he revealed a
small dark-skinned girl of about seven curled protectively in the injured man's
arms, shielded from the harsh impact of the truck by Tata's lean frame. The
trembling, crying girl seemed scared but relatively unhurt.
Bucky gently took her hand and pulled her out of his father's broken embrace,
just as a series of authoritative voices began to control the crowd.
Things blurred for Bucky at that point, but Steve would never forget the
horrible differing opinions of the crowd stating "he should have let her get
hit" versus "my Lord, the man's an angel!" As the policemen took Tata off to
St. Mary's, hoping to treat him for his severe head wound and other various
injuries, the little girl's mother arrived to, crying, whisk her daughter into
a body-crushing embrace.
"Oh, my Lord! Emmajean, you scared two lives outta your Momma!" The woman,
nicely dressed, obviously employed at one of the nicer colored establishments,
turned to Bucky. "Oh, thank you!"
The sixteen year old, ever honest, shook his head. "I didn't do anything. My
father Jerzy Barnes, saved her from the truck." He didn't question himself why
he gave Tata's real, Polish birth name rather than the Americanized version
everyone else used.
The woman nodded. "I'd like to thank your Papa for saving my baby. She's not
too smart and . . ."
Suddenly reminded of his little sister Gracie, Bucky nodded. "My sister don't
think too good, either, Ma'am." It felt right, saying such, but the brunet
couldn't figure out why talking about what society deemed his 'retarded' sister
would be necessary - - Tata needed him.
Steve suddenly cut in. "Bucky, we've gotta tell your Momma." His eyes darted to
the woman and her crying, banged up daughter. Politely, the small blond
offered, "Ma'am, you might wanna get your Emmajean to a doctor, in case she's
hurt worse'n she looks. I'll tell Mr. Barnes of your thanks. He'd rather your
little girl was seen than to be told he'd done what any good Christian shoulda
done anyway."
"Thank you," the woman's eyes turned to Steve and he flushed, muttering.
"Uh, Steve Rogers, ma'am," though he doubted she heard as the worried mother
stood up to move out of the road.
Steve grabbed Bucky's arm and tugged him, unresisting, from the street, the
crowd, the horror and confusion. The small blond led his best friend home. Once
beyond the front door of the main hall, Bucky listed sideways, right into the
wall still painted with Gracie's fading blue line . . . a line Steve always
followed with a gentle touch whenever he visited over the years. Helping the
tall brunet up two flights of stairs and over to apartment 3F, Steve noted that
Bucky barely seemed to function from the shock; this time the older boy's
fingers traced the old guiding paint.
Apparently someone at the scene of the accident had kindly called Winifred
Barnes with the news as she met the boys at the apartment door. All three girls
stood bundled in their winter outerwear, and Mrs. Barnes tugged Bucky into a
hug then followed it with one for Steve. She pulled the five children towards
the steps.
Bucky shot Steve a hopelessly overwhelmed look as he drifted in the woman's
wake.
xxx
Setting: AU: Friday, March 2, 1934: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Bucky lived in a haze through Wednesday and Thursday and into Friday, as he
waited a desperate vigil at his father's bedside.
The sixteen year old had been vaguely aware that Sarah and Steve had moved into
the Barnes's apartment shortly after Gracie visited the hospital: she'd begun
screaming "I smell death!" until Winifred had removed her from the building,
crying and whimpering. Fifteen year old Becca called Sarah Rogers to arrange
for her help, and the nurse moved in that night, bringing clothes for her son,
as well. WIthout a guest room, the living arrangements had been odd, at best.
Gracie insisted on sleeping in with her mother, thus Sarah took Becca's bed and
the teen shared Rosie's bed. Steve had been installed into Bucky's room as the
only males in the household.
But the boys rarely saw each other over the days of Tata's stay in the
hospital. Steve, Becca, and Rosie continued to attend school; Gracie was kept
home as she seemed to be taking her father's injury very hard. Winifred had her
hands full caring for the hysterical Gracie, and Sarah worked all day long.
Thus, Bucky skipped school with his mother's permission, spending all day and
the early evenings by his father's bedside. As a result, Bucky and Steve only
saw each other at night, wrapped in darkness and each other's arms, as Steve
held Bucky close while the older boy let the tears flow softly into his best
friend's comforting embrace.
Friday had been no different.
Bucky sat at his father's bedside, watching Tata sleep . . . or 'struggle with
consciousness' as the doctor had put it. Tata's head injury had been so severe
that on Wednesday evening the surgeon relieved the building pressure by
removing a wide piece of skull so the swelling brain would not compress. Since
then Tata seemed to awaken sometimes, but he always looked confused and spoke
in garbled Polish before drifting back into the restless unresponsive state.
The doctors predicted that Tata would either die soon or would recover but live
forever as an imbecile and need permanent hospitalization for his care; he'd
have that soft area where the bone had been removed, forever a danger for the
man.
Still, Bucky held out hope. He prayed constantly by his father's side, holding
the man's limp, bruised hand in his own strong ones, caressing that once
sturdy, scraped arm, softly talking to his father in English and Polish. If he
could help his father break through the confusion and darkness, Bucky felt
certain he could - - and would - - gladly take care of the man for the rest of
Tata's life.
Bucky leaned closer and called softly, yet again, to his father. "Tata, I love
you. Please, open your eyes."
And, as if by some miracle, the man did.
Hope surged through the sixteen year old. "Tata?" Bucky breathed, watching
those wise grey eyes for recognition or even some lucidity. Bucky's vigil was
at last rewarded.
The brown-haired man trailed his eyes over the room in confusion, his head held
still between padded blocks, then he seemed to settle on the youth barely in
his vision. Bucky sat straighter as those eyes tried to meet his. Tata's
confusion appeared to change, more to uncertainty than lack of any recognition
at all. The man blinked at the tall youth hovering over him and licked his
lips. Hoarsely, in fluid Polish, he asked //"You are my son?"//
Tears welling, gratitude and love shining through his voice, Bucky replied
"Tak, Tata, jesterm Jakub."
"Jakub?" Tata asked, sounding confused.
With a gentle nod and a stroke to that familiar, well worn hand, Bucky
corrected "Bucky," though there was no Polish translation for the nickname.
Tata's face lit up in seeming recognition and he moved his left hand to cover
Bucky's. The battered man smiled and said, //"Oh, Bucky, son, my love, my boy.
You must take care of Steven. He is not so clever, yes, and will get in trouble
without your love and protection."//
Stunned, Bucky nodded. "Zawaze, Tata." The boy tried to think of something else
to say, but Tata sighed again, drawing the youth's complete attention.
Tata continued to smile, but his eyes glazed. His hand grew heavy on his son's
arm, and his entire body seemed to sink a little bit against the bedding. Those
beautiful, wide grey eyes remained open, looking at nothing, as they lost their
shine.
Bucky pillowed his face on Tata's arm and cried . . .
. . . and that was how Steve found him almost an hour later.
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, March 5, 1934: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
After Tata's death, Bucky took over almost all responsibilities dealing without
outsiders. He spoke to hospital administrators, church officials, and staff
members of the Daily Eagle. Dark bags, pale skin, and an intense, silent stare
marked the change from almost carefree youth to responsible almost adult. He
kept busy, took control, and let the girls and his mother grieve for their
loss. In fact, Bucky began to work at a near feverish pace, always busy, always
moving.
Only in the night, in Steve's embrace, did the sixteen year old let his tears
out, shaking silently and quietly burrowing into the comfort of his best
friend, who also grieved the loss of a man who had been as near to a father as
the fifteen year old had ever had.
The day of the funeral arrived during a warm spell and the family went through
the long funeral mass. Steve and Sarah Rogers had been asked, by Winifred, to
sit in the family pew with them, and no one seemed surprised when the Rogers
family joined the Barnes family as if a part of the small family. Jerzy
'George' Barnes may have been a devoted family man, avoiding drinking
establishments and other nightly amusements, but he'd had many friends. The
church filled to capacity with friends, colleagues, former co-workers, and an
entire regiment of the 107th Infantry, to which George had been assigned as a
Sergeant during the Great War. As a sign of respect, the former soldier had
been clothed in his dress uniform for burial, and a military color guard stood
ready to honor their fallen comrade.
Finally the pall bearers, Bucky among them, stood and lifted the casket,
carrying it out to the hearse and sliding it carefully home. The funeral
procession made their way to Holy Cross Cemetery where Bucky and the other
bearers carried George's coffin to the graveside and carefully lowered it to
the ground, placing it heavily on the straps arranged by the attendants to ease
lowering it later on.
Shoulder of his Sunday suit still creased from the weight of his father's
casket, Bucky stepped next to his mother and bowed his head. He solemnly
listened to the Holy Father speaking his questionably comforting words of
interment. Steve remained on the other side of his silent friend, listening to
the words and trying not to cry . . . and failing. When the family placed
flowers on the coffin, Winifred placed a deep red rose, Sarah a white rose, the
Barnes girls all placed pink roses and Bucky slid a deep maroon rose onto the
polished wood. Steve stepped forward and added his yellow rose to the group
before stepping back to stand supportively beside Bucky once more.
When the service ended the mourners began to disperse, heading towards their
vehicles or walking on foot, all intent on meeting at the large reception to
share fond memories, good food, and mournful condolences. The family unit,
including Sarah and her son, remained at the graveside, still silently
communing their last thoughts and prayers and even regrets.
Finally, Winifred took her youngest daughter, ten year old Gracie, by the hand
and nodded, silently signaling to the others that it was time to leave. As the
group moved from the graveside, allowing the attendants to begin the final
interment, the family moved slowly, one by one becoming aware of the only other
group nearby.
A dark-skinned man, his wife, and their five children stood beyond where the
circle of Caucasian mourners had been. The youngest was the only girl child and
she had dressed in a pressed, white Sunday dress with her hair in pigtails and
thick black bands encircling her waist and upper arm. When the Barnes and
Rogers families noticed them, the dark-skinned woman lifted her daughter into
her arms and walked over to Winifred. "I am so sorry, Ma'am, for your loss. He
saved my little girl."
Bucky blinked, slowly, feeling as if he woke from a dream. Before anyone else
could speak, the teen asked kindly "Hello, Emmajean, have your cuts healed?"
The girl nodded and her mother put her down then the child stepped carefully
over to the tall boy. In a small voice, with just the bare hint of a remaining
baby lisp, Emmajean said "yes, thank you, sir." Bucky knelt and the little girl
held out a flower to him, carefully grasped all that time in order not to crush
it. She offered the flower, a simple white daisy, again. "This is for your papa
in Heaven."
A small sob came from Winifred, but she smiled at the girl's efforts, not
frowned.
Bucky nodded, stood without touching the flower, and grasped the little girl's
hand carefully. He led her back to the graveside, where the third family had
not approach, and the attendants ceased their work, watching intently. Gently
the teen nodded to the small child, saying, "you may give it to him, Emmajean.
His name is Jerzy. That's Polish for George."
The tiny girl nodded and walked to the partially filled hole yawning in the
ground, unafraid. She dropped the daisy as far over the edge as she could
reach, so it landed on the one remaining blossom that had yet to be covered by
dirt: Steve's yellow rose. "Thank you for my life, Mister Jerzy. You're with
the rest of the angels now."
With that the little girl turned, Bucky took her hand, and the pair walked back
to their three families. Before he let Emmajean's hand go, Bucky knelt by her.
He took off his father's chain and cross he wore around his neck and gently
placed it around the girl's. "He will always protect you now, Emmajean." She
kissed his cheek and not one person remarked on the oddity of a black child
kissing a white teen.
The rest of the day passed, once more, in a haze for Bucky, and he merely went
through the motions of eating, only a small bit, responding to mourners, in a
soft voice, and continually seeing to his family's needs. The hours seemed
uncertain how long they should run, first dragging by then racing at a dizzying
speed then dragging once more, until finally night fell.
Everyone else had long gone, and Winifred turned to the red-eyed, tear-streaked
Steve. "Take him to bed, Szczepan. You both need rest."
Steve obeyed and took Bucky's arm, leading him, exhausted and emotionally
drained, into the small bedroom, latching the door behind them.
Bucky stripped, still walking in a daze, hung up his Sunday suit, then crawled,
completely nude, under the thick winter quilt and blankets. When Steve climbed
in with him, worried about his friend's unnatural quiet, Bucky suddenly turned
and curled around Steve. Their bodies pressed flush, skin to skin, and Bucky
buried his face into Steve's shoulder and began to cry. The older boy's sobs
came quietly, racking his body, the shaking almost the only indicator that
Bucky had finally broken down.
Ten long minutes passed before, once again, Steve felt Bucky's body relax into
a fitful sleep, as had happened every night since the Friday of Tata's death.
The blond stroked his friend's soft brown hair and sighed, thankful to have
pretty much cried himself out at the funeral and reception. Slowly, listening
to the stuttering hitch shading Buckys sleeping breath, Steve drifted off to
sleep, still pressed securely against his best friend's body.
Two hours later, the entire house awoke to the sound of gut wrenching screams
ripping chills down the spine.
Steve shook the thrashing Bucky awake, every scream tearing from his best
friend's throat sending another soul rending jolt of worry through the smaller
teen. As Bucky came awake, he shook so hard, he seemed to be convulsing. He
clamped his arms around Steve and let out a long shuddering wail then began
crying all over again. The blond had never seen his friend go through such a
nightmarish reaction before.
The door flew open and Sarah ran in, carrying her purse and a large glass of
water. Winifred held the trembling, whimpering Gracie in her arms, while Becca
and Rosie tried to see around their mother. Becca's voice sounded stunned as
she said "that's Jimmy? I thought it was Steve!" Winifred pulled the door shut,
thankfully lending privacy to Sarah and the boys.
Mrs. Rogers sat on the foot of the bed, letting her son pet Bucky's hair and
speak desperate nonsense to him. Quietly, she instructed "Leanbh, try to get
the worry and fear out of your voice. He's picking up on your distress and he
needs to feel calm, safe, which he is." She offered her son a tired smile.
Obeying his mother's instruction, Steve pushed his worry down deep and
concentrated on trying to communicate love and safety to his friend, though
Bucky seemed not to hear the words so lost in the aftermath of his horrible
dream. It took almost half an hour before Bucky seemed to come to his senses,
blinking at Steve with eyes dilated in lingering fear and grief.
Sarah nodded and handed the water glass to Steve, no longer clear but an odd
greyish color. The fifteen year old looked at his mother, knowing she had
slipped some kind of medicine into the water. She nodded her acceptance of her
son's awareness. "Get him to drink it all, Leanbh. He needs the sleep without
dreaming."
Nodding, Steve coaxed his best friend to drink the treated water and, without
protest, a very exhausted Bucky obeyed instantly.
xxx
Setting: AU: Saturday, March 10, 1934: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Sarah kept Steve out of school all week as Bucky, plagued by regular
nightmares, remained in a near constant state of nightly dosing and daily fits
of frantic work. The taller boy seemed withdrawn, unsmiling, yet he cleaned and
studied almost obsessively.
When Steve asked him why, Bucky shrugged and in his perfectly normal tone
answered, "Gotta keep busy, Stevie." Bucky lost weight; Steve had noticed his
friend didn't eat much and what the older boy managed to consume seemed to come
back up within the hour.
At night, Bucky screamed and clung to Steve so much that he'd left marks where
his nails had raked Steve's pale flesh. Thus, Sarah continued to give the older
boy the narcotics she'd managed to get her supervisor to provide her. Sarah had
explained to Steve on the second night that the medicine had actually been
intended for Gracie, but the little girl didn't seem to need it; she seemed
sad, but the funeral had apparently calmed her down.
Now it wasn't for Gracie that the Rogers family remained living with the Barnes
family: it was for the oddly behaving Bucky.
Thus, shortly before lunch on the tenth of March, Sarah pulled Steve aside
while Bucky used the bathroom. "Leanbh, Winifred and I agree that if Seamus
doesn't start recovering from his daytime mania and night terrors," she paused
and took a deep breath.
Steve leaned forward intently, sensing that the news would not be good. "What,
Momma?"
With a sigh, Sarah said softly "He'll need to be institutionalized, Leanbh, so
doctors can help him."
"No!" Steve glared at his mother. "Bucky's not crazy!"
The nurse grabbed her fifteen year old son by the arms and shook her head. "Not
yet, Leanbh, but he could slip into madness if we can't break this cycle."
"But . . . how can we stop it?" Steve practically wailed in despair. ‘Bucky in
a mad house?’ "He's not crazy," Steve insisted again.
Sarah wrapped her arms around her son. "I know, Leanbh, I know. We've got an
idea we're going to try at lunch." She sighed. "We think it might break him
from his confusion." Lifting Steve's face, Sarah said carefully, "we think it's
because he actually saw his father's accident and then saw him die. That's a
lot of . . ." the nurse seemed to search for a word then settled on "mental
trauma for anyone to deal with."
Slowly, Steve nodded. He turned as Bucky came out of the bathroom, studying the
leaner frame of his best friend. The blond suddenly realized why the woman were
so worried: it wasn't just Bucky's obsessive need to keep busy or the
nightmares. The most troublesome problem had to be Bucky's inability to eat or
keep much down; the normally athletic brunet was slowly starving to death.
Grasping Bucky's hand, much to the slow surprise of the older boy, Steve pulled
his friend into the boy's bedroom and shut the door.
"Whatcha need, Steve?" Bucky asked curiously. His body felt a sort of numbness,
had been since the . . . Friday before. If he didn't constantly move, Bucky
feared that numb feeling would take over and he would collapse in tears, unable
to move or even think. His mind felt dull and he always felt so 'out of
things.' He hoped whatever Steve needed would help keep the lethargy at bay.
Thus the older boy felt shock course through his sluggish body when Steve
wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck and pulled him into a searing kiss.
"I'm worried about ya', Buck," Steve whimpered into Bucky's answering kiss.
"You're not eating an' you can't sleep an' you're tryin' ta work yourself to
death!" The small blond burrowed his face into Bucky's neck, stretching up on
his toes to do so.
Bucky slid his arms around Steve and pressed the other teen close, burying his
face in the smaller boy's hair and breathing deeply. "Don't cry, Stevie. I'm
okay," he tried to reassure his friend but it had little effect. Wanting to
soothe the distress Steve seemed to give off in waves, Bucky scooped up the
blond into his arms and carried him to the bed, sitting down with Steve firmly
in his lap.
The blond turned and slid a leg to either side of Bucky's lean hips, pushing up
close so that their clothed crotches seemed to mesh. "I don't wanna lose ya',
Buck, but you aren't okay. And I don't know how ta make ya’ better!" Steve
whimpered again, feeling almost helpless in the face of the brunet's grief
response and Sarah's worried threat.
As Steve renewed his desperate kisses, Bucky's dull senses seemed to be waking
up. The numbness started to fade in favor of rising fear for the smaller teen's
well being. "Hey," Bucky said between Steve's frantic kisses, "Hey, Stevie . .
. Cariad, calm down. You're starting to scare me."
As Steve sealed his mouth over Bucky's in another desperate, lingering kiss,
the bedroom door opened. The boys sprang apart, looking towards the door, and
Winifred, who merely stood, a shocked look on her pretty, worn features,
studied the flushing teens then cleared her throat. "Lunch time," she said,
softly, and she left, shutting the door once more.
With a sigh, Bucky stood, helping Steve up from where he lay sprawled on the
bed after leaping from Bucky's lap. "Sorry, Stevie. I think we finally got
caught," he whispered, eyes worried. The blond nodded silently in agreement.
Glumly dreading what their mothers would say now that they'd been caught doing
'queer' things, both teens walked into the dining area of the kitchen.
Neither woman reacted as if anything had occurred. Rather, Winifred placed a
gentle hand on Steve's shoulder and offered a small smile, while Sarah guided
Bucky to his traditional seat at the table. A steak dinner sat ready before
them . . . the same beef the boys had picked up almost two weeks prior. Bucky
swallowed a painful lump as Gracie crawled onto his lap.
"Happy birthday, Bucky," she said and hugged him.
The seventeen year old hugged her back and offered a small smile. "Thank you,
fy ngwdadwriaeth."
Winifred nodded, letting the brother and sister stay as they were, serving each
of the children then Sarah before taking her own food. The meal went by quickly
as Gracie filled in all awkward silences with happy chatter about a bird she
saw that morning. she repeated the same story three times, but nobody stopped
her. The sweet sounds and happy girlish giggles were reasons enough to ignore
the repetitive nature of the telling; the group needed some lightness after the
past two weeks.
With Bucky’s last bite of the wonderful lunch he could barely enjoy: he ate
sparingly, afraid it would come up again shortly, Gracie suddenly slipped off
her brother’s lap and ran into her mother’s bedroom. Sarah got up to clear the
table, settling a hand on first Steve’s shoulder then Bucky’s to prevent either
boy from rising from the table to help. Bucky looked over at his best friend,
worried, wondering when the women would pin them for a discussion about their
unacceptable behavior. The blond returned his worried glance.
At the sound of Gracie unaccountably stumbling from the other room, Winifred
stood and blocked Bucky’s sight of his youngest sister. Her voice carried to
the group at the table. “Tata can’t come down from Heaven to give you a gift,
Bucky,” she struggled into the dining area, whatever she carried causing her
difficulty as she finished, “so Mam said I could give you the gift this year.”
Finally, the girl made it around the barrier of her mother. The little girl
carried a rather large German Shepard puppy.
She toppled the puppy into Bucky’s lap, who caught the dog before it could
tumble to the ground and get hurt. Stunned, Bucky stroked the puppy’s silken
fur, staring wide-eyed at his family. A quick glance at Steve’s shocked face
let the seventeen year old know that his friend had not been in on the present.
The puppy nuzzled the boy’s hand and he lifted confused grey-blue eyes to his
mother, who looked excited and hopeful; Bucky was instantly sure that the gift
had been his mother’s idea rather than a last present from his father. The
youth also knew exactly what his mother had hoped for when she gave him a dog:
she wanted to break him out of his grief, his numbness.
His mother needn’t have worried, Bucky knew. The interminable confusion and
depression broke the instant Steve began to kiss him, trembling in his lap,
begging him to get better.
***** Stress Relief *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: June 13 and June 14, 1935: Brooklyn, New York, United
     States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
     leanbh - baby - Irish Gaelic
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     no parar - don't stop - Spanish
     tak - yes - Polish
     .
     Thank you Kashana for spotting the Spanish mistake. We appreciate
     your vigilience in helping make our story better.
     .
Setting: AU: Thursday. June 13, 1935: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Graduation held a bittersweet tang for Bucky. With Tata’s death just over a
year before, the eighteen year old man keenly felt the loss at sometimes the
oddest moments; though, the big events or holidays, like Gracie’s confirmation
over the last winter, or this high school graduation, were times the loss of
the patriarch of the Barnes family struck the saddest chord. Clearing his
throat, the newly graduated adult merely went through the motions as friends
and strangers congratulated him on the accomplishment, shaking hands, making
comments, and generally trying to look happy and appreciative of all the well
wishes.
When finally the event ended and Bucky found himself standing beside his best
friend Steve, Bucky let out a long, deeply held breath and allowed himself to
slump. His family had agreed to let him spend the night over at the Rogers’s
apartment to calm his nerves and get prepared for a job interview the next
afternoon. With the death of Tata, all the attention of Bucky’s little sisters
had firmly swung to their big brother in times of need for masculine guidance.
It sometimes overwhelmed him. At least when his Mam had caught him kissing
Steve last year, she pretended nothing happened . . . and life had fallen back
into a normal routine; Bucky and Steve were extra careful that no one else was
around when they pleasured one another.
Taking in the brunet’s haggard appearance, Steve placed his hand on Bucky’s
shoulder and asked in a quiet voice, “You alright, Buck?”
Blinking, the taller man turned to look at his sixteen year old best friend. He
offered a smile, knowing it appeared more nervous and tired than encouraging.
“I will be. It’s just this interview . . . I’ve held that job around the docks
and warehouses, cleaning and stuff, but this one means more, ya know? I mean,
this guy wants to hire me to fix cars . . . an adult job.”
Nodding understandingly, Steve suggested, “How about Momma and I help you get
ready? We can pretend that we’re him and ask ya’ questions that he might ask
you tomorrow. Maybe it’ll calm your nerves a bit?”
A smile stretched over Bucky’s lean, handsome features, actually reaching his
eyes. “And I thought I was stayin’ the night just to avoid the girls pestering
me with their excited questions and Gracie’s dog from trying to whine her
distracting way into treats and cuddles.” After his seventeenth birthday party,
Gracie had actually claimed his puppy for herself, and no one, least of all
Bucky, had protested the claim.
Bucky draped his arm easily over Steve’s thin, bony shoulder, a guy out with
his best friend. “I’d really appreciate the help, actually, Steve. I feel like
I’m going to say the wrong thing and blow it . . . and we need the better money
from this.” He took a breath and began guiding Steve through the thinning crowd
from the venue the graduation had been held in. “I mean, how many eighteen year
olds get a shot at a real, full time job in these days?”
“I’m sure ya’ will do great no matter what, Bucky. But I’m sure Momma will be
excited to help. I know I will be. Might get ta’ boss ya’ around a bit,” Steve
joked, poking his best friend in the side playfully.
“You can boss me anytime ya want, punk.” Bucky grinned at him, his tension
easing the more he spent one on one time with his best friend. “Let’s get back
to your place and get some chow, though. I’m starved.”
The blond scrunched up his nose in confusion, “Starved? How can you be hungry?”
With a small chuckle, Bucky looked down at Steve. “Well, I was so nervous about
today and tomorrow, and the girls didn’t let me sleep much . . . I skipped
breakfast.” He let his voice drop to a more sheepish whisper, “I kind of felt
like I’d vomit, ya know?”
Knowing the feeling all too well, Steve nodded again, “I get it, but ya’ really
shouldn’t skip meals, Buck. Plus, breakfast can start your day off in a good
mood!”
The brunet stopped walking, flushing slightly as he leaned close to Steve’s
ear, not wanting anyone else to hear his words. “I get sick after eating
sometimes if I’m too tense. Now,” he sighed, eyes worried, “I just don’t eat if
I’m getting nervous.”
Steve looked up at the brunet and nodded once, dropping the subject. The blond
couldn’t blame his friend for feeling nervous, and if that made him feel sick,
well he couldn’t blame him for not wanting to eat with a queasy stomach, as
long as he didn’t keep skipping meals like he had right after his father died.
“Well then, let’s get ya’ home. I’m sure Momma is making something good for
dinner.”
Bucky’s stomach audible rumbled and the taller man laughed, nodding
enthusiastically. “Yeah. I could use food.” He offered his friend a grin and
began walking a bit faster, not too fast for his smaller friend but enough to
display his desire for Sarah’s cooking. It didn’t take long to get to the old
tenement.
Reaching over, Bucky turned the doorknob to the building and dropped his other
arm from Steve’s shoulders. “Here we are . . .” he grinned, referring to his
own home as he added, “end of the line, Stevie.”
Playfully shoving Bucky as he stepped inside the building, the blond chuckled,
“You’re a jerk, ya know that?”
“Me?” Bucky lay his left hand over his chest and blinked almost innocently at
the blond. “How am I a jerk for walking ya home, ya punk?” His blue-grey eyes
danced in mischief and laughter.
“Don’t live in the front hall, ya’ jerk.” Steve laughed and continued walking
up the steps to get to get to his apartment.
Bucky threw his head back on a rolling laugh. Steve always had a way of calming
him down, grounding him. He trotted up the steps behind the smaller teen.
“Okay, I guess you caught me.” The brunet slipped in front of Steve easily,
since he could go faster than the asthmatic with the heart condition.
Once Steve got to the proper floor, he found Bucky already standing in front of
the correct apartment, a big grin on his face.
“It ain’t a race, Buck.” Steve huffed, slightly out of breath from climbing all
those stairs, “And ya’ could’ve just walked in. Momma wouldn’t have minded.”
Grin widening, Bucky asked “Why do you think everyone else is competing, punk?”
Bucky opened the door, calling out “Sarah? I’m . . . oh!” He stopped in the
doorway, eyes widening at the sight of the homemade decorations stringing the
small room. A banner, hand decorated by Steve, hung slightly crooked across the
far wall, reading 'Congratulations, Valedictorian!'
Sarah turned and smiled, apparently having just finished icing a small
chocolate cake. “Seamus! Come in. Don’t just stand in the hall, leanbh.”
“Sorry, Momma.” Steve grinned, having caught his breath he gently pushed the
brunet further into the room, closing the door behind him, “C’mon, Buck, the
decorations ain’t that bad.” His tone sounded light, but inside he worried that
his friend didn’t like the banner he had spent hours designing.
Bucky walked in, looking at the meager offerings, feeling as if Macy’s had
thrown open their store at Christmas and offered him free pick. He slowly
looked around at all the effort and love the small family had put into this
surprise party. Finally, he stopped and looked at Steve, eyes huge and
overflowing with the love he really never spoke out loud unless they cuddled
privately in bed. “It’s great, Steve! Sarah,” he added as an embarrassed
afterthought.
Steve felt his cheeks flush and he shrugged, “Ain’t nothing special. Just
thought I’d surprise you. I really am proud of you.”
“We both are, Seamus,” Sarah added with a smile, giving Bucky a light hug and a
soft kiss on the cheek. When his stomach growled again, the gentle woman pulled
back and looked surprised. “James Buchanan Barnes, did you skip lunch again?”
Her tone, still soft, turned firm like it did when correcting them for
something stupid.
“And breakfast!” Steve added, “He’s famished!”
Flushing, Bucky hung his head. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, embarrassed. He knew his
own Mam must have discussed the continuing habit with Sarah, probably because
she worked as a nurse and Mam had been worried.
Rolling her eyes, Sarah let Bucky go completely and turned back to the stove.
“Well, you boys wash up then set the table. We better get you fed.” Her voice
sounded fondly exasperated, so apparently, his habit didn’t over-worry her at
the moment.
“Yes, Momma.” Steve grinned and tugged at Bucky’s shirt, dragging him in the
direction of the washroom.
Bucky willingly let Steve guide him as he offered a sheepish glance at the
blond. They were shortly ready and sitting down with Sarah to a warm dinner and
celebratory cake.
Once the meal had been consumed, Sarah cleared the table then sat back with the
boys. “Do you have plans tonight, leanbh? Seamus?”
Steve’s eyes widened slightly and his body perked up, “Oh! Yeah, Momma, Bucky
was wondering if we could help him get ready for his big interview tomorrow.
He’s real nervous.”
Blue-grey eyes wide, Bucky turned his attention to Sarah, hopefully, nerves
flaring again. He felt his stomach start to turn over, but firmly tried to
fight it since he certainly didn’t want to get sick and lose that wonderful
meal. “Steve thought you both could pretend to interview me? I’m going to . . .
well, he’s thinking on hiring me to work on cars . . .”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. It helps to think out what you
want to say.” She smiled proudly at her son, light blue eyes dancing. “So,
Seamus, why don’t you go into the other room then come in as if you’re arriving
for your interview.”
The brunet rose, glancing at Steve, eyes widening. “Um . . .”
Steve gave Bucky a supportive nod of his head and smiled, “Go on, Bucky. We
promise we’ll be nice.”
With a deep breath, Bucky nodded and walked into the living room section of the
wide open yet tiny apartment. Straightening his dress shirt, he froze. “Oh no!
I forgot my other clothes for the interview!”
Sarah offered her son a gentle smile. “I’ll rescue our boy,” she assured him
and whisked Bucky into Steve’s bedroom. Soon the pair emerged, Sarah with the
sunday clothes Bucky had worn for graduation, and Bucky in the old borrowed
work clothes that had belonged to Joseph Rogers. Steve’s mother said, “I’ll
wash these now as you two start practicing, but don’t worry. I’ll call out
questions as I think of them, too. These should dry overnight in this June heat
and you’ll have them for tomorrow.” With that, Sarah pulled out her scrub tub
and got to work.
Nodding, Bucky went back to the living room area and slowly walked to the
kitchen and dining half of the open room. Without knowing what else to do, he
raised his hand and said “Knock knock.”
Steve, trying his hardest to keep a serious tone and not laugh, stood up
straight and said, “Ah! Yes, come in my boy.”
Bucky lost it. He bent double and began laughing, holding his abdomen as tears
came to his eyes. “My boy? God, Steve, you saying that is just too funny.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, Seamus,” Sarah firmly corrected.
Flushing, Bucky nodded and straightened, but his eyes danced any way. Clearing
his throat, trying to get back under control, he said, “Sir, thank you for
seeing me.” He held his hand out to Steve and offered a sunny smile. “James
Barnes, Sir.”
The blond took his friend’s hand and shook it as firmly as he could. “Pleasure
to meet you, James.”
“Da . . . ng,” Bucky gasped, glancing over at Sarah as he changed his swear. He
looked back to Steve. “Don’t haveta cripple me, Steve!”
“Are we or are we not practicing your interview,” Steve quirked a brow, his
face staying passive. “Stop interrupting, we’ll never get to actually practice
questions at this rate.”
Smiling briefly, Bucky nodded then cleared his features once more. “Thank you,
sir. The pleasure is mine.” He frowned. “Wait, does that sound right? I mean,
isn’t that what you say to a . . . woman? Do you say that to a man, too?”
From the laundry basin, Sarah called out. “Just reply, ‘Thank you, Sir, for
this opportunity.’ And let him guide you to a chair.”
“Oh,” Bucky said then turned to Steve. “Okay, again, please?” He had forgotten
his hand still in Steve’s and suddenly he dropped the cold, slender fingers.
“Should I come in again or . . .”
Steve motioned to the living room with a tilt of his chin, “Yeah, let’s start
from the top. No interrupting this time.”
The brunet nodded and headed back into the living room section. He turned and
walked to the imaginary divider, raised his hand, and said “knock knock,” but
his voice had become subdued. His nerves had grown with the attempt to keep
serious.
“Ah! Yes, please come in.” Steve stated, dropping the ‘my boy’ because he
didn’t want to send Bucky back into a fit of giggles.
“Thank you, sir, for seeing me.” Bucky stepped into the kitchen.
Steve quirked an eyebrow and whispered, “And who are you?”
Bucky immediately flushed beet red and stammered, “Uh, sorry, I forgot. Uh . .
.” He cleared his throat, tugged his shirt straight in nervous habit, and
nodded, stepping back to the other ‘room’. With a nod, he smiled and stepped
into the kitchen, holding out his hand. “Thank you for seeing me, sir. I’m
James Barnes.”
Shaking the brunet’s hand, not quite as hard as the first time, Steve replied,
“Pleasure to meet you, James.”
With a smiling nod, Bucky said. “Thank you, sir.” He looked towards Sarah then
sighed and looked back at Steve. “I already said thanks for the opportunity,
didn’t I? Before I said my name?” He looked thoughtful . . . Bucky was not a
stupid man. “Okay, so if that happens I’ll reply ‘Thank you, Sir.’ and just
leave it at that.”
“If you do happen to repeat yourself, just go with it . . .” Steve began.
Sarah cleared her throat to interrupt her son. “Ask him to sit, Steve.” For the
first time, she used her son’s name, not calling him ‘baby’ in her native
language. Maybe seeing him in this adult interview situation had made her
realize her baby was actually growing up.
“Right,” Steve nodded, and changed his tone back to serious, “Please, James.
Have a seat.”
Bucky didn’t comment about their side-bar remarks, instead going with it, as
Steve had suggested. He continued to smile and sank onto a chair. “Thank you,
sir.”
The blond sat down across from his friend and folded his arms on the table,
“So, James. Tell me why I should hire you as my mechanic? You have any previous
experience?”
Blinking once, the question having startled him, Bucky leaned forward slightly
and nodded. “I’m a hard worker and take direction well. I love to fix things
and cars fascinate me. I want to do my best for you, so your customers are
happy and keep recommending you.” He stopped. “Is that too overboard, Steve?
Not enough?”
“No, that’s good, Bucky.” Steve smiled, before switching back over, “But have
you ever worked in a garage before?”
With one firm shake of his head, Bucky answered “Not for pay, sir, but I was
top in a class of one hundred seventeen in school, and took mechanics and
industrial wiring for all four years.”
With an impressed nod of his head, Steve continued, “You have worked for pay
before, yes?”
“Yes, sir, as a janitor for several businesses and warehouses on the docks. It
was part time work after school.” Bucky leaned back from the table a bit, since
he had been sitting in that forward leaning pose the entire time so far.
“And what do you see as your greatest strengths?” Steve asked.
Smiling, Bucky said “I like people and they seem to feel relaxed around me. I
also speak eight languages . . .” Bucky frowned and flushed. “Maybe I shouldn’t
say that bit. It’s not like cars talk.”
“No,” Steve shook his head, “It’s a great asset. You’d be able to help a lot of
customers.”
Sitting back on her heels, eyes widening, Sarah asked breathlessly, “Eight?
Fluently or just a bit here and there, Seamus?”
Bucky shrugged. “Fluently. I’m hoping to find someone to teach me Italian or
Portuguese or maybe Russian.” Tilting his head, Bucky asked “Or would it be
nine if I included English?”
Mrs. Rogers looked like she didn’t know how to answer that. Clearing her throat
she asked, “And, James, what do you see as your greatest weaknesses?”
Slowly, the brunet’s blue-grey eyes widened with on setting panic. “Weak . . .
nesses?” He’d never thought of that question and, all his own problems flashing
through his head, he didn’t want to mention any of them. He needed this job,
but to admit to something wrong . . . wouldn’t that make the guy just refuse?
Finally, slowly looking from Sarah to Steve, he whispered, “Will he really ask
that? He wants me to tell him why he shouldn’t hire me?”
Sarah rose to her feet, drying her soapy hands on her apron. She walked over
and sat at the table. “Seamus, he wants to make sure you are aware of your own
faults and that you want to work on improving. After telling him one or two,
you assure him honestly that you are working on improving.”
“Oh,” Bucky said, almost inaudibly. He lay his left hand over his abdomen,
worry in his eyes.
“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve said softly, “Just say something you are comfortable
with, something that can be a negative and a positive at the same time.”
Blurting the first thing to come to mind, Bucky said “I care about people a lot
and want to make sure they’re satisfied with the work I do? If they aren’t
happy, it bothers me and makes me want to work harder?”
“Good, Buck. Just like that.” Steve reassured, “That way even your negative
fault can be turned into a positive asset.”
Standing, Sarah moved back to the clothes she was washing and rinsed them once
more before putting them through her clothes wringer. “I’ll hang these up. You
boys go to bed. I think that’s enough tonight.”
Drawing a shaking breath, Bucky ran his hand through his dark hair. “Oh . . .
okay.” He sat, feeling as if he’d been through that graduation ceremony all
over again. Sarah was correct: he felt drained and in need of sleep.
Steve stood up and walked over to his best friend. “C’mon, Buck. Let’s getcha
in bed.” He gently pulled on Bucky’s sleeve. The brunet, mindlessly, stood up
and followed Steve down the hall and into the blond’s small bedroom.
Bucky stripped down, placing the borrowed clothes and his own underclothing in
a neat pile on Steve’s chair. Nude, he turned to Steve, eyes wide and worried,
as he replayed all of his own faults in his mind, trying to decide which one
would be his best positive fault so he didn’t lose out on this job. He needed
it to support his family; his Mam worked so very hard as it was.
“Buck?” Steve called out, his tone soft and concerned, “You alright?”
The brunet turned his head and blinked at Steve, his worry hard to disguise in
his expressive eyes. “Yeah?” He climbed into the small bed. “I think I need a
hug . . . or a kiss,” he ended on a whisper.
Steve crossed the room in three of his tiny strides and hugged Bucky tightly,
kissing the brunet’s chest gently. “It’ll be okay, Bucky. Everything will work
out.”
Bucky leaned into the kiss, kneeling on the mattress to reach Steve’s mouth as
he stood beside the bed. Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “hold me? Please?”
The small blond sank into the mattress and patted the empty spot next to him,
“C’mere, Buck.”
Turning to his best friend, Bucky sidled closer and into Steve’s arms. With a
near sob, he sealed his mouth over the other teen’s and hugged him close.
“Still dressed, Stevie,” Bucky broke the kiss to breath into Steve’s mouth.
The smaller boy smirked, leaning in to whisper in Bucky’s ear, “Well, we oughta
fix that.”
Bucky nodded and started unbuttoning Steve’s shirt, trailing kisses over his
cheek and to his ear. Sucking in Steve’s lobe gently, Bucky whimpered, “I need
cuddles.”
The blond quickly stripped of the rest of his clothing and kissed Bucky’s lips
gently. “Don’t worry, Buck. I got you.” Steve murmured, trailing kisses on the
brunet’s neck.
With a nod, Bucky pulled Steve down onto the bed, wrapped the smaller teen in
strong arms, and sighed, face buried in Steve’s neck. Shortly, the blond could
hear Bucky’s soft breathing as he tumbled gently into sleep. Steve followed
with a smile of relief, certain Bucky would get the job and things would be
well.
xxx
Setting: AU: Friday. June 14, 1935: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Waiting for the dress clothes to finish drying, Bucky got more nervous as time
crept closer to his appointment. He sat, once more in Mr. Rogers’s old
clothing, on Steve’s bed, flipping idly through the first sketchbook he’d made
for Steve years ago. With a small smile, he came across the nude portrait of
himself at fifteen. With a shake of his head, he put the book, closed, aside
and began to worry again. He dreaded the question about his weaknesses, having
not yet determined which one he could use best.
Steve, having waited until his Momma left for work, made his way back to his
bedroom. He quietly opened the door, unaware if the brunet slept, and saw a
very anxious looking Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed. Softly closing the
door behind him, he said, “Hey, Buck. I know what you need.”
Bucky raised his eyes, wide and desperate, and tilted his head a bit. He shook
his head as if comprehension might be beyond him. “Steve?” His voice came out
low and raspy.
The smaller boy made his way over to where Bucky sat and kneeled down in
between the brunet’s legs. He peered up at his best friend through his long
lashes and gave him a wicked smile. With expert fingers Steve quickly untied
Bucky’s pants and pulled out his already hardening member. Steve licked the
underside of the brunet’s shaft, right along the vein, making the older man’s
hardness twitch, and then flicked his tongue over the slit, which already
leaked precum.
With a low groan, Bucky let his head fall back, hands clenching on Steve’s
shoulders. “God, Stevie! Please . . .” he begged before falling into broken
English. “Cariad, no parar.”
Steve wrapped his lips around the head before slowly moving up the shaft,
bobbing his head as he went. Once he felt Bucky’s tip almost hit the back of
his throat, he hollowed out his cheeks and starting making low humming noises.
Deciding that he could go further, Steve gripped Bucky’s hips and pushed the
brunet further down his throat. Ignoring his body’s natural urge to gag, Steve
managed to get his best friend’s shaft all the way into his mouth, the head
pushing into the blond’s throat.
With a small yelp, Bucky nearly jumped off the bed, but managed to keep mostly
still, his hips bucking slightly before he caught himself. He wrapped his left
hand into Steve’s hair and tugged very slightly, eyes watching Steve intently,
glazed slightly. “Cariad . . . God . . . tak . . .”
The blond only sucked harder at the praise. Wanting to do everything in his
power to help the brunet relax. Steve made another round of low humming noises
from the back of his throat, causing Bucky to thrust his hips up hard, his
member shunting all the way into Steve's glorious mouth . . . to the root.
Panting, Bucky called “Stevie . . . cumming . . .” and he tugged almost gently
at Steve’s head so the blond could pull off.
Steve only latched on tighter to his friend’s hips, not wanting to pull away.
He continued making the humming noises that the brunet seemed to like.
His member thickening, balls pulling taut, Bucky thrust again and came,
throwing his head back and arching his back almost painfully. He didn’t make
any loud sounds, but his babble had filled with foreign words of love mixed
with nearly every dirty sexual word the brunet knew in his nine languages.
Thick hot jets of seed pumped into Steve’s willing throat. Bucky whited out for
a moment, his mind going blank with the explosive orgasm, before blinking back
into satiated awareness.
Steve sucked on Bucky’s member, swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh
as he cleaned his best friend, the brunet continuing to gently thrust into his
mouth. After a few more moments, Steve slowly slid his mouth off of the spongy
head of Bucky’s manhood, strings of saliva pulling tight then snapping as the
blond backed away slightly.
Once Steve finished cleaning the nearly limp brunet, Bucky shook himself
slightly. A wicked grin crossed his face and he tugged Steve to his feet. “My
turn,” he growled low and quickly unfastened the blond’s pants and drawers,
letting the material fall to the floor, unheeded. Shifting his eyes to stare at
Steve’s beautifully erect member, Bucky groaned softly. “All mine,” he purred,
and pulled Steve up onto his lap. Bending his head down to meet Steve’s lips,
Bucky slipped his tongue inside, tasting himself in the other teen’s hot mouth.
Fumbling at Steve’s bedside table, Bucky managed to pull out the jar of
lubricant prescribed by the fertility doctor. Without breaking the kiss, Bucky
one-handed uncapped the jar and dipped his fingers inside the lube. With his
right arm, Bucky pulled Steve close, his friend’s erection neatly sliding over
his own flaccid member, which actually jerked in over-sensitized reaction.
Bucky’s eyes nearly rolled back but he forced himself into control. He intended
to give Steve as much pleasure as the other teen had given him.
Reaching down his left hand, Bucky stroked his lubed fingers over Steve’s
erection, kissing deeply and using his tongue to imitate his rhythm. Letting go
of Steve’s hip, Bucky moved his right hand to wrap fully around Steve’s member
then slid his left hand back over the blond’s side and to his puckered opening
behind. “You want this, Cariad?”
“Yes,” Steve breathed as he arched his body to press into Bucky’s hand, “God .
. . yes, Buck. Please.”
With a lustful smile, right against Steve’s lips, Bucky nodded a little. “Okay,
Cariad, hold on tight.” And he carefully slid his left index finger into Steve
in one practiced gesture, sliding all the way to his palm and cupping his
friend’s hot ass. After a mere breath, Bucky began to thrust his finger in and
out of Steve’s passage, mimicking his hand strokes on Steve’s thick member,
brushing the blond’s prostate with every other well aimed stroke.
Throwing his head back and letting his eyes flutter close in pure ecstasy,
Steve groaned, “Buck . . . Buck . . . You’re perfect, God . . . Buck.”
Groaning softly at each subtle movement from Steve’s writhing body, Bucky
finally stopped his stroking and thrusting. “Hold on, Cariad, we’re moving,” he
breathed into the other teen’s mouth. Without removing his deeply embedded
finger, Bucky used his right hand to slide them backwards on the bed, so he lay
fully spread out below Steve. Once lying down, Bucky again wrapped his
calloused hand around his best friend’s hot member and stroked, his finger
taking up the erotic dance inside Steve once more.
“Buck . . . Bucky, I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna . . .” Steve muttered, unable to
form words due to the overwhelming pleasure his body felt.
Understanding his friend’s broken pleas, Bucky pulled his mouth away long
enough to moan, “Cum in my mouth, Cariad. I wanna taste you.”
Looking down at the brunet with hooded eyes, Steve knelt over Bucky and pressed
the tip of his member to the older man’s lips. The brunet opened his mouth
willingly, almost hungrily, and welcomed the intrusion. Slowly, Bucky eased a
second lubed finger into Steve’s tight passage, grinning around Steve’s shaft
as the blond loudly groaned his pleasure.
The wet heat of Bucky’s mouth pushed Steve over the edge. Frantically, the
blond bucked his hips, his member thrusting deeper into the brunet’s mouth.
Bucky purred in his throat, and Steve, unable to give any warning, came hard
and fast into the other teen’s mouth, biting down hard on his own arm as he
tried to muffle his screams of ecstasy. Bucky greedily sucked down every hot
spurt of his best friend’s cum, using his clever tongue to clean around Steve’s
member and under his foreskin.
Finally, Bucky eased his fingers out of Steve’s ass and pulled off his friend’s
shaft with a near obscene noise. Eyes dark, pupils blown wide, Bucky stretched
under the languid weight of the other teen and grinned in satisfaction. He
tugged Steve down, once more sealing their lips in a kiss of deep need, rolling
their flavors back and forth over their tongues. Pulling away a breath, Bucky
whispered, “you’re gonna scar that arm one of these days, Cariad.” He chuckled
at Steve’s blissful sigh.
“You had me actually finish in your mouth, Buck. Not just cleanin’ me
afterwards, like last time.” Steve grinned, finally figuring out how to talk
coherently again.
Smiling softly, Bucky stroked Steve’s hair then down his neck and shoulder.
“Well, you seemed to like it so much, I thought I’d try it out. Not bad. I
didn’t mind it after all,” he admitted to the blond.
“You feelin’ better, Buck?” The blond asked, “Not so nervous?”
“God, yes, Stevie!” Bucky growled playfully, too satiated to feel nervous over
his coming interview. “You really do know how to relax me, Cariad.” He sighed
and lightly slapped Steve’s buttock. “I gotta get dressed, though, so let me
up?”
Steve nodded and laughed, flopping down on the bed beside his best friend. The
other boy patted the blond’s abdomen in light affection then rose and walked,
nude, from the bedroom in order to prepare.
Quickly, Bucky washed up and changed into his finally dry interview suit. He
stepped back into Steve’s room. Tying his tie with quick, clever fingers, Bucky
walked over to the bed and leaned over. Giving Steve a lingering kiss, the
brunet softly said, "gotta go, Stevie. I'll be back tonight, okay?"
“Mm’kay.” Steve muttered, looking up at Bucky.
Bucky groaned softly at the blond stretched, well loved and looking decadent,
across the mussed bed. He turned and strode quickly from the room, shutting the
door behind him with a firm click of determination. Bucky let himself from the
apartment.
Sighing, Steve let a smile stretch across his face before a wave of pain rushed
through his body, radiating from his abdomen. The blond curled into himself,
trying to alleviate some of the misery. He buried his face in the pillow and
urged the severe cramping to go away. After a few moments, the pain seemed to
subside a little and Steve was able to sit up.
Shakily, he made his way into the bathroom. He grabbed one of the cloths from
the small cupboard beneath the sink and went to wipe away some of the excess
lube. His eyes widened at the dark red stains that smeared across the white
fabric. Steve determined that the blood must have been from Bucky accidentally
being too rough, although he hadn’t felt like it at the time. Steve knew that
he couldn’t tell his best friend about the blood; knowing Bucky, he would
probably never do it again if he knew about the small tear.
Steve sighed. He knew they had agreed they'd only be doing this with each other
until they found girlfriends, and Bucky had lots of girlfriends. The older man
never seemed to stay with one dame for long, though, and always came back to
Steve, who never got a girlfriend since he was so skinny and sick looking.
Steve felt selfish when he hoped Bucky wouldn't keep a girlfriend for a long
time; he loved practicing these things with the other man. Just cause they
practiced didn't make Bucky a queer, Steve hoped.
The blond already knew he was queer, but a man married and had kids, so he
would hide his unnatural preference and do what he was supposed to . . . though
he had to tell his future wife, whoever she would be, that he couldn’t have
kids. Maybe they could take in an orphan like in Tata’s story from years ago.
And it wasn't like Steve wanted other men . . . just Bucky. Maybe if he did
these things with a dame, he wouldn't feel so attracted to Bucky? That must be
the answer: he desired Bucky because they pleasured each other. Once he found a
dame, things would change. For some reason, the thought didn't cheer him up.
Within an hour Bucky returned after the interview and, looking at Steve curled
on the bed with his sketch pad, began laughing, saying "He called me 'my boy'
and I nearly laughed in his face, you punk!" He shook his head, stripping his
tie from his neck, letting it slip to the desk, then started opening the
buttons of his shirt. “And he didn’t ask about my faults or anything like that.
He wanted to know how well I did in automotive class and when I could work.”
“So?” Steve felt excitement bubble up, “you got the job?”
Bucky spread his arms in a gesture of happy welcome, a large grin on his face.
“I got the job,” he answered confidently.
With a happy yell, Steve launched his nude form into Bucky’s arms, sealing
their mouths in a heartfelt kiss. “I knew ya could, Buck!”
When Bucky began to kiss Steve back with the same enthusiasm, Steve’s troubled
heart gave a flip then began to ache. It didn’t matter if they were queer or
not; Steve realized he had gone and fallen in love with his very best friend.
Steve loved Bucky more than anyone else in the world! And to tell the other
teen that sudden realization could damage their friendship for all time. As
Tata had warned, men would arrest or even kill them for the love Steve
harbored. To keep Bucky safe, Steve knew he could not ever tell his friend of
his unnatural feelings; he would continue to play the role of friend and bury
the desire to be Bucky’s lover. Of course, Steve couldn’t deprive himself of
all pleasures in life. So, as long as Bucky wanted to keep practicing, Steve
would be more than happy to experiment with the adventurous man. Selfishly,
Steve hoped that would continue for a long time.
***** Sarah *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Death of a minor character. Please skip this if you cannot
     handle active death, funerals, or the grief related aftermath . Next
     chapter picks the regular mood back up again; and we are posting
     Chapter Ten at the same time to help relieve the pressure on our
     readers. Thank you.
     Note: There are seeming discrepancies between the movies and this
     story from here on out, as things in the Omegverse push the boys to
     do things differently than in Universe 616. Thank you for your
     understanding.
     Setting: AU: October 2 - 19, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States
     of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Leanbh - Baby - Irish Gaelic
     Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Friday, October 2, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Slipping the key back out of the lock, Bucky gave the door a small push and let
it swing open. He swept his arm into the tiny apartment and said “Well, here it
is, Steve. End of the line . . . for now.”
Bucky’s new living space appeared small, even for Brooklyn standards. A tiny,
hole-in-the-wall corner room, combining a living and kitchen area with an odd
little alcove dead ending in the fire escape window. Next to the window sat a
commode, only separated from the main room by a shower curtain hung on a
rickety track from the ceiling. The only sink in the place was the old, rusted
kitchen sink. No shower or tub existed in the second floor space, meaning the
occupant had to pay to use the owner’s back room shower downstairs behind the
pawnshop or had to make due with an old wash tub and heated water from the
stove or sink, dumped in with buckets. The bedroom stood against an outside
wall with the only other window, over-looking a drop into the pawnshop dumpster
below. The apartment’s sole radiator occupied a spot against the bedroom wall
under that window.
The small blond eyed the miniscule space as he stepped into the apartment. A
smile tugged at his lips as he thought about Bucky having his own place,
finally some separation from the hectic lifestyle that the brunet had when
living with his family.
Running a hand through his hair, Bucky looked over the apartment as his friend
walked into the small living-dining-cooking area. “I know it ain’t much, but
the rent’s reasonable and the heat and electricity and water come included. He
couldn’t find any takers, which is why I got it.” Bucky stepped in and shut the
door behind him then shrugged. “The best part is that you’re only two blocks
around the corner and Mam’s three more on top of that. I’m real close to
everyone.” He look at his friend intently. “So, what d’ya think, Steve?”
Smiling brighter, Steve turned and looked up at his friend, “I think it’s
great, Buck. I’m real proud of you.”
“Well,” Bucky smiled back “it does need cleaning before I can move in.” He
looked back over the layout and nodded. “So, want the tour?” Bucky took a few
long strides and pulled the draped shower curtain aside to show the toilet.
“Privy,” he said then took two steps to open the only door in the place, “and
bedroom,” he finished. Then he shrugged again. “Mam said I can have my bed and
of course I get my desk and chair Tata helped me build. She’s gonna give me a
setting for the table and a pot to start with so I can cook, too.”
The blond smirked, “Well we can’t go without a bed, now can we?”
Taking a deep breath, Bucky stepped over to Steve and placed his hand on the
smaller man’s hips, pulling him close. “Yeah, about that. You can move in with
me, you know? It’s small, but I think we’d be fine.”
Chewing on his bottom lip, Steve thought the offer over. Living with Bucky
would be amazing, but he had his Momma to consider. Releasing a deep sigh, the
blond shook his head, “I don’t know, Buck. Momma’s been tryin’ to hide how sick
she’s gettin’. Just last night I saw blood when she coughed into her
handkerchief. I should stay with her, make sure she’s doin’ alright.”
Instantly, Bucky stiffened and let his hands drop, eyes worried. “God, Steve .
. .” He dropped his voice. “You think maybe she’s consumptive like her
patients?” He cared about Sarah Rogers very much and didn’t want her sick,
either.
Steve felt his throat tighten just at the mere thought that his Momma could be
that sick. “I hope not . . . I don’t know what I’d do . . .” The blond let his
voice trail off, not wanting to even think like that. “But I should stay with
her, help her feel better.”
Bucky pulled Steve into a fierce hug, dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. “Of
course you gotta, Stevie. I’ll help as much as I can, too.” He gave his best
friend a worried smile. “Need to get a doctor to visit her? She’d do it if you
asked her to, you know. Your Mam won’t refuse you anything.”
“I know, I know.” Steve spoke softly as he nodded his head, “ I was just hopin’
that she’d get better on her own . . . that it wasn’t anything serious.”
“Coughin’ up blood, Steve?” Bucky shook his head, giving his friend a gentle
squeeze. “That’s serious.”
“I’ll get a doctor to do a home visit first thing tomorrow.” Steve stated,
hoping that the doctor would be able to tell him that nothing was wrong with
his Momma, that she’d be just fine.
With a sigh, Bucky dropped his right arm, pulling Steve into his side with his
left. “They don’t usually do house calls on a Saturday, Steve. You’ll have to
wait until Monday . . . and you’ll be in school. I can go check on her during
my lunch break if you want?”
“You’d do that?” Steve asked.
The tall brunet looked down at the smaller blond and shook his head, grey-blue
eyes sad. “You even need to ask, Stevie? Of course I will.”
xxx
Setting: AU: Thursday, October 15, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
The headmaster of the high school himself went to Steve’s mathematics
classroom. He cleared his throat as he walked into the room, the busily working
students occupied by a competency test on learned material. The professor in
charge of the class met the headmaster at the door and spoke quietly enough to
be near inaudible. Finally, the professor turned.
“Rogers, you’ve received a message from home. Please gather your books and
accompany the headmaster. I’ll make sure Miss Barnes brings your assignment to
you.” He seemed a nervous man, but his brilliant mathematician’s mind appeared
to be unsurpassed in the local school system.
Without question, Steve got up and walked out, actually leaving his texts
forgotten in the slanted basket attached to the underside of his wooden desk.
He mutely followed the headmaster to the man’s office. Inside, the headmaster
stopped and stood, stiff-backed, hands clasped together behind his back. With a
soft frown, he intoned, “I received a message from a former student, James
Barnes, that a doctor requires you urgently at home . . . a medical emergency,
I believe.”
Knowing how the man always droned on at the most inappropriate times, Steve cut
the headmaster off before the man could begin again. “Thank you, sir.” And,
startling his school master, the eighteen year old blond fled the office and
the high school, running all the way back home.
Steve knew Bucky would have been with Sarah for his lunch hour, so the
messenger didn’t surprise Steve in the least. Rather, heart filling with dread,
Steve tried to deny to himself the real reason Bucky had gotten involved: Sarah
Rogers, Steve’s mother, had gotten much more ill, or had . . . hopefully not .
. . please, God, no . . . died.
Gasping for breath, Steve ran up the steps and let himself into his apartment,
seeing Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, watching the door intently.
The brunet stood. “The doctor’s with her, Steve. He asked me to send for you.”
Bucky shoved his friend towards Sarah’s bedroom, reaching to close the outside
door.
Nodding to his friend, Steve ran into Sarah’s room and stopped short.
Sarah looked far worse than she had just that morning. Her skin had become
almost as pale as the sheets and blood flecked the pillow, her nightdress, and
her lips. A hacking, gurgling cough shook her body, more blood coming up as she
weakly moved her hand in an aborted effort to get her soaked handkerchief to
her mouth.
Steve instantly pulled out his own handkerchief, striding to his mother’s side
to wipe her mouth, cheeks, and chin with all the love and care he felt for the
woman who’d birthed him and raised him - - alone. “I’ve got you, Momma,” he
breathed, wheezing as his lungs tried to seize from his run.
Nodding to the youth, without saying anything, the doctor left the bedside of
the woman he’d been seeing everyday for the past two weeks. With a firm hand to
Steve’s shoulder as he passed, the doctor seemed to convey the helplessness of
the woman’s condition.
The young blond had to wonder if he could have done something for her if she’d
only told him sooner that she hadn’t been well.
Sinking onto the chair by her bedside, Steve took his mother’s hand. “Momma,
I’m here now. You can rest.”
Opening her pale blue eyes, blonde hair so like her son’s limp with a sheen of
sweat, Sarah rasped harshly, “Leanbh . . . Steven . . . I love you with my
whole heart.” She coughed and Steve wiped her mouth.
Tears welled in his large blue eyes. “I love you so much, Momma! You need to
rest.” He carefully stroked her hand.
“Seamus is a good man, Steve. He’ll be good to you.” She moved her hand to pat
at Steve’s weakly, though she seemed desperate to communicate with her son.
“Momma,” Steve tried to protest, but his mother silenced him with a look.
“You should love each other, Leanbh. You’re good together. But, you have to
take care of Seamus. People will take advantage of him . . . hurt him . . .
he’s too good. Don’t let people know . . .” She coughed, body spasming, and
Steve slipped an arm around his mother, holding her, supporting her.
A long time passed before Sarah lay quiet, gasping in her son’s arms as he
bathed her face with a cool washcloth from a bowl on the nightstand. He dabbed
the blood from her lips. Steve leaned protectively over the delicate woman and
kissed her forehead gently. “I love you, Momma,” he assured her, unable to
answer to her implications.
She opened her eyes once more and smiled. Slowly, in a voice nearly gone from
the coughing spells and weak with restricted air, Sarah said, “Be brave,
Leanbh. Be good.” Lifting a shaking hand, strength almost spent, the mother
touched her son’s cheek. “I love you, my Steven.”
He clasped her hand in his and rubbed it against his cheek, keeping his eyes
fastened on hers. “I love you, Momma,” he told her for the third time and still
it didn’t feel like he’d said it nearly enough.
But it would have to be.
The woman in his arms, the one person who had been there his entire life,
through all his illnesses and childhood mishaps, seemed to sigh and grow
heavier against him. Her pale eyes dimmed and stared fixedly ahead, at nothing.
Letting out a sob, Steve closed her eyes then hugged her fiercely close . . .
and cried.
A very long time passed before Steve realized Bucky had come into the room and
held him just as close.
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, October 18, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
With special permission, the deacon allowed the funeral of Sarah Rogers to take
place on a Sunday. The crowd of mourners was small but had loved her well, and
no one left unaffected by the sight of her son, small and thin, standing next
to his best friend, creases in the shoulder of his suit from bearing the casket
for his smaller, weaker friend. They stood, alone among the crowd, as Sarah’s
casket was interred beside that of her husband, Joseph. Silently dispersing,
the women of the Barnes family having arranged the reception for the mourners,
those present at the graveside made their way back towards the church, but
neither Steve nor Bucky made it to the feast of grief.
Rather, walking straight out of Holy Cross Cemetery, past the church’s
receiving rooms, Steve Rogers headed towards his now lonely apartment, his best
friend following silently behind. The small blond kept his head down, watching
feet that had ever felt too large for his slight frame. Fighting the sight-
blurring tears, he trudged wearily up the steps to the apartment and fumbled in
the pockets of his over-sized Sunday suit, looking for his key but not finding
it. Finally giving up, Steve clenched his hands and let his head hang down,
fighting the tears that threatened to rip from his chest and throat and pour
from his eyes to ravage his face, his lungs, his heart.
Behind him, three steps down, giving Steve space but not leaving him alone,
Bucky called out “Mam would’ve looked for you after . . . she’d want to make
sure you got a good meal or fifteen.” He paused, hoping to break Steve’s
silence; the man had refused to do anything for the three days it took to
arrange everything, which Bucky helped him do - - almost a repeat of a couple
of years previous.
The blond sighed heavily, not daring to look at his best friend, because he
knew that as soon as he did, he’d break down. “I know, I’m sorry. I just kind
of wanted to be alone.” Steve murmured, staring intently at a small pebble by
one of his shoes.
Nodding, though his friend still didn’t turn, Bucky called softly, “Stevie, I
was gonna ask . . .”
Steve huffed out a small breath, still not raising his eyes as they burned with
tears. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck it’s just . . .”
“. . . could put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids.” He’d
tried understanding, and careful, and supportive, and now Bucky was so
desperate to break through Steve’s grief, he tried for funny and nostalgic,
“It’ll be fine. All you gotta do is just shine my shoes Maybe take out the
trash . . .”
Seeing the stiffening of his friend’s shoulders, and the way Steve desperately
searched his pockets yet again, Bucky sighed, walked up the last few steps, and
kicked over the old brick hiding Steve’s spare key. He bent and picked up the
small, cold piece of metal. Standing, almost flush to Steve on the tiny stoop,
he held the key out and said “c’mon . . . “ Bucky’s voice came out soft, almost
pleading
Taking the key from Bucky’s outstretched hand, Steve sighed again. “Thank you,
Buck.” Finally Steve willed himself to look up at the brunet, “But I can get by
on my own.”
Looking the smaller man right in the eyes, Bucky firmly said, “thing is, you
don’t have to. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.” He put his hand on
Steve’s arm and gave the muscle a soft squeeze.
The smaller man bit his bottom lip, not wanting to break down completely. Steve
nodded his head softly and turned to open the front door with a shaky hand. The
door opened with an audible creak, and Steve froze. The apartment that had held
so many happy memories with his Momma now seemed so empty and cold. Nothing
seemed to be the same without his Momma’s warm voice welcoming them home.
Bucky stopped short when Steve halted. He kept one hand on the door and merely
waited for Steve’s next move. It wouldn’t be easy, the brunet knew, but Steve
was a stubborn man and maybe he’d make it through like he claimed.
Steve, whose whole body seemed to start trembling, suddenly turned around and
crashed into his friend, wrapping his arms tightly around the brunet’s waist.
The blond let out a loud sob as he buried his face into Bucky’s chest. “What .
. . what am I gonna do?” Steve wailed before breaking down into hysterics.
Grasping the smaller man tightly to his chest, Bucky gave Steve a fierce hug.
He tugged the other man, walking backwards out of the apartment and swung the
door closed. Still grasping Steve, Bucky locked the door and pocketed the key.
“You’re coming home with me, that’s what,” he ordered softly, firmly.
Straightening slightly, Steve wanted to protest, but he felt so drained . . .
so tired. Instead he pushed himself further into Bucky’s side and let out
another sob.
Bucky wrapped his left arm securely around his best friend and led him
carefully down the stone steps. Once on the street, the tall brunet turned the
small blond and guided him two blocks down and around the corner. “C’mon,
Stevie, up the stairs or I’m carrying ya,” Bucky whispered.
Numbly, Steve forced his feet to climb the stairs that led up to Bucky’s
apartment. His legs felt as if they were made of lead, and he wanted nothing
more than to curl into the brunet’s side and cry. His heart ached; Steve didn’t
know what he’d do without his Momma, without her loving smiles and knowing
wisdom.
Once on the top step, Bucky reached around Steve yet again, unlocking the door
with his own key and pushing it open. He guided the blond inside, kicked the
door shut, and turned his friend to face him. “C’mere, Cariad,” Bucky murmured,
pulling Steve against his chest and holding him tightly, resting his chin on
the top of that soft blond hair.
Pulling away slightly, Steve looked up at Bucky, tears falling down his cheeks.
The blond pulled Bucky's face down into a desperate kiss. He needed Bucky right
now, his whole life felt like it was falling apart at the seams, but he had
Bucky. Steve knew he’d always have Bucky.
After a long, soulful kiss, Bucky lifted his face. He closed his eyes and let
his forehead touch Steve’s, cupping the blond’s face in his calloused hand.
”C’mon, Stevie, you need some sleep. Bed’s this way,” he murmured. Letting
Steve’s face go, Bucky immediately wrapped his arm around him and guided the
blond into the tiny room where the bed sat pushed against the wall, away from
the radiator.
Carefully, Bucky unbuttoned Steve’s jacket and untied his tie. He tossed them
onto the old desk squeezed in by the door. He unbuttoned Steve’s dress shirt
and slid it from his shoulders, pushing the suspenders down to leave them
hanging from their clips on the man’s trousers. “Stevie, baby, finish
undressing so you can go to bed,” he coaxed.
Steve, almost feeling thankful for Bucky’s orders, did as the brunet said. With
shaky fingers the blond unbuttoned his pants, he sat and leaned over to undo
the laces of his shoes before kicking them off. Once his shoes were off, Steve
lifted his hips slightly so that he could slide out of his trousers.
As Steve took off his pants, Bucky hurriedly undressed then turned back to the
other man. “C’mon, Cariad, under the covers before you get sick on me.” He
pulled back the covers and climbed in, next to the wall, patting the bed beside
him.
Quickly sliding his briefs down his slender legs and pulling off his socks,
Steve crawled over to Bucky’s side and curled up next to him. The blond let out
a quiet sigh as he rested his head on the brunet’s chest, the steady beating of
Bucky’s heart provided a grounding comfort.
“I’m here, Stevie. I’ll always be right here for ya . . .” He cuddled Steve
close, stroking his hair and dropping soft kisses to the man’s head, neck, and
face, but mainly, the brunet just held him tightly until Steve drifted off to
sleep. Bucky remained cuddling him securely, holding his best friend so he
wouldn't awaken alone.
***** Life's Changes *****
Chapter Notes
     Note: There is discussion of murder due to fertility nature or sexual
     preference. Please know we do not support such extreme prejudice or
     negative actions.
      
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Tuesday, August 22, 1939: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
“I can wait out in the hall for you again, Steve, or I can go in for once,”
Bucky offered with a smile. The pair stood outside the door marked ‘Doctor
Keilmeyer, Men’s Health.’ The twenty-two year old held his hat in his hand as
he watched his younger friend.
Steve shook his head, thinking of a thousand other things he wanted to do other
than have Bucky watch him get examined. “No, it’s alright, Buck. I’ll only be a
few minutes.”
“Right,” the brunet sank onto the bench in the hallway and pulled the rolled
Brooklyn Daily Eagle from his back pocket. “I’ll wait here,” he said as he
glanced over the front page, as if totally absorbed in what he read, despite
his full concentration really being on his smaller friend. “Get caught up on
the sports scores or something.”
The blond nodded and turned away from his friend; Steve opened the door and
froze at the sight of Keilmeyer and another unfamiliar redhaired man packing
files away in wooden crates filled with straw. On the desk sat an open file
marked with the only identifier of ‘Patient 42.’
“Doctor Keilmeyer?” Steve asked as he shut the door softly behind him, “What’s
going on?”
Doctor Keilmeyer jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice then looked up, glasses
slightly askew in his hurried state. Upon seeing his small twenty-one year old
patient he relaxed and offered a smile. “Ah, Steven, please come in. I was not
aware I let the time slip past so quickly.” He stepped away from the boxes he
packed and offered a hand of greeting to Steve as the redhead flipped the file
shut with a small look of worry to the blond.
Steve shook his doctor’s hand hesitantly, “What’s going on? Are you movin’
offices or somethin’?”
With a sigh the older man nodded. “Well, not precisely. I have been recalled
back home for a review of my work. My sponsors wish to make sure they are not
funding a lost cause in Fertility Rehabilitation . . . you know, we spoke of it
when you first came to me. I plan to use my research with you and others to
heal birth defects before they happen. Sit, please.” The doctor gestured to
Steve’s customary chair, used after exams generally. “This is my replacement,
Doctor Johnson. He’s an American,” the older doctor added as if that was
somehow important. Given Doctor Keilmeyer’s German-like accent, it could be;
since 1938, Germany had been participating in some very disturbing war-like
maneuvers across Europe.
“Hello, Mister Rogers,” the young red-haired physician offered his hand to
Steve. “I’ve read your file and look forward to continuing your care.”
The small blond shook Johnson’s hand warily and nodded once. He didn’t want
Doctor Keilmeyer to leave; the older man had become a close friend to him
throughout the years and Steve didn’t want to lose him. However, Sarah had
always taught him to be polite, so he offered his new doctor a kind smile and
said, “thank you, Sir.”
“Do you mind if I ask a few questions before Doctor Keilmeyer examines you this
last time, Mister Rogers,” Doctor Johnson asked with a smile.
“Of course not.” Steve stated, “Whatcha need to know?”
Nodding, Doctor Johnson studied Steve for a moment before asking “in the years
since becoming sexually active . . . oh, you are sexually active now, are you
not?” He frowned slightly as if he might offend the youth with his assumption.
Flushing a deep red, Steve muttered, “Uh . . . yeah, I’m sexually active.”
“Right, I thought Doctor Keilmeyer said you had a partner, but he didn’t
clarify specifics.”
Doctor Keilmeyer threw up his hands and clarified, “I said you might have a
partner, Steven, to help with your stimulation and self-massage, not that you
had a definite lover. We never did discuss that after all.”
The redhead nodded again and asked, “So, since you’ve been sexually active,
have any of your erections or orgasms been painful?”
Shaking his head, Steve answered, “No.”
“Good,” Doctor Johnson actually sounded relieved at Steve’s answer. He smiled
over his shoulder at the older doctor then turned back to Steve. “And have you
been able to satisfy your lover? I mean, is she pleased with your erections?
Some infertile men cannot achieve erections hard or long enough to satisfy a
lover.”
Steve felt his whole body flush; Doctor Keilmeyer had never asked that question
before, and the blond wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. Did he satisfy Bucky?
“I-I . . . I’m not sure, Doc.”
“All right, let me try this another way, Mister Rogers. Are you pleased with
your own erections? Your own stamina in bed? Do you feel like you can
adequately satisfy a partner?” Doctor Johnson flipped open the file in his hand
and took notes as Steve and he talked. In the background Doctor Keilmeyer began
packing files once again into the sturdy wooden crates.
Shrugging his shoulders slightly, Steve muttered, “I guess.” All these
questions made Steve want to ask Bucky if he had been adequate enough in bed.
The blond had never thought about it before; he was sure Bucky still thought
that they were practicing for when they got dames of their own.
“You guess?” the redhead frowned as if trying to puzzle that out. “So, uh,
you’re lover hasn’t complained has she?”
“No,” Steve shook his head, “they haven’t complained.”
“They?” Doctor Johnson seemed to pounce on that pronoun. “So, you have more
than one lover currently?” The man scratched something on the file.
Steve nearly choked on his own saliva, “What? No! Just the one!” He sputtered,
completely embarrassed at how this conversation had gone.
Much as if he came to Steve’s rescue, Doctor Keilmeyer cleared his throat. “I
think it is time for Steven’s exam, Christopher. We do not need to discuss how
many lovers he has had in the past. We only needed to know if he can achieve
and maintain erection adequately to bring himself and his lover to fulfillment.
Steven,” he turned kind eyes on the young man, “if you wish to undress?”
“Yeah . . . I’ll go undress.” Steve murmured and bolted behind the silk screen,
wanting to distance himself from the two doctors. As he undressed, Steve
thought of Bucky. Did he satisfy his friend? He knew that Bucky satisfied him,
but what if Bucky just pretended to enjoy their intimate time together. What if
Bucky didn’t really like him in that way and only used their time together
simply as practice? The blond shook his head, trying to will away those
thoughts; he’d have to ask Bucky later.
