Man the guns, the howlers are coming - Chapter 21 - wheres_the_conspiracy (2024)

Chapter Text

STEVE

Strasbourg, Occupied France. Behind German Line I 48.58506° N, 7.73642° E

“Lets go small with the first one,” Philips had said in London before they got on the plane, “test the waters.”

It’s a small base but in dangerous territory; Stasbourg, France; ridiculously close to the German border. The base they’re hitting may be small but, boy, do they go big.

They hit the it on Christmas Eve.

There’s so many orange flames and so much of Dugan’s huge booming laughter afterward by the end it’s almost festive. They kick the doors inwards and open fire in a very dramatic way - Steve leads with his shield, the commandos following him in a fan - letting loose all the aggression they gained from two months of capture. They catch the place by complete surprise - men going down before they can even pull out their weapons, and they capture it in under half an hour.

Steve’s ready this time when they take prisoners - and knocks those left over out - and then pries the cyanide capsules from their teeth. One cracks and fizzes by accident but the rest are successfully removed - with good reason too - upon waking five out of six chomp down and grind their jaws. Nothing comes, and with a flash they start fighting again - not to get away but to get their hands on a weapon - whether it’s to hurt the commandos or themselves Steve doesn’t know - but he also doesn’t give them a chance to try.

They search the now captured factory and take intel where they can though there's not much - just old telegrams and equipment. They take them anyway - and Falsworth scores a point for finding early, but annotated blueprints for some sort of flame thrower - but the flame is some kind of innately generated plasma. There’s a note that says‘blauer Strahl am Ausgang’which means ‘blue beam on exit’, so Steve can only presume the ‘generated plasma’ is the same kind of unknown energy source Howard is still frowning over.

They take that, the telegrams, the equipment they see and don’t already have and some that they do - and the prisoners and load them chained up in a cargo truck. Dernier and Bucky set charges on all the structural beams, and Steve, Dugan and Gabe move everything left outside to the inside so that they go up too when Dernier triggers the detonation. They drive thirty something meters away, wire trailing out of the back of the truck, until Dernier calls a halt - and with a click the smaller barn factory goes up in a wash of orange and sparking clouds. The blue equipment they had no room for ignites in a shock-wave, and the air rushes past Steve’s face with an electric buzz. The trees around them sway with it. Dernier cuts the line, done, and they drive in almost darkness to Corbigny where they have a plane and pilot hiding at a disused airfield waiting for them.

Steve finishes the four hour drive, pulling off the road before the boundary fence of the airfield as Dugan sits beside him and comments on his clumsy gear-stick work.

“I didn’t learn how to drive until three weeks ago Dugan, cut me some slack.” Steve rolls his eyes, but is smiling a little, still hyped from their assault.

Dugan’s been driving Jeeps for years, so’s Morita and so’s Monty - Gabe’s given it a go a few times too, mostly because his own pop used to be a driver - whereas Steve (and Bucky’s) experience before Scotland mostly consisted of hitching rides in the backs of freezer trucks when they ran out of money to get home.

Bucky’s had one driving lesson in his life before training, at Fort Hamilton; his father’s base, and he and his pop had both returned in foul moods. The next time Steve had seen him was the next morning when he walked out of his bedroom to find Bucky already sat on the counter lamenting at Steve’s mother, enlightened overnight with a philosophical conclusion.

“I’ve decided I don’t need to learn how to drive, we live in New York. I can get the subway everywhere.”

“Oh my god.” Steve had groaned, having already been privy to the incensed ranting about gear sticks, reversing and mirrors that Bucky had already thrown at him yesterday. He drops and drapes himself over the couch dramatically, chest heavy after an asthma attack the night before. Sarah slides his pack of asthma cigarettes to Bucky who tosses them at Steve wordlessly.

“Language Steve, stop blaspheming.”

“Sorry ma,” he apologizes, catching the packet and turning to Bucky. “It can’t have been that bad.”

“He yelled at me, Steve. Pa never yells at me, not even that time we snuck out for Ronnie Johnson’s back roof party.”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses, glancing side long at his mother.

“I yelled at you for that one, Steve, you’re fine.” Sarah comments coolly from where she's frying bacon.

“Oh okay.”

She hums, “In all fairness I yelled at the both of you enough that George probably didn’t think he needed to.” She considers before going back to the original conversation. “Some people aren’t the best teachers when it comes to these things.”

