milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Steve Rogers sits at the bar, fidgeting with his pencil. There's an open sketchbook in front of him, and Dear Bucky, is written at the top of the page.

The rest of the page is mercilessly blank.

[Plot locked.]

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It's mercilessly wintry out by the lake, but there's something clean about the crisp air that draws him back time and again all the same. By the time he's finished with the jog he'd set for himself, though, he's ready to come in from the cold.

He moves quickly through the door to prevent any hapless patrons from getting chilled, scanning the room out of habit as he does. His glance falls on Steve, and a small, quick smile appears - there and gone, but still there to begin with.

He crosses over to the bar and moves to take the seat beside Steve.

"Hey."

Steve smiles back, relaxing at once. "Hey, Buck.

"Did you have a good run?" It's not hard to tell what he was doing outside.

"Yeah. Quiet out there."

Peaceful, in a way.

"A little cold, but it's not too bad."

"It's like everything's muffled," Steve says with a nod.

It doesn't surprise him one bit that Steve gets it. Bucky nods.

"Yeah," he says again. "Coffee'd be good now, though."

The Bar provides, and that small smile flashes again. "Thanks."

He takes a sip.

"How's the weather back on your side of the door?"

"It's summer," Steve says. "Green where we are, out of the city. New digs for the Avengers," he adds by way of explanation. "It's pretty, but isolated."

"Isolated's useful," he observes. "Secure. No distractions from training."

"That's the thinking. But it's lonely. It's too quiet at night."

"Not like hearing the city outside the window."

"There's nothing like that," Steve says. "Even nowadays. Even in the Tower, high up over the city, it still sounded like New York."

"Well, it's New York," Bucky points out. "There's nowhere else quite like it, you know?"

Each city has its own pulse and its own heartbeat, he's found.

"Yeah, of course.

"I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually. Meantime I'm listening to the radio as quietly as possible when I can't sleep at night."

He sips his coffee.

"You sleeping okay?"

Something flickers across his expression, and he looks down at his coffee.

"Okay," he says, after a second. "Yeah, it's okay." A beat. "I'm okay."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

He fidgets with his pencil. "I, um. I've been thinking. I think I'm not going to come in here anymore."

This time the look on his face is clear: complete shock.

"What? Why?"

A thought strikes him, and he tenses up.

"Did something happen?"

"Hey." He puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "It's okay. It's nothing life-threatening.

"It's..." He exhales. "It's a couple things. Like, I'm relieved when someone doesn't know who I am. That shouldn't be a relief, it should just be normal, right? And when someone does know who I am it's, it's like being on stage again. More and more it's like Steve Rogers doesn't exist -- I'm Captain America or I'm no one."

He absorbs that in silence for a few moments, forcing himself to listen, to really listen, and to think about what Steve's saying.

"So what you're saying is ... that this place has turned into the USO for you, instead of your local. That it?"

Steve huffs a little. Of course, Bucky understands.

"Yeah. Exactly."

He pauses again, then says, "Then there's Orpheus. Seeing him again. It's ... more painful than I expected. Makes me miss the things I'm trying to let go."

No, he's never going to like Orpheus. Never.

"Ah," he manages, and somehow keeps himself from spitting any of the several curses that come to mind in a multitude of languages.

"Yeah, I can ... see how that would be hard."

Steve makes a wry sound. Yeah, he knew what might happen if he brought up Orpheus.

"I guess at home, at least I know what to expect."

He shuts his sketchbook. "I was going to write you a letter. I'm glad I got to tell you in person."

"I am, too."

It's beginning to sink in now, and as it does a dawning realization spreads through him with a cold that's far, far worse than the winter outside.

"Since it's going to be ... "

An instant's silence falls while he searches for the right words.

"... a while, until I see you again."

Or forever. Never. He can't go near Steve back in their world. He can't. He won't risk his friend's life like that. Ever.

Steve watches Bucky's face. "I think," he says slowly, "that whoever's in charge of these things, whether it's God or fate or -- or whatever -- won't keep us apart for long."

And if God or fate or whatever thinks they can keep them apart, they've never met Steve Rogers.

"I guess we'll find out."

He smiles -- makes himself smile, and makes himself look Steve in the eye while he does, the way he had when sitting with him in the bar on that first night, after the long march back from Azzone.

"In the meantime, Rogers, how about I buy you a round while we're both here?"

"Barnes, it would be my pleasure to let you."

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