The small man shuffled back into the office where the two doctors stood.
Doctor Keilmeyer offered his patient a smile. “I’ve been treating you for about
eight years now, haven’t I, Steven?” he asked in a friendly tone. Patting the
bed, he signalled Steve closer. “I wish to show Christopher how to perform your
exams if you don’t mind? You have such a small frame, he needs to treat you
more gently than the patients he may be used to in medical school.”
Walking to stand closer to the two men, Steve shook his head, “No, Sir. I don’t
mind.”
“Now, Steve is a twenty-one year old man, Christopher, so he deserves all the
respect you would afford any man, despite his small frame. It is my belief, as
you have seen in his file, that his congenital infertility and later illnesses
combined to make him small. But, I can guarantee you that this man is one of
the strongest fighters I’ve ever met,” he offered his favorite patient a smile.
“First, we examine the external genitalia,” Doctor Keilmeyer carefully showed
his replacement how to do that, and both doctors impersonally, and quickly, did
the penis and testicle exam. “Thank you, Steven. You may get on the bed for the
rectal, choose your position.” Turning his head to talk to his partner while
Steve got comfortable, Doctor Keilmeyer continued, “As you can see, he is
perfectly formed and even a little larger than most men of his small stature.
That is a very good indicator that he is not fifteen as his appearance might
suggest.”
Steve tried to tune out Keilmeyer’s professional discussion about him while he
got onto the bed. He hated when people assumed his age based simply on his
size; however, he expected that he might as well get used to it. The blond
couldn’t imagine hitting a growth spurt anytime soon; most men his age were
done growing.
Once Steve had assumed his normal all-fours position, Doctor Keilmeyer nodded.
“Now, when you do his check, make sure to be well lubricated, Christopher. I
offer my patients a choice of position for their own comfort, but that will be
useless if you rip them open.” His voice had firmed with his warning, and he
placed the back of his hand to Steve’s thigh. “He will be repeating the exam
after me, if you agree, Steven.”
“That’s fine, Doc.” Steve nodded.
“So, I start with a quick visual then I slide my finger inside and quickly feel
the prostate,” the doctor spoke without doing anything but leaving the back of
his hand on Steve’s thigh. He did not make the exam a longer process by
discussing while inside the patient. “Once I find and check that, I feel the
rest of the way I can reach - - to make sure there are no lesions or lumps or
oddities. Steve had had lesions occasionally in the past. At first I assumed it
was due to rough exploration, but my colleague Doctor Erskine has found the
occasional male patient with natural infertility which develops lesions on a
regular basis. As long as medication for pain and to prevent infection is
provided, the patient should be fine. I have found no proof Steven’s lesions
are of such a nature, but the option is still open since he has not received
further testing in the area.” Doctor Keilmeyer looked over to make sure Steve
was not getting too uncomfortable with the delay.
Doctor Johnson looked at Steve. “Thank you for letting me learn on you, Mister
Rogers,” he said, seeming aware that the situation must be very uncomfortable.
“Doctor Keilmeyer assured me that you are a very unique case, one I have yet to
come across as a personal patient elsewhere, with your natural infertility.”
“No problem.” Steve muttered, wishing they would just complete the exam.
“Thus,” and the first doctor then the other did the rectal check. Neither
lingered and Doctor Johnson was just as impersonal and professional as his
mentor. Finally, Doctor Keilmeyer nodded. “Unless you wish me to use the scope,
Steven, there is no reason for it this time. I feel nothing odd, and
Christopher knows how to use a scope already.” The doctor removed his cotton
gloves and dropped them in the laundry basket, followed by his assistant. “You
may get cleaned up and dressed and we shall talk some more.”
Steve hurried off the bed and behind the silk screen where his clothes were
piled neatly on the embroidered chair. Quickly, the blond put on his clothes
and walked back out.
The two doctors had several professionally made drawings spread on the desk,
having moved the boxes of files while Steve dressed. The men looked over the
drawings and seemed to be looking for something. “What of this, Rolf?” Doctor
Johnson asked and Doctor Keilmeyer sighed. “That was a very rare case
discovered in South America . . . Peru I believe. The man was worshiped as a
direct link to the gods, but he died before he was twenty-three.”
Steve cleared his throat lightly to announce his presence; his Momma had always
said eavesdropping was rude.
Turning, the men seemed suddenly aware of Steve. Doctor Keilmeyer left the
drawings on the desk and signaled the patient over. “Come here, Steven. Doctor
Erskine has provided some information on some of the patients in his study. If
you are interested I can share some things, though names and specifics are
strictly confidential.”
Curious to learn more about some other cases that might be close to his own,
Steve walked over and looked down at the multiple stacks of paper that sat on
top of the desk. The blond took in the drawings of anatomy, internal and
external, showing reproductive systems . . . most were male, one seemed female,
and there were two that seemed to have blended the two together. Not a lot of
the information made sense to him, but Steve tried to memorize every drawing.
“These are all drawings made of the internal reproductive organs, and some
external, of patients that have been in the wider fertility study Doctor
Erskine began and doctors like Christopher and I are continuing. As you can
see, only one woman has been considered for the study.” The doctor looked at
Steve. “Of all these patients . . . twenty-one of twenty-three . . . were born
infertile, like you.” He sighed and touched the two drawings of mixed parts.
“These two were fertile but are no longer alive. They had extremely rare
conditions, one might say mutations even. They both possessed both sets of
reproductive organs, Steven.” He looked at the tiny blond.
“And the one,” added Doctor Johnson, “looked like he was still a teenager
despite being in his twenties."
“I told you, Christopher, Steve has shown no signs of any female organs. No
cervix at all. He is completely male.” Doctor Keilmeyer sounded frustrated with
the young redhead’s enthusiasm.
Steve stared at the pictures of the patient's mixed parts, “How is that
possible?” The blond asked looking up at the older man.
Doctor Keilmeyer shook his head. “Have you heard of the circus freaks who
travel through towns? Some have two heads or extra body parts in their side or
other such excessive genetic material? We believe it is the case in these two
instances. Over the centuries such abnormalities have shown up and many have
been killed upon discovery. Some are worshiped as gods or messengers. Most are
not so fortunate.” He sighed and touched one of the two mixed drawings. “This
one, a young man just a couple years older than you, died in Peru last year.
And the other," he touched the second drawing, “lived until the age of thirteen
before his town, in England of all places, put him to death about the time you
became my patient. He was your age.”
Steve gasped, “That’s horrible! Why would they do that? No one deserves to die
just because of how they were born. He couldn’t help it!”
Clearing his throat, Doctor Johnson said softly, “He was my cousin. And he was
murdered because he was homosexual . . . and actually wound up getting
pregnant. That’s how they found out about his extra internal organs.” Taking
off his glasses, Christopher rubbed his eyes. “Most of these rare mixed gender
people aren’t even discovered until death.” He put the glasses back on and
looked at Steve; it added a whole new light on why the doctor wanted to work in
this research.
The blond instantly thought of his friend sitting right outside in the hallway,
if people found out what they did behind closed doors, both of them could be
killed. “I’m sorry,” Steve muttered, “He deserved to be treated better. People
shouldn’t be hurt just because of who they choose to love.” '. . . especially
at such a young age,' thought Steve. 'Thirteen?'
The redhead nodded. “Thank you. I am sure Lucas would have liked you.” He
offered a sad smile. “However, people don’t look at the deeper love or
kindness. They see the surface and are terrified for some reason of homosexual
men and women. It makes ne sense to me, but the general populace doesn’t accept
them.” Doctor Johnson shrugged. "And a child exploring his own sexuality, while
not the best decision should not be punshied so severely for his . . .
choices."
Steve thought of Bucky’s caring smile and trusting heart, remembering Tata’s
tale. People would hurt Bucky if they found out about the two friends helping
each other. They wouldn’t understand; they wouldn't care to get to know how
kind of a person the brunet was. They would simply kill him for being
different.
“Steven?” Doctor Keilmeyer sounded worried suddenly. “Are you alright?”
Snapping his eyes to meet with his doctor’s, Steve nodded numbly, “I’m okay.
Just thinkin’ is all.”
With a nod, Doctor Keilmeyer collected together the drawings and slipped them
into one of the boxes. “Well, please recall that this research is very
confidential, Steve. And that it is sensitive. Many people will be horrified
that we want to help cure birth defects or fertility problems, but to know that
we are also caring for patients like young Doctor Johnson’s cousin . . .
funding would disappear and the patients might be hunted down.” He looked at
Steve carefully. “I thought you should know how important your participation
has been, though. You will be seeing Doctor Johnson until I can return from my
meetings in Germany.”
“Of course,” Steve stated, “I won’t tell anyone. Thank you, Doctor Keilmeyer .
. . for everything.” The blond felt his throat constrict; he didn’t want the
older man to leave.
“And, Christopher has agreed to continue your food cheques and medical coverage
in my absence.” Doctor Keilmeyer seemed satisfied to be able to offer that
small bit of assistant to the man with such delicate health he could hardly
find a steady job. Basically, Steve Rogers was being paid to be their test
subject, but Doctor Keilmeyer had always treated the small man as a valued
member of society, not a guinea pig.
“Thank you,” Steve said to Doctor Johnson.
Nodding, the redhead smiled. “You aren’t the only patient on assitance, Mister
Rogers. Apparently, delicate health can accompany some infertility cases. I’m
just pleased that you’ll allow me to continue the research.”
“Well, no reason to keep your friend waiting out in that drafty hall any
longer, Steven. Steven is often accompanied by his friend, Mister Barnes, who
sees to his health out of the office, I believe,” Doctor Keilmeyer told Doctor
Johnson. “A very likable young man, in fact. Why don’t you find something
amusing to do, Steven? Get your mind of this medical babble.”
Steve nodded and turned to walk out of the office, but just as his fingers
hovered over the doorknob the blond froze. Quickly, he turned on his heel and
rushed over to Doctor Keilmeyer. He wrapped his thin arms around the older man
and said, “Thank you for everything, Doc. I just thought you should know that
I’ve always thought of you as one of my closest friends.”
The older man hugged his small patient with true kindness. “I have always felt
you are family more than a patient, Steven. Hopefully we will meet again,
soon.” And the man smiled down at Steve. “Now, go, You need to relax or you’ll
get cramps and breathing problems again . . . and I will feel guilty for being
the cause.”
Before Steve opened the door, Doctor Johnson called out “Thank goodness you
have a nurse, Mister Rogers. Not everybody is lucky enough to find one.” He
seemed delighted with his assumption of Bucky’s real role in Steve’s life.
The small man exited the office and smiled at the sight of his best friend
asleep on the bench, his head falling forward against his chest and his
newspaper lying in a heap on the floor. “Buck,” Steve called out softly.
“Yeah, Cariad?” Bucky answered, sleepy and without thinking. He opened grey-
blue eyes and blinked up at the small blond.
“Ya ready to get going? I feel like I could eat a horse. I’m starved.” Steve
smiled, a small blush creeping into his cheeks at the familiar nickname Bucky
had given him.
Standing and stretching, Bucky scooped up his paper and put his hat on. “Well,
I’m not gonna make you eat horse. I got paid Friday. I can afford real beef if
you want it.” He smiled softly at Steve. “And tomorrow a new flick is playing .
. . Wizard of Oz. Says it’s got color pictures, too. Wanna go see it? I can dig
up dates if you want, or we can just go like old times?”
“Colored pictures?” Steve mused, “I’d love to go see it with ya, Buck. Just you
an’ me.”
Nodding, smile at Steve widening, Bucky gestured with his head towards the
office. “You were in there longer than normal. Everything okay, Stevie?”
“Oh,” Steve shrugged, “Got a new doc. Doctor Keilmeyer got called back to
Germany for a bit.”
Bucky frowned, opening the door to the outside world. He glanced at Steve.
“Germany? Hope he’s not Jewish. They said that the Jews have to have special
identification in Germany nowadays or they’ll get arrested.”
Steve’s stomach churned at the thought of his kind doctor going into such a
hostile place. “I just hope he’ll be okay.”
As Bucky led the way down the steps, he asked, “So, what’s the new doctor like?
He as old as the other one?” The brunet looked back, “or as nice?”
“Nah . . . he’s probably only a few years older than you, Buck.”
“Than me? I’m only a year older than you, punk!” Bucky grinned.
“Well . . . he’s real young,” Steve continued, “And he seems nice, real
understanding.”
With a grin, Bucky threw a companionable arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Good,
you need people nice in your life. Got enough jerks out there trying to take
advantage.” He walked a few steps with his friend then asked “so, dinner at
home?”
“Yeah, I’m kinda tired.” Steve answered, not really feeling up to eat out that
evening.
“No problem, Steve. We can have beef tomorrow. Tonight, it’s chicken and bread
. . .” Bucky offered, “want I should try to cook tonight?”
Steve laughed, “Alright . . . chicken and bread it is.”
Upon reaching the apartment, Bucky dropped his arm from Steve’s shoulders and
let them in. He immediately walked over to the small stove of the combined
living-eating room. “Get cleaned up, Steve, I’ll figure out how to make gravy .
. . flour right? We use flour?”
“Yes, Buck. Ya use flour to make gravy.” The small blond laughed, “Ya sure you
don’t want me to cook? I don’t mind.”
“If you don’t mind teaching me to cook, maybe,” Bucky grinned at the other man.
“I need to learn sometime in case you up and get married and leave me on my
own.”
Steve chuckled and started to show his friend how to make a simple gravy, after
a few minutes and the gravy was successfully cooking on the stove, Steve asked
in a quiet voice, “Do I satisfy you, Buck?”
“Satisfy me?” Bucky turned confused eyes to his best friend. “Of course you
satisfy me. Who could have a better pal than you, Steve?”
“Not like that . . .” Steve paused, a blush heating up the tips of his ears, “I
mean . . . when we ya’know . . . practice together? Do I satisfy you then?”
Shocked by the unusual question, Bucky paused in stirring the gravy. “Where’d
this come from, Stevie?”
“It’s just somethin’ my new doc asked me.” Steve shrugged, keeping his eyes
downcast, “I don’t know . . . I know we’re just practicing for dames and all .
. . but I wanna make you happy, Buck.”
Whispering, Bucky asked “he knows about me?” Suddenly Bucky took the pot from
the stove and put it on the counter, worry lighting his pale eyes. “He knows
you’ve been doing . . . stuff with a man?”
“No!” Steve exclaimed quickly, “He assumes I’ve been doing things with a gal .
. . of course I’ve never said anything ‘bout us.”
Taking a deep breath, Bucky nodded and walked over to Steve. “If he finds out,
you can be arrested, Steve. It’s illegal, what we’ve been doing, you know? Even
if it’s just for later.” He tilted Steve’s chin up, studying those vibrant eyes
with worry.
Steve pulled his head away from Bucky’s fingers, “I know that, Bucky!” Steve
snapped. “Ya know what? Just forget I said anything.”
Hurt registered in his blue-grey eyes, but the brunet nodded, moving back to
the stove and starting the gravy once more. “Maybe you should get cleaned up,
Steve. I think I can manage not to burn this stuff tonight.” His voice was
soft.
Steve stomped out of the kitchen and into the small bedroom he shared with his
friend. He felt embarrassed; of course the only thing Bucky would care about
was the fact that someone might find out about them. The blond felt stupid for
thinking, even if for just a moment, that the brunet would actually care for
him in any romantic way. The small man collapsed on the bed and tried to will
away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.
Bucky continued to cook the chicken, heating up the bread until it steamed
wonderfully aromatic. All the time, he troubled over Steve’s reactions, his
questions. Reviewing the conversation, Bucky flushed. What the hell was he
supposed to answer his friend about being satisfied in bed? He wasn’t supposed
to be enjoying another man’s touch at all, so how could he admit that Steve
satisfied him more than any of the women he’d tried to get together with? With
a sigh, Bucky put the food on the table, scooping chicken and gravy onto the
bread in a hot open-faced sandwich, as his Tata had called them. Softly, Bucky
called, “Steve? Dinner’s ready.”
“I’m not hungry anymore!” Steve shouted back, not wanting to look at his friend
right then. A few stray tears slipped down his cheeks. He turned his back to
the doorway and curled into a fetal position. Steve wished he didn’t have these
feelings for his best friend; it would make everything so much easier.
“Right . . .” Bucky called back in a similarly dejected voice. “Guess I’ll put
it away then.” He proceeded to scrape all the food back into the chicken pan
and stick the entire mess into the ice box. Then he started washing the other
dishes. After a long moment, and more than enough time to clean up the few
dishes he’d used, Bucky called out “Steve? You cramping today?” He had realized
that Steve’s mood often seemed to get odd when he wasn’t feeling well . . . or
at least when he had that weird stress cramping.
The blond didn’t answer his friend, not trusting himself to speak. If he said
anything, he knew Bucky would figure out he was crying.
When no sound came from the other room, Bucky bit his lip in worry. Something
was definitely wrong with his friend. He’d never before refused to let Bucky
know if he hurt or anything. Softly, Bucky walked to the doorway of their
shared bedroom. He watched Steve lying on the bed, shoulders shaking in tears.
Heart lurching, Bucky said “Steve? Cariad?”
Steve continued to ignore his best friend, his hurt pride aching even more so
now that Bucky stood in the same room.
Taking his fear in hand, Bucky sighed. “You scare me, Steve . . . sometimes I
don’t know what to do to keep people from hurting you. And now I’m the one
doing the hurting. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t always have to protect me,” Steve snapped, his voice coming out
strained from the tears. The small blond wished his friend would leave him
alone; Bucky being in the room only made him feel worse.
Sighing, Bucky looked out towards the living area where they’d managed to
squeeze Steve’s smaller bed once he’d moved in. “Yeah, okay,” Bucky responded.
“I’m sorry if I worry about you. Must make you feel like a baby or something to
have a friend worrying when we’ve got no one else.” Bucky turned and strode to
the smaller bed and pulled the blankets back. Neither one of them had used it;
it was there basically so it could be used if Steve got sick, or if the Barnes
women visited they wouldn’t guess the men actually slept together. Pulling off
his shirt and trousers, Bucky slid under the blanket, still in his drawers.
Steve turned his head into his pillow and screamed in frustration, the noise
muffled by the fabric, but no doubt his friend still heard it in the other
room. The smaller man wanted to tell his friend how he felt, how much he loved
him; but Steve didn’t want to ruin everything they had. Bucky might never want
to see him again if he found out how he really felt. Steve could handle a lot
of things, but Bucky shunning him was something that could very well break him.
Thinking over everything that had happened between the pair of them in the ten
years they’d known each other, Bucky sighed. He slid his arms behind his head
and made a very difficult decision. Carefully, he called out softly, “Steve . .
. do you think a fella can be queer and still hang with dames?” Bucky winced,
wondering if the question would send Steve scrambling for another place to live
. . . knowing Bucky might be interested in actually doing more with a man . . .
more than just fooling around while they waited for dames.
The small man paused for a moment before turning his head so that his voice
would no longer be muffled by the pillow. Slowly, almost cautiously, Steve
answered back, “Sure.” What was Bucky saying? Did he know how Steve felt about
him?
Taking another deep breath, Bucky added, “And that a queer man can maybe
someday get married and have a family?”
“I don’t know. I guess? What are you saying?” Steve called out, his body frozen
on the bed.
Bucky didn’t move, not wanting to see how his admission would horrify, even
disgust his best friend. What he felt was illegal, immoral if you asked the
church. “I’m queer, Steve.” He closed his eyes in the darkened room, “I can
look for a new place tomorrow.” At least with the free medical and food Steve's
doctor provided, the blond would only need to scrape together rent money
without Bucky's help.
Steve felt like his heart lurched into his throat, he waited a few seconds
before sitting up. “You’re queer?” The blond asked again, wanting to make sure
he heard everything correctly.
Cringing, Bucky swallowed hard. “Yeah, but I don’t want to put you in danger .
. . yeah, me over-worrying about you yet again. I get it. You’re a grown man
and can take care of yourself. You certainly don’t need me hovering over you .
. . holding you back.”
The blond stood up, letting his friend continue his nervous babble, and walked
into the living room, where Bucky lay on the small bed, arms behind his head,
eyes closed. Quietly, the blond made his way over to the brunet and knelt down
beside the bed. Gently, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s.
Surprise washed over the brunet and his eyes flew open, his words halting
immediately. “Steve?” he breathed, confused and almost afraid.
“You know something, Buck?” Steve smirked, pressing their lips together again.
Bucky didn’t respond though his hands came up to grasp Steve’s shoulders
lightly. “What?” he breathed into Steve’s mouth, his fear in his voice.
“I’m queer, too,” the blond admitted. “Never thought much of dames.”
Blinking, Bucky pushed Steve back enough to be able to study his face. Slowly,
he said, “you’re . . . like me?” He felt confused and hopeful and so scared.
“Yeah, Buck. That’s why I was so concerned with you being happy with me. I want
to make you happy . . . to satisfy you,” Steve said, heat flushing his cheeks.
Suddenly, Bucky pulled Steve onto his chest, kissing him fiercely. “God, Steve,
no one else could ever satisfy me like you do.” He moved his lips to Steve’s
neck, right by his ear, and growled softly, “I love you, punk!” Eyes widening,
Bucky realized what he’d admitted to and froze, praying he hadn’t scared Steve
off for good despite their admissions.
Gasping softly at the admission, Steve looked down at his best friend, “You
love me? You mean that, Buck? You really love me?” the blond whispered.
Groaning, Bucky nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I’ve been in love with you since
you were sixteen, Stevie.” He began to sit Steve up, preparing for the other
man’s rejection. Just because Steve was queer didn’t mean he wanted to tie
himself to his childhood friend.
Suddenly, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and crashed their lips
together hard. He gently nipped and tugged at the brunet’s bottom lip. Pulling
away slightly, Steve breathed, “God . . . I love you too, Buck. I love you so
much.”
“You do?” Bucky blinked surprised grey-blue eyes. He pulled Steve against him,
snuggly onto his lap. “You sure, Stevie? I mean . . . wow!” He had to think
this through. They had to be careful, more than ever, so no one would figure it
out. He refused to endanger Steve.
Steve leaned forward and tugged at Bucky’s earlobe with his teeth, before
whispering, “I’ve never been so sure of anything before in my life. I am in
love with you, Buck.”
“Steve,” Bucky said softly, “You may not wanna hear it, but you’ve gotta listen
to me.” He breathed in the scent of his love. “We have to keep dating dames,
you know? If we stop, people will get suspicious.” He tilted Steve’s face up,
worry in his face. “No promises or nothing to them, of course . . . unless you
find one you fancy?” Bucky left that option open. It was possible Steve didn’t
really know his own mind yet. He studied the other man’s eyes. Softly, trying
to remove the sting from his words, Bucky added, “I love you so much, Stevie
Rogers.”
The blond didn’t like the idea of having to still date dames, but he knew that
what Bucky said made sense. If this was going to work, they would need to keep
it secret, people couldn’t find out. Slowly, Steve nodded, “Alright, but I
won’t find anyone else that I fancy more than you, James Buchanan Barnes. I
love you . . . more than you’ll ever know.”
Slowly, kissing the blond between words, Bucky said “You . . . are . . . the .
. . end . . . of . . . my. . . line. . . . Steve.”
***** Desperate Explorations *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: December 5-7, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
     America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Friday, December 5, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Steve walked up the familiar steps to the Men’s Health clinic. He had to force
himself not to double-over in pain as another wave of cramping coursed through
him, clutching the stone railing tightly, Steve took a deep breath and
continued walking up to the front door. The blond looked over at the sign on
the door and released a small sigh.
The sign on the door once read 'Dr. Keilmeyer, Men’s Health,' but for the past
two years the name had been replaced by Dr. C. Johnson, Keilmeyer’s replacement
since he’d been recalled by his sponsors to Germany in mid 1939. The office
hadn’t changed much, still the single desk and bed, the numerous scattered
chairs, the well stocked cabinets, and the fading Chinese Silk screen for
patient privacy. What had changed was the doctor, naturally: Christopher
Johnson was short, thin, and athletic with strawberry-blond hair, freckles, and
enormous glasses he kept on a chain around his neck. He looked too young to be
an expert in men’s health issues, let alone Steve’s particular, and very rare,
condition. At least the young doctor, maybe two or three years older than
Steve’s own twenty-three years, was friendly and honest, much like his
predecessor,
The young man entered the clinic and saw Doctor Johnson sitting in his chair.
“Good morning, Doctor,” Steve groaned in a pained tone.
Doctor Johnson looked up and frowned upon seeing Steve’s condition. “Mister
Rogers? Sit before you fall down.” The young redhead stood and walked over to
his smaller patient, reaching to steady Steve with a strong, yet kind, hand.
“That cramping again?” he asked, sounding frustrated. Like Doctor Keilmeyer
before him, the only thing Doctor Johnson had been able to suggest for Steve's
mysterious cramping had been to reduce stress.
“Yes, Sir,” Steve nodded as he carefully sank down in the chair across from
Doctor Johnson’s desk.
With a sigh, Doctor Johnson nodded and pulled out the patient file on Steve, an
eleven year file of regular monthly visits and the occasional emergency exam.
“Any bleeding, Mister Rogers?” he asked.
Steve shrugged, wincing at the small movement, “A little.”
Thumbing through the file, Doctor Johnson nodded. “Okay, well, we can do
another exam . . . run a few tests if you wish?”
“I guess . . . but what’s gonna be different this time around?” The blond
sighed, he felt frustrated with all the tests, he just wanted this cramping to
go away.
“Probably nothing, again,” the doctor replied and offered Steve a friendly
smile. “But, at least we can be sure it’s nothing new, right? And, I can offer
you a pain prescription if you’d like?”
Steve shook his head once, “No . . . no more prescriptions. But we can do
another exam, just to be sure.”
Nodding, the doctor stood and left the file open, not hiding it in any way from
his patient. This was one doctor, like Keilmeyer before him, who seemed to not
mind if Steve saw what was written on himself. “You know the routine then
Steve. If you need clean undergarments, feel free to take a pair for
afterwards, too.” Christopher Johnson waved towards the screen then turned to
wash his hands and pull on some white cotton gloves.
The blond nodded and shakily stood up, another wave of pain shooting through
his body. Steve had to grab the back of the chair just to keep upright. Steve
hissed and clutched his abdomen, trying desperately to will the pain away.
Shocked, Johnson sped over and grabbed Steve, ignoring the glove that hit the
floor in favor of helping the obviously intensely pained man. He shook his
head. “This is the worst yet, Steve?” He didn’t often use his patient’s
Christian name; it was a sign of true worry.
Nodding, Steve answered, “Yes, Sir. Hurts real bad.” The blond knew his tone
sounded clipped but he couldn’t seem to care about his manners right then.
“Okay, don’t bother undressing, Steve. Just let me get you on the bed and lie
you down. I’m gonna help you undress, okay?” The doctor’s professional accents
slipped into a familiar Bronx twang as his worry leaked over. He wrapped a
strong arm around the smaller man.
“Alright,” Steve said and let the doctor help guide him to the examination bed.
Carefully, the blond laid down and tried to ease the pressure on his stomach in
any way he could.
Once Steve lay prone on his back, the doctor unfastened the patient’s clothes
deftly and had Steve wriggle to let him get the trousers and drawers off. He
pulled over a sheet to cover Steve with, but did not have him turn over as
Steve had with every other rectal exam he’d gone through. Instead, Doctor
Johnson looked up. “Put your feet in these metal stirrups,” he guided pulling
over an odd looking contraption that he fastened to the bed’s sides. “And scoot
down as close to me as you can get. I need you on the edge of the bed.” The
doctor stood and got a hot water bottle, already prepared, and wrapped it in a
clean towel then placed the rubber bag of water over the thin sheet on Steve’s
abdomen.
Sighing at the slight relief that the warm bag gave, Steve followed the
doctor’s instructions.
“Does that help, Steve?’ Doctor Johnson asked softly. “Dr. Erksine, the man who
initiated the Alpha-Omega-Beta-Gamma research felt it could help some Gamma men
with severe cramping, much like a woman’s menstrual cycles, though he has yet
to reveal why it works.” The doctor had begun using Erskine’s Greek letter
names for the fertility natures.
“Well, Dr. Erksine is a very smart man,” Steve mumbled. “Helps a lot. Thank
you.”
After a minute or so, letting the heat soak into Steve’s abdomen and ease his
cramps, the redhead finally touched Steve’s thigh. “I’m going to do your exam
this way, Steve, okay? It’s not complicated and has been suggested sometimes
for Gammas in pain.” He used the terms more easily than Keilmeyer ever had: the
dominant Alpha, the Fertile Omega, the Infertile Gamma, and the Beta - -
everyone else in the world, pretty much.
“Okay,” Steve nodded and let his eyes close. The bag felt as if it worked
miracles, and he just felt happy that the cramping subsided a little.
Smiling softly at Steve’s obvious relief, Doctor Johnson helped the smaller man
spread his thighs as wide as he could, using a fair amount of lube on his
gloved hand to help ease his finger inside. Unlike the coach or the other
doctor, this one used his middle finger, but that meant it only reached further
in so he could feel for lesions or nodules deeper. After quickly and
professionally checking Steve’s prostate, Doctor Johnson checked further inside
. . . then froze. He felt again, and pursed his lips, removing his hand and
stripping the glove to toss in the laundry bucket.
“Somethin’ wrong, Doc?” Steve asked, opening his eyes, unused to Doctor Johnson
having to reach back inside and double check.
“Yes, Steve,” Doctor Johnson said, voice troubled. “I feel something . . . odd.
Like extra thick tissue or nodules but . . . not real lumps. I’ll use the
scope, if I may, to see?”
“Go ahead.” Steve felt his heart beat a little faster, he didn’t like the
doctor’s tone. It was a tone he’d heard many times before and it always seemed
to come right before he got very bad news.
Quickly the doctor prepared the long scope, lubing it and cleaning any extra
from the tip so he could see through it. Once ready, he slid it carefully into
Steve, not wanting to hurt him with the metal instrument. After an uncommonly
long time, the doctor gently removed the scope and set it in iodine. He patted
Steve’s knee absently, like one might pat a child in passing, and stood up.
“Need help dressing, Steve?”
Shaking his head, Steve slowly sat back up and quickly pulled on his
undergarments and trousers. Once dressed, the blond looked over at Doctor
Johnson and asked, “Doc? What’s wrong?” Steve hated how his words came out
shaky.
The redhead wrote frantically the his file and switched to several other slips
of paper from the various pads on his desk. He looked up at Steve’s words.
Sighing, he stopped writing and sat across from the patient. “Steve, there is
an unusual growth and what appears to be a deep lesion inside your rectum. Let
me draw for you what I saw.” With that, he pulled over a scratch pad he
apparently used for mindless doodles. Quickly, he drew a rather neatly charted
passage with the curve of the colon leading off; however, on the side, he
seemed to draw a wound that looked like it could be a festering sore, where
maybe an infected blister popped and had yet to heal. It leaked blood, obvious
by the drawing. The doctor then added what looked like thick matter around this
lesion and heading towards the colon. The art wasn’t very good, but it was neat
and got his point across.
Steve craned his neck to look at the picture better; his heart slammed against
his ribcage, and his breathing rate seemed to increase. “Is . . . is it
cancer?” The blond asked, he hadn’t even muttered the word since the coach had
been worried about it all those years ago.
“I’m afraid it looks like nothing I’ve seen. Well, except once, actually,” the
doctor sighed, looking troubled.
Turning to look up at the doctor, Steve furrowed his eyebrows, “What happened?”
“Well, she was quite normal, actually.” The doctor replied and shook his head.
“But it would be impossible for you to have the same condition. You see, your
lesion looks much like a menstruating female’s cervix.” Doctor Johnson didn’t
even crack a smile at the absurdity.
“Well, what could it be then?” Steve questioned, completely shocked at the
news.
Doctor Johnson stood. “Without further tests, biopsies, I can’t be sure But it
could be an aggressive cancer, Steve. No man I’ve ever seen looks like that . .
. the tissue growth from the lesion to the colon looks like it could be a
tumor, however, so perhaps the lesion is a malignancy which has opened and
festered?” He didn’t mention his cousin Lucas or the man from Peru; it had
already been decided that Steve had never presented with female sexual organs
all this time, so why would he this late? The redhead looked at Steve with
worry and sympathy. “I’ve written up prescriptions for pain and antibiotics, as
well as a consultation request with an oncologist . . . a cancer specialist,
Steve.” He reached over and ripped the papers from his different notepads. “I’m
afraid cancer is beyond me. I’m a fertility doctor. I recommend hot water
bottles and possibly prostate massage if you can tolerate it to help keep the
growth in check until you are able to see the specialist?”
Numb. That’s all that Steve felt. Cancer. He knew that the disease had run in
the family; it had taken his Momma’s little sister when she was just a kid. The
blond knew how serious this was, getting a diagnosis of cancer was just the
same as getting your death certificate.
“Steve, Rolf said you had a lover who could help you? You may want to explain
to her your condition. If it is cancer, you may only have months to live.” The
doctor’s kind green eyes filled with sympathy.
A few months? A few months was all that he had left? His mind immediately
thought of Bucky and the brunet’s carefree smile and the way his steel-blue
eyes sparkled when he talked about something he enjoyed. How much longer would
he be able to look at that smile? Steve nodded once; he could feel his throat
constrict, and tears started to blur his vision. “Alright. Uh . . . thanks?”
Standing, the doctor placed a hand on the patient’s shoulder. “Go to the
pharmacy down the end of this block with those, and they’ll fill them and put
the bill on our regular file here.” It was the least that could be done, not
charging Steve for the medicines that could ease him through his painful last
months.
Taking the note in his shaking hand, Steve nodded. “Okay. I’ll . . . I’ll see
ya later. Thank you, Doctor Johnson.” His voice came out just above a whisper,
and he knew he was about to burst into tears.
Steve turned and walked out of the office. Instead of walking in the direction
of the pharmacy, the blond found himself walking home. He’d get the
prescriptions filled tomorrow, right now he just wanted to go home and see
Bucky. That’s when he froze. How was he going to tell Bucky? The brunet would
lose it and in turn make Steve lose it.
Shaking his head, he stuffed the papers into his coat pocket and figured he’d
tell Bucky about the diagnosis later. Right then, all he wanted to do was curl
up under the covers with a hot water bottle and hide from the world. The walk
back to the apartment didn’t take long, Steve quickly unlocked the door and
slipped inside. The blond knew Bucky wouldn’t be home quite yet, and the
thought soothed him a little. He would have time to pull himself together and
come up with a way to explain his diagnosis to Bucky without making the brunet
freak out.
Steve prepared the hot water bottle and walked into the bedroom. He stripped
out of his clothes before climbing into the bed. Laying the bottle on his
abdomen, Steve let out a loud sigh. He would tell Bucky in the morning.
Several hours later, when Bucky made it through the door, exhausted and grumpy
after a terrible day on the docks - - how he longed for that mechanic’s job
he’d held only a year - - the brunet noted that Steve had already gone to bed.
The smaller man lay on his back with a cold hot water bottle sliding down to
one side. Frowning softly, Bucky went to heat water and when it was ready, he
replaced the water and lay the thick rubber bottle on Steve’s abdomen,
wondering if it helped the pain his love would get every few months. Trying not
to wake the other man, who seemed utterly worn out, Bucky stripped and slid
into bed from the foot, crawling up so he lay between Steve and the wall, as
was his habit. He preferred Steve to be on the outside in case the younger man
had an emergency in the night and needed to get to the privy real quick.
Promising himself that he’d ask Steve about the doctor’s appointment in the
morning, Bucky slid his arms gently around his best friend and the man he
loved, buried his face in Steve’s neck with a delighted inhalation of the
blond’s almost sweet scent, and fell into a restful sleep.
Steve smiled slightly when he heard the steady breathing that meant Bucky had
slipped into sleep. Despite the troubles of the day, and his horrible
diagnosis, something about being in Bucky's arms made Steve feel safe and
protected. With the calming scent that Bucky seemed to exude, Steve was finally
able to close his eyes and let himself fall asleep.
xxx
Setting: AU: Saturday, December 6, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Sighing, Bucky ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair and pulled his hat
back onto his head, blocking out the drifting flakes coming down from the
leaden skies above. He practically missed the turn down the narrow alley to the
apartment stairs, backing up with another sigh. Climbing the three stories of
rickety metal stairs outside the old tenement building, the twenty-four year
old brunet finally made it to the old, paint-chipped door. He let his head hang
down a moment, wondering how in the world he’d tell Steve of this latest
problem.
Groaning, Bucky tried the doorknob, surprised to find it locked. That meant
Steve wasn’t home, on a Saturday of all times. Maybe he was out doing errands?
Bucky hoped Steve hadn’t had to go back to the doctor or anything serious.
Finding his hidden key under the old crumbling brick, Bucky unlocked the door
and let himself into the chilly apartment. Damn, it would be hard to pay for
coal without that dock job. Shaking his head, Bucky closed the door but left it
unlocked, tossing the key and his hat on the dinner table in the small living
area, He kicked off his outdoor shoes and left them haphazardly by the door
Not usually slovenly, Bucky felt too much defeat and exhaustion to bother to
pick things up at the moment; he’d get it all later. Instead, he stripped as he
walked, tossing his work clothes and drawers at the laundry hamper outside the
privy corner. Nude, and chilled in the low heat of the sparse apartment, Bucky
made his way into the single bedroom, leaving the door open without a thought.
He sank onto the soft quilt and dropped his head into his hands with another
groan.
Steve made it to the front door of the apartment, having gone for a walk to try
and clear his head. He still had no idea how he would tell Bucky. How would his
lover react to hearing such bad news?
Shaking his head, Steve bent down to get the key from under the brick but
stopped when he saw that it had already been kicked over. The blond contorted
his face in confusion, Bucky wasn’t supposed to be home for another few hours.
The small man opened the front door carefully and right away saw Bucky’s hat
and the key on the dining table, and the man’s shoes in a heap by the front
door. Quietly, Steve took off his own hat, setting it down next to the
brunet’s. The blond cocked his head when he saw the heap of Bucky’s work
clothes, singed and greasy, around the hamper: the man had apparently missed.
Steve kicked off his own shoes, the newspapers that he’d stuffed in the toes
and heels falling out as they landed in close proximity to Bucky’s work boots.
The blond walked down the narrow hallway and made his way into the bedroom.
That’s where he saw Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his
hands, completely nude. “Bucky?” Steve called out in a soft tone.
The brunet didn’t look up or even make a sound at Steve’s voice. He merely
stayed in the same dejected pose.
Steve made his way over to the brunet, sinking to his knees as he said, “I know
what you need.” The smaller man gently pushed away Bucky’s arms and took the
brunet’s member in his mouth.
Slowly, Bucky began carding his calloused fingers through Steve’s soft blond
hair, watching his lover with intense steel-blue eyes
Steve swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip before moving up to engulf
more of Bucky’s length. He hollowed his cheeks and made the low humming noise
from the back of his throat that he knew the brunet enjoyed.
Mouth dropping open as he began to pant, Bucky slowly tightened his hands in
Steve’s hair, never taking his eyes from the smaller man between his legs. With
a slight groan, Bucky switched to his foreign babbling, a sure indicator of his
pending release, his member thickening inside Steve’s hot, wet mouth.
The foreign words ringing in Steve’s ear only made him suck with more vigor,
wanting to do anything he could to help Bucky.
“Stevie, Cariad,” Bucky gasped, his hips thrusting upwards, once, twice, a
third time, until his swollen manhood spilled his seed into Steve’s willing
throat. Bucky’s clever fingers tangled into the blond tresses, holding tight
but not painfully, as his eyes closed in momentary bliss.
Steve swallowed every last drop and made sure to clean Bucky’s member before
pulling away with an obscene pop.
With a low, almost primal growl, Bucky said “My turn, Stevie,” and stood the
smaller man on his shaking legs. Hands quick and desperate, Bucky stripped
Steve’s trousers and drawers before pulling his blond lover onto his lap, his
flaccid member pressing up against the underside of Steve’s thickening erection
and heavy balls. Reaching back, leaning as he did so, Bucky managed to get the
lid off the jar of lube they kept on the bedside table. He dipped his fingers
into the slick substance, generously coating his digits, before bringing his
forefinger to Steve’s anus and caressing around the puckered bud. He carefully
slid the first finger into Steve’s hot passage.
Steve nodded his head desperately. “Yes! Please!” he sobbed, wanting nothing
more than to feel Bucky’s fingers inside him.
A momentary look of surprise crossed the brunet’s pretty face, but he didn’t
argue with the small blond. Rather, carefully maneuvering his finger around, he
eased the passage open enough to slide a second inside, caressing over Steve’s
prostate as he stroked. He wrapped his other hand around the hot, hard erection
bobbing between them, stroking Steve’s full length, as the other man enjoyed.
“Buck,” Steve breathed, tossing his head back slightly, “I . . . I need more!”
“More?” Bucky asked, but again didn’t deny his love. Instead, he scissored his
fingers carefully, occasionally stroking Steve’s prostate to remind the man of
what pleasure Bucky would bring him. Finally, he slid a third finger into
Steve’s hot and very slick passage. Absently Bucky thought he might have used
too much lube, after all: Steve had become so slippery.
The blond let out a loud groan, but he found himself still wanting, no, needing
more. “Bucky! Buck . . . I need to feel you.” Steve was desperate now, his
whole body shook with an erotic need.
Bucky’s member responded to the needy whine in Steve’s voice, filling and
pulsing in equal desire. Understanding just what Steve wanted, though they’d
never done that before, Bucky reached back and scooped up a bit more lube and
began to coat his own erection. He tapped Steve’s hip. “Kneel over me, baby,”
he cooed.
Doing as he was told, Steve positioned himself so that he was lined up with
Bucky’s erection. “Please, Buck. Please! I need you!” he groaned.
Grasping Steve’s hip firmly in one hand and his own member in his other, Bucky
met Steve’s vivid blue eyes with his own steel-blue. “You sure about this,
Stevie? You want me inside you?”
Holding Bucky’s stare, Steve said, “I need you inside me, Buck. I need it.”
“Allright, Cariad. Just relax for me, baby.” And Bucky guided his member up to
Steve’s passage, rubbing the tip once, twice, over Steve’s hot entrance. He
began to ease into the tight, hot opening . . . into Steve, eyes widening at
the feel of just his head surrounded by that heavenly sensation.
Hissing a little at the unfamiliar burn as Bucky stretched him, Steve lowered
himself down, pushing the brunet’s member further inside him. “God . . . Bucky.
I need this. I need you.” Steve moaned as the burning sensation began to give
way to a brand new feeling of pleasure he’d never felt before.
At the sounds Steve made, Bucky frowned, worried he was too large for that
tight passage. Bucky settled his other hand on Steve’s narrow hip and began to
lift the smaller man so he could pull out of Steve’s ass.
Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulders tightly and made sure to look straight into his
eyes. “No, Buck. Please. I need you.” The blond ground his hips down, pushing
the brunet’s member further into his passage.
“You’re in pain?” Bucky breathed, worry in his darkening grey-blue eyes,
feeling the pulse through his own member still partially buried in the other
man’s heat.
“No.” Steve shook his head wildly, “Keep going. I need this.” To help prove his
point, Steve pushed back down, embedding Bucky further inside, until the small
blond was flush with the tall brunet’s lap.
Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling his small lover’s body against his
own chest, sealing his mouth over Steve’s for a deep kiss of longing. He
breathed in the essence of the other man before slowly, carefully pulling out
almost halfway then sliding back into that tight passage. He groaned lightly
into Steve’s mouth and this time pulled further out, until just the head of his
shaft stretched the blond’s opening. Bucky slid inside, balls deep once more.
Steve arched his back and pushed his chest further into Bucky’s. The blond
moved his hips to meet the brunet’s thrusts. It took only a couple more tries
before the pair fell into a rhythm, thrusting together then pulling away,
enhancing the pleasure of their love making.
As they continued, Steve’s desperation came through with every buck of his hips
over his lover’s thick member. He rode Bucky like there would be no more
tomorrow, his movements falling from rhythm once in awhile.
Steadying his hands on Steve’s hips to control the younger man’s wilder
movements, Bucky guided his lover, making sure to slide over Steve’s prostate
every couple of thrusts.
The jolt of pleasure that ran up his spine as Bucky slid over his prostate made
the blond cry out, “Yes . . . Buck. God, right there!” Steve had to remember to
at least try to keep his voice down; they did not want the neighbors to hear.
As Bucky continued his assault on Steve’s prostate, the blond could feel his
balls tighten. “Buck . . . I’m close.”
“Me, too, Cariad,” Bucky moaned, thrusting up once more, pulling Steve flush
with his hot sweat-coated body. Without thinking, Bucky bit down at the
juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder, drawing blood and releasing endorphins
he never even knew existed.
Feeling Bucky’s teeth sink into his shoulder caused Steve to let out a loud
groan, and within moments he was cumming. He tightened his muscles around
Bucky’s member; Steve bit down hard on his arm to stifle the scream that rose
up as Bucky came, too, filling Steve’s ass with hot jets of thick semen that
seemed to last several minutes as the thick member pulsed deep inside him.
Steve placed his forehead against Bucky’s and stared into his lover’s eyes,
completely lost in their depths. His chest heaved against the brunet’s but this
was the best he’d felt in years.
With a low groan, followed by a soft chuckle, Bucky carefully eased his
flagging member from Steve’s over slick, dripping passage. “God, Stevie . . .
that was . . . damn!” Bucky panted, trying to regain his own breath, keeping an
eye on his lover’s breathing but not sensing any distress in the smaller man.
“Amazing.” Steve muttered, his brain and body still reeling from the pleasure
of having Bucky inside him.
Cuddling Steve close, pressing the other man’s head gently over his own heart,
Bucky sighed. “Gotta talk ‘morrow, Stevie,” he murmured sleepily.
Steve nodded, he could already feel his eyes drooping shut. “Mhmm . . .
tomorrow.”
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, December 7, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
The sun barely broke through the curtains on Sunday morning as Bucky lovingly
stroked Steve’s yellow hair. He had one arm wrapped securely around the small
blond, marveling at the wildness the twenty-three year old had displayed the
night before. What had brought on such . . . desperation? Bucky had no idea
what had triggered such a sexual passion, but he doubted it would happen again
anytime soon; especially as he still had to tell Steve about losing his job on
the docks . . . and maybe even the grease fire he’d nearly been caught in.
Steve squirmed a little and stretched his legs as he woke up. His body ached,
but it was a good ache. The blond wouldn’t mind waking up with that ache every
morning for the rest of his life.
Smiling down at the man in his arms, Bucky dropped a kiss to Steve’s lips,
gentle and soft. “Heya, Stevie,” he whispered.
The blond smiled into the gentle kiss and murmured, “Good morning, Buck.”
“Ready to face a new day, Cariad,” Bucky murmured, using his Welsh nickname for
Steve.
Softly, Steve said, "I know we should, but I don't wanna go to church today."
Bucky nodded, agreeing softly, "I want to stay wrapped up with you, Stevie."
The brunet kissed his lover again then moved to lick Steve’s bite wound, making
a distressed sound at the injury he’d caused the smaller, weaker man.
Knowing what upset Bucky, Steve shook his head and pressed a kiss to the
brunet’s forehead. “I don’t care, Buck. It actually felt really good.”
“You’re kidding?” Bucky felt incredulous at Steve’s admission, but he didn’t
argue too much. Instead he licked the bite wound again, caressing his tongue
over the rough, broken skin. “I don’t ever wanna hurt you, Stevie.”
Steve hummed when a warm, soothing feeling spread throughout his body as
Bucky’s tongue slid against the mark. “You didn’t. I’m serious, Buck. Even ya
licking it makes me feel good.”
Chuckling, Bucky nuzzled Steve’s neck where it joined behind his ear. He
caressed a hand down to the blond’s abdomen and lightly stroked. “Feeling
better today, Steve? You went to the doctor the other day, right?”
The blond felt his blood run cold and he nearly leapt out of the bed. Instead
he cleared his throat and nodded, “Uh . . . yeah.”
Puzzled at the distress Bucky could sense in the other man, he lay his hand
securely over Steve’s abdomen and met his eyes. “Steve? You okay?” Suddenly,
the brunet shook his head, “Damn, Stevie, I gotta tell you . . .”
Steve knew that he should be honest with Bucky, tell him the truth, that more
likely than not, Steve wouldn’t make it another year; but he couldn’t bring
those words to his mouth. They had such a great evening last night, and he
didn’t want to screw it up. The blond nodded, “I’m fine, Buck. Same as always,”
Steve lied. “Whatcha got to tell me?”
Sitting up next to Steve on their shared bed, which actually was a bit of a
mess from the night before, Bucky rank a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I
. . . uh . . . got fired yesterday.” He looked at Steve, a worried, almost
sheepish look in his eyes.
“Fired?” Steve asked, sitting up, “How come?”
“Well, you know Gordie, the boss’s boy? He came around on some sort of
inspection tour, as he called it. He started throwing his weight around,
yelling at us and telling us we were doing everything slow and stupid.” Bucky
frowned and shook his head, eyes narrowed at the insult to the intelligent man.
“He really used those words. Then he threw half a stogie, still lit, into the
grease barrel next to me.”
“Oh my God!” Steve exclaimed, he quickly looked over Bucky’s body again, seeing
if there were any injuries he’d missed last night.
Bucky had only some minor red areas and a few scrapes, but he looked pretty
healthy for someone who’d nearly been fried alive. “I’m fine, baby,” he said,
without really thinking about the endearment. “I pushed Gordie outta the way,
knowing the thing would blow and take us both with it. So, when they got the
fire under control, Gordie convinced his father to fire me for assault and
arson.” He sighed and shook his head, disgust written across his features. With
that on his record, he’d have trouble getting another job.
“What?” The blond nearly shouted. “But you saved his life! He could’ve killed
you!”
With a frustrated nod, Bucky said, “Yeah, maybe I should’ve just jumped out of
the way myself and let the bastard burn.”
Steve took a deep breath, trying to get his nerves in check, before laying a
comforting hand on the brunet’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Buck, you’ll find
somethin’ else . . . maybe you can work on cars again or somethin’.”
“Wouldn’t I love to?” Bucky smiled softly at Steve. “I actually liked working
at the garage. Too bad he had to lay me off to hire his nephew.” The brunet
leaned closer and slanted his head, pressing his open mouth to Steve’s and
breathing deeply. “Do you know, you smell great, Steve?”
The blond melted into the kiss and his hand that was on Bucky’s shoulder moved
up to tangle in his hair. Steve smiled, taking a deep breath of Bucky’s own
comforting scent. “Ya’ don’t smell too bad yourself.” The blond laughed
slightly.
With an answering chuckle, Bucky slipped a hand down between them to caress
over Steve’s member. “So, if we’re bad enough to skip service, what do you
wanna do, Cariad?”
“I can only think of one thing that I wanna do right now, Buck.” Steve beamed
at his lover, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh?” Bucky laughed, throwing his head back slightly. Meeting Steve’s vivid
blue gaze, he purred, “I’m all yours, baby . . . do what you will.” Bucky
kissed him on that bite mark.
Steve groaned in pleasure as Bucky’s lips touched the broken skin, “I need you
in me again, Buck. Please?”
“Again?” Surprise widened Bucky’s eyes. “You sure, Stevie? I’m kind of big, and
you’re pretty . . . uh . . . tight? I don’t wanna hurt you.”
The blond rolled his eyes before climbing onto Bucky’s lap, grinding his ass
down onto the brunet’s growing erection. “You didn’t hurt me. I need you.”
Steve leaned over and enclosed his teeth around Bucky’s earlobe, tugging
slightly.
With a groan, Bucky thrust up slightly to meet Steve’s beautiful ass. “God,
yes, baby,” Bucky purred, his shaft pulsing in response to the pleasure of
Steve’s teeth on him. “Let me get the lube,” he breathed, reaching for the
still uncapped jar on the nightstand. Dipping his fingers inside, Bucky smiled
and looked at Steve through hooded eyes. “How you wanna do this, Stevie?”
Steve ground his hips down, and tugged at Bucky’s ear again, before whispering
in a husky voice, “any way you wanna, Buck. I just need you in me, now.”
“Yeah, now,” Bucky echoed, eyes blowing dark in his sudden desire. He pushed
Steve backwards to lay on the bed, reaching down between the smaller man’s legs
to caress two slick fingers over that still slightly loose entrance. “Ready for
this, Cariad?”
“Please,” Steve’s tone turned to a whine. “Please, Buck.” His body began to
shake with anticipation.
“Anything for you,” Bucky whispered in Steve’s ear and slide both fingers into
Steve in one smooth motion. Surprisingly, Steve still felt lubricated from last
night. That would make it easier Bucky felt, as he stroked in and out of his
lover’s tight passage, caressing over his prostate every second or third
stroke.
Steve moaned loudly and bucked his hips, wanting the brunet’s fingers to go
further inside him. “I need more. Buck, I need you inside me.” The blond
breathed, his breathing hitched again when Bucky’s talented fingers slid over
his prostate.
Nodding, Bucky continued to stroke, scissoring his fingers to stretch Steve
wider. “I know, baby, but you need to be looser. Don’t wanna hurt you, Cariad.”
After a couple more strokes, Bucky slid a third finger into Steve and once
again began to work them around in the blond’s passage. Bucky latched his mouth
over Steve’s, sharing his very breath. And, slowly, the brunet withdrew his
fingers to press the spongy head of his erection against that puckered bud of
Steve’s entrance. “Ready, baby?”
“God . . . yes! Please, Bucky!” Steve nearly screamed, not being able to wait
any longer. He needed Bucky now; he needed to feel his lover inside of him.
With gentle slowness, Bucky slid himself deeper into his lover, carefully
caressing that sensitive bundle of nerves as he pushed as far as his thick
member could go, his balls slapping Steve’s ass as he bottomed out. “God,
Steve, so tight . . . so hot . . .”
“Yes . . . Buck. Ya’ feel so good. So good inside me,” the blond muttered as he
arched his back from the pleasurable feeling when the brunet slid against his
prostate.
“Ready, Cariad? I’m gonna start . . .” Bucky warned softly, pausing only a
moment before sliding outwards until only his head remained clenched beyond
Steve’s tight muscle. Then the brunet slid hot and hard into the blond, deeply
penetrating the smaller man. He murmured something in another language in
Steve’s ear.
Steve threw his head back and his mouth fell open as Bucky slammed into him.
“Yes! Buck . . . do that again! Please!”
Grinning, Bucky lapped at Steve’s wounded shoulder, tasting the clear
endorphin-laced serum that had begun to well once more. He again slid almost
completely out of Steve’s ass then bucked his hips hard, impaling himself fully
into the smaller man. “Like . . . that . . . baby?” He panted, doing it again
and again.
“God . . . yes!” The blond breathed as his body moved to the motion of Bucky’s
hard thrusts. “Just like that, Buck.”
Whimpering, Bucky continued the hard, fast, deep pace of his thrusts, licking
and kissing Steve’s neck, occasionally nipping at those rosy lips, then moving
to caress his tongue lovingly over one dusky pert nipple. His hand tweaked at
the other hardening bud and Bucky began to suckle at Steve, his hips pistoning
as hard as he could, meeting Steve’s desperate thrusts with his own.
Arching his back again, Steve moaned loudly just as Bucky began his foreign
babbling indicating his impending orgasm. The blond knew he was close, too, and
he leaned up, wrapping his arms around the brunet. Steve could feel the scream
of ecstasy moving its way up his throat, and to keep himself from screaming,
the blond opened his mouth and bit down hard on Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky’s eyes opened wide as his member seemed to double in size, a large knot
of flesh and semen apparently forming just inside the ring of Steve’s ass,
pushing through Steve’s tight channel, until it lodged inside, impossibly large
and knotting the pair together, unable to pull apart even if they tried. Bucky
moaned and buried his face in Steve’s temple, hot jets of cum spurting from his
knotted erection, filling Steve and painting his walls in thick white seed.
Feeling Bucky release inside of him, and the tightness from the knot that had
been formed, Steve felt his own member throb and spurt cum across their
bellies, his body nearly convulsing, locking rigid in ecstasy at the over-full
sensations in his hot ass. Steve’s heart raced wildly, eyes wide, breath coming
in short gasps, grunts, and pants.
Coming down from his high, though still locked deeply in Steve’s passage, Bucky
heard and felt Steve’s body’s hyper reaction. Sudden worry pounded through the
brunet; he felt afraid that Steve might have a heart attack right there in
their bed, and Bucky couldn’t pull his member free so he could help the
apparently desperate blond. “Stevie?” he whimpered, worry pouring out of every
nerve.
“I’m . . . okay.” Steve stated in between labored breaths. “That . . . is . . .
amazing.”
Bucky cupped his face and started planting tender kisses across his mouth,
cheeks, eyelids, nose, and wherever else he could reach. He made worried
mewling noises for his lover, his eyes fastened on Steve’s, blown dark with
ecstasy and terror combined. “Stevie? Don’t die . . . don’t leave me!”
Steve’s blue eyes widened and he kissed the brunet gently, “I’m not going
anywhere, Buck. I’m not going anywhere you can’t follow.”
“Good,” Bucky growled into Steve’s mouth and kissed him fiercely, murmuring
something that sounded very much like “mine.”
“I’ll always be yours, Buck. Always. I love you so much . . . so, so much.”
Steve mewled, nuzzling into the crook of Bucky’s neck.
Blinking, surprised and a little embarrassed that Steve had heard his
possessive words, Bucky nodded, unsure how to respond to that. He held Steve
against his heart, much as he had the night before, and relaxed as he felt
Steve relaxing, their hearts beating in unison for a few seconds. A very long,
and very short, twenty minutes passed before Bucky’s knot went down and his
member seemed to fall from Steve’s entrance with a wet pop and a draining of
semen and slick. Bucky whimpered at the feeling of leaving his lover’s heat.
Steve echoed the brunet’s noise of disappointment as the over-full feeling left
him. The blond rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He smiled lazily. "Didn't
know we could do that."
Bucky shook his head, laying them back on the bed and brushing Steve's fair
hair from his brilliant eyes. "Neither did I."
Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky kissed him and told him, "get some sleep,
punk."
"Jerk," Steve murmured, smiling, as he drifted off, Bucky following into sleep.
***** A Full Circle *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Graphic descriptions of war.
     .
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
     Setting: AU: December 8 - 25, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States
     of America
Setting: AU: Monday, December 8, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Bucky smiled sleepily at his lover as the smaller man slept, snuggled against
him. The brunet couldn’t begin to understand what had happened between them the
day before . . . how his penis had done what it had, and he wondered if he’d
actually hurt Steve when that knot had formed and locked them together.
Somehow, Bucky thought not. Gently, he reached over to stroke the fingers of
his left hand down the side of that beloved face. He leaned over and softly
kissed Steve’s cheekbone then his chin, enjoying the scent of his lover. Steve
was the only man Bucky actually enjoyed smelling, though he decided to ignore
the oddity of the thought.
Feeling light kisses being placed on his face, Steve smiled softly. Slowly he
opened his eyes and looked up at Bucky. “Good mornin’, Buck.”
“Morning, Stevie,” Bucky responded on a smile. “You feelin’ alright?”
Humming a low noise from the back of his throat, Steve nodded and leaned up to
kiss his lover on the lips. “Feelin’ great . . . better than I have in ages.”
“Really?” Bucky pushed himself up on one arm to study the smaller man. “I was
afraid I’d hurt you . . . with what . . . uh, happened?”
Steve shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. “No, you didn’t hurt me.
It actually felt really nice. I don’t know how to explain it . . . it’s like
whatever that was helped my body relax or somethin’.”
Letting out a soft chuckle, Bucky grinned wider. “Well, I don’t know how it
happened, but if it was good for you, too, then I hope I can figure out how to
do it again. But,” he stretched sensuously like a great cat, “we got that class
today you wanted me to take.”
Groaning softly, Steve pulled himself closer to Bucky’s side and rested his
head on the brunet’s strong shoulder. “I don’t wanna go now. I wanna stay home
again.”
“Lazy,” Bucky laughed. He sat up, pulling Steve to a sitting position, then
slid out of their bed. “It’s Monday. We already skipped yesterday, and this
class costs money. So, we’re going.” The brunet leaned over and placed a gentle
kiss on the blond’s lips. “When we’re done, you can help me look for another
job, okay?”
Sighing over-dramatically, Steve pushed out his bottom lip in a slight pout.
“Fine. But after that we can try whatever that was again, right?”
“Yeah, Stevie, we’ll try that again . . . and again.” He kissed Steve again and
headed towards their kitchen sink in order to draw and heat water for a quick
scrub up. After their lovemaking, both men needed to clean up before going out
in public. “Get the bed, will ya?” Bucky called as he pulled out the wash
basin.
The small blond slowly got to his feet, his body ached but it was a good ache.
Stretching, and letting out a loud yawn as he did so, Steve began to strip the
thin sheets off the mattress. Realizing that he still hadn’t told Bucky about
his diagnosis made the blond’s heart lurch. The brunet had just lost his job,
as well as almost being blown up, and Steve hadn’t found a good time to talk to
his lover about the cancer. He knew he’d have to tell Bucky sooner or later,
but he was terrified of how his friend might react.
Sighing, Steve finished stripping the bed and bundled the soiled fabric in his
arms.
Bucky, still totally nude, looked over from the small stove and smiled to his
equally nude lover. “Hey, Steve, come get washed up. We can wash those after we
get back.” The taller man began to scrub his body with a soaped cloth.
The blond nodded and set the bundle of sheets in the hamper before making his
way over to where Bucky stood. Steve reached for the other soapy cloth and
began to wash away all the grime from yesterday’s activities.
It didn’t take long for the pair to clean themselves up, washing away the
remains of sex and daily living. Finally, Bucky pulled out some clothes for
them both and handed over Steve’s drawers, putting the rest on the bare
mattress. “I think we can make it in time if we cut across Baker street,” the
brunet said absently as he pulled on his own underpants.
Making a noise of agreement, Steve grabbed his trousers and tugged them on.
Finally as he buttoned up his shirt, Steve looked up at the brunet and smiled,
“Thanks for doing this with me, Buck.”
Cocking his head as he buttoned his shirt, Bucky asked “doing what? Going to a
drawing class? I think you’ll be fine.” He offered the other man a grin and
shrug, “but I love watching you when you draw, so it’s no hardship.” Of course,
Bucky didn’t mention that the true hardship would be affording classes without
an income.
As if reading his friend’s mind, Steve spoke in a soft tone, unsure of his
lover’s reaction, “Ya’ know, Buck. I was thinkin’ that maybe I can try sellin’
some of my art. Maybe try and get a job at Coney Island as a portraitist or
somethin’. I wanna help out more.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Stevie!” Bucky grinned enthusiastically. “You can
make a fortunate in art. I know you’re good enough. Maybe you could draw the
funny pictures that are starting to sweep the midway, too.” He nodded and
slipped into his shoes and reached for his coat. “Maybe even make a comic
book?”
Sighing with relief, Steve pulled on his shoes and grinned brightly at Bucky’s
last suggestion. “Yeah! How fun would that be? I can draw super heroic people
and whatnot.”
Bucky tossed Steve his jacket and laughed. “So, we go to this class and see if
they know who we can talk to about you getting comic art work, right?”
Privately, Bucky thought the idea had more than merit: in a safe drawing job,
Steve would have little chance to over work himself or catch someone else’s
illnesses. He’d be so much safer sitting at a desk. “Just so’s your first super
hero looks like you, pal,” Bucky shot back and opened the door.
“As long as I could make you my sidekick,” the blond teased as he stepped out
of the apartment and into the morning air.
Throwing his arm around his best friend, and secret lover, Bucky laughed long
and loud. “Right, Steve. I’ll be your sidekick whenever and wherever you want.
But first, I must get my Captain to art class.” He guided Steve towards their
destination only five blocks away.
“Captain?” Steve chuckled, “I like the sound of that. What would that make
you?”
Bucky laughed. “Well, as a sidekick, I’d be a lower rank . . . probably
enlisted. How about I be your private?”
“I could boss ya’ around.” The blond smirked, “You’d hafta listen to me . . .
do as I say.”
“Ha,” Bucky chuckled, “like I don’t already?” He grinned and let his arm drop
from Steve’s bony shoulders in order to open the door to the enclosed stairwell
leading to the non-descript training studio above the newspaper office of the
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Loud sounds of industry came from the large bottom floor
presses and editorial offices: people yelling, machines running, and the sounds
of newsboys purchasing their papers in order to sell them at a profit on the
streets.
Within minutes, the pair had stepped into a small, practically bare room with a
group of stools situated before blank easels, a small pedestal in the center
containing a chair and sheet. There were about four other young men in the
room, but apparently no professor yet. Bucky smiled. “See? On time.”
Steve beamed up at the brunet before taking in the room. The blond couldn’t
wait for the class to begin, happy that his lover had convinced him to go.
“Think the professor will let us choose which easel we get to use?” Bucky
gestured around.
A short, thin man walked into the room. Dressed in thick winter coat and
galoshes, the man removed a snow covered woolen hat. He turned to the six young
men and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, normally I would collect your fee and
begin to evaluate your skills before allowing you to draw one another then a
chosen model. However, this day class is canceled.”
Disappointment made Steve’s face fall; he’d probably jinxed it by not wanting
to come this morning.
Confused at the announcement, Bucky asked the teacher, “why did we all come in
this weather if the class was cancelled? Couldn’t you have told us on Friday or
something?”
The professor shook his head. “Yesterday in the early morning hours, Japan
attacked our military base at Pearl Harbor in the territory of Hawaii.” Serious
green eyes raked over the shocked men. “We are at war, gentlemen. The United
States of America has gone to war once again. You may wish to consider the path
of heroism and honor and enlist to help our fine soldiers and sailors.” With
that, the teacher once more pulled on his woolen cap followed by his jacket
then turned towards the doorway of the room. Pandemonium erupted from the other
students and Bucky tugged Steve out of the group towards the wall.
“They attacked us yesterday, Buck.” Steve snapped, his voice low to avoid being
overheard.
Bucky pulled Steve flush, the smaller blond’s back to the taller brunet’s
front. He wrapped his arms around his lover and watched as the other men made
their disordered way from the small studio. “Yeah,” he finally answered Steve
when the pair were at last alone. “That’s what he said.”
“Yesterday morning, Buck! We . . . we were . . . while they were being attacked
. . . we were having . . .” Steve couldn’t form words as his body seemed to
tremble with fury.
Sighing, Bucky looked down at Steve in his arms. “What do you want me to say,
Steve? That God’s punishing America because of what we did? That I shouldn’t .
. . feel like I do about you?” He pulled Steve into a tighter spooning hug,
lowering his mouth to Steve’s ear. “Are you sorry we did that, Stevie? Cause if
you think what we did was as wrong as we’ve been told . . . I won’t touch you
any more.” His voice held misery and worry laced with utter shock and horror
over what had happened in that far off island territory.
Steve pulled away slightly, “What? No! Of course I ain’t sorry for what we did!
It’s just . . . American men and women were losing their lives . . . while we .
. .” The blond flushed unable to complete his sentence.
Shaking his head and turning Steve around to face him, Bucky harshly whispered,
“there are five million people in New York City, Steve; four thousand of them
are richer than sin. And I’ll bet out of those millions, especially the rich
ones, that we were not the only couple in New York making love.” He shook his
head again, narrowing his blue-grey eyes. “And that goes for most of the rest
of America . . . including Hawaii. No one knew the Japanese bastards were gonna
start a war, Steve! They were just here talking peace with our president!”
Steve’s eyes hardened and his hands balled into fists by his sides, “I need to
go out there and fight for our country, Buck.”
“You wanna go into the trenches and die of mustard gas, Steve?” Bucky asked,
horrified.
“Of course I don’t wanna die, Bucky,” Steve ground out, “But I want to serve
our country . . . you don’t?”
Not answering that challenge, Bucky said “they won’t take someone not fighting
fit, Steve. You haven’t been trained . . . not to fight. You got heart,” he
sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “but you tend to lose.”
Fists bunching up tighter, Steve narrowed his eyes at his lover. “Then train
me.”
“Steve,” Bucky moaned softly, distressed at the demand, “I don’t want you . .
.”
“You don’t think I can do it!” Steve nearly shouted, his face red in anger and
embarrassment.
“That’s not it, Steve!” Bucky clenched his fists and shook his head. “I hate
seeing you fight.”
“No . . . you don’t think I can do it! Well you know what? I don’t care what
you think! If you won’t train me, I will find someone who will,” Steve growled
and began to turn away from Bucky.
“Stevie!” Bucky grabbed for Steve and pulled him in tight. “No, don’t . . .” he
sighed and pressed his face to Steve’s hair. “Fine, I’ll take you to Goldie’s.
I’ll train you to box.” He felt deflated at the promise forced from him, but
the brunet didn’t trust anyone else to train the small, sickly man. At least
with Bucky training him, Steve had a chance of not getting overworked.
Steve nodded once but he didn’t speak. His body still shook in anger and the
smaller man felt somewhat betrayed that Bucky didn’t believe that he could do
this.
“If you wanna get good at it, you can’t just do it once a week, Steve,” Bucky
whispered in his lover’s ear, still holding him tight. “I’ll need you to come
to the gym at least an hour every day, more if you’re real serious.” He lifted
his face. “And that’s more than hitting a bag. You need stamina training, so
you’ll need to run with me every morning. I can take it slow until you’re used
to it, but fighting’s not done on flat fields so much as in muddy trenches and
burnt out cities. I think we can find an obstacle type course at the kiddie
playground . . .” Bucky fell silent, dropping off his suggestions.
“I can do it, Buck.” Steve mumbled. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“Prove it to me?” Shaking his head, Bucky looked surprised. “God, Stevie, you
don’t gotta prove nothin’ to me! I know you’ll fight until you’re dead or the
other guy begs. You’re talking getting you fit to join the Army, Steve! Not a
back alley brawl, but guns and gas and planes and bombs and stuff . . .” misery
welled in the brunet’s normally smooth voice. “That’s a lot of people trying to
kill you, Stevie.” He hated that his lover asked this of him. He didn’t want
Steve fighting fit; the Army might just take him then.
“Obviously I do need to prove it to you. I don’t get it . . . you’ve never
doubted me before. You’ve always been in my corner . . . why is this any
different?” Now Steve’s voice trembled with the anger he felt in his core.
Finally letting the other man go, Bucky took a step back and hugged himself.
“Because, Steve, these people don’t care if you drop down bleedin’. They aren’t
gonna stop until they leave you rottin’ in a field, broken with no way to get
your body back for burial.” He shook his head, eyes haunted. “Tata told me
about when he went to the Great War in ‘Seventeen, Steve. He saw his friends
ripped apart by bullets and mines and stuff . . . right in front of him. And he
couldn’t do anything about it! Even as trained as he was, Tata couldn’t save
them.” He turned towards the window. “And I won’t be able to save you, either.”
Shaking his head, Steve clenched his fists tighter; he felt his nails begin to
dig into his palms. “I don’t need you to save me! I can take care of myself!”
Nodding, Bucky sighed, his voice soft and sad. “I gotcha, Steve. I’ll train ya
and then you can go to war.” Bucky grabbed his coat from the wall hook and
shoved his arms through the sleeves. “We start running tomorrow morning, but
you can learn to make a proper fist right now. Let’s go to Goldie’s.” He didn’t
look at his lover, simply turning and walking out to the hallway.
Steve knew that he hurt Bucky, and as he watched his lover walk down the
hallway, guilt flooded him. “Wait! Bucky!” The smaller man shouted as he ran to
catch up with the brunet.
Bucky froze at the top of the steps above the newsroom. He didn’t look at
Steve, merely stood, stiff and still. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled, “I wasn’t thinkin’. I didn’t mean what I said. I
need you, Bucky. I’m sorry.”
Softly, Bucky said “you know, Steve, I think Becca could fight in the war. I
think Rosie can do it, too. So, I have no doubt you can fight any German or Jap
that comes by.” He turned his face to look at the small man, grey-blue eyes
hurt, trying to fight his tears, “but that doesn’t mean I want any of my loved
ones to go over and fight and suffer in war.”
“I know.” Steve nodded, his tone laced with guilt. “I’m sorry. I - -”
Bucky lifted a hand, “shut up, Stevie.”
The smaller man snapped his jaws shut at the order and listened to what Bucky
had to say.
He sighed. “Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll train you up so the Army can’t say
you can’t hold your own, right? Then, we’ll go down together and sign up.” He
took a deep breath then let it out, “but if they refuse me, for any reason, you
don’t sign that paper, okay? You don’t ever leave me behind, right?” The tall,
athletic, intelligent man ran a hand through his dark brown curls.
“I wouldn’t ever leave you behind, Bucky,” Steve stated, his voice now
trembling with sadness.
Unable to pull Steve into his arms on the public stairway, the taller man
nodded. “Okay, and I won’t sign if they don’t take you, either. ‘Cause I won’t
leave you unless they drag me screamin’ and kickin’ from your side.” He offered
a shaky smile. “But I need another promise, Stevie.”
“Anything.” Steve stated, his tone sharp.
Taking a deep breath, knowing Steve wouldn’t like his next demand, Bucky pushed
ahead anyway. “You weren’t well a couple days ago. Your doctor said you were
okay, you told me. So, before we sign up, I want your doctor to check you over
one last time. I wanna make sure someone who knows you does your physical. I
hear those military doctors don’t exactly catch everything, after all, and I
don’t want you going overseas if you’re not well.”
Steve froze. There was no way that Doctor Johnson would give Steve the go-ahead
to join the Army. Not when he had just diagnosed Steve with cancer, something
he had yet to tell Bucky. Figuring that he could figure out how to get Johnson
to agree later, Steve simply nodded and forced a small, tight smile. “Sure,
Buck.”
Blowing out his breath in relief, Bucky smiled widely at his lover. He nodded
and began down the steps. “Okay, then let’s go to Goldie’s and teach you to
throw a proper punch.”
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, December 23, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Standing outside the office door of his fertility doctor, Christopher Johnson,
a warmth seemed to radiate from behind the wood and frosted glass. It had been
two weeks since Steve had begun training, running and boxing every day with
Bucky. The older man had not gone real easy on Steve, though he always seemed
to know just when the small man reached his limits. Bucky never pushed him too
far, but he did push. If the younger man hadn’t believed his lover’s sincerity
before concerning his belief in Steve’s prowess, the amount of physical labor
Bucky had pushed the blond through would have erased those doubts. And having
gotten the weapons factory job after a week hadn’t caused Bucky to slack in his
training of Steve.
Finally, slowly, Steve took another calming breath and touched the warm metal
doorknob. He was here to get a preliminary physical, to satisfy Bucky that he,
Steve, was healthy enough to go to war. And all along, Steve knew that there
was no way on Earth he could be considered well: he’d been diagnosed with
rectal cancer just days before their decision to sign up for the Army. How
could he get Doctor Johnson to understand why Steve needed to be cleared for
this? Finally, when he turned the knob and opened the office door, Steve was
met with a blast of hot air from the roaring fire in the fireplace behind the
doctor’s scarred wooden desk, as well as the sight of the red-haired young
doctor putting a few papers in the blaze and watching them burn with an
intensity in his eyes.