“Mr Barnes is normally a good teacher.” Steve disagrees, “he teaches better than that jerk over there does on a good day if we’re stuck on something.”

“Oh, you wish, Steve. That’s the last time I’m helping you catch up then.”

“When did you even get here? It’s seven in the morning Go home jerkface.”

“Driving is different.” His ma interrupts, voice raised only enough to be heard over them. “Does your ma know how to drive James?”

“Urgh,” Bucky ponders, his thinking face on. He starts swinging his legs so they bat against the cupboard doors. Sarah whacks him subtly with a spoon so he stops. He begins to drum his fingers on the counter instead. “I think so. Yeah, I think she used to drive a Stephens Moline - I think her father brought one to tow the trailer when a bunch of the horses died. Apparently. A bit weird if you ask me though, cause why would you pic--”

“James.” Sarah cuts in calmly, hand up until he stops, “Ask your mother to teach you instead - she might be a cooler head for those types of lessons.”

“A cooler head - ma? We are talking about the same woman, right?”

“Yes James,” Sarah sighs, “Just ask her, I’m sure your uncle would let the two of you borrow his car for a few afternoons - he’s in town isn’t he? It’ll probably be easier than driving a Jeep.”

Steve had watched Bucky think about it for half a second, but then stubbornness persisted. “Nah. I’ll take the subway.”

Steve groans again. His ma says: “Then take the subway out of my apartment and stop avoiding your own.”

“Urgh, fine." Bucky laments, sounding over dramatically put-upon. He steals a rasher of bacon from the pan as he goes, grease all over his fingers. “But it’s bath day. I hope you understand the battlefield you’re sending me into here.”

“I’ll pray for your survival.” Steve offers, hand over his head. “Now, get out. ”

When they get out of the truck they conceal it under twigs, herd the prisoners out, and make them carry the crated equipment for them to the open door of the plane waiting in the hanger. There’s a pilot, two soldiers, and Howard Starkwaiting for them.

“Whoa, what are you doing here?”

“Fancied a ride, pal.” Howard fires back, grinning. “There’s nothing like flying through German airspace to get your blood pumping.”

“Sometimes I think you have a death-wish.”

“Bit harsh.” Howard disagrees, pulling a face.

“How about reckless attitude then?”

“I’ll take it, but two for two, pal. I didn’t kiss another woman in front of Carter.”

“Hold on, he did what?”

“Shut up, Bucky.” Steve says quickly.

“No I will not shut up what--” His voice cuts off as Gabe slaps a hand over his mouth to stop him talking. What follows is the sound of several scuffles.

Steve grins at Howard, but also at the show of support for him and against his best friend. “What are you really here for?”

Howard practically saunters over. He motions behind him so the soldiers start leading the prisoners onto the aircraft. “Wanted to see what presents you brought me back first things first, and - we have a change of plan - for you. Not for me, I’m going back to my lab.”

“Urgh yuck!” He hears from behind him, “did you just lick me? You f*cking assholeBarnes, wh--”

Howard continues, “I take it your first mission was a success?”

“A roaring success, mate.” Monty says to the side of him, leaning on a ladder, smirking, and looking appropriately (but also far too) smug.

“That’s what we love to hear - which is exactly why you’re carrying on, not heading back with me - when in Rome and all that.”

“When in Rome what?” Dugan asks, “Last I checked we were in France.”

“And you’ll stay in France,” Howard explains, “for a few weeks at least - Peggy’s getting more intel on the base in Belgium - she’ll be in touch, but until then Philips wants you here on the ground in Northern France.”

“In Occupied France, you mean.” Dugan corrects him.

“Exactly - disrupting phone and supply lines in the meantime.” He hands Steve a map and a manila folder wrapped in a protective seal. He folds the map open on the wing of the plane.

“Is there any more equipment?” One of the soldiers asks the group as Steve begins to observe it.

“Morita, can you show them to the truck.” Steve orders over his shoulder, and waves Bucky whose recovered from his licking revenge closer. He’d thought about it again with a push from Vaughan but stuck to his guns, and Buck’s still his go-to-guy no question. He shoves Jones off and glances almost shyly at Howard as he stands next to him; Steve swallows back a smirk and tells himself to focus, and ignore any celebrity starstruckness Bucky is exhibiting. He hasn’t really been around Howard like Steve has yet, and Bucky's always had a ‘thing’ about science and slotting things together - machinery or buildings.

