milliways_bar | (no subject)

Another day, another city. He's not sure how long he'll be in this one - weeks, maybe a month or two, if he's lucky. He hasn't been lucky for a half-year or so now, but there's nothing to do about that except stay ready, and move when he needs to.

He'd picked the apartment because it was high up in the building. He prefers it that way; it lets him watch from various angles and lines of sight when he needs to, and gives him quick access to the roof and escape.

Not that he can see much from inside at the moment, of course, having just finished taping newspaper -- multiple thicknesses -- over the windows. It helps; the lines of text and distortion of blurry newsprint photos disguise any shadows that he might cast from within.

James takes a moment to look around. It's got everything he needs; sleeping bag unrolled on the cheap mattress in the corner, the windows (now covered), washroom no bigger than a closet, kitchenette barely bigger than that, even complete with the unimaginable luxury of a full-size fridge...

... ah. Food. Right.

He's not hungry, but food's the fuel that's necessary to keep going. It's too late to go to the market now, though. Instead, he goes to the apartment door, and opens it into Milliways.

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"Chasing down HYDRA," Steve says and takes a big bite of his burger.

His eyes narrow.

"How's it going?"

"Better than I'd hoped, but not fast enough. They're tricksy."

He drags a fry through some ketchup. "You staying safe?"

"Sure."

It's not entirely a lie. After all, he's safe enough at this particular moment.

"Are you?"

"Yeah. I've got the team, I've got Sam, I've got Orpheus... they keep me on the strait and narrow."

Or at least they watch his back.

"Sam's a good man."

Seems to be, anyway. The team - he only knows what he's been able to see on TV and find in various hidden sources after the attack on New York.

As for Orpheus.... well.

"He's the best."

His team is not the Howling Commandoes, but they're fighting a different sort of war. It's close, but it's not the same. Steve has accepted it never will be.

"I'm glad you're coming in here. I'm glad you've got your friends here."

A pang strikes through him, and he shoves it away. What right does he have being anything but overjoyed at any camaraderie and happiness Steve's able to find? After all, he himself abandoned his best friend, and worse.

Much worse.

"Something like that," he mutters, before the silence can grow. "Food's good, too."

A beat.

"Figured if I didn't eat I'd never hear the end of it from you."

"It's like you know me or somethin'," Steve says, a bit wry.

"Imagine that."

Dry as dust.

Steve smiles and eats in silence for a while.

The urge to ask if Bucky needs anything, especially the things Bucky has already refused, is very strong. Money, help, protection, a safe place to sleep.

What the hell, he decides, he'll keep offering no matter how often Bucky says no.

"Is there anything you need?" he asks, his voice soft. "Anything I can do for you?"

He hesitates -- a little longer than he has when Steve's asked before.

"I'm okay," he says, finally. "I'm -- okay."

Steve nods, unsurprised.

"Well, just say the word and you'll have whatever you need. Or want, for that matter."

He eats anther bite of burger.

"Peg's still around. Would you -- would it be okay if I told her about you? She --" He hesitates. "She doesn't always remember things very well."

His eyes widen, and he suddenly looks much younger, somehow.

"Peggy? Carter? She's -- she's still...?"

Steve nods. There's suddenly a lump in his throat and he's not quite sure why.

"She's still alive."

He mutters something under his breath in Russian that sounds like it's halfway between a prayer and a curse.

"Tell her -- tell her whatever you, you think she'd want to know."

"All right. I will."

He studies Bucky's face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just ..."

"... I thought they were all ... gone."

"It's just the three of us now."

He nods, silent for a moment.

Just the three of them.

"Whenever Orpheus pours a libation, I think about my guys," Steve says, toying with a French fry. "I hope they're resting in peace, whatever that may mean."

"Yeah," he agrees, quietly.

"They... deserve that. At least that."

"They have more than that. We all do. Books have been written about us. Movies made. Fellas named Paul Newman and James Dean played you and me once, which apparently is a big deal. There's an exhibit in the Smithsonian about us right now."

He's quiet a moment.

"Still feels like we're fighting the same fight over and over sometimes."

Edited 2017-02-02 18:33 (UTC)

For an instant, some weariness leaks through in his expression, in the way he's holding himself.

"We are."

Bucky shakes his head and reaches for the cup of coffee that Bar's just refreshed for him.

"Never mind."

"You can tell me, Buck."

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