“Doctor Johnson? What are you doing?” Steve asked incredulously as he shut the
door behind him.
Whirling around, eyes large behind his glasses, Christopher reached up and
pulled the wire-framed lenses from his face and let them dangle by the chain
around his neck. Clearing his throat, he said, “oh! Mister Rogers, I thought
I’d cancelled this week’s appointments. Or are you here for an emergency? Not
enough medicine? More bleeding cramps?” He nervously glanced over at the papers
curling and charring in the fireplace and the several stacks of files piled on
his desk.
“I . . . uh. I needed to ask a favor of you,” Steve sputtered, his eyes
flickering between Doctor Johnson and the burning papers.
“Yes?” Doctor Johnson cleared his throat. “What can I do?” He scooped up a
file, marked Patient 42, and glanced at it then at Steve, getting redder.
Taking a deep breath, Steve pushed forward. “I need your medical clearance to
join the Army.”
“What!” The doctor looked shocked, dropping the file, and shook his head. “Why
would you want to join the Army?” He grabbed another file from the desk, marked
Patient 23, and turned to pull the papers out of the cover and toss them in the
fire.
“Why are you burning those papers, Doctor Johnson? Are you in trouble?” Steve
asked, curiosity getting the best of him.
“Me?” Christopher turned and glanced at the closed door then back at Steve,
“trouble? God,” he almost whined and shook his head. “Yes, Mister Rogers, we
are both in very much trouble, I’d say. Don’t you know we’re at war now?” He
reached for the file marked Patient 5.
“Of course . . . that’s why I asked for the medical clearance . . . but that
doesn’t explain why’d you be burin’ those files.” Steve looked at his doctor
with confused blue eyes.
Groaning, Doctor Johnson opened the file and tossed the papers into the fire,
letting the empty file cover fall to the floor among so many others. “Because
I’m trying to protect my patients. Don’t you realize we’re at war with Germany?
And Doctor Rolf Keilmeyer is German!”
Realization caused Steve’s eyes to widened, “Will the government come after us?
B-but Keilmeyer is a good man.”
“And Doctor Abraham Erskine is German, too!” wailed Christopher, his Bronx
accent coming to the fore. “I don’t want the government thinking I was helping
the enemy!” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how good a man is, Mister
Rogers. I got word, through sources I won’t even dare mention out loud, that
Rolf was arrested and is awaiting trial in some work camp called Dachau. If he
is found guilty of something, anything, me, you, and all of his patients could
be in danger.” Doctor Johnson picked up the file marked Patient 73 and turned
to burn the papers inside, letting the file cover drop.
“Doctor Keilmeyer got arrested? What for?!” Steve asked, fear for the older man
he’d come know as a friend coursing through his veins.
Christopher shook his head. “I don't know. But he’s in holding right now, and I
suspect it might have something to do with the research we’ve been doing.
Remember my cousin? And that man from Peru? We’ve been trying to help people
like that . . . and like you. If word got out to the wrong authorities, that
would put us up there with Judas and the two thieves!” With a long sigh, the
doctor leaned against his desk, his skin flushed brightly from being near that
hot, hot fire for so long, feeding it repeatedly with patient files.
“I don’t understand,” Steve muttered. “You guys aren’t doing anything illegal
or anything . . . just helping people.”
“Ever heard of eugenics, Steve? It’s controlled birth . . . where the
government has the right to dictate who can be sterilized to prevent future
abominations or undesirables from being produced or reproducing. And the Church
is totally against our work, saying God chose things to be the way they are and
we should stop meddling . . .” He shook his head and reached for Patient 61’s
file. “Well, eugenics is alive and well in this country, in some of the
hospitals and on the reservations and other places. But more importantly, Adolf
Hitler is a big proporter of eugenics. That means he’s a supporter of
sterilization, not fixing it!”
“Hilter? So that means . . . Keilmeyer could be in real trouble.” Steve
murmured, “For just helping people.”
“Well,” the doctor sighed and threw the papers into the fire, dropping the
folder, “he was apparently put under house arrest for being Jewish, to
investigate something about his business ethics and such. But then he was taken
from home in the night and transferred to the work camp to await trial. That’s
the last news I got . . . just a few days ago. So, I cancelled all appointments
and began trying to clear up any evidence.” He looked back at the fire. “And
destroy any trail that might lead to my patients . . . his patients.” He looked
over at Steve. “Just in case.”
“So that means . . . we’re done?” Steve stated, his stomach tightening, “I
can’t come here anymore . . . can I?”
Slowly, Christopher turned to Steve and sighed. “Look, I’ve already burned your
file, Mister Rogers, so there’s no evidence you’ve ever been here. So, if you
need a clearance for the Army, don’t worry about it. They’ll never find your
records anyway, so they can’t prove you have cancer.” He shook his head. “I’m
actually signing up once I’m done. I’m planning on doing my part, too. Maybe
I’ll see you over there?” He shrugged, voice as miserable as his eyes. “But, if
you want to see that oncologist I recommended, I can see about getting him to
let you have your medications at discount or something?”
“No . . . that won’t - - that won’t be necessary. Thank you, Doctor Johnson.
I’m sorry we have to part like this. Maybe we will see each other overseas.”
The doctor finally left the fire, walking around his desk and offering his
over-flushed hand to Steve. “I, too, Mister Rogers. You have been a most
informative, and pleasant, patient. If this damn war hadn’t happened, we might
have truly made a breakthrough in the Gamma problem.”
Taking the doctor’s hand in his own, Steve shook it firmly before letting his
hand fall to the side. “I wish you well. Be safe, Doctor Johnson.”
“You, too, Mister Rogers. Be safe and be well. I hope your cancer holds off the
most debilitating symptoms until you can get overseas and fight for freedom. I
think we wouldn’t have any truer soldier than you.” He offered a watery grin
and headed back around towards his fire and the remaining files. “I can’t sign
a clearance for you, Mister Rogers, because we never met.”
Smiling weakly, Steve nodded, not replying to Doctor Johnson, and left the
office. Bucky didn’t wait for him in the hallway like usual; Steve had told his
lover to stay home, unable to risk Bucky finding out about the cancer. If the
brunet did find out, he would stop training Steve, and the blond would never
make it into the war. Because of the war, Steve didn’t need to tell his love
about dying from a disease, if everything went his way . . . Steve would end up
dying an honorable death overseas rather than slowly in some hospital.
The snow began to fall once more, beginning to erase the trace of footprints on
the sidewalks of the city.
xxx
Setting: AU: Wednesday, December 24, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
As Bucky and Steve stood outside the recruitment office, the tall brunet took a
deep breath of the cold air. He looked at Steve. “Okay, we go in and answer
some question, fill out some papers, and get the physical. I wanna look over
your papers and you can look over mine, okay?” He touched Steve’s sleeve,
almost afraid the man would be whisked up and stolen away to go to that
godforsaken war. With two fronts now, one in Europe and one over the islands of
the Pacific, the government was starting to instill a civilian draft.
The smaller man nodded, “Yeah, alright,” Steve murmured, his eyes focusing on
the building in front of him. Bucky and he had been working nonstop to get him
‘combat ready’ but Steve couldn’t stop feeling nervous. He still looked sickly;
he was still small. Nothing like what a soldier should look like.
“Okay,” Bucky nodded and slipped his hat to a rakish angle, giving his friend
and lover a cocky grin. “Let’s knock ‘em dead, Steve.”
Returning the grin, a lot less sure of himself, Steve followed the brunet into
the recruitment office.
A woman dressed in khakis, a volunteer, stood at the desk looking bored as she
put up with the flirtatious comments and occasional grabs by the men applying
for the Army. Sighing, she offered Bucky the sheet of paper and glanced at
Steve. She gestured to the chairs in the waiting area. “You can wait for your
brother over there, kid,” she said.
Bucky interrupted, “I think I’d rather stand with him while he fills out his
form, ma’am,” Bucky handed the paper to Steve.
Taking the paper from Bucky with a slight huff, Steve’s cheeks burned with
embarrassment.
The taller man shook his head, “think she don’t know her history, Captain,” he
referred to their private comic book joke. “After all, Emperor Napoleon of
France was a General in the Army and he stood only five foot four . . . like
you,” he offered a simple smile at Steve.
The woman flushed and produced a second paper, handing that one to Bucky as
well. “Fill out your papers then bring them to the other desk so you can have
your physicals,” she intoned, trying to avoid looking at Steve at all.
Steve, used to the treatment, simply walked over to the small desks meant for
filling out the forms. The blond slid into one of the open desks and began to
fill out the questions.
Bucky offered a glare to the WAC and followed his best friend. Slipping into
the desk next to Steve’s, Bucky began to answer his medical and history
questions.”So, uh, Steve,” Bucky whispered softly, leaning close, “I’m not sure
about the question marked “eating disorders” or the one marked “psychological
problems.” He turned blue-grey eyes on the blond.
“Ya don’t have either one of those, Buck,” Steve answered back softly, “Eating
disorder means you don’t eat as much as you should on purpose.”
“But psychological problems? That one says ‘history of’ . . .” Bucky slipped
the pen in his mouth and sucked on the blunt end.
“Don’t chew the pen,” Steve admonished, “And it’s just asking if you or anyone
in your family have any mental disorders.”
Groaning, Bucky slumped in his seat, pulling the pen from his mouth. “So, it’s
a ‘yes’?”
Thinking of small Gracie, and the line that Bucky painted to make sure she’d
make it home to the right apartment, Steve shook his head. “I don’t think
Gracie has a psychological disorder . . . she’s just a little . . . slow? For
her age.”
“Retarded is what her papers say at the doctor’s,” Bucky said bitterly.
“Well the doctor’s wrong. Gracie ain’t retarded. She’s real smart. Just takes
her a bit longer to answer questions and whatnot.” Steve didn’t like to think
about the sweet girl being labeled something like that.
Bucky looked at his smaller friend and softly smiled. “You know that, and I
know that. But, Steve, the government says she’s mentally disordered. So, I’ve
gotta check yes . . .” He shook his head and reluctantly marked the paper with
the pen. “Shit . . .” he swore so softly it was almost inaudible.
Barely hearing his lover’s curse, Steve’s eyes snapped back over to Bucky.
“What’s wrong?”
Without saying anything, Bucky pointed to a simple question on Steve’s form.
‘Homosexual’ was listed among the questions. Steve’s heart lurched and he
stared at the word for what felt like hours.
With a shaking breath, Bucky marked the form with a check mark . . . in the
‘No’ box. He glanced at Steve, his eyes apologizing for the lie.
Shaking his head, Steve marked the ‘No’ box as well. “Don’t feel much like
getting arrested today,” the blond muttered in a low tone.
“I don't much like other guys,” Bucky whispered and continued to mark his
sheet. He meant that Steve was the only guy he liked that way, but he certainly
wouldn’t clarify the statement in this public setting. Finally, he sat back and
offered his paper to the blond. “Done. Wanna check it over?”
Steve finished answering his last question, worried about his lie of omission
since he did not mark down about his cancer, Steve swapped papers with the
brunet. The blond looked over the sheet carefully reading each and every
question.
Glancing over the sheet, Bucky nodded, not surprised by the honest listing of
health problems and history. Finally, he handed it back. “So, we ready to go?
Get our physicals and sign up to help our soldiers?” He didn’t sound too
enthusiastic.
Releasing a shaky breath, Steve nodded, choosing not to notice his lover’s
less-than-thrilled tone. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Once they handed over their medical history forms, it didn’t take long for
Steve and Bucky to be brought into separate medical cubicles to be examined.
The doctor with Steve merely looked over the paper then at the small blond man
sitting on the bed with the determined stare. “Son, you have asthma?”
“Yes, Sir, but I’ve been training real hard. I’ve been gettin’ better,” Steve
answered honestly.
“But you do have asthma?” the doctor stressed.
“Yes, Sir,” Steve mumbled.
“Speak up, son, clear and proud. You have asthma.”
Flushing a deep red, Steve nodded. “Yes, I do.” His voice came louder and
clearer than it had been before.
“Fine,” the doctor looked back at the sheet. He studied it and didn’t make
another comment before nodding and placing the page on his small desk. Pulling
out a rubber stamp and inking it, he pressed a clear, black ‘4F’ on the page
and handed it back, without clarifying what the code meant. “Take that back to
the WAC out front, son.”
Taking the paper, Steve nodded, “Thank you, Sir,” the small man answered before
leaving the room and heading towards the instructed area.
There was no sign of Bucky yet, but the WAC flushed at the sight of Steve. Once
he got to her side, she whispered, “I’m sorry about before. Next to your
friend, you look maybe sixteen?” She reached for his paper.
Handing over the paper, Steve offered her a small smile, “It’s alright. Common
mistake.”
“I never knew an Emperor and General was so . . . short!” she breathed, glanced
at the paper, and nodded. “Okay. Well, you can wait for your friend over there
if you want. There’s a canteen set up out back, but you don’t get a free meal
since you didn’t have to give blood.” She offered a smile to Steve.
“Do you know what ’4F’ means? The doctor didn’t explain it to me,” Steve asked,
his nerves making him impatient.
Blinking slowly, she nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, means you can’t join the
military for health reasons.” She glanced over the paper. “Probably because of
the asthma,” she added, “but it could be the heart problems, too.”
Sighing, Steve nodded and felt his chest tighten. “Thank you,” he mumbled
before going over to one of the open chairs and collapsing into it. He didn’t
understand . . . what did it matter if he had asthma? He wanted to fight for
his country . . . why couldn’t that be enough?
After fifteen more minutes Bucky came out of the cubicle with a bandage on his
arm, slipping on his shirt over his under shirt. He shook his head and stepped
to the woman at the front desk. She glanced at the paper and nodded. “If you’ll
sign here, Mister Barnes, you can get your train tickets from the bursar . . .”
Head snapping up at the mention of Bucky’s name, Steve quickly made his way
over to where his lover stood. Train ticket? Bucky had been accepted . . . of
course he’d been accepted.
“. . . in the room at the end of that hallway.” she finished and offered a pen
to Bucky. He began to take it and smiled as Steve stopped next to him, though
his eyes didn’t hold the smile.
“Hey, Steve. They say there’s a troop forming right now in Wisconsin,” he said
just to be talking. He hated that they’d be joining the Army, but a promise was
a promise.
“I didn’t get in, Buck.” Steve murmured, his voice trembling and cheeks tinged
red with embarrassment.
“Wait, what?” Bucky blinked in genuine surprise at his lover. He put down the
pen and picked up his paper, clearly stamped ’1A’ across the top. “What do you
mean you didn’t get in?”
“I didn’t get in . . . my asthma,” Steve grumbled.
“Asthma can hold you out of fighting for your country?” Bucky groaned, suddenly
remembering some of Steve’s more severe attacks, sending the blond to the
hospital and his loved ones pacing the floor in fear for his life. “Ah,” he
nodded and began to fold his paper.
“Wait! What are you doing?” the woman asked, puzzled. “I need that back. You
sign it, take it to the bursar to get your tickets and a pre-check to provide
for your family, and you go to Camp . . .”
“I ain’t goin’,” Bucky shook his head, continuing to fold his medical history
paper. Finally, he pocketed the paper. “C’mon, Steve, let's go.” He couldn’t
hide the relief in his voice and eyes.
Eyes trained on the floor, Steve let himself be guided out of the recruitment
office. The smaller man felt so stupid; why had he thought he could actually
get into the Army? Why had he allowed his hopes to get high? Now, he’d have to
figure out a way to tell Bucky about his diagnosis.
Bucky slipped into his heavy coat, putting his hat on his head. He strode from
the room, his long stride matched to Steve’s smaller one, as he’d always done.
“So, you . . . wanna keep working out at Goldie’s, Steve?” Bucky offered.
“What’s the point?” Steve snapped, “I’m useless. Can’t do nothin’.”
Wincing then looking at his lover in surprise, Bucky shook his head. “To keep
fit. And you can do things, Steve. I don’t wanna ever hear you put yourself
down again! So the Army doesn’t want you, big deal. There’s plenty for us to do
here.”
“Like what? Collect scrap metal with all the little kids? C’mon, Buck. I know
you didn’t want to go . . . but I did. I wanted to do something that mattered.”
“Well, they need machinists and factory workers to make the weapons, don’t
they?” he brunet asked back. “Like that don’t matter?”
“If I can’t be in the Army . . . I sure can’t be in a factory with all that
smoke and whatnot,” Steve grumbled back.
Muttering under his breath, tone frustrated, Bucky growled, “yeah, but unlike
the Army, they won’t have the good sense to refuse you, so you can die just as
horribly for the cause there as you woulda overseas in a trench.” Bucky shoved
his hands in his pockets and turned towards their apartment.
“Good sense?” Steve stopped walking. “You never wanted me to get in. Bet you
were hoping that they’d refuse me.”
Stopping, Bucky turned slowly to his lover and friend. “I never made a secret
of my not wanting you to go, Steve, so don’t get on your high horse all of a
sudden. My reasons haven’t changed. I think you’d do the job great . . . if the
enemy didn’t shoot you first.”
“I wanted it, Bucky!” Steve shouted, “I wanted to make a difference! At least
I’m not going because I can’t . . . what’s your reason?”
Stepping back as if slapped hard, Bucky’s eyes widened and his skin paled. He
shook his head and whispered, “I’m the only thing my sisters and Mam have left,
Steve . . . and you.” He turned and strode quicker.
“Stop using me as an excuse!” Steve shouted louder.
Finally, Bucky whirled around and, from his position halfway down the block, he
screamed back “I’m not a killer, Steve! I’m sorry I’m not bloodthirsty enough
for you!” And he turned and kept walking, head bowed, shoulders hunched, hands
deep in his pockets. Under his breath, he muttered, “and I don’t have a fucking
death wish.”
Steve didn’t follow the brunet, not wanting to be in the same room as his lover
right then. Tears of frustration burned in his eyes as he turned on his heels
and stalked away in the opposite direction. He had a few cents on him, maybe he
could get a cup of coffee and try to calm down before heading back to the
apartment.
xxx
Setting: AU: Thursday, December 25, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
When the sun weakly broke through the window near the bed, it fell over Steve’s
eyes. Bucky’s corner of the bed remained undisturbed, cold to the touch. He’d
slept on the couch the night before, not saying anything when Steve had finally
come home.
Steve couldn’t help but think of the awful fight the two of them had yesterday,
the worst one they’d ever had, and feel another wave of guilt crash through
him. He had said some horrible things to Bucky, but his pride had gotten in the
way when the brunet didn’t say a word to him when he’d gotten home from the
diner.
The smell of cooking eggs filled the air, coming from the all-purpose room.
Soft sounds of silverware on plates being placed on their tiny table echoed
briefly. Finally, a sound like sizzling bacon . . . real, honest to god bacon,
came from the stove out in the other room.
Sitting up, the small blond took a deep breath. Steve hadn’t smelled bacon in a
long time; he and Bucky didn’t make enough to afford such a treat. Having slept
in his clothes from the day before, the small man walked out of the room and
smiled slightly at the sight of the brunet cooking in the kitchen, wearing only
his long johns and slippers. The blond noticed Bucky’s coat hanging by the
door, dripping slowly onto the towel beneath it. The taller man’s galoshes also
were still soaked where they sat by the door. Bucky had gone out in the night.
“Uh . . . Bucky?” Steve called out meekly, not sure what mood his lover would
be in.
Turning with the hot pan in his right hand and the spatula in his left, Bucky
walked the couple steps to the table and slid eggs and bacon on both plates.
“Yeah?” he asked, sounding subdued. The brunet turned back to the sink and
poured the grease into the jar set aside for it.
“I . . . uh . . . Merry Christmas?” Steve winced at the question in his tone.
Putting the pan back on the stove and switching the large appliance off, Bucky
turned and studied Steve for a long moment. Finally he sighed, tension seeming
to leave his shoulders. “Yeah,” he smiled a bit, “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”
“Look . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry for what I said last night. It wasn’t fair to
you,” Steve said.
“Yeah, me, too,” Bucky answered. “I missed you at Midnight Mass . . .”
Eyes widening, Steve had completely forgotten about Mass . . . that’s why
Bucky’s outdoor clothes had been wet. “Oh my . . . Bucky why didn’t you wake me
up? I - - I completely forgot.”
“I didn't know you forgot, Steve.” He looked sheepish. “I thought you didn’t
come out because you were too angry with me. I thought maybe you wanted to walk
on your own, so I just left.” He sat at his place, poking his eggs with his
fork.
Steve hated the fact that he was the reason for Bucky’s sad mood on Christmas .
. . that he’d made his lover so upset. He didn’t move from where he stood, the
guilt he felt making him immobile.
Swallowing, Bucky finally pushed his plate back, having eaten nothing. “Well,
uh . . . work’s given me the day off for Christmas, even if it’s Thursday.
Whatcha wanna do?”
Shrugging softly, Steve’s eyes fell to the ground. “I don’t . . . I don’t know.
Whatever you want . . . of course I would understand if you wanted nothing to
do with me today. I was a real jerk yesterday.”
Bucky raised his face, confusion in his eyes, one hand slipping down over his
abdomen. “Why would that be new? You’re a jerk all the time, punk.” He gestured
with his right hand. “Your eggs and bacon are gettin’ cold, Stevie.”
Steve smiled, but the expression didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bucky.
Really . . . you were just tryin’ to help me, and I said those things . . .”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky said “yeah, you’ve said sorry about fifty times now,
Steve. I forgive you. It’s really okay. Now eat already,” he stood and walked
into the bedroom.
Eyebrows pulling together in confusion, Steve fought between doing as he was
told or following Bucky into the bedroom. Sighing, the small man decided that
he should allow the brunet to have his space, and he shuffled over to the table
and sat down at his normal spot. With his fork he pushed around his eggs and
stabbed at the piece of bacon. He didn’t feel much like eating, but he didn’t
want the food to go to waste so he forced himself to take a few small bites.
Finally, Bucky came back out of the bedroom, carrying something lumpy and small
wrapped in a handkerchief in his left hand. He walked over and sat back at his
place then set the cloth-wrapped package in front of Steve. “Here,” he said
softly with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”
Steve eyed the package with surprise and humiliation. “But . . . I- - I didn’t
get you anything! We said no gifts, Buck!”
“No,” Bucky shook his head and pulled his plate closer once more, picking up
his fork. “You said no gifts. I said okay.” He stabbed his eggs and began to
eat slowly.
“Bucky!” Steve whined softly, “But I didn’t get you anything . . .”
“You said we’d do anything I wanted today, right?” Bucky glanced up, his grey-
blue eyes mischievous.
“Well . . . yeah but that ain’t - -” Steve started.
“Well,” Bucky added, after taking a bite of his bacon and chewing and
swallowing, “I want you to draw me, like you did when I was fifteen.” Bucky
took another bite of bacon.
Eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, Steve murmured, “Really?”
Bucky looked at Steve, fork in his mouth, and smiled at him. “Yeah, really.
It’s been almost ten years, Steve. I think I’ve changed a bit since your last
drawing . . . like that.”
“Yeah, your mug got a bit uglier,” Steve teased.
Laughing, Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t say draw my ugly mug, Cariad,” he
practically purred.
“Oh . . . oh!” Steve blushed heavily as he slowly took a bite of the bacon.
With another grin, Bucky pulled his fork from his mouth and scooped up more
eggs to eat. After a few seconds, without looking away from Steve, Bucky
breathed, “open your gift, Stevie. I bought it for you the day after you said
you were joining the Army.” He shrugged and broke the look, glancing at his
plate. “I thought you’d need it. Guess I was wrong, but I still want you to
have it.”
Reaching out to take the wrapped gift in his hands, Steve carefully unwrapped
the handkerchief to reveal a long, silver chain, much as a man might put his
watch on. “Bucky . . . it’s beautiful.”
Shrugging, flushing a bit, Bucky said, “it’s for the wedding rings. So you can
always have them with you.”
Eyes filling with tears and spilling before Steve could even stop them, the
small man launched himself from his chair and wrapped his arms around his
lover, breathing in the comforting smell deeply. “Thank you, Buck. Thank you so
much.”
With a lap and arms full of his Stevie, Bucky smiled and buried his face in the
blond’s soft hair. “I love you, Cariad. If those stupid Army guys don’t see the
true heart under the skin, it’s their loss. I want you with me, always, to the
end of the line.”
Steve pressed his lips passionately against Bucky’s before breathing into his
lover’s mouth, “I love you so much, Bucky.”
“I’d ask you to marry me, if it was legal,” Bucky breathed back, kissing Steve
with a matching passion.
“And I’d say yes,” Steve muttered in between kisses.
Pulling back slowly, Bucky studied Steve, expression serious. Slowly, softly,
not daring to imagine what the answer might be, Bucky said, “why don’t we? Why
don’t we get married?”
“We can’t, Buck. You said it yourself . . . people can’t know. Plus . . . no
pastor will marry two men,” Steve returned his lover’s gaze.
Bucky lowered his forehead to press gently against Steve’s, breathing his
lover’s scent. “I mean, you and me . . . we ‘change vows and rings in private.
With God as our witness and pastor?”
Shuffling out of Bucky’s lap, Steve ran into the bedroom and began to sift
through his meager belongings before he found what he’d been looking for.
Bucky whimpered as his love left him, but he stayed in his chair and let his
head hang down. He took a deep breath, trying not to feel disappointed at the
odd reaction. He should have known he’d been pushing too far . . . too much.
Steve never broke the law.
Running back into the room, Steve presented his father’s ring to Bucky. The
simple gold band had dulled over the years but it still shone slightly in the
light.
Blinking slowly, Bucky looked from the ring up to the blond’s face. “Steve?”
“Take it, Buck.” Steve offered again and then held up his mother’s own gold
band. “I wanna get married.”
Flushing a bit, Bucky fished into the pocket of his coat, hanging so close to
hand in the tiny apartment, and pulled out his wallet. He opened the small
leather purse and retrieved his father’s ring. “Mam gave this to me after I got
better. Said it was to replace the dog Gracie claimed,” he whispered. Looking
back at Steve, he held it out. “I wanna marry you with a man’s ring, not a
woman’s. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” Steve nodded, more tears falling down his cheeks, the blond
pocketed his mother’s ring.
Relieved at his lover’s acceptance, Bucky nodded and slipped to his knees on
the hard wooden floor. “I’ve never been to a wedding, but I know it’s taking
vows before God, and that’s best done on your knees, right?” He smiled up at
Steve, holding up Tata’s old ring. “I, James Buchanan Barnes, before God,
promise to love and cherish, obey and help, you, Steven Grant Rogers, no matter
what happens. If we’re sick or poor or starving, I'll still be here, at the end
of the line. I love you and always will.” He held out the ring.
Letting out a small sob, Steve shakily held out his hand and Bucky slid the
ring on Steve’s left ring finger, curling the small digit over the golden band
when it threatened to slip off; it was too large for him.
The smaller man pulled Bucky to his feet before kneeling down in front of his
lover. “I, Steven Grant Rogers, before God, promise to love and cherish, obey
and help, you, James Buchanan Barnes, no matter what happens. I love you with
my whole heart, my whole soul, my whole being. You are the air in my lungs and
the blood in my veins. ‘Til the end of the line, Buck, I’ll be here always.”
Bucky held out his hand, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, love shining. The
blond slipped the ring on Bucky’s left ring finger, smiling as the ring seemed
to be just the right size.
“I guess you’ll need to keep your ring on your chain after all, Steve. We can’t
risk getting it resized. People would wonder.” Bucky leaned down to pull Steve
to his feet, slipping his lips over his lover's in a gentle kiss of promise.
Returning the kiss before grabbing the chain off the table, Steve unclasped the
necklace and slipped the ring off his finger. Carefully the small man put his
wedding band on the chain and clasped the chain again, locking it in place
around his neck.
“Now the most important question: are you going to secretly be Steve Barnes or
am I secretly Buck Rogers?”
Pondering the question for a moment before pressing his lips to his husband’s,
the small blond whispered lovingly, “I think Steve Barnes has a nice ring to it
. . . what do you think?”
“Okay, Steve Barnes . . . my husband,” Bucky kissed his lover again, breathing
the sweet scent of the other man. “God, I love you, Stevie.”
Nipping at Bucky’s earlobe, Steve whispered, his voice heavy with desire, “What
do you want to do now, Bucky? I’m all yours for the entire day.”
Laughing, Bucky nodded. “I want you to draw me.” He set Steve away carefully
and began to unbutton his long johns, winking. Bucky turned and headed for the
bedroom as he stripped.
***** Worrying Changes *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: December 25, 1941 - January 1, 1942: Brooklyn, New York,
     United States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     Jakub - James - Polish
     Sczcepan - Steven - Polish
     .
Setting: AU: Thursday, December 25, 1941: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
“I love the way you look after we make love, Cariad,” Bucky murmured as he
stroked his left hand down Steve’s chest to settle over the blond’s abdomen.
The brunet leaned down and softly kissed his new husband, grey-blue eyes
dancing with happiness.
Purring softly into the kiss, Steve murmured, “You’re a masterpiece, Buck. I
love how you look always.”
The brunet laughed, stretching leisurely, letting his fingers caress lightly
over the blond’s abdomen. “Well, an artist needs a masterpiece to draw, right?”
he asked in a cocky voice.
“Why draw when I can admire the piece up close and personal?” Steve responded,
his eyes trailing down his husband’s body. The blond leaned close and gently
nipped at the brunet’s chest, scraping his teeth roughly against Bucky’s
nipple.
A soft groan escaped the twenty-five year old and he let his head fall back to
the pillow. “God, Stevie, I wish we could stay in bed all day.” He tangled his
fingers in Steve’s hair; the smaller man needed a haircut again.
“Why can’t we? We can’t have a traditional honeymoon, but I think we’re owed a
day in bed,” Steve mumbled.
“You always think we should have the day in bed, Cariad! You’re insatiable . .
.” he kissed Steve longingly, “but I love it. Just not today. We’re supposed to
go to Mam’s for Christmas dinner, Stevie.” He stroked his lover’s hair and
added, “we need to get up and get cleaned up.”
Propping himself up on his forearms, Steve suddenly looked at Bucky, his whole
posture turing serious. “Do you think . . . we should tell her?” The blond
quietly asked.
Bucky knew instantly what his husband referred to. Thinking over that, trying
to mentally judge his mother’s reaction, the brunet sighed. “I think Tata would
have accepted us together. I’m sure Mam will . . .” he looked at Steve’s eyes,
his own pale blue eyes worried but hopeful.
“And if she doesn’t?” Steve asked, his voice trembling slightly with fear as he
thought about telling someone about the truth behind his relationship with
Bucky.
Drawing a slow breath, Bucky made a decision that might break his heart in the
long run . . . but he knew, if given a choice between Steve and anyone else,
there was no question whom he’d choose. Softly, Bucky said “then we find
somewhere else to live.”
Gasping softly, Steve looked at his husband with wide, shocked eyes, “You’d do
that? You’d leave your family so that we could stay together?”
Bucky slid his hand under Steve’s chin and made sure to hold his lover’s face
still so he could stare intently into the smaller man’s eyes. “You are my
family, Steve. You’re my husband and I love you.” He swallowed. “If Mam can’t
accept that, I’ll have to leave her behind. I won’t lose you!” He dropped his
hand and wrapped his left arm around his lover in a fierce embrace.
Steve felt his eyes begin to burn with tears as he wrapped his arms as tight as
he could around his husband. The smaller man leaned his head into the crook of
Bucky’s neck and breathed deeply, inhaling the brunet’s addicting smell. “I
love you, Buck. I love you so much,” the blond whispered, not sure if he’d been
loud enough for Bucky to hear.
“I love you just as much,” Bucky assured his match, his love. He hugged him
again. “Look, we tell Mam, but not the girls. Gracie might accidentally tell
someone, and Becca’s new beau is a barrister.” He looked down at Steve in his
arms.
Lifting his head so that he could meet his lover’s eyes, Steve nodded. “Yeah,
okay. Just your Mam.”
With one last cuddle, Bucky sat up fully and sighed. “We better get ready and
get over there. The almanac is threatening storms later tonight, and we don’t
wanna hold up diner.” What Bucky didn’t say was that they didn’t want to be
stuck out in the weather or in with Mrs. Barnes if she didn’t approve of them.
They wanted plenty of time to make an escape if they needed to.
Sliding down to the foot of the bed since Steve blocked the open side, Bucky
stood and stretched again. He strode into the all-purpose room and started
running water to heat for washing. As he waited for the warmer water they could
wash with, Bucky looked down and studied his own manhood with a puzzled frown.
Their love-making session had again ended in that glorious, yet puzzling,
enlarged knot which had locked them together for about twenty minutes.
The intelligent man had never heard of that kind of thing happening, but he’d
never actually talked to other people about what to expect in the bedroom. He
also hadn’t had a men’s health doctor like Steve had, and they’d never gotten a
chance to ask Doctor Johnson about the confusing sexual response. Bucky worried
that, despite Steve’s reassurances, the large knot had actually hurt his small
lover.
Shaking himself from his brown-study, Bucky checked the water, finding it warm
enough, and poured it into a basin for Steve. He began to heat a second potful
for use. “Steve, come wash, love!” he called, not avoiding the pet name but
keeping his voice low enough not to be discerned through the apartment walls.
“Alright!” Steve called back as he walked out of the bedroom. The smaller man
made quick work of washing away the grime of his daily activities. The blond
watched as Bucky warmed another pot of water; with a small smile, Steve stated,
“You’re beautiful, Bucky. You know that right?”
Smiling at the compliment, Bucky looked at Steve and chuckled. “How can I not
when you tell me five times a day? You’re gonna turn my head, Cariad.” He
pulled the warm water from the stove, filled the basin once more, and began
washing up.
“Ain’t no turnin’ needed. You’re already a jerk.” Steve laughed.
Bucky threw back his head and laughed loudly. “Ya punk!” He stole a quick kiss
then headed back to their bedroom to strip the bed and get dressed.
It didn’t take long, once they were ready, for the couple to make their way the
five blocks to Winifred Barnes’s tenement building. Bucky’s mother greeted them
warmly as she let them into the third floor apartment, smiling when she
apparently saw the way Steve’s hand lingered on the faded blue line Bucky had
painted on the wall to guide his baby sister home.
Winifred shut the front door and turned to the men. “It’ll be storming tonight.
I feel it in my bones.”
Steve nodded and made a small noise of agreement. “Gettin’ real cold.” The
small man rubbed his hands together to emphasize how the cold air had numbed
his slender fingers.
Frowning softly, Winifred nodded. “Come to my room, boys,” she said. “I’ve got
something for you.”
With a puzzled look for Steve, and a small shrug, Bucky turned and followed his
mother to her bedroom. Inside the room, Winifred opened a chest of her
husband’s old clothes and pulled out a coat, hat, gloves, and other warm
clothes. “Any of this fit you, Steve?” she asked.
Looking at the clothes with wide eyes, Steve shook his head, “Ma’am I couldn’t
accept them.”
She turned and frowned softly. “What, you want me to sell them to strangers or
give them to people I care for?” She snorted. “I know you both aren’t making
much right now . . . young men just starting out never do.”
Reaching out to take the coat and the hat, Steve smiled softly at the memory of
Tata wearing both of the items. Running his thumb over the thick wool, the
smaller man couldn’t help but think how much warmer he’d be in them rather than
his old, ratty coat that had been patched far too many times. “Thank you,
Ma’am. I promise to take real good care of ‘em,” Steve promised.
Pressing the equally warm gloves into Steve’s hands, Winifred smiled. “Please.
I want you to have them.”
“Mam,” Bucky cleared his throat and reached out his dominant left hand to take
one of her’s. He opened his mouth, but stopped when Winifred’s eyes fastened on
the dull glint of gold on her son’s finger. He swallowed.
“Jimmy?” Winifred asked, quietly, breath almost held, “did you get married?”
“Yes, we did,” Bucky said and waited for his mother to catch on or question
him. The brunet fidgeted nervously under his mother’s gaze.
“We?” the woman asked, confusion across her features.
Steve eyes flickered between Winifred and Bucky; he heard his heart pounding in
his ears, and his breathing began to pick up. The smaller man didn’t want his
husband to be forced to pick between him or his mother; Steve wasn’t sure if
he’d be able to live with the guilt knowing that he had been the reason why
Bucky no longer had a relationship with his mother.
Taking a deep breath, Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand in his and said,
“Steve and I vowed to each other, Mam. We couldn’t go to a church, or we’d be
arrested . . . but I love Steve, and we wanted to be married.”
Surprise crossed the woman’s features and she sank onto her bed, hands tangling
together as she looked from her son to the small blond man beside him and back.
“You . . . married one another . . .”
“I love your son, Ma’am.” Steve spoke softly, but he held Winifred’s gaze. “I
love him with my whole heart.”
Winifred kept Steve’s gaze for a long time, looking for something unspoken.
Finally, she reached out, grabbed Steve by the shoulders, and pulled him into a
fierce hug. “Welcome to my family, Stevie. You take care of my son, hear me?”
Letting out a shocked but relieved gasp, Steve nodded and wrapped his arms
around his mother-in-law. “I promise, Ma’am. I’ll take care of him . . .
always.”
“Mam,” Winifred told Steve.
Bucky’s mouth dropped open in shock then he snapped his lips shut. He’d truly
feared his mother wouldn’t accept their illegal, and according to many immoral,
relationship. “Mam? I . . . I thought maybe you . . .”
She nodded, cutting off her son. “Sit, boys . . . Becca’s cooking tonight so I
have time to sit and talk. It’s her present to me.” She patted the bed,
reaching out to take Steve’s hand as she scooted over enough that the men could
sit beside each other.
Her son sank onto the bed. Steve sat in between Bucky and Winifred, his hand
still held by the woman, as he looked at her, eagerly waiting for what she had
to say.
Nodding, Winifred explained softly, “When you boys were young, maybe thirteen?
Fourteen years old? Jerzy took me and your Momma aside to tell us he’d caught
you two together. He said he thought you were both homosexuals . . . and looked
to be a couple.” She took a deep breath. “He told us that he told you about his
uncle Jakub, who was murdered for possibly being homosexual.” With a shudder,
Winifred suddenly reached past Steve with her free hand and grabbed her son’s
hand, as if she needed reassurances of his safety. “Sarah didn’t seem surprised
at all, and she said she thought you two were meant to be together.”
Bucky turned to look at Steve’s reaction to hearing about his mother’s words.
The brunet smiled softly and stroked one hand discretely down his husband’s
back. He responded, “Tata told me to take care of Steve . . . that last day in
the hospital.”
Hearing that his mother had known about his love for Bucky when he was just
thirteen years old made tears spring into Steve’s eyes. Her last words echoed
in his mind; she’d told him to take care of Bucky. She’d talked about them as
if they had already been in a relationship. His sweet mother had accepted him
for who he was. Sarah had loved her son unconditionally, and the thought made
him ache for his mother’s touch, one last embrace so that Steve could convey
all the emotions he felt.
Caressing Steve’s hand, Winifred nodded at Bucky’s words. “I knew he had felt
you two belonged together. But, unlike Jerzy or Sarah, I couldn’t accept it.”
She sighed. “It took a lot of praying . . . a lot of soul searching . . .
before I came to accept what they had already seen: my son was in love with
another man and would never have children or carry on the family name.” She
looked at them as if to judge their reactions. Before either man could do or
say anything, though, Winifred rushed on. “I finally accepted things when Jimmy
turned seventeen. You were so depressed and weren’t able to eat, Sarah and I
thought we might have to commit you to an asylum.”
Shock once more crossed her son’s face and he gripped Steve’s hand. Steve
gently squeezed his husband’s hand, soothingly running his thumb along the
brunet’s knuckles.
“Then I caught you two kissing and it seemed . . . right somehow? Odd as that
might sound, I wasn’t upset by the sight . . . or the idea anymore.” She looked
at Steve. “And over the next couple of weeks, it became very clear that your
love had pulled my boy out of his depression. That you were the reason he was
sane at all.” She nodded and stroked the blond’s hand again. “Well, that
decided it. If you two needed to love each other, then God must have decided it
for you. I don’t know why He made you both men, but that’s His decision, and
who am I to question Him?”
A small sob broke from the tall brunet, and he wrapped both arms around his
husband, pulling him in close. His mother’s words, and her final acceptance,
made him realize that loving Steve wasn’t just a privilege . . . it was a
necessity. “I love you, Cariad,” he whispered softly in Steve’s ear.
“I love you too, Buck. You’re my whole world,” Steve whispered back.
Smiling at the display between the young men, Winifred nodded. “My only wish
had been to have been able to tell Jerzy.” She shrugged. “And when I was sure
Jimmy was getting better, and that it was you, Steve, who was the cure . . . if
you will . . . I gave Jerzy’s ring to Jimmy. I hoped you’d both find a way to
be together safely . . . even if you had to run away to a far off country.” She
shook her head. “You two need to be so careful!”
“Of course, Mam!” Bucky breathed against the back of Steve’s neck, having
shifted his husband practically into his lap. “We’re very careful.”
“We don’t want anyone findin’ out,” Steve added.
Standing, Winifred hugged first Steve then Bucky. “I am so glad you chose to
take vows before God, even if you can’t do so before the world or in the
church.”
The door swung opened suddenly and Gracie looked inside, her almond-shaped eyes
worried. “Mam? Rosie’s sick real bad again.”
“I’m coming,” Winifred rushed to her closet, pulled out a basket of stuff, and
hurried from the room, leaving her youngest and oldest children together with
Steve.
Gracie made a face. “I hate when I bleed every month,” she complained and
trotted out after her mother.
When the men were alone once more, Bucky relaxed visibly, despite the apparent
emergency with his middle sister. He reached over and ran a hand through
Steve’s hair, ruffling it, then put the hat on his mussed blond locks. “So, Mam
loves us,” he murmured.
Laughing softly, Steve nodded and pushed up against his husband, humming
happily. “Yeah, I’m glad. I was real worried there for a moment.”
“So was I,” Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper and he placed his forehead
against Steve’s. “Mam’ll be back in once Rosie’s settled in bed. She gets sick
for three days solid when on her courses, and no doctor’s been able to figure
it out yet. But somehow Mam can always make her feel better.”
Steve couldn’t help but think of his own mysterious, recurring sickness: the
cramps that would sometimes keep him in bed for days. “How does she do it? How
does she make Rosie feel better?” the small man asked, his voice quiet but
dripping with curiosity.
“I don’t know,” the brunet shook his head, “but she does. Your Momma might have
been a trained nurse, but if you want home remedies from the old country,
there’s none better’n Mam.”
Not saying anything, just pushing himself closer to his husband, Steve breathed
in Bucky’s scent.
Gently, moving his face mere inches to nuzzle at his husband’s neck, Bucky
kissed the blond’s throat. “If you get sick or hurt, Steve, and can’t get to a
doctor? Go to Mam or call her up from a nearby telephone. If I can’t be there
to take care of you ‘cause I’m at work or something, I like to know Mam’ll do
it.”
Making a small noise of agreement, Steve nodded and said, “Alright.” The blond
moved so that he could look at the brunet. “I’m glad everything worked out,
Bucky. I’m so happy.”
“Can’t be happier than me, Cariad,” Bucky murmured and gently kissed his lover.
“Why don’t we go join Becca and Gracie in the kitchen?”
xxx
Setting: AU: Friday, January 1, 1942: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Steve groaned loudly as a fresh wave of pain coursed through his body, causing
his entire body to tremble. The small man couldn’t understand why the cramps
had come on so sudden; normally his symptoms were three to four months apart,
but his last attack had only been a little less than a month ago. The cramps
were so severe that the blond couldn’t move without his abdomen tightening
agonizingly. He knew he couldn’t go to Doctor Johnson anymore, and Bucky would
be at work for several more hours, so that left him with limited choices. He
could either wait and try to suffer through the pain or he could get in touch
with Winifred. The blond knew a hospital was out of the question, with the
little income that his husband brought in a hospital visit would be too
expensive. Realizing that he only had one logical choice, Steve knew he had to
call Winifred for help; however, the small man couldn’t remember the woman’s
number.
Waiting for a break in the waves of clenching pain, Steve shakily rose to his
feet, nearly collapsing from the agony that ripped through his frail body. The
blond made his way over to the small basket of clothes that needed to be mended
and sifted through the contents. Pulling out an item that Steve believed to be
beyond repair, the small man carefully stuffed the linen into his underwear to
try and catch the blood and stop it from getting all over his pants. Steve knew
the flow was much larger than the previous ones he’d experienced, and the small
man felt a twinge of fear course through him.
Shaking his head, Steve shoved his fear aside and finished getting dressed.
Pushing past the pain, much like Bucky had taught him during their training at
Goldie’s gym, Steve staggered to the all-purpose room and grabbed the still-
full bottle of pills Doctor Johnson had prescribed him just last month . . .
right before he’d closed up his practice. Without the free medical and food the
doctor had been providing Steve as his patient, the blond had avoided taking
any; he didn’t know when he could afford more of the strong drugs. Sliding the
small glass bottle into the pocket of Jerzy’s over-large woolen coat, Steve
shoved his arms through the sleeves and doubled up again from the pain, leaning
heavily against the wall.
Taking several deep, slow breaths, the small man finally managed to get his
gloves and hat on. Foregoing the galoshes, knowing he couldn’t bend or sit
without giving up, Steve left the tiny apartment and headed around the corner
towards his new family’s home. The blond left the door unlocked without
thinking, but no one would bother such a poor tenement; no one living on their
block had any significant money or valuables anyway.
Staggering through the icy streets, the strong winds nearly knocking his tiny
body over, Steve used the buildings to prop himself up to avoid collapsing. The
five blocks to the apartment took him longer than normal and by the time he
stood on the front stoop of the tenement, Steve was exhausted and shaking in
pain. He pushed inside the musky-scented front hall. Collapsing to his knees,
unable to remain on his feet any longer, the small man took a deep breath and
tried to will away the tears that stung his eyes.
“Sczcepan?” Surprisingly, the familiar, curious tones came from Gracie Barnes.
The stocky nineteen year old bent over him, hands on her knees, peering at him.
“You sick?”
“Gracie?” Steve muttered, slowly lifting his head. “Yeah . . . I’m sick. Do you
think you could help me? I need to see your Mam.” He carefully began to rise to
his feet again, but his legs gave out under the action, sending him back down
to his knees.
With a self-assured nod, the sturdy girl squatted and slid her arm around
Steve’s waist, hefting him to his feet. She was far stronger than one might
think for a girl. Repositioning the smaller man so he leaned into her shoulder
and against her wide hip, Gracie chirped out worriedly, “we gotta follow the
line, ‘kay?” Once she seemed sure he understood her directions, Gracie
practically carried Steve up the two flights of steps, watching every step she
placed rather than the wall, apparently relying on Steve to guide them.
Eventually they wound up right outside the door to the Barnes’s apartment.
Gracie picked up her fist and banged on the door loudly, not stopping as she
hollered “Mam! Help!”
The door swung open and Winifred’s shocked face appeared in the opening.
“Gracie? Stevie?!” She slid her arm around Steve’s other side and helped the
man over the threshold. “Gracie, get him to our bed.” The pair of women managed
to lay Steve on the soft, wide bed. Straightening, Winifred breathed out,
“Gracie, get me warm water and towels.”
“Right, Mam,” the girl nodded and trotted out on her errand.
Finally, Bucky’s mother turned to her son’s husband and asked, “what’s
happened, Stevie?”
The blond’s face contorted as his abdomen tightened again, he looked at his
mother-in-law and groaned, “I . . . I get c- -cramps. Real bad . . . about
every three months or so. It feels like my . . . guts are being clawed out. I-
- I have some bleeding, too. I don’t understand . . . I had them last month . .
. they’ve never been this close together. This one’s real bad . . . worse I’ve
ever had.”
Surprise crossed Winifred’s face, but before she could question him Gracie came
back, several towels tucked under her arm and a large basin of warmed water in
her hands. She placed the objects on the desk, pulled a chair over, then moved
the supplies carefully to the chair close by the bed. Winifred nodded and
offered a wan smile. “Good girl. Go to Jimmy’s old room and find my medical
bible, Gracie.” The stocky girl nodded and trotted off once more.
Finally, Winifred turned to Steve and stroked his hair from his face. “Tell me
the truth, sweetie. Are you a woman?” The worried mother kept her voice low.
“What?!” Steve exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock from the question. Pushing
himself up onto his forearms, the small man moved to get off the bed. “No! I’m
not a woman!”
Quicker than he could see, as quick as Bucky moved at times, Winifred grabbed
Steve’s shoulders and pushed him back down onto the bed. “For heaven’s sake,
Stevie! Stay down. I don’t want you hurting yourself!” She began unbuttoning
his shirt, exposing the gold wedding band hanging on the silver chain. Biting
her lip, large blue eyes worried, Winifred begged, “help me, here, Stevie. Need
to get you undressed if I’m to tend bleeding.”
Swallowing hard, Steve nodded, a slight blush rising into his cheeks. Shakily
he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off his bony shoulders.
As Steve removed his shirt for her, Winifred unfastened his pants. “Lay back
and lift your hips, so I can slide these off, sweetie,” she ordered.
Doing as he was instructed, Steve slowly lifted his hips, trying desperately to
ignore the pain that the movement caused.
“Good boy,” she breathed, much like she would for Gracie. Winifred eased the
pants off the small man and drew a deep breath at the sight of the bloody cloth
in his drawers. She removed his drawers and the cloth, letting it unbunch
enough to reveal a ripped undershirt far too big to be Steve’s. Finally, she
revealed Steve’s genitals, proving that he indeed was a man. But Winifred’s
eyes seemed only to see the blood leaking steadily from his rectum. “Steve,
have you seen a doctor for this?” Her voice rose in worry.
“Yeah,” Steve answered shakily, “But he had to stop practicing medicine so he
could go to war.” The blond didn’t want to mention his diagnosis of cancer,
because he knew if he did that Winifred would tell Bucky. Steve wanted to tell
his husband himself.
Taking a deep breath, Winifred asked softly, voice wavering as if in fear of
the blond man’s answer, “Stevie, sweetie . . . did Jimmy do this to you . . .
in bed?” She took Steve’s cold hand, unable to meet his eyes.
“No!” The small man answered quickly, “No . . . Bucky . . . he’d never hurt me.
I’ve had these symptoms since I was fifteen. But this is the worst one yet.”
“Fifteen?” Winifred echoed, sounding relieved if puzzled. At a sound from the
doorway, Winifred quickly pulled the quilt over Steve’s body, protecting his
privacy.
Gracie lumbered into the room under the weight of a very large, homemade book.
She put it on the desk, well away from the cooling water, and beamed at her
mother. “Found it in the trunk under the window, Mam.”
Winifred turned to her daughter and smiled once more. “Good girl. Carefully
fill the hot water bottle as hot as you can, but don’t you burn yourself,
girl!” the woman ordered. “And bring me the courses basket, too, Gracie.”
“Okay, Mam,” Gracie nodded and looked at Steve. “Didn’t know boys got courses,
too,” she murmured, sounding very sympathetic. “I hate them myself.” And the
friendly girl trotted back out on her newest errands.
Letting out her breath, Winifred turned to Steve, drawing back the quilt. She
stood and retrieved a sheet from her ironing basket, returning and unfolding it
over Steve’s abdomen. “You should try to find another doctor, Steve. Can you
tell me what your other doctor said about this problem?” She took a towel and
dipped it in the cooling water then began washing the majority of blood, both
drying and fresh, from his thighs, buttocks, and between his legs.
Nodding, Steve answered softly, groaning when his muscles clenched tightly, “I
got checked every time it happened. The doc would check for anything odd and
said there might be a couple of lumps.” Steve flushed and continued quickly,
“but I don’t wanna panic Bucky, so I haven’t told him.” Steve’s eyes widened,
pleading with his mother-in-law to understand, “I wanna tell him myself, though
. . . I just don’t know how.”
She looked thoughtful and carefully asked, “he doesn’t know that this has
happened since you were fifteen, Steve?” She continued bathing his small body,
as gentle as a mother could be, making sure to get all the blood from his penis
and testicles. Winifred’s touch was as gentle yet unprovocative as Sarah’s had
ever been.
“He knows about the cramps. Just . . . not about . . . about the lumps.” Steve
swallowed nervously. “The doc gave me some antibiotics and pain meds. I
finished the antibiotics but the cramps stopped so I didn’t take the pain
stuff.”
With a soft sigh, Winifred put aside the bloody towel and dipped another into
the tepid water, beginning to tend him again. “If you’ve been having this kind
of bleeding and pain for almost ten years, Stevie, I don’t think the lumps have
anything to do with it. Bodies get lumps that come and go all the time. One day
they’re there, the next no one can find them.” She carefully pressed the damp
towel against the blood flow at Steve’s rectum. “If the lumps stay around for
any real length of time, then it might be a problem, but I wouldn’t panic so
much about those lumps right now, sweetie. And best not to panic Jimmy either.”
Again, Gracie interrupted the private conversation and Winfred whipped the
sheet down over Steve’s privates. This time the younger woman carried a basket
of cloths and a hot water bottle wrapped in a thin towel. She walked right over
to the bed and put the basket directly next to Steve then moved the rubber
bottle to his waist, right over the sheet. “Mam? You need the willow?” Gracie
offered.
Looking surprised, the woman shook her head but said, “Yes, Gracie, go make
some up, please. You know not to put too much in the cup or you’ll spill,’ she
reminded.
The younger woman nodded happily and trotted off to make what she’d called
willow.
With a deep breath, Winifred once more pulled the sheet back, picking up the
cloth wrapped water bottle and moving it to directly over Steve’s abdomen. She
carefully folded one of the off-white colored cloths from the basket and
replaced the towel against his anus with the cloth; it felt as soft as an
infant’s blanket. “Gracie’s getting medicine that will help ease pain, Steve.
It used to be traditionally made from willow bark in a tea, but you may have
had some experience with it as a pain and fever medicine called ASA . . . or
Aspirin.” She smiled at the man and sat carefully next to him on the bed.
“Gracie just likes the idea it comes from willow trees. She wants to see one in
person someday.” Giving a soft laugh, Winifred stroked Steve’s face gently.
“Water helping?”
Sighing softly at the small relief that the water bottle gave him, Steve
nodded, “Yeah . . . it’s helpin’ a lot.”
“Good,” she breathed. Finally, she said, “Look, Stevie, this sounds odd, but
your symptoms match Rosie’s exactly when she gets her monthly courses. Do you
know about a woman’s courses?” She finally met his eyes.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Steve answered. “My Momma told me about them when I was thirteen,
about the same time I started seeing the doctor.”
Winifred looked relieved. “Good.” Offering him her wan smile, she added, “so
you see why I was confused at first about you being a man or a woman? I wasn’t
trying to insult you, but my heavens, sweetie, you’re so delicate and artistic.
And with these symptoms, I wondered if you and Sarah might have been hiding
something from me.”
A deep red blush creeped onto his neck and into the tips of his ears as Steve
nodded once. “Yeah . . . I . . . uh, I can see why’d you think that. You didn’t
offend me . . . the question just caught me off guard is all.”
Shaking her head, she sighed then said, “but no, Jerzy said he saw you boys
together. He’d have said if he thought you were a girl.” Winifred looked
puzzled as if trying to figure this entire problem out concerning Steve’s odd
symptoms.
“Would you . . . uh,” Steve cleared his throat, nervously running a hand
through his hair. “Would you prefer it if I was a woman, Ma’am?”
Surprise washed away the faraway look and Winifred met Steve’s intense blue
eyes. “Never!” She reached over and stroked his cheek gently. “And it’s Mam,
Stevie. I actually can’t ever picture you as a woman. You’re delicate, yes, but
I can’t see you as anything but a man. It’s why I was so shocked earlier
thinking maybe you’d fooled me so long. You’ve very good at being a man . . .
would probably make a very poor woman, in fact.” She chuckled but worry laced
the tones. “I think it’d be a shime for someone so fierce and strong to be
trapped in a woman’s role, Steve.”
“A woman’s role?” Steve asked gently, his body already loosening up just from
the relief the water bottle provided.
Winifred clarified, “a woman’s limited to certain expectations, like tending
the house and children or other relatives. Rosie wants so much to be a
carpenter, but there’s no man who’ll take up where Jerzy left off in her
training. And Becca wants to help with the war effort, but she keeps getting
told to sew things or collect things but not being given real work to help.”
“That’s not fair! She should be able to do whatever she wants . . . be able to
have whatever job, and be able to train just like anybody else,” Steve said,
angry at the unfairness that seemed to always put people down, not allowing
everyone to have the same opportunities.
“As a man, you have so much more freedom to try to do what you feel is right,”
Winifred nodded in agreement.
Shaking his head softly, Steve grumbled, “Not me. I can’t even go fight for our
country. They say I’m too sick.”
Raising her hand, the woman said, “I know you want to fight, like your father
did, and the Army apparently denied you, but that doesn’t mean you have to give
up on the idea of fighting in the war.”
Furrowing his brow in confusion, Steve asked, “what do you mean?”
“Have you thought of joining the Navy, instead?” Winifred asked, practically,
“Or maybe volunteering to work with students at the schools to prepare them to
fight?”
“Never thought of joinin’ the Navy. My Da was in the Army, and I’ve just always
wanted to follow in his footsteps . . . help fight for our country.” Steve
shrugged; the Navy really hadn’t ever crossed his mind.
She sighed and stroked his cheek again. “I just want so much for you . . . and
for Jimmy. I see Gracie struggle and she’ll always be shunned and living with
me at home. Becca promised she’d take care of Gracie if something happens to
me, but I still worry. And I see how people try to put you down, and I ache for
you just like I do for her. God made you delicate for a reason, but we won’t
know why until you discover that yourself.”
“I wish He’d show me soon,” Steve mumbled.
The door swung open and Gracie came back with a cup of hot tea and a pair of
simple aspirin tablets on a dinner plate. As Winifred covered Steve’s privates
again, Gracie concentrated on putting the large plate on the desk then pulling
over the other chair in the room. She put the plate on the chair and began to
clean up the towels and water, removing them from the first chair. Finally,
hands full, Gracie asked “Mam can I go down and visit Mrs. Shelgood again?”
“Yes, Gracie. Thank you. You’re such a good girl,” the mother replied and the
daughter trotted off with her burden.
Easing into a semi-sitting position, and picking up the small pills and cup of
tea with slightly trembling hands, Steve then swallowed the aspirin and took a
small sip of the tea.
“Gracie goes down to visit the elderly woman on the first floor several times a
day. She’ll be down there at least half an hour now,” Winifred clarified with a
soft smile. She reached over and stroked Steve’s hair once more.
Steve nodded and took another drink of his tea, the hot liquid already working
wonders to help with his cramps.
“Steve, have you ever kept track of the symptoms? How long they last, how often
they occur, how bad or easy they are?” Winifred frowned softly. “If you keep
track, you might notice a pattern and be able to predict just when they’ll hit
and how bad they’ll be. You can be better prepared for these attacks.” She
stood and started going through her closet, pulling out old dresses and a beat
up sheath of papers.
“Can’t say I have. But that sounds like a good idea . . . I’d like to be able
to somewhat predict how bad they’ll be,” Steve said before taking another
drink.
She sat back down and checked that the hot water bottle hadn’t shifted or
cooled too much. She offered the book to Steve, flipping it open so he could
see that only two pages had been written on in a foreign language. “Here, it
belonged to Jerzy. He used to put his ideas and dreams in books. I’d tear out
these pages to keep, but I don’t want the book to fall apart, so you keep them
for me. They’re in Polish.” She smiled softly, closed the book, and placed it
in the basket of cloths.
“Thank you,” Steve said, surprised at such a gift.
With a shake of her head and a gesture to the basket of soft cloths, Winifred
said, “You take these for when you bleed, Steve. And if you can start guessing
when these attacks happen, feel free to come on over and I can try to help ease
them. Wash those in cold water to get out the blood then in washing powder to
finish cleaning them.” She patted the old dresses. “I’ll make a new courses
basket, so don’t worry about taking those cloths. Think of them as a belated
wedding gift. And I want to give you some of my aspirin to help with the
pains.” She reached into the basket to produce a small glass jar of the white
tablets then slid it back securely inside the woven wooden container.
“No, Ma’am. You’ve already helped me so much. I can’t accept them,” the blond
started quickly.
Suddenly, Bucky’s mother, Steve’s mother-in-law, frowned fiercely at the small,
unwell man. She shook her head and stroked his hair. “Mam, Steve. And I’ll be
insulted if you refuse my help, sweetie. You’re my son’s husband . . . and now
my son. It’s my right and privilege to care for you!”
Nodding slowly, completely taken off guard by the woman’s generosity, he
replied, “thank you . . . for everything. I can’t begin to tell you how much I
appreciate all of it.”
“We may not know why you get these attacks, Steve, but you are probably the
only man in history that can identify with what we women suffer through between
children.” She kissed his forehead. “Rest, sweetie. I’ll change your bottle in
a few minutes, but you should sleep. Let me know if you need to throw up or
anything. Rosie often does, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have that same
symptom at times.”
Exhaustion seemed to take over at the suggestion and suddenly Steve’s eyes felt
heavy. “Okay . . . thank you,” he mumbled again, eyes slipping shut.
She stood and walked from her bedroom, leaving the door partially open, taking
Steve’s clothes and Bucky’s bloody undershirt with her. From the kitchen, the
sounds of running water could be heard.
Steve lay there, eyes closed, thinking about his own mother and how she would
have approved of how Winifred took care of Sarah Rogers’s only child. He felt
tears burn under his eyelids; he missed his mother and wanted to tell her so
badly that he was happy with Bucky, like she had predicted that last day. He’d
thought her words were worrying, but now they were merely confirmation that the
people who cared about them would accept how he and Bucky were. Just as he felt
himself drifting into sleep, Steve heard Winifred walk back into the room; he
felt a fresh hot water bottle being placed on his abdomen. Vaguely, Steve heard
her steps leave the room. With the water bottle and aspirin finally working,
Steve let himself fall asleep.
***** Everything Changes *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: April 14 - 18, 1943; Factory in New Jersey, Manhattan,
     New York, and Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Wednesday, April 14, 1943: Factory in New Jersey to Manhattan, New
York, United States of America
Sounds of machinery running and the dull clanking of metallic tools against
solid metal rose so loud that individual chatter would have been pointless.
Every large room, some tall enough to rise two stories, held various plane
parts to be assembled. Most of the workers, almost a year and a half after the
Americans had joined the war, were female and a good number were of African
descent. In a workforce which had been exclusively male and almost exclusively
Caucasian, a light skinned man had become a rarity. Most able bodied men had
either volunteered for military service or been conscripted.
One of the few remaining men stood on a tall ladder, the heavy riveter
vibrating almost painfully with each thick piece of metal driven through the
metal plates. He worked steadily, keeping up with those around him,
concentrating wholly on his work despite the exhaustion from pulling extra
shifts. Pay increases had happened across the board due to increased production
during the war, as well as lucrative war contracts for weapons, planes, and
other vehicles and supplies, but any extra cash flow could help - - the regular
pay check went to daily expenses and savings in the bank; the extras went to
paying for medical expenses and all the classes they could for Steve.
Bucky, dressed in overalls with a bandanna around his neck, thick gloves on his
hands, wiped his long sleeve against his forehead to get rid of the sweat and
began once more to drive metal rivets through plane fuselage. He worked hard to
support his secret husband since Steve was never healthy long enough to be able
to hold down a job, and the lanky brunet never begrudged the artistic training
he paid for with those extra hours - - he’d told Steve more times than he could
count that once Steve became a famous artist, they could both sit back and
breathe. For the moment, Bucky was the breadwinner, and he would make sure
Steve got the best of everything; the smaller man deserved a good life . . .
even if for now it meant long shifts and late returns home.
Pausing long enough to wipe his forehead again, Bucky became aware of a man’s
voice below him, calling up “Barnes!” Glancing down, Bucky tilted his head, and
the floor supervisor signaled the brunet to come down from the ladder.
With a small frown, Bucky secured the piece of machinery and descended the
ladder. “Sir?” He pulled a rag from the back pocket of his coveralls and wiped
the sweat from his face. He removed the thick gloves and tucked them in his
other back pocket, replacing the rag once more.
The supervisor gestured the young riveter to follow and turned, leading Bucky
down the aisles of the room, into a narrow corridor, and up a flight of steps.
They ended in the office where the man, dressed in a white, button down shirt
and black, pressed trousers, with a dull grey tie, picked up a telegram from
his desk. “This came for you, Barnes,” the man said with an odd note in his
voice.
Carefully, Bucky took the slip of paper, curious as to who in the world might
be sending him a telegram. He read the missive quickly, grey-blue eyes
widening. Glancing at the other man in the small office, Bucky looked back at
the paper and swallowed, rereading the information enclosed.
Not looking at the employee, the supervisor immediately proved he had read the
telegram when he said “I’m arranging for you to receive payment for the rest of
the week’s shifts you’ve taken, Barnes. But come Monday, I’ll have someone else
in your spot, so don’t worry ‘bout me. Go take care of business and go home to
your wife.”
The glint of dull gold on Bucky’s left finger flashed slightly as the younger
man carefully folded the telegram with shaking hands. “Yes . . . sir.”
Finally looking at his worker, the supervisor nodded. “Look, I know you don’t
talk much about your family life, Barnes, but you never signed any benefits
papers for your wife. I could arrange for some money for her until you get some
money coming in . . . but she has to be listed on your file. And I know she’s
not a well woman.” The man cleared his throat, “and if she’s with child, man,
you’ll be glad for the ready cash while you’re away.”
Bucky drew a deep breath and shook his head. Softly, he said “can’t claim
someone I didn’t marry in church, Sir.” He kept his eyes down, knowing that the
older man would think unkindly of Bucky’s supposed mistress . . . that was
safer than anyone finding out that Bucky had traded vows with a man.
“I see.” The man cleared his throat and flushed. “There’s time before Friday,
Barnes. It can be arranged real quick. Then you won’t leave her unprotected.”
With a shake of his head, Bucky blurted out a painful lie to protect the
delicate truth, “Religious differences, Sir.”
“Oh,” the man’s green eyes widened but he merely nodded. “Well, I’ll see your
last check gets sent around to your mother’s house, then? You don’t have your
own home listed on file.”
“Mam will make sure to take care of the money just fine, Sir. Thank you.”
Drawing a deep breath, Bucky held out his hand, which the supervisor grasped
willingly. “Thank you, Sir, for the extra pay. You sure I can’t come back to
work . . .”
“No! I wouldn’t dream of it, Barnes. You go home and spend those last few days
with your . . . uh . . . wife.” The man apparently decided to ignore the lack
of a wedding for such a good worker’s private arrangements.
“Thank you, again, Sir.” Bucky let go of his boss’s hand and strode from the
office. He made his way quickly to the room he’d stored his lunchbox, hat, and
coat in. Slipping the hat onto his head and pulling the coat over his overalls,
Bucky left the factory to catch the noontime train, something he’d only done
before when he’d been told Steve was incredibly ill. Once Bucky boarded the
ferry back to New York, he let his head hang down, feeling the breeze from the
bay flutter over his hat, trying to pull the thing from his dark curling hair.
He needed another haircut.
With a twisted chuckle, Bucky shook his head, took off his hat, and ran his
work-dirtied hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of the breeze off the
water. Slipping the hat back on his head, the twenty-six year old man leaned
against a bulkhead, looking out over the bay as they got closer and closer to
the dock. He didn’t have to worry about a hair cut for long. That would be one
of the first things taken care of, wouldn’t it?
After the ferry docked, Bucky walked a few blocks up-street into Manhattan and
quickly turned towards a small, nondescript office he’d only ever gone into
once before. The lithe man strode into the building and over to the small desk,
a volunteer in khakis lifting her head with a small smile.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the attractive man and she laughed softly.
“Hey, I remember you. You took your medical paper!”
Even after all those months, the WAC still remembered him? Bucky groaned and
pulled out his telegram. “Well, I need another one, please.” For once he didn’t
feel like flirting with a random female, but he offered a pleased smile anyway.
Tata had always taught him that he’d get more by being everyone’s friend than
any way else. “You’ve gotten your hair styled?” he asked with a wink, and she
giggled. Bucky had no idea if her hair even held the same color; he hadn’t
actually paid attention that day she’d insulted Steve. But after sixteen
months, it was almost a guarantee that the WAC had a different hairstyle from
last time.
She nodded and touched her hair then offered him a medical form. “You
volunteering now?”
“No, I got a telegram,” Bucky said as he reached for the medical form.
She pulled it back and frowned. “I’ll need to see the telegram then, please.”
Bucky handed over the folded paper. After she read it, she nodded and handed it
back. “Take that to the bursar at the end of the hall. She’ll give you your
ticket, Mister Barnes.” When he took the paper her eyes widened and a look of
sympathy crossed her face. “How’s your wife taking it?”
With a glance at his left hand, and Steve’s ring, Bucky frowned. “Don’t know. I
haven’t gotten to get home yet. Came straight from work.”
Surprise washed through the man as the WAC grabbed him suddenly and kissed his
cheek, her strong floral perfume wafting over his clothes and hair. “Well, I
think she’ll be proud and scared for you . . . soldier.” She wrapped her arms
around him in a tight hug.
“Thanks,” he answered, untangling from her arms. Bucky turned and walked down
the hall and into the indicated office, the WAC falling from mind as quickly as
she’d forced her way in. With a deep breath, Bucky reminded himself that if
this didn’t take too long, he might get home at a reasonable time that day: the
streetcar never ran late enough for his normal night return when they threw him
off the conveyance coming from the Manhattan Docks, forcing him to walk about
halfway across Brooklyn.
Inside the office, the bursar glanced up and nodded. “Telegram or medical
clearance, please.”
Taking a breath and nearly gagging on the strong floral scent . . . ‘did all
these office women wear heavy scent?’ . . . Bucky handed over the folded slip
of paper.
Taking the page, the woman glanced over it and nodded. She pulled out a sheath
of papers and said “please sit, Mister Barnes.”
Forcing back a groan, Bucky sank into a chair and took his hat off. He could
tell he’d be late again that night . . . that stack of papers promised as much.
xxx
Setting: AU: Wednesday, April 14, 1943: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Steve smoothed out a wrinkle on the practically immaculate bedding, having
remade the bed three times, and ran a nervous hand through his blond hair. The
last several weeks had been tough; Bucky always seemed to get home late from
work, because the brunet insisted on the extra hours. By the time the small
man’s husband got home he’d be too exhausted to do much of anything. Steve
clutched the golden wedding ring that hung from the chain around his neck and
ran his fingers around the smooth surface.
Turning the knob softly, afraid to wake Steve, Bucky opened the front door
carefully. He slipped into the apartment, his face pale and contorted with
worry, the vivid red lipstick, smeared a bit but standing out against his
pallor in two different locations on his right cheek. His overalls were
rumpled, as usual, and this time he’d apparently forgotten to remove his work
bandanna, bright red around his throat. Bucky knelt to remove his work boots.
Jumping slightly at the sound of the door opening, Steve hurried from the
bedroom and went to greet his husband. Immediately, the blond could tell
something was wrong, Bucky looked concerned. However, the small man’s eyes
seemed to lock on the bright red smudges on the brunet’s cheek.
The brunet stopped stock still at the sound of Steve’s footsteps. He looked up
and offered a small frown to his husband then sighed. “Steve . . . I thought
you’d be in bed by now.” He neatly placed his boots beside Steve’s outdoor
shoes then stood. He turned to slide out of his coat, hanging that and his hat
up. A waft of perfume eddied from the coat, coming to Steve’s nose and alerting
his ever strong olfactory sense. Bucky headed for the sink, reaching for the
pot to fill with wash water.
Steve’s nose scrunched up at the sweet floral smell, it nearly made the small
man gag. “Work late again, Buck?” The blond asked as he walked into the all-
purpose room.
“No,” the brunet sighed and put the pot on the stove to heat. “I’ve been let go
with pay until late Friday to cover the remaining shifts I promised to work
this week.” His voice sounded far away, upset, almost defeated.
“Let go?” Steve asked, brows pulling in, “What happened?”
“My floor supervisor told me he’d have someone in my spot come Monday, but he
wanted to make sure that I had money to help cover the time without.” He looked
at Steve.
“Bucky you aren’t making any sense,” Steve stated, his tone rising a little in
frustration, “Why did he have to let you go in the first place? I thought you
were doin’ good?”
“Of course I was doing good, Steve. I never slack. He did mention that I had to
take off from work a bit for my sick wife,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “He sounded
worried I’d leave you without money. Even wanted me to marry you by Friday.”
“Leave me?” Steve questioned.
“Yeah, but,” Bucky’s mind wasn’t fully on this late night conversation. “I told
him we had religious differences so couldn’t marry in church. He wanted me to
fill out papers for you, but dropped it when he found out we couldn’t marry.”
It was hard to concentrate through his exhaustion . . . his fears for the
future, for Steve when Bucky had to go.
“So what? You get fired and then you go where? Why not come home?” Steve
scowled, his arms crossing over his small chest.
Turning to look at Steve, puzzled, Bucky titled his head just a bit. He
shrugged. “I went to . . . wait . . . are you mad at me? I told you, it wasn’t
my fault. My work’s good.”
“Didn’t say it was your fault,” Steve snapped, “But I still don’t understand
why, if you got laid off, you came home so late . . . smelling like someone
dumped a bottle of perfume on you and with red lipstick on your cheek.”
Blinking stupidly at the accusations, Bucky shook his head, looking puzzled.
“Lipstick?” He headed towards their bedroom to check what the hell Steve was
talking about. At the sight in the small shaving mirror, Bucky groaned. “Damn .
. .”
Having followed Bucky into the bedroom, Steve snorted, “Didn’t get rid of all
the evidence, did ya, Buck?”
“Evidence?” He frowned at Steve.
“I ain’t stupid, Bucky!” Steve seethed, trying to keep his voice down to avoid
waking the neighbors. “You have lipstick on your face and smell like women’s
perfume!”
“Yeah, I can smell it. It reeks,” Bucky agreed tiredly. He headed back into the
kitchen as if there was nothing wrong with having all this evidence of a lady’s
attention on him. “I can wash it off. Don’t worry about it.”
“Dammit, Bucky!” Steve snapped, throwing his arms in the air. “Have you really
been working late all these nights . . . or has something else been going on?”
“What? Of course I’ve been working late!” Bucky whirled from the stove to stare
at his husband in surprise. “Where else would I be?”
“Stop playin’ dumb, Bucky!” Steve growled, his small frame shaking in anger,
“Whose perfume and lipstick is that?”
Shaking his head and whirling back to the stove, Bucky sighed. “I didn’t
actually ask for their names, Steve.”
Steve let out a low growl from the back of his throat, “You know what? I’m
done.”
Bucky whirled back, shocked by the large sound coming from his small husband.
"Done? Done what?”
“Done with whatever the hell this is!” Steve snapped.
“What is this, Steve? I get home after one of the worst days of my life, and I
get the third degree like some criminal? All I want is to wash this shit off
and get some sleep with my husband.”
Too caught up in his anger to completely register all of Bucky’s words, Steve
shook his head and stomped towards the door. The small man grabbed his coat and
began to shove his arms into the sleeves.