The map is of France as promised, with several markers on - in stars, squares, circles and triangles, followed by a key on the side explaining; supply lines (H next to those for Hydra), stocked Allied safe-houses, other bases and places of interest. There’s further hand-drawn lines that look like lightening bolts in twos moving up and down the country that signify the escape lines the French Resistance use and a vague route Philips would like them to make their way to on the Franco-Belgium borer. There’s red dots marked down on particular places Philips wants them to hit - a bridge, a communications tower and several weapons and food supply lines. “Of course, you have leeway to hit anymore that you may so wish to on route, if you’re feeling an extra party.” Howard adds.

“How long do we have until he needs us at the border?”

“Depends what Carter can get - but two to three weeks - tops?” He says, “she’s generally very on top of things. Just a warning - they’ll probably keep you on the ground after Belgium too - that’s that’s the going rumour I’ve heard from the officers anyway - for lack of ferrying you lot back and forth.”

“So we’ll need to resupply at some point just in case.” Bucky says.

“I’d imagine so,” Howard shrugs, “you’re the soldiers, I just build the weapons.”

“You do a little more than that Howard.” Steve laughs.

“Peggy keeps telling me I need more humility in my life, so I try.” He quips, “It’s not really agreeing with me though, so I might as well sack it.”

After that they leave with a slap on the back for Howard; they're long gone and on the road again by the time the plane sets off, loud and spluttering. Within an hour the area is crawling with patrols all speeding towards the airfield on the chase for where a unidentifiable plane appeared from - so they abandon the roads and hit the trees and fields. They drive the truck into a ditch - toss branches over it and siphon out any left over gas from the engine. They trek the rest of the way - North-West towards the first mark on their map.

Even at past midnight, when they’re still moving in the dark, Steve is still giddy with success.

. . .

The first is a communication tower.

Dugan snorts and Falsworth lights up a cigarette behind a rock. “We’ll leave this one to you, shall we Captain? I know you like your watchtowers.”

“Remind me why I brought you again?”

“For the f*cking great company.” Dugan ruffs out.

He turns to find Bucky in the group of thoroughly unhelpful soldiers. “Will you cover me while--”

Bucky’s already thirty yards away and halfway up a tree with his Springfield rifle.

“I’ll take that as a yes. At least one of you is worth the shoes you walk on.” He jokes, and Dernier hands him several charges and explains how to use them but steps back, and when Steve raises an eyebrow at him too, he argues in French that he missed the inhumanly act with the last watchtower; so he’s getting his dues in now. Jones, the only one bar Bucky worth the lot pitches in; and follows at his back; on the ground while Steve heads up.Jones,Steve thinks, what a great guy. The pinnacle of a true friend. What would I do without him?

A solider goes down in front of him with a crack of glass behind him; the bullet spiking the air to his right side. He flinches back minutely; thinking, I had him Buck, bloody hell.

But you’re okay too, also the pinnacle of a top-notch friend. The best, the greatest, if slightly too overprotective. Bucky Barnes, what a great guy.

. . .

The boys are off their asses and pitching in the next day, hallelujah, and Bucky whacks him on the hip as if to remind him he has a gun there and to remember how to use it.

“I know.” Steve retorts stubbornly to the unsaid accusation.

. . .

In the nights pitched in the cold tents in the cold Scottish mountains during the training, and now, in muddy France, they all huddle together for heat. Steve doesn’t need the body heat but is happy to share. It’s not a position he’s been in before, with people needing him and him not needing them. Oh, he needs them all right for the war to do their jobs - however he doesn’t need them physically for his own sake. He’s had this body for nearly half-a-year, and yet he still feels like he’s discovering new things about it everyday. In the US on the tour - outside of sneaking off to boxing gyms to exercise - he felt too mixed up to notice and experiment outside of the first few weeks of his new state in life. He enjoys it for the most part - individual and independent as he’s never been before.

. . .

Within a week and a half of leaving Scotland the commandos have come up with an entirely new rendition of ‘Star Spangled Man with a Plan’, more aptly named ‘Star Spangled man with a Load on’. They’re conducting a new song entirely of their own making which currently has no rhythm or pace - as none of them bar Bucky have a musical bone in their bodies - but has wickedly dirty lyrics that Steve still blushes over a little when he hears a verse. They make sure he’s not left out, but if Colonel Philips asks they have no evidence whatsoever to prove that the lyrics of -

‘When Captain America throws his mighty shield, there’s a joy

inside that his eyes can’t quite conceal!