“Whoa!” Bucky reached over and grabbed his small lover. “What the hell, Steve?
Where are you going? It’s almost midnight!” He held Steve’s arm in a firm, but
not painful, grip.
“I don’t care!” Steve said, his voice finally starting to quaver as his eyes
shone with tears. “I can’t be in the same house as you right now . . . I can’t
sleep in the same bed knowing you’ve been with someone else tonight, Bucky! I
just can’t.”
“What the hell?” Bucky felt totally lost. He normally loved Steve’s wild
imagination, but the brunet didn’t have the brainpower in his exhausted state
to figure this out. Shaking his head and taking a wild guess . . . it was the
only subject that Steve had gotten really pissed about before . . . Bucky said,
“I didn’t ask for it, Steve! I spent the day arguing with them and finally had
to give in. What did you want me to do? Run to Canada?”
“What are you talking about?” Steve snapped as he roughly pulled his arm out of
Bucky’s grip.
With a slow blinking of his pale blue eyes, Bucky reached beyond Steve to his
own coat and pulled the rolled copies of his forms from the long pocket. He
fished in for the folded telegram, too. “The Army, Steve. Did you want me to
refuse the Army? You were the one who wanted me to serve if I could,” he
bitterly snapped, thrusting the roll into Steve’s hands and turning, not seeing
the small folded single sheet flutter to the ground. Bucky stormed into the
bedroom, leaving the warming pot of water on the stove.
Steve stared at the papers in his hands for several long moments. ’No,’ the
small man thought, ’no this can’t be happening. Bucky can’t be drafted!’
The blond saw a piece of paper on the ground and knelt down to pick it up. He
glanced at it and his heart seized.
James B. Barnes, you are conscripted to active US Army. Report to Manhattan
office to sign papers and receive train ticket this day. Report to Fort McCoy,
Wisconsin Monday, April 19, 1943 no later than 0800 hours.
Feeling his throat tighten, Steve’s heart began to beat rapidly in his chest
and his lungs seemed to struggle to properly work. His breathing came in short,
raspy gasps and Steve collapsed against the wooden door, hitting the solid
surface hard.
Hearing the loud thump, Bucky sprinted out, worried about his lover even if
they were fighting. “Steve?” His coveralls were unzipped around his waist since
he’d been stripping down.
At the sound of Bucky’s voice, Steve’s breathing got even worse. He couldn’t
even seem to make his lungs try to take a breath. The blond tried to call out
to his husband but the sound came out as a strangled gasp.
“God, Stevie!” No . . . no, no, no . . .” He dashed to the boiling water on the
stove and pulled it off the burner, putting the pot on the floor. Then he
pulled off his undershirt and tossed it over Steve’s head, forcing the smaller
man over the steam of the pot, supporting him with strong arms. “God, no,
Stevie! Breathe, baby, breathe.”
Shaking his head wildly, Steve could feel his lungs begin to burn, and black
dots adorned his vision.
“Damn it, baby!” Bucky had to leave the smaller man on the floor as he ran from
the apartment and down to the landlord’s apartment at the back of the shop.
“Help! Please!”
As quickly as he could, Bucky brought back their landlord. “He’s not breathing.
Please, I need to get him to Saint Mary’s!”
The man nodded. “We can take my auto. Pick him up.” Their landlord, usually a
man who ignored them since they had always been good tenants, turned off the
stove Bucky had forgotten to tend to.
Bucky scooped up Steve and cuddled him close to his chest. “Breathe, Stevie . .
. just breathe.”
Weakly Steve grasped at Bucky’s bare shoulders, his breathing didn’t even out
and his eyes unfocused before rolling to the back of his head and sliding
closed.
The landlord ran out to start up his car and Bucky carried his husband into the
vehicle. Thankfully it was late in the evening, as there was little to no
traffic to interfere. They reached a hospital shortly, though it was not their
regular hospital. Bucky laid Steve on the assigned bed as the landlord told the
nurse at the bedside that the “boy just collapsed right down. Not breathing I
think. His brother came and got me.”
The brunet didn’t even bother correcting the man. Rather, he watched as the
doctors began to work on the small man, struggling as nurses began to push the
tall man from the room. “No!”
The woman in charge shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mister Barnes. We need to take
care of your little brother. You wait here.” And she shut the door to the room
they’d taken Steve to.
In the early morning hours, the nurse finally let Bucky back into the room.
Their landlord had left almost as soon as they’d shut the pair out, so the
brunet was on his own. He immediately sank into a chair beside Steve and took
his hand, watching him intently. He had no idea how they’d fixed his breathing
this time, but Bucky wasn’t about to question such a gift.
“Bucky . . .” Steve muttered, his voice raspy and small. The blond still had
his eyes closed.
“God, Stevie! You terrified me!” Bucky sobbed, pulling Steve’s hand to his
mouth and kissing the fingers gently. In the time he’d been waiting, the brunet
had cleaned up and zipped his coveralls back on, but he still wore the
bandanna.
Finally Steve opened his eyes, although they were half-lidded, and turned his
head to look at his lover. “I’m . . . sorry, Buck. Didn’t . . . mean to get . .
. mad. Don’t . . . want ya to leave me.” The words were slurred and they barely
came out coherently.
Sobbing softly, Bucky kissed Steve’s hand again. “I don’t wanna leave, Stevie.
I ain’t got a choice. In times of war, disobeying the military is treason. And
they execute people for treason.” Bucky reached over his other hand to stroke
Steve’s blond hair out of his face.
“Not . . . that.” Steve murmured, “Don’t . . . want ya to find . . . someone
else. You . . . deserve . . . more.”
“More?” Bucky shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly get someone better than you,
Steve,” he whispered, bending low so they weren’t overheard. “Why would I leave
you?”
“Weak.” Steve said, “I’m weak. I’m sorry, Bucky.” The small man raised a
shaking hand and ran his thumb down the side of his lover’s face, the tip
barely caressing the skin. “You . . . deserve someone strong.”
Anger flared in Bucky’s eyes. “Do you love me? Do you respect me?” His voice
remained low, but it was a near growl of offense.
The blond nodded, eyes widening slightly at the low noise, “I love you, Bucky.
You know that I do.”
“But you don’t respect me?” he asked, frowning fiercely.
“Of course . . . I respect you!” Steve stated, his voice seeming to even out
the longer he stayed awake.
“Then can you show some respect for my choices? I’m not a stupid man, Steve,
and I’m not a fool. If you want me to be happy, you’ll accept that I love you
and want to be with you.” He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “Unless of
course you’ve changed your mind? I can’t blame you . . . I’m no prize.”
“Hey,” Steve said, bringing his hand to rest under his husband’s chin. The
blond made sure to keep Bucky’s gaze. “You’re the prize. You’re the only good
thing in my life, Buck. I . . . I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A sigh escaped the older man and he leaned over Steve, pressing their foreheads
together. “Steve,” he whispered, “I wanna stay so bad with you. I love you so
much.” He closed his eyes. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Steve’s eyes began to fill with tears again at the thought of Bucky leaving.
The blond wrapped his arms around the brunet’s neck and pulled himself closer.
The smaller man breathed in Bucky’s scent and let out a loud sob, his body
convulsed with the force of it.
“Stevie,” Bucky softly said, “we gotta think of the future, okay? Stay with me,
Cariad. I need to know you’ll be okay.” He pulled away enough to look down at
the smaller man. “Without my pay, you’ll need a job . . . and I don’t know
anyone who’s gonna hire you right now.” His eyes shone with worry. “You’ll lose
the apartment and . . . well, maybe you should let the apartment go while I’m
gone. You can move in with Mam and the girls? Help them out and they can make
sure you’re okay?”
The blond hated the fact that his lover was right, no one would hire a sickly
man. Most of the open jobs required a lot of physical labor that Steve had no
way of doing. Also, the thought of being alone when Bucky left made the blond’s
chest ache. Steve nodded, avoiding his husband’s eyes. “Yeah . . . okay.”
Bucky hugged Steve fiercely. “I love you,” he breathed in obvious relief.
Wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck, Steve rested his head on the brunet’s
shoulder. “I love you, too, Buck.”
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, April 18, 1943: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Standing in the nearly empty bedroom of their small apartment, Bucky finished
tying his tie and smoothed his jacket. He glanced over the room at the small
box sitting on their stripped bed for the clothes Steve still had to pack. In
the all purpose room was their other bed, waiting to be stripped and packed, as
well as the dishes and cooking supplies. Everything else they owned had already
been taken to Winifred’s house. In the morning, the apartment would no longer
be their home.
Sighing, Bucky turned to look at his husband. He could see the shadows of
strain on Steve’s face; they had been there ever since Wednesday when Bucky had
come back with the news he’d been drafted. Unfortunately, spending the ensuing
four days wrapped up with his husband had been out of the question; the brunet
had been too busy setting things in order so that Steve could move in with
Winifred Barnes and still get medical care and art training . . . despite the
blond’s initial attempts at dropping the classes. Bucky had insisted, and
surprisingly so had Winifred.
Thus, the couple had spent their last few days together planning, packing, and
arranging things . . . and only their nights had been spent in each other’s
arms, loving and yearning. This night there would be no loving - - Bucky had to
leave for the train station before five in the evening so he could catch the
train to Wisconsin and a fifteen hour journey into a world of military training
and warfront hell.
“Stevie? Cariad?” Bucky called softly to the smaller man, worried about the
pallor which had settled on his twenty-four year old husband.
Snapping his eyes to meet Bucky’s, Steve tried his best to smile, but the small
man knew how pained it must’ve looked. “Yeah?” The blond asked.
“Don’t come to the station with me, okay?” He watched Steve, memorizing the
man’s features, as if he hadn’t already.
Steve’s heart dropped and his hands, involuntarily, clenched into tight fists.
“Why not? I want to see you off.” He couldn’t believe Bucky was taking away the
last time they would see each other for a couple months.
Drawing a deep breath, Bucky shook his head. He stepped over to his small
husband and took his thin shoulders in strong hands. “Because,” the brunet
whispered, “I can’t say goodbye the way I want to in public, Stevie. And I want
your last memory of me to be my kisses.” He lifted the man’s chin, searching
his face.
Eyes welling with tears, Steve had lost count of how many times he’d cried over
the last few days, the small man nodded weakly. “Oh . . . okay. I . . . I guess
I understand,” Steve mumbled, his tone defeated and wrecked.
Bucky pulled his husband into a tight embrace, kissing him desperately and
breathing into his mouth, “I love you so much, Cariad.” He moved his face to
nuzzle at Steve’s neck, finding the scar from their first time . . . the first
time he’d actually been inside his lover. With a soft kiss, Bucky caressed his
lips over the raised pink flesh. “God, how I love you.” He moved his mouth back
to his lover's lips.
“I love you, Buck. I love you so much,” Steve whispered into the kiss, not
wanting to waste a single second of the brunet’s lips on his own.
Finally, reluctantly, the taller man pulled away from the smaller. Without a
word, he slid the wedding ring from his left hand and switched it to the ring
finger on his right, misery in his eyes. He laid his suddenly nude left hand
against Steve’s cheek and kissed him softly then pulled away, turned and
grabbed the battered suitcase. Straightening, Bucky let himself from the
apartment.
On the curb, he turned, put down the suitcase and saluted the man inside the
second floor corner apartment, not looking for Steve, not wanting to lose his
nerve at the sight of his lover. Picking up the case, Bucky began to walk down
the road, trying to hitch a ride to Manhattan and the train station.
The small blond watched, with tears running freely down his cheeks, as his
husband turned around the corner and out of sight. Steve shut the door and
leaned up against the wood, the solid surface being the only thing keeping him
on his feet. He let out a loud sob and quickly covered his mouth to muffle the
rest of his outcries. Taking several deep breaths, Steve felt himself slowly
regain control; however, his hands had begun to shake. He turned around and let
his eyes wander across the nearly empty apartment; Becca’s beau would be there
in the morning to help move the last two pieces of furniture.
Taking another deep breath, Steve pushed off the solid wood surface behind him
and shook his head. He could do this; Bucky would only be gone for a few months
and then his husband would be back. The blond made his way into the bedroom to
begin packing the last box of clothes, then he’d move into the kitchen to pack
the last of the dishes. As soon as he finished he would go over to Winifred’s,
not wanting to be alone in the empty apartment that night.
***** The First Day of the Rest of His Life *****
Chapter Notes
     Translation:
     Sperma - Sperm - Polish
     .
Setting: AU: Monday, April 19, 1943: Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, United States of
America
Controlled chaos reigned on the military base as Bucky stepped off the omnibus
that morning and looked around, gripping the handle of the small suitcase. Men
in uniform seemed to work at every activity, from outdoor labor to group
exercises, in different knots around the compound. Stone buildings rose up in a
miniature version of a city. Taking a deep breath, the brunet stepped out of
the way of the others coming off the omnibus, avoiding the horses that drew the
conveyance. If he hadn’t been traveling all night, too worried about the man
he’d left behind, to sleep, this new sight would have been fascinating to the
intelligent, normally curious brunet.
One blond man, slightly taller and stockier than Bucky, shoved his way to the
fore of the group and dropped his suitcase with a thunk. Planting his hands on
his hips, he surveyed the activities all around them - - and sneered slightly.
“Why don’t they just hand me a gun and send me over already? I don’t need to
lose weight or paint rocks or nothing.”
“This way, men. We’ve got to finish processing you,” a thin, dark haired man
dressed in uniform complete with insignia and hat stepped over to the front of
the group of new arrivals. He stood shorter than Bucky and the blond, only one
other man stood taller . . a burly redhead with a rather impressive mustache
and a bowler hat. The soldier gestured with one hand and clipped out, “move it,
men.”
Bucky stepped out immediately, as did the large redhead, but the blond sneered
again and called “when are we getting our guns? I wanna go kill some Nazis!”
The soldier directing them looked over at the taller man and, impassively,
looked back in the direction he led the group of new recruits, as if the man
did not stand a good five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. “When you’ve
finished your training and proven you can follow orders and not get your
platoon killed, you’ll be sent to kill as many of the enemy as needed. But for
now, you belong to me.”
With a snort, the big blond asked, “and you’re some sort of high ranking
general?”
“No,” their dark-haired guide replied evenly, “I’m Staff Sergeant Michaels, and
on this base, I am your best friend or your worst nightmare.” He stopped the
group in front of a set of cement stairs in front of a long building. Turning
to the blond, and the group, staring directly at the taller man, Michaels said
“You get to decide. But, a piece of friendly advice? The other guy’s worse.”
“What other guy,” the blond sneered.
“That’d be me, maggot!” barked out a solid, six foot man in khakis and shaded
glasses, hair cropped so close it was a mere buzz and the color couldn’t be
distinguished. Despite standing a couple of inches shorter than the blond, and
the redhead in the bowler, this new soldier radiated confidence and
displeasure. “I am Captain Sanderson. You will address me as ‘Sir.’ If I ask
you a question, you will answer ‘Sir, yes, sir!’ or ‘Sir, no, Sir!’ I am not
your pappy or your momma or your friend. I am your Captain! Am I understood?”
A chorus of “Sir, yes, Sir!” rang out.
The officer glared at the group of men and barked out “inside, maggots!”
The building proved to be assigned administrative functions and, for those like
Bucky who had been traveling long hours to get to the base, yet another
roadblock before sleep.
The next couple of hours were filled with signing more forms, assignment of
equipment, measurements for uniforms, and a rather intense introduction to
military life. The blond, a man named Jenkins, seemed to challenge authority at
every turn, and wound up their first demonstration of how to properly do push-
ups, while still in his civilian clothes. Finally, just after a lunch of stew
and thick bread they had to eat in less than twenty minutes, the men gathered
in the barracks. By then, the only things they carried had been assigned by the
military; everything else they owned had been shipped that morning to their
homes. The only personal items they had been allowed to keep were their bibles
and any prescriptions, including glasses, they might have come in with . . .
though the medications were quickly confiscated by Michaels.
“Alright maggots, put your gear on the center line. That’s the center part of
this barracks . . . the clear part. Then you are to count the lines on the
floor from the wall. When you reach five, you are to stand still with your feet
squarely on that line.” Sanderson crossed his arms and glared at the group of
nearly eighty men as they scrambled to do as told.
Bucky wound up standing right between the two larger men, the blond Jenkins and
the still unknown redhead who seemed practically bare without that bowler hat
he’d been wearing most of the morning. A couple of the men, including the
redhead, wound up on the wrong line, and the Captain proceeded to yell at those
unfortunate souls for a good five minutes. The Captain insulted and nicknamed
each of those men in turn.
“What’s your name, Dum Dum?” Captain Sanderson barked at the solidly built
redhead.
Eyes meeting with the Captain’s, the redhead straightened even further and
shook his head firmly, “No, Sir! Sir, Timothy Dugan, Sir!”
“No, it’s Dum Dum Dugan, Soldier! Welcome to the United States Army! You better
learn to count, Dum Dum! Now get your ass on the line!” Sanderson turned and
strode to the next man who’d miscalculated around the bunks, standing dressers,
and footlockers.
Attention finally off of himself, Dugan allowed his shoulders to sag somewhat,
but still kept his spine straight. The redhead let out a small breath of
relief.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Bucky whispered, “hi, I’m Bucky.”
Snorting softly at the strange name, Dugan replied, “Guess I’m Dum Dum, now.”
Their soft conversation was interrupted by the Captain shouting, “Now that
we’re all on the same line you will note that from this time forward, when you
are told to get on the line . . . that line under your feet is where you get.”
He planted his hands on his hips and barked, “Michaels! Take ‘em!”
The Sergeant never moved from where he stood next to the Captain. Somehow,
without the same shouting the officer had done, the enlisted man made himself
clearly heard in the vast barracks. “Look to your right, men.”
To the right of Bucky stood Jenkins. Only one man stood on the right of the
big, troublesome blond.
“Now, look to your left,” Michaels called.
Bucky looked directly at the red-haired Dugan.
“Eyes front.” When everyone obeyed, Michaels called, “by the end of the war,
one of you three will be dead.”
A shocked gasp drew through the entire crowd, and Bucky narrowed his eyes in
determination. He would not be the one who died. And he wouldn’t let any of the
men with him die. The brunet fully intended to defy those odds.
“You are to count off, one . . . two . . . one . . . two, until you reach the
end. Each man gets one number. Start.”
The count became muddled somewhere in the middle of the group, ensuing in
Michaels silencing them and Captain Sanderson handing out more degrading
nicknames. They began again and finally got around the room without a problem.
The Sergeant nodded once. “The ‘one’ on the right match up with the ‘two’ on
the left.”
Immediately, Bucky could see how that order had been deliberately muddled. And
the result was some small mix up with men trying to triple up or pair up,
depending on how they took the words. Bucky merely shuffled a step closer to
Dum Dum and side-whispered, “don’t move, Dugan.”
Eyeing the lanky brunet with apprehensive eyes, Dugan nodded and followed
Bucky’s suggestion.
Sanderson seemed enraged even more by then and yelled at the entire group,
calling them general insulting names as a whole. When the Captain wound down,
Michaels had those who had become confused sorted out and the group of new
recruits found themselves in pairs.
With a nod, the Sergeant called out, as calm as ever, “the man that is number
‘two’ sleeps on the bottom. Number ‘one’ sleeps on the top. Get your gear and
stow it on your bunk, men, then get back on the line.”
Bucky found his newly assigned dufflebag full of new clothing, toiletries, and
other stuff . . . more than he’d had in a long time . . . and pushed it easily
onto the top bunk of the assigned bunk-bed. He turned as Dum Dum slid his own
bag on the bottom bunk - - the man wasn’t as stupid as he’d seemed. The lanky
brunet could tell the solid redhead felt as tired as Bucky did; without sleep,
they were all bound to make stupid mistakes.
This time no one messed up their orders, and a sense of relief washed over the
room as Sanderson stayed quiet while Michaels called out, “When you are told to
form up, you will stand on the line in front of your assigned bunks if you are
in the barracks. If you are anywhere else, you will get into formation, which
you will be taught as soon as we leave this barracks. When we form up outside,
we will go to the infirmary where you will get the remaining medical checks you
need.”
After a silent moment, Michaels called out “in orderly lines, you will walk
from this barracks. Outside you will form lines of six across. Once you are in
your group, you will arrange yourselves from tallest, in the back, to shortest,
in the front and tallest on the left with shortest on the right. There will be
less men in the back than the front.”
He paused a moment. “Am I understood, men?”
A chorus of “Sir, yes, Sir,” rang out and Michaels frowned. And for the first
time since they’d met the calm, quite Sergeant that morning, Michaels barked at
them in true military fashion.
“What did you call me? Do you see bars on my shoulder? I work for a living! You
will address me as Staff Sergeant or Sergeant!” Michaels’ hands had clenched in
fists at his sides and he sent a venomous glare over the men. “You will answer
me ‘Yes, Sergeant’ or ‘No, Sergeant.’ Am I understood?”
A chorus of ‘Yes, Sergeant!” rang out and suddenly Michaels relaxed, hands
easing, neutral expression returning, as if he’d never screamed at them or
appeared upset in any way.
Bucky turned and began to take a step, and suddenly Captain Sanderson called
out “what the hell is your problem!”
Flushing, Bucky looked back to the Captain and called out, “Sir? We were told
to form up outside, Sir!”
The Captain studied him for a long second or two then barked out, “What’s your
name, recruit?”
“Sir, James Barnes, Sir,” he responded promptly wondering just what derogatory
name he’d earned.
“Barnes, you have just been promoted to Recruit Sergeant. You will help the
Staff Sergeant keep these maggots in line! If they fail, you will be punished.
Is that understood?”
’Damn!’ Bucky certainly hadn’t wanted to stand out from the crowd, and taking
punishment for the group’s failures set him up for some nasty days ahead.
Instead of protesting, however, he called, “Sir, yes, Sir!”
“Well, you heard the Staff Sergeant. Get your asses outside and form up! The
infirmary can’t wait on you lowlifes!”
Fortunately, once the group arrived at the infirmary, they were permitted to
sit, in formation, on a wide tiled floor outside under an extended roof.
Michaels called out, “keep your voices down to a whisper and you may speak to
each other while you wait your turns. Listen for your name. If you don’t answer
the first time called, you will be considered ‘Absent Without Leave’, AWOL, and
you can be shot for desertion for being AWOL. When you hear your name, you will
stand and answer ‘Yes, Doctor.’ Then you will do as instructed. Once you’re
finished, you will assemble back here in your seat until everyone has been
seen. After that, you might get chow. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” the chorus sounded.
Michaels nodded. “Recruit Sergeant Barnes. You are in charge. Anyone goes AWOL
on your watch, and you will be punished. Pick another Recruit Sergeant and come
up here to keep an eye on everyone.”
Bucky stood and called “Yes, Staff Sergeant. Dugan, you’re Recruit Sergeant.
Let’s go.” And without looking at the stocky man he’d selected for sheer size
and impressive looks, Bucky strode up to the doorway of the patio and stood as
they’d been shown earlier, at parade rest.
Dum Dum’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly rose to his feet and followed
Bucky.
Once the taller redhead had positioned himself next to Bucky, the brunet smiled
barely and whispered, “so, you from around here, soldier?” Laughter laced his
tones.
“Nah . . . born and raised in Boston,” Dum Dum answered with a slight, tired
chuckle.
“Brooklyn,” Bucky responded. “So, you and me were probably on the same train .
. . but you had to leave even earlier than me.”
Snorting quietly, Dugan nodded, his eyes felt heavy. “I can’t wait to go to
sleep . . . feel like I’m about to pass out.”
“Yeah, I’d give up dinner for some shut eye,” Bucky agreed softly. “But this is
what war’s gonna be like, I s’pose, no sleep and lots of standing around
waiting to get shot.”
“Don’t know why anyone would volunteer for this,” Dum Dum grunted.
Sadness welled in Bucky’s light eyes and he whispered back, “my best friend
tried to volunteer right after Pearl Harbor took the hit.”
“Tried?” Dugan asked, “How’d he not get in? They’re takin’ everybody who has a
heartbeat.”
“Not Steve’s heartbeat. He’s got heart problems and asthma. I figured they
wouldn’t care, as long as he can hold a gun. But apparently they only wanna
ship healthy guys off to get killed.” Bucky rolled his eyes.
“Hope your friend realizes how lucky he is,” Dugan grumbled, “This is hell.”
With a shake of his head, Bucky whispered, “nope. Steve’s so mule headed he got
mad because I wouldn’t volunteer. I told him they’d have to drag me kickin’ and
screamin’, and boy did I prove that. They had to telegram me at work to get my
attention.” He turned his head to grin at Dum Dum. “And even then, I spent half
the afternoon arguing with them since I needed to stay home.”
Dugan quirked an impressed eyebrow, “Because your sick friend?”
Suddenly flushing, Bucky realized how easily he’d nearly given everything away.
So, he carefully went back to the story he’d told his boss. Lifting his right
hand to display the ring, Bucky said, “not exactly. I’ve got a lot of people
that depend on me. Steve’s one of them. But, I’m kind of married . . . though
it’s not legal.”
Dugan eyed Bucky for several long moments, eyes narrowing slightly as he
concentrated on the words the brunet had just said. After nearly a minute, Dum
Dum grunted again, “Shame . . . must be hard on hi . . . her.”
Catching the change of pronoun, Bucky silently swore to himself that he’d been
sloppy. He couldn’t protect Steve if he blurted out their relationship to the
world. With a soft sigh, Bucky merely nodded. He met Dum Dum’s eyes and softly
said, “for both of us.” He tried to figure out how this big man would react to
the idea that his bunk mate was queer.
Leaning in closer to Bucky, and lowering his voice to avoid being overheard,
Dum Dum muttered, “Don’t worry, Barnes. I ain’t gonna say nothin’ . . .
although you may want to be more careful. Most guys ain’t like me. Don’t want
ya or your wife gettin’ hurt or nothin’.”
Just as softly, barely audible, Bucky asked, “why aren’t you gonna tell?” He
knew he’d judged Dum Dum’s intelligence perfectly earlier. The loss of sleep
had been the reason both of them had made such mistakes so far. He’d have to
learn to work through exhaustion.
Shrugging his large shoulders, Dum Dum shook his head, “Ain’t my place to judge
who someone loves . . . you seem like a good man, Barnes. I’ve got your back.”
Turning to face his bunkmate, Bucky nodded seriously. “An’ I got your’s,
Dugan.”
Apparently the medical staff, though calling everyone else in alphabetical
order, had been warned just which recruits were in charge. Bucky and Dum Dum
were skipped until last, when Michaels returned to take over monitoring the
men. Fortunately, none of the near eighty men had disappeared, though several
had asked to go to the commode and been granted individual permission, ordered
to return before the next could go. When Bucky and Dum Dum finally got called,
evening was beginning to settle and a chill seeped through the patio air.
The brunet followed the medic into the infirmary. The pair of recruits sat
through even more blood tests, a thorough eye and ear exam, an odd test in
which they had to identify certain colors or figures inside a blur of colors,
and a check for vitals, parasites, and flat feet.
Sitting in his trousers and shirt sleeves on a cot next to Dugan’s cot, Bucky
held his arm out while a medic drew yet more blood. He felt like a pin cushion.
Shaking his head in confusion as to why they’d need to draw blood at each stop
he’d made, Bucky merely let them.
“Why are we gettin’ more medical tests? Thought we’d already been cleared,” Dum
Dum asked, wincing as the medic pulled out the needle a little too fast.
One of the medics shrugged and intoned, “Army’s got reasons, recruit. Don’t ask
questions or you’ll wind up on restriction.”
Finally, they were allowed to return to the group on the patio. As they slipped
back to the last row, which held only Jenkins, Dum Dum, and Bucky, Michaels
called out “Attention!”
The entire group scrambled to their feet and came to attention as they’d been
taught earlier in the day.
A medium sized, grey haired man came in at that and he held several papers in
his delicate looking hands. A full Colonel accompanied him. The pair looked
over the men gathered. The plain dressed man looked at the papers and shuffled
through them. Eventually he called out "Barnes, James?" His accent sounded
German, but only a few men seemed upset by it, despite the war.
Surprised, Bucky called out "Sir, yes, Sir!" He straightened next to Dum Dum.
The doctor nodded, “Step forward, please, Son.”
Bucky obeyed without looking to either side, stepping out of formation so that
he could be clearly seen. “Sir.”
The civilian man looked through more papers and called out “Ryerson, Jeffery?
Calvin, Peter? . . . and Jenkins, Bernard?”
Ryerson, a medium sized brunet, and Calvin, a rather tall, thin, lanky blond,
stepped out with the standard “Sir, yes, sir!” they’d been taught.
Jenkins, the tall, burly blond who’d already proven to be a trouble maker,
sneered and muttered “I don’t listen to Nazis.”
A look of thunder crossing his face, the Colonel barked out louder than Captain
Sanderson. “What did you say?”
Jenkins repeated “I don’t listen to Nazis, sir! I’m here to fight Germans, not
obey them!”
After staring at the tall blond as if he studied a bug, the Colonel barked out
“then by all means, stay with the group, Jenkins.” He turned to the man dressed
as a civilian and said, “how about the redhead?”
The older man nodded once and cleared his throat and added one last name:
“Dugan, Timothy.”
Stepping forward quickly, not wanting to be yelled at for taking too long, Dum
Dum made his way to stand next to Bucky.
“Please, if you four would come with me,” the civilian man asked as he began to
turn away from the other recruits.
Michaels called out, “the rest of you, form up. We’re going to chow.” And, as
Bucky, Dum Dum, and the other two obediently followed the civilian and the
Colonel, Michaels led the platoon away.
The civilian man and the Colonel took the four recruits back to medical.
Glancing over his papers once more, the older man told them he needed yet
another test.
Leaning in close to whisper in Bucky’s ear, Dugan stated, “ Hard to believe
that a German would be treating us - - maybe this is some kind of military test
to make sure we don’t hurt civilians while in war or something.”
Nodding, Bucky answered from the corner of his mouth, “Steve’s best doctor was
German, but he got taken to a work camp over in Germany a couple years back.”
Clearing his throat, however, Bucky asked loudly “another test, Sir? Something
wrong with us?” He prayed that he and Steve hadn’t gotten anything from their
lovemaking - - the church and government often warned that homosexuals might
spread some diseases.
The civilian doctor turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. “Goodness, no! I
am Doctor Abraham Erksine and I am part of a program to help train elite
soldiers. All four of you have met the qualifications so far. We are about to
do the last test to reveal if any of you are physically what we need.”
Bucky’s mouth dropped open at the name he’d heard Steve refer to, a doctor that
had been some sort of partner to Doctor Keilmeyer apparently. But, that doctor
had been in a fertility and birth defect study . . . not working for the
military. The brunet felt he must have mixed the doctors up . . . maybe there
were a lot of men named Erskine from Germany. “I don’t understand, sir.”
Dum Dum shook his head, “Elite soldiers?”
The Colonel answered, “Elite Soldiers, son. Better than any other men we’ve
got. Trained for special missions on behalf of Uncle Sam.” Rather than angry,
like he had with Jenkins, the older officer seemed tired.
Furrowing his brows in confusion, Dum Dum looked to the ground, thinking over
the words that had just been spoken by the Colonel.
The doctor nodded. "You may all sit down." He gestured and someone came in to
take some unfortunately painful tissue samples as well as more blood.
This startled the recruits, but they allowed it. Even on the first day of basic
training, they realized that they had to obey the orders, even if painful,
especially with the unintroduced Colonel standing right there. Bucky held the
clean bandage against the small cut as a medic wrapped ties around his arm to
hold it in place, as three other medics worked equally on the other recruits.
Doctor Erksine cleared his throat gently and began to explain in a calm, steady
voice, "Science has made many leaps in understanding over the millennia.
Sometimes these are contrary to what we currently believe, and some reinforces
these beliefs. Recently a small team of scientists have put forth the theory
that humans, like other mammals, have a natural hierarchy.” He nodded as the
four medics took their samples, clearly marked with numbers and initials, to a
storage cart. The men wrote on files as the doctor continued talking to these
four newly made soldiers.
“This hierarchy is referred to as the Fertility Nature, or simply put the
natural chain of command, if you will. There are Alphas, those who lead. There
are Betas, those who obey. There are Omegas, mates of Alphas . . . and the
Gammas. This last group is the most contested in this theory, as most
scientists cannot agree whether Gamma is it's own designation or just a part of
the other classifications. Gamma's are sterile, infertile, but do show signs of
being one of the other three categories. So, the question remains as to whether
a Gamma is truly an Alpha, Beta, or Omega. Or if a Gamma is a fourth and
separate category."
As the medic matched up his own sample, marked ‘JBB 1984’ with a file and
wrote, Bucky concentrated on what the doctor said. Puzzled, but knowing a bit
about the research since Steve had been a pioneering test subject for it, Bucky
leaned forward to listen carefully.
Erskine’s eyes flicked over to Bucky, curious as to why the soldier seemed so
interested, and continued. "For this elite group, I need Gammas."
With a nod, blue-grey eyes still watching the doctor’s every move, Bucky asked,
"And these tests will tell you if we're . . . Gammas? If we're sterile? Uh,
what if we've had sex?" He flushed a bit and knew instantly that this man
looked for someone like Steve, but Keilmeyer’s work had been in preventing
birth defects, not in creating super soldiers.
Nodding, pushing up his glasses, Abraham Erksine answered, "Gammas are often
unable to produce an erection but some can. We are still determining why some
can become aroused while most cannot. However, arousal, and therefore
intercourse, is not a defining factor of infertility. We will need semen
samples from each of you as well, of course."
"Why the blood and skin tests?" Bucky asked again, despite the frown from the
unknown Colonel and the confused looks of the other three recruits. Bucky
couldn’t help the curiosity; this was a chance to learn more about what Steve
had participated in all those years.
"Oh, those are in case you qualify. These samples will be kept on file for
later use. In the future when our science has hopefully advanced far enough,
these samples might be able to be used for further research." Doctor Erskine
shrugged. "But for now, they will be kept in cold storage to be used to match
up your remains, if unidentifiable. We are on the verge of being able to match
tissue but let us hope we never have cause to use them, eh?"
The medics stepped forward, each with a pair of specimen cups labeled with
initials and numbers. Bucky was handed cups marked ‘JBB 1984,’ while beside him
Dum Dum was given cups marked ‘TACD 1985.’ They were shown to private, tiny
offices where a single exam bed, a chair, and a stack of girly magazines sat.
With a sigh, Bucky didn’t even bother to glance at the mags, since he knew the
only thing that would get him excited enough to cum: his delicate, beautiful
husband Steve with his vibrant blue eyes. When finished, Bucky stood, panting
and with head bowed; he swore he wouldn’t answer any questions about how he
achieved ejaculation, even under brutal questioning, unsure if that might be
part of the study or another test even. He’d already recklessly endangered
Steve once that day; he refused to do so again. He also didn't prefer being
arrested since being queer was illegal.
As the brunet finished getting dressed, the doctor slipped into his room,
startling the soldier. He offered the specimen cup, clearing his throat.
“Doctor Erskine? May I ask you something?”
Looking up from a file ‘JBB 1984’ in his hands, Abraham Erksine smiled and
nodded gently, “Why of course.”
“My . . . friend Steve went to a doctor by the name of Keilmeyer back in
Brooklyn. He was part of this Gamma study. Keilmeyer told him he was a natural
Gamma.” Bucky shrugged. “I was just wondering if you were the Doctor Erskine
Steve’s doctor mentioned on occasion.”
Doctor Erskine’s eyes widened at the mention of his friend’s name, a friend he
knew to be imprisoned at Dachau, but the gentle doctor nodded slightly,
“Keilmeyer is a good friend of mine. But to answer your question . . . yes, I
am the doctor mentioned in your friend’s appointments.”
With a relieved sigh, Bucky grinned wider. “Steve had . . . um . . . internal
lesions show up sometimes, and lots of cramping and bleeding. He always said
the doctor told him he was fine . . . is that normal for a Gamma?” Bucky’s
intense worry for his husband showed through.
The doctor’s eyes widened more then narrowed as if he concentrated on
something, “Tell me, Mr. Barnes. Is your friend in the military?”
“No, thank God!” Bucky let out a breath. “They wouldn’t take him because of
heart problems and asthma. But that makes him mad, since he’s probably tougher
than any guy I’ve ever met.”
“He’s a sickly boy?” Abraham mused, almost as if he hadn’t meant to speak
aloud.
“He’ll be twenty-five on July fourth, Doc,” Bucky corrected. “And he wants in
so bad, but I’d rather he was more careful of his health. Just a few days ago
he was in the hospital with an attack.” He shook his head. “If he just wasn’t
sick, I guess I could get behind him going to fight against all the bullies he
wants. But . . . he refuses to back down.”
“Hmmm . . . you care for your friend, yes?” Doctor Erskine asked, eyes shining
with curiosity. “I am sure your friend will be just fine. Now, if you’d excuse
me . . . I have to run these tests.” The doctor turned to leave.
“Ah, Doc?” Bucky held out the specimen cup again. “The semen sample?”
Letting out a small laugh, Erskine accepted the cup with a smile. “Ah! Please
forgive me, Mr. Barnes. Old age and whatnot.”
Laughing softly, Bucky called “Ah, you ain’t so old, Doc. Age is in the mind.”
He saluted cheekily and opened the door for the doctor to leave.
“If only my body would agree with that sentiment, Mr. Barnes,” Abraham Erskine
laughed and stepped out of the examination room.
“If we meet again, you can call me Bucky.” The brunet winked at the doctor then
moved off to join Dum Dum and the other two recruits, who both looked at
anything but another person . . . obviously embarrassed by the test they’d had
to do.
The Colonel suddenly barked out, “Wait in the hall, men. It only takes a few
minutes for the testing.”
Again showing his intimate knowledge with the procedure, Bucky snorted and
murmured, “yeah, gotta count the sperma before it all dies.” He led the other
three into the hall where they stood at parade rest.
The minutes ticked by before the Colonel stepped out with Doctor Erskine.
“Barnes, Dugan, and Ryerson. You may go back to your unit. Calvin, you qualify
for Project Rebirth. You’ll come with us to Camp Lehigh. No one is to speak of
this project or the tests or you will be shot for giving away military secrets.
Am I understood?”
Bucky barked out “Sir, yes, sir!” as did the others. Turning to Dum Dum, he
shrugged and said “Hope they still have some chow for us sleep deprived.”
Dum Dum laughed and clapped the brunet on the shoulder, “You and me both. Feel
like I could eat a whole cow.” Behind the tall redhead, the sleepy-looking
Ryerson nodded in mute enthusiasm.
“Cow? Cow is good,” Bucky agreed and offered a smile to Doctor Erskine as he
started to pass the man on the way out.
“Bucky . . . Mr. Dugan!” Doctor Erskine called out as he looked up from his
file.
“Doc?” The lithe brunet whirled around neatly and smiled for the doctor.
“Just thought I’d let you two know . . . you are both of the Alpha nature,” the
doctor reported.
With a nod of understanding, Bucky added, “That means we’re the nature to lead
and protect.” He shrugged. “Guess if Steve wasn’t a Gamma, he’d be an Alpha,
too.” He grinned for the civilian. “Thanks, Doc.”
“It was my pleasure,” Abraham smiled softly back, “Now, be safe, boys.”
Bucky saluted Doctor Eskine again and said, “Will do, Doc. I got a lot to go
home for.”
“Don’t we all, Soldier?” Abraham Erksine nodded and then turned to walk away in
the opposite direction of the two men, following the Colonel and the recruit.
***** Homecoming *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: June 13 - 14, 1943; Camp McCoy, Wisconsin and Brooklyn,
     New York, United States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     Baby Boots - recruits in their first two weeks of training - military
     slang
     civvies - civilian clothes - military slang
     stockade - military prison (called the brig by the Navy) - military
     slang
     .
Setting: AU: Sunday, June 13, 1943: Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, United States of
America
Folding the heavy pea-coat, Bucky settled the winter garment into the bottom of
his footlocker. Straightening up, the brunet scooped up the three winter
uniforms and placed them on top of the coat, followed quickly by two summer
uniforms. All the while, he spoke quietly to his bunk-mate, Dum Dum Dugan, the
big, burly red-haired street fighter from Boston. “Got anyone waiting at home
for you, Dum Dum?”
Dugan smiled brightly as he folded one of his shirts and set it down in his
footlocker; Dum Dum turned to look at Bucky, “Yeah . . . my wife, Mary. She was
eight months pregnant when I left. I haven’t met my son yet . . . though she
writes about ‘im in all the letters. Can’t wait to finally meet ‘im.”
With a smile, Bucky nodded and place his training manuals in the second half of
his footlocker, on the bottom. “Kids would be nice.” He missed Steve terribly
and wished things could have been different.
In a quiet tone, to avoid someone overhearing, Dum Dum leaned close and asked,
“You and your Cariad thinkin’ about adopting?”
A shudder ran down Bucky’s back as his father’s story came back to him after
these ten years. “James and Matthew were killed,” he muttered. Suddenly, he
straightened and turned to Dum Dum to explain. “When I was fifteen my father
told me about his uncle who was killed in Poland . . . for trying to adopt
someone.” He sighed and ran a hand through his short brunet hair. “But I’d love
kids, and Cariad would be great . . .”
Shaking his head softly, Dum Dum muttered, “I wish things were different . . .
that people could be who they wanted to be and not have to worry about being
hurt because of it.”
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. He looked back into his footlocker, adjusting the
contents so he could get the rest of his gear inside. Not once did he seem
aware of the other men, some very good looking, walking around the barracks
half dressed and getting ready to leave, too. In fact, Bucky had never looked
at any of the other men in the unit, despite showering with them daily, and
when he spoke of his Cariad, love was very evident. He looked at Dum Dum.
“Someday, I’d like to meet your Mary and your boy,” he smiled softly. “Maybe
when we win this thing, I can stop by Boston with Cariad?”
“Peter . . .” Dum Dum said with a smile, “Son’s name is Peter. And I’d like
that very much. I know your Cariad and my Mary would get along great. Mary has
a will as strong as an ox . . . why I fell in love with her. She could knock me
on my ass.”
“Peter, a Saint’s name. A good name. Means strong rock - - or something like
that.” Bucky laughed and pulled out a sheet of his stationary. He quickly wrote
his Mam’s address on it and handed the sheet over. “Here’s where I’ll be after
the war, Dum Dum. My Mam lives there. So does my littlest sister, Gracie . . .
government says she’s retarded, but Cariad says she just takes her own time.”
He knew Dugan would understand Steve’s personality from that claim alone.
Taking the piece of paper and setting it carefully in his footlocker, Dugan
then wrote down his own address and held it out to the brunet. “If ya feel like
visitin’ after the war . . . just write a letter or somethin’ before comin’.
Mary would kill me if she didn’t have time to dust.”
Bucky nodded and took the paper, folding and sticking it into his footlocker.
He held out his arm to Dum Dum. “And if I see you overseas, I still got your
back, Dugan . . . me and my rifle.” He grinned as the dull barracks light
flashed off the marksman ribbon he’d earned in basics.
Clapping the smaller man on the shoulder and laughing fondly, Dugan nodded,
“I’ll hold you to that, Barnes. Same goes for me though . . . I’ll have your
back.”
“Okay, maggots, the omnibus is here. Don’t leave those horses standing! Get
your asses out there and catch your train. Remember . . . as soon as the office
is open tomorrow, take your slip to them to get your orders.” The Captain
nodded to the pair of newly minted Sergeants and strolled down the aisle to
yell at a man nowhere near packed.
Once on the train, Bucky found a seat next to Dum Dum, by the window - - he
always felt more comfortable by a wall or barrier. The train pulled out at
about eight that night, so Bucky would be due in around noon the next day, and
Dum Dum even later. Despite his desire to see Steve and his family, as well as
the worry he wouldn’t fall asleep, Bucky actually did fall asleep on the train.
As Dum Dum fell asleep, he noted that the woman working kept coming back and
staring at Bucky, who seemed oblivious to the pretty woman just as much as he
had to the nicer looking males in basics. Just by watching the man, one would
think Bucky Barnes had no interest in anyone, female or male.
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, June 14, 1943: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
As Winifred and her three daughters sat around the table with Steve, the smell
of eggs and sausage competed with oatmeal with cinnamon. She smiled as they
passed the plates around, the conversation light as the three older women tried
to finish their meal in preparation for leaving to work. Gracie, on the other
hand, had plans to stay with Mrs. Shelgood the entire day . . . meaning Steve
would be on his own, as he often was.
Finally, Winifred looked up and her eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot! Yesterday I
got a letter in the post.” She got up and ran into her bedroom then came out
with a very thick packet, which she opened as soon as she sat down. Out fell a
bundle of bills wrapped in paper. She unfolded two other sheets of paper and
glanced over them. With a smile, she handed one marked 'Cariad' to Steve. The
other she lifted to read aloud.
‘Mam, everyone: my train should be in Monday around 1200 noon. I’ll have to go
to the war office and I’m not sure how long that will take, so I’ll come home
when I can. Don’t come meet me because I might not be available for a time.
I’ve made rank now. I’ve been made a Sergeant, and that means I’ll be in charge
of lower enlisted men. It comes with a pay increase, which is great. I’ve
enclosed my week’s pay. I hope this helps with the bills and such. I love you
all and will see you soon. Love, Jimmy’
With a sigh and a smile, Winifred looked up. “Oh, I wish I could be home when
he got here, but we’ll all be here tonight. Steve, do you have class today or
can you meet Jimmy?”
Becca added “Will you be okay, Steve?”
Nodding, anxious to read his letter from Bucky, Steve smiled at both Winifred
and Becca, “I’ll be fine, Becca. And no, I don’t have class today, Mam, so I
should be able to meet Bucky.”
After a few moments, Steve excused himself from the table and walked into his
room so he could read his letter in private. Sitting on the edge of his
mattress, the small blond carefully unfolded the paper and began to read.
‘Cariad, I miss you more each day. I look forward to holding you again, loving
you. When I get home, you have to show me how your art has improved so I can
compare it to your last drawing. I’ll be home as soon as possible. If they give
me my orders, I’ll have to stay in uniform, but if I have to wait for the
orders, I’ll be on leave and allowed to wear some civvies - - civilian clothes,
which I intend to switch into as soon as I walk out of the office. I don’t want
the girls to fuss, so I didn’t say how I got the promotion, but you won’t act
like them, so I’ll tell you. A Sergeant is fourth rank of enlisted, and even
with the war, to make a three rank leap, a man has to do something pretty
heroic. Dum Dum and I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Heck, you would
have probably done something to get an officer promotion, something that
usually only college men get. But they seemed to think Dum Dum and I did
something someone else wouldn’t have, so we both got a big leap. I’ve told you
about Jenkins and how he thinks he should’ve gotten the Recruit Sergeant spot
instead of me. He used to make nice to try to get me to change who I chose, but
you know about that. Well, last week, Saturday, he must have decided that he
would show his cleverness instead. He’s not so clever. He was on the mortar
range and didn’t use the coordinate guides. Instead he must have guessed at the
coordinates for his mortar, and he guessed wrong. The mortar went wide of the
mark and hit the rappelling tower. That’s where Dum Dum and I were, waiting for
our turn behind a group of baby boots. The tower went up in flames and smoke.
So, Dum Dum and I helped pull the baby boots out of the mess. Jenkins wound up
in the stockade. But this means Dum Dum and I will be put in charge of a unit
along with another Sergeant or two. It’s lights out, so I’ll close,Cariad. I’ll
be home in a couple of days. Love, your husband, Bucky.’
Steve smiled at the words and read the letter over a few more times before
folding it back up and setting it, with his eight other letters, in his
father’s old footlocker at the end of the bed. The small man knew he did not
want to stay in the apartment all day as he waited for his husband to get home;
as Steve pulled on his shoes, he decided to go down to the theater to pass the
time . . . after another attempt to enlist in the Army.
Once he sat down in the dark room, a newsreel began to play, describing the war
and what people could do at home to help the soldiers overseas. Steve looked
around and saw that a few people, mostly women, were getting emotional, some
were even crying. Suddenly a loud voice boomed over the audio, shouting at the
screen to start playing the cartoon.
Scoffing, Steve shifted in his seat. He couldn’t believe that the man had no
respect for the debt that American soldiers were paying on the battlefield. Men
were losing their lives so that the people at home could enjoy their freedom.
The blond figured the man would pipe down from all the glares he received from
his first outburst, but the man shouted again. Steve looked over at a woman who
barely contained her sob as she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. Temper
finally getting the best of him, Steve leaned forward and whispered harshly,
“Hey, wanna show some respect?”
The man ignored Steve’s voice and called out “No one comes to this place to
watch those slobs die! Put on the cartoon already!”
“How about you be quiet and show some respect!” Steve growled, this man
disrespected the military and by doing that, disrespected Bucky. The small man
would not just sit by and let some ignorant ass disrespect his husband.
At Steve’s whisper, the man stood, blocking the screen for many of the viewers.
“Yeah? Make me!” He stood in the darkness, and he loomed over Steve’s seated
height.
Most men would have backed down right then, the other man’s height towered over
Steve’s, and the small blond knew the ass outweighed him by at least a hundred
pounds. However, Steve’s fury at the injustice of it all clouded his judgement.
Here this man stood, disrespecting the men who sacrificed their lives, Bucky
soon included, while Steve would never be given the chance to do the same. He’d
already tried enlisting five times, using different addresses each time, and
every time ended in the same result: the Army telling him that he was too
unhealthy to give his life for his country. The blond wanted his death to be
meaningful; his cancer diagnosis still lingering in his thoughts, he did not
want to waste away in some hospital. So, Steve was not in the mood to listen to
some ignorant ass’s complaints.
Steve and the other man stormed into the alley behind the theater. Immediately,
the blond began to hold up his fists, like Bucky had taught him, ready for a
fight.
As soon as the guy got Steve into the alley, he whirled and slammed his fist
into Steve’s face without warning, without giving him a chance to prepare - - a
sucker punch. As Steve scrambled to lift his fists once more, the towering ass
punched him again in the left eye.
Scrambling for something to use to help protect himself, Steve quickly picked
up a trash can lid and held it in front of him, acting as a makeshift shield.
Ripping the flimsy shield from the smaller man’s hands, the bully threw the
aluminum aside and growled out, “You just don't know when to give up, ya stupid
punk!” He swung again, slamming the left side of Steve’s mouth and splitting
his bottom lip.
Falling down with the force of the blow, Steve quickly righted himself and
shakily raised his fists again. Releasing a deep breath, the blond shook his
head, “I can do this all day.”
Hearing the familiar voice in the all too common claim, Bucky held back a
groan. He’d spent the entire morning in the war office only to come out and
find his husband in yet another alley brawl? The brunet had no idea what had
started the newest fight, but he didn’t doubt Steve would be in over his head .
. . again.
With a sneer, the bigger blond used both fists, folded together, in a giant
slam to send Steve reeling into the trash cans. He laughed triumphantly at the
smaller man. “Stay down, wimp!”
The small man struggled to get to his knees, he couldn’t give up. This man had
disrespected Bucky!
Storming down the alley, Bucky grabbed the tall man by the shoulder and swung
him around, right into Bucky’s balled right fist. As the asshole staggered,
Bucky lifted his left foot and gave a mighty kick to the ass’s rear, sending
him staggering down the alley, slamming his head against the wall, then
tripping down and out of the alley, finally cowed.
As Bucky turned back to his small husband, he frowned softly at the sight of
Steve staggering to his feet. The tall brunet stood there watching, dressed in
his uniform, his hat at a rakish angle, his ribbons gleaming new and crisp.
With a shake of his head, the soldier said "sometimes I think you like getting
punched." It was the first time he had seen Steve in two months, and the
smaller guy was bruised and bloody again.
Steve sighed and rose to stand; he raised his hand to touch his eyebrow,
hissing in pain as he did so. “I can take care of myself, Buck.” Wiping his
hands on his jeans, the blond mumbled, “I had him on the ropes.” The blond
really wished his husband hadn’t seen the fight or that Bucky hadn’t felt the
need to interfere.
Trying to ignore the self-defensive tone, Bucky stooped and scooped up a folded
slip of paper that had fallen as Steve stood. Flipping it open, the brunet
sighed. “How many times is this? Four? Five?”
Right eye widening, left swelling slightly, Steve didn’t say anything. Bucky
wasn’t supposed to find out about him trying to enlist . . . again.
“Paramus, New Jersey?” Bucky shook his head. “Really? Paramus?” He sounded more
offended by the Jersey claim than the fifth attempt to join the war. Folding
the paper once more, he looked straight at the smaller blond. “You know it’s
illegal to lie on your enlistment form, Steve?”
“We promised,” Steve grumbled. “We promised to go together.”
“I know, Stevie, but I have no choice in this. I got drafted.” He sighed,
grasped his hat in his thumb and forefinger, lifting it and running the same
hand through his short hair. Replacing the hat on his head, Bucky merely said
"if you'd been drafted, and not me, Steve, I'd try to get in, too." He looked
at Steve, worry in his blue-grey eyes. "I understand. I may not like it, but I
understand."
Looking at his lover with troubled eyes, Steve finally glanced over Bucky and
saw the uniform rather than civilian clothes he'd expected. Dread washed over
him. He knew that meant Bucky had just come from the war office. "You got your
orders?"
Drawing in a deep breath then offering a small smile, Bucky nodded, eyes
troubled. "The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first
thing in the morning." He knew that meant they only had the one night together
. . . one night to make Steve forget what was happening and to spend time with
his husband.
Steve knew he should tell his lover about his diagnosis, that Bucky had a right
to know that his husband was sick, but the blond still couldn’t seem to form
the words. The small man had been somewhat surprised when he didn’t have any
more serious symptoms than normal, other than the cramps that came every month
now. However, he’d been able to alleviate a lot of the pain with Winifred’s
help. Steve had begun to hope that maybe Johnson had been wrong, that maybe the
lumps weren’t cancer, that he was going to be fine.
“I should be going,” Steve grumbled.
As Steve looked at him, Bucky didn’t argue. He suddenly grinned and threw an
arm around him in a publicly acceptable 'man hug.’ As he hugged the smaller
man, Bucky walked him from the alley, tossing away the enlistment rejection
slip. "Come on. It's my last night." He pulled his arm away as if Steve was
covered in garbage, which technically he was. "Got to get you cleaned up." He
pulled a slip of newspaper from his back pocket and began unfolding it as he
walked beside Steve.
Fear almost made Steve freeze; he had hoped the Army would allow Bucky at least
one full night at home. Cautiously, the blond asked, “Why? Where are we going?”
Handing over the newspaper sheet, Bucky said “the future.” He grinned suddenly
at his husband. "We got a date with the future." The newspaper headline
proclaimed ‘World Exposition of Tomorrow, 1943.’
Fortunately they caught a streetcar and soon arrived near Winifred Barnes’
home. Bucky let Steve lead him inside. Walking in behind his husband, Bucky
securely shut the door and then touched Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, Cariad,” he
whispered.
Turning around slowly, afraid that this was all a dream, that he’d wake up and
Bucky would still be gone, Steve smiled softly at his lover, “Hey, Buck.” The
blond’s tone barely rose above a whisper.
Giving Steve a grin, Bucky took off his hat and laid it on the kitchen table.
“Need help washing up, Stevie?” he offered on a purr.
Swallowing, Steve nodded frantically, forgetting how to get his voice to work.
The small blond stepped closer to his husband, breathing in Bucky’s warm,
comforting scent. Steve had forgotten how much he missed the brunet’s scent,
just the smell alone was enough to make the small man want to tear off all of
Bucky’s clothes and make love for hours.
Bucky took that last step, almost pressed against the smaller man, but keeping
far enough away not to ruin his uniform. He placed his hands on Steve’s
shoulders and leaned in, inhaling the sweet scent that was Steve. Gently, he
kissed his husband’s lips. “God, I missed you, Cariad.”
Smiling into the kiss, Steve murmured, “I missed ya too, Buck. Every single
day.”
“What say you get cleaned up then I show you just how much I missed you?” Bucky
kissed Steve’s neck.
Keening as Bucky’s lips caressed his sensitive scar, Steve could only nod; any
words seemed to catch in his throat. The blond pulled himself away and walked
into the room he’d moved into after Bucky had left, the brunet’s old room.
Slipping out of the uniform jacket, Bucky carefully hung the material over the
back of a chair. He unfastened his tie and laid it over the jacket. Taking off
his shoes and placing them by the door, Bucky turned toward his childhood
bedroom. With a grin, Bucky walked into the room and smiled wider at the sight
of his delicate husband. “Gorgeous, Steve,” he murmured, beginning to unbutton
his uniform shirt.
Steve slipped out of his dirty shirt and his eyes traveled down his husband’s
body, taking in the lean muscles that the brunet had seemed to acquire while at
boot camp. “You look gorgeous in that uniform, Buck,” Steve murmured.
The brunet laughed softly. “Yeah?” He grinned over at the smaller man. “Well, I
think I look better out of it, actually,” he teased. He unbuckled the belt and
pulled it out of the trouser loops, placing it on the desk nearby.
Making a low humming noise of agreement, Steve watched with eager eyes as his
lover stripped off his uniform. The blond leaned over, trying to keep his eyes
on Bucky, as he took off both of his shoes. The smaller man straightened and
unbuckled his belt, slipping it through the loops of his trousers; Steve let it
fall to the ground next to his shoes.
As Bucky carefully placed his shirt then trousers on the desk chair, he turned
fully to watch his lover strip. “Shall I start your shower, Stevie?” Bucky
offered, voice a low purr once more.
“Only if you promise to join me . . . a nice shower must sound good after that
long train ride,” Steve said back, making sure to look his lover in the eyes.
With another soft chuckle, Bucky drew off his undershorts. “Damn, Stevie, I’ll
never turn down an offer to shower with you.” He knew his manhood already stood
semi-erect, but Bucky wasn’t ashamed of his obvious desire for his husband.
Steve slid both his trousers and underwear down his slim legs, stepping out of
the clothes; the small blond sauntered towards the door leading into the
bathroom. Looking over his shoulder, Steve called out in a seductive growl, “Ya
comin’, Buck?”
“Soon,” he assured his lover and followed into the bathroom. Reaching past
Steve into the rusty-colored stall, Bucky turned on and adjusted the water,
glad to have access to a real shower rather than their nearly barbaric
conditions they’d been forced to endure in the apartment. Looking down at
Steve, practically flush with the smaller man, Bucky frowned softly at the
revealed bruises from his recent fight. “Hurt much?” he asked softly, worry in
his grey-blue eyes, studying the blackened and swollen eye and the split lip.
Shaking his head, Steve looked up at his husband, “Can barely feel it,
honestly.”
“Yeah?” Bucky stepped around Steve, into the shower, then turned to face his
husband. He put his hands on the smaller man’s boney hips and tugged him
forwards, into the cramped stall, needing to practically press up against the
smaller man in the tight confines. They wouldn’t get much showering or anything
else done, but Bucky didn’t care. They had all afternoon to clean up. Right
then, he was more intent on holding his husband. “”I guess your face is pretty
tough after meeting fists all these years, punk,” he breathed.
Whimpering as Bucky’s erection rubbed against his stomach, Steve leaned forward
to gently bite down on his husband’s neck, sucking on the sensitive flesh.
A soft growl erupted from the taller man, his shaft pulsing in response.
Leaning his head down, cupping Steve’s face, Bucky drew him up into an intense,
open mouthed kiss, letting his tongue explore, taste his husband.
Groaning into the kiss, Steve tugged on Bucky’s bottom lip, pulling slightly as
he wrapped his arms around the brunet’s neck. The smaller man broke away from
the kiss to continue to suck and scrape his teeth along the taller man’s
collarbone.
Erection throbbing in need, Bucky leaned back against the shower stall wall and
fumbled for the washcloth and soap. “Gotta wash you up so we can go to bed,
Cariad,” he moaned. The brunet began to soap up the cloth, arms held above
Steve’s head so there was room.
Steve pressed himself closer to Bucky, not detaching his lips from his
husband’s flesh. The smaller man made sure to grind his body against the
brunet’s. “I need ya, Buck. I need ya so bad,” Steve whimpered as he kissed his
lover’s chest.
With a deep moan of equal need, Bucky slipped the soap between them and began
soaping himself up instead. “You want we should do that here, baby?” he
offered.
Keening with desire, Steve lowered his hands, running them down the taller
man’s chest before he wrapped a fist around Bucky’s erection. “Can’t wait any
longer, Baby,” Steve moaned, he ran his thumb over the brunet’s slit.
Bucking his hips inadvertently, the taller man groaned again. He nodded. “You
want me in front or behind you, Cariad?” Bucky reached behind Steve and began
to run the soap over the blond’s ass, soaping up his puckered bud.
“Pin me against the wall,” Steve groaned, “Show me how much you missed me.”
“Can pin you either way, Stevie. Tell me what you want,” he slid one finger
into Steve’s passage, massaging and curling his finger to stretch the opening.
After several strokes, Bucky slid his finger over that bundle of nerves that he
knew would shoot pleasure through his husband’s small body.
Head falling back, and a loud moan escaping his lips, Steve breathed, “Behind.
I want ya behind.”
Bucky nodded, nipping at the scar he’d made on Steve’s neck almost two years
before. Carefully, awkwardly, he slid his finger out of Steve and turned his
lover around, then soaped him again. The brunet slipped two fingers inside that
hot passage, caressing, thrusting, scissoring inside his husband. “So tight,
Cariad . . . so hot.”
Hips pushing back to push his husband’s fingers deeper, Steve moaned at Bucky’s
words. “I need you, Baby. Please! I need you!”
A soft chuckle escaped, quickly strangled into a groan. “Gotta open you up,
Stevie. Don’t wanna hurt you.” He carefully slid a third finger inside the
smaller man, feeling the slick building. Too involved in their love play, Bucky
never considered that the soap shouldn’t have caused such a slickness in his
husband’s passage. He just accepted it, like before. “God, you’re ready for me,
Cariad . . . ready for me inside you . . .”
“Please, Buck. Baby I need to feel you inside me. Please.” Steve pushed against
the wall in front of him, trying desperately to force Bucky’s fingers deeper
inside his passage.
Finally, the taller man slipped his fingers from his lover's heat and lined
himself up. He bent his knees so he could get in position; Steve was a full
eight inches shorter so it was a bit awkward. But, Bucky was nothing if not
inventive and he wrapped an arm around Steve and lifted him a little. “Pull
your legs up. Put your feet on the wall a bit, Stevie,” he growled in his
lover’s ear. Bucky rubbed the spongy head of his shaft against that puckered
opening.
Immediately Steve moved to do as he had been told, he lifted his feet so they
could rest on the wall in front of him. The blond ground his hips down,
desperate to feel his lover inside of him.
“Whoa, whoa, Stevie, I got ya. Let me get your weight balanced or you’ll knock
us both down.” A soft chuckle accompanied the words as Bucky shifted. Finally,
he slid his member into Steve’s opening, pushing all the way in with one smooth
stroke, burying balls deep in Steve’s hot ass. “God, I missed this . . . I
missed you, Cariad.”
“Miss . . . ya . . . too,” Steve groaned, head falling back as Bucky filled
him, stretching his passage open.
Taking a deep breath, Bucky wrapped one arm firmly around Steve’s waist and
planted the other hand under Steve’s ass. He began to move, thrusting while
slightly lifting Steve so together they could create the thrusting, sliding of
sex. “Help me out, Baby, use your legs to lift up a bit when I pull back,”
Bucky advised in Steve’s ear, nibbling at his neck. His member felt heavy and
thick and Steve’s muscles squeezed along the shaft with every movement.
Steve nodded, and began to use his legs as Bucky had suggested. It took a few
thrusts to find the rhythm they needed, but soon Steve pushed back against the
wall just as Bucky pulled back.
Once they found their pace, Bucky picked up the rhythm, thrusting harder,
faster, as he continually filled his lover. Bucky began to move his mouth
across Steve’s neck, his shoulder, licking, nipping, and kissing. Two months
had been rather a long time, and Bucky felt himself getting closer, his orgasm
building. Slowly, softly, he began to whisper in a broken mix of foreign words.
Knowing that Bucky was close, Steve clenched his muscles around his lover. “I .
. . love . . . you . . . Buck,” The blond groaned out in between thrusts.
“Gonna cum, Cariad . . .” Bucky moaned then sank his teeth into the old scar,
not enough to cause permanent damage, but enough to break the surface skin. He
licked at the wound as he thrust hard once, twice, a third time before he
groaned and came. Hot jets of semen painted Steve’s walls as Bucky pulsed again
and again inside his husband.
Steve leaned his head back, letting it rest on Bucky’s shoulder. The feeling of
his husband’s seed, and his pulsing member inside of him, pushed the small
blond over the edge. Hips stuttering, a small moan broke past his lips as
Steve’s orgasm rushed through his body; thin streaks of cum coated the shower
wall.
“Stevie, baby,” Bucky breathed into the smaller man’s neck, easing from his
lover’s body. “Damn, I missed you, love,” he mumbled, licking the reopened
wound once more. “Gotta . . .” he broke off, trying to catch his breath.
Turning around to look at his husband, Steve smiled, his own chest heaving with
each deep breath he took, “I miss ya too, baby.”
Leaning his forehead down against Steve’s Bucky drew a deep breath, enjoying
their mingled scents, washing away down the drain all too quickly. “Gotta get
cleaned up. We got a date tonight,” Bucky purred once more, licking at the
uninjured shoulder presented to him.
***** Expositions *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: June 14 - 15, 1943; Manhattan, New York and Brooklyn,
     New York, United States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     Gówno - shit - Polish
     Eu sunt ejacula - I’m cumming - Romanian
     .
Setting: AU: Monday, June 14, 1943: Manhattan, New York, United States of
America
Once more dressed in his uniform, hat set at a rakish angle, Bucky smiled as he
looked over the activity all around them. The Expo seemed alive with science,
technology, and trends of the future, and Bucky, with his ever thirsty mind,
felt a thrill to be a witness to everything. He hummed low under his breath and
glanced down at Steve in his over-sized suit. “What do you wanna do first,
Steve?”
Looking up at his lover, Steve smiled, he liked to see Bucky so excited. The
blond couldn’t understand a lot of the things advertised in the flyer or
understand why they were so important, but the brunet had seemed really happy
to see everything. “Whatever you want, Buck.”
The tall brunet offered another smile to his husband. Of course they could have
spent the entire night home together making love and cuddling, which would have
been great. But Steve was allowing Bucky some time to expand his horizons
before he had to go off to war . . . and the brunet loved the blond for that.
“What about the building for ‘Housing and Personal Transportation of the
Future’?”
“Sure, sounds like fun,” Steve grinned, although he had no idea what would be
exhibited, but Bucky sounded thrilled, so the smaller man figured whatever
would be there would at least be interesting to look at.
Grinning widely, Bucky strode towards the agreed upon pavilion, glancing at
Steve’s pamphlet as they walked. “Howard Stark to present a flying car?” He
nodded. “This I gotta see!”
“A flyin’ car?” Steve knew he sounded skeptical. The small blond looked around
the large area and his eyes instantly caught on a large recruitment center.
Biting his lip, Steve couldn’t help but want to try enlisting again.
As Steve looked around, Bucky slipped the pamphlet from the smaller man’s
hands. “An automatic stove that cooks in less than half an hour? Yeah, that’ll
be next, ya think?”
After a moment, Steve realized that Bucky had asked him something; whirling to
face his husband, the blond offered the brunet a distracted smile, “Huh? Oh!
Yeah . . . that sounds good!”
Offering another excited smile to his husband, Bucky led the way to the Howard
Stark area so they wouldn’t miss the big reveal. They had made it just in time
for the dark haired inventor’s show, and the car did lift off the ground for a
few seconds. Bucky cheered with everyone else as Howard covered for the
technical flaws. When Bucky turned to see Steve’s reaction, he noticed the
smaller man had disappeared.
Using the excitement of the flying car, Steve slipped away from Bucky and
headed towards the recruitment area. The small blond stared at a light up
mirror that displayed the viewer as a combat soldier, but his head barely
cleared the image’s chest.
Sighing softly, Steve shook his head and turned to enter the office.
When he tuned, Bucky stood right behind him, frowning softly.
“Oh! Bucky . . . I thought you were lookin’ at the car,” Steve said, his cheeks
reddening with slight embarrassment.
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, “it flew then fell. You really gonna do this whole circus
again, Steve?” He waved his hand at the nearby recruiting office.
“It’s a fair . . . thought I’d try my luck,” Steve shrugged; he knew his
husband would never fully understand his reasons for wanting to join the war.
A bit frustrated, Bucky snapped “As who this time? Steve from Ohio? Maybe
Pennsylvania?” He put a hand on his husband’s thin shoulder and said, voice
vibrating in intensity, “they’ll catch you this time . . . or worse, take you!”
Doctor Abraham Erskine walked out from the back of the recruitment office to
observe the two men talking so intently. He was mildly surprised to recognize
Bucky Barnes from Camp McCoy - - so the tiny blond man must be the Sergeant’s
sickly friend - - a possible Gamma, which Erskine desperately needed for his
project. He stepped close enough to eavesdrop.
Bucky shifted his right hand on Steve’s shoulder, his wedding ring flashing
dully in the light. "Steve, please, this is war . . ."
Releasing a small huff of frustration, Steve looked up at his husband with
determined blue eyes, “I know it’s a war . . . Bucky. Bucky, come on there are
men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. Than you.
This isn't just about me . . ."
After a very long pause, Bucky let out a sigh and nodded slowly. “Want me to go
in with you?" he asked gently.
Slightly surprised by the offer, Steve cleared his throat and shook his head,
"Nah, I can see a doctor on my own, Buck," the blond’s tone sounded light, but
his face looked worried.
Bucky straightened, accepting the mild rejection to come into an appointment
yet again; the brunet gestured without looking back to the pavilion they’d just
come from. He lifted Steve’s pamphlet he still carried. “I’ll go see if Mister
Stark will let me get a look at that not-so-flying car he’s got back there. You
wanna meet me after?”
“Sure, I’ll find you after I’m done,” Steve smiled; the blond didn’t expect to
be accepted, so he knew that the office visit wasn’t going to take long.
"Well, don't do anything stupid until I get back,” the brunet teased with a
small smile.
"How can I . . . you're taking all the stupid with you," the smaller man teased
back with a chuckle.
Bucky took a breath and let it out slowly. Then, feeling as if he might lose
Steve somehow, though he couldn’t explain why, Bucky pulled Steve into a fierce
hug, whispering fiercely in his ear “you’re a punk.”
"Jerk," Steve whispered back and returned the hug.
Letting his husband go, Bucky stepped back and flicked off a smart salute with
a cocky grin. “Off I go to try to fix Stark’s car,” he chuckled. Turning, the
taller man strode quickly back to the ‘Housing and Personal Transportation of
the Future’ pavilion, literally in search of Howard Stark. He was nothing if
not optimistic.
Steve watched his husband leave; a feeling of sadness washed over him when he
lost sight of Bucky’s tall form in the crowd. Turning on his heel to face the
office, Steve took a deep breath and started to head towards the door, but he
froze mid step when he noticed a medium sized, elderly man watching him with
intent eyes.
Doctor Erskine nodded in greeting and strolled back into the recruitment
office, hands sliding into the pockets of his civilian suit.
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, June 14, 1943: Manhattan, New York, United States of
America
In awe Steve looked around the small room set aside for the physical
examination. He’d never made it this far before. The five previous times, the
doctor had taken one look at him and his medical history and quickly denied him
entry into the Army.
The nurse standing by a small desk looked up. She checked over the small man
who walked in and shrugged mentally. She called out “Remove your jacket, shirt,
and tie, but leave on your trousers and undershirt. Take off your shoes and
socks, too. Sit on the exam bed and the doctor will be right with you.” She
seemed to think he might be a teenager trying to sneak in, but it certainly
wasn’t her job to stop him: the doctor would catch him. With those words, the
woman left the cubicle so he could have privacy. Just outside the door, her
voice could barely be heard: “sixteen if he’s a day.”
Quickly doing as he had been told, Steve slid off his jacket and unfastened his
tie. The small man scowled at the nurse’s words but continued to unbutton his
shirt. Folding the clothing into a neat pile, and setting them down on the
chair next to the bed, Steve hopped onto the bed to start removing his shoes.
“Ready?” a deep voice asked from the other side of the curtain.
After a moment to finish taking his shoes off, Steve answered, “Yes, sir.”
The curtain slid back to reveal a medium built black haired man in doctor’s
coat. He closed the curtain behind him and walked over to Steve. Wrapping a
blood pressure cuff around the very thin arm, face impassive, the doctor asked,
“when were you born?”
“July 4, 1918,” Steve answered quickly.
“So, makes you about twenty-six?” he asked right back.
“Twenty-four, Sir. Twenty-five in a little less than a month,” the blond
corrected politely.
The doctor looked up sharply, and it became readily apparent that it had been a
test . . . and Steve had passed for the moment. “Ever applied for the military
before?” he asked next.
Shaking his head, Steve lied, “No. Sir. This is my first time.” The small blond
didn’t like to lie; his mother had raised him to always tell the truth, but
Steve needed to be accepted, needed to follow his husband to Europe. He figured
Sarah would understand the use of a small white lie.
With a nod the doctor wrote something in the thin chart then placed the
stethoscope across the proper pulse point and took Steve’s blood pressure.
Removing the cuff, he made another note when the nurse came back and whispered
something in the doctor’s ear. The doctor closed the file and looked at Steve.
“Wait here.” He headed for the curtain.
Startled by the doctor’s sudden retreat, Steve asked, “Is there a problem?”
Turning to glance at Steve, the doctor frowned. “Just wait here,” he ordered
again and slipped out of the room, leaving the blond sitting on the table under
a sign proclaiming ‘It is illegal to falsify your enlistment form.’
Turning to look at the sign, Steve released a sigh and bent over to pick up his
shoes, Bucky’s words repeating over and over again, ‘You are going to get
caught.’ The small blond knew he could be arrested and sent to jail, so he
needed to get out of there before the doctor returned.
The curtain slid open wide and a soldier with an armband marked ‘MP’ walked in
and stood at parade rest.
Freezing, Steve watched the soldier with wary eyes. Then the elder man that
he’d seen earlier slipped into the room. The small blond swallowed hard; he was
being arrested. Suddenly he wished they’d never come to this fair, that they’d
stayed home and he’d never seen this recruitment office.
Whispering almost silently “Thank you,” Doctor Erskine watched the military
policeman leave the cubicle, sliding the door curtain shut. Putting down the
thin enlistment file, and a very thick, water damaged, partially burnt file,
the doctor flipped open the smaller file, marked ‘Rogers SJ’ and began looking
through it.
Finally, the elder man asked, "So you want to go overseas . . . kill some
Nazis?”
"Excuse me?" Steve asked, eyes going wide at the blunt questions. Also, the
blond was taken aback by the man’s German accent; Steve didn’t have anything
against Germans, it was just that hadn’t met another German since Doctor
Keilmeyer.
Glancing up, the man nodded. “I apologize. I am Doctor Abraham Erskine." He
offered his hand to the small blond. "I represent Strategic Scientific
Research."
Gripping Erskine’s hand and giving it a firm shake, "Steve Rogers," the small
blond paused for a moment before asking quietly, "What is Strategic Scientific
Research?"
Dropping the man’s hand, the doctor looked back in the file. “It is a group who
uses scientific results to better the war effort." He looked up at Steve, "at
least that is what they tell me. Actually, I am with the program to better the
chances for our individual soldiers to survive."
Suddenly remembering where he’d heard the other man’s name before, Steve
straightened his spine and looked at the doctor with wide eyes, “You’re Doctor
Erskine!” Then he lowered his voice to avoid being overheard, “You worked with
Doctor Keilmeyer, right?”
“Yes,” Abraham smiled at Steve. “He and I, we are good friends, and we worked
on this program together. You were his patient, yes?” The man opened the thick,
damaged file and started looking through it.
“Yeah,” Steve answered, visibly relaxing, “He helped me a lot . . . real good
man. Do . . . do you know if he’s alright?”
Adjusting his glasses, Abraham sighed and shook his head. “No, I have not heard
anything since he went back to Germany and was arrested.” Frowning, the doctor
glanced at Steve then back at the files. “He was sent to Dachau Work Camp . . .
where my family died.”
Steve clenched his jaw and looked down before taking a deep breath, returning
his gaze back towards Doctor Erskine, “I’m sorry for your loss, Sir.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Mister Rogers. So, you are familiar with the beginnings
of our work? The Fertility Natures and the goal to prevent birth defects by
healing children in the womb?”
Nodding, Steve said, “Yes, Sir. Doctor Keilmeyer explained it to me.”
“Well, now we have moved on to incorporate our research to aid in improving our
soldiers,” Doctor Erskine commented.
“How?” Steve found himself asking before he could stop himself. “How would
fertility medicine help our soldiers?”
“Well, Mister Rogers, as you know there are three certain Fertility Natures.
The Alpha is the dominant, leader and fighter. The Beta is the follower, they
fill the ranks. And the Omega is what most in this field call the Breeder.
There is, however, a fourth designation: the Gamma. You know this term, yes?’
He met the blond’s vivid blue eyes.
Steve nodded, but didn’t say anything; he waited for Doctor Erskine to
continue.
“Well, there are two theories for Gamma Natures. Many of my colleagues believe
they are incurable, a separate nature completely. However, I and a few of my
colleagues believe that Gammas are actually one of the other three Natures but
sterile. The lack of hormones has stunted them and, if we can give them a
massive boost of the missing hormones, if we can reverse the sterility, we can
eliminate the Gamma Nature completely.” Abraham looked intently at Steve for
his reaction. “I have currently tested two groups of soldiers and found only
one Gamma for this program.”
“Really? Ya think we can be cured?” Steve furrowed his brow, “But, Doctor, I
still don’t see how that could help our soldiers overseas?”
He shook his head in response and the doctor leaned closer. “Not the soldiers
overseas already, Mister Rogers, but those to be sent over. Your friend, Mister
Barnes, almost made the program. He was slotted by the military to be used.
However, as he is not a Gamma, I refused him.”
“You’ve met Bucky?” Steve asked, a small smile forming at just the mention of
his husband’s name.
Looking down at the thin file, Doctor Erskine smiled as well. “Yes and I liked
him very much. He mentioned he had a friend who could probably fight circles
around any other soldier, but with his weak body, he is not permitted.” Abraham
looked up, “and this angers him.”
Steve couldn’t help the blush that worked its way up his neck and into his
cheeks; the small blond didn’t realize that his husband had been talking about
him while he’d been in boot camp. “Really? He said that?”
“Well,” Abraham waved his hand in the air in a rocking motion, “not verbatim,
but that is his meaning. He also mentioned this friend was a patient of my
friend, so . . .” Abraham touched the thick file. “I had the record pulled. And
you were his only true Gamma patient.” He nodded, finger trailing down the list
of symptoms and medical history. “And Mister Barnes was correct. The military,
this military, would not permit someone with breathing or heart problems to
fight.” He glanced up at Steve.
Looking down at his lap, Steve shrugged, he knew where this was heading. He’d
get denied again and he would never be able to follow his husband to Europe;
he’d never be able to fight for his country, just because of his health.
“ Doctor Johnson also notated in your file . . .” Doctor Erskine started.
“Wait!” Steve exclaimed, head snapping back up, “Doctor Johnson said he burned
that file! I don’t want ‘im to get in trouble!”
Doctor Erskine sighed and shook his head. “He missed this one, actually, though
it was damaged. However, I did receive a copy from the Strategic Scientific
Research division when I arrived. They have copies of all of Doctor Keilmeyer’s
work, after all, and subsequently Doctor Johnson’s.”
“But Doctor Johnson won’t get hurt, will he?” Steve could remember the fear in
Johnson’s eyes as he’d been burning the files.
“Why would we hurt one of our research scientists? He joined the Research
division shortly after the attack on Hawaii,” Abraham assured Steve.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Steve relaxed again, happy to hear that Johnson was
safe.
“As I said,” the doctor looked back at the thick file, “Christopher Johnson
also notated your file when he assumed your care? In here he mentions that you
were diagnosed with cancer? And this is not on your enlistment form . . .”
Shifting in his seat, Steve nervously began to pick at the few strands that
hung from his undershirt. “I . . . I uh . . . forgot?” The blond winced at the
lie. He hadn’t forgotten, but he knew if he listed cancer under the medical
conditions he’d never get in; asthma already made his chances slim.
“You forgot how many times? Five . . . six?” He turned to the other file and
flipped it open. “It must have been all this traveling you have been doing . .
. New Haven . . . Paramus . . .”
“You must have the wrong file, Sir. I’ve only tried to enlist just this once,”
Steve stated quickly, hoping that the nice doctor wouldn’t report him and have
him arrested.
“Oh, it's not the exams I'm interested in. It's the five tries." Doctor Erskine
closed the file and looked up at Steve. "But you didn't answer my question. Do
you want to kill Nazis?"
Looking back at the sign behind him, Steve turned to look at Doctor Erskine,
"Is this a test?"
The doctor blinked behind his glasses and looked thoughtful then said, "yes."
Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Steve’s eyes hardened with
determination. The small man said in a strong voice, "I don't want to kill
anyone. I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."
Nodding, Erskine closed the medical file then the thinner military file. He
picked both up. "Well there are already so many big men fighting this war.
Maybe what we need now is a little guy, huh? A Gamma, perhaps?"
Steve’s heart jumped and he looked up at the gentle man with hopeful eyes. He
couldn’t believe it. Was Doctor Erskine actually insinuating that he was going
to allow Steve entry into the army?
"I can offer you a chance," the doctor opened the cubicle curtain and walked
out; Steve followed. "Only a chance."
"I'll take it . . . it’s all I’ve ever asked for," Steve said, his heart felt
like it could burst out of his chest at any moment.
Nodding, Erskine replied "good." He began to check the stamps on the desk. "So
where is the little guy from . . . actually?" he stamped the smaller file.
"Brooklyn." Steve smiled.
The man handed the thin file to Steve but kept the thicker, damaged one.
"Congratulations, Soldier." As he turned away, he paused, “oh, and Doctor
Johnson was incorrect, Mister Rogers. It was not cancer he found. Good
evening,” the quiet German disappeared down the hall.
Momentarily dazed by the statement, the small man froze. He didn’t have cancer?
These past two years, he’d been constantly worried about his diagnosis, how he
would tell Bucky. But now, he would never have to worry about telling his
husband about the cancer diagnosis!
Steve opened the file as the doctor left. It was stamped ‘1A.’ He drew a breath
and let it out then looked where Erskine had gone. He had been accepted without
continuing the physical or drawing blood! He had been accepted to the Army
because of that man . . . Doctor Abraham Erskine.
A soldier walked over to Steve and asked “Rogers?”
Straightening his spine again, Steve nodded firmly, “Yes, Sir.”
“Down this hall to the bursar’s office. You’ll receive a week’s advance pay to
give your family and your assignment for basic training.” The soldier looked
over Steve and sighed then gestured where to go.
Everything seemed so surreal. He’d been accepted! Steve Rogers had been
accepted into the United States Army! As he walked down the hall to receive his
orders and pay, he couldn’t help the smile that plastered itself on his face.
After five tries, he’d finally been given a chance, and honestly that had been
all he’d ever asked for.
Walking up to the bursar’s office, Steve handed over his paper to the young
woman who sat behind the desk. After a few moments the woman handed over his
orders with a surprised look on her face. The small man grabbed the paper and
looked down at where he’d be going for boot camp: Camp Lehigh, New Jersey.
Steve let out a small laugh; wait until Bucky heard about him being stationed
in New Jersey.
That thought made Steve stop and the smile melt off his face. He had no idea
how Bucky would feel about him being accepted into the Army. Would the brunet
be mad? Disappointed? Proud? Steve shook his head, knowing that his husband had
never wanted the smaller man to get in; he’d always tried to support his lover,
but Bucky never thought he’d actually be accepted.
Stuffing his orders, the travel information to get to Camp Leigh, and the
week’s advance pay into his jacket pocket, Steve figured he’d tell Bucky about
it later. Maybe he’d write his husband a letter after he left? Steve didn’t
want to ruin the brunet’s last night at home.
Outside the enlistment office the Expo carried on in full swing; however, Bucky
sat on a bench near the door, waiting patiently as he ever had for Steve. He
glanced up and smiled, tilting his hat a bit, studying his husband for the
tell-a-tale disappointment the small man always harbored after being rejected.
“Must be busy . . .you were in there for some time, Steve.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Steve nodded, “Yeah, it was a madhouse. Lot’s of
people tryin’ to get in.” The small blond hated keeping something this
important from his husband, but he tried to convince himself it was for the
best.
“Well, I had enough time to meet Stark,” Bucky grinned.
“You did?” Steve smiled at the joy on Bucky’s face. “How was it?”
The brunet nodded and stood, beginning to walk. “He’s insane and brilliant and
very sociable,” Bucky laughed. “I think I like him.”
Steve grinned, “Well I’m glad ya actually got to meet him. I didn’t think you
would.”
Laughing, throwing his head back, Bucky nodded, “Yeah, nearly didn’t get in,
actually, but I mentioned that I thought his magnet thrusts were a bit low and
he stopped working on the car to come talk to me.” The brunet winked at Steve,
guiding him from the causeway and towards home.
“You gave Howard Stark advice on his invention?” Steve laughed and shook his
head, “Did he seem to like what ya had to say?”
“Not sure if he liked it, but he listened.” Bucky laughed again. “He seemed
more distracted by the military guys coming in and out the back of his area,
though, so we didn’t get to talk long. He promised we’d catch up some time
after the war.”
“Wow . . . the infamous Howard Stark’s gonna invite you over for lunch?” Steve
smiled up at his husband and stepped in closer, however still far away enough
to be socially acceptable.
Bucky winked. “If I’m lucky, he might even hire me on as a grease monkey.” The
taller man threw his arm companionably over his husband’s shoulders. “Almost
home,” he whispered.
“Then I’ll give you something to remember me by, Sergeant Barnes,” Steve
whispered back, letting his breath linger on his lover’s neck for a second.
“Oh, I look forward to every second, Steve Barnes.” Bucky smiled down at his
husband and opened the front hall door of his mother’s tenement. He leaned
close, as if whispering or checking Steve’s face, then let his breath puff over
Steve’s mouth. “Inside, Cariad,” he murmured.
Steve nodded, nearly moaning from the warm breath on his lips. The small blond
stepped inside the building.
Following his lover eagerly, Bucky let Steve lead him up to the third floor and
into the Barnes’ apartment. Fortunately, Winifred and the girls were at the
Expo and weren’t due back for a bit. Bucky slipped his shoes off and placed his
hat and jacket at the kitchen table. He winked at Steve and headed for their
bedroom, undoing his tie as he walked.
The small blond followed his husband, completely forgetting about the fact that
he’d been accepted into the Army, the only thing on his mind being his lover.
Slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the rack by the door, Steve began to
unbutton his shirt as he walked down the hallway.
In the bedroom, Bucky slipped the tie to the desk and undid his shirt, back
towards the door as he worked the buttons of his uniform shirt. He softly
called, “Stevie, I was wondering if you wanted to try something a bit different
tonight?”
Walking into the bedroom and taking a moment to appreciate his husband’s lean,
fit form before answering, Steve quirked a brow, and as he slipped his dress
shirt off his shoulders he asked, “Different? How so?” He kicked the door shut
behind him.
Turning, shirt open to the waist, pants and belt still fastened, Bucky smiled
and put his hands on Steve’s hips. “Well, always I’ve noticed you absolutely
beg to be . . .” the brunet suddenly flushed and took a breath. “Well, to have
me inside . . . I wondered how it feels?”
Steve’s eyes widened and he felt his growing erection twitch at the mere
prospect of what Bucky was suggesting. “You . . . you mean that you want me?
You want me . . . inside you?”
Bucky nodded. “I don’t know if I’ll like it, Stevie, but I don’t mind those
times you use your finger in me . . . and you seem to really like it.” He
hesitated. “Is this okay?”
“Well, yeah! I’m . . .” Steve flushed and he rubbed the back of his neck, “I
mean . . . I don’t know how good I’ll be at it. I’ve never done it before.”
“We’ll take it slow,” Bucky assured him. “It’s not as if I knew what I was
doing, either. We’ve always learned together, Stevie . . . from our first
kiss.” The taller man pulled his shirt from his trousers and slipped it off,
hanging it on the chair. He reached to undo his belt. “I love being inside you,
Stevie. I think you’ll like it, too.”
Steve wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck and crashed his lips against
Bucky’s, running his tongue along the seam, biting down gently at the bottom
lip. The smaller man pulled away to run his tongue over the faint scar on the
brunet’s neck before gently biting down on the raised flesh.
Letting out a low groan, Bucky captured Steve’s hands and raised them, kissing
each fingertip one by one. “God, Stevie, What you do to me.” His erection
pressed against his uniform trousers uncomfortably. “You drive me mad.” He
slipped Steve’s right forefinger into his mouth and started nipping and sucking
the digit.
Growling, Steve said, “You have too many clothes on, Sergeant.” He pulled his
finger away and looked at his husband, his eyes trailing down Bucky’s body.
Bucky moaned softly, his member pulsing at Steve’s commanding tone. Dropping
Steve’s hands, the brunet finished pulling off his belt and tossed it to the
desk. He unfastened his trousers and slid out of them so he could neatly place
them on the chair. “And you’re too dressed, Captain,” Bucky murmured,
referencing their private comic book joke from two years before.
Pulling his undershirt free from his trousers, Steve quickly pulled it off and
threw it away, not sure where it landed. “On the bed, baby,” the blond cooed,
trying desperately to push away the nervousness he felt at reversing their
roles; what if he couldn’t pleasure Bucky like the brunet did to him?
Nodding, Bucky stepped backward and sank onto the bed. He pulled off his socks
then his undershirt, remaining in his boxers as he watched Steve, the bulge in
his shorts very evident. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.
Kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks, Steve began to walk closer to
the bed, undoing his belt as he did so. When he reached his lover, the blond
ran his fingers through his husband’s hair, tugging slightly, “I love you,”
Steve growled, his mouth a breath away from Bucky’s.
Bucky smiled and his body jerked slightly as his head tugged with Steve’s
action. “As much as I love you, Cariad?” he breathed, reaching for Steve’s
hips.
“Greedy . . . ain’t ya, Sarge?” Steve muttered and pulled away just out of
Bucky’s reach. The blond pushed his trousers down his legs and stepped out of
them. “You know how much I’ve been dying to get ya outta that uniform?”
“No, sir, How much?” Bucky asked, still smiling but changing his tone to one of
obedience, like the good enlisted man talking to his officer.
“All night I’ve been watching ya . . . imagining the things I wanted to do,”
Steve drawled, stepping forward so he could run the back of his hand down the
side of his lover’s face. “I had to deal with all them dames watchin’ ya . . .
wishing they could be the one you took home. Ya know how crazy that made me?”
Never having played at a bedroom fantasy, but having heard about them from Dum
Dum, Bucky was intrigued with Steve’s new play. He tried to stay in character
and not grab his husband. “Sir, I’ll do whatever you want, sir. I wouldn’t
bring a dame back to the barracks.”
“I know you wouldn’t . . . because you’re good. You’re mine.” Steve growled
low, tugging Bucky’s hair, gently, again.
A small moan escaped Bucky at the tug. He let his eyes half close as he
questioned, “your’s, sir? What do you mean? What can I do, sir?” Then he
grinned wider. “Steve? Am I supposed to be contrite or teasing here? Not sure.”
He opened his eyes.
Steve smiled and kissed his lover again, not answering the question, because
honestly he didn’t know the answer. This was new to both of them, neither
having any experience in this sort of thing. Pushing Bucky back slightly so
that he could straddle the brunet’s lean hips, he continued to kiss the taller
man.
Returning the kisses, Bucky decided just to wing it still. He reached up and
ran his hands through Steve’s hair, thrusting his still clothed pelvis up
slightly. Pulling his mouth back a bit, Bucky breathed, “Cap, what can I do to
prove I wouldn’t break the rules? That I’ll do whatever you order?”
Steve shifted so that his mouth hovered over his lover’s erect nipple, “You can
make those pretty noises I like so much.” Then the blond bit down on the
sensitive flesh, tugging slightly.
Gasping, Bucky’s hips thrust upwards and he moaned, head falling back against
the mattress, eyes half closing in reaction. “God, Cariad . . .”
Smiling against Bucky’s skin, Steve flicked his tongue over the bud; the blond
ran his hand down the brunet’s chest. The smaller man stopped when he felt his
lover’s erection and began to palm it through the fabric of the taller man’s
boxers. “So pretty,” Steve murmured, “Such a good boy.”
Bucky slid his eyes back open and he grinned at Steve, finally grasping the
smaller man’s shoulders. “I can be a very good boy, Cap.” He bucked his hips up
into Steve’s thigh. “Just say the words . . . sir.” He stroked a hand over
Steve’s hair.
“I’ll say ‘em when I’m ready, Sergeant,” Steve growled and shifted again so
that he could run his tongue against the groves of Bucky’s toned stomach. The
blond stopped at the hem of the brunet’s boxers and looked up at Bucky with
eyes darkened with desire. He clamped his teeth around the fabric and began to
pull them down Bucky’s long legs.
Panting in combined anticipation and need, Bucky lifted his head, meeting
Steve’s intense gaze. He watched the blond removing his underpants in that
feral way and felt his member get larger, harder, aching slightly in need.
“God, Cariad,” he whispered, “the things you do to me!” As Steve exposed his
long, thickening shaft, small beads of precum welled at the head.
“Ya turn on your side for me, baby?” Steve asked as he removed his own
underwear, his erection springing out of the confining fabric.
“No problem,” Bucky panted and shifted, wriggling under his lover to obediently
get on his side. “Whatever you want, Cariad,” he promised.
Steve took a deep breath and reached over to grab the jar of lubricant from the
drawer of the nightstand. Opening it, the blond ran his hand across his
husband’s thigh; with his other hand he scooped a generous amount onto his
finger. “You tell me if it hurts too much?” Steve asked, his stomach flipping
with both nervousness and need.
Smiling at his husband, Bucky shifted again so he could lift one leg high,
exposing himself to Steve. “Just go slow, yeah?” he murmured, watching Steve’s
eyes.
Swallowing, Steve nodded and circled his finger around Bucky’s entrance,
caressing the puckered skin.
His body instantly reacted, fluttering and clenching slightly, but Bucky
concentrated on relaxing his passage for his lover’s touch. They’d done this
part before, just never gone past one finger for Bucky. “More lube, Baby? It’s
been awhile since we’ve done this . . .” he had been away for a couple months
after all.
Nodding, Steve moved to scoop up more lube. With a deep breath, the small blond
carefully began to insert his finger. Steve leaned over to capture his lover in
a passionate kiss, trying to push away his nerves; the last thing he wanted to
do was hurt his husband right before he shipped off for war.
Bucky returned the kiss as he felt Steve slid a finger into his ass. He moaned
softly into the sweet mouth. “Missed you, Cariad, so much,” he breathed and let
his body relax around the finger. He reached down his other hand to stroke
himself a couple of times then let his member go again. “Ready . . .” he
breathed.
Steve pushed his finger in deeper, past the first knuckle and waited for a
moment, allowing Bucky to get used to the feeling. “Missed you too, Buck,”
Steve groaned and then continued to, slowly, slide his finger inside his
lover’s passage. When he was able to insert his finger to the second knuckle,
Steve curled it, trying to find the bundle of nerves that he knew would make
his husband feel good.
At the sudden intense sweep of pleasure as Steve caressed over his prostate,
Bucky moaned and jerked, his member throbbing and leaking a bit more. “Yes,
right there, Stevie . . . that’s it . . .” He panted slightly.
The smaller man smiled as an idea came into his mind. “Mind if I try something,
love?” the blond asked.
Nodding, Bucky panted, “Anything, Baby . . . go ahead.”
Shifting again so he could still massage his lover’s prostate but so that his
mouth hovered over Bucky’s entrance, Steve slowly ran his tongue over the tight
ring of muscle.
At the unusual sensation, Bucky whimpered, his hips jerking again. “Gówno,
Steve!”
“You like that, baby?” Steve murmured, pulling away.
“God, yes,” he moaned. “Damn . . .” Bucky turned his head, pupils blown wide,
to study his husband.
Steve smiled and leaned down again to continue his assault on Bucky’s entrance.
The blond darted his tongue past the tight ring of muscle, his index finger
still caressing the brunet’s prostate.
Losing himself in the sensation, Bucky let his head drop to the side once more,
licking his lips and reaching between his legs to brace his left hand on his
thigh but not touch his member. He turned his face to bury in the pillow and
merely breathed, his body clenching and quivering around Steve’s finger and
tongue. “Damn . . .” he said softly.
Slowly, Steve began to push in a second finger, stopping just as the tip rested
against the slick entrance. “You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, looking up at his
lover.
Bucky nodded once, pressing his lips together, waiting for the small burn to
ease. He moved his hand from his thigh to his shaft and gave a couple of long
strokes then let himself go again. “Yeah, slow . . .” he assured his lover.
Giving his husband a concerned glance, Steve resumed licking and sucking at
Bucky’s entrance, receiving gasps of pleasure and more breathless swearing from
his husband. Very carefully the blond pushed the second digit further inside
the brunet’s passage. The smaller man stopped once he passed the first knuckle,
giving his lover time to adjust.
It took a little longer than the first finger but finally Bucky nodded briefly.
“Okay, Steve, ready.” He drew a steadying breath and let it out slowly, forcing
himself to relax around Steve’s two fingers.
Pushing his fingers deeper inside his lover’s passage, careful to stroke
Bucky’s prostate, Steve began to scissor his fingers. Pulling away slightly so
that he could look at his husband, the blond asked, “This okay, Buck?”
His eyes closed now, Bucky concentrated on breathing as Steve worked his
passage. He felt over full and the burn still hummed low through his ass.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and whispered, “I . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know,
Baby.” He breathed a couple more times.
“Need me to stop?” Steve asked, “We can go back to you inside me . . . I don’t
mind.”
“Damn,” Bucky groaned but nodded. “Yeah . . . this isn’t real comfortable,
actually. Burns . . . feels too much.”
Quickly withdrawing his fingers, Steve sat up, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean
to hurt ya.”
Bucky gasped at the sudden release of the pressure and felt himself relax
against the mattress. He closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Shaking
his head, Bucky opened troubled eyes. “I really can’t understand how that feels
good for you, Steve . . . I mean, I thought I could maybe get used to it, but
it . . .” he stopped and drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Cariad.”
Steve shook his head and tugged on his husband’s shoulder so that the brunet
lay flat against the mattress. Gracefully, the small blond straddled his
lover’s hips and ground down against Bucky’s erection dragging a pleasurable
moan from deep in the brunet’s belly. “Nothing to be sorry about, Buck. I like
ya inside me. Please . . . I need to feel you.”
Bucky lifted his head from the pillow, eyes widening. “I don’t see how you can
like it, Stevie.” But he reached for the lube obediently. “You’re not just
letting me because you think I want it or anything? I don’t want you playing
sacrificial lamb or anything.” He ground his hips upward, meeting Steve’s heavy
flesh with his own.
Growling, Steve could feel slickness between his thighs, and his body yearned
for something to fill it. “Buck . . . I swear to God if you don’t make love to
me right now . . .” The small blond whimpered when his lover’s member rubbed
against his entrance.
“Okay, Cariad, okay. Let me prepare you.” He reached down and began to lube
himself up then reached for Steve’s hole, running his slicked fingers over the
puckered entrance.
“No.” Steve growled, eyes darkening, “I need you now.”
“I don’t wanna hurt you . . .” Bucky pulled his hand away from Steve’s ass to
caress over the blond’s member.
Groaning loud, Steve reached down between Bucky’s legs to grasp the taller
man’s member. Quickly, the blond maneuvered the brunet’s erection so that the
head pushed against his entrance. In one fluid motion, Steve sank down on to
his husband.
“Gówno, Steve!” Bucky’s eyes widened and he growled low in his throat. The
sudden tight heat all but drove him over the edge and he had to clamp both
hands on Steve’s hips to keep them still, trying to regain himself before he
simply exploded right there.
It only took a few moments for Steve to get accustomed to Bucky’s length; the
blond began to grind his hips again. “Oh . . . Buck.” The blond whimpered, his
head falling back and eyes closing as pleasure coursed through his body.
“Cariad, Eu sunt ejacula,” he bit into Steve’s neck, his member throbbing as
his knot formed, locking Steve to him. Hot jets of cum burst up into Steve,
wave after long wave, as if it would never end.
Feeling the knot form inside his passage, Steve’s balls tightened and he came
hard. Thin strips of cum plastered against their chests. The small man bit down
hard on his forearm to muffle the scream that broke past his lips.
For over a minute Bucky continued to fill his husband’s passage with seed.
Finally, panting hard, the brunet was spent, though his knot stayed firmly
locked in Steve. He reached over and began to pet Steve’s boney back with
trembling, gentle hands. “Stevie, Cariad . . .”
“Bucky . . . Bucky . . .” Steve mumbled, his eyes still closed as he rocked
against the brunet’s hips.
This time the knot didn’t release for almost thirty minutes. Finally, it eased
down and popped from Steve’s passage, spilling seed from Steve and dragging
slick with it. Bucky whimpered at the feeling and held Steve close against his
body, lapping over the freshly re-opened bite mark on his lover's neck. “God, I
love you, Stevie,” he whispered.
“Love . . . you . . . too,” Steve whispered between labored breathing.
Opening his eyes and lifting his mouth from the blond’s neck, Bucky frowned.
“Your heart is racing . . . need help breathing, baby?”
Steve shook his head, “Just . . . gimme . . . a second.” The blond took several
deep, shaky breaths before his heart finally slowed down and his breathing
evened out. The blond opened his eyes and smiled down at his husband. “See? I’m
fine.”
“If you say so,” Bucky continued to frown, searching his husband’s face for
something unspoken. He let his hands trail down Steve’s back to caress over his
buttocks.
“Baby . . . I’m fine! More than fine . . . that was amazing. Please stop
worrying for one second and kiss me.” Steve smiled.
“You didn’t let me prepare you . . . Steve, you could have torn.” Bucky lifted
one hand to stroke Steve’s cheek.
Steve rolled his eyes and got off of Bucky’s lap. “Ya know . . . I ain’t made
of glass, Buck. Please stop treatin’ me like I’m gonna break.” The blond
crossed his arms over his chest and let out a breath of frustration.
Pushing up onto his forearms, Bucky shook his head. “No, Steve, I wanna talk
about this. I don’t understand. Really, I don’t. I didn’t get to use even a
quarter of the amount of lube you used on me, and I couldn’t even handle two
fingers . . . granted you have large bozo hands, but still . . . mine aren’t
too much smaller than your’s.”
“You didn’t hurt me . . . I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think I could
handle it.” Steve rolled his eyes again, beyond frustrated that Bucky wouldn’t
just trust him for once to know how much his body could handle . . . it was his
own body!
Bucky finally nodded and flopped back on the bed, flinging an arm over his eyes
and sighing. “Okay, I get it. You’re invincible.”
“I didn’t say that! Look . . . ya gotta trust me to know how much I can handle,
that’s all,” Steve grumbled, arms still crossed in front of his bony chest.
“Lifting his arm, staring at Steve incredulously, Bucky shook his head. “I’m
not questioning how much you can or can’t take, Steve! I’m wondering why I
can’t take it, too.” He lowered the arm onto his eyes again with a frustrated
huff of air. Mumbling through his arm, he complained, ‘God, I feel like a pansy
or something.”
“It took us years to work up to what I’m comfortable with, Buck!” Steve said,
uncrossing his arms. “Look . . . I don’t know why . . . but . . .”
Suddenly, interrupting Steve’s words, Bucky sat and lowered his arm, looking
like he’d had an epiphone. “My god, it’s all those exams, isn’t it? You’ve been
handled since we were kids . . . no wonder you’re able to take it.”
Steve shook his head and couldn’t help but roll his eyes again. “I’m gonna get
some water or something . . .” The small man swung his legs off the bed and
started pulling on his discarded boxers, followed by his trousers.
“Are you mad at me?” Bucky called after him.
Shaking his head, Steve answered, “Nah . . . I ain’t mad, Buck. I’m thirsty . .
. want anything?”
Thinking for a moment, Bucky nodded. “You.” But he slid out of bed with a
smile, apparently happier now that he thought he found the solution to his
dilemma. He slid into his boxers and reached into the closet for his robe, not
wanted to get semen and lube all over his uniform. “Buy a soldier a drink,
love?” He grinned.
Steve snorted, “Dress to impress?”
“Hah, I would if I wasn’t covered in you, baby doll.” He stepped to the door
and froze when the outer door opened and several female voices sounded. “God,
and we stink of sex,” he murmured.
Suddenly, Steve looked up at his husband and a wave of sadness washed over him.
“I’m gonna miss you, Buck. I . . . I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Shit,” Bucky said and pulled Steve in tight against his chest, burying his
face in the smaller man’s hair. “Don’t, Stevie . . . don’t cry . . . the war
won’t last forever. I’ll be home before ya know it.”
Biting his lip hard, Steve couldn’t stop the burning of tears. He wanted to
tell his husband about how he’d been accepted into the Army, that the chance of
both of them coming home now was slim to none. That this would most likely be
the last time they saw each other. However, the words died on Steve’s tongue.
A knock on the door, followed by Becca’s voice, sounded. “Hey, you guys awake?
We’re home.”
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, June 15, 1943: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Stepping into the room, dressed in his robe and a towel around his shoulders,
hair still dripping from his shower, Bucky headed over to his bag and began to
check he had all his gear. Gracie had wanted to see everything he’d been
issued, and then it had been so late Bucky hadn’t wanted to pack it all back up
that night. Thus, he had to finish packing that morning. Since he was safe in
his room, he let the robe hang open, lifting one end of the towel to rub at his
rapidly drying, slightly curling hair. With the women gone on early morning
appointments yet again, Bucky had the house almost to himself in order to get
ready.
Steve watched silently from where he sat on the bed. The blond urged himself to
not cry, not to make this departure any harder than it already was. The smaller
man had decided he wasn’t going to tell his lover about the Army; he’d write
him later or maybe even surprise him by being put in the 107th.
“Steve, you coming to the station to see me off?” Unlike last time, Bucky
rather wanted that last glimpse of his husband, even if they couldn’t display
their emotions in front of everyone.
Snapping his attention towards Bucky, Steve frowned; he couldn’t go to the
station with his husband. If he did, then he’d miss his own ride to Camp
Lehigh. Swallowing hard, Steve shook his head, “Uh . . . I think it’s best that
I don’t.”
Straightening, Bucky looked over at his lover then sighed. He nodded slowly.
“Yeah, right, of course. We can’t kiss or anything at the station, right?” He
smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Steve hated the pained look in his lover’s eyes, and he hated himself for lying
to him, “Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Bucky.”
Nodding, Bucky tucked the last item in his pack and clasped it shut. He dropped
the robe and towel and began sliding into his boxers and undershirt. “I’ll
write every week if I can, Steve. You didn’t mind that I never used your name,
did you?” He looked over. “They read our mail sometimes.”
Heart beating fast, Steve realized that his lover's letters wouldn’t reach him
at Camp Lehigh; he’d have to ask Winifred to forward the letters. “No . . . I
don’t mind, Buck.”
Suddenly, Bucky chuckled. “You know, all these years and you never once asked
me what Cariad means.” He grinned suddenly, trying to add humor to the
heartbreaking departure.
Smiling slightly, Steve looked at Bucky, “What’s it mean?”
“Love,” Bucky breathed and walked over. He placed his hands on Steve’s hips and
pulled him in for a kiss, still only dressed in his underclothes. “It’s Welsh
for Love.”
“You called me that way before we ever got together . . . back when we were
still practicing,” Steve mumbled, taking in Bucky’s scent, trying to breathe in
as much as he could.
Nuzzling suddenly at Steve’s neck, Bucky whispered, “Yeah, I know. We were
maybe fourteen or fifteen.” He lifted his face and sighed. Stepping back, Bucky
drew on his shirt and began buttoning it.
“Did you know?” Steve asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Did you
know when you called me that?”
“I knew what it meant,” the brunet teased lightly, offering Steve a cheeky
grin. He looked back down as he finished his buttons then grabbed his trousers.
“Why would you use that word if you didn’t know?” Steve mumbled, eyes downcast,
not daring to look up at his lover.
Bucky lifted his eyes to look at Steve, all hint of play gone. “I knew I loved
you, Steve, but I just never knew how much until you turned sixteen. Literally,
on your birthday it hit me I wanted to spend my life with you. Before that, I
knew I loved being with you and loved what we did together. I just didn’t
realize back then that it was a forever after kind of love.” He tilted his
head. “Does that make sense?”
Steve nodded, tears stinging his eyes against all efforts to keep them at bay.
“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve sobbed; he quickly covered his mouth to muffle the
sound.
“Sorry?” Worry filled the brunet’s voice and he stepped over again, his
trousers undone and shirt untucked. “For what, love?” The tall man slid his
arms around his smaller lover.
'For betraying your trust. For lying.' Steve shook his head and wrapped his
arms tightly around his husband, clinging on as if his life depended on it. His
whole body shook with the force of his sobs, “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry,”
the blond kept repeating, not explaining what exactly he was sorry for.
Lifting Steve’s chin, Bucky began kissing his lover’s face. “Hey, calm down.
It’s okay. I’m not upset about you crying, baby doll.” He tried to wipe away
the tears. “You don’t always have to be strong for me, Steve.”
Feeling even worse, Steve shook his head, “I lied to you, Bucky . . . I lied to
you for so long.”
Confusion furrowed the taller man’s brow and he dropped his hands to Steve’s
shoulders. “Lied?” He sounded cautious.”What do you mean?”
“One . . . one of my last appointments with Doctor Johnson . . . he . . . he
uh, found something.” Steve flinched, this wasn’t the truth he wanted to tell
the brunet, but he couldn’t force himself to tell Bucky about the Army. “I was
diagnosed with cancer . . .”
Going suddenly pale, Bucky staggered a bit, the backs of his legs hitting the
desk chair. He fell onto the hard wood and looked up at Steve, horror and fear
on his face. “Cancer?” He reached for Steve, desperation in his eyes and voice.
“My God . . . how . . . how bad is it now?” Screw the lie, Steve was always
thinking he was tougher than anything, always pretending nothing could hurt
him. But . . . but cancer was a killer every time, and Bucky knew he could come
home from the war to a funeral.
Steve shook his head, “I uh . . . I just found out that Johnson was wrong. That
it wasn’t cancer . . . but for nearly two years I kept it from you. I shoulda
told you when I first found out. But I was afraid . . . I’m so sorry.”
“Afraid?” Bucky shook his head. “Afraid of what? Me? I . . .” his quick mind
worked through the possibilities and he dropped his head into his hands.
“No!” Steve answered quickly, “No . . . I was afraid that telling you would
make it real. That you’d treat me different.”
“That’s why you want to go to war . . .” He stood up and walked out of the room
into the main living area. “You have a fucking death wish . . .”
Following Bucky into the main area, Steve’s tone turned desperate. “Can you
blame me? I didn’t wanna die like my mom, Buck! I didn’t wanna die half-
delirious from sickness and not remember you. I didn’t want you having to take
care of me like that! Having to see me like that!”
Fastening his pants with shaking hands, Bucky tucked in his shirt. He finally
stopped and let his head bow down, clenching his fists into the sides of his
legs. “And when I married you?” His voice came softly. “You didn’t want me to
take care of someone dying, yet you married me anyway?”
Closing his eyes, tears running down, Steve shook his head, “I’m sorry, Bucky.
I should have told you.”
Bucky drew a deep breath. He straightened and looked at Steve, his pale-blue
eyes sad. “Yeah, you should have, Stevie. I’m your fucking husband. I promised
the end of the line, remember? I would have appreciated knowing it might have
been sooner than later.” He stepped past Steve back into the bedroom to get his
belt, socks, and bag.
“And if I did have cancer?” Steve asked, whirling around, “Ya would have kept
me in bed. You would treat me like some fragile thing . . . I didn’t want
things to change!”
Bucky slipped his belt on without a word, fastening it. He sat on their bed to
pull on his socks, still silently. Finally, he stood, grabbed the seventy-pound
bag and stepped back to the living area. Putting the bag down, Bucky shook his
head. “I would have worried my head off, Steve, and I would have constantly
been asking if you were okay. But I wouldn’t have condemned you to a bed unless
you couldn’t walk. I thought you knew me better than that? I watched what
happened to your Mam, too.” He headed for his shoes, sitting on a kitchen chair
to slip them on and tie them.
Steve hung his head and let his tears fall freely, “I’m sorry . . . I was
scared and I acted stupidly,” the blond mumbled, sniffling.
Finally, dressed except jacket and hat, Bucky strode over to Steve and pulled
him into a tight hug. “Of course, cause you’re always stupid, punk.” He lifted
Steve’s chin. “Next time, let me worry with you. That’s what husbands do for
each other.” He kissed the smaller man softly on the lips.
Steve’s heart clenched and he felt even worse than before. He had thought if he
told Bucky about the cancer he’d feel better, but it only made him feel worse.
Bucky had no idea that later in the day, Steve would be getting into a car and
heading to boot camp. The smaller man closed his eyes and kissed his husband
back.
Pulling away, Bucky sighed and shook his head. “How many times I gotta tell
you, you don’t have to handle things on your own?” He offered a small smile - -
always easy to forgive Steve’s mistakes and idiocies. Turning, the brunet
picked up his jacket and slid into it, buttoning the front up. “So, I guess
you’re still gonna try to get into the Army anyway, even though you ain’t dying
next week?”
'If only you knew,' Steve thought bitterly, however the blond settled for
laughing it off, “Well of course. I can’t let ya fight all by yourself!”
Reaching for his hat, Bucky put it on, tilting it at his normally cocky angle.
“Well, we did promise to go together if we could,” he temporized, inadvertently
forgiving Steve’s second lie of omission without even knowing it. “Give me a
kiss, lover,” he requested.
Lurching forward to wrap his arms around his husband’s neck, Steve clashed his
lips against Bucky’s with a fierce passion.
Returning the passion, Bucky held Steve tight for several long minutes,
breathing through his nose as he kissed his husband, tongue working in Steve’s
mouth. Finally, he pulled back. "Take care . . . Cariad.”
Steve nodded, laughing softly, "Don't win the war until I get there."
Bucky did a sharp, smart and very proper salute before reaching for his large
bag and hefting it to his shoulder. He finally turned and left the house, only
to turn once more on the sidewalk. Bucky once more saluted the house, much as
he did before leaving for basics. After dropping his hand, the brunet turned
and hitched a ride to the train station.
Steve turned and walked back into the bedroom to get ready for his later
appointment to arrive at Camp Lehigh, New Jersey by private car, heart
clenching in near misery and loneliness . . . at their morning revelations and
all that remained unspoken.
***** A Week of New Beginnings *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: June 15 - 20, 1943; Camp Lehigh, New Jersey and
     Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
     xxx
     Translations:
     *Jerks as used by Agent Carter means a form of Jumping Jacks.
     .
Setting: AU: Tuesday, June 15, 1943: Camp Lehigh, New Jersey, United States of
America
Steve stepped out of his private car, looking around him with a mixed look of
awe and determination. He still couldn't believe this happened, that he had
been accepted into the Army. Sure, he'd tried to enlist five times, but he
never thought he would ever succeed. The small blond tried not to think about
his husband; Bucky had no idea where he was. Steve had convinced Winifred to
help forward their letters back and forth. His mother-in-law hadn't been happy
to hear that the small man lied to her son, but had, in the end, understood
Steve's reasoning behind not telling Bucky the truth.
The activity on the base was every bit as diverse and quick paced as in the
city. Different groups ran or marched on their combined tasks while those who
seemed to be moving slow turned out to be painting a circle of rocks around a
pole topped by the American flag. A small knot of men in civilian clothing,
like Steve's, stood blinking around in discomfort and confusion. Finally, a
young soldier, a tall, thin, and lanky blond, stopped before the group and
barked out "New recruits?"
A tall, good looking man with dark blond styled hair and an athletic build
smirked. "Yes, sir. Reporting for the war."
The soldier rolled his eyes and glanced over at Steve. "Hey, are you a mascot
or a recruit, kid?" The tag on the man's uniform read 'Calvin, P.'
"Recruit, sir!" Steve said, back straightening as he tried not to let the
soldier know how much the comment had irritated him.
"First off, I'm not a sir. Officers are sir. They went to college. I'm
enlisted. So, don't sir me." The man crossed his arms over his chest. "Second,
I'm also a recruit, but I've been here for two months waiting for you yahoos to
arrive," he turned his glare on the athletic blond rather than Steve. "So, I
deserve respect for being in this man's Army for two months more than you.
Seniority has its perks." Their fellow recruit waved towards a building next to
them marked 'Processing.' "Let's go." He began walking up the small flight of
steps.
Steve followed his fellow recruits as they all walked towards the building. The
small blond hated the fact that the short flight of steps actually winded him.
It wasn't like at home, where Bucky would stop and let him catch his breath if
the smaller man showed any signs of discomfort.
Once the others passed through the door, the senior recruit held out a hand,
stopping Steve before he could enter. Frowning at the small man, he asked
softly, for Steve's ears only, "you need the infirmary?"
Shaking his head softly, Steve gave the other man a small smile, "No . . . I'm
alright. Thank you, though."
Nodding, he continued to whisper, "you got a breathing problem? It's gonna be
hard on you. We have to exercise hard every day."
Looking up at the senior recruit, Steve's face hardened and his eyes shone with
determination, "I'll be fine. I can keep up."
"Name's Calvin. Peter Calvin. And if you start having troubles you can always
try breathing into your shirt or a bag. It helps sometimes for breathing
problems. My brother's asthmatic." The senior recruit whirled and walked into
the room, glaring at the gossiping recruits who'd already entered. "Alright,
quiet down now! Everyone grab a duffle bag and form a line. You'll need to tell
the clerks what your sizes are. Just walk down the counter and they'll give you
your gear. No chatting. Only important questions, recruits." He glared again.
"We don't have all day so keep it moving." He didn't look at the end of the
group where Steve stood.
Once it was Steve's turn to give the clerk his sizes, the blond frowned
slightly when the clerk told him that they didn't have such a small size. The
man behind the counter slapped down a stack of shirts while the man next to him
put down a stack of trousers. They both glared at Steve as if it were his fault
they had to give him clothing which would be too big and need tailoring.
Flushing a deep shade of red, Steve bowed his head and grabbed the clothes.
Turning he walked towards where all the other new recruits were standing.
Peter Calvin nodded as Steve stepped up. "Tonight you'll mark the gear so
everyone knows which things belong to whom. Next we go through this hall and
the tailors will make marks on your clothing, so you need to get into one
complete uniform right now. They'll adjust all your clothes based on the marks
made on the first one."
The day continued: measuring, fitting, gathering equipment, shipping stuff back
home that was not permitted, and other various tasks. Finally, they stopped for
lunch. As the taller, broader men formed a line in the mess hall next to the
food service, Calvin stepped behind Steve rather than in front of him. "How'd
you get in with a breathing problem?" he asked softly.
Steve looked at the taller man over his shoulder and shrugged, "Guess they need
people real bad," the blond lied, not about to tell the lanky man about the
conversation he'd had with Doctor Erksine.
Senior Recruit Calvin nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Hey, we're going to be gathering
after chow to separate into our units for basics. Tell me, do you know what the
words 'Alpha Gamma Beta' mean?"
Stiffening, Steve looked at Calvin with slightly narrowed eyes, trying to
determine what the Senior Recruit was trying to get at. After a few long
moments Steve shrugged again, "A little . . . I guess . . . why do you ask?"
"Well, I'll bet anything that when you get asked after chow, the guys here will
answer one of three ways. I just wanted to know which way you were gonna
answer." He nudged Steve a bit to move him down the line and the man behind the
counter plopped food on Steve's tray. "Everyone's gonna be given a slip of
paper to put their name and their answer on. The way they answer dictates which
unit they go to, actually." Peter Calvin watched Steve intently.
Not trusting himself to look at the other man, Steve stared intently at the
slop of food on his tray. He didn't know if Calvin told the truth; he couldn't
think of a reason why the he would lie, but the small man couldn't be too
trusting.
Nodding, apparently accepting that the smaller recruit wouldn't answer him, the
senior recruit turned to walk to their lunch table. "Fifteen minutes from the
time you sit, Rogers," he called out, gesturing to the open chair beside him.
Sitting down, Steve immediately began to eat the food on his tray. The slop
didn't taste very good, but the blond ate most of it anyway; his Momma had
always told him to finish whatever he had on his plate.
By the time an older man, grizzled and dressed in military uniform passed by,
Senior Recruit Calvin had finished. Calvin suddenly called out "attention,
recruits! Stand up, arms to your sides!" All down the table other men scrambled
to their feet, wary and watchful.
Steve rushed do to as he'd been told, his chair scraping loudly against the
floor as he sprung to his feet. The small man watched the older man, keeping
his arms straight, Steve attempted to stand taller; not wanting to look any
smaller than he already did to the, obviously, highly decorated officer.
The officer's eyes glanced over Steve then seemed to backtrack and looked over
the small man again. He let out the slightest of smiles then walked on, calling
out "carry on, Recruit Calvin." The man strode off and joined a group of
officers, the flash of civilian attire and even a skirt among them as they
headed out the door.
Peter Calvin nodded. "Everyone form two lines and turn your tray back into the
staff. Lunch is over. No bringing food with you, either," he barked out as one
lanky redhead tried to grab his unfinished roll.
Ending up towards the back of one of the lines again, Steve followed his fellow
recruits as they discarded their trays and walked out of the room after Senior
Recruit Calvin.
Once outside, the senior recruit halted everyone. "Might as well learn to march
like soldiers, men. I want you to form six lines across, the tallest in the
front and to the left. The smallest in the back to the right." He watched, arms
down at his sides as a small amount of chaos ensued. At least Steve would have
no trouble telling where he would be standing . . . he was shorter than the
others by a good half foot. Finally, the mass of recruits had themselves
reasonably organized.
Nodding, recruit Calvin looked over the group. "I'm not going into teaching you
yahoos much, since I won't be with all of you anyway. I only get the best of
the best. So, we're going to walk down to the grey building straight ahead and
go inside. You will each find a desk and sit down. Put your duffle bag next to
you on the right. Await further instructions." Crossing his arms, Peter watched
to see what the men would do; most broke formation and walked at their own
paces. He rolled his eyes.
Steve looked around and tried to stay in what little formation had managed to
stay intact. He noticed that Calvin looked quite irritated, and the small blond
waited for the Senior Recruit to start yelling at the recruits who had broken
away from the rest of the group.
After a moment, Peter Calvin fell into step beside Steve, but not in the
smaller formation. He looked at Steve. "You sure no one told you what those
words meant?" he asked softly, but before Steve could form an answer they had
arrived at the grey building. The grizzled man and his group had watched the
entire procession, and the officer looked extremely unhappy at the display of
non-unity from the majority of the men.
"Inside, recruits!" Peter barked, not reminding anyone of the rest of his
instructions.
Remembering what Calvin had said before, Steve quickly found an open desk and
sat down, setting his duffel bag on the floor to the right side of the wooden
surface. He waited to be told what to do next.
Once everyone sat down, recruit Calvin passed out blank paper to each person,
along with a pen. Once everyone had writing equipment, the lanky blond barked
out "Now, I want your full name on the top of that sheet, printed legibly." As
the men bent to write their names on their paper, the senior recruit nodded. He
waited until the last man looked up before continuing, "I will state a phrase.
You are to list any and all meanings of that phrase on your sheet of paper.
Now, the phrase is 'Alpha-Gamma-Beta'."
Steve's eyes widened slightly as he realized Calvin had been telling the truth,
but what he didn't understand was why it would matter what people knew about
the phrase 'Alpha-Gamma-Beta.' Erskine had mentioned something about needing
Gamma's for his research but that didn't explain why people needed to know what
the words meant.
The small blond wrote down the three meanings that first came into his head:
'Letters of the Greek alphabet, Terms for Fraternities or Sororities, and
Fertility Nature terms.'
Finally, as each man looked up, the senior recruit came by and collected each
paper, carefully stepping over the duffel bags. When he had all the paper, he
called out "Now, that was fun, wasn't it? Stretching your brains? You will find
that the military is more than a group of dumb gorillas with guns shooting at
moving targets. We use our brains as much if not more than our bodies.
Thinking, observing, and processing are every bit important weapons and will
make the difference between killing a friend or a foe or yourselves. Thus, I
will read off a name and a color. The room next door is set up into three color
zones. You will take your duffel and go to the assigned color and await your
commanding officer. Am I understood?"
After receiving affirmatives, some confused, some even half-hearted, the senior
recruit read off each page in turn, but only the name and a color 'Red,'
'White,' or 'Blue.' When he got to 'Hodge, Gilmore,' Peter Calvin called out
'White.' The impressively built blond with styled hair got up with a cocky
grin, hefted his heavy gear bag, and headed into the next room. The next name
Calvin read was 'Rogers, Steven Grant.' The senior recruit looked up and called
'White.'
Quickly, Steve stood up and, with a little difficulty, picked up his duffel bag
and walked over to the 'white' area. The small blond looked up at Hodge and
couldn't help but smile just a little. Hodge was built like a tank, and Steve
must've done something right to be put in the same group as him. That, or Hodge
had done something wrong to be grouped in with a small man like Steve. The
smaller man preferred to think of it as the first option.
Finally, all the men had walked into the room and arranged themselves. Senior
Recruit Calvin walked in and stopped in the 'white' section of the room, which
housed only about fifteen men compared to about forty in each of the other two
parts. "Okay, White Unit, with me. The other two units, you stand tight and
your commanding officers will arrive."
The tall, thin blond turned and walked from the room. Hodge glared at the other
man's back but hefted his bag and began following.
Steve scowled at the rude behavior shown by the taller man, Calvin deserved
respect as the Senior Recruit. However, the small man held his tongue, he
didn't think that getting into a fist fight with another recruit on his first
day would be a good idea.
As they passed a small side building, Calvin gestured one handed. "You are to
go in there, pick your bunk, and put your duffel on the bunk. Then you are to
gather back out here so we can go meet up with our commanding office. We have
two: Agent Carter and Colonel Philips" He paused and looked over the other
recruits. "Yes, the Philips from the Great War . . . so I predict you'll want
to be on your best behavior. Now, get inside."
Hurrying inside the small building, Steve was surprised to see individual beds,
not the stacked bunks like Bucky had mentioned in his letter. Steve quickly
found a bunk in the middle of the room and hefted the bag onto the mattress.
The blond then turned and walked back outside to meet back up with Calvin.
Recruit Calvin nodded once to Steve, the first recruit back outside. He still
had the papers in his hands. "I guess you answered it right, huh?" He said
softly, almost sounding amused. "Wish you had trusted me with the info that you
know about the project, but I can see how you're following orders not to talk
about it, so, no harm done."
"Thanks?" Steve said, unsure of how to respond. He was glad that Calvin wasn't
mad at him; he actually liked the other lanky blond.
Finally, everyone else had come outside and Calvin barked, "This way, recruits,
and try to look like a unit not a parade." He began walking in a rolling gate,
which turned out to be a march but without others beside him it just looked
like a determined stride. Near enough for Steve to hear, but as if talking to
himself, the other recruit said "eighteen inch steps. Hands swing naturally but
not too high."
The group arrived to a small exercise yard with a few trucks parked nearby.
Calvin called out, "line up. Size doesn't matter this moment. Just stand in a
line and look straight ahead."
Thankful that, for once, he wouldn't be obviously singled out for his size,
Steve stepped up to the line. The blond straightened his spine and held his
head high as he waited for Agent Carter and Colonel Philips to arrive.
After a moment, a woman of about five feet seven inches strode over, dressed in
khaki uniform skirt and blouse. As she walked past the group, Calvin began
handing out clipboards, though Steve hadn't seen where the senior recruit had
acquired them. As she introduced herself as Agent Carter, Hodge decided to
become a total jerk smart ass, and Miss Carter took him to the ground in one
solid punch. The grizzled officer from lunch strode up and approved, yelling at
Hodge to get out of the dirt. Doctor Erskine strode over to watch the
proceedings. Recruit Calvin joined the line at the head, but also holding a
clipboard and looking straight ahead like any of the other recruits.
After everyone received their clipboard, with a series of forms on it and a pen
tied to it, Carter turned to look at everyone. "You are in this group because
you pre-qualified for Project Rebirth. This is the special program by the
military to take normal soldiers and make them the best available to send into
the field. Not everyone will make it through the program, but many of you will.
Each of you were screened at either recruiting stations or in prior units and
sent here. Each of you was personally selected from the selection offered." She
turned a glare on Hodge. "Believe me when I say that for each of you who fail
out of this program, there are two more in reserve to come replace you."
"Today we're going to go easy on you. You will fill out your forms, meet with
medical for last minute screenings and immunizations, and you will learn to
stand, march, and form up like soldiers. Tomorrow, we begin the real work." She
stopped her slow pacing to stand in front of Steve, though she seemed to be
looking anywhere but at him.
Steve looked up at Agent Carter with eyes wide with awe. The brunet seemed so
confident, and the blond would be lying if he didn't say that she was a pretty
dame. Steve couldn't help but think of Bucky when he looked at Agent Carter,
her whole demeanor reminded him of his husband, and that thought made him miss
Bucky even more.
The afternoon went quickly as Agent Carter taught the men to stand, salute,
form up, and march. It turned out Calvin had been repeating the instructions
for marching when he'd lead the group to that small field. After they learned
the basics, including how to make their beds and stow their gear properly, the
agent called out that they were due at medical. She led them off and stopped
them fairly quickly at a small building off to the side of the main compound,
obviously they weren't being kept with the main recruits. "Calvin, Rogers,
you're to wait out here. You've already completed your full physicals. You may
sit while you wait for your slower comrades."
Steve sat down in one of the chairs, thankful for the small break from
activity. His chest heaved and he tried to take deep breaths in order to calm
his breathing down.
Recruit Calvin reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a small paper
bag. He passed it over to Steve. "They're getting prostate and semen exams in
there," he mentioned quietly.
Giving the other man a grateful smile, Steve took the bag and took several deep
breaths into it. After getting his breathing under control, the blond said
quietly, "Thank you for being nice to me . . . so far you are the only person
here to not look at me like I am either about to die or stupid for simply being
here."
With a nod, stretching his long legs out in front of him and letting himself
slouch in the hard chair, Peter smiled softly. "Well, Carter and Philips are
normal Army and will treat you right if you do you best. And Doctor Erskine's
pretty nice when you get to know him. Don't let his accent bother you. He
escaped Germany, so he's a refugee here." He turned to look at Steve. "Those
guys in there were selected by Philips for this project, but you must have been
selected by Erskine if you don't need to go get the exams right now."
"Were you selected by Erskine?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, I was. Back in April, actually. I was at Fort McCoy and four of us were
brought in for further testing. I was the only one who met his requirements."
Calvin looked at Steve. "I'm a Gamma, same as you?"
"Fort McCoy - - you might've met my . . . my friend." Steve quickly caught
himself, "Bucky . . . Bucky Barnes. He was trained at Fort McCoy."
Thinking a bit, Calvin shook his head. "I met a James Barnes. He was made
Recruit Sergeant. But I was taken from the group and shipped here the first day
. . . been here ever since doing odd jobs for the Doctor and Agent while I
waited for more recruits to join us. Finally, Philips got frustrated and told
Erskine that as soon as he found a second Gamma, Philips would chose the rest
of the unit himself."
"So we're the only Gamma's?" Steve mused.
"The only ones so far. It's a rare fertility nature, actually. Only about half
a million postulated to exist in the entire world, actually. And Doctor Erskine
wants Gammas for Project Rebirth."
Nodding, remembering Erskine telling him as much when he'd been accepted into
the Army, Steve let Calvin continue.
"What the doctor is supposed to be doing is creating a way to make a soldier
the best possible physical specimen available, immune to disease, fast healing,
and highly fast and strong. What he wants to do is find a way to cure present
conditions while he's at it. He wasn't able to convince the military to let him
work with injured or ill men, so he suggested Gammas. If he could heal someone
injured in the womb and born infertile, he could heal anything, he figured. So,
the government allowed him to continue. It's why he wants Gammas . . . to prove
his serum can heal anything. With your breathing problem, if you make the final
cut, Doctor Erskine might just get the ill man he wanted all along. Mind being
a guinea pig, Rogers?" Calvin leaned forward as he spoke, trying to keep their
conversation low, though it was obvious the female Agent could hear every word.
Steve snorted, "I'll be a guinea pig if it could possibly mean I won't get
Pneumonia every winter." The blond's mouth twisted up at the corners in a small
smile, "I just wanna do what's right . . . and if the only way to do that is be
a guinea pig, then," Steve shrugged, "I'll be the guinea pig."
Looking thoughtful, Calvin asked very softly, "ever heard the term 'uterine
valve'?"
Shaking his head, Steve answered back in a whisper, "Nope . . . can't say that
I have. Why do you ask?"
Stretching his back until several vertebrae let out small popping noises,
Calvin whispered, "because I have one, apparently. And I'm hoping the serum
might cure me of that. I've been told that if I wasn't sterile, I could get
pregnant . . . if I was queer . . . and then I'd die from it." He looked at
Steve and sighed. "But with me, the problem's hidden. So, I'm lucky there. I
just don't like to shower in public, so that's gonna be something to get used
to now that the unit's formed up."
"If you need any help or anything . . . I'll do my best to try and make sure
you don't get too uncomfortable in the shower or nothin'," Steve said, looking
Calvin in the eyes so that the other Gamma knew he was genuine.
Smiling again, Calvin nodded. "Thanks. I gotta get over my shyness, but I
really appreciate it. Guess I'm too used to having people call me 'skinny' or
'giant' or whatever." He sighed.
Their conversation got cut off by the men coming back out of the medical area,
all of them looking incredibly shell-shocked from having rectal exams and semen
tests. Agent Carter called them all to order and had them form up into lines of
three. Then she told them they were to get dinner then go to the barracks and
spend the night stenciling their gear.
When the group got to the mess hall, they were once again segregated from the
main units, either of recruits or already forming fighting units. Again, they
were only given fifteen minutes, but this time Agent Carter sat on Steve's
other side. She began cutting her food into small bite sized pieces.
Steve looked over at Agent Carter with a look of mild shock. He hadn't expected
her to sit with the recruits; he would've thought she'd sit with the other
officers.
She glanced at him and tilted her head ever so slightly, her dark curls
swishing over her shoulder. "Yes?"
Quickly averting his gaze to his food, Steve felt a blush creep up the back of
his neck into the tips of his ears. "Sorry, Ma'am. Didn't mean to stare . . . I
uh . . . I just thought . . ."
"Not expecting a woman to be able to handle herself in the military?" she asked
casually, though her voice held an undercurrent of frustration.
"No, Ma'am!" Steve stated quickly, "I just . . . uh . . . I thought that you'd
sit with the other officers."
A small smile broke from her and she nodded a bit. "I would but they're
posturing again. I may be an Alpha, but you put together a group of us, and
they play one-up." She took a bite of her breaded meat, what might have been
chicken, could have been pork. "You're one of the Gammas, correct?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Steve nodded, looking back up at Agent Carter. "Erskine picked
me."
She scooped up something that looked like mashed potato in gravy and ate that,
swallowing quickly before speaking. "The majority of your unit are full Alphas,
but there are perhaps three Betas." She looked at Steve for a moment. "Do you
ever wonder what you would be if you hadn't been injured in the womb?"
Sighing as he set down his fork, Steve shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know .
. . if I hadn't . . . well, I wouldn't be who I am today." ‘Probably never
would've met Bucky,’ Steve thought to himself.
"And if you are picked? You'll be changed if this works. Then who would you
be?" she asked before gesturing to his fork. "You've only got ten minutes to
finish eating, Rogers. I suggest you get to it."
"I'd just be a guy from Brooklyn," Steve stated; he picked up his fork again
and began to quickly eat the food in front of him.
She nodded and looked approving. "Good. Wouldn't want you to change, Rogers.
You seem a decent fellow." With that, she stood, apparently done already, and
walked over to the disposal area with her empty tray.
Calvin leaned over on his other side and smiled softly. "I think she likes our
calming influence, being Gammas. They say that scent is the biggest draw or
deterrent, and Alpha's can be overly stimulating when they get their
testosterone or whatever flowing." He looked at Steve. "Miss Carter tends to
eat with me, but I guess now you're included in the fold, too." He didn't seem
bothered by sharing the pretty Brit's attentions.
"Definitely not bad company to keep." Steve smiled before he took another bite.
"I think she'll fold you under her wing, too. Not mother hen or anything, but
she'll be sitting by us for meals and stuff. Some Alphas like to posture and
beat their chests, like Hodge over there. Others like to protect and guide,
like Miss Carter. Here in this unit, you're gonna learn a whole new way of
thinking about your fellow human beings, Rogers." He grinned and scraped up the
last of his potato.
Taking another bite of the questionable meat, Steve chewed and swallowed before
replying, "I don't know about that, but I am glad that I've met a few more
people that I can trust."
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, June 20, 1943: Camp Lehigh, New Jersey, United States of
America
After that first easy night, things got much worse. They exercised rigorously
every morning and afternoon: long runs, obstacle courses, and other
calisthenics. At every turn, it seemed Steve got in trouble, got tangled or
knocked down, or even got singled out by Hodge for abuse. The entire time both
Philips and Cater treated him like each of the other men. Their Sergeant,
though, seemed pleased to yell at Steve and point out every fault, while Agent
Carter, as predicted, often sat with the pair of Gammas at mealtime talking
quietly about training and nothing else.
Hodge was at the lead of the pack, obviously an Alpha, by Steve's new
vocabulary: strong, fast, hard, and a fighter. Most of the men chosen by the
colonel turned out to be Alphas, in fact, with a handful of fiercely leaning
Betas thrown in. Calvin had been right that Steve was learning to look at his
fellows in a whole new light. Now he was seeing people by their Nature rather
than just by male, female, healthy, unhealthy.
Then came the sixth day of training, while they were doing push-ups under
Carter's watchful eye. Calvin seemed well able to do the calisthenics, though
he often kept an eye on the smaller blond beside him. This day, however, Peter
Calvin seemed to be struggling, favoring his right hand and arm.
Steve, however, struggled to lift his torso off the ground, his arms shaking
beneath him. The small blond offered a worried glance to his fellow Gamma; he
didn't know where the other man had hurt his right arm but he made a mental
note to ask Calvin about it when they retired to their bunks.
Agent Carter strode by slowly, a frown on her beautiful face as she eyed both
of the men struggling to keep up. She called out "Up, recruits. Jerks!"
With a large huff, Steve got to his feet and began to perform the jumping
jacks; his chest burned as his lungs struggled to take in a decent amount of
air.
Calvin seemed relieved at the change and rolled to his feet, wincing as he
began to jump up and fling his arms up and out. Carter continued to frown as
she turned slowly on her heel, eyeing the pair. Over by one of the trucks
Colonel Philips and Doctor Erskine seemed to argue about something.
Suddenly, Philips screamed out "grenade!" and a small, dark explosive bounced
into the center of the group of men. The recruits scattered, Calvin diving
behind a nearby truck in an impressive display of speed. Carter ran straight
for the grenade.
Not allowing himself to think, Steve dived onto the ground and curled his body
around the small explosive, trying to save the men in his unit. "Get away!" The
blond called out, "get back!"
Carter took another step towards Steve, looking worried and almost uncertain.
After a few moments nothing happened and Steve looked up, perplexed. "Is this a
test?" The blond asked as he uncurled his body.
Carter smiled at Steve, her eyes lighting in something akin to pride, and
behind her near the truck, Erskine smiled as well. Philips growled something
low to the apparently amused doctor. Hodge peeked out from behind a truck
claiming "dud grenade!", as Calvin looked more impressed than anything.
Striding the rest of the way to the smaller man, Carter offered a hand down to
him. "Congratulations, recruit, you died for the unit. You should be proud."
Her words held a bare trace of humor underneath her clipped British accent.
Steve took the offered hand and let Agent Carter help haul him to his feet.
Looking around, confusion still in his eyes, the small blond turned his gaze
back to the brunet. "Thank you, Ma'am," Steve said. The tiny man was still
confused, had the grenade been a test?
With a soft tone, Carter said, "you have done something the rest of your unit
did not . . . and something that impressed even the Colonel." Loudly, turning
to the hesitantly emerging group, she called "Lunch. Form up and get your
chow!" She strolled over to the truck Calvin had hidden behind and pulled
herself up. "Rogers, help me give out the meals."
Dusting off the rest of the dirt from his uniform, Steve hurried over to meet
up with Carter.
She began to hand him small cardboard box lunches, meaning the group would be
eating cold sandwiches rather than hot food. As she passed the first one off to
Steve, she nodded down to him. "After we eat, Colonel Philips will tell the
unit which man is the lead recruit and which is the second choice. Are you
ready, Rogers?"
Eyes snapping up to meet with Agent Carter's, Steve swallowed and nodded, "Yes,
Ma'am."
Agent Carter had been wrong. Colonel Philips, accompanied by Doctor Erskine,
didn't wait until after the meal. He strode over as soon as every man had a box
lunch and barked out. "After you're done eating, you are to pack up your gear
and move to the other side of the base. You have half an hour after chow."
Sending a frown down to Rogers near his feet, he growled out "Not you, Rogers.
You stay in the barracks. Calvin, you go with the doctor."
Steve smiled at the lanky blond, thinking that Calvin had been chosen for the
lead man for Project Rebirth. He was happy for the other recruit, hopefully
Doctor Erskine would be able to heal his uterine valve, like Calvin had mention
on the first day of boot camp.
The fifteen minute meal rushed by with no one speaking. Hodge frowned over at
the pair of Gammas but, even with his smart-ass attitude, he had proven quite
able to follow orders. The man didn't argue the apparent choice of the two
weakest men in the small unit. Rather, he stood. "Okay, men, you heard the
Colonel. Let's clear out and get resettled." Hodge led the other Alphas and
Betas off to evacuate the small barracks. Peter Calvin rose and disposed of his
trash then followed Doctor Erskine to their small isolation medical area . . .
it hadn't taken long for Steve to discover that the Project Rebirth candidates
had been held in the isolation area of the compound.
Carter disposed of her trash and turned to Steve. "How do you feel, Rogers?"
"Feel, Ma'am?" Steve looked up at Agent Carter with a small smile, "I feel
good. Senior Recruit Calvin deserves the honor of being the lead for Project
Rebirth. He's a good man."
Lifting one perfectly manicured eyebrow, the woman looked the smaller man over.
"Does that mean you're going to refuse your spot?"
"What?" Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing.
Laughing very softly, Carter replied. "You made the lead selection, Steve." It
had been the first time she'd used his given name. "The grenade today was the
final test. Philips finally stopped arguing with Doctor Erskine's choice and
conceded you are what the Project needs."
"I'm . . . I'm the lead?" Steve let the information sink in.
Nodding slowly as she continued to smile, Carter said "yes. You are the one
they'll be using tomorrow, barring your failing this afternoon's final
physical." She tilted her head slightly, dark curls brushing her shoulder. "But
you know you're not allowed to tell anyone? This is a top secret experiment . .
. and it's never been tested in the States before."
Swallowing hard, Steve nodded carefully, immediately thinking of Bucky. He
wouldn't be able to tell his own husband anything; the small blond felt a
twinge of guilt grip his heart. "Yes, of course, Agent Carter."
Apparently the woman noticed his emotional response because she gestured
towards the nearby jeep she often drove. "Why don't we go talk, Steve. I think
I can answer some of your concerns before tomorrow, if you have any."
"Yeah . . . okay." Steve nodded and let Agent Carter lead him to the jeep.
Once they had settled and she drove them out some distance, Carter parked the
jeep next to the halfway flag on the running course. She turned and offered a
small, worried frown to the smaller man. "Okay, now's the time to express your
doubts, because tomorrow you'll be surrounded by government, reporters, and
scientists."
"I . . . I don't have doubts, Ma'am," Steve said quickly, not wanting to ruin
his chances of being accepted into Project Rebirth.
She rolled her eyes. "I wuold have doubts." She shook her head. "I would still
do it, if I signed up and was chosen, but I would have concerns . . . worries .
. . even fears, Steve. Especially when told I can't even tell my family."
Steve sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck, "It's just that . . . I worried
about my . . . friend. He was shipped off the same day I arrived here . . .
he's . . . he's like the only family I have left. He doesn't even know I'm
here."
"You're boyfriend?" she asked, matter-of-fact, as if it weren't a punishable by
death offense.
"What?" Steve exclaimed, eyes wide in fear; he thought he'd been careful, "No!
I ain't no queer, Agent Carter." Not only could they kill Steve if the
government found out, but they could also hurt Bucky.
She nodded slowly. "I didn't say you are homosexual, Steve. I asked if he is
your boyfriend?"
"Ain't that the same thing?" Steve asked, his tone clipped and guarded.
"So, he is," she said, as if his question answered as much since he hadn't
protested a second time.
Steve looked up at Agent Carter, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Snapping
his jaws shut, he looked down at his lap and felt his heart pound heavily in
his chest. "Please . . . you can't tell no one . . . they'd hurt him." His
voice was quiet, almost subdued.
"Doctor Erskine thought as much when he saw you interact in Manhattan," she
added softly. "It was the last piece of information he said he needed." She
turned in the uncomfortable seat and put a hand on Steve's. "I am certainly not
going to turn you in, Steve. I'm not here to trap you into a confession and get
you thrown in the stockade. I drove you out here to ease your fears. Someday we
hope not only to heal birth defects in the womb, but help people understand
that all kinds of Natures are needed in the world. And that includes varied
sexual preferences, as well."
The small blond looked back up at the brunet, eyes searching for any signs that
she may be lying.
Finally, softly, to prove her sincerity, Carter murmured, "I understand how you
feel about him, Steve. I have a girlfriend back home." She waited to see his
reaction.
"What?" Steve gasped, shocked by the confession, "Really?"
With a nod, she said, "it appears to be quite standard, in fact. Aside from
sexual desires, Alphas tend to become . . . mates, if you will . . . with Betas
or Omegas. Sometimes, very rarely, will Alphas mate with Alphas. I'm an Alpha.
Lisette is a Beta." She watched him carefully.
Steve smiled softly and nodded, "I think Bucky would like you," he stated after
a few moments of silence. "Maybe one day you guys can meet."
With a nod and a smile, Carter said "I believe I would like that. And perhaps
you will be able to meet Lisette. She's a spitfire, all sass and attitude."
With a sigh, Peggy Carter looked over the front windscreen of the jeep. "She
reminds me of you in a way."
"How long has it been since you seen her?" Steve asked quietly.
"Six months," she promptly answered. "However, I never get to see her long
enough. I've been involved with the Project for some years." Glancing at Steve,
she added, "I was the Agent they sent in to get Doctor Erskine out of Germany."
"Wow . . . that must've been . . . dangerous." Steve muttered, "But I'm glad
you did it . . . Doctor Erskine is a really good man."
Sighing, she nodded. "I wish we had been in time to get out his partner, Doctor
Keilmeyer. Sadly, our intelligence found that he was killed in the work camp."
She gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"What!" Steve exclaimed; the air from his lungs left his body as if he'd been
punched. He looked down at his lap and clenched his jaw, willing himself not to
cry.
Wincing at his reaction, Peggy looked him over. "I am sorry, Steve. I know you
were friends with Rolf Keilmeyer, were you not? We couldn't get him out in
time." She moved her hand to his arm and squeezed slightly. "But it was his
notes about you that led Abraham Erskine to try to find you. It wasn't easy.
The records with your name and contact information had been destroyed, but we
were able to piece the references together with the file in the warehouse.
Howard Stark found the damaged crate, and it contained your surviving file,
listed only by your patient number. Doctor Erskine was desperate to find you,
insisting that you would be perfect for his research. He never thought someone
with your health would attempt to join the military."
"Bucky didn't think I should've," Steve mumbled, eyes still downcast as he
played with the hem of his shirt. The news that Doctor Keilmeyer had been
killed hit Steve hard, he cared deeply about the man.
"It is a rather odd seeming practice, is it not? Taking the healthy men and
women and leaving the young, old, or ill behind as the main population. One
would think those in charge of war would leave a viable breeding population and
use the outliers instead." Carter looked up at the flag Steve had managed to
retrieve only days before . . . yet another test he'd passed which no one else
had in the small unit. Taking a deep breath, she changed the subject.
"Now, tomorrow after the procedure, Doctor Erskine hopes you will be healed of
your current medical conditions. However, that does not mean that you will
never get sick again. He hopes his treatment will help you resist future
illness and heal faster, but no one can eliminate all disease and illness. Does
that bother you?" Carter turned her head to study the man beside her.
"No, Ma'am. Anything Doctor Erskine can do to help me would be great," Steve
answered quietly.
"Peggy," Carter offered a small smile. "My name is Peggy. And if you survive
this procedure, we should probably be working closely together at the front."
"Peggy," Steve repeated with a small smile and a nod.
"You can't tell your Bucky about what's going on. If you don't survive, you
will be given a closed casket funeral and your next of kin will be told it was
a training accident, is that clear?" She frowned softly.
"Yes, of course," Steve nodded solemnly. He didn't want to think of Bucky
receiving a letter of his death, let alone of him dying from a training
accident.
Nodding, she said, "let us hope you survive." She drew a breath and put both
hands on the wheel. "Now, if this works, you will have to be cleared medically
for duty then others will be enhanced and healed like you. As more soldiers are
enhanced, they will join us at the front." She smiled grimly, not looking at
Steve. "You will be given a cover story to tell your family and friends,
excluding the Project . . . to a degree. Colonel Philips is arranging the cover
story as we speak . . . explaining how you suddenly are healthy and the like."
She looked back at the small blond. "Any other concerns?"
'Great, more lies to tell Bucky,' Steve thought bitterly, but he shook his head
and looked at Peggy. "No . . . thank you for this."