Every time he heads, with a force so brute,

He’s in ecstasy and must change his suit!

- comes from his truly. If it comes down to it Falsworth’s the unlucky sod to be thrown under the bus, as Steve takes great delight in telling him.

. . .

Steve still feels like he was making it all up as he goes along some days, without any cue cards to help him stumble through the tongue twister of ‘a bullet in your best guy’s gun’ but those days are becoming less and less. He learns to think first of what the men need and last of himself. He learns to delegate, to keep track of the rota of who takes which watch. To tell by observation how much more the men have left in them.

Where Bucky talks less, Steve talks more.

Bucky always volunteers for extra - more watches at night, more scouting missions and so forth - than his share. He pushes to take point at the front more often than not when they marched. Steve fights back on that, hating that he has too, but is neutral as he says, “No Sergeant, Falsworth takes point today.” or “No Sergeant, I’ve got it today.”

“You don’t shoot the first guy, you shoot the second. So it’s your risk.” Bucky retorts back like that’s a real argument.

“No. Falsworth has it today.”

“Come on, mate.” Falsworth says, slapping him on the shoulder, “share the load.”

Bucky agrees, but to Falsworth and not Steve. The rest of the time he allows Bucky to take them, to keep him occupied and out of his head, but only so much. He doesn’t try to hide that he’s doing it, because lying has never worked before with Bucky when they are actually face to face. Thousands of miles away and with paper and pen are different. Every time Steve pushes him back on an offer to scout, or hunt, or take point he gets a weird distant look in his eyes like maybe he understands the situation. Steve thinks at first, is he taking on so much to prove himself?Especially now Steve has made it plain as anything that “Sergeant Barnes is my second. Monty and Dum Dum, you’re my thirds. Joint.”

Is he trying to prove he’s worth the faith Steve’s put in him? Is that where the problem with Dugan has come from, a sudden territorial thing?

He shakes the thought off; Bucky’s not an animal, pissing around to mark his territory with Steve, though sometimes it does feel that way a little, Steve has to admit to himself. Not forgetting that the issue with Dugan has been going on for longer, and he doesn’t hold Falsworth to the same standard.

Or is it just so simple as a determination to distract himself?

. . .

Leisure time is already hard to come by, and so on the nights when they deem it safe enough for a camp fire they crowd round and trivial things become the go to.

When the topic turns to romance Steve generally tries to tune the conversation out - as he has nothing to say and too much to think about with the next raid coming - so he gets out his maps while the boys wax wise. Bucky often drops down next to him, crossing his legs under him and running over the plans with him until there’s nothing left to talk about and Steve’s feeling sure and confident. Bucky’s a great bridge most of the time too; which is what Sergeants are supposed to be - but Steve’s the most grateful for the quiet moments he takes with Steve; checking in; even if Bucky uses it sometimes as an excuse to escape from the group conversation also.

“Do I want to know what they’re talking about now?” Steve asks quietly as Bucky sits down on the East side of the map.

“Something about a dame, chocolate, an’ strawberries and cream. Monty’s story.”

Steve huffs a patch of laughter out, “Why am I not surprised Monty’s story involves strawberries and cream.”

“Boarding school education for posh twots, what can you do? You’re not that far away, what, you not listening? I know you can hear them.”

“Tuned them out a while ago.”

Bucky hums, motions to the map and asks: “What are you stressing about now then? Don’t tell me your moxie is failing you.”

Steve laughs, “No, not at all. It’s nothing - we’ve been over everything." He assures, then admits: "I kinda’ got it out just to look like I’m doing something.”

“Oh.Avoiding the boys, are? Or avoiding having to talk about Carter with them?” Bucky carrels, calling him on his sh*t immediately. Steve glances at him. “Yeah that’s it, for sure.” Bucky adds the second he gets a look at Steve’s face, “You’re so obvious pal, it almost hurts.”

Steve can hardly argue it when it’s true. “Yeah okay, fine. It’s my thing to tell - not that there is anything yet.”

“Uh-huh, sure, big guy.”

“There isn’t.” Steve stresses, lying just a little. “It’s ongoing but - I don’t feel right talking about her like that - it’s a matter of--”

“--Respect.” Bucky finishes, leaning back on his hands. “I know. Good for you. I’d expect nothing less.” He rolls his eyes as Steve gives him a look. “Steve,it’s you. You’ve never been one to brag about your exploits.”