With a nod, she offered another smile. "Well, the barracks should be cleared by
now. Why don't I return you to medical so you can get your final physical
before tomorrow?" The pretty brunette started the car and pulled back onto the
dirt path.
***** Part of the Show *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: June 22, 1943; Brooklyn, New York, United States of
     America
     xxx
     Translations:
     (none)
     .
Setting: AU: Tuesday, June 22, 1943: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
Peggy sat in the backseat on Steve's left, watching out the front of the
private military car. She listened as Steve seemed to almost reminisce about
being beaten to a pulp in several locations. Finally, she turned to him with an
incredulous look. "Do you have something against running away?"
Steve shook his head, mouthing 'no' without sound then said, "you start
running, they'll never let you stop. You stand up, you push back. They can't
say no forever, right?"
Peggy nodded, "I know a little of what that's like, to have every door shut in
your face. Does your friend hold you back, as well?"
"Bucky?" Steve looked over at Peggy and shook his head, "No . . . he always
patched me up and told me how stupid I was to get in a fight with someone twice
my size . . . but he was the one that helped train me when I said I wanted to
join the military right after Hawaii was hit."
"He sounds like an amazing friend, Steve." She looked over at him. "Did he sign
up immediately?"
"Well . . . no. We promised each other we would sign up together . . . but
obviously I didn't get in until Erskine gave me my chance. Bucky was drafted."
Steve answered honestly, talking about his husband made his heart ache.
"He trained you . . . did he teach you other things? Dancing perhaps?" She
offered a small smile to the small blond, trying to alleviate the sadness she
heard and saw in him.
Steve laughed, "Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might
step on. But Bucky always dragged me to clubs and whatnot."
Peggy continued to smile. "You must have danced?"
Shrugging his small shoulders, Steve smiled and said, "the past few years, it
just didn't seem to matter that much. - - figured I'd wait."
"For what?" she asked softly, her voice low enough not to be overheard by the
driver.
Steve nodded and answered back in a whisper, "The right partner."
Peggy smiled and nodded.
The car pulled up to the curb in front of a nondescript building. The pair got
out of the car and Peggy led Steve into the building next door, 'Brooklyn
Antiques,' instead. Unsure why they'd be stopping on the way to his procedure,
Steve silently followed. A discussion about the weather turned out to be some
secret code to get them into a hidden area behind the storeroom. Several
military policemen guarded the corridor and then the pair, agent and recruit,
walked into what could only be called a secret laboratory, like in the penny
novels Steve read at times.
Taking a steadying breath, Steve followed Peggy around the railing and down the
steps to the sunken, machine-filled area containing a very cold looking metal
bed. In the lab stood Doctor Erskine talking with none other than the inventor
and scientist, Howard Stark. The doctor turned toward Steve with a smile and
walked over to greet him. A reporter took a picture, causing the doctor to snap
in irritation. The man with the camera backed away instantly while Steve tried
to blink away the the black spots from the flash.
With a return to his gentle smile, Abraham said, "are you ready?" When Steve
nodded, too overwhelmed to speak due to the buzz of activity all around them.
The doctor nodded in return. "Good." He led the blond into the central pit and
over to the table.
There, checking come readings on one of the many incomprehensible machines
stood the inventor and scientist, Howard Stark. The man seemed suave and self-
assured, in complete control, handsome, and very much the point of focus to
many in the room. Steve smiled at the sight of the inventor, remembering the
night of the expo not too long ago. Just that thought made the small blond long
for his husband even more.
Howard turned and smiled, eyes friendly. "Hello. You must be Steven Rogers?
Howard Stark." He held out his hand, confidence and friendliness emanating
almost like a welcome scent from the man.
Shaking Howard's hand firmly, Steve offered him a kind smile, "It's a pleasure,
Mr. Stark."
"Howard," the man corrected, smiling, and turned to begin warming up his
machines.
"Steven," Doctor Erskine interrupted, "remove your shirt, tie, belt, hat,
shoes, and socks . . . anything restrictive. Unfasten your trousers just in
case." He offered a sheepish smile at the over-sized uniform Steve had never
managed to get the tailors to fully correct.
Doing as ordered, Steve carefully folded and lay his shirt on a nearby lab
chair to join his hat and tie. The small blond flushed, not meeting anyone's
eyes, as he unfastened his belt and slipped it from the loops, dropping it
carefully on his shirt. He removed his shoes and socks, lining them up as
carefully as he ever had. He took a breath then unfastened his trousers, using
a hand to keep them up. As he stepped towards the central metal and leather
table, a once familiar red-haired doctor stepped into the circular depression
of the lab.
"Are you wearing any jewelry, watch? Ring?" the redhead asked and Steve froze
for a moment, staring at the familiar seeming doctor.
Finally, the words sunk in. Fumbling, Steve reached below his undershirt to
pull out the silver chain with his wedding ring still clasped securely on it.
"Just this," he muttered softly, hand protectively grasping the small tie he
had to his secret husband fighting overseas.
The doctor looked towards Howard Stark and asked, rather loudly, "chain and
ring, Mister Stark?"
Without looking up, Howard shook his head. "No metal bits. Sorry. Might burn
the skin."
Steve's fingers clasped tighter over his ring. If he died, he wanted to die
still wearing Bucky's ring . . . still linked to the man he loved. A movement
from the corner of his eye drew the blond's worried gaze. Peggy.
She held out a hand and smiled softly, her eyes relaying the understanding of
just how precious that simple seeming token really was. "I'll keep it safe for
you, Steve," she said, softly. "Make sure you get it back."
Drawing a deep breath, feeling an aching tightness in his lower lungs, Steve
nodded and slipped the chain from around his throat. He handed the jewelry to
Peggy, his blue eyes meeting and holding hers for a long minute. "It's all I
have," he said, and she nodded.
With a sharp nod of return, Peggy claimed, just a bit louder, "we should all
honor our parents, Steve." It wasn't a lie - - just misdirection, and Steve was
grateful for her cleverness.
Finally, the small, skinny blond used a provided step stool to climb onto the
over-sized bed. Once ready, Steve watched as scientists or doctors or both
rushed around, the redhead strapping him to the table as Doctor Erskine turned
to make a speech about the process and goals, using a microphone so those in
the viewing area, Peggy joining them, could hear. Men in military uniforms,
reporters, and a politician or two stood watching with stern, almost
disapproving expressions. Peggy looked like she tried to hide worry.
The red-haired doctor readied a rather impressive hypodermic needle and gave
Steve a burning shot in his upper left arm. It hurt, but he'd had a lot worse,
and so was surprised that Doctor Erskine had said the injections would be
painful. "That wasn't so bad," he clarified for those close by.
Abraham gave him a rueful shrug. "That was penicillin."
Several large mechanical wings closed over Steve's arms and legs as the table
shifted, the topp rising and the feet staying still, so that the table soon
stood on end. Suddenly several large needles punctured each limb and Steve
couldn't find the breath to scream, too shocked by the overwhelming burning
pain. The entire wall of the machine enclosed him in a huge tube.
A metallic knock came from the front of the tube, about level with Steve's
sweat-drenched face. "Steven? Are you alright?"
Without really thinking, Steve gasped out "I guess it's too late to go to the
bathroom?" He hadn't needed to go before those shots, and he certainly didn't
need to go now . . . but he wondered just how much more he had to take before
they let him go rest and recuperate. That's always what he'd had to do in the
past: get treatment and shots then go sleep for a day or so.
A small chuckle sounded from near the tube, but not in front, and Steve smiled
softly to himself. Well, if this treatment killed him, he could have probably
had worse last words. Maybe he'd have enough energy to come up with something
better in a few minutes.
"And the potassium and nitramine will be triggered by the vita-rays . . . "
Doctor Erskine's voice came more as a whisper, signaling that he spoke to Steve
directly not into the microphone, but the rest was cut off by the intense pain
shooting throughout Steve's body.
Steve had tried to hold in the screams that wanted to break past his lips, but
after the pain only seemed to get worse, he let out a loud scream. It felt like
his body was being ripped apart and put back together again, all the muscles
and bones seemed to burn with a fiery pain.
Sounding worried, almost desperate, Peggy Carter's voice broke through his
pain, "shut it down! Get him out of there!"
"No!" Steve suddenly shouted, "No! I can do this!"
Apparently they listened because the pain increased until finally the world
went dark. As the tube slowly opened, it became apparent that Steve had not, in
fact, passed out or gone blind - - and everyone seemed a bit shorter than just
moments before.
Peggy stepped forward; no longer three inches taller than him, she stood maybe
half a foot shorter! She hesitated then lay a hand on his chest and sighed, a
small smile of wonder crossing her pretty features. "How . . . how do you feel,
Steve?" her voice broke slightly and she signaled to a nurse behind her to hand
her a blanket.
Taking a deep breath, Steve smiled at Peggy before answering, "Taller."
If the last half hour had moved quickly, the next few minutes flew by in a
blink and dragged so long it felt a year crept by. The lab blew up, shots rang
out, and Abraham Erskine lay on the ground, bleeding in Steve's arms.
The doctor pointed at Steve's chest then seemed to shrink as his eyes glossed
over and remained staring fixedly at nothing.
Later Steve would hash and rehash his actions: running after the assassin,
Peggy shooting the retreating car, eventually catch up to the man, but being
unable to stop his suicide by cyanide, and the long, angry, frustrated trudge
back to the destroyed lab.
There, Colonel Phillips spoke to a man in a suit. Noticing Steve, he frowned
and signaled the recruit over to the remaining waiting doctor. The redhead
smiled nervously at Steve. "Mister Rogers? You might not remember me . . ." he
began.
"No, Sir. I'm sorry, I don't." Steve answered honestly, still feeling the
reeling loss of Doctor Erskine.
Nodding and sighing, the man patted the now table once more positioned lying
down. "I need to draw blood and take scans, please, Mister Rogers? How do you
feel? Any abdominal cramping?"
Steve blinked and looked down, mind seeming to clear a little, dredging up a
name from a couple years ago., "Doctor Johnson?"
Christopher smiled and nodded. "Yes. You do recall me? How are you feeling?"
"I'm sorry . . ." Steve felt horrible for not recognizing the doctor.
The redhead moved precisely, efficiently, as he drew several tubes of blood and
let Howard Stark use his mysterious machines to run what he called 'scans.'
Finally, the inventor offered a troubled look at Steve, reviewing the scans
that he alone could read. Christopher, however, patted Steve's arm. "So, feel
different? Stronger? Breath easier?" he sounded hopeful.
"Yeah . . . I feel great," Steve said with a sad smile.
Christopher nodded. "We'll need samples," the doctor glanced over at the
Colonel and flushed a bit. "To verify that all of the desired results occurred.
Abraham did explain what he hoped to achieve here?" Doctor Johnson suddenly
gulped several times, his adam's apple bobbing as he choked on the confused
grief. "We need a tissue sample and . . . we need you to fill a couple of
specimen cups?" He looked back at Steve, trying to ignore the scowling officer.
"Yes, of course. Anything you need." Steve said, offering a reassuring smile to
Johnson.
"If you'd like some magazines . . . or pictures of your girlfriend?"
Christopher turned to retrieve two cups with lids. He spun back and offered
them to Steve, gesturing to the hallway which lead to a bathroom.
"No, I'm quite alright . . . thank you." Steve took the cups and made his way
to the restroom that Christopher had pointed towards. After a several minutes
Steve came up and handed Doctor Johnson the sample cups with a sheepish smile.
Unlike ever before, this time his semen was thick, solid white, and in copious
amounts.
Johnson hurried off to test the samples, leaving the now six foot two inch
blond man with the smaller Peggy Carter. She sighed and wrapped the blanket
around him once more. "Your blood may hold the key to Abraham's serum," she
whispered. "His notes are scattered and even Howard Stark has no idea the
complete formula."
Colonel Philips barked out suddenly, "and as such you are not being sent to the
lines. We need you here so Stark can examine you and figure this out." He gave
a glare at Steve unlike he'd ever used on the man when he was small and
fragile. Whirling around, the Colonel left the room.
Doctor Johnson turned, excited suddenly and said. "Who'd have thought you'd be
an Alpha, huh, Mister Rogers? I've tested the samples and, congratulations, you
should have absolutely no trouble siring children. In fact, you have an
overabundance of spermatozoa . . . made to breed, I'd said," he chuckled
softly, a bit of grief madness around his eyes that only time would heal.
Unsure exactly how to respond to that news, Steve merely flushed and looked at
the floor. He hadn't minded so much being sterile; it wasn't like he could have
children with Bucky anyway, so what would he need with an 'overabundance' of
sperm?
Peggy sighed, frustrated suddenly. "Well," she said softly, an edge to her
voice, "if only one could have made it, he would be glad it was you, Steve,"
she comforted. She pressed something warm and metallic into his hand: his chain
and ring. He slid them into his pocket, not wanting to draw attention to his
personal business.
"Thank you . . ." Steve started but stopped when another man came forward.
Interrupting the conversation, the man in the suit held out his hand, grinning
up at Steve. "Senator Brandt. Wow, impressive! It really worked!"
"Sir," Steve greeted with a polite nod of his head.
"I couldn't help but overhear that you aren't being sent overseas, son?" the
senator said, smiling slightly.
"You heard right," Steve answered with a bitter tone.
"What if I told you I have a way for you to help the war effort more than dying
once on the front lines, son? That you can help the entire military on both
fronts?" The senator smiled wider.
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, June 22, 1943: Brooklyn, New York, United States of
America
It had taken the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening for the
senator to get Steve cleared to join the USO tour to help sell war bonds and
keep up morale. The senator seemed quite pleased to gesture into a large
cafeteria near a theater close by. "So, Steven, here you are. These are the
chorus girls you'll be working with, the man who'll be Hitler for you to punch
out, and the behind the scenes crew who run lights and curtains and other
things. You'll get your own room and even your own dressing room . . . our
Hitler prefers to get ready in a bathroom instead of a dressing room. What do
you think?"
Steve looked around; he'd finally become someone who could easily help overseas
and fight for the country, but his uniqueness had forced to stay stateside yet
again. Steve buried his frustration. "It's . . . alright." He offered the
senator a small smile.
Brandt looked around proudly. "Well, no mention of the project, yes? But you
are free to brag to your family and friends that you're in the USO, son. I'm
sure they'll be proud of your contribution. After all, it's the performers here
who earn the funds for the weapons we send overseas." He grinned up at Steve.
"I'll leave you to get to know your fellow performers over dinner."
And for perhaps the first time in his life, Steve was surrounded by women and
men interested in him, what he said, his opinions. The man who played Hitler
seemed quite taken with Steve and followed his every word. It was almost as if
in that one half hour of torture, Steve had turned into Bucky Barnes . . . his
popularity and apparently influence seemed almost overwhelming.
Alone in his assigned room, getting ready to join the rest of the cast for
dinner, Steve pulled the silver chain from his pocket. He tried to clasp it
around his neck but found the linked metal chain too short to fasten . . . his
neck had greatly increased in girth. Wanting to cry, Steve scrubbed at his
eyes. He hadn't had time to grieve Doctor Erskine, nor even properly grieve
Doctor Keilmeyer, and now the cruelest blow: he no longer could wear Bucky's
chain and ring. Maybe as a bracelet? Steve began to wind the chain around his
thick wrist but fumbled the clasp one-handed, the end slipping from his grip
and the ring flinging off onto the floor with a clatter. Gasping in horror,
Steve flung himself after the ring, narrowly catching the rolling circle of
gold before it could go down the floor grate.
With a sigh of relief, Steve brought the wedding ring to his lips and kissed
it, let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. He slipped the ring onto his
left ring finger without really thinking about it, wanting to feel it where
Bucky had placed it that Christmas day. As the metal slid securely over his
knuckle and seemed to lightly rest over his flesh, Steve's eyes shot open and
he lifted his hand to study it in wonder.
Yes, he was taller than before, looking down on people he'd looked up to
before. His body was strong and faster and he had no trouble running without an
asthma attack. But the changes hadn't seemed real, seemed miraculous, until
that moment when he stared at the perfect fit of his wedding ring. Slowly his
sweet smile crossed his face and Steve slid the ring off with a small amount of
welcome difficulty. He thought for a long moment, recalling Bucky's last day,
and nodded. Steve slid the band of gold onto his right ring finger, just as his
husband had done over a week before. He could and would wear his wedding ring
now . . . forever.
***** Defiance *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Graphic rape and medical experimentation, along with war/
     prison typical violence
     xxx
     Setting: AU: October 16 - November 3, 1943; Azzano, Italy and
     Austrian Alps, Austria
     xxx
     Translations:
     Rendez-vous - Appointment - French
     .
     Repet, domnule - Repeat, Sir! - Romanian
     .
     Da, domnule, mă predau - Yes, sir, I surrender. - Romanian
     .
     en masse - in mass - French
     .
     Реци болесни и повређени ће ићи у изолацију - Tell the ill and
     injured they will go to isolation. - Serbian
     .
     Singur? Pentru oamenii bolnavi? - Alone? Sick People? - Romanian
     .
     Приватна здравствена соба - Private medical room - Serbian
     .
     Esti sârb? - Are you Serbian? - Romanian
     .
     Ne-am Serbia ia prizonier? - Did Serbia take us prisoner? - Romanian
     .
     Не, будало. Ви сте затвореник Хидра. Поздрав, Хидра! - No, fool. You
     are a prisoner of Hydra. Hail, Hydra! - Serbian
     .
     Hagel, Hydra! - Hail Hydra - German
     .
     Ви ћете радити за своју храну или ћеш умрети - You will work for your
     food or you will die. - Serbian
     .
     Или се придружите славни Хидра! - Or join the glorious Hydra! -
     Serbian
     .
     Sergentul James Barnes, trei-două-cinci-cinci-șapte-zero,-trei-și-opt
     - Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight -
     Romanian
     .
     Jacques Dernier, Vive la France! - Jaques Dernier, long live France!
     - French
     .
     сте добили болестан, румунски - you have gotten ill, Romanian. -
     Serbian
     .
     Фуцк иоу - Fuck you - Serbian
     .
     er wird auf die Isolierstation gehen oder ich werde ihn hier zu töten
     - he will go to the isolation ward or I will kill him right here. -
     German
     .
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
     Puis-je l'avoir? - May I have that? - French
     .
     Je vous remercie. Vous êtes ami m'a sauvé deux fois maintenant. Je
     n'oublierai pas - Thank you. You’re friend has saved me twice now. I
     will not forget. - French
     .
     Il est un homme bon . . . a un bon coeur - He’s a good man . . . with
     a good heart. - French
     .
     Et toi aussi. Que les anges venu pour lui rapidement - And so are
     you. May the angels come for him swiftly. - French
     .
Setting: AU: Saturday, October 16, 1943: Azzano, Italy and Austrian Alps,
Austria
Folding the letter once more, Bucky slid the worn, dirtied pages into the
envelope and tucked it into his shirt, next to his skin. The sound of shouting
and gunfire distracted him, and the brunet looked back, over his head, though
he could see little over the lip of the trench: night sky, trees, and stars,
muted by explosions every once in awhile. It was so dark the soldier hadn’t
actually been able to see the words on his letter, but he knew them by heart.
He’d actually been smelling the missive, not reading it; the sweet natural
scent of his husband had faded from the paper, but Bucky still tried to get any
sensation he could from the month-old correspondence - - letters came in so
sporadically since the 107th had engaged the enemy at Azzano, Italy.
With a sigh, Bucky scooped up his rifle and paused, counting silently before he
popped over the rim of the foxhole and fired on anything that moved out on the
plain. He ducked back down and began drawing deep, quiet breaths to calm his
racing heart. He didn’t worry about accidentally shooting his own troops; only
the enemy lay out there at the moment. The 107th, and reportedly several other
allied units, had one goal at the moment: take the small base up the hill.
After a set count, Bucky popped up, shot several rounds, then ducked back down.
As he breathed, he waited and counted.
A small unit of Army Rangers had been scheduled to Rendez-vous with Bucky and
his radioman Gabe Jones, a dark skinned musician who fortunately spoke both
French and German. Once the Rangers arrived, Gabe, Bucky, and two other
infantrymen would accompany them to scout the hill. Dum Dum, the red-haired
brawler from Boston, would take a second small group shortly after and further
to the east. But until their allies arrived and Bucky had something else to do,
he and his men would keep up the wave of gunfire, protecting the ditch and
hopefully taking down enemy soldiers at the same time. Beyond the ditch, over
three more hills back away from the front, stood a command and medical camp
rapidly deployed as support for this frontal assault.
As Bucky fired over the earthen barrier, a small group of people dropped over
the back rise, each of them whispering “Ocelot Rainbow” as they moved. With
relief at the familiar code, Bucky stopped firing and turned to the Rangers.
“Two units of four each, scouting ahead,” he suggested, receiving a nod from
the lead Ranger.
Gabe pressed the button on his transmitter and said firmly, “Do not fire! I
repeat, do not fire! Field is loaded! Do not fire, over!”
Once the word had been spread, Bucky slipped easily over the side of the
trench, following the Ranger leading his small group, knowing that a few feet
away and two minutes behind, Dum Dum and his group would follow.
Moving stealthily, carrying their weapons at the ready, the groups approached
through fire, craters, and dead and wounded. Not allowing himself to be
distracted, the brunet Sergeant refused to look at the men scattered broken on
the ground; he could do nothing for them.
At the top of the hill, a firestorm of explosive mortars followed by a hail of
hot lead and live grenades rained down on the scouts. “Retreat!” Bucky called,
cursing himself for the trap they’d blindly slid into. The raid had ended
before it had properly begun.
As mortars hit all around the small groups, earth and rock became deadly
missiles. Fire roared up and the men of the scout parties had to turn and run
back to their trenches. With a mighty leap, Bucky threw himself into the ditch,
slamming against the far side with the force of his jump. Dum Dum and Gabe
followed, along with the other five men.
Releasing a curse under his breath, Dum Dum looked at the younger sergeant,
“There’s gotta be at least five mortar companies out there”
Glancing over at their communications specialist, Bucky ordered, “Radio B
company. Tell them we need cover.” He glanced back up at the ridge before him.
Gabe grimaced and motioned towards the communication unit on his lap, smoking
and completely useless, “That might be tough”
Dugan’s eyes widened slightly as movement across from him caught his eye.
“Bucky, behind you!”
A series of bullets strafed the trench as Bucky dodged. Dum Dum nearly got hit,
but only his hat took the bullet, knocking it from his head. Gabe tossed the
comm unit, ducking into a ball.
Bucky glanced over the rim, saw at least two platoons of soldiers, but he
couldn’t identify them in the dark. In warning he screamed, “Here they come!”
and switched to the other side, next to Gabe, closest to the hill they’d failed
to take.
Grumbling as he picked up his shot-off bowler, Dugan dusted off some of the
dirt and stuck it back on his head, “I hate these guys.”
A sudden flash of blue lightening caught the three men’s attention, they
watched as a fellow soldier was hit with the flash and disintegrated before
their very eyes. Bucky’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock as he
took in what had just happened. Another hit of lightning lit up the field,
taking out any man in its path, regardless of which side he fought for. Both
Axis and Allies soldiers were being disintegrated!
Gabe let out a ragged breath and shook his head, staring horrified at the scene
in front of him, “No!”
Dugan slowly straightened as he looked over Bucky’s shoulder at the field.
Sounding almost frantic, Gabe looked at Bucky, “what the hell was that?”
All three stood from the ditch to get a look, confusion crossing Bucky’s pretty
features.
Dum Dum focused on two bright blue lights in the smoke; cautiously he said,
“that looks . . . new.”
Those two lights came closer, rumbling as if the earth would cave in below
them. The darkness regurgitated a humongous tank behind a running, chaotic mass
of humanity. Bucky’s confusion turned to worry, fear, and shock all at once.
Without hesitation, the gun port rotated and the tank aimed directly for the
men on the lip of the trench.
Terror filled the Sergeant and he dove face first into the foul mud, screaming
“Duck!”
Dugan and Gabe dove back into the ditch followed instantly by the over-bright
blue light.
Many of the men who didn’t make it to the ditch, or didn’t duck low enough,
were slaughtered, gone in a blink of an eye. As confusion fused into sickening
silence, a voice called over the trench in a foreign language, and those in the
ditch below looked around, hesitant.
As their neighboring soldiers’ eyes focused on Gabe, the man shook his head. He
didn’t know what the enemies said; it definitely wasn’t French or German.
The angry words came again and Bucky stood, arms high, weapon left on the
ground.
Looking at the sergeant with wide eyes, Dugan asked incredulously, “you speak
that shit?”
Bucky answered in a steady voice, far from the dread he felt inside, “nope, but
if I had a big ass tank that shot lightning, I think my first words would be
‘surrender or I kill your sorry ass’.”
The others soldiers stood and several men in black leather with oddly shaped
gas masks and thick goggles carrying long, sleek black rifles stood in a vast
line, elbow to elbow, up and down the trench. The man three down from where
Bucky stood, almost directly in front of Dum Dum, screamed his phrase again.
Bucky studied the apparent leader carefully and noticed the man waved his hand,
palm down, towards the ground. Bucky dropped to his knees and put his hands on
his head. His men followed suit, imitated by others up and down the field, a
mass surrender without so much as a single shot in retaliation. The man on the
opposite force nodded once and screamed something entirely different. He seemed
to look directly at Bucky, as if he expected he’d found someone who understood
his words.
Bucky couldn’t clearly hear what the man said behind his mask, but some of it
sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps he spoke a similar language. Taking a wild
guess, Bucky called out, in unaccented Romanian, “Repet, domnule!”
The man strode directly over to Bucky and put the barrel of his odd-looking
rifle right to Bucky’s temple. He repeated his phrase, and Bucky caught the
general idea of what the man wanted. He hadn’t spoken Romanian but something
that derived from the same lingual base. Bucky, translating to English, called
out “Chimera wants our lives! We must surrender!” He had no idea who Chimera,
or whatever he’d said, was, but Bucky was willing to bet the group didn’t
appreciate rebellious prisoners.
Now even the men who knew Bucky, had served with him over the months they’d
been on the front, stared in confusion and awe at the Sergeant. Jenkins, the
ass from Bucky’s basic training, called out “what the hell? You understand him,
Sarge?”
“Surrender, Jenkins. Talk later!” Bucky called back, staring up into the dark,
unreadable lenses of the strange gas mask. Bucky nodded at the man and agreed,
again in Romanian, “Da, domnule, mă predau.”
Dum Dum and Gabe followed the sergeant, trusting Bucky’s judgement. They
dropped their weapons and held still.
The rest of the desolated troops caught on and surrendered en masse. A handful
refused but were disintegrated on the spot by controlled lightning bursts - -
no one else rebelled. The spokesman waved his free hand towards the smoking,
flaming hill. His men pointed weapons at the surrendering allies, forcing them
to march back up the hill they’d tried to claim. At the top sat the destroyed
Nazi base, smoking and on fire, but no signs of bodies remaining.
And the group of several hundred men were marched further into enemy territory.
By Bucky’s guess they headed further into the Italian Alps . . . in October
that mean ever increasingly cold weather.
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, October 19, 1943: Austrian Alps, Austria
The mass of weary soldiers trudged through barren landscape and destroyed trees
into an ever increasing woods, snow littering the ground and turning the dirt a
varying hard texture and churned mud. As they made the exhausting, painful
journey, men collapsed from prior injury, illness, or even hunger. The
prisoners had been provided rations once a day and water twice, not enough by
far to keep up strength or energy. Medical care had been withheld and anyone
who dropped had been shot where they lay. The enemy gave only one warning shout
to the fallen man before disintegrating him with blue lightning.
Three days later, the remaining men were herded into a large, old stone
compound surrounded by weaponry, vehicles, and black-clad soldiers.
Inside the largest building, the group was herded into a series of round floor
to ceiling cages of strong, thick iron bars. After only a few minutes, the man
they’d identified as the leader, the only one who had spoken, beyond a firing
warning, the entire time they’d marched, walked past each cage and either
pointed out the sickest and most injured or moved on to the next prison cell.
Those he pointed out were removed and carried, in few cases forcefully, down
the hall, deeper into the grand building.
Finally, the leader appeared before Bucky, apparently determining that the
brunet American was the spokesman as he had been the only one to effectively
communicate, though Bucky suspected others may have understood the man and let
the ‘crazy American’ answer. The man looked down on the brunet soldier and
spoke, rather clearly, in his foreign tongue “Реци болесни и повређени ће ићи у
изолацију.”
Bucky had been right; the man spoke a language with roots similar to Romanian.
With a frown, the lingual hobbyist tried to translate for the others; he only
knew a few words of Serbian, enough to travel with in a pinch. Thus, he said,
loudly, “if you are sick or hurt, you go alone.” He didn’t think that sounded
right, so dared ask, “Singur? Pentru oamenii bolnavi?”
“Приватна здравствена соба.” The dark clad man insisted back.
Bucky nodded and called, “private treatment. I think he means isolation.”
Waiting a few heartbeats, the brunet called to the prison guard before the
unknown man could walk away, “Esti sârb? Ne-am Serbia ia prizonier?”
“Не, будало. Ви сте затвореник Хидра. Поздрав, Хидра!” the man screamed, hand
shooting out in the familiar Nazi salute, but the words did not match what
Bucky would have expected.
Suddenly, a variety of voices answered the man in many languages. A man nearby
with a deep bass voice answered “Hagel, Hydra!”
“Hydra?” Whispered Gabe, but Bucky merely shut his mouth. He had no idea who
Hydra was, or who they worked for, but he suspected they were a very
determined, very deadly faction with their own agenda, apart from either Axis
or Ally.
The Serbian man seemed to look straight at Gabe then turned back to Bucky. “Ви
ћете радити за своју храну или ћеш умрети.”
Bucky nodded and translated loudly, “We work to eat or we die.”
With a nod, straightening, the dark clad Serbian reached through the bars,
grabbed Bucky by the shoulder, and pulled the taller man close to the bars. In
an almost reverential tone, their captor stated, “Или се придружите славни
Хидра!”
Bucky didn’t need a translator to understand what he’d been offered. Join them?
Not in this lifetime! Loudly, defiantly, in Romanian, he screamed “Sergentul
James Barnes, trei-două-cinci-cinci-șapte-zero,-trei-și-opt!” Then, looking
around at the other prisoners, he changed to English “Sergeant James Barnes,
three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight!”
In echoing defiance, across the large room, rose the answering calls of many
voices, overlapping in a cacophony of names, numbers, ranks, and even a few
non-English languages. Right next to Bucky, a man screamed in fluent French
“Jacques Dernier, Vive la France!”
xxx
Setting: AU: Friday, October 22, 1943: Austrian Alps, Austria
In the entire time James Buchanan Barnes had been in the military, overseas, in
the heat of battle, or even lying in a cold ditch waiting for orders, he’d
never once gotten ill. He’d survived their last battle unhurt, even managing to
save several hundreds of men from being disintegrated, even if that meant
giving themselves over to forced labor in inhumane conditions. Bucky had
marched three days through forest, snow, and mountains, with little to drink
and less to eat, and the American Sergeant had managed to stay strong and in
relatively good spirits. He translated willingly for his men, giving a broken
version of their captor’s Serbian orders. And, along with the vast group of
prisoners, Bucky had been locked into relatively damp, cold stone cells,
surrounded by a circle of bars with only one bucket to share among the men in
the cell and a grate in the ceiling allowing freezing, foul-scented wind to
blow down on them.
Finally, after all that, Bucky developed a deep chest cough, fever, and
weakened shaking limbs.
Miserable, he tried to keep his cough quiet, smothering his rasping hack in the
jacket he’d pulled off in a fit of fever-heat. Drenched in sweat and rapidly
cooling, Bucky’s body shook so much, he could barely squat near the bars. With
a shake of his head, he refused the gruel-type food Gabe Jones tried to offer
him; his throat hurt too much to choke down more than a little water . . . and
already that had come back up once or twice.
“C’mon man, ya gotta eat,” Gabe whispered harshly, eyes darting around to make
sure none of the guards could hear them. “Ya gotta get your strength back.”
Bucky coughed into the jacket again and gasped, his voice a harsh rasp,
“nauseous . . .”
Dugan winced at the wracking cough and snuck in a quick, concerned glance at
Gabe before looking back at Bucky. “I know you are Sergeant, but ya gotta try .
. . just a little?”
Bucky opened his mouth, his normally olive-toned skin a pale greenish colored
bronze. He looked like he was about to collapse, but he tried, as they’d
instructed. He doubted he’d manage to keep even a spoonful of the thin porridge
down.
With a little sigh, Gabe scooped up a little of the foul tasting food and fed
the spoonful into Bucky’s mouth. Dugan and he had come to an agreement, they
would not let the guards figure out the sergeant was sick . . . they couldn’t
let Bucky be taken away. Men never came back once they were taken away.
The man immediately clasped a hand over his own mouth, trying to force himself
to swallow the food. His eyes watered and he went another shade of sickly pale,
but he managed to swallow past the burn in his throat. Hesitantly he shifted
his hand to rest on his own shoulder, knowing if he let it drop, he might not
have the energy to pick it all the way back up again. And if they were going to
fee him, he’d need to use his hand to hold back the inevitable vomit, forcing
himself to swallow that back down as well.
Unfortunately, Bucky broke into another deep, hacking cough just as their
Serbian captor strode towards them. The man paused, foot slowly lowered,
expression hidden behind his mask. Swiftly, he signaled two other soldiers to
attend him and the trio walked quickly over to the cell. When the cough faded
off, Bucky trembled, leaning into Gabe, his skin clammy and feverish at the
same time. The Serbian crossed his arms, apparently studying the definitely
sick man.
Gabe looked up at the Serbian, a defiant gleam in his eyes, however he fought
the urge to wrap his arm around Bucky.
With a nod, the man said, almost gently, “сте добили болестан, румунски.”
“Фуцк иоу!” Bucky rasped out in Serbian; that was one of the phrases he did
know. He didn’t care if his mother would have washed his mouth with harsh soap,
either.
Looking over at Dugan and then back at the guard, Gabe shook his head; he
didn’t know if the guard could even understand him but he had to try, “he’s not
sick! Just a little tired.”
A fourth black-clad soldier strode over with a lighting gun. He aimed it into
the cell, directly at Bucky. This man called, in German, “er wird auf die
Isolierstation gehen oder ich werde ihn hier zu töten.”
Gabe felt helpless, he couldn’t do anything to prevent these men taking his
friend.
“Let me go, Gabe, Dum,” Bucky rasped softly, exhausted. He didn’t want to die,
but the brunet feared these Hydra men would kill the other Americans happily.
Weakly, he fumbled into his T-shirt and pulled out a sweat-drenched, foul
smelling envelop. “Dum, give this to Cariad. It’s his.”
Sighing, Gabe nodded and looked away; he couldn’t watch the guards drag the
sergeant away.
Jaw clenched, Dugan nodded firmly and took the envelope from Bucky’s shaking
fingers, “sure thing, Sergeant.”
The cage swung open and the Serbian pulled out the weak American while the
three other soldiers covered him. Hefting Bucky against his side, he pulled the
brunet back from the cell and the barred door swung shut, locking once more. As
the foursome dragged Bucky down the hall, past many a silently watching man,
the small Frenchman who’d been locked in with them pointed to the jacket left
behind on the dirty cell floor. “Puis-je l'avoir?”
Gabe narrowed his eyes in the other man’s direction and snatched up Bucky’s
discarded jacket. He looked at the Frenchman, dressed in a thin, short-sleeved
shirt then sighed; running his fingers along the thick material of Bucky’s
jacket, Gabe nodded and threw the garment at the man. Bucky wouldn’t have
wanted it to go to waste.
Catching it deftly, the Frenchman slid the warm material over his small body
and called, “Je vous remercie. Vous êtes ami m'a sauvé deux fois maintenant. Je
n'oublierai pas.”
“Il est un homme bon . . . a un bon coeur,” Gabe replied softly, his eyes
flickered up to look at the long hallway that Bucky had been dragged down.
“Et toi aussi. Que les anges venu pour lui rapidement,” the man replied.
The words of his friends faded by then and Bucky began another hacking, body
wracking cough. He hung limp by the time it finished, unaware and little caring
just where he had been taken. No one had returned from isolation; the brunet
felt those taken here were most likely killed swiftly to avoid wasting time on
their care.
A pair of enemy soldiers lifted the sick American onto a hard, metal table then
backed off. One man, in broken English, reported, “this one speaks much,
Doctor.”
A short, balding man in a lab coat turned to look at the sick soldier on the
table, pushing his thick glasses up; the man said in a strong Swiss accent,
“mouthy soldier, huh? Well, we shall see after we begin our experiment. What is
your name, soldier?”
“Not mouthy,” Bucky panted. “I speak languages.” He took some painful breaths
then answered the man, “Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-
three-eight.”
Writing something down on a notepad, the doctor looked over at Bucky with mild
amusement and curiosity, “Languages? What languages do you speak, Sergeant
Barnes?”
“Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight,” repeated
the weakened soldier, defiantly.
Sighing, the doctor jotted something else down before setting the notepad down
on a table. “All you soldiers are the same.” The small man plucked something
off the the small table set up near the edge of the metal surface.
“He speaks Romanian fluently . . . and some Serbian,” the black-clad Serbian
reported in perfect English.
“Very interesting. Smart soldier, yes?” The doctor held up a syringe filled
with a bright blue liquid and tapped it a few times.
“He may understand French and German, but I have not heard him directly speak
either language, Doctor,” the enemy reported again.
In a rasp, Bucky said “Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-
three-eight.”
“Strap him down,” the doctor ordered but he looked down at Bucky with intrigue.
“Pretty,” the man said, confusing Bucky into shutting up for the moment. The
man quickly drew heavy leather and metal straps across the sick man’s body,
fastening them then drawing them even tighter, practically cutting off Bucky’s
breathing. “He is perhaps not what you seek, Doctor? He is too pretty.”
Pulling up the dirtied sleeve of Bucky’s left arm, the doctor looked up at the
guard with a disgusted sneer, “he may be just what I am looking for, soldier.”
Without comment, the man nodded behind his intricate all-covering gas mask.
“Shall I undress him?”
“All you soldiers think about is sex,” the doctor shook his head and looked
back down at Bucky’s arm, he tapped the syringe a few more times.
With a bark of laughter, the man shot back, “he is too ill for sex, doctor. He
would die below me. I can wait.”
“Good,” the doctor moved to place the needle against Bucky’s vein.
Bucky remained silent, horrified at what he’d heard. Secretly, he felt relief
that none of the prisoners had plotted an escape in front of the enemy; while
these black-clad soldiers had never spoken in English, it was quite apparent
that many of them understood the language quite well.
The doctor pushed the syringe against Bucky’s clammy skin.
Just before the needle broke his skin, Bucky began to struggle against his
bonds.
“Now, now, Sergeant Barnes . . . do not make this harder than it has to be,”
the doctor chided gently, as if speaking to a child.
“What are you doing to me?” Bucky hoarsely rasped, anger in his eyes
overshadowing but not completely hiding his fear.
“We are healing you, Sergeant Barnes,” the doctor answered with a smug smile
and then plunged the needle deep into Bucky’s vein.
“That stuff looks like the stuff in the guns,” Bucky eyed the fluid as best he
could then screamed as the blue lightning ran through his veins and into his
organs. He thrashed against the straps, head whipping side to side. As darkness
swamped him, Bucky vomited, still lying dangerously on his back, and began to
choke helplessly.
The soldier jumped forward and turned Bucky’s head to the side, scooping out
his mouth with leather-clad gloves as the American repeatedly vomited up bile,
pus, and other fluids. “He’s got an infection of the belly, too, doctor,” the
soldier said in a neutral tone. Bucky’s body continued to heave and shudder,
despite his unconscious state.
The doctor clucked his tongue and sighed in what sounded like disappointment.
“He’ll be dead within the day . . . Americans . . . always so weak.”
“So, his Romanian blood will not win out?” the man sounded disappointed. “A
shame, really. He is so pretty. Do you think he is that elusive nature? That
Omega the other doctor wanted to find?”
Looking down at Bucky, the doctor shook his head, “it is hard to say, soldier.”
He turned and picked up another syringe and inserted the needle into Bucky’s
vein and began to draw blood.
“Omegas have extra body parts, correct? Perhaps radiological pictures can tell
us?” The man watched impassively as Bucky’s eyelids began to flutter.
Withdrawing the needle, the doctor held up the vile of blood and looked at it
closer. “Perhaps. If Sergeant Barnes survives the day we will take a closer
look, yes?”
“Yes,” the man agreed. “The Russians will pay good money for a strong soldier.
Do you think Herr Schmidt will let us sell him when he has no further use of
him?” The man began to clean up the vomit, removing his gloves as he worked,
exposing pale, shapely hands similar to a pianist’s.
“It is hard to say . . . Herr Schmidt is a rather hard man to read.” The doctor
walked away from Bucky’s side and set down the vile of blood carefully on the
counter.
Bucky’s eyes opened wide as he understood what they spoke of: selling him into
service for the Russians. Was this factory geared at producing weapons and
slaves? Bucky would rather die than be sold into slavery. He narrowed his eyes
and coughed, a deep rasp that burned before his entire body seemed to set on
fire from within. Bucky let out a scream once more before passing back into
unconsciousness.
xxx
Setting: AU: Wednesday, October 27, 1943: Azzano, Italy
Breathing shallowly, trying to block the pain once more, Bucky slumped where
he’d fallen. His body surged with the pain of the latest beating. It had been
brutal and extremely painful, but over the past four days, Bucky had discovered
that the pain subsided within an hour and his wounds healed within a day or
two. He had no idea what cocktail Doctor Arnim Zola had been shoving into his
veins, but the unexpected beneficial side effect seemed to be an increased
healing. Bucky knew that Zola was pleased with the result, though he did seem
frustrated it hadn’t done more. Thus, the continued tests and forced drugs, the
repeated beatings, and the ever-present threat of being given to Predan, the
Serbian assistant, for the man’s pleasure.
“How are you feeling, Sergeant Barnes?” Zola asked as he stepped into the room,
eyes focused on the clipboard in his hands. The small man walked up to Bucky’s
side and took in the multiple painful injuries covering the brunet’s face.
Looking up from his slump, Bucky took a breath and spit out the mouthful of
blood. He was thankful that whatever the man had given him had knocked out his
pneumonia and stomach infection, at least, though if given the choice of being
beholden to the enemy or die, Bucky would be hard pressed to choose. Finally,
in a bitter heavy Brooklyn drawl, he spat out “Sergeant James Barnes, three-
two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.” The only time he’d said anything else to
this doctor had been when he’d first arrived in the isolation ward.
“Sergeant Barnes, we’ve been playing this game for one week now,” Zola sounded
annoyed, “I do not wish to let Predan have you . . . the whole thing is quite
barbaric but you are about to give me no choice. The man has been looking
forward to it . . . so I will ask again; how are you feeling, Sergeant Barnes?”
Slowly, Bucky forced himself to rise, using the wall behind him for support. He
managed to get to his feet, leaning heavily, arm wrapped around his ribs, which
felt bruised or maybe even broken. Growling, Bucky said again, “Sergeant James
Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.”
Shaking his head, Zola scrunched his nose up in distaste and turned his head,
“Soldier!”
The man in black leathered armor and gasmask strode forward smartly. He began
to remove his gloves.
“Sergeant Barnes . . . you can stop this. Just cooperate with me.” Zola turned
to look at Bucky again, his tone calm and firm.
The sergeant shook his head, eyes watching the soldier warily. Softly,
defiantly, Bucky said “Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-
three-eight. Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-
eight,” he began repeating himself.
“Soldier,” Zola shook his head and turned to leave the room, “maybe you can
teach Sergeant Barnes some manners.”
Predan stood still as he waited for the doctor to leave; as soon as Zola’s
footsteps could no longer be heard, the man stepped closer to Bucky, dropping
his gloves on the ground. “Pretty American,” Predan said flatly as he reached
up to take off his mask.
Bucky kept leaning against the wall despite feeling much better. He kept his
arm around his waist, feigning continued injury, though he merely felt sore:
must have only been minor bruising then. Slowly, he responded, “Sergeant James
Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.”
The guard laughed as he took off the gas mask, revealing a man with a strong
jaw and thick black hair. His cold hazel eyes traveled down the length of
Bucky’s body as he dropped the mask unceremoniously. “You chose this, Pretty
American. Zola was giving you a way out. Maybe you want this? Are you really an
American bitch?”
Eyeing the man, Bucky shut his mouth but kept his look of defiance. He crouched
slightly, wary steel-blue eyes taking in Predan’s every movement. Finally,
softly in English, he said “Perhaps you are a Serbian bitch. You seem to be in
heat.” Even through all his beatings, Bucky had never said anything but his
rank, name, and service number.
Predan’s eyes flashed but his lips curled into a predatory smile; he took a
step closer, now within arm's length of Bucky.
Bucky slid down the wall, away from the other man, towards the door. He did not
move obviously in that direction, but the escape attempt wasn’t entirely
unplanned, either. He kept his eyes on Predan.
“My American Bitch,” Predan said, closing the gap between them.
“Go to hell,” Bucky spit. “I’m not your anything!” His wedding ring, on his
right hand, flashed dully as he slid again. It had been cold in the cells, but
it was colder in the isolation ward without the body heat of the others. Bucky
had to fight the chilly trembling of his limbs, dressed only in his T-shirt and
trousers; they had taken his boots and socks that first day.
Predan reached out with his long fingers and gripped Bucky’s hair in a firm
fist. “You will be by the time I’m done with you. You’ll be crying like the
little bitch you are.”
Bucky flashed out with his left hand, uncurling it from his waist in a quick
blow to Predan’s throat. “Fuck you!” He dropped down to try to get out of the
man’s range, heading for the door.
Recovering quickly, Predan straightened and stomped his foot down on the small
of Bucky’s back, grinding his heel down on the man’s spine. “Feisty American,”
Predan spat.
Pain shot up and down Bucky’s spine followed by a searing numbness, toppling
him into fear as he lost sensation. My God, the man had crippled him! Bucky
scrabbled at the ground with his hands, terror in his light blue eyes.
Kneeling down, Predan grabbed Bucky’s hands and wrenched them painfully behind
his back.
Feeling the sensation come back in sudden, lightning pain, Bucky screamed.
Laughing, Predan took off his belt while still holding Bucky’s hands in the
other. He efficiently wrapped the belt around the younger man’s forearms.
The brunet fought to keep the man from tightening his belt, bucking his hips
and back to try to shake Predan off, growling out as he fought “Sergeant James
Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.” His eyes flashed defiance,
the relief of not being crippled disappearing almost before it registered.
Predan growled as he tightened the belt around the brunet’s arms, finally
locking the belt in place.
Kicking backwards with one bare foot, hoping for his heel to connect with the
man’s face, Bucky growled back.
Smiling at his handiwork, knowing that Bucky would not be able to break free of
the restraint, Predan straddled the younger man’s hips. He ran his fingers down
the brunet’s back; however, his eyes caught on a silver scar where Bucky’s neck
met his shoulder. Touching the mark gently, Predan leaned down to whisper in
the brunet’s ear, “what’s this? Like biting, American?”
Bucking, trying to dislodge the other man, the American growled, “fuck off.” He
turned defiant, angry eyes on the man.
“No, but I will fuck you,” Predan sneered and bit down on Bucky’s earlobe
before moving down to grip the waistband of the brunet’s trousers.
Struggling, twisting his hips, Bucky growled out, “your superiors know you’re
queer?” He kicked again with his foot, aiming to try to hit the man’s face.
Easily dodging Bucky’s blows, Predan pulled down on the brunet’s trousers and
underwear, leaving long scratches down the back of Bucky’s thighs.
Another scream ripped from his lips and the American bucked again, twisting
fiercely. “Doc!” He broke down and pleaded loudly, knowing if he couldn’t
handle Steve’s gentle attempts to enter him, there was no way he’d be able to
take this rough man with the sadistic streak.
Predan gripped Bucky’s hips tightly and hauled the younger man’s ass in the
air, “Zola is not coming for you American. You’re my bitch, right now. You
going to cry for me?”
Ashamed of his own break down, the man’s words suddenly forced an angry well of
defiance back up. Bucky clamped his mouth shut and glared, impassive, forcing
himself to lie absolutely still. He had a feeling this guy enjoyed his
struggles . . . so, if he couldn’t prevent this rape, he could make it less
enjoyable for the asshole. Bucky lowered his face to the floor and began
muttering under his breath.
Unbuttoning his trousers, Predan pulled out his nearly fully erect member and
moved one hand to tightly grip the back of Bucky’s neck. Without any more
warning, the guard began to push into the brunet with a low groan.
Bucky’s eyes widened at the immense pain, worse than the beatings he’d been
daily receiving, worse than the blue lightning liquid shoved in his veins every
night. A wordless scream parted his lips, but the American was unable to
produce any noise. His back arched upwards and his entire body tightened in
protest. A sudden gasp broke through his pain and Bucky let out a soul-tearing
scream, eyes rolling back in his head, but he remained nightmarishly awake.
Predan didn’t stop until he was all the way inside Bucky. Blood ran down the
younger man’s thighs as the guard pulled back out almost completely, only to
snap back hard.
The scream ended in a sob and Bucky once more pushed his face into the cement.
His entire body shuddered and his hands clawed his own arms, still bound behind
his back, fingernails digging deep into his forearms, blood welling and running
down as swiftly as that from his tortured ass. Trying to find something to
concentrate on, something to ground himself, Bucky settled on the one thing
that had been drilled into him from basic training on. Muttering, over and
over, he recited his name, rank, and service number until it blended into one
long, never ending loop of words mixed with grunts of sheer pain.
“Such a good little bitch,” Predan groaned as he set a harsh, brutal pace. Head
falling back, the guard kept his bruising hold on Bucky. “Good little whore.”
Beyond acknowledging the man, Bucky forced his mind away from the horrors being
inflicted on him. He imagined he was back in Brooklyn, beside Steve in a back
alley, being pummeled but about to turn the tide and win . . . just a bit more
time and they’d be free. He continued his cycle of words, chanting it like a
mantra, like a protective ward.
Predan began to lose his rhythm and his thrusts became more erratic, with one
more painful thrust the guard came hard inside Bucky, fingers tightening around
the brunet’s hip and neck.
Bucky barely noticed the hot rush of cum up his bleeding, burning ass. He
continued muttering and trying to dream himself away.
Pulling out, Predan clucked his tongue at the bloody sight of his flaccid
member. “Such a mess you made, American Bitch.”
With a single whimper as the man removed his spent erection, Bucky collapsed
into the cement, panting. He began muttering once more, his gaze hateful and
defiant, no longer forcing himself away. Rather, Bucky Barnes began to plot. He
would not break again. He survived this brutal rape, he could survive anything
the enemy thought to try.
Predan grabbed the fabric of Bucky’s shirt and wiped the blood and semen off
his member. Once clean, he tucked himself back into his drawers and stood up.
As he buttoned his trousers, the guard stepped on the small of Bucky’s back
again then he began to loosen the belt on the brunet’s forearms. When Bucky’s
arms were unbound, Predan straightened out and spat on Bucky’s face, “American
Bitch.”
Bucky raised his voice slightly, defiantly, “Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-
five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.” He hurt, still bleeding, but he would not
give in. He would break free and make the son-of-a-bitch pay. Blue-grey eyes
went as cold as steel.
“Keep defying Zola . . . this was fun,” Predan walked away, grabbing his
discarded gear on the way out.
Finally, Bucky let himself fall silent, burying his face once more in the cold,
dirty cement floor. He needed a moment before he could get up and leave.
Hopefully, Predan had forgotten and would leave it unlocked.
Unfortunately, Bucky’s luck remained missing. Two burly guards entered and
grabbed the messy, half-dressed man. They pulled his trousers up and tossed him
onto the exam bed. Holding him down, despite a renewed bout of pained screams
when his rear hit the metal bed, the men strapped the brunet down then left,
leaving him in his filth and blood.
Bucky sobbed, and began his mantra once again.
***** Rushing Headlong In *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: emotional response after the fact (dealing with his rapes),
     Panic attacks and Night Terrors (victim related)
     xxx
     Setting: AU: November 3, 1943; Austrian Alps, Austria and Azzano,
     Italy
     xxx
     Translations:
     Five-ton - five ton service truck - Military slang
     .
     Je ne parle pas l'anglais - I don’t speak English. - French
     .
     Qui appartient à Bucky! Il appartient au sergent Barnes! - That
     belongs to Bucky! It belongs to Sergeant Barnes! - French
     .
     Il a obtenu il y a des jours de maladie. Il n'a pas retourné ici. Je
     suis désolé, mon ami. - He got sick days ago. He has not returned
     here. I am sorry, my friend. - French
     .
     POW - Prisoner of War - Military Acronym
     .
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
     Je vous remercie de me prêter votre manteau, le sergent. Si jamais je
     peux vous rembourser, vous allez me dire, oui? - Thank you for
     loaning me your coat, Sergeant. If ever I can repay you, you will
     tell me, yes? - French
     .
     Voila - Here is - French
     .
Setting: AU: Wednesday, November 3, 1943: Azzano, Italy
As the small troupe of long-legged ladies danced off the stage, Teresa lightly
slapped Steve’s well-formed ass, giving him a wink as she passed. “Knock ‘em
dead, Tiger,” she drawled in a midwestern accent. The drumming of light rain
sounded a rhythmic tattoo over the hastily erected wooden and tin stage.
Steve jumped slightly, a bright red blush running down his neck and he had to
clear his throat to return his focus back to the audience of injured and
exhausted soldiers. “ . . . and so, buying war bonds puts weapons in the hands
of our fighting men.”
From the audience, one of the soldiers, sitting on the back of a five-ton, arm
and head bandaged, cat called the well-built blond actor who apparently
neglected to join his fellow fighting men. “Boo! Bring back the girls!”
Feeling mortified, Steve wished the ground could open up and swallow him whole.
“I - - I uh . . . I think they only know the one song.” He turned to look at
his stage manager and then back to the soldiers, “but . . . let me see what I
can do.”
“You do that, Sweetheart!”
Luckily three girls rushed onto the stage, Teresa among them, as Steve rushed
off. He hated this; he hated how these men were overseas and risking their
lives every day fighting for the country while he danced around a stage and
slept in luxury suites and tents. Grabbing his sketchbook and a pencil from off
his folding camp desk, Steve hurried out of the dressing area. Once he found a
semi-secluded area, he sat down and opened the book with a huff.
As the beautiful blond man tried to regain his skill in fine arts, Agent Peggy
Carter strode over with an umbrella and a frown. Not one to wear artificial
scents, the woman still smelled of something calm, woodsy, and alluring. She
glanced down over Steve’s shoulder and watched as he gracefully filled in the
lines of a performing monkey on a tightrope riding a unicycle with a parasol.
“They’ve been in the field a long time. They’ll warm up to you,” she assured
calmly, though Peggy doubted these men really wanted to see anything more than
a bit of leg and hip or home.
Looking down at his drawing, Steve shook his head, “you and I both know that
isn’t true.”
She sighed and squatted down, knees pressed together and aimed to the side,
keeping her skirt firmly closed so as not to flash any passerby. “You want to
be out there with them.”
“That’s all I ever wanted . . . ever since the attack on Hawaii . . . I’ve just
wanted to fight for my country.” Steve sighed and looked up at his
surroundings, the rain making the ground muddy and the tops of the tents sag
with the weight of water.
“Why don’t you?” Peggy asked, her voice devoid of emotion.
“Philips wants me in a lab . . .” Steve looked down again and let out a deep
breath.
“And that’s your only two choices? Lab rat or dancing monkey?” She looked at
him disapprovingly. “Abraham had such high hopes for you.” She looked over at
the men gathered around the front of the stage in the drizzle, cheering the
ladies in scantily clad outfits. “The colonel doesn’t want to see you hurt, I
suppose.”
Looking up again, Steve’s eyes caught on a military ambulance pulling up
alongside a medical tent, soldiers rushed to help the injured out of the back.
“They’ve been through hell . . .”
Peggy’s eyes, too, fell on the bloody influx of fresh wounded. She frowned and
rose gracefully to stand on her low heeled shoes. “These men more than most.
They were trapped in Azzano and the tide turned. That’s all that is left of the
107th infantry.”
Steve’s whole body froze. The 107th? No . . . no . . . that was Bucky’s unit.
There was no way - - this wasn’t possible. “The 107th?” He asked sharply,
rising to his feet.
“Steve?” she questioned. “There are only about a hundred fifty men remaining .
. . the others were killed or captured. Maybe three hundred are unaccounted
for.”
Steve didn’t even look back at Peggy as he bolted in the direction of Philips’
tent. Memories of Bucky and him flashed before his eyes, this couldn’t be
happening. Bucky wasn’t dead. No . . . he was fine. Maybe injured . . . but not
dead. He’d know if Bucky was dead . . . he’d feel something . . . right?
Colonel Phillips looked up as the tall, gaudily dressed blond and the neat,
uniformed brunet traipsed into his tent. “What are you doing here, Rogers?
Don’t you have a show to put on?”
“Sir, I need to know if a soldier is a part of the deceased for the 107th.”
Steve fought the waves of tears that wanted to show . . . he couldn’t cry, not
here. Bucky wasn’t dead. He wasn’t.
“I don’t gotta tell you anything. You’re a glorified chorus girl, Rogers.”
Sighing, Steve closed his eyes and opened them, “please just one name. James
Buchanan Barnes. B-A-R-N-”
“I can spell it!” snapped Phillips. He frowned and picked up a handful of typed
papers. “I must have dictated hundreds of these this morning, but, yeah, the
name sounds familiar.” He glared at Steve, but sympathy showed in his aged
eyes, almost as if the man felt protective of Steve despite his attitude. He
turned to face a large map with markings of troop locations and former
locations on it.
Steve’s heart sank. No, men were still captured . . . Bucky wasn’t dead. Bucky
couldn’t be dead. “There are men still captured. Have you started a rescue
mission?”
“No,” the colonel said crisply and turned back to his secretary, putting down
the stack of condolence letters. “There isn’t going to be one.”
“Three hundred men, sir. We have to try something,” Steve snapped, he couldn’t
believe this. They were abandoning all those men. They were abandoning Bucky.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Rogers!” the aged Colonel barked back. Hardening
his tone, but lowering his voice, the man in charge explained, though he wasn’t
in the habit of explaining, “I don’t have enough men, Rogers. Most of those
here are wounded or ill, sent back to recover or on the way to a new
assignment. We’re pulling out since we can’t get Azzano. Those men are thirty
miles behind enemy lines, in the Alps in some sort of fortified factory. It’d
be a death run going after a group of men probably already dead. They were
captured on October eighteenth.”
“We can’t just leave them!” Steve exclaimed. No, Bucky can’t be dead. He’d
know. He’d feel it. Bucky wasn’t dead.
“I don’t see what you think you can do. You can barely hold the attention of
men sorely in need of any form of distracting entertainment. Go back to your
dancing and let me worry about my troops.” Philips turned away from the man and
began to sit back at his desk. Slowly, taking an inordinate amount of time, the
man said, “am I understood, Captain?”
Steve glanced over at the map, the location of the base at Azzano clearly laid
out, he soaked in as much of the information as he could. “Yes, sir.” Steve
ground out before turning around and marching out into the rain.
“And you can wipe that look off your face, Agent.” Philips straightened, not
even turning to look at Peggy. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Sir,” she said and turned on her heel, following Steve.
xxx
Setting: AU: Wednesday, November 3, 1943: Austrian Alps, Austria and Azzano,
Italy
“He’s possibly a bit mad, but he’s the best pilot around. We’re lucky he was
here delivering supplies and technology,” Peggy said quietly to Steve as she
made her way towards the cockpit.
Snapping the clasp shut on Teresa’s stolen helmet, Steve nodded.
“We’re almost there,” Howard Stark, the inventor and playboy, called from the
pilot’s chair. “Not sure how close I can get you. There’s enemy fire coming
in.” The man expertly maneuvered amid explosions and anti-aircraft
bombardments.
“Just get me in as close as you can and then you two get the hell out of here.”
Steve’s eyes hardened in determination. He was going to get Bucky back. Bucky
was alive. He’d get him back.
“Oh, Peg, I was wondering, since we’re in Italy, did you want to stop for a
little fondue tonight?” Howard asked without looking over.
Peggy didn’t even answered, frowning at Howard then looking back out at the
war-torn skyscape through the windscreen.
Steve eyes snapped towards Howard and then back to Peggy. Didn’t Peggy have a
girlfriend? Lizette? Steve had always seemed to have a really great sense of
smell . . . but ever since the serum, he could smell things so much more . . .
especially people. A strong, pungent smell radiated from Peggy, one that seemed
to match the annoyed expression she wore; whereas a sweet, light scent, almost
floral, wafted from Howard. Steve couldn’t help but think it was an odd cologne
for a man.
Turning back to Steve, arms crossed and lips pursed, Peggy said “we should be
able to get you to a drop zone soon. We’ll have to fly in low to find a landing
area near the factory.”
“You’re not landing,” Steve stated firmly as he picked up a parachute across
from him.
Worried, Peggy exclaimed, “Wait, Steve, you haven’t been trained in
paratrooping. Howard can . . .”
“No,” Steve shook his head, “I’m not putting you two in any more danger than
you already are.”
“We might not be able to swing back and pick you up right away,” Howard called
back, glancing over at Steve from behind his almost ridiculous-looking over-
sized civilian flying goggles. “But, we’ve got a transponder for you. You set
it off, we’ll come find you.”
Steve nodded and slipped the straps of the parachute over his shoulders.
Peggy held out the little box with the single switch. “They’re going to be
heavily protected. Intel says they might be producing weapons from this
factory, so they’ll be well armed.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Steve grabbed the transponder and slipped it into the
breast pocket of his leather jacket.
“Wait until you’re clear from the plane but before you hit the trees to pull
the cord.” She pointed out the primary chute release.
Nodding, Steve turned and opened the door, he felt the rush of cold wind hit
his face.
Grabbing his shoulders, Peggy pulled him down for a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Take care, Steve. Don’t forget to call when you’re free.” The woman seemed to
give off waves of protectiveness, as she often did around Steve since he’d been
enhanced. Oddly, she hadn’t done that much worrying before he’d transformed
into a muscular, healthy adonis.
“I won’t. Thank you for this.” Steve took a deep breath and, before he could
have any second thoughts, he jumped out of the plane.I’m coming Bucky.
Unfortunately, Steve’s first jump didn’t go exactly well. He managed to get his
chute open, but he wound up tangled in the trees, harness pulling tight.
Dangling among the branches, he would make a prime target for snipers and even
the regular enemy gunman. Struggling, Steve managed to unclasp the shoulder
straps and he tumbled to the ground, groaning softly as he hit with a hard
thud. He quietly rolled to his feet and ran towards the compound.
Seeing a truck barreling down the road, Steve hid behind a large thicket of
bushes and waited for it to pass. As he slid into the truck, under a flap, he
froze when he saw two enemies in the back.
“Hello,” Steve said and then before they could even raise their guns all the
way, he grabbed them both, knocking their heads together, and threw them both
out of the truck.
Once on the compound, he made way in through the front door, relatively easy.
He made way down the echoing hall amid great machines, shelf after shelf of odd
weapons lined the walls; Steve couldn’t help but be fascinated by the strange
blue glow they all gave off. He picked up something that resembled a very small
gun clip, with a blue glow at the tip, and pocketed it.
Steve found his way into a large room with barred circles in the floor, looking
down. Over one, he watched as a group of dirty, exhausted looking men were
shoved into a round barred cell. A guy with a bowler hat growled,“You know,
Fritz, someday I’ll have a stick of my own.”
The cell door clanged shut in the American’s face: that accent couldn’t be
anything but upper east coast. The smell of angry, exhausted, frustrated men
almost overwhelmed Steve’s sensitive nose.
Making his way down to the prison level, Steve saw very few guards, which was
both disturbing and surprising.
After disabling the guards surrounding the cells, Steve unlocked the cell doors
asking, “Does anyone know a Sergeant Barnes?” He figured using Bucky’s formal
title would be safer for everyone, no one could suspect that Bucky and he were
anything other than friends.
A tall, lanky man with a small mustache and a proper-sounding British accent,
reminiscent of Peggy’s, informed their erstwhile rescuer “There is an isolation
ward in the factory. They take the injured and sick there. Men don’t return
from there.”
Slapping the immense, tall redhead with the bowler hat on the shoulder, Steve
said in the most commanding yet friendly tone he could muster, “get out. Start
walking. Take down whoever you can. I’ll meet up with you with anyone else I
find.”
Dugan sneered when he saw a Japanese man walking out of the the cell, “are we
taking everyone?”
The man angrily lifted his identification tags and glared at the big redhead.
“I’m from Fresno, Ace,” Jim Morita growled back.
Steve froze when he saw a man walking out of the cell wearing Bucky’s jacket,
“Wait? Where did you get that? When?”
The small Frenchman looked surprised to be directly accosted by the American.
He lifted his hands in a totally gallic gesture and shook his head. “Je ne
parle pas l'anglais.”
Gabe looked between Steve and Dernier as he translated for the Frenchman. “He
doesn’t speak English.” He gave nothing away.
Steve stepped a little closer, eyes wide with fear, “That’s Bucky’s! Sergeant
Barnes’s!
Gabe turned back to Dernier to translate for the frantic American, as if he
hadn’t been the one to give away Bucky’s jacket in the first place, “Qui
appartient à Bucky! Il appartient au sergent Barnes!”
Looking troubled and very sympathetic, the French Resistance Fighter said, “Il
a obtenu il y a des jours de maladie. Il n'a pas retourné ici. Je suis désolé,
mon ami.”
Gabe’s eyes fell and he gave Steve a mournful look, “He got sick days ago. He
has not returned here. I am sorry, my friend.” He knew he should give his own
account to this man, but Gabe still felt sick and guilty for letting his
Sergeant go with that black-clad Serbian guard.
Steve’s heart stopped. No, Bucky wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. The blond
turned away from the prisoners without another word and towards the wing the
men had directed him to. He’d find his husband . . . alive. He began down the
long hall.
Luckily the area where Bucky was being kept wasn’t heavily guarded, and Steve
only had to take out a few guards patrolling the nearly deserted, dark hallway.
Just outside one room, he could hear a faint voice chanting:
“Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.”
Before Steve could get inside, a small man in a suit and hat ran out, giving
Steve a startled look before scuttling past him and down the hall. Inside the
room stood a tall black-haired man doing up his belt.
The man seemed surprised to see Steve, and he grabbed for a weapon, but the
blond threw his over-large awkward shield and knocked the guy across the head.
The man went down onto his knees with a curse in an unfamiliar language.
Rushing over, Steve brought his fist down hard on the man’s face, and after
just a few blows the guard’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. As the man
fell unconscious, and silence once again fell over the room, the chanting could
be heard from the metal bed.
“Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.”
On the bed lay a tall, malnourished brunet with hollow grey-blue eyes, covered
in bruises on his neck and waist; his T-shirt hid anything on his torso. His
feet were bare and his pants were loose and barely pulled up to his waist, and
he was covered in old blood and other humanly bodily fluids. He smelled of
stale semen, blood, feces and urine; what he didn’t smell of was a human’s
natural essence.
He opened cracked lips and murmured, “Sergeant James Barnes, three-two-five-
five-seven-zero-three-eight.”
It was Bucky!
Steve felt a swell of happiness at seeing his husband alive, but the joyful
feeling quickly fell away as he took in the brunet’s condition, his lack of
Bucky’s normal comforting scent. The blond muttered, “Oh my God, Bucky!” He
made quick work of ripping the restraints off his husband and he ran over to
grab the boots from the corner of the room.
Helping his lover to a sitting position, Steve knelt down and slipped the shoes
on over Bucky’s bare feet. “Bucky,” Steve’s eyes trailed down the brunet’s body
again, he tried not to focus on the semen that covered his husband’s clothing.
Grabbing some crumpled, dropped papers, Steve shoved them into Bucky’s shirt
for warmth.
Dazed, thirsty, hungry, and in severe pain, Bucky let his dull eyes fall onto
the beautiful Adonis before him. Hell, he must be hallucinating. Steve couldn’t
be here. He was as beautiful as he always had been, but Bucky knew his husband
was back in Brooklyn teaching art classes. Damn, Zola had managed to give him
something that made him hallucinate now. “I thought you were smaller . . .” he
told the beautiful mirage.
Cupping Bucky’s face gently, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s and smiled
softly, “and I thought you were dead.”
“Getting there,” Bucky moaned and reached to grab his trousers before they
slipped off his too-thin hips. He blinked several times, clutching the
unfastened material, barely aware that his belt hung loose.
Steve’s heart ached at the sight of Bucky’s pants undone. He didn’t want to
think about what sadistic things they had been doing to his husband . . . but
the evidence was really hard to ignore. He fastened the trousers and belt for
his incapacitated husband.
“Predan thinks I’m pretty.” Bucky spit on the floor, blood and dirt mixing as
it spattered to the cement. His voice had begun to regain his normal defiance,
and, hallucination or not, Bucky would happily follow his Steve out of this
hellhole. “Don’t like the rooms. The room service sucks. And the blue cocktails
are to die for.”
“Let’s get you outta here,” Steve grimaced and helped Bucky to his feet,
completely unused to supported his husband’s weight, which was far less than it
had been when they’d seen each other in the summer.
“Yeah. Hey! I got friends here. Mind if we stop by and pick ‘em up?” Bucky
asked, leaning into the comforting strength of Steve. When did Steve get so
tall? So solid?
Steve was starting to get worried. Bucky was acting like none of this was
happening . . . that he hadn’t been a POW and tortured for weeks. “I . . I
already got em out, Buck. C’mon let’s go.”
With a nod, the brunet let Steve guide him from the isolation ward. As they
made their way semi-stealthily down the corridors, Bucky asked softly, “What
happened to you?”
Steve sighed softly and said quickly, “I joined the Army.”
Huh, just like his stubborn ass husband to manage to get himself in this kind
of trouble. Joined the Army, hunh? More like threatened them in a back alley.
“Did it hurt?” he asked, thinking of how many fist fights Steve must have
indulged in while they’d been separated.
“A little.” Steve didn’t think now was the time for this conversation . . . but
Bucky seemed so out of it. His husband must be under the influence of
something.
“Is it permanent?” he asked, once more referring to Steve’s unexpected
transformation. Actually, he looked as Bucky had always mentally pictured him .
. . but his hands could now see what his mind always saw.
Steve bit back a groan, instead he answered nonchalantly, “So far.”
Bucky nodded and buried his face in Steve’s neck as they stumbled along. He
inhaled deeply and murmured, “sweet, sweet, Stevie. You really are here.” He
blinked, his eyes focusing at last.
Smiling softly, Steve nodded, “yes, Buck. I’m here . . . I’m right here.”
xxx
Setting: AU: Saturday, November 6, 1943: Azzano, Italy
After the cheers Bucky had demanded, the brunet nearly collapsed. The three day
march appeared to have sapped what strength he’d gotten from realizing his
husband had come to save him, defying all odds in the process.
Steve noticed the paling in his husband’s skin almost immediately and caught
Bucky before he could fall. “Hey, Bucky . . . let’s get you to medical, yeah?”
The brunet nodded without comment, leaning heavily into the taller, sturdier
man. It felt odd, but somehow right, to be able to lean on Steve. The other man
had so much inner strength, it seemed like that strength had exploded outward
into this new, muscular form. For the time, Bucky relished the idea of not
having to be the strong one.
At the medical tent, the medic on triage shook his head. “Full up in here.
Bring him to a tent and I’ll come round and check on him. I’ll be starting a
round of tents in a few minutes.” With that the man looked over Bucky and
quickly wrote out a tag, handing part to Steve. “Attach it to him somehow so I
can look at his papers when I get there.”
The thick piece of paper said ‘brown hair, grey eyes, multiple injuries, unable
to stand without assistance, category two.’
“Back to your place, sailor?” Bucky joked, and the medic actually laughed.
“It’s Captain America, right?” the medic asked. “If you can find him a cot,
it’d be better, but it’s mostly bedrolls and pallets available. Thank you for
making my next week sleepless. These boys deserve it.” The medic saluted Steve
then turned back into the medical tent.
Steve flushed and gave the medic a grateful nod before leading Bucky away,
towards his own private tent. Once they reached the large tent, Steve pushed
open the flap and helped his husband inside, grateful to finally be alone with
his lover. The blond led Bucky towards the large cot pushed to the side of the
tent, “here, sit down, Buck.”
“Sit?” Can’t I collapse instead?” he asked softly, but obeyed with a sigh of
relief.
Swallowing, Steve rubbed the back of his neck and turned to the desk on the
other side of the room where a pitcher of water and a glass sat. Someone must
have stocked his tent when the refugees had arrived . . . that was fast.
As if to himself, Bucky murmured, “he’s still alive, ain’t he?” He dropped his
head into his hands.
Pouring the water into the glass, Steve walked back over and handed it over to
Bucky, “who? Who’s still alive?”
“Predan,” Bucky answered, the word sounding Slavic.
Predan thinks I’m pretty. Those words echoed in Steve’s mind; he wasn’t dumb .
. . he knew Bucky had been raped and the thought left a hole so painful in
Steve’s chest that it was nearly impossible to breathe. “I . . . I don’t know,
Buck. The whole place blew up . . . maybe he went down with it?”
“Good,” bitter anger coursed through Bucky’s voice. “I hope he rots in hell.”
Steve had no idea how to deal with this: what he should say . . . what he
shouldn’t.
A knock on the piece of wood hanging outside Steve’s tent interrupted the
uncomfortable conversation. Without waiting, the medic opened the tent flap and
walked inside, carrying a box of supplies. “Thought you might’ve come here,
Captain. Nowhere else has room. A lot of the men are going to be sleeping under
the stars tonight.” He set the large wooden box on the camp desk and turned to
Bucky, who still sat in the dejected pose. “Fortunately the able-bodied and
walking wounded are giving over their tents to the category twos and threes.”
Steve winced. He had no right to this large tent . . . the comfortable cot; he
hadn’t done anything. . . nothing to deserve such special treatment, while men
who’d been captured and forced into slavery had to sleep out in the open that
night.
With a nod, the medic smiled. “Well, seems you chose one of our more serious
injured to give your bunk to.” He strode over and reached for Bucky’s shirt,
pulling it off the man with absolutely no resistance from the brunet. Lashes,
bruises, needle punctures, and swelling all seemed present, though fading. One
would think Bucky had been tortured two weeks ago rather than three days. The
crumpled papers fell from Bucky’s T-Shirt, but the medic ignored them.
Steve looked at the injuries, he felt his hatred for Hydra grow exponentially.
They did this to his Bucky . . . his love . . . his husband.
Wrinkling his nose at the stench, and the dried fluids all over the patient’s
flesh, the medic reached down to unfasten Bucky’s belt and pants. The
Sergeant’s eyes shot to Steve, wide with alarm, and he began a low chanting,
“Sergeant James Barnes . . .”
Immediately, Steve knelt down by Bucky’s side and clasped his husband’s hand in
a comforting embrace. Steve didn’t care about what the medic saw . . . he
needed to calm his lover down. “It’s alright, Bucky. You’re safe. You’re with
me. With Steve. You’re safe.”
“This man didn’t come from the field, did he? He’s one of the POWs you brought
in today.” With a sigh, the man slid Bucky’s entire uniform off. The patient’s
drawers had gone missing during his imprisonment. Quickly, the doctor laid
Bucky down on his back and began an examination, despite the dirt and filth.
Steve tried not to focus on the blood, cum and grime all over Bucky’s legs and
ass. He tried to focus solely on his lover’s face. Finally, the blond detected
a different scent from Bucky: fear.
Bucky kept up his low chant, eyes fastened on Steve’s face. He moved as told,
turned over so the man could do an exam back there, then turned again, but
never did he even glance at the man touching him in such intimate places.
Finally, the medic nodded. “He needs cleaning and medicines. Rest for a couple
of days. He was sodomized about a week ago and tore. He will heal, perhaps
another week will help. Until then, the area needs careful cleaning. He’s
malnourished and needs food, dehydrated so needs water, and he’s been injected
with something. I’d like to take blood to see if there are traces of it left.”
“Bucky,” Steve called out gently, “Is it okay if this man takes your blood?”
The Sergeant fell silent. “Needles? Yeah, don’t mind needles. Go ahead. Better
than Predan.” Bucky looked to the ceiling and held out his arm willingly.
Steve wanted to go back to the factory and find this bastard named Predan and
kill him. Nobody hurt his Bucky . . . Steve vowed to himself never to let Bucky
get hurt again, not if he could help it.
With a soft frown, the medic gathered his supplies and drew several vials of
blood. He took some medicines from his box and put them on the desk. “Look,
you’re a real nice guy, Captain, giving him your bunk. I’m gonna ask you to
keep him here, without any other patients, where other soldiers don’t hear what
happened to him. Some people might think he asked for it and then he’d lose his
career . . . and maybe be executed.”
Steve’s eyes flashed over to the medic, fury and pain swarming in those bright
blue eyes, “he was tortured! He had no say in what they did to him! Surely they
can’t kill him for being forcibly . . . raped!”
“I understand, Captain.” The man hissed back. “Keep your voice down. This is
war. He can get shipped back to the states for such severe injuries. And if his
combat fatigue is as bad as it seems,” the medic waved towards the softly
muttering brunet, “he can be institutionalize for his own safety. I’m trying to
give you an alternative. Your records,” the man shook his head, “yeah, I read
them, says your next of kin is a man names Barnes. This is he?”
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Steve nodded and looked back at Bucky,
who seemed completely unaware of his surroundings ever since the medic had
started his exam. “Yeah. This is James Barnes. Thank you, I know you’re just
trying to help. He’ll stay here with me.”
With an answering nod, the medic went on, “There is a theory going around in
medical circles saying anal sex can make a man queer. Some even believe that
anal rape can turn a man queer. That would get your friend killed. I don’t
think rape has anything to do with sexual preference. I’m willing to bet it
might turn a man away from such future contact.” He sighed and began re-packing
his box. “But I have to fill in his file honestly. Best not to draw too much
attention to the sodomy. So, if someone comes asking, let them know I
recommended recovery close to the front for a couple of days or so then a
return to active duty unless he proves a danger to our side.” The medic looked
up. “You need to wash him, feed him, and medicate him. He cannot be left alone
tonight. The first twenty-four hours after rescue are prime suicide time.”
“I understand. Thank you,” Steve looked back at the medic, “I’ll keep a close
eye on him.”
“Now, I will check on him again tomorrow, of course, but if he seems to take a
turn in the night, come get me.” The medic picked up his box and nodded. “The
medicines have instruction sheets with them. If you need access to hot water, I
recommend go to the USO, since they’ve got extra rations for those girls.
You’re a handsome guy. They might accommodate you.”
“No,” Bucky called out softly. “Don’t beg for me, Stevie. I’m fine.”
Steve actually rolled his eyes and let out a small huff of annoyance at his
husband’s stubbornness.
Snorting inelegantly, the medic shook his head. “As an officer, you also have
extra rations, but you might have to give up your own bath water to do it.” The
man turned and scooped up the discarded rumpled papers then left, on his way
quickly to the next tent over.
Slowly, Steve reached out a brushed a stray lock of hair out of Bucky’s face.
The man still muttered incoherently and the blond felt so completely and
utterly helpless. “Buck . . . we need to get ya washed off. I can wipe you down
if you just want to stay in the tent.”
Falling silent at his name, now that he was alone with his husband, Bucky
lifted his eyes. “Don’t like doctors. Barbarians.” The man pushed up easily
from the bed, seemingly not exhausted in the least. “I can walk, Steve.” The
scent of fear lessened, changing slowly to one of a wounded man . . .
reminiscent of Bucky after a more serious fight back home.
“You need to rest, baby.” The word slipped out without much thought.
“I need to be clean, Cariad,” he countered then looked directly at the tent
flap a heartbeat or two before it opened.
Steve looked over, Bucky was still nude, and the blond glared at the sudden
intrusion. Moving to cover most of his husband’s body with his own, Steve stood
up and said, “yes?”
The small Frenchman who had Bucky’s jacket offered a smile. He’d proven himself
quite inventive on the three day return to base, concocting explosives
seemingly out of nothing. He slipped out of the warm, if dirty, jacket and held
it out. “Je vous remercie de me prêter votre manteau, le sergent. Si jamais je
peux vous rembourser, vous allez me dire, oui?”
Looking over his shoulder at Bucky, Steve looked almost cautious and a little
confused . . . he had no idea what the other man had just said.
“Keep it,” Bucky said then said it again in French.
With a smile, the man spoke rapidly, hand over his chest, and Bucky nodded.
“His name is Jacques Dernier. He is a civilian in the French Resistance,
Steve.” The tall brunet seemed more at ease, more in control now that he was
doing something so familiar to him as translating French to English and back.
Giving Dernier a friendly nod, Steve didn’t move from his spot, still trying to
cover Bucky as much as he could.
Dernier shot off more rapid French at the pair and hurried from the tent,
slipping Bucky’s jacket back on.
“He said he’s going to get me some water so I can wash.” Bucky sighed. “He also
said I’m the only one that survived the isolation ward.” The brunet ran a hand
through his crusty, dirty hair then winced.
Turning back to look at his lover, Steve crouched down; he was thankful Bucky
wouldn’t have to walk to the bathing area. “You’re the strongest man I know,
Buck.”
“Know how I wound up in the ward?” Bucky looked at Steve, his hollowed eyes
tired again. “I got sick. For the first time since this war started, I got
sick. I had some sort of stomach infection . . . was coughing up blood and pus
and shit. I got pneumonia, too. That freak, Arnim Zola healed me somehow. I was
in that place for almost two weeks.” Shaking his head, placing his head once
more in his hands, he moaned, “everyone else died before two days would end.”
Steve didn’t know what to say, he felt so lost . . . so helpless to do
anything. While Bucky had been getting tortured and experimented on, Steve had
been performing in fancy theaters and sleeping in plush beds. “I’m so sorry,
Buck. I . . . I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Bucky looked at his husband. “You came for me. I had no idea you were
coming. I was waiting to just die.” He stood, ignoring his nudity, and strode
to the desk, picking up one of the medicine jars and studying it. He seemed to
be moving easier than earlier. His scent remained wounded and weak, but it had
begun to return once more, bringing with it a sense of relief to Steve.
Standing, Steve made his way over to his lover and looked down at the jar that
Bucky held. “I missed you,” the blond whispered quietly, not wanting to risk
anyone overhearing.
Turning his head, Bucky offered a soft, sad smile. “I missed you, too, Cariad.”
He leaned his forehead against Steve’s. With a soft chuckle, he said, “wow.
You’re taller than me, now. Rather late to get a growth spurt, punk.”
“It was a serum,” Steve offered on a breath; he needed to tell his husband the
truth.
“Blue and glowing?” Bucky asked as if he actually knew. He didn’t sound
surprised in the least.
Looking down at the brunet with confused eyes, Steve nodded, “Uh . . . yeah?
How’d you know?”
“Yeah, Zola shoved me full of blue shit every day. Figured our side wasn’t
above testing a few tricks on our boys, either.” Bucky put the jar down, but
kept facing his husband. He reached over and clasped his right hand with
Steve’s left.
“I know I shoulda wrote you about it . . . I’m sorry I lied to you, Buck. I
didn’t want to worry you.” Steve’s eyes fell from Bucky’s face and he looked
down at their entwined hands.
Confusion crossed the man’s light eyes as he straightened. “Lied? Whatcha
talking about? Steve, you already told me about the cancer.” He reached for his
husband with his left hand, too.
Cringing slightly, Steve shook his head . . . he really shouldn’t be doing this
the day they got back to base. Bucky was still hurt.
The tent flap opened and Bucky looked over, letting Steve’s hands go but not
moving. Dernier and Gabe came in carrying a huge basin of steaming water. It
looked like something the cooks would use for potatoes. They set the large tub
down.
“Voila!” Dernier exclaimed.
“Thank you, Dernier and - -” Steve looked at the other man, he hadn’t gotten
everyone’s names yet.
“Private Gabe Jones, communications,” Bucky introduced his radioman. He seemed
unabashed by his state of injury, dirt, or undress.
“Thank you Dernier and Jones,” Steve smiled gently and gave both men a
respectful nod.
Bucky moved to the tub and knelt with a wince. He began soaping up a cloth.
“Hey, Gabe, can you and Dum Dum come back in about half an hour? I want you to
properly meet my best friend in the whole world when my balls aren’t swinging
in the breeze.”
Gabe chuckled lightly, “Sure thing, Sergeant.” And with that, the private
grabbed Dernier’s bicep; looking at Steve, Gabe nodded respectfully, “Captain.”
Once they were alone again, Bucky let out a sigh and began washing his crotch
before anything else. He then moved to achingly begin trying to wash his ass,
hissing and wincing as he twisted to get it clean.
“Why don’t ya go lie on the cot? I can help get your back,” Steve offered,
wanting to do anything to help his husband.
“Okay,” Bucky agreed readily. He lay back on the cot with a sigh. “I feel him
all over me, Steve. Inside me.” He shuddered, wounded eyes meeting Steve’s.
Taking up the cloth, ringing out the excess water, Steve knelt down by the edge
of the cot and very carefully began to wash away all the grime from Bucky’s
pale skin. “I know, baby . . . we’ll get you all cleaned up . . . you’ll feel a
lot better.” He kept his tone low so that only Bucky could hear him.
Nodding, Bucky sighed and let Steve wash his face and arms before burying his
face into his arms. Slowly, his body began to tremble and small noises broke
from him, getting slightly louder and louder. Finally, Bucky broke into sobs.
Dropping the cloth into the basin, Steve immediately wrapped his arms around
Bucky and cradled him close to his chest, “It’s okay, Buck. You’re safe. It’s
okay.” He didn’t know what to do . . . what was the right thing to say in these
situations?
Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s, now damp, hair and with his other hand
rubbed soothing circles on the smaller man’s back.
After several long minutes of crying, Bucky fell into a quiet, shuddering
state, lifting his face to balance his chin on his arms. His face was tear
streaked but clean and he seemed less eerily calm and more controlled and self-
assured. He rolled slightly to lean against Steve’s wet torso. “Stevie . . . I
love you,” he said simply, barely whispering.
Pressing his lips to Bucky’s hair, Steve murmured, “I love you too, Buck.”
“I think I’m really messed up,” he went on. “I’m afraid to sleep.” He hadn’t
slept the entire three day march back to base.
Closing his eyes to stop the tears that wanted to spill from his eyes, Steve
took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re not messed up, Buck. It’ll be okay . .
. it’ll just take some time. I’ll be with you tonight . . . I ain’t leaving
your side.”
A knock on the wood outside Steve’s tent signaled someone’s arrival. Bucky
barely glanced over, lying on his front on the wet, dirty bunk. He began
pushing off the bedding. “Need a towel . . .”
Steve shook his head; he was getting really sick of all these interruptions.
Standing, Steve decided to meet whoever had arrived at the entrance, not
wanting everyone to see Bucky naked. He didn’t think it had been thirty minutes
yet . . . so it shouldn’t be Jones coming back with Dum Dum.
Peggy stood, her side to the door so she wasn’t looking inside. She held a
duffle bag that seemed to be stuffed full of things. Under one arm, she carried
fresh bedding. “Rogers?” she asked formally. “I understand you’re housing one
of our POWs. Here are replacement uniforms and other gear for him as well as
linens if you need them. I’ve got a Major Falsworth with me with food and
drinks for you both, if he’s hungry?” She glanced up at Steve, not looking
behind him, “we can leave them out here for you.”
Steve glanced over at Bucky, who was trying to wrap a towel around himself, and
then back at Peggy. He offered her a kind smile, “we’re trying to get him all
cleaned up . . .” Steve shifted awkwardly, he didn’t know if he should announce
that Bucky was nude, although the notion seemed to bother Steve more than it
bothered Bucky.
“Major, place the box right by the door. Thank you.” Peggy ordered the man, a
man it turned out that Steve recognized from the prison and their march back to
base. After the Major put down his burden, Peggy lowered the duffle and offered
Steve the linens. “Shall I return tonight, Captain, to log him in? We’re trying
to do a full census.”
“Yes, I want to give him some time to rest. Tonight will be great,” Steve said.
“Might I say something, sir?” the Major interrupted softly. He kept his eyes
respectfully on Steve and not inside the man’s private quarters. Offering his
hand, he went on, “Major James Montgomery Falsworth, sir. I’m what remains of
Her Majesty’s Third Independent Parachute Brigade. I would like to thank you,
sir, for saving my life.”
Steve shook the major’s hand firmly and offered the man a smile; he was still
not used to people thanking him . . . or calling him ‘sir.’ “I’m sorry about
your unit, Major Falsworth. I’m glad I was there to help.”
“Yes, and due to your heroism, my entire until was not lost. I will carry their
memory with honor.” The man gave a formal salute and turned, walking away
quickly towards Peggy’s tent, where Denier sat, as well.
Peggy smiled. “He wanted to meet you,” she said to the darkness above Steve’s
shoulder, trying not to breach his privacy. “You’re quite the hero, whether you
wanted to be or not. Those men know they wouldn’t have survived without you.”
Steve flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t feel like a hero.”
Sliding her eyes carefully to meet Steve’s, she said, “how’s it feel to serve
your country?”
“I have no idea what I’m doing, Peggy,” the informal name slipped out before
Steve could stop himself, “I mean . . . Agent Carter.”
“Peggy’s fine, Steve. We are friends after all.” She nodded. “I’ll be back
later. You take care of . . . James.” She winked ever so slightly, letting him
know she was quite aware he’d managed to save his husband.
Swallowing, Steve bent down, the sheets tucked firmly under his arm, and picked
up the box of food, which held enough for six men. Turning back into the tent,
he called out, “ya hungry, Buck? Peggy and Falsworth brought us some food.”
Bucky walked over, the towel secure around his waist at last, and took the box
from Steve, glancing with a puzzled frown at the duffle bag beside the door.
His name was stenciled across the side, proving she’d managed to hunt up
Bucky’s own gear. “Peggy? The dame from basics?” For a moment it sounded like
he’d referred to Steve’s bootcamp, which he hadn’t known about before, but he
went on, “still pretty,” proving he’d seen her before. Bucky turned and moved
back to the desk to start pulling out the food.
Holding back the protest he wanted to speak as Bucky took the box from his
arms, Steve smiled brightly and nodded. The blond turned back to grab the rest
of the things piled outside his tent, “yeah . . . she’s real nice too.”
With a glance at Steve, Bucky snorted. “You finally find a pretty dame and she
outranks you,” he teased lightly.
Stepping back into the area fully, Steve set down the duffel bag near the desk.
He walked back over to Bucky; quietly he murmured, “I don’t need no dame when I
got someone as pretty as you.”
Bucky visibly cringed, hands freezing on the food.
Immediately Steve knew he had said something wrong. “Buck? I’m - - I’m sorry .
. .” Steve looked at his husband with wide eyes. “I - - I don’t know what . . .
I’m sorry.”
“Don’t wanna be pretty,” Bucky muttered and left the food, going to his
returned duffle and beginning to roughly root through it until he found
reasonably clean drawers and undershirt. He pulled them on quickly. He reached
for trousers afterwards and began to pull them on, too, his identification tags
swinging against his chest as he moved.
Steve didn’t move, his mouth opened several times but no words came out . . .
how was he supposed to respond to that? He didn’t want to make things worse. “I
- - I . . . uh . . .”
“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “Just change the bed, okay?” He reached into
his bag and pulled out a shirt to put on, leaving his feet bare.
Eyes falling, Steve nodded and walked over to the bed and quickly stripped the
dirty sheets. He had no idea how this was going to work . . . Bucky was
obviously traumatized. Maybe being sent home wouldn’t be a bad thing . . .
Winifred could look after him.
A knock on the wood signaled the final return of Gabe with Dum Dum. Bucky
opened the flap and, sounding surprised and just a little amused, the brunet
said, “come on in. I’m sure Steve’ll be glad of the more than overwhelming
circus. But I ain’t sharing my food, so hope you brought your own.”
Steve really didn’t feel like any more visitors but Bucky had asked them to
come back. He didn’t turn to greet the two men, instead focused on putting the
clean sheets on the cot. However, Steve couldn’t help but notice Bucky was
happier when one of the other soldiers came . . . maybe his husband felt too
uncomfortable to be with Steve alone right now.
A defiant voice answered back, “yeah, we brought plenty, Sarge.” The sounds of
many pairs of boots entered the dirt-floored tent. “So, you are as tall as I
recall. Thought I was imagining things what with the unexpected rescue.”
After he got the last sheet in place, Steve turned around and forced a smile to
the five men and Peggy.
With a nod for Steve, Peggy gestured to the space, small but adequate enough.
“Men, sit to eat while I take your information. Captain Rogers will be leaving
shortly, so speak quickly.”
“Leaving?” Bucky stiffened, eyes momentarily going wide then his expression
slid back into his nearly carefree look.
Looking at Peggy with a sharp expression, “leaving?” Steve echoed.
“Colonel Phillips wishes to discuss that map you mentioned and the weapons your
team recovered, Captain,” she said crisply, sinking onto the foot of the cot.
Flopping onto the floor, the small Asian guy who’d claimed to be from Fresno
looked up, chewing a bite of sandwich with a smile. After swallowing a long
gulp of water from a canteen, he said, “Name’s Private Jim Morita. Thanks for
coming for us, Captain. I’m an Army Ranger.”
Steve forced his eyes away from Peggy to smile at Morita, “Glad I could help .
. . it’s very nice to meet you, officially.”
Bucky sank onto the bed near Peggy without really looking at her. He gestured
towards his own unit members. “That’s Private Gabe Jones, you met him earlier.
And this is Sergeant Timothy Dugan. Dum Dum’s been with me since basics, Steve.
This is Steve Rogers, my best friend from back in Brooklyn.” Some look
transferred between Bucky and Dugan at the brunet’s words, like an unspoken
understanding.
Catching the look, Steve furrowed his brows and looked at Bucky and then at
Dugan. “Bucky told me a lot about you when he got back from basics . . . it’s
an honor to meet you.”
Dum Dum smiled brightly, “Only good things I hope . . . Sarge wouldn’t shut up
about you at bootcamp . . . though I do think he said you were a bit smaller.”
Bucky snorted. “Yeah, well, Steve’s gotten a bit taller than I expected, but
it’s not a problem. Now I won’t crick my neck looking down at him and yelling.”
He drank some water.
Steve flushed brightly, the tips of his ears even turning a dark red.
Peggy and Falsworth had been speaking quietly, apparently doing her census.
Finally, she looked over and smiled softly, then began quietly questioning
Morita, leaving Monty to look at the main group. The British airman reached for
a sandwich from Morita’s stash and offered, “it must be a relief to have found
your friend, Captain. Were you in different units?”
Choking slightly on the water he’d been drinking, Steve blushed more, “yeah . .
. it’s a big relief. And I guess you could say that . . .” he didn’t really
want to go into detail about how he’d only three days ago been a dancing monkey
for the USO. Steve didn’t want these men to find out how much of a fake he
actually was . . . he didn’t want Bucky to know how he’d lied to him again.
Dernier chuckled low, though he seemed unaware of exactly what was being said.
He was sitting next to Gabe and chuckled once in awhile at whatever Bucky’s
private said in soft French.
Finally, Bucky shook his head. “Well, I’ll never doubt him again.” He offered
his husband a smile. “I’m just glad to be in a real tent, eating real food, and
breathin’ real free air.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” Dum Dum hollered happily, bringing the last bite of his
sandwich to his lips.
Bucky was already on his third sandwich, and he finally seemed to be slowing
down a little. He might have been starving for two weeks or so, but that was
more food than Steve had ever seen him consume. And with so recent an illness,
it was highly probably it would come back up.
Steve watched his husband with worried eyes; he knew Bucky must be hungry . . .
but he didn’t want the brunet to push it. The last thing Bucky needed was to
start throwing up, but Steve didn’t say anything . . . he didn’t want to
embarrass his lover. He’d already said something incredibly stupid; Steve
didn’t want to add something else to that list.
“Captain Rogers? Do you have some time?” the colonel’s voice sounded outside of
the tent.
Sighing quietly, Steve looked over at Bucky apologetically and answered, “yes,
sir.” And then the captain walked out of the tent. He’d already broken a
promise to Bucky; he’d told his husband that he wouldn’t leave his side
tonight. A wave of guilt rushed through Steve.
Dum Dum scooted closer to Bucky and pulled something out of his jacket pocket,
handing the dirtied, wrinkled paper back to the sergeant. “Here ya go, Sarge,”
he whispered.
Bucky took the envelope back in trembling fingers. Steel-blue eyes widening,
tears forming, he whispered, “thank God they didn’t get this.” He shuddered.
“Thanks, Dum.”
“I kept it safe for you, Bucky.” Dum Dum said softly after a short pause he
asked, “you didn’t know about him . . . growing?”
“No.” Bucky shook his head. “He might of said something about a serum, but I
think I was hallucinating at the time.” He sighed.
Peggy looked over. Softly, clinically, she said, “Captain Rogers was part of a
military program that helped enhanced soldiers; however, we cannot duplicate
the process. The captain is the only one to benefit from our work.”
Thinking about that, frowning, Bucky drawled slowly, “couldn’t have picked a
better guy then.” He slid the envelope into his dufflebag. “He ain’t gonna get
sick or somethin’, right, ma’am?”
“He has passed all examinations and has proven very resilient. I believe he
will out last the war by many years. However, please ask Steve about this
further. He has permission to explain it to his next of kin.” She nodded to
Bucky then began questioning the other men there.
Eventually the mini ‘I’ve been saved’ party wound down and the men left the
tent. Peggy walked from the tent just after the very large Bostonian.
Dum Dum stepped to the side leaning up against the strong, wooden support post
on the left side of the tent. He’d volunteered to stay outside the tent until
Steve got back, that way if Bucky needed anything someone would be there.
Bucky peeked outside the tent flap and offered Dum Dum a relieved smile. “You
sure, Tim?”
“Quit askin’, I’m sure. Get some sleep, kid,” Dugan flashed the sergeant a
bright smile.
Taking a breath, Bucky asked, “what do you think of . . .” he gestured with his
head in the direction Steve had left. “Special, huh? Fought his fuckin’ way
into that hell single handed.”
“Special, alright,” Dugan snorted and shook his head lightly.
“Hey, I never said he was smart, just special,” Bucky shot back and disappeared
into the tent. Bucky slid into the bed and nearly hugged his body against the
flimsy tent wall, eyes wide and watching the tent door for long minutes before
the events of the past two weeks, and the major adrenaline rush of the last few
days, clashed, sending the young Sergeant nodding off into an uneasy sleep.
Only about an hour or two had passed before Agent Carter strolled by and
checked on Dum Dum. She nodded and lifted her foot to move off when a piercing,
soul-wrenching shriek came from inside the private tent. “What the bloody
hell?” She turned and flung the flap aside, running to the thrashing man’s
bedside, despite the darkness inside the tent.
Dum Dum jumped into action and followed Carter inside the dark space.
Knowing she couldn’t wake him, but that she had to break through his haze of
fear, his deep nightmares, Peggy did the first thing she could think of, the
thing her mother had always done for her father when he’d returned with shell
shock from the first great war. Peggy Carter sealed her mouth over Bucky’s and
began kissing him.
The screams cut off abruptly and Bucky sat straight up, looking dazed,
confused, and terrified. He seemed unaware of the woman sitting on the edge of
the cot. Instead, the Sergeant’s eyes scanned, unseeing around the darkened
tent interior, breath coming in racing pants, hands clutching the sheets. He
seemed to be speaking in a foreign language, interspersed with a chanting of
his name, rank, and serial number.
“What’s wrong? I heard screaming!” Steve asked as he hurried into the tent.
“Nightmares. He’s reliving his imprisonment,” Peggy announced as she stood and
moved out of the way. “I cannot snap him out of this.” Peggy glanced at Dum Dum
and pushed him gently on the chest to get him out of the tent just as the medic
hurried in.
“He had a nightmare,” Steve reported as he stepped closer to his lover.
“Everyone get back to your own damn bunks!” Phillips roared, apparently angry
at having his debriefing interrupted.
The medic frowned and began examining Bucky, noting the odd chanting, then
sighed. “Captain, he’s worse than I suspected.” The man shook his head. “We do
try to keep these victims near their units, under a strict schedule and around
familiar people does help. However, this man might be far too mentally scarred.
If he cannot keep from shouting, and thus endangering his fellow soldiers, he
will need to be institutionalized.” Taking a deep breath, the medic continued.
“These hospitals have reported success with electroshock therapy and water
therapy.”
Swallowing hard, Steve nodded, “he’ll get better . . . he just needs some
rest.”
From the doorway, Peggy called, sounding angry, “No sane man could get through
the first few nights without nightmares. The torture he went through!”
“Yes, I read the documents Captain Rogers retrieved from that prison. The
beatings and rapes were bad enough. But their scientists combined chemicals and
injected them, apparently at random, into him for God knows what warped
reasons.” The medic nodded. “Fine, I recommend he take rest and relaxation with
some of his comrades for a couple of days to get over the night terrors. When
he returns, I will re-evaluate him.”
Steve couldn’t let Bucky be sent away to an insane asylum. It was one thing if
Bucky simply got sent home to be with his family and rest . . . but to be sent
to an institution? No, Steve wouldn’t allow his husband to be drugged
senseless. “Thank you,” Steve nodded at the medic before looking back at Bucky.
The brunet remained huddled in a ball in the middle of the cot, sobbing and
chanting to himself.
Finally, the medic sighed. “I can give him a sedative for tonight if you wish,
Captain.”
“I don’t know . . . he - - he can’t really make that decision for himself,”
Steve felt hesitant at drugging Bucky without his consent.
Rolling his eyes, the medic looked straight up at Steve. “You are listed as his
next of kin and his proxy. Any decision he is incapable of making falls to
you.” The man reached into his uniform medicine belt and pulled out a capped
syringe.
Bucky needed to sleep . . . he needed rest. Slowly, after a few moments, Steve
nodded once, “okay, give him the sedative.”
With a firm nod, the medic administered the medicine, which quickly took
effect. Sighing in relief as Bucky stopped chanting, stopped trembling, and
slipped into an unconscious state, the smaller man stepped back. “If he cannot
get over these night terrors, it would be best for him to be locked away until
he can recover.”
“He’s going to get better,” Steve said firmly, not even looking at the medic.
“I believe he might, if your determination is any indicator,” the man replied
encouragingly. “If you need me again, call. Good night, Captain.” And the medic
left, Colonel Phillips following while he grumbled.
Peggy remained in the tent doorway. She offered Steve a reassuring smile.
“Father got better, Steve. With care and much talking.”
Turning to look at Peggy, Steve gave her a small smile, “thank you, Peggy.”
“Shall I tell Sergeant Dugan he can go back to bed in front of the tent? He’d
told Bucky that was where he would sleep since you couldn’t be here.” Peggy
glanced outside then back at Steve.
“Yeah, tell him thank you, please?” Steve felt exhausted but wide awake at the
same time.
“Get some sleep. You’ve been working just as hard as everyone else.” She closed
the flap and left into the night.
Stripping off his uniform, Steve left on his underwear and undershirt and
slipped into the cot next to Bucky, pressing himself flush against the side of
the tent, leaving the open edge for Bucky. Wrapping his arm around the sleeping
brunet, Steve pressed his lips to the back of his husband’s neck. “I love you,
Buck,” Steve whispered against his lover’s skin, relieved to note the calm
scent emanating from the wounded man.
Bucky seemed to sigh in response, but that could have just been coincidence.
***** A Day and a Night *****
Chapter Summary
     WARNING: post traumatic; dealing with trauma
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: November 4, 1943; Azzano, Italy and and London, England
     xxx
     Translations:
     Steve, grá agam duit - Steve, I love you - Irish Gaelic
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     .
Setting: AU: Thursday, November 4, 1943: Azzano, Italy
When Steve awoke in the morning, Bucky lay beside him, sleeping, pale and
exhausted, back to his lover and face to the tent’s closed flap across the
canvas room.
Reaching over with a slow, steady hand, Steve ran his fingers down Bucky’s back
like he’d done so many times before. The blond stared at his lover, drinking in
the sight of the brunet safe and alive.
The man under his hand stiffened, waking immediately at the touch, eyes
widening in anticipated horror. He never make a sound, not even his
dissociative chanting, trying to figure out where he was. All he could see was
the neat, rather orderly interior of a military tent, a reasonably comfortable
cot lay below him, but someone held him, touching him.
Steve, seeing his husband stiffen, wrenched his hand away and cooed gently,
“Buck? Bucky it’s just me . . . it’s Steve.”
At the familiar, beloved voice, Bucky drew a deep breath and relaxed his
muscles. He carefully turned over, not dislodging Steve’s arms, and offered a
small smile. Very quietly, in Steve’s mother’s language, Bucky breathed,
“Steve, grá agam duit.” He pressed his face into the blond’s wide, muscular
chest. Bucky breathed the ever sweet scent of his husband, feeling his initial
fears ease.
Lifting his left hand, Bucky placed it on one of Steve’s now large pectorals.
With a slightly nervous laugh, the brunet said, still softly, “what the hell
happened to my Stevie? You’re huge, Cariad.” Bucky’s voice sounded more awed
than anything else. The three days of marching, followed by the arrival at base
the day before, were more a confused blur to the finally rescued soldier.
Releasing a nervous, sheepish laugh, Steve felt himself blush and he pressed
his lips to Bucky’s forehead, “I’m still your Stevie, baby. I’ll always be
yours.” Steve felt a twinge of fear ice over his heart; what if Bucky didn’t
like his husband’s new body? Was he upset that Steve never wrote to tell him
what had been going on, what the blond had been doing?
“We need to talk, punk,” Bucky chuckled, stroking his fingers lightly over
Steve’s chest, very aware that at any time someone might come and interrupt the
pair.
“Yeah, I know . . . I’m really sorry that I never wrote you . . . they wouldn’t
let me say anything about the serum. I wanted to tell you . . . honest I did,”
Steve murmured; he didn’t want Bucky to be upset at him.
“Never wrote?” the brunet latched onto the very first words. “I got letters,
so, yeah, Steve, you wrote.” He stroked again. “And I know all about military
secrets, so, yeah, I understand about that, too.” He listened carefully but
heard nothing in the dawning light. Carefully, he brushed his lips over
Steve’s. “So, you still can’t tell me, even though I can see the results?”
“I can tell you now . . . you’re my next of kin, Buck.” Steve brushed a stray
lock of hair from Bucky’s face and took in all the details of his husband’s
face: a face he’d missed so much.
“Damn right I am,” Bucky said, a faint pride in his voice. “And you’re a hero.
You’re my hero.” He traced another faint kiss on his husband’s mouth.
“I ain’t a hero, Buck,” Steve said softly; he honestly didn’t feel like a hero.
He got lucky . . . really, really lucky.
Shaking his head, Bucky chuckled. “So, you telling me that the Army planned to
send in people to pull us out and you got separated from them? Or that Command
ordered you to single-handedly run into the base and face a whole factory of
Hydra fanatics?”
“I needed to make sure you were alive, Bucky. They were gonna leave you all . .
. I couldn’t let that happen,” the Captain whispered.
“Ah, I get it. Idiot, rebel, and fucking amazing hero,” Bucky grinned and
kissed Steve’s neck, right over his bite scar.
Steve bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop the groan of pure bliss and
pleasure. His arm immediately wrapped Bucky’s waist, pulling the brunet closer
to his body. Steve missed his husband’s lips . . . God, he’d missed them so
much.
At the stronger grip, Bucky stiffened and pulled back, catching his breath in a
rise of fear. Shaking his head, the brunet forced his own body to relax, trying
to get over the panic attack. With a slight whimper, meeting Steve’s eyes,
Bucky whispered, “sorry . . . I . . .”
With a small nod, Steve sat up and shifted away from Bucky, “it’s alright,
Buck. It ain’t your fault.” The blond swallowed hard and looked away. Would
Bucky ever be able to be intimate again? Would Steve ever be able to hold the
brunet tight in his arms?
A flush swept Bucky’s cheeks and he lowered his eyes, sitting up and slipping
from the bed, his uniform rumpled from sleeping fully dressed. He felt disgust
at himself well up: at his own stupid panic as well as his disgusting body. He
couldn’t blame anyone if they couldn’t face him. What man lets himself get
raped? Slowly, the soldier began pulling out his other uniform so he could
change.
“Bucky,” Steve called out quietly from where he still sat on the edge of the
cot.
“Yeah, Stevie?” he answered softly, unbuttoning his shirt.
“I - - I don’t know how to help you . . . I keep doing or saying the wrong
thing . . . I’m sorry.” Steve shook his head and let his eyes fall; he’d failed
Bucky. Failed to get him in time . . . failed to comfort his obviously hurting
husband.
Frowning, the light-eyed man turned his head to look over his lover. “I’m
getting better. Almost completely healed. I’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure
Steve.
“No, Buck, you can lie to all the other guys . . . but don’t lie to me,” Steve
said gently, but his tone was firm as he lifted his eyes to look up at Bucky.
“Lie?” Bucky asked softly, eyes narrowing. “I’m not lying, Steve. I know it’s
hard to believe, but whatever shit that mad scientist shot into me seems to
have made me heal faster. Don’t know what else it did, though.”
“I’m not talkin’ about your physical wounds, Buck,” Steve stated.
Sinking onto the cot so his suddenly weak legs wouldn’t give out and tumble him
to the hard ground, Bucky lifted wounded, frightened eyes to his husband. “I .
. . I tried to fight him, Stevie.” He buried his face in his hands, shame
welling with guilt and anger. “I even fucking begged like a fucking coward.”
“You are not a coward, Bucky . . . you are the bravest man I know,” Steve
fought the urge to wrap his arms around the brunet . . . every time he’d
touched Bucky the man would stiffen and panic. Steve didn’t know what to do . .
. the only thing he’d managed to do so far was make things worse.
Not arguing with Steve’s familiar words, Bucky wiped at his eyes, frustrated at
his continued weakness. Now he was crying? Bucky began to pull off the rumpled
shirt before unbuckling his belt with angry self-loathing. “Okay, you’re not a
hero and I’m not a coward,” he said bitterly, not really meaning the derisive
self-attack.
“Buck . . .” Steve’s heart ached, “Bucky, please . . . I’m sorry . . .” the
blond didn’t know what else to say; he wished they were back at their
apartment, that this damn war had never happened, and that things could be like
how they used to be. Steve would give up his new body in a heartbeat if it
meant that Bucky would’ve never gone through this. “I’m sorry . . .” Steve
repeated softly.
“Can you stop apologizing for something you didn’t do?” Bucky asked,
frustrated. He stood and strode to his lover. “Look, I’ll figure things out.
We’ll . . . together we can figure this out, okay?” He didn’t know how that
could happen, but Bucky didn’t want to push away the man he loved, even if he
felt like Steve might do better without such a weak coward as Bucky had proven.
Giving Bucky a small, weak smile, Steve nodded slowly and echoed, “together.”
“Together,” Bucky repeated then nodded. “Yeah, always together, Stevie. You and
me.” He offered a smile. Maybe . . . just maybe they really could figure this
out. Bucky didn’t deserve Steve, but if Steve wanted him, Bucky would take what
he could get. Finally the brunet stripped off the rumpled trousers and
exchanged them for the others.
Figuring a change in subject might be for the best, Steve cleared his throat
and started with, “Doctor Erskine is the man that let me in the Army. I got
accepted at the Expo.”
Blinking, thinking back to that last night at home, Bucky let out a small
humorless laugh. “Should’ve known that’s what took so long.” He pulled socks
from his duffel and began pulling them on with a sigh near to ecstasy at the
soft, warm feeling after so long in bare feet or just boots.
“I went to boot camp the very same day you shipped off . . . that was the
reason I couldn’t go with you to the train station. I would’ve missed my ride .
. . I wanted to see you off . . . I did . . . I just didn’t have enough time.”
“So, even that far back, you were sworn to secrecy, Cariad?” Bucky shook his
head. “Fucking military.”
Cringing, Steve hung his head and looked down at his hands, “No, Buck, I wasn’t
sworn into anything yet. I didn’t want to upset you . . . I didn’t want to ruin
our last night together.”
Thinking over that, Bucky let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “Ruin our night? My
God, Steve, you are the stupidest punk I know!” He reached out without thinking
to pull his husband over to him, pulling the big blond against his body. “I
knew you wanted in and kept trying. If I’d have known you’d made it, I could
have given you some tips and warnings and stuff. I’d have made love to you so
many more times before I left if I’d known you might be sent into this crazy
mess!” He shook his head and lay his face against Steve’s shoulder. “I hoped
and prayed you’d get refused every time so you could be safe at home, you
stupid punk.”
“I know . . . that’s why I didn’t tell you! I didn’t want you to worry about me
. . . you had enough going on, you didn’t need worrying about your skinny,
asthmatic husband in bootcamp on top of everything else.” Steve loved being
this close to his husband again, loved the small sense of normalcy this
conversation was bringing back into their lives.
“Boot camp?” Bucky lifted his face to stare his lover directly in the eyes, on
a level at last with the other man. “You think I’d have worried about you going
into boot camp?” Letting out a laugh, Bucky shook his head. “My God, Steve,
boot camp was a playground compared to this hellhole!”
“I wouldn’t say it was a playground . . .” Steve grumbled, cheeks flushing as
he remembered how much of a struggle each and every day had been.
“Right, and this place doesn’t make it look like training and drills and
endless punishment was a challenge?” Bucky shook his head. “So, this serum
thing was after bootcamp . . . that’s why you had trouble in basics?” Bucky’s
mind had always been quick.
“Oh yeah . . . they didn’t give me the serum until they were very sure that I
was the right . . . uh . . . subject?” Steve said.
“Test subject?” Bucky said. “Yeah, I actually got to meet Erskine. He had me
tested for his Project Rebirth thing. I suppose I can tell you that now.” Bucky
grinned. “See, not the only one sworn to secrecy, Stevie.”
“Erskine was a very good man,” Steve offered solemnly.
“I told him about you. He seemed pretty interested. Must be proud at the
results he got out of you.” Bucky smiled, equally proud, stepping back a bit to
glance over the gorgeous body made flesh that he had always imagined in his
mind.
“He . . . uh . . . died, Bucky. Right after I came out of the chamber, there
was so much going on . . . so many people and cameras going off,” Steve shook
his head, going back to that very chaotic moment, “somehow Hydra managed to get
a guy in. Shot . . .”
“Wait . . .” Bucky froze, eyes widening then narrowing, “Hydra? Hydra got the
fuck into New York? How far have these freaks penetrated?”
“They’re everywhere, Bucky . . . if they could penetrate a top secret military
research site, they are probably everywhere. These guys are like rats,” Steve
snarled, his anger and grief at losing a very kind man still very much present.
The brunet finally pulled Steve back against his body, huffing softly. “Well,
every single one I’ve seen wears a many tentacled Hydra pin or patch or
something. Like a stupid secret school club. Looks like a demented octopus.”
Steve froze, his whole body stiffening and he took a few steps back, nearly
stumbling. “Looks like an octopus or something?” the blond’s voice came out
breathless.
“Yeah,” Bucky frowned, worried but letting his lover go. “Like a head with
maybe six or so tentacles.”
“Buck,” Steve took a step closer and lowered his voice, “Doctor Keilmeyer had a
pin just like that.”
“Your health doctor? Wait,” Bucky frowned. “You mean, the man who took care of
you for ten years? The man who helped Erskine develop the Fertility Nature
studies? That Keilmeyer?”
Steve shook his head, running his fingers through his short blond hair, “I
don’t understand . . . he was put into a work camp . . . if he had been Hydra -
- why would they arrest their own man? Nothing about this makes any sense.”
“Hydra isn’t the same as the Nazis, Steve.” Bucky strode across the small space
then turned and paced back, looking frustrated but thoughtful. “The Hydras use
the Nazis, but they don’t share loyalty. Keilmeyer was recalled by Germany to
report and then got thrown in that camp. Maybe Hydra recalled him but the Nazis
arrested him? He was Jewish, Steve, and the Jews across Europe have been
imprisoned all over the place.”
“But . . . why would Keilmeyer work for people like Hydra? He was a good man .
. . he helped me . . .” Steve felt his stomach churn; the thought that a man
he’d once respected could have worked for the very same organization that had
just tortured Bucky made him sick.
Thinking carefully, Bucky finally lowered his voice once more, to the same
level he used when addressing their homosexuality, and stepped extremely close
to his husband. “Steve, have you seen anything in our military you didn’t agree
with? Anything that was done that angered or upset you? Offended you?”
Furrowing his brows, Steve nodded, “Of course.”
“Well, I get the feeling it’s the same everywhere. It’s highly possible
Keilmeyer thought Hydra was good then discovered what they were really like.
Maybe that’s why he was hiding out in New York.” Bucky rested his hand on the
small of Steve’s back, loosely, gently. “And, if Keilmeyer was Hydra . . . was
Erskine Hydra, too?”
“Was being the key term . . . Erskine fled Germany after Schmidt forced him to
give him the serum,” Steve answered honestly; he didn’t want to lie to Bucky
anymore.
“God!” Bucky shuddered and cringed. “Your face ain’t gonna melt off, is it? I
love you with my whole being, Cariad, but I don’t think I can kiss a fleshless
skull.”
Steve actually laughed quietly; he reached out and stroked his thumb across
Bucky’s cheekbone, “don’t worry, baby. I don’t think my face is gonna melt off.
I don’t know if I’d be able to live without your kisses.”
With a nod and a small chuckle, Bucky promised, “well, I promise to kiss any
bits that don’t melt, then.”
Steve’s eyes flickered over to the entrance of the tent before looking back at
Bucky; slowly, the blond stepped closer, his chest flush against his husband’s.
Steve pressed his lips against Bucky’s with all the passion and love he felt.
Responding, Bucky cupped Steve’s face and gladly returned his kisses, flicking
his tongue tip over Steve’s lips. The brunet didn’t cringe or pull back at all,
seeming totally into their exchange of love.
Parting his lips to deepen the kiss, Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s
waist, not as tight as he’d done earlier, and with his other hand ran his thumb
over the bite mark on his husband’s neck.
Bucky whimpered but remained pliant in his husband’s arm. He let his tongue
dance with Steve’s, tasting and exploring that mouth he loved. The sensation
across his scar sent a thrill through him, and Bucky whimpered again into
Steve’s mouth, his hips thrusting slightly before he forcibly controlled his
own body. Bucky continued kissing however.
Steve broke the kiss, only to move down to lick and nip at the bite mark,
wanting to taste Bucky’s skin. “God, I love you,” Steve rasped against the
brunet’s skin, teeth nipping gently at the scar.
A low moan escaped Bucky’s lips and his eyes fluttered closed. He breathed, “I
love you, Cariad, my heart . . . my soul.” A faint scent of arousal emanated
from Bucky’s skin, muted but unmistakable.
Wanting nothing more than to make love with his husband, Steve forced himself
to take a deep breath. Pulling away slightly, the blond rested his forehead
against Bucky’s as he tried to calm himself down. Steve ached for his lover,
his body longed to be touched and he practically vibrated with want.
“God, Steve, I want you so much,” Bucky revealed his inadvertent unity of
thought to his husband. “But . . . can’t risk it. Sun’s up. Too many people.”
“I know,” Steve swallowed and stepped back, his pale skin flushed with desire,
“I wish we were in our apartment . . . I wanna be alone with you, Buck.”
“Yeah,” the brunet agreed. “We gotta win this war so we can go home. Wanna
explore these new changes. What else did this serum do for you?” Bucky ran a
hand down Steve’s cheek and continued over his pectoral.
“They said I’m no longer a Gamma? I guess the serum changed me to an Alpha.”
Steve shrugged slightly.
Bucky chuckled. “An Alpha, huh? Yeah, I can see you as a tough leader, snapping
at the lesser dogs around you.” With a shake of his head, the brunet continued
in the same light manner, “so, guess that means they finally found their cure?
You . . .” smile dropping, eyes widening, Bucky breathed, “you ain’t sterile
anymore?”
“No, they cured me of practically everything.”
“Your heart . . . your lungs . . . and your balls?” Bucky shook his head in
wonder, but slowly a new horror began to dawn. With the possibility of being
able to produce children, Steve deserved a chance to make a family, carry on
his name. “So . . . have you gotten any of those rumored Alpha urges to
dominate and breed with someone?” Bucky made it sound like a joke, though his
eyes held worry.
Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s face, seeing the worry in his husband’s eyes; the
blond cupped his lover’s face in one hand and stroked his thumb across the pale
skin. “I love you and only you, Buck. I only want for you . . . I am your’s and
you are mine.”
“Dum Dum asked me if we were gonna adopt,” Bucky said softly, looking down at
his hands as he entwined them with Steve’s. He noted the wedding ring on his
husband’s right hand and fought tears, recalling his father.
“Dugan knows?” Steve asked softly, not dropping his hand.
“Yeah, he figured it out when we first met,” Bucky sighed. “I was an idiot and
must’ve given us away somehow. I’ve been very careful since.”
After a few moments, Steve smiled softly, “we’d make pretty great parents,
wouldn’t we?” He’d always wanted children, but that dream had been crushed a
long time ago. Now, Steve realized that he could produce kids, but he didn’t
want anyone but Bucky. Sadly, Steve knew they’d never be able to adopt . . .
not without endangering both their lives and the lives of any children.
Fighting tears, Bucky nodded. “I would love to have kids with you, Cariad.
You’d be a hell of a father.”
Pressing his lips to Bucky’s again, Steve said softly, “maybe in another life?
One where people accept everyone for who they are . . . maybe then?”
Nodding, making the decision, Bucky offered Steve a small smile. He stroked his
husband’s strong hands. “Steve, if you want kids . . . well, I don’t see how
any dame would wanna just have a kid and give it up.” He shook his head. “Guess
that’s a foolish thought.” Bucky blew out a frustrated sigh.
Looking at Bucky intently, Steve said, “it ain’t foolish. It’s a wonderful
thought . . . but it wouldn’t be right . . . we couldn’t have a child with just
one of us. And since it’s impossible for both of us to be the biological father
. . . well, then I don’t think either one of us should be.”
Bucky nodded, but gave it one last shot. “Okay, but if you do find a dame
willing to let you give her a kid then give it back . . . crazy, but . . .
well, I’d be happy with any kid you made, Steve. I’d love it like my own.” He
stroked Steve’s face, eyes following his husband’s every expression.
“I know you would, Buck. I know.” Steve sighed happily, dreaming of little feet
running around - - Bucky and him taking the children out, tucking them into
bed, reading them stories . . . loving them. “God, I wish it were possible . .
.” the blond breathed, wanting those dreams to be a reality.
Drawing a slow, deep breath, Bucky said, “maybe after the war we can try to
find a place that wouldn’t hate us for adopting a kid?”
Leaning down to kiss Bucky again, Steve nodded and beamed happily, “I’d love
that, Buck.”
Whispering softly, Bucky said, “it might not be in the states?”
“You mean move overseas?” Steve asked, thinking the idea over.
“Yeah,” the brunet said. “Not sure where, but . . . maybe somewhere.”
“If it meant living out the rest of my life with you and our family . . . I’d
move anywhere,” Steve stated, his tone displaying all the love and affection he
held for his lover.
Smiling back, Bucky bent to kiss the blond when a knock on the wood hanging
outside Steve’s tent interrupted them.
xxx
Setting: AU: Thursday, November 4, 1943: London, England
Colonel Phillips had agreed with the medics that the walking wounded needed
some time to unwind so had authorized the group two days of leave in London.
Thus, sitting at a small table, away from the released prisoners of war as they
celebrated and drank and sang, Bucky sipped his cold beer, shaking his head
softly. Normally, he would have been in the thick of that impromptu party. He
still enjoyed the large gathering, the good aura and pleased scents, but Bucky
felt like being on the fringe, still dealing with what he’d been through. As
the sole survivor from the Isolation Ward, it seemed no one else could
understand him, though the handful of men that had been in his cell tried.
Glancing over to the table around the large wooden beam, the young sergeant
noted that only two of the men in that mixed group were from the 107th, like
him. The others included an Army Ranger from California, a paratrooper from the
British Army, a French Civilian from the resistance, and Steve Rogers, Bucky’s
best friend, lover, husband, and savior.
Shaking his head again as he listened to Steve try to convince those survivors
to go back into the thick of things with limited resources, questionable intel,
and almost non-existent backup reminded the brunet, yet again, how he’d warned
Steve that soldiers might not want to fight after they’ve tasted the hell of
war - - but that these men were probably insane enough to volunteer quite
readily.
After all the men sitting around the table agreed to fight with him to
eradicate Hydra, Steve stopped by the bar to get the men another round of beer
and then walked into the other room to check on his husband.
“I told you,” Bucky called softly from his table around the bend. “They’re all
insane.”
Trying not to notice how the uniform Bucky wore - - a uniform that used to fit
just right - - now hung loosely from his frame and the haunted look in those
steely eyes, Steve smirked slightly and asked, “how about you? You ready to
follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” He sat down on the stool next
to the brunet, fighting the urge to wrap his arm around those slender
shoulders.
“Hell, no,” Bucky grinned softly and glanced back. “That little guy from
Brooklyn? Who was too dumb not to run from a fight? I’m following him.” Bucky
lifted his mug and sipped, watching Steve with the remnants of a smile.
Steve smiled softly in return, looking at his husband with all the love he felt
towards the man.
“But you’re keeping the uniform, right?” Bucky leered suggestively behind his
beer. That stupid spangled outfit had fit Steve’s frame almost like a glove,
showing a hint of all the best bits.
“You know what?” Steve chuckled, looking at a poster of himself hanging on the
opposite wall, “I think it’s growing on me.”
“Yeah? It’s got me growing . . .” Bucky whispered.
As the guys around the corner began singing, some dropped off slowly until they
all fell silent. Falsworth was the first to stare, followed by every other male
in the room. Peggy Carter, dressing in an elegant knee-length red cocktail
dress and strapped heels strode in among the all-male patrons of the pub. She
smiled and walked directly over to Steve and Bucky, who stood immediately,
politely.
“Good evening,” Bucky murmured, ever the gentleman. He checked her over out of
habit, his eye for beauty not lost even though he was in a war and preferred a
more masculine beauty.
Steve immediately rising to his feet, the blond gave the woman a respectful
nod.
Almost absently Peggy offered a polite smile to Bucky and said, “good evening.”
She turned more fully to her friend, Steve. “Howard would like to talk to you
about equipment in the morning.”
“Of course,” Steve smiled, eyes focused solely on Peggy. He hadn’t seen her in
civilian clothes before, especially anything as attractive as that red number.
Drawing his eyes from the Agent, the brunet let his gaze fall on his normally
shy, tongue-tied husband. Shock coursed through Bucky and he lost his smile
slightly. Steve was literally staring at the pretty dame, as if no one else was
present in the universe. Worry and self-doubt coursed through the soldier and
he forced a smile on his face, though inside he wondered if he’d already lost
his beautiful lover. After all, Steve had said the scientists thought he was a
full Alpha, which meant he would be inclined to breed and produce children,
despite what he might say. Steve had been cured as was now 'top choice' in the
survival of the fittest. Could Bucky really hold his love back from reaching
full potential? Unsure if there had been any talking going on while he’d been
lost in his thoughts, Bucky suddenly asked, “Are you here to dance?”
The woman never removed her eyes from the tall, muscular blond. “I might,” her
answer sounded flirtatious, playful.
“What’s stopping you?” Bucky asked, not really offering but he wouldn’t turn
her down. Bucky loved dancing and figured Steve wouldn’t begrudge him that
small pleasure. But he needn’t have worried.
Peggy continued to smile, her eyes locked on Steve. She murmured, “the right
partner.”
Steve smiled brightly at Peggy, knowing that the woman was talking about her
lover, Lizette. He would love to live in a world where Peggy and Lizette or
Bucky and himself could go out dancing without fear of being hurt or killed.
“Oh Eight hundred, Captain,” Agent Carter reminded Steve then walked away, back
out of the club, as if it were perfectly normal to arrive dressed for dancing
to deliver an appointment message.
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve nodded with a playful smirk.
Bucky glanced after Peggy’s retreating figure then back towards his beer on the
table he stood by. His haunted eyes had rounded in shock. For the first time in
his life, Bucky Barnes was not the center of a female’s world. It wasn’t
painful per say, but it was certainly unexpected. Bucky had grown up thriving
on female attention, and to have it shunted to his beloved, yet normally
ignored, husband confused and worried him. Softly, he said, “I’m invisible.”
Then he realized that it was the lack of Steve’s attention that bothered him
more than anything; Steve seemed to have eyes only for the beautiful woman that
had just breezed through.
Frowning softly, Steve finally turned his eyes on his husband, “ya ain’t
invisible, Bucky.” Leaning in closer, to avoid someone overhearing, the blond
whispered, “you’re all I can see.”
Troubled, Bucky looked at the once smaller man, now two inches taller and a
good forty pounds heavier. He frowned and tossed some change on the table to
pay for his beer. “I’m tired.” Bucky turned towards the exit.
Rushing forward to reach Bucky’s side, Steve looked down at his husband, very
worried and concerned. Bucky had seemed fine right before Peggy showed up . . .
what happened? “Buck? You alright?”
Nodding, looking lost and a bit sick, Bucky said, “yeah, just not used to the
alcohol and rich food, I guess.” He walked from the pub and into the cold night
air, slipping his hat onto his head, but it lacked his normal jaunty angle.
Bucky shoved his suddenly freezing hands deep in his uniform pockets and began
trudging back to the stone structure set aside for SSI headquarters and
temporary billeting for the returned POWs.
Not fully buying Bucky’s excuse, Steve shook his head but didn’t say anything,
just continued to walk besides his lover. Bucky did look a little sick, but the
blond had a feeling something else was going on . . . he knew when Bucky was
upset . . . something about Peggy’s visit had upset the brunet . . . but Steve
couldn’t figure out what.
Not protesting Steve’s company, thankful to have the man near despite his own
personal demons, Bucky stepped just a tad closer to Steve’s warmth, still
hunched against the bitter cold. He’d already been told his lose of weight
would make things colder, and the doctors hadn't lied.
Wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, Steve pulled his husband in closer;
to any outsider it would appear that two friends were simply helping each other
walk home from a night at the pub, but the blond knew Bucky was cold . . . and
now Steve’s temperature always ran high.
Sighing at the instant heat source, Bucky lay his head on Steve’s shoulder,
letting the illusion go forth that he’d had too much partying, despite only
finishing half a beer. “Tired . . .” he murmured.
“I bet, didn’t get very good sleep last night. I’m sure you’ll pass out as soon
as we get to the barracks,” Steve said with a small smile, hoping for Bucky’s
sake that it would be true.
“We can lock the door?” Bucky asked softly, thankful the military had insisted
on doubling up the men. Technically, Steve could have had his own room, as this
group consisted of an odd number, but the beautiful blond had allowed the Brit,
Major Falsworth, that privilege,
“Yeah, we can lock the door, Buck,” Steve said softly, giving his lover a
gentle squeeze around the shoulders, bringing the brunet even closer to his
side.
After a moment, it became evident that Bucky had nuzzled his nose into Steve’s
neck and was inhaling deeply.
Looking around to make sure no one could see them, Steve moved his head to
press a quick, light kiss in Bucky’s hair.
“Love your scent, Cariad. You’re always my sweet Stevie,” Bucky’s voice was
low, muffled by Steve’s neck. He straightened as they stepped up before the
small building assigned for their stay. “Room’s on the second floor, right?”
Bucky asked on a sigh, fishing around and pulling out his key in a shaking,
pale hand.
Frowning at his lover’s trembling hands, Steve nodded and confirmed, “yeah . .
. Buck? You sure you’re okay? Do you need to go to medical?”
“No!” Bucky jumped on that answer so quick, his word bit off and sounded either
angry or panicked. “No doctors,” he growled softly. “I’m just cold, Steve.”
“Okay,” Steve said half-heartedly, not buying what Bucky was telling him, but
he didn’t want to push the brunet into doing something he didn’t want to do.
The blond opened the door and allowed Bucky to step in first.
Looking at the useless key in his hand, Bucky sighed and let it fall back into
his pocket. He stepped into the room and immediately took his hat off, gently
placing it on the small table. Striding slowly across the small room, the
brunet unfastened his jacket with long, slender fingers. He stopped next to the
cold radiator.
Shutting the door softly behind him, locking it like Bucky had asked, Steve
walked over to Bucky, placing a strong hand on the brunet’s shoulder. “Can you
tell me what’s really wrong now?”
Looking at Steve, Bucky sighed and slid out of his uniform jacket, his whole
body shaking. “A lot of things seem wrong, Steve.” Now that they were once more
alone, Bucky seemed willing to talk at least.
Steve flinched softly but nodded, “wanna talk about it? I’m a real good
listener, you know that.”
Nodding, the brunet unfastened his belt and trousers, removing them carefully.
“Yeah, but you won’t like what I say, Stevie.” Bucky looked up as he sank to
the bed, removing one shoe then the other. “I feel weak and kind of pointless.”
“Weak?” Steve crouched down in front of Bucky, “Bucky, baby, you aren’t weak.
You are the only person to come out of that room alive. You survived. And you
could never be pointless to me, to anyone who knows you and loves you.”
“Yeah, and no matter how many times I tell myself those same things, it doesn’t
change how I feel, Steve. I feel weak and pointless. I know that blue shit they
shoved in me helped heal me. That’s what Zola said it was supposed to, but I
don’t think that’s the entire reason I lived so long.” The brunet left his
socks on and turned to the drawer with his and Steve’s night clothes, fishing
for his war-issued longjohns and pulling them on with a sigh for the warmth.
“How about starting with why you feel those things?” Steve asked softly,
looking up at Bucky with sad, worried eyes.
“Same reason as last time we talked, actually. I feel weak because . . . well,”
he flushed and anger and pain filled his steel-colored eyes, “Okay, I feel
pointless ‘cause a dozen guys got the same training I did and aren’t having
trouble getting enough sleep to do it.” Bucky shook his head, buttoning up his
winter underwear. “I feel like it’s a matter of time before I get shipped
stateside because I can’t get over what happened. It’s still locked in my mind
and all over my body.” He shuddered, hugging himself.
“Bucky, it’s only been a few days. You gotta give yourself a chance to heal,
your body and mind will heal with time. What you went through . . .” Steve
flushed and looked down at the ground as he cleared his throat. Looking back up
at Bucky, he swallowed and continued, “no one should have to . . . just give
yourself time.”
“Steve, I have bathed three times in the last day and a half, but I can’t get
him off of me.” Bucky hugged himself and stood, walking to the cold radiator
and frowning, holding his hand out then touching the icy metal, a sure sign the
room’s heat was not on.
Standing back up, Steve made his way over to where Bucky stood and as soon as
the brunet pulled his hand off the machine, Steve turned it on to heat up the
room, although he wasn’t cold in the slightest. Slowly, to allow Bucky to pull
away if needed, Steve wrapped his arms around his husband and kissed the bite
mark on his lover’s neck.
Letting his head fall back, Bucky keened softly in a needy way. “I missed you
so much, Stevie,” he groaned. He didn’t feel much, his body not reacting like
it used to, but Bucky reveled in his lover’s touch, anyway.
Running his tongue across the raised flesh, Steve murmured against Bucky’s
neck, “I missed you, too, baby.”
Finally turning completely to press flush against Steve, Bucky leaned in to
kiss Steve’s matching bite mark. “Know how many times I had to jerk off while
you’ve been gone?” He wasn’t afraid of sex, not with Steve; Bucky just didn’t
feel . . . adequate any more.
“Mmm, . .” Steve hummed with a loving smile, “well, with us sharing a room that
shouldn’t be a problem. Just gotta be quick . . . and quiet.” The blond pressed
his lips to Bucky’s.
“I was never the one who had a problem with quiet,” Bucky teased softly, though
he seemed a bit withdrawn still.
“Yeah, well,” Steve flushed, “it’s your fault for always taking such good care
of me, Buck.”
“Humph,” Bucky mocked lightly, “my fault? You saying I made you this fucking
hot?” He ran a hand down Steve’s uniform jacket and smiled softly, the teasing
glint in his eyes muted, shadowed by pain and uncertainty.
Pulling slightly away with a soft frown, catching the look in Bucky’s eyes,
Steve looked at his husband. “You don’t like it, do you?” Steve didn’t sound
mad or upset, more curious and worried.
“Don’t like it?” Bucky frowned, confusion sweeping over him. “Don’t like what,
Steve?”
“What the serum did,” Steve answered with a blush, still not used to his own
body. The blond wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky didn’t like his new body; Bucky
had fallen for Steve’s smaller self.
Stunned, Bucky pulled out of Steve’s arms and shook his head. “My fucking God,
Steve, really? This is really happening?” He shook his head and stepped over to
the bed to pull back the covers and slip inside. “I love that the serum healed
you. How can you possibly think I don’t like that you are the epitome of health
and male beauty?” Bucky frowned more, “though beauty isn’t everything, so we
can just forget that bit and go with the fact that I’m ecstatic that you aren’t
sick anymore! Nor do I have to worry about cold feet on my legs anymore.”
Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, no matter what he said . . . it
only seemed to make matters worse. Now, Bucky was definitely upset at him. “I’m
sorry,” Steve muttered, “I didn’t mean to upset you . . . I’m just trying to
figure things out - - I don’t know what to do or say.”
Shaking his head, Bucky let out a huff of air. “You are the walking epitome of
what the military wants, what the Fertility Nature’s describe as the perfect
Alpha, and you’re still insecure about your looks?” He rolled his eyes.
“C’mere, doll.”
“All I care about is being what you want,” Steve said honestly as he began to
pull off his uniform so he could join Bucky in bed.
“I want you to be you, Steve. I don’t want you to change because of what
someone else thinks or says.” The brunet looked at the bed pushed against the
wall and shuddered. He got up to find the warming pan and then realized there
wasn’t even a fire to put it in. Giving up on that idea, the brunet hunted up a
hot water bottle and began trying to find a way to heat up water so he could
fill it.
Folding his uniform carefully, Steve pulled on his sleepwear and sat on the
edge of his bed. “I’m really warm, Bucky . . . the doctors say that my body
naturally runs a few degrees higher than the average. Under the blanket . . .
you should warm up just fine.” He patted the spot next to him gently. Steve was
a little worried about how cold Bucky still felt. Sliding over, getting as
close as he could to the wall, Steve slid under the blankets and held them open
for his husband to join him.
Taking Steve’s suggestion and explanation to heart, Bucky put down the cold hot
water bottle. He walked over, eying the bed and it’s lone occupant as if it
were something less than desireable. Slowly, Bucky slid onto the bed, next to
Steve. He nodded, “you’re definitely warm.” Turning over, back to Steve, Bucky
watched the rom in the low light of the gas lamp. Slowly, he reached up and
turned the wick to shut down the lamp’s glow, plunging the room in near
darkness, starlight the only light filtering in. Bucky closed his eyes,
reminding himself that Steve was the one behind him.
“You’re okay, baby,” Steve cooed gently, “c’mon, let’s try to get some sleep,
yeah?”
“Yeah,” Bucky murmured and slid backwards just a bit, feeling his lover pressed
against his back, but somehow it didn’t feel wrong; he didn’t feel vulnerable
in his husband’s arms. Bucky felt complete . . . and like he was in control
once more. He let himself drift off, breaths evening out.
Steve absently ran his fingers down Bucky’s arm in a soothing manner, listening
to the steady breathing. He hoped Bucky would sleep through the night; he
figured if Bucky could get some decent sleep . . . all the other problems and
complications would start to correct themselves.
Unfortunately only about two hours passed before Bucky woke up with a horrible
scream, falling into chanting his name, rank, and serial number in both English
and Romanian, over and over. His body shook violently and the soldier began
scrambling from the bed, thumping onto the floor and crawling across, blindly,
unaware he headed right for the radiator.
Shooting up, Steve’s heart thumped heavily in his chest; the blond scrambled
after Bucky, worried that the brunet would burn himself. “Buck! Bucky, stop!
You’re safe! You’re with Steve!” Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm to pull him away
from the heated metal.
Screaming, Bucky whirled, trying to pull away his arm, facing the perceived
threat.
“Stop!” Steve struggled, continuing to drag the thrashing man away from the
radiator that could easily cause serious burns, “C’mon, Buck! It’s me . . .
it’s Steve!”
Freezing suddenly, Bucky began chanting once more, eyes blank and almost dead.
He stayed absolutely still in Steve’s grip, his body trembling.
Cupping Bucky’s face gently, Steve caressed his husband’s cheek bones with his
thumbs, “Come back to me, baby. You’re safe. Please . . . you’re safe with me.”
Cautiously, Steve leaned forward and pressed his lips tenderly to Bucky’s,
“come back to me, Buck,” Steve whispered against his lover’s lips.
At the feeling of Steve’s mouth, the sudden influx of that sweet, safe scent,
Bucky felt the grip of horror, the remembered lab, the excruciating nightmares
fall away. He stopped fighting, stopped chanting, and blinked, eyes widely
looking around the strange room. He whimpered in confusion, his steel-blue eyes
haunted and panicked, but the brunet had fallen temporarily quiet.
“Hey, Buck,” Steve breathed, taking the quiet as a good sign, and kissed Bucky
again, “you’re alright . . . you’re safe.”
“Ste . . . Stevie,” Bucky gripped his lover’s shoulders and buried his face in
the blond’s neck, breathing deeply. He didn’t remember getting onto the floor,
but he could figure out what must have happened: he’d freaked out again, like
the doctor had feared. He was going to be sent to some asylums for lunatics and
babbling morons. Bucky sobbed.
Wrapping his strong arms around Bucky, Steve held his husband close, “it’s
okay, baby. You’re okay. We’ll figure this out,” the blond ran his fingers down
Bucky’s back, trying to calm him down.
“I’m going crazy, Cariad. He’ll never let me go until he drives me to madness .
. .” Bucky moaned low into his lover’s neck.
“No, baby,” Steve cooed, “no . . . I won’t let that happen, okay? You’re just
having some nightmares again . . . I stopped them once, didn’t I? I can stop
them again.” The blond didn’t know if he was lying or not. Bucky’s trauma now
was a lot worse than when the brunet had seen his father die . . . there was a
lot more for Bucky to deal with.
Bucky continued to cry, feeling weak yet again, especially in front of Steve.
He was a soldier, a marksman, and he hadn’t protected himself. He’d been . . .
raped . . . and hadn’t stopped it. Bucky curled his fingers into Steve’s
pajamas.
“Shhh . . . it’s okay, Buck, you’re alright,” Steve repeated in a soft, gentle
voice, continuing to run his fingers up and down Bucky’s back.
Shaking his head, the brunet whimpered, “I can’t, Stevie. I can’t live through
that again . . . he’s everywhere.”
“You’re safe now . . . they’re just dreams, baby. He’s never going to hurt you
again,” Steve promised, feeling very confident about that fact. Steve had left
the bastard unconscious in an exploding building . . . there was no way that
man had gotten out.
Body trembling as he cried, Bucky shook his head. “I’m fine . . . I’m fine . .
.” he sobbed. “Just don’t sleep . . .”
“Bucky . . . you have to sleep,” Steve said gently, “your body needs rest. I
know it’s scary right now . . . but the nightmares will go away.” The blond
felt so helpless . . . he couldn’t fight Bucky’s nightmares - - he couldn’t
punch his way out of this problem. “The medic left a few sedatives, if you
want?”
“Medicine . . . to make me sleep . . . not be able to wake up, get away . . .”
Bucky moaned, face buried in Steve’s neck.
“I won’t leave you while you sleep, okay? I’ll keep watch. The sedatives will
just help you get some rest and then you’ll feel better in the morning,” Steve
offered.
Lifting his face, Bucky nodded, his voice softening in a sound of tired
defeat.”Don’t leave me, Stevie.”
“I promise,” Steve said and kissed Bucky’s forehead, “I’m just gonna get the
medicine, okay? Can you make it back to the bed?”
“Yeah, yes . . .” Bucky nodded and let his husband go, seizing on the firm
directions. He crawled, not wanting to even try to stand on his shaking legs.
Pulling himself back into the bed, Bucky collapsed at the edge, unable to get
into the interior where he’d feel so much more secure, even if blocked by
Steve.
Steve lighted the lamp again so he could see what he did and grabbed one the
leftover sedatives from the medic. Kneeling by the edge of the bed, Steve ran
his fingers through Bucky’s hair and kissed his forehead, “you’re gonna be
okay, baby.”
With a nod, Bucky softly said, “go ahead, Steve, give me the medicine.”
Nodding, Steve rolled up Bucky’s sleeve and carefully plunged the needle into
the same spot he’d seen the medic do earlier.
It took only minutes for Bucky’s eyes to fall closed and his breathing to
steady out, his body trembling fading to relaxation.
Putting the metal and glass syringe on the bedside table, Steve leaned forward
to kiss his husband’s forehead again. “I love you, Bucky.”
***** A Change of Position *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: November 5 to 7, 1943; London, England to Azzano, Italy
     xxx
     Translations:
     merde! Mère de Dieu! - Shit, Mother of God! - French
     Cariad - Love - Welsh
     Sergentul James Barnes, trei doi cinci cinci șapte zero, trei opt -
     Sergeant James Barnes, three two five five seven zero three eight -
     Romanian
     Sierżant James Barnes, trzy dwa pięć pięć siedem zero trzy osiem -
     Sergeant James Barnes, three two five five seven zero three eight -
     Polish
     .
Setting: AU: Friday, November 5, 1943: London, England
The next morning, Steve found himself running a little early for his meeting
with Howard Stark in a lower level of the SSI building. As he informed the WAC
of his appointment, she smiled up at him. Folding a news-sheet neatly to reveal
the story of his rescue of the prisoners in Italy, the pretty, pert blond woman
stood.
“You’re the hero who saved all those soldiers.” She smiled.
Blushing heavily, Steve ducked his head and cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t say
hero, ma’am, the real heroes are the men that I helped get out.”
“Well, their wives and girlfriends may have a different opinion, Captain.” She
pushed him on the shoulder towards the stacks of records. “On behalf of the
women of America, let me thank you,” she leaned in and kissed him, his alluring
scent appearing to call to her.
Steve froze. No woman, other than his mother occasionally on the forehead, had
ever kissed him! This woman’s scent was quite alluring, but nothing like the
scent of his husband, his Bucky. Just as he was about to push the blond woman
away, he heard a loud throat clearing sound.
The scent of woodsy protection wafted over on the heels of anger and disgust.
“Mr. Stark will see you now, if you aren’t otherwise engaged, Captain.” Peggy’s
voice washed over the pair coldly.
Pushing the blond woman away slightly so he could slink past her to follow
Peggy, Steve felt horrified and ashamed. Would Peggy tell Bucky? The last thing
Bucky needed to hear right now was that Steve had been kissing a nameless
volunteer!
The volunteer slipped away as Peggy spun on her heel and began to stride away,
frowning.
“That wasn’t what it looked like, Peggy,” Steve said hurriedly, eyes wide and
nearly begging.
“It looked like you had no trouble finding partners,” she continued to walk,
turning a corner.
“Well, what about you and Stark? Aren’t you two . . . fonduing?” Steve asked.
Whirling around, her eyes widening then narrowing, she growled, “you’ve got a
lot to learn about loyalty, Captain.” Pushing open the door, the brunette woman
gave the blond man a glare and walked away.
Hanging his head in shame, Steve walked into the other room. He didn’t know if
he’d ever be able to explain himself to Peggy . . . and he feared that she’d
tell his husband. Steve hadn’t been flirting with the other woman at all, and
he had been about to push her away! He didn’t even return the kiss!
The short, black-haired man looked up at Steve’s entrance and smiled. “Good
morning, Captain.”
“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Steve said with a small nod and smile.
“Oh, call me Howard. We’ve been heroes together.” He offered a friendly smile
and walked towards a table in the center of the room covered with armor and
weapons of different descriptions.
Chuckling softly, Steve nodded, “alright, only if you call me Steve, none of
that Captain business.” The blond followed the small brunet towards the table,
eying each and every piece of equipment on the table.
“And was that the dulcet tones of our dear Agent Carter I heard outside my
door?” Howard chuckled. “What did you do to rile her up?”
Flushing again, Steve rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously, “uh .
. . might’ve said something about the two of you - - fonduing? I think I’m a
little mixed up on the meaning of the word.”
“Fondue?” Howard chuckled and shook his head. “Fondue is nothing but bread and
cheese, my friend.”
“Really?” Steve blushed deeper and wished he could go back in time to change
the last five minutes; starting with that very assertive blond woman.
“Well, I took liberty with some designs.” Howard touched the first shield, the
one belonging to the troupe, still indented with the imprint of Schmidt’s fist.
“I hear you’re quite attached?”
Smiling, Steve nodded and looked at the options in front of him, none of them
quite fitting what he had in mind, “comes in handy.” Steve’s eyes caught on a
small, circular shield sitting half under the table. Grabbing it, Steve was
shocked by how light it felt and the overall sturdiness of it. “What type of
metal is this? Steel?”
“Vibranium. Stronger than anything and a third the weight.” He smiled and moved
to point out a different shield.
“Why is it not standard issue?” Steve asked as he tried it on, slipping his
left arm through the holsters.
“Because that is the rarest metal known to man. What you are holding is all we
have.” Howard chuckled. “You have an eye for the best, Pal.”
The small circular shield felt right on Steve’s arm, almost as if the shield
had been made for him; the weight and circumference were perfect and the blond
thought he’d could easily use it as a projectile if the situation called for
it.
With a steady click of her heels on the hard floor, Peggy entered Howard’s
domain.
Steve smiled sheepishly at Peggy and turned to fully face her; holding the
shield a little higher he asked, “so, what do you think?”
Blinking once at the blond man and the small brunet next to him, Peggy glanced
at the unremarkable silvery circle. Without warning, she drew her pistol and
shot at Steve four times. Howard ducked as if he were the target.