“Except the part where you’d need exploits to begin with.” He throws out quietly.

“Yeah true,” Bucky says, “maybe not the womanly kind - but again, it’s you. On the rare times that you actually won a fight you didn’t go blabbing about it either - it’s not that different.”

Steve shrugs, accepting it. He nudges Bucky with his foot. “What about you, not feeling up to it either?”

Bucky shrugs back, mirroring him with a small smile. “Figured I’d join you in your wallowing instead.”

Steve gives him a flat look; throws his own words back at him. “Uh huh, sure, big guy.”

Bucky ignores him, “We still heading along the orange line?” He asks pointedly, gesturing at the map to the colour coded pencil lines, drawn over the top of the map to signify their new and old routes.

“Yep, same as yesterday; towards Saint-Dié, cross the Rue Marie bridge, blow it - then onto the other supply lines while we’re in the area; steal a truck - keep moving and head up to the border. Plan hasn’t changed. I’ve got a mind to…I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Sweet.” Bucky says, “I’m looking forward to hot-wiringsomething new.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Of course you are. See if I was a worse man I’d brag about how much better at it I am than you, but like you said, I am a better man than most.”

Bucky snorts, “You wish.”

“I don’t need to wish. I ambetter than you.”

“I’ll gain on you then, until we switch.”

“It’s nice to have dreams Buck, but it’s better to have dreams you actually have a chance of accomplishing.”

His friend laughs quietly, looking closer at the markings on the map. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You want to talk about anything?” Steve asks after a second, observing him carefully. His under eyes are dark, almost shadowed again, and he’s holding his body almost deathly still in his position; whereas fourteen years next to him nearly every day have told Steve that’s not his normal. Bucky constantly fidgets, shifts or loosens his muscles out, or he used to, even when he was languid and sleepy on the couch after a long day of dock work. He used to sit still, mostly, in class but that wouldn’t stop him drumming his fingers on the table while he thought. The times he used to be still like this were during times of immense focus - when learning something new he hadn’t quite worked out yet, watching a boxing match, or when he was behind his rifle before Steve arrived overseas.

It’s not an uncommon sight now, the stillness, but Steve can’t help but feel discomforted by it when it sticks out like a sore thumb to him. The other don’t notice really, but they haven’t known his friend as long or as deeply as he does.

The only time Bucky seems to move any less than carefully controlled now is in sleep; where he twitches wildly; but Steve doesn’t like that either as it’s involuntaryand looks almost painful sometimes.

“Like what?” Bucky asks back, deflecting. “The way you hit that---”

“Not about that.” Steve interrupts, “and you know it. You know what I’m asking.”

Bucky sighs tiredly, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Hardly. “Isn’t there?”

“Nope.” He says, lips popping on the p.

Steve sighs this time, and just says the truth he’s been wanting to for weeks now. “You’ve been quiet for a while now. You know me so well but I know you too Buck, I know when something’s up. Are you okay?”

Bucky throws his arms up, about to shrug, but seems to forget his weights resting on them and overbalances; dropping backwards for a second. He rights his body and rolls his eyes at himself. “I’m fine.” He says, “What’s there to talk about?”

Steve holds his tongue for a moment, then doesn’t. “How about what happened in the base, we haven’t talked about that yet.”

Bucky’s hands tighten in the dirt, clenching into the fallen leaves. Steve’s eyes flick briefly down to them. He makes them return to Bucky’s face, looking him in the eye. Something bright and taunt has entered them to the point it looks like they belong to another person entirely.

“We haven’t talked about it because there’s nothing to talk about.” He says, voice force-ably flat. There’s a faint twinge in there, that Steve hears, where he hasn’t quiet managed it. His face on the other hand is carefully schooled. It changes slightly as he adds, almost an afterthought. “And how could we talk about something I don’t remember?”

You don’t remember anything? Not a single thing? Steve is about to say. How about the doctor’s name he doesn’t know that Steve knows, but that Steve’s sure he does know but told Steve he didn’t. How about where this dead British solider came from in Scotland when you blindsidedVaughan with it? How about all the things you twitch and dream about sometimes?

“Hey lovebirds!” Gabe calls to them, laughing and comfortable. “You wanna’ cut your little date short and come and join us over here?”

“Some of us are trying to entertain,” Falsworth adds, “and you two spilling your deepest darkest secrets in private over there is bringing down my audience numbers.”