The Captain ducked under the cover of the shield, the metal clanging loudly in
his ears as the bullets hit the silver surface; after he was sure the brunette
wouldn’t fire any more shots, Steve peeked over the rim.
“Yes,” she said in a clipped tone, giving nothing away. “That’ll do nicely.”
The brunette woman holstered the pistol and added, “are you leaving it bright
silver then?” Her voice sounded more disinterested than usual, obviously still
angry on Bucky’s behalf.
“I actually had some design thoughts . . .” Steve’s blue eyes were wide with
shock and he handed a list over to the inventor, not taking his eyes off the
woman.
Without looking away from the terrifyingly accurate woman, Howard nodded and
took the paper. “Whatever you want, pal.” He sounded torn between impressed and
sexually aroused.
When Steve left the R&D lab, Peggy stayed behind. The blond WAC at the admin
desk wouldn’t meet the Captain’s eyes, pretending not to notice his passing
until, as he almost got to the door, she softly said, “I apologize, Captain. I
didn’t see your ring on the other hand. I’ve never seen someone wear a wedding
ring on the right.”
Steve nodded once, a feeling of guilt in his chest, “it’s okay. You’re right,
it is a bit strange.”
Peggy rounded the corridor and breezed right past the pair of blondes, still
looking disapproving. Her heels clicked on the floor in a steady tattoo as she
walked.
Turning to look back at the brunette, Steve followed Peggy down the long
hallway, “Peggy . . . “
“Captain Rogers,” she stopped, turning to look at him directly, just in front
of the exit doors.
“What you saw - - it wasn’t like that,” Steve’s tone was pleading.
“Like what, Captain?” she sounded cool, distant and disapproving.
“She kissed me, I was just about to push her away when you showed up. I’d never
do anything - -” Steve looked around before continuing, “I’d never hurt Bucky
like that.”
“Did you know that ninety percent of the time you are being followed by a man
with a camera?” she asked, as if out of the blue.
“Uh . . .” Steve shook his head, “ninety?”
“Yes. He isn’t here while you are on leave, but he will be following our team a
great deal while we are on maneuvers. The American government wants to show off
their . . . greatest achievement.” She sighed. “When in a public, or even semi-
private setting, you should really be more aware of your surroundings . . .”
her voice dropped, “unlike Abraham.”
The blond sighed and hung his head, “I will . . . I’m sorry you saw that,
Peggy, really I am.”
As if that were the end of the minor disagreement, Peggy turned towards the
door. “Misunderstandings might be seen as deliberate . . . well, many women
will want to be your . . .” she looked over, “partner, now, Steve. If you
weren’t already taken, I wouldn’t be bothered in the slightest.”
“I love Bucky,” Steve said firmly, “that’s who I want as my partner. No one
else.”
She nodded once. “Then be aware of that at all times or else you might be
ambushed again.” She shook her head. “Why is it that men never suspect a woman
has designs until it’s almost too late?” She pushed out the door. “The Colonel
is mustering the men in the barracks to determine who is fit for duty, Captain.
Those who don’t pass will be shipped to another base for either retraining or
recovery.”
Nodding, Steve took a deep breath and stepped out into the open air, he began
to make his way towards the rest of the men.
Once Steve got to the general muster area, he heard Colonel Phillips call out
for the men to grab a gun and line up. An Army doctor stood on hand, the medic
having stayed back at the Azzano base, watching the rescued prisoners who
mustered despite still being on the three day pass they’d been granted. The
doctor’s eyes flickered over to Steve before settling on the line of men
holding standard rifles, Bucky among them, looking pale but a little better
rested since he’d had the sedative the night before.
Steve smiled softly at his husband; he’d left the brunet sleeping and was happy
to see that the sedative hadn’t been too strong. Bucky seemed to have gotten up
on his own.
As the tall blond looked over to his husband, Bucky gave him a wink and his
signature saucy grin, the sun glinting off the wedding ring still on his right
hand, even after his imprisonment.
The blond grinned at his lover and then turned his attention towards Philips.
“Right, to the range, men.” Phillips marched the men outside to a small
temporary range, the doctor following with a list and a stack of forms on his
clipboard. Steve was permitted to join them, though Phillips barked, “you won’t
be shooting, Rogers. Go stand by the doctor.” The Colonel stared until the tall
blond dropped back away from the firing line.
“Yes, sir,” Steve muttered and then turned to listen to the direct order;
standing next to the doctor, the blond watched as the other soldiers completed
their tests.
The older officer turned back to the men and ran each one through a group of
ten firing tests for marksmanship and reaction, the doctor recording accuracy,
physical reaction to the weapon firing, and apparent overall emotional state.
As the men, one by one, tried to qualify, Steve’s hand picked team succeeded
one by one, until only one remained: Bucky, third to last in the entire line-
up. Three rescued soldiers were noted by the doctor as having an increased
startle reflex, one ducking at the sound of the man before him firing. Another
man wouldn’t stop firing once he’d started. As each man finished, he reported
to the doctor to be cleared, though the four with the non-standard reactions
were put on stress watch and sent to check into the hospital for further
evaluation.
Then came Bucky’s turn.
Steve watched calmly, but on the inside he felt extremely worried for his
lover. Would Bucky still be able to shoot? After all the terrors the brunet had
seen . . . could he still fire a weapon?
The brunet put on his ear protectors. Carefully lining up his shots, the too
lean brunet fired off round after round, hitting every designated target
directly in the kill zone. He didn’t shake, didn’t startle, and didn’t become
distracted even when the Colonel suddenly pulled his own revolver and fired it
off over the Sergeant’s shoulder.
Morita, the feisty Ranger from California, nodded, impressed. While all of
Captain Rogers’ hand-picked team were marksmen, the Sergeant had definitely
proven the best shot . . . and possibly the calmest.
Suitably impressed, the British Major, Falsworth, nodded and looked grimly
pleased.
Eyes widening in surprise, mouth forming a shocked ‘O,’ the small Frenchman,
Dernier, whispered, “merde! Mère de Dieu!”
Both Gabe and Dum Dum watched Bucky with wide eyes, having not known how the
Sergeant would react to the unexpected gunfire; however, after a few moments it
became apparent that the brunet seemed fine . . . practically unfazed.
Steve’s eyes never left his husband. He watched the impressive display of skill
with a proud smile; he’d never actually seen Bucky fire a gun before.
Phillips finally nodded and told Bucky, “stand down, Sergeant. Unload and check
your weapon. Next . . .” and the higher ranking officer moved on to another
returned soldier.
The doctor actually looked impressed. He nodded and called Bucky to him, who
removed his ear protectors. As the brunet emptied, checked, and returned his
rifle, the doctor murmured to Steve, “as the Sergeant’s immediate commanding
officer, you are welcome to stay for his evaluation.”
Steve nodded and tried not to think about being Bucky’s commanding officer . .
. the notion seemed off . . . bizarre even. “I’ll stay.”
Bucky stepped in front of the pair of men. “Sirs,” he said, not looking at
either man but not excluding either officer from the curtesy. He did not meet
Steve’s eyes.
“How did you sleep, Sergeant?” the doctor asked, checking one of the papers on
his clipboard.
Unhappy with the question, the brunet sighed. “I had another bad episode, sir,
but the Captain sedated me.” He really couldn’t meet his husband’s eyes then,
knowing he could easily be sent home, even institutionalized for continued
anxiety . . . especially if he caused danger for the group due to screaming or
sudden movement that could alert the enemy - - or even exhaustion due to lack
of sleep. Privately, he was glad he didn’t have the eating disorder he used to
have as a teenager.
Steve didn’t take his eyes off his husband, worry pitted in his stomach; the
last thing the blond wanted to happen was for Bucky to be sent to a hospital.
The doctor notated his chart, which Steve could see said ‘Duty: approved.
Personal: unstable.’
The word ‘unstable’ caused Steve’s breath to hitch only slightly, trying to
keep his composure calm. Would the doctor send Bucky stateside?
“I have a medication I can give you, Sergeant, if you’d like to try it?” The
doctor glanced over his clipboard at the lean brunet. “It is experimental yet,
but may work. It has had some success with calming aggression and fear in Alpha
designated wolves.”
“An experimental drug?” Steve asked, brows furrowed and he looked uneasy. Bucky
had just undergone two weeks of experimentation, and the blond wasn’t
comfortable with the idea of his husband being subject to more.
Bucky’s voice sounded soft, serious when he asked, “what exactly would you be
giving it to me for?”
The doctor smiled. “It’s hormone based, actually. Should calm your higher
emotions enough for you to be able to sleep normally.”
Looking thoughtful, the brunet’s steel blues eyes trailed over to meet his
husband’s pure blue. “Look, I gotta discuss this with the Captain. He’s my next
of kin.”
Nodding, the doctor stepped over to review other ex-prisoners, giving the men a
small amount of privacy.
Steve’s eyes focused back onto his husband, “what do you wanna do, Buck?”
“I’m not sure.” He sighed and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m not a lab rat . .
. but sleep sounds good, too.” Bucky looked to Steve. “It helped last night . .
. the sedative. But . . . does that mean I’ll never be able to sleep without
medicine?”
“You just got back, Bucky. You gotta give it some time . . . you need time to
adjust.” Steve bit his lip and sighed, “Look, I know things have . . . changed
. . . but I don’t want you taking experimental drugs unless you’re sure that’s
what you want.”
Bucky sighed, eyes troubled. He glanced towards the doctor then back at his
lover. “Maybe for a couple nights to see if it helps?” he temporized.
Nodding once, still looking apprehensive, Steve said, “alright . . . but if you
don’t like it or the medicine hurts you in anyway . . . we’ll figure something
else out, okay?”
Bucky nodded. “I still wanna figure something else out, Steve. I don’t wanna be
on drugs forever.” He signaled the doctor over and took a deep breath. “What
are the side effects?”
Shaking his head, the doctor said, “nothing to worry you for the next few
months. A decreased sexual drive, which shouldn’t be a problem in the war.”
Glancing over at his husband, Bucky reluctantly agreed, “No, I guess that
shouldn’t be a problem while I’m here. Okay, I’ll try it out. For a bit. Not so
sure I wanna do this permanent.”
Phillips, done with his review, strode over to the pair with a determined set
to his face. “Rogers,” he barked out.
Steve’s head snapped up and he looked at the older man; giving one last look to
Bucky, the blond moved to stand in front of the Colonel. “Yes, sir?”
Eyeing the tall blond, the Colonel said, “if the doctor has cleared the
Sergeant, you’ll want to consider him for your team sniper. He’s the steadiest
shot and the only one to hit all targets.”
Looking back at Bucky, Steve smiled softly, his chest swelling with pride once
more. “Wouldn’t want anyone else, Sir.”
The Colonel nodded sharply and barked, “good. Get your team together and make
sure they get the rest of their R&R. Tomorrow, you’re going back to Azzano.”
“Azzano, sir?” Steve’s eyes flickered to his husband but he quickly caught
himself and forced his eyes back to the older man.
“Yes, we still got work to do.” Phillips moved off to herd the men who hadn’t
been chosen for Steve’s strike team.
Steve walked back over to his husband and said, “Colonel Phillips thinks you’ll
be the best choice for our sniper . . . and I agree. That okay with you,
Sergeant Barnes?”
A slow smile crossed Bucky’s features and widened when the doctor added, “I’ll
wholeheartedly endorse the recommendation as long as the medication works. I’ll
make sure you get a prescription by evening chow.”
“Yes, sir,” Bucky snapped of a jaunty salute, well pleased he’d found a
valuable spot on his husband’s team.The brunet might not like war, or anything
that went with it, but as his husband’s sniper? He’d be able to protect Steve
like no other. “I say we have a hell of a chance of winning this war now, Cap.”
A small smile graced Steve’s lips and he nodded, “I’d say you’re right.”
The doctor was true to his word, as well. By the time the strike team met for
their evening meal, the small military medical man handed Steve a glass bottle
of pills. “Here you are, Captain. The medicine for your Sergeant. Once a night
with the evening meal should be enough, since we want him to have the strongest
reaction for bed. It should balance quickly . . . knock out any aggression and
anxiety.”
Taking the bottle of pills with a grateful nod, Steve said “thank you.”
Nodding, the doctor added, “if it doesn’t work, let me know through dispatch.”
He beamed and walked out of the pub the strike team had seemed to claim.
Bucky sat with the rest of the group this time, smiling as he listened to
Dernier’s wild story, translated by Jones for the rest of the group. For a
group of men of different races and nationalities whose one true link was that
they had been prisoners together in the same war, the team seemed to be meshing
rather quickly.
Steve opened the bottle and shook out a dose, letting the grey colored chalky
tablets fall into his palm. Nudging Bucky gently, the Captain handed the pills
over to his husband.
Glancing at the pills then up at Steve, Bucky merely took the dose without a
big fanfare. The others saw, but as the Sergeant seemed to accept that he was
being medicated, they let it go. With his trademark grin, Bucky said, “Hey,
Cap, I heard Phillips wants us to have a designation so he can refer to us by
radio or dispatch. Whatcha calling this motley crew?”
Laughing, Steve looked at all the other men before looking back at Bucky, “been
thinking over a few names, actually. One in particular stands out . . . how do
you guys like ’The Howling Commandos’?”
The group paused for a long moment, staring at one another. Suddenly, Dum Dum
lifted his mug of beer. “As long as I get to kick Hydra ass, I’ll answer to
anything.”
The others agreed, though Bucky was less vocally approving. He seemed more
amused than anything, happily downing the food that had been placed in front of
him, again proving he had a significant increase in appetite since being a
prisoner. He winked at Steve when he caught the blond’s eye then turned his
smile to Gabe. “Your turn. How’d a musician wind up in the Army?”
The laughter and stories continued for some hours before the party broke up for
the evening. Bucky rose to his feet and grabbed his hat, putting it on at a
jaunty angle. He turned to Steve. “Forgot my key, Cap,” he said softly.
“Some things never change,” Steve joked lightly as he stood up to walk with
Bucky back to their room.
The night was cold and the Sergeant stayed close to the Captain, hands buried
deep in his coat pockets. As they walked, Bucky seemed rather internal until he
finally said “damn this cold, Steve. I feel like I’m freezing all my best bits
off. Must be nice to be a walking tropical island.” He looked up at the facade
of the temporary barracks they had arrived at, bouncing slightly to keep
warmer.
“Has its perks, yeah,” Steve smiled and unlocked the door, allowing Bucky to
step in before him.
Once inside, Bucky immediately walked over and turned on the radiator,
muttering darkly about how they had to shut it off while no one was in. He
shucked off his coat and hat, placing them neatly aside, then turned. He
smiled, slipping his hand out of his pocket, holding his own key. “Hey, Cap,
found my key.”
“Would ya look at that,” Steve chuckled as he shut the door behind him. He
began to strip off his own uniform, folding the clothes nicely, before pulling
on his sleepwear.
Bucky unbuttoned his uniform jacket and shirt, hanging them up in turn before
starting on his belt. “Well, I gotta hand it to the doctor, Steve. I do feel
less anxious.” He removed his trousers, hanging them carefully, his shoes lined
nicely by the door. Just in his underwear, Bucky turned to Steve and smiled
softly. He reached in the drawer and pulled out his longjohns. “Can we still
cuddle?” his voice sounded very soft.
Steve smiled and laid down on the bed, patting the spot next to him, “of
course.”
Eyeing his husband in the bed, the blond against the wall to give the brunet
easy access out of the bed, Bucky took a deep breath and smiled, though his
eyes looked apprehensive. He slid in next to his lover and turned his back to
the man, facing the door. For the first time since Steve had rescued him, Bucky
didn’t smell troubled. In fact, his scent was so low key it was hard to detect,
almost like a child’s scent instead of a full grown man’s.
The blond placed a gentle kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck, “I love you, Buck.”
Turning in Steve’s arms so he lay on his back, Bucky smiled and leaned into his
husband to kiss his lips. “I love you, Stevie,” he breathed into the man’s
mouth. “Thanks for coming for me.”
“Always,” Steve murmured as he kissed his husband again.
xxx
Setting: AU: Saturday, November 6, 1943: London, England to Azzano, Italy
Fortunately, Bucky didn’t have a nightmare, sleeping almost as soundly as when
he’d been sedated. If anything else resulted from the medicine, the brunet at
least had one peaceful night. This time he woke before Steve, meaning that his
husband wouldn’t have to try to shimmy over him to get out. Smiling, Bucky
turned carefully in Steve’s arms and kissed the blond’s full lips.
Steve’s eyes opened and he had to blink a few times to completely register what
was happening. Once he did, the blond moved his hands to caress Bucky’s hips
and said, “mornin’ Buck.”
Bucky smiled and continued kissing Steve, trailing down the blond’s neck and
moving the cloth of Steve’s sleepshirt as he went. Moving his mouth back to his
husband’s neck, Bucky traced the tip of his tongue over the scarred bite mark.
He lifted his eyes to meet Steve’s.
The larger man couldn’t stop the groan of pleasure as Bucky licked the
sensitive scar, “Bucky . . .” Steve moved to kiss his husband’s matching scar,
gently nipping at the raised flesh.
Softly whimpering at the sensation, Bucky lifted his face and smiled at his
lover. “Missed you, Cariad,” he murmured and kissed Steve’s neck again.
“Missed you, too, baby,” Steve smiled and pressed his lips to Bucky’s, against
his lover’s mouth he breathed, “so much.”
Running his slender hands down to Steve’s waist, Bucky slipped his fingers
under the hem of Steve’s pajama top, caressing over the heated flesh he found.
“How much time you think we got, Stevie?” he purred.
Steve’s filling member twitched at the sound of Bucky’s voice, and the blond
moaned, “plenty of time, Buck.” The bigger man shifted and pulled at the brunet
so that the blond was under his husband’s leaner weight, “Missed you, baby,”
Steve repeated, running his hands down Bucky’s sides.
Grinning, the brunet slid his husband’s shirt over his head. Bucky leaned over
Steve, straddling his hips, and began to kiss his chest, licking gently at his
lover’s nipple. “Damn beautiful, Steve. Always so beautiful . . .”
Steve keened and arched into Bucky’s touch, “Bucky . . .” the word came out as
a loud moan.
“Gotta quiet down, Stevie, or we might get caught, baby.” Bucky smiled and
lapped at Steve’s belly, dipping provocatively into the man’s navel.
Bringing one arm over his mouth to stifle the uncontrollable noises he made,
Steve’s hips canted and his erection strained against the fabric of his sleep
pants.
Sliding his hands down, hooking his fingers in Steve’s waistband and tugging as
he went, Bucky drew his husband’s pants from his muscular body. He followed his
lover’s pants, kissing down along Steve’s hip bone and, skimming past his
erection, moved down the blond’s large thigh.
“Bucky, baby,” Steve groaned behind his arm, arching off the bed as his husband
avoided the blond’s erection, “please.”
“Yeah, Stevie?” the brunet breathed, moving his mouth back up to Steve’s
hipbone.
“Please . . .” Steve whimpered, free hand clutching tightly at the sheets below
him. “I need you to love me, baby, please?”
With a soft chuckle against the man’s skin, Bucky thrust two of his own fingers
in his mouth and began coating them with spit. He looked up to Steve’s flushed
face. “I gotcha, Cariad.” He slid his hand around to Steve’s passage and began
massaging around the man’s opening.
Moaning into the crook of his arm, Steve’s eyes shut and he bucked his hips
again, needing more of his lover. They’d been separated for far too long.
Carefully, Bucky slid his finger into his husband, watching the man’s beautiful
face. With a smile, momentarily ignoring the fact that he felt no arousal
himself, the brunet began caressing Steve inside, massaging over his prostate,
curling and stretching inside his lover. He used his other hand to encircle
that large erection before his face, licking around Steve’s cockhead and
dipping his tongue tip into the slit in imitation of his finger in Steve’s hot
passage.
Involuntarily Steve’s hips jerked off the bed but he forced himself to keep the
movement as gentle as possible; the feeling of Bucky’s mouth on him and fingers
inside of him felt like heaven. He’d missed his lover’s touch, nothing else
felt like Bucky.
Engulfing the large tip of his husband’s member, Bucky began to suck slowly,
slipping a second finger inside that large, sturdy body. Bucky could finally
believe his husband could handle the kind of loving the blond preferred: wild
and hard. Scissoring, rotating, caressing, thrusting, Bucky worked his fingers
in his lover and over Steve’s prostate as he sucked.
Steve had to bite down gently on his arm to keep the loud, obscene noises he
made quiet. His husband knew exactly where to stroke to drive him crazy; he
already felt himself nearing the edge of his pleasure. His abdomen tightened
and he pulled away from his arm to breathe out, “almost there, baby.”
Bucky slowly began to swallow his husband’s member in response, sucking as he
went, pulling out his fingers then thrusting three in deep and fast, angling
just right to hit the blond’s prostate with a long, deep sweep. He lifted his
eyes to latch onto Steve’s face, enjoying the obscene expressions his husband
made. The brunet tried to drive his husband over the brink, hoping to help
Steve reach orgasm quickly.
Barely covering his mouth in time to muffle his loud moan, Steve came down
Bucky’s throat, fighting the urge to thrust deeper, not wanting to hurt the
brunet.
Swallowing his husband’s seed fully, Bucky pulled back so his mouth only
covered the twitching, spurting tip. As Steve’s orgasm wound down, the Sergeant
pulled off the Captain’s member with an obscene noise. He eased his fingers
from Steve’s ass gently and sat up. The brunet slid his leg over Steve’s hips
so he could settle next to the larger man, kissing him on the mouth. “Better,
Cariad?” he whispered.
Kissing his husband, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed with release, Steve
smiled and offered, “Much better . . . I could do you now, if you want?”
Flushing suddenly, Bucky sat up. “No need, Cariad. I’m fine.” He stood to begin
getting out of his longjohns so he could dress for the day. Though he didn’t
make a big deal of the problem, it was quite evident that Bucky was totally
flaccid.
Propping himself up, Steve looked over at Bucky, suddenly remembering what the
doctor had said about the side effects of the drug that Bucky was taking.
“Sorry, baby . . . I forgot about - - the side effects?” The blond got up off
the bed and kissed Bucky’s cheek on the way over to get his clothes.
Bucky smiled at his husband. “Only until I get my head back together, Steve.
Then I can give up the meds, too.” He washed at the sink then pulled on that
day’s uniform.
“You slept through the night, baby, the meds must work,” Steve was happy that
his husband hadn’t been woken up by a nightmare . . . maybe with a few more
nights of uninterrupted sleep Bucky would be able to sleep without the
medication.
“Yeah,” the brunet smiled wide, eyes light and happy. “I did. I had good
dreams, but can’t recall them now. But . . . I feel great, Steve.” He was
reminiscent of the old, pre-war Bucky.
“Good,” Steve beamed, slipping on his jacket and buttoning it up, “I’m glad.”
He couldn’t help but to notice that Bucky still didn’t quite smell like himself
. . . the brunet’s scent vaguely reminded Steve of how he used to smell as a
teenager.
Finishing dressing, Bucky turned to pack away the uniform from the day before
along with his toiletries. The Sergeant finished quickly, since he’d learned to
travel light and their R&R had only been scheduled for a very brief stint.
Smiling as he buckled his bag closed, the brunet looked over. “Ready to face
the Howlin’ Commandos?”
“As long as I have you, I can face the world, baby,” Steve smiled and walked
over to kiss his husband again.
“Good, cause I can’t face the world without you. I think I’d lose myself.”
Bucky shouldered his bag and headed for the door, throwing Steve a jaunty wink.
He led his husband to the group on the small nearby tarmac and, without more
than a nod of greeting, slipped onto the plane to find a seat.
Morita rolled his eyes and looked at Steve. “He always anti-social?”
“No, usually he loves people,” Steve said in a teasing tone, “maybe it’s just
you lot.”
“I believe he’ll open up once we’ve finished the first mission. This one is
bringing him closer to his personal hell,” Major Falsworth said softly, tugging
the sleeves of his jack to straighten them. “Sooner onboard, sooner we start
this mission, gentlemen.” The British officer strode onto the plane; the rest
of the team followed.
On the plane back to the the Azzano base, Colonel Phillips stepped over to a
central table bolted to the floor. He looked over at Steve and his Commandos
then at a map tacked to the wooden surface of the table, ignoring a nondescript
man with a press badge in his helmet. “Near that factory you blew up is a small
building. We have reason to believe it’s a weapons distribution storage with a
cache left behind. You need to get in, silence the enemy, and get those
weapons.” Looking up, the older officer growled out, “try to save as many as
possible, but blow the hell out of them if you have to.”
Steve nodded and looked down at the map laid out, the blond’s eyes kept
gravitating towards his husband, worried about being this close to Azzano so
soon.
Bucky frowned, staring carefully at the map. He didn’t even look up to catch
Steve’s eyes. Rather, he concentrated on what was said, plotting out what he
could possible do . . . and how he could take down any enemies before they got
the jump on him again.
“Do we save prisoners or weapons?” Morita asked on a growl.
“Prisoners?” Gabe Jones hesitantly offered. “We’re the good guys.”
“Stubble that,” Phillips said.”You’re to save those weapons. The enemy has
already proven they’re not above torture and killing our men.”
Dum Dum shook his head, “but if there are men that need saving . . . shouldn’t
we try?”
Bucky looked up at last. “If they surrender or ask for help, I say help.
Otherwise, they're viable targets.” His voice sounded calm, reasonable, as if
he talked about picking up groceries or running errands.
“I agree with Sergeant Barnes,” Steve said, his tone firm and strong.
The Major placed his hand under his chin, fingers covering his mouth as he
studied the map. Finally, lifting his fingers, he said, “so, with our small
group, we should be able to get there in two maybe three days. Do we have
extraction, Sir?”
Phillips shrugged. “I’ll leave that up to you lot. I just give the assignments.
You figure out how to get them done.” The man turned and strode towards the
jump seat closest to the cockpit and strapped in, leaving Steve and his group
to hash out the details.
After several questions and answers back and forth, the plan started forming
into a cohesive picture. They would go in, through the front door, as Steve
termed it, and all hell would break loose. If they needed it, Bucky would perch
in a tree to pick off hostiles. Naturally, if no perch presented itself, Bucky
would just storm the front like the others.
Bucky shook his head and sighed. “If I’m going to be up a tree, I’ll need a
hell of a lot warmer clothes than I already have, Cap. Regular Army issue’s too
cold for long term sitting still.”
The blond smiled and turned to rummage through his belongings, pulling out a
thick dark blue peacoat and a pair of brown pants, thicker than the standard
issued trousers given from the military. Handing the outfit over to his lover,
Steve said, “Howard gave these to me but they’re too warm. I didn’t want to
waste them though.”
The brunet gladly took the pants and jacket, letting his clever fingers run
over the warm material. His eyes lit up and he glanced at Steve with a smile.
Per his usual teasing, Bucky said “wow, it’s not even my birthday, Cap.” That
elicited a chuckle from everyone.
After they landed, and the Commandos got set up in cold-weather tents on the
edge of base, Dum Dum strode off to do his watch, to be relieved by Bucky in
four hours. Major Falsworth had an individual tent due to his officer’s status,
though no one seemed surprised by the fact that their other officer, and
commander, Steve bunked up with one of the Sergeants, Bucky. By then, they all
realized that the pair were close friends since childhood, and no one seemed to
blame the men for wanting a touch of home in the horror of that hell.
The lean brunet took his second dose of medicine with his meal before heading
for Steve’s officer-style tent. He eyed the plain furnishings; Steve had been
granted more supplies than Bucky, but the enlisted man didn’t seem too bothered
by that. Rather, he stared at the narrow cots, one on either wall, with the
bare expanse between them.
“We can push them together, if you want?” Steve offered.
“Yeah, maybe lash the legs together so they don’t slide apart?” Buck agreed
readily. He offered his husband a smile, looking calm despite the fact that
they would be heading back towards his prison in the morning.
Nodding, Steve grabbed one of the cots and lifted it effortlessly, the blond
moved it so the bed pressed flush against the other.
“Show off,” Bucky chuckled softly but didn’t stop the show of easy strength.
Rather, he grabbed some rope from his duffel and began lashing the legs
securely together, proving he’d learned more than shooting in his basic
training. “So, Stevie . . . this might not be so comfortable with that hump in
the middle from the frames. Maybe since you’re a damn heat factory, we can load
the extra blankets over the bed itself, just leaving one for over us?” Bucky
did as he suggested, so the hump in the middle was softened by the blankets.
“Sounds good to me, gives me an excuse to hold you closer,” Steve smiled, he
settled into the cot, back pressed up against the canvas wall of the tent.
Drawing a soft breath, Bucky slid into bed after Steve, turning his face
towards the open tent area and the door across from them, his back settled into
Steve’s warmth. He pulled the blanket over them and sighed, letting his eyes
close. Softly, he said, “love you, Stevie.”
Pressing his lips to the back of Bucky’s neck, Steve murmured, “I love you,
too, Buck.”
Drifting off quickly as he had the night before, Bucky shifted soon after he
fell asleep. He shifted again, turning towards his husband. Turning again,
almost jerking, Bucky began screaming in a mix of English and Romanian, a
scattering of Polish words among the clearer name, rank, and service number.
“Sergentul James Barnes, trei doi cinci cinci șapte zero, trei opt. Sierżant
James Barnes, trzy dwa pięć pięć siedem zero trzy osiem.” He thrashed out, eyes
wide but unseeing, screaming his mantra in various languages.
Steve jolted awake and looked at his husband with wide eyes; acting quickly,
the blond cupped the brunet’s face and crashed his lips to Bucky’s. He held his
lover close to him as he continued to press their lips together.
Bucky whimpered and shuddered then took a quick, deep breath. Scenting his
lover, the brunet blinked several times then grasped Steve’s pajama top and
pulled out of the kiss. He put his forehead against Steve’s broad chest and
sobbed.
Dum Dum watched the two lovers for a few moments, unsure if Steve even realized
he’d come in to help. After Bucky had begun to wind down slightly, Dum Dum
slowly backed out of the tent, standing in front of the entrance to stop any
unwanted visitors.
“And I’m going in, Sergeant,” Peggy’s voice came to the pair in the tent just
before the agent swept past the large form of Dum Dum, opening the tent flap
without warning. “Steve?” her voice softened and she walked over, eyes
sympathetic. “Do you need someone to stand watch for him?”
Cradling Bucky close to his chest, Steve looked over at Peggy with wide eyes,
“he won’t be able to do much of anything.”
She nodded. “I’ll stand watch tonight,” she said firmly. “Let him rest.” She
turned and opened the tent flap once more, frowning as she noted Colonel
Phillips and the medic standing by Dum Dum, the officer growling at the
enlisted man that guard duty is not stood in front of the Captain’s tent and to
go do his perimeter rounds. “Sir, I’ve got the watch and am relieving Sergeant
Dugan.”
Phillips grumbled and let her go. He turned and opened the flap. Ignoring the
crying soldier in the larger blond’s arms, Phillips glared at Steve. “Solve
this problem, Captain,” he ordered and left, on his way back to bed.
Steve nodded, as he continued to hold his distressed husband.
The medic, standing in the tent opening with an all too familiar chart, sighed.
“I understand the doctor in London started him on a new medication. The
medicine will need time to work and may take another day or two to kick in. But
. . .” he shook his head. “If he cannot get under control, he’ll jeopardize
your entire team.”
“I understand,” Steve said, “we’ll figure something out.”
The doctor nodded and left, letting the tent flap fall down.
Bucky lifted his face, trembling. “I’m sorry, Steve . . . so sorry.”
“Sshh,” Steve cooed gently, pressing his lips to Bucky’s temple, “you got
nothing to be sorry for, Buck. You can’t control when you get nightmares.”
“His hands were all over me . . .” Bucky sobbed. “I hurt everywhere . . .”
“How can I help, Bucky?” Steve asked softly, running his fingers soothingly
through his lover’s hair.
“I don’t know . . . I thought the medicine could help.” The brunet’s hands
moved restlessly over the blond’s large chest. “I was relaxed . . . but then, I
. . .” he shuddered.
“The doctor said it could take a few nights for the medicine to fully kick in,”
Steve said softly.
“Give me another sedative, Steve . . .” Bucky whispered.
Pulling back slightly, Steve looked down at his husband, “you . . . you sure?”
“Steve, I need sleep to work, and the team needs me quiet or I’ll endanger us
all. If I have screaming dreams every night, I might as well be in the nut
house after all.” He buried his face in Steve’s chest again.
Steve sighed softly and pressed his lips to Bucky’s hair before climbing over
him to the edge of the bed, “Alright. Let me get them, okay?”
Bucky let go of Steve’s shirt and watched him with haunted eyes.
Rooting through his bag to find Bucky’s sedatives, once he found them, Steve
walked back over to the bed and knelt down in front of the brunet.
Pulling up his longjohn sleeve, Bucky held out his arm. “Tomorrow, on the road,
maybe we can think of something better?” The brunet held hope mixed with
desperation in his voice.
“We’ll figure something out,” Steve gave his husband a small smile before
injecting the drug into his arm with tender care.
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, November 7, 1943: Azzano, Italy
On the road, in the back of the truck with the other Commandos, Bucky stayed
withdrawn and thoughtful, trying to puzzle through his problem. He sat close to
Steve and every rut in the road sent them bumping each other, once in awhile
even shifting Bucky into a near sprawl across the gorgeous blond. No one seemed
to notice. Dernier was often knocked into Gabe and Morita had been sent flying
more than once into the middle of the truck bed.
Finally, the truck pulled aside for the men to get out, relieve themselves,
stretch and have a little lunch. After thirty minutes, they were on the road
once more. The hours stretched by, and the Commandos broke the silence with
soft stories, mostly about their strikes before they’d been forced together.
Denier, translated by Gabe, had broken into an enthusiastic story about hiding
out in a brothel during a mission by the time the truck stopped for the night.
With a groan, Bucky led the men from the back of the truck, stretching and
walking out the kinks before he began setting up Steve’s tent. “Hey, Cap, we’ll
need someone to gather water and another wood so we can get some heat, unless
you’re calling a ban on fire,” Bucky said calmly.
Throughout the evening, Bucky repeated the actions of advising Steve but ending
with an option so Steve appeared the one making the real calls. But really,
since Bucky was the far more experienced, he was basically guiding his little-
trained husband in how to lead the group. By the time it came to set the watch,
Jones then Falsworth, Bucky seemed calm and in control, having yet again taken
the suppressant the London military doctor had given him.
The brunet walked over to the tent and stopped, hand on the flap. He glanced
over his shoulder at Steve and said, “night, Cap,” then slipped into the
darkened interior. He struck a lamp inside, the glow barely spilling out beyond
the heavy canvas.
Steve followed his husband into the tent; in a soft voice he asked, “did you
think of anything that might help you?”
‘Beyond the meds and sedatives? No, not yet,” Bucky sighed in frustration,
stripping down to his skivvies. He hung up his uniform and lined up his boots,
caressing a hand over that oh-so-warm jacket he’d been wearing that day. “How
about you, Stevie?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve shrugged, “well, ever since I got the serum
. . . I don’t need much sleep. Maybe two hours a night? I can try to watch you
. . . if it starts to look like you’re getting upset . . . I can try waking you
up before it gets to the screaming?”
“Okay, if you’re sure about the sleep thing,” Bucky conceded, frowning softly.
He walked over to Steve and their pallet on the floor, since cots on the move
were an inconvenience. As he got close to his husband, Bucky’s scent was
actually stronger than it had been since the imprisonment, but it had changed.
It was calm and inviting, like when Bucky had been a teen in heavy puberty.
Lying down on the inside of the bed, Steve looked up at Bucky and patted the
spot next to him, “c’mon, baby.”
With a deep breath, Bucky began to slide into the pallet next to his husband,
the free, open center of the tent on his other side. Before he could settle,
Bucky shook his head and slipped right back out from under the blanket. “I . .
. I can’t do this, Steve,” he moaned softly, wrapping his arms around himself.
Sitting up, Steve looked at Bucky with worried eyes, “I know you’re scared,
Buck. But you need to at least try and get some sleep.”
“No, Steve. It’s not the sleep. It’s . . . I can’t lay down with you like this
. . .” Bucky looked miserable, torn and upset.
“Oh . . . okay,” Steve nodded and got up out of the bed; he began to walk over
to the chair.
Still holding himself, Bucky watched as Steve moved off, eyes wide and looking
more vulnerable with each step his husband took.
“I can watch you from the chair, Buck,” Steve said softly, golden hair glowing
with the burn of the lamp.
Shaking his head, Bucky whispered, “I can’t sleep alone . . . please . . .
Steve . . .”
“Buck . . . you - - you just said you couldn’t sleep . . .” Steve shook his
head, he had no idea what Bucky wanted from him.
“I … I can’t have the open section - - the door - - near me, Steve. I feel . .
. vulnerable, weak. I . . . I’m sorry. I . . . I can’t sleep with that open
space next to me . . .” Bucky watched Steve, his blue-grey eyes washed with
tears of humiliation.
Stepping closer to Bucky, Steve cupped his face and placed a tender kiss on the
brunet’s lips, “okay, I’ll sleep on the outside. It’s not a problem, baby.”
“I don’t want you in danger, Steve . . . but, I can’t . . . I really can’t,”
Bucky whimpered.
“Hey,” Steve cooed gently, “Buck, look at me.”
The brunet lifted miserable eyes, a hint of guilt washing them.
“It’s really not a big deal, baby,” Steve kissed his husband again, “here,” the
blond helped his husband down onto the inside of the bed.
Bucky crawled close to the tent wall. Of course, the canvas was little
protection against any real enemy, but somehow, being between that barrier and
his sturdy husband settled Bucky’s nerves more than the meds, which seemed to
have worn off in his distress, oddly enough. He looked to Steve.
Turning to face his lover, hand resting on Bucky’s hip, Steve smiled softly,
“feel any better?”
Nodding, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and kissed his
husband’s thick neck, breathing in that sweet scent he loved. “God, yes,
Stevie. Thank you for doing this for me.” He lay down and snuggled up, front to
his blond lover, back to the canvas wall. Smiling softly, Bucky traced his
fingers down Steve's clothed chest. “I feel like I’m back in our apartment
almost.”
Placing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, Steve smiled and said, “yeah . . . I
miss our little apartment.”
“Even if the heat sucked and the bathroom was just a toilet behind a curtain,”
Bucky chuckled softly, his voice sounding tired and slow.
“Yeah, but it was ours,” Steve said softly.
“Ours,” Bucky repeated and brushed a kiss over Steve’s neck, avoiding the scar
but getting close. “Love you, Cariad.” His eyes closed and Bucky drifted into
sleep.
“Love you, baby,” Steve murmured, watching as Bucky fell asleep.
Only a couple of hours passed before Bucky started shifting in his sleep and
softly whimpering.
Steve, having been watching his lover, gently shook Bucky’s shoulder, kissing
his husband’s lips, “Buck . . . baby, wake up.”
Steel blue eyes opening wide, Bucky drew in a deep, shocked breath, and
blinked. He stared at Steve a long time before recognition came to him.
“Stevie?” Bucky whispered.
“Yeah, baby, it’s me. You were having a bad dream,” the blond carefully stroked
a lock of hair out of his husband’s face.
“Yeah . . .” the brunet agreed and snuggled into his husband’s chest, breathing
deep. “But you’re here. I’m safe,” he murmured and actually drifted back off
quickly.
“Always,” Steve whispered and cradled Bucky closer, listening as the brunet’s
breathing evened back out.
***** Bucky Watch and First Strike *****
Chapter Notes
     Setting: AU: November 8 - 10, 1943; Austrian Alps to Azzano, Italy
     xxx
     Translations:
     cariad - love - Welsh
     et des vêtements - and clothing - French
     oui - yes - French
     .
Setting: AU: Monday, November 8, 1943: Azzano, Italy
In the morning, after two more near nightmares which the blonde interrupted
before they became bad, Bucky woke with a smile. He looked towards his husband
and felt safe, loved, and protected. He’d always felt like the protector of
little sick Stevie, and still felt the need to protect and care for his
husband, but . . . but the fact that his lover could act as a barrier in the
night made Bucky’s fears ease better than the meds had. Bucky wondered if this
could work for them in the future, as well.
He leaned closer and kissed Steve’s scar. Bucky’s scent was happier than it had
been in awhile. “Steve, wake up . . . or I’ll crawl over you like when we were
kids.” Was that it? Was he so uncomfortable on the outside because he’d always
slept on the inside when they were growing up? Something so small?
“Mhmm . . .” Steve smiled happily but didn’t open his eyes.
“You’re going to force me, Cap,” Bucky warned in a teasing tone, moving his
kiss to the shell of the blond’s ear, licking a little.
Steve rolled over and wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist, “no . . . five more
minutes . . . don’t wanna get up.”
“I’ll wet myself in five more minutes. I’ve been holding it for over an hour
enjoying your delicious warmth.” Bucky moved his kiss to Steve’s eyelids,
gently caressing each one before moving down to brush his lips over Steve’s.
Steve groaned and finally opened his eyes, the blond slowly sat up, rubbing the
sleep out of his eyes.
Chuckling, Bucky said, “thought you didn't need sleep, Cap?” He crawled over
Steve anyway, body brushing against his lover’s heavily as he slid from their
shared pallet.
“Oof,” Steve grunted as Bucky crawled over his body, “I need some. But someone
rudely woke me up to pee.” The blond’s tone was teasing, lighter than it had
been for weeks.
“Well, you can sleep again now. Should be able to fall asleep at a moment’s
notice in the field. I’m gonna go relieve my kidneys.” Bucky pulled his jacket
on, smiling widely, and slammed his feet into his boots before stomping out to
the latrine.
A few minutes passed before Steve heard Bucky’s voice outside the tent once
more. “Sir? Yes, I . . .” his voice fell quieter.
Furrowing his brows, Steve stood up and quickly got dressed. He walked outside
of the tent to see who Bucky was talking to.
Colonel Phillips stood there with the medic, as both had accompanied the
Commandos on this mission to be able to judge if the strike team could really
handle being thrown back into the field. Bucky addressed Phillips, though the
medic took copious notes.
“Not a problem. The meds may have kicked in at last, or maybe I’m finally
getting it together,” Bucky said, his back straight but his body shaking since
he was dressed in longjohns only under that jacket.
“Captain?” Phillips looked at the large blond. “What do you think? The Sergeant
improving?”
“Slept through the night without screaming . . . I’d say a definite
improvement,” Steve reported.
The medic looked pleased. “Good, just keep monitoring him,” he said, as if
Bucky wasn’t standing there freezing his ass off. “Let me know if things change
again.”
The pair left Steve and Bucky, heading off to check on other Commandos just
rising for the day and the rest of their arduous ride to the depot.
“Steve, let’s talk about my problem in the tent. I’ve got some ideas to run
past you, and we can tell the team in the truck,” Bucky said softly, bouncing
and stomping.
Nodding, Steve turned back to the tent and opened it so that Bucky could step
in first, “alright.”
The Sergeant obediently, quietly walked through the opening and headed to the
center of the tent, back to the doorway. He held his upper arms in a near self-
hug, staring at the pallet they’d shared as a bed.
Walking in after Bucky, Steve let the flap close behind him and looked at his
husband, “what are some of your ideas, Buck?”
“I can’t sleep with an open space next to me, Steve . . . not anymore. Freaks
me out.” He turned. His eyes held a tired, resigned expression but he didn’t
look haunted like he had before. “And I need to feel touch . . . something
soft, not restrictive.” Bucky dropped his hands and looked at them then raised
his grey-blue eyes to his lover.
“So,” Steve nodded, taking in the information, “you need to sleep on the inside
. . . and have someone there to soothe you.”
Flushing at the way that sounded, almost as if Bucky needed or craved
manhandling from someone, the brunet sighed. “I guess.”
Closing the distance between them, Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky’s
biceps, rubbing them gently, “hey, it’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But, Steve,” Bucky pointed out softly, not pulling away from the soothing
touch of his husband’s still surprisingly strong hands, “that means that when
you’re on watch, I won’t be able to sleep or I risk nightmares . . . and
bringing the enemy down on us all.”
“Not if,” Steve took a deep breath, meeting his husband’s eyes, “one of the
guys stays in here with you while I’m on watch.”
Nodding, not rejecting the idea out of hand, privately glad Steve had been the
one to say what Bucky had been thinking, too, the brunet replied softly, “I
guess I could ask to move in with Dum Dum on those nights or something . . .
unless that messes with the watch rotation schedules . . .”
“What if . . . we have a separate watch . . . the men can take shifts just like
they do with watch? That way no one loses a whole night of sleep . . .” Steve
looked slightly unsure of his own plan.
“You mean, the four hour shifts you’re actually on watch, one of the guys is
sharing my bed, Steve?” Bucky tilted his head, waiting, watching Steve’s
reaction.
Steve shrugged, “it’s where you’ll feel the most comfortable. And that way you
don’t hafta keep movin’ around.”
“Wouldn’t that look peachy keen? Me bed hopping while you’re on watch. People
will certainly talk if I did that.” He offered a slightly teasing smile, though
his eyes looked troubled.
Chuckling softly, Steve squeezed Bucky’s arms softly, “it ain’t a bad idea.
That way you get the sleep you need and none of the other men lose much sleep.
And we won’t have to worry about our position being compromised.”
“If they’re light sleepers, they can even sleep at the same time instead of
staring at me for four hours . . .” Bucky sighed and looked towards the door
behind Steve. “Hey, Stevie, I don’t want them forced into it or anything.
Strict volunteer basis. If we gotta arrange things so that you have to tent hop
because of things, would that bother you?” Bucky met his husband’s eyes.
“Of course not,” Steve offered Bucky a small smile, “I just want you to be able
to get the sleep you need.”
“I figure as time goes on, I’ll get more balanced and relaxed, right? Then we
won’t need a watch over me, right?” Bucky looked hopeful, feeling sort of
inadequate as a soldier, being unable to sleep on his own anymore.
“Right,” Steve confirmed with a nod, “you just need time to . . . adjust?
Heal.”
“Hey, punk, let go my arms, okay?” Bucky gave a soft smile.
Steve flushed and dropped his hands.
Instantly, Bucky wrapped his own arms around Steve, as he used to do when the
blond was much smaller. Whispering in his husband’s ear, Bucky said, “I love
you, Steve Barnes, cariad.”
Smiling, Steve whispered back, “love you, too;” he returned the hug and took a
deep breath of Bucky’s still muted scent, but even diluted, it still calmed
him.
“So,” Bucky pulled back, reluctantly, from his husband’s embrace. “Let’s go see
if the guys wanna do Bucky Watch?” His tone sounded like an attempt at his old
humor.
Steve nodded and offered Bucky another smile before quickly finishing getting
dressed and packing up any of his gear.
After quickly dressing as well, the enlisted man opened the tent and walked
out. He took a breath and began stowing his gear in the truck with the rest of
the Howlin’ Commando gear, signaling to the others that he had been allowed to
continue on with them after his apparently quiet night. Once everything else
had been properly stored, Bucky turned to help Steve finish packing up the
pallets and tent. As he turned to put the tight bundle in the truck he froze,
eyes locked on the sight of Peggy also stowing her gear in the same truck.
Bucky looked over at Steve, eyes widening, but then he grinned, so wide it
looked like he was that mischievous high schooler once again. He mouthed, “do
we get to rotate her in, too?”
Steve chuckled softly and shook his head; he began to put the rest of the
supplies into the truck.
The brunet made a moue of disappointment, but his smile still lurked around his
eyes. Turning back to the truck, he grabbed the beefy hand of Dum Dum and
allowed the larger man to pull him into the truck to find a seat in the
remaining space. “Hey, Dum, guess I’m along for the ride.”
“Glad you could make it,” Dum Dum offered his friend a wide smile and friendly
pat on the shoulder before sitting down next to Gabe.
Bucky turned to help Dernier into the truck then Falsworth before sitting into
the chosen space he’d picked out near the opening. He was used to playing scout
and marksman so liked to keep his eye on the escape routes and what might come
at them through those routes. Once everyone was situated, including Agent
Carter, much to Falsworth’s surprise and Morita’s consternation, the truck
began to bump over the poorly kept trail. Bucky glanced to Steve.
Steve sat down in a space, almost too small for his large body, in between
Peggy and Bucky. Taking a deep breath, he looked at all the men and then Peggy
before starting, “So, Sergeant Barnes and I think we may have come up with a
solution to . . .” the Captain’s eyes flickered over to look at Bucky, nervous,
“our night problem.”
Bucky groaned and said, “make it sound like I’m a horny kid who can’t . . .” he
flushed and looked at Peggy. “Never mind.”
Looking faintly amused, Peggy said, “of course.”
Flushing slightly, Steve cleared his throat and continued, “we - - we think it
might be best if we set up another . . . watch, of sorts. Volunteer only, of
course.”
Agent Carter turned interested eyes on the blond and asked, encouragingly,
“what kind of watch are you asking us to volunteer for, Captain Rogers?”
The Sergeant nearly choked.
“Well,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked over at his lover again,
“Sergeant Barnes has found out that . . . uh - - he’s able to sleep better if
someone else is . . .”
Shaking his head, Bucky interrupted his stammering husband, “I can’t sleep
alone because I get these screaming nightmares. I need someone friendly, that I
trust, in the tent with me. I can’t sleep with an open space near me, and I do
better when I feel a friendly touch.”
“You want us to handle you?” Denier asked, through a blushing Gabe’s
translation.
“If you grope me, I’ll haveta slug ya’, Denier,” Bucky shot back, in fluent
English then French, revealing to everyone that he spoke more than Romanian, a
smile playing over his pretty features.
Dum Dum let out a laugh, apparently amused by the whole conversation, “hell,
Barnes, if ya wanted to share a bed with me so bad all ya had to do was ask.”
“Oh, does Mary know about your Bucky-fetish?” the brunet teased back, grinning.
He turned his look on the others. “I thought maybe it could go like this: you
know the Captain and I have been friends since we were tiny, so he’s
volunteered to do the lion’s share of Bucky Watch, as we’re calling it. But
when he’s on watch, I’ll need someone else to take over. Maybe whoever is on
the second half, or first half as the rotation goes, of that night’s watch?
That person will watch over me. Sleep is optional . . .”
The flamboyant Frenchman snickered and leered, “et des vêtements?”
“Yes, Dernier, oui, clothing is optional, but very highly recommended.” Bucky
reached across the small space to smack the Frenchman’s arm, which drew a
cackle from the small explosives expert. “If you sleep, it’d be best if you do
that right next to me, touching my arm or something. That way if I start to
panic, it wakes you up, so you can wake me up before I scream. And I need to be
next to the tent wall, so that makes it easier for the watch to either wake up
the Captain or be woken up by him when shift switch comes.”
“That makes perfect sense,” the Major commented.
After a bit of murmuring, the other men agreed one by one, while Peggy wisely
and demurely opted out of something so . . . unconventional. The last to say
anything was Jim Morita, who frowned, reluctantly agreeing as well.
With a nod, Bucky added the last bit that he hadn’t told Steve, knowing his
husband wouldn’t have let him stay in the Commandos if the brunet had mentioned
it earlier. “There’s a second reason I need someone there, though. If I can’t
be stopped . . . the nightmare is too strong and I keep screaming or
endangering everyone, I need the Bucky Watch to smother me.”
“What?” Steve snapped, eyes flicking to Bucky quickly, his normal tone replaced
with one of shock and terror. “That is not an option, Sergeant.”
Bucky turned his eyes on his lover, trying to communicate his desperate need
for this caveat.
Dum Dum looked between the two men, analyzing the silent conversation that was
obviously going on between them. After a few long, tense moments the redhead
nodded, “Hell, if it was me, I’d rather be smothered by a buddy than go to one
of them hell holes they send crazy folk. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want to
endanger the rest of you. So, I can do it.”
Bucky turned thankful eyes on his longtime Army buddy, glad the man understood
what was so hard to say out loud.
Slowly, Falsworth then Dernier, who listened to Gabe’s translation, agreed to
the twist. Morita glanced at Steve then nodded. “Yeah, I can hold a pillow over
your head if you’re gonna draw enemy fire on us.” Gabe reluctantly agreed then
glanced at Steve. Even Peggy watched the Captain for his final answer.
Steve’s normally vibrant blue eyes were hard, almost cold, and his fists were
clenched tightly in his lap. Looking at Bucky, the blond didn’t say anything,
not trusting himself to speak, to verbally agree to such a horrible request;
Steve nodded once.
Bucky finally dropped his eyes to his hands, which he had involuntarily been
twisting together, and softly said, “hopefully you guys know the difference
between smothering me to quiet unconsciousness and killing my ass.” He glanced
up at Peggy then flushed. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Understood,” she soothed in her clipped, businesslike tone.
The brunet looked to Steve next to him and leaned just a bit closer trying to
soothe his lover without words or outright touching.
The rest of the ride went by in strained silence until they finally arrived at
their site, chosen for the reasonable distance for them to travel to strike
their target but also the semi-cleared area in the ring of trees.
As the men and Peggy set up camp, Bucky found himself collecting firewood some
ways away from the main group.
Steve, seeing an opportunity to finally talk to his husband alone, walked over
to where Bucky was collecting pieces of wood. Clearing his throat softly to
announce his presence, Steve said, “what was that, Buck?”
Slowly, the brunet turned, arms ladened but not overly so. “That? That was
being practical, Steve. You might be able to break me out with a kiss, but I
doubt the others would want to even try.”
Stepping closer, voice dropping to a harsh whisper, Steve shook his head, “so
you’d rather them take the risk of smothering you to death? God, Bucky . . .
you - -” the blond shook his head again and ran his fingers through his hair.
Sighing, setting the wood down and sinking onto the cold, hard ground, Bucky
looked up at his husband, knowing this wouldn’t be a quick conversation. “How
long you been in war, Stevie?”
“That doesn’t matter, Bucky,” Steve ground out.
“And if it was Dernier that had the nightmares? Our explosives expert?” Bucky
asked, still sounding calm, detached even.
“I wouldn’t suggest smothering him, either! I’d figure something else out.”
Steve sank down next to Bucky, looking over at his husband with a worried
frown.
“Okay,” Bucky agreed easily, still sounding detached, “tell me what they should
do.”
Steve looked at Bucky, blue eyes searching the face he’d come to memorize.
The brunet’s grey-blue eyes were haunted once more, so rarely anything else
passed through those once dancing orbs. He seemed passive, but there was an
underlying fear just below the surface; Steve could even smell a faint whiff of
it in Bucky’s muted scent.
Shaking his head, Steve took a deep breath, “maybe . . . maybe you shouldn’t be
here, Buck. Be the sniper . . .” the blond looked like the words physically
pained him to say.
“Steve, while you were at chow last night, the doctor came to talk to me, did
he tell you?” Bucky drew on the ground with a loose stick he picked up. He was
nowhere as good as Steve, but he’d shared enough art classes to be more than
passable. He drew the Brooklyn Bridge.
“No, what did he say?” Steve asked.
Without raising his eyes, his tone almost as dead as his expression suddenly
seemed, Bucky intoned, “if I don’t make it with the group, I’m going
stateside.”
Releasing a deep breath, Steve shook his head and looked down at the drawing
Bucky was doing, “None of those men know the fine line between smothering you
unconscious and killing you, Bucky . . .” Steve closed his eyes.
“I’ll be sent to an asylum under severe recommendation for the latest
treatments,” Bucky added. “Hydrotherapy, electric shock, even good old
fashioned lobotomy.” Looking over at Steve beside him, he said softly, “I’d
rather take the chance on smothering me if I get a nightmare, Steve.”
Steve’s eyes opened, a pained expression on his face.
Reaching out a hand to touch his husband’s beautiful face, the brunet added,
softly, still sounding detached, “we can let them practice on the enemy until
they get it right, if you want.”
Looking shocked, Steve turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, “what?”
Leaning over to place his forehead to Steve’s, Bucky breathed in his lover's
sweet scent. He whispered, “not the ones who voluntarily surrender, Steve. The
ones that refuse to give up Hydra? We take ‘em down without killing them, then
let the guys practice smothering them before killing them?”
“Torture. That’s what you're suggesting, Buck. That’s torture,” Steve still
couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Shrugging, Bucky pulled back away from Steve and dropped his stick, hugging
himself. “Smothering them to death or unconscious is a far cry from what they
did to our side.”
“I know . . .” Steve shook his head, “but . . .”
“No, you’re right. That makes me the monster, instead.” Bucky nodded, still
hugging himself. “I never wanted to go to war, to kill anyone. Now I’m so
screwed up I’m considering practicing killing people?” He shuddered and a sob
escaped. “Might as well shoot me now. I really am insane.”
“No!” Steve said forcibly, “don’t you ever talk about yourself like that, okay?
No one is going to shoot you or smother you. We are gonna fight this damn war
and then we’re gonna go home. Both of us. Where you go, I go.”
“Don’t let them take me back, Stevie. I keep thinking I’ll open my eyes and
Zola will be there with his damned needles of blue stuff and . . . him.” Bucky
sobbed harder and shuddered again.
Steve wrapped his arms around his husband and held him close, “you’re never
gonna go back. Never.”
“Hello?” Agent Carter’s concerned voice carried to them through the trees,
getting closer, “Captain? Sergeant?”
The brunet started pulling out of the blond’s arms, trying to hide their
closeness, wiping at his eyes and tear-streaked face.
“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve said softly, not letting Bucky go, “she knows.”
“What?” the brunet froze, confused and afraid, “knows? About . . . us?” the
whisper came out harsh and disbelieving.
“Yes,” Steve answered, “I guess I’m just as lousy as you when it comes to
keeping our relationship secret. She figured it out in bootcamp.”
Another sob turned into a wrenching gasp then sounded sort of like a laugh as
Bucky dropped his face to Steve’s shoulder. “God, we’re gonna get ourselves
killed one of these days, Stevie.”
Peggy stepped through the trees and stopped. “Oh, sorry. Do you need some
time?”
Steve looked up at Peggy, his hands running soothingly down his lover’s back.
He offered the woman a strained smile.
She nodded and offered a comforting smile back at her friend. “Dugan set up
your tent for you and the Colonel has arrived with the doctor to monitor the
Commandos’ reactions to being so close to that factory once more. I can cover
for you for a little while, but dinner will be ready soon. Cold rations since
we haven’t got the firewood yet.” She studied the pair then, practically, if a
bit coldly, said, “I can teach the men the right amount of pressure and time it
takes to knock someone unconscious if you’d like, Captain?”
“That’d be great, Agent, thank you,” Steve said after a sigh of relief.
She nodded. “Consider it as our after-dinner lesson then. Shall I bring a load
of wood back for the camp?” Without waiting for permission, she scooped up the
load Bucky had already gathered and turned towards the campsite. “Hurry back or
you won’t get rations. You are on first watch tonight, Captain, and I believe
you want to see the lesson before bed and watch?”
“How’d you wind up with a girlfriend who knows how long it takes to smother a
guy, Steve?” Bucky said, his voice choking as he tried to sound light-hearted.
Peggy smirked and merely walked off into the trees.
Steve held Bucky for a few more minutes, continuing his soothing pattern on his
lover’s back. After a while he said softly, “we should get back.”
“Kiss me, Cariad?” Bucky whispered softly, looking down once more at his
aborted drawing and the stick lying across it haphazardly.
Carefully, Steve lifted Bucky’s face and pressed his lips to his husband’s.
Returning the kiss, eyes closing, passion building, Bucky gripped Steve’s
collar and pulled him into the kiss deeper, making a soft, almost needy whimper
in the back of his throat. Finally, breaking the kiss, he touched foreheads
again and whispered, “I love you so much, Stevie.”
“I love you, too, Buck,” Steve breathed, his affection evident in his tone.
A smile spread over the brunet’s face and he pulled back. “I keep needing to
hear that to chase away the monsters . . .” Slowly, he pulled out of his
lover’s arms and stood, beginning to gather wood once more, though he left the
stick across his incomplete drawing. “I’m glad she’s gonna train them, Steve.”
He looked over. “I really don’t wanna die. I’m only twenty-six.”
Steve nodded and stood up, “you aren’t gonna die anytime soon, Buck. You’re
gonna live to be a hundred,” the blond flashed his lover a smile.
Snorting, Bucky said, “as long as you live to be ninety-nine along with me,
Stevie.” He flashed his grin, his scent calmer once more, the fear all but
gone. He led the way back to camp.
Dinner and the smothering lesson, though somber, went surprisingly well.
Finally, it was the Colonel who stood first to lead the men off to their
respective tents, eyeing Steve for a moment but not saying anything about this
Bucky Watch that had been arranged. It was, in the end, Steve’s team, not
Phillips’.
Bucky took a breath and stood, dusting off his ass. “Night, Cap,” he called and
offered Steve a small smile as he headed into the Captain’s slightly larger
tent, the small French civilian right behind him. From the tent could be heard
a string of French by the smaller man and Bucky’s rich laughter bubbling out.
Then Bucky and Dernier shot rapid French back and forth, laughter interspersing
what soon became evident were dirty comments by the pair.
With a light tone, a smile on his face, Steve called out, “go to sleep you
two!”
“Sir!” Bucky called back then broke into soft snickers, Dernier snorting in
muffled laughter. But they apparently obeyed because soon only the quiet snores
of Dernier could be heard from the tent.
Four long, cold hours passed before Steve finally could go to his tent to get
Denier out of his bed and onto watch. When he slipped quietly inside, he could
see in the light from his flashlight that Bucky slept with his face to the
wall, Dernier cuddled up behind him spoon fashion, arms wrapped loosely around
the taller man.
A slight pang of worry swarmed in the blond’s chest; was this really a good
idea, letting other men sleep in the same bed as his husband? Shaking his head,
Steve silently moved to the edge of the bed and gently shook the Frenchman
awake.
Dernier and Bucky both woke up, and the smaller man quietly slipped from the
double-pallet to jam his feet into his boots and pull his jacket, formerly
Bucky’s jacket, on. The man saluted Steve and left the tent with the flashlight
and a package of cigarettes.
Smiling softly, Bucky pulled back the covers for Steve to get in. “Not a
nightmare at all, Stevie,” he whispered. “This seems to be working.”
Any doubt he had was swept away by those words; Steve offered his lover a smile
as he slipped in next to the brunet, “good,” he pressed his lips to Bucky’s. “I
love you.”
“I love you, Cariad,” Bucky replied, eyes drooping in need of sleep, but the
man fought it until his lover had settled. “Thanks for coming for me, Steve,”
he murmured and drifted off, facing his husband, face buried against the man.
“Always,” Steve whispered.
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, November 9, 1943: Austrian Alps, Austria
The dawn strike went off with little fanfare after such a massive amount of
importance placed on the success by the doctor and Colonel. It almost felt
anti-climactic.
Before the first rays even struck the paper-covered windows of the cement
storage facility, their sniper had positioned himself on a low ledge of hill
nearby. Warm in his Stark-created coat and trousers, the dark blue actually
muted and camouflaging in the dim twilight of dawn, Bucky used his fine scope
to pick out individual targets but never took a single one down. His job was to
count the moving bodies and report the number to the team so they could offer
those men the right of surrender.
Now, after such a good night of sleep despite the wake up at shift change and
the early morning, pre-dawn prep, Bucky felt some shame in his desperate idea
to possibly use those unknown men as practice subjects. He didn’t think he
would have been able to stomach going through with the particular bit of
desperate insanity and so was privately extremely thankful that Agent Carter,
Peggy, had known what to show the men. Mentally shaking himself, Bucky did a
quick recount then lowered his sight and whistled a complicated bird trill
consisting of the precise number of notes to correlate with the number of
potential targets in and around the small building.
With a grin, Dum Dum turned his big smile on his new commanding officer, a man
almost as big as himself. “Fourteen,” he murmured softly, translating his
fellow Sergeant’s message for the still wet-behind-the-ears officer.
Nodding, Steve answered, just as softly, “bring him in. We strike as a team on
this one. No one left out alone.”
Dugan turned, gave the “come in” chirrup, then picked up his assigned rifle and
adjusted the straps to more balance the weight. He grabbed his very non-
regulatory derby hat, the one Mary said made him look so damn dashing, and
slammed it onto his head, silently daring the Captain to challenge him when
their sniper wore a bright blue coat of all things.
Steve wisely turned to check on his other men, not begrudging the hat in the
slightest. He watched as Peggy sat, steaming camp coffee in her ceramic and tin
mug, by the radio that matched the smaller version Gabe would be carrying,
strapped to himself. It was a more portable affair than the one the man had
trained with so far in the war, an invention by Howard Stark to try to ease the
heavy burden and clunky hardware necessitated by the radioman.
Morita, Falsworth, and Dernier armed themselves nearby, quickly sipping at the
bitter, almost unpalatable camp brew to aid in waking themselves as well as
warming themselves in the bitter November morning in the Alps. The Colonel sat
stoically by the Agent and the doctor stayed quiet as he marked his notes with
a scratching of his pen, unobtrusively obvious beside the high ranking officer.
Bucky strode up on quiet tread despite the detritus of the forest, proving,
like the rest of the team, he was made for stealth missions such as this one.
Without sharing a word, the group of seven men headed down through the trees
towards the small bunker.
As they stood before the cement building, no sign of the enemy men who had all
gone inside for the moment, Steve glanced to his left, where Bucky stood,
stoic, then his right, where Dum Dum bounced lightly on his feet. Turning and
looking straight ahead, Steve gave the signal and the Howlin’ Commandos made
their first strike, rushing the door with guns firing. The door burst open
before their onslaught and Captain America broke from his pack to pull his
shield into action, spinning as he bashed first one man then another with his
new piece of weaponry. The light weight round metal felt like a natural
extension of his body and immediately Steve knew he’d be thanking Howard for
the precious gift of the rare vibranium. A motorcycle idling in the corner drew
the leader’s eye and he hurried over to the top of the line vehicle, still
utilizing his shield for defense and offense.
Nodding his signal, none of the men talking amid defiant shouts of “Hail
Hydra!”, Steve watched the tiny Frenchman and equally compact Californian break
off to set the charges. The pair worked quickly and rather seamlessly, Morita
only a beat or two behind Dernier as they placed and armed their weapon of
choice. Gabe, Falsworth, and Dum Dum took out any resistance and loaded up with
weapons. Bucky, true to his post despite his proximity to the actual action,
kept his rifle at the ready, covering his small until, blending backwards
quickly into the shadows by the door to keep his own back protected and widen
his range of view.
Still almost eerily silent, the two smaller Commandos turned and signaled the
imminence of the explosions they’d rigged. The entire group broke for the exit,
firing at stragglers as they backed out. Bucky scooped up a particularly
enticing set of long rifles by the door but continued to use his own weapon as
the group made their hurried way from the death trap. Steve revved up the
motorcycle and felt it roar as it screamed from the bunker, debris, fire, and
earth-shaking energy explosions licking at his tail as he raced for safety on
his prize.
The building collapsed in a rain of fiery debris, cement in scattered chunks
amid melted, twisted rebar.
The sun barely crested the horizon as the Howlin’ Commandos began their arduous
journey, in high spirits, back to the main base two days away.
xxx
Setting: AU: Wednesday, November 10, 1943: Azzano, Italy
As the Howlers pulled their stuff from the truck in the waning light of
nightfall, laughing and joking and looking forward to getting settled in the
larger, better stocked, camp, Bucky quietly walked over to the USO-provided
tent that had been assigned Steve and never rescinded. He opened the door and
sighed at seeing the still tied beds. He smiled and put his stuff just inside
the door, pulling out a towel and soap, then headed off for a shower, leaving
Steve to fend for himself for a few minutes.
Peggy stepped up beside the tall blond man with a smile, watching as Howard
confiscated Steve’s stolen motorcycle to refurbish it. “Congratulations on the
success of your first strike mission, Steve,” she said softly. “The doctor and
Colonel were please and cleared all of your men for continued strike duty . . .
even Sergeant Barnes.”
Steve breathed a sigh of relief, though his eyes still remained troubled.
“Come to my tent for a celebratory drink and to plan your next mission?” she
offered politely, professionally.
“Sounds great,” Steve offered her a smile.
She led the way to her private tent and let him inside, where few people ever
were invited. The woman made sure her door was secured though they would have
to keep their voices down since canvas walls held little secrets. Offering
Steve a brandy, she smiled and sank onto one of two wooden folding chairs in
there. “You sound less than pleased. What’s wrong?”
Sinking into the chair, Steve sighed, playing with the glass in his hands, “I’m
worried about Bucky.”
“Did he have a nightmare last night?” She tilted her head.
“No, he hasn’t had a nightmare since we started the whole Bucky Watch thing
three days ago,” Steve offered.
The brunet woman nodded, not interrupting, letting him explain in his own time.
“I’m . . . what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” Steve whispered.
“Did he say something?” she asked, just as softly. “Was that what I interrupted
the other day in the woods?”
“No, he hasn’t said anything about . . . leaving me . . . but he just seems a
lot happier since we started the Bucky Watch. He also mentioned something about
me finding a woman to start a family with a few days before that. What if I’m
not what he wants anymore?”
She looked thoughtful and nodded slowly. “Well, you are so much larger than you
used to be, Steve. He went to war with the image of a delicate man he thought
to protect. Now you’re bigger than him.” She looked up, “and no longer sterile.
Perhaps he thinks he’s limiting you? Or . . . maybe he isn’t attracted to a
larger man?” Her words merely echoed his own fears, not consoling or easing
them.
Steve made a small, pitiful noise from the back of his throat.
Instinctively, the Alpha woman reached over to touch the shoulder of the very
much larger, Omega man, though naturally she only instinctively reacted to him,
as everyone thought he, too, was an Alpha. “Steve, you won’t know unless you
talk to him. Guessing only makes you both unhappy. Haven’t you assumed in the
past? I can recall at least two times you’ve assumed things about me or what
I’ve thought which were totally incorrect.”
Sighing, Steve nodded, eyes still focused on his untouched glass, “yeah, you’re
right. I should just talk to him.”
“Of course I’m right. Else you wouldn’t have come sought my advice.” She
smiled. “And since you finished your drink without even tasting my fine cognac,
I must tell you to get yourself a shower and go talk to that man.”
Smiling softly, Steve nodded and stood back up. He handed Peggy the glass back
and said, “thank you, Peggy.”
With an answering smile, the woman stood and watched him go. Whispering to his
back, knowing his ears had improved enough to hear her, she said, “go get him,
tiger.”
After a quick shower, Steve made his way back to the tent.
Bucky stood there, still a bit damp, a towel wrapped around his waist. His
scars were faded almost completely, except the bite mark Steve had placed there
when they’d made love so many years ago. Bucky’s tags hanged down against his
chest, clinking softly against one another as he moved, putting away his dirty
clothes, pulling out some clean boxers and longjohns. He looked over and smiled
a bit at Steve, looking pleased to be clean once more. “Hey, there’s still hot
water at the officer’s shower if you hurry.”
“Already took mine,” Steve said, not questioning how Bucky had managed to
wrangle his way into the officer’s shower. The blond stepped further into the
tent. “Can I ask you something, Buck?”
Nodding, Bucky smiled and dropped his towel, beginning to pull on his boxers.
“Anything, Stevie.”
Dropping to a lower tone, Steve questioned, “you’re happy, right? With me? With
us?”
“Happy?” Bucky froze, boxers only up to his knees. He frowned and quickly
pulled the covering up all the way. “Why wouldn’t I be happy with us, Steve?”
His voice had dropped equally soft.
Steve shrugged softly, “I just gotta make sure . . . I ain’t exactly the same
person you left in New York.”
“You’re not,” the brunet agreed. “War changes people. You’re a leader now.”
Bucky stepped over to Steve. “But I get the feeling you’re talking about
something other than being my commanding officer?”
Flushing softly, Steve ducked his head and nodded, “I still wanna be your guy,
Buck . . . but I gotta make sure you feel the same. I - - I don’t wanna hold
you back.”
Frowning, Bucky tried to puzzle through this latest confusing start of Steve’s.
The blond always seemed to go off on some self-deprecating turn when Bucky
thought they were at their best. Slowly, he asked, “why do you think I’d have
changed from loving you since I told you this morning?”
When Steve seemed to take an inordinate amount of time, Bucky got nervous. He
softly said, “talk to me, Stevie. Why do you think I wouldn’t want you any
more? What’s changed?”
“Everything’s changed, Buck,” Steve answered.
“I’m not understanding. By everything do you mean . . . how you feel about me?
I know I’m . . . different. Broken, I guess.” Bucky sighed, eyes pained.
“No,” Steve said, eyes wide, “no, I still love you, Buck. But . . . I’m afraid
that . . . I don’t attract you anymore?”
“Because the medicine makes it so I can’t get a stiffy? Steve, that’s the
drugs. You’re beautiful!” Bucky said softly, reaching for his husband’s hands.
“No, not that . . .” Steve flushed, “I’m not what you fell in love with back in
Brooklyn.”
“You’re not?” Bucky looked and sounded confused. “How are you not my Steve? You
like girls now?” he sounded worried.
“Why would you tell me to find a gal to start a family with, Bucky?” Steve
asked.
“Because you can?” Bucky shook his head. “Because it’s what guys, even guys
like us, are supposed to do? Have kids and a wife, pretend not to like guys,
and . . . just be normal?”
“Well, if you think like that, you could find a wife and start a family, too,”
Steve said.
Flushing slightly, Bucky shook his head. “No, Steve, I can’t. I never could get
erect around a woman. Not even once.” He shrugged looking a bit embarrassed.
“Really? All those . . . girls? Not once?” Steve looked surprised, but also a
little relieved.
“Yeah, and back then, even knowing I was in love? Yeah, I tried, believe me, I
tried. But nothing. So, yeah, a family, even a half-fake one, ain’t in my
future.” He offered a small, tentative smile to Steve, “but you’d hardly have
trouble finding a willing girl now, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t want a girl. I want you,” Steve said honestly, “you’re all I’ve ever
wanted.” The blond licked his lips nervously and asked, “there - - there isn’t
another . . . guy is there?”
Nodding softly, looking like he suddenly understood, Bucky slowly said, “so,
you think I want a different guy now, too?” He raised Steve’s large hands to
his lips, and Bucky kissed those artist’s digits. “Steve, would you believe I
could never get it up for another guy, either? You’re the only one I’ve ever
been excited by in the past. You were always my sweet, beautiful Stevie.”
Blushing, Steve smiled softly at Bucky, “really?”
“Steve, when I saw you in that factory, I was confused and thought I’d gone
totally insane. It was the first time I’d actually seen and touched what I
always thought of when I was near you. You finally looked . . . right. Like I
always thought you should.” Bucky pulled him close, hand wrapping around the
back of Steve’s neck so their breaths mingled as their faces were only
millimeters apart. “Maybe I’m weird, always loving you and being with you when
I thought somehow you were so tiny and delicate, no matter how beautiful you
were. But it finally seemed to fit, baby. You. Are. What. I. Most. Desire.”
Bucky kissed Steve with each word, to emphasis it.
Steve beamed, kissing Bucky again; the blond breathed, “I love you, Bucky, I
love you so much.”
“And I love you more each time I breath in or out, Stevie.” Bucky smiled. “So,
any more questions, Cariad? I’ll answer anything you want.”
Shaking his head, Steve smiled and pressed their lips together again.
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