More like keeping all the deepest darkest secrets in.

Bucky stands, “Only cause you asked so nicely Jones. And jealousy doth not become you, Major Ritzy.”

“Oh please, you love it.” Dugan says, patting the space next to him. “Half of all the stories we got from you were of skinny Rodgers, you barely talked about anyone anyone else. Even when he got a letter from a gal called Clara.” He laughs; the second half to the boys, and Bucky’s face sours, which is a change as normally the jokes don’t bother him.

“He was around for most my stories, so yeah, he’s in them. It’s a little hard to cut him out.” Bucky replies and sits in a spot furthest away from Dugan. The man notices it; yeah oh yeah he notices it, and Steve winces and makes a point of sitting in the still empty spot as something hard comes over Dugan’s face.

“You got a letter from Clara?” Steve asks, forcing himself into the here and now. “Wasn’t that the girl you had the date with the night before you shipped out?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “You mean the double dateyou bailed on me for to lie - what, the sixth time? - on your forms.”

“Fifth.” Steve corrects, “And it was a fair. I was trying my luck; which I would not have got with the other half of that double date. You got two for one, so be grateful. You went dancing, right?” Bucky nods, and Steve adds, “Bet you’re glad I bailed on you now though, since thanks you to I met Erksine.”

“How thanks to me?”

“Yeah, how thanks to him?” Gabe adds.

“Collect rubble in my little red wagon? There’s so many important jobs? Any of that ring a bell?”

“The red wagon comment was yours.”

“It was. Said Sarcastically. You agreed very unsarcastically.” Steve fires back, lip quirked, and explains to all the boys. “He heard us arguingin the lobby about it, my asshole stubbornnessabout shipping out too must have rubbed off and made an impression. Flagged my four other attempts like that," He clicks. "I thought for sure I was done for when the MP came in.” He laughs, “So thanks, pal. Captain America is at least a little bit down to you.”

“Great. I’m thrilled.” Bucky motions sarcastically, but Steve can see he’s joking, shaken off from their previous conversation. Now, surrounded by the boys and the fire, is not the time to bring it up again.

“To be fair he did tell us about that French girl.” Gabe throws out.

“Français fille?” Jacques asks, interested, whose picked up on understanding English quicker than the rest of them have picked on French so far. “Qui est cette charmante Français fille?” (French girl? Who’s this lovely French girl?)

“Il n’a pas dit qu’elle était adorable, Dernière.” (He hasn’t said she’s lovely yet, Dernier.)

“Elle est Français, donc bien sûr qu’elle est adorable. Le plus beau - nous sommes appelés la langue de l’amour pour une raison, vous twot.” (She's French, so of course she's lovely. The loveliest - we are called the language of love for a reason, you twot.)

Bucky laughs, “Her name was Colette. Et elle était adorable, oui, Jacques (Her name was Colette. And she was lovely Jacques, yes.)The loveliest, in a lot of ways.”

“They never stopped eating each others faces, so it wasn’t so lovely for me.” Steve throws in.

“And that, gentleman, is jealousy in it’s rawest form.”

“Oh shut up.You were far to pleased with yourself the entire summer you were together. If I heard one more comment about what she taught you to do with your mouth and what she did with her mouthI was ready to take our train money and leave you stranded and penniless at Coney Island.”

“Which was why I trapped you on the Cyclone.”

“Yeah, and that ended well for both of us, didn’t it?” Considering Steve remembers throwing up in a trashcan while Bucky laughed at him, yes, but also throwing up on the stuffed monkey Bucky had won to take home to Colette that same day.

“Still scored that night though, didn’t I?”

“You scored nearly every night if memory serves. In his own words,” Steve says to the rest of them, and then again in French for Jacques after “’she’s ensuring my education is complete, you’ve got to admire her commitment to her craft.’ He was sixteen - she was nineteen and I still don’t know how he pulled it off.”

“Natural charm.”

“Natural teenage hormones more like.” Dugan jokes, and Gabe laughs and continues relaying to Dernier.

“They left in the middle of a movie once to get popcorn, and when I came to look for them twenty minutes later they were rutting with her skirt up behind the building against a wall. They were ridiculousfor months.”

Bucky scoffs loudly. “Don’t lie, you little sh*t. You didn’t come looking for us. You started a fight in toiletsand decided to take it out the side door so you wouldn’t get kicked out.”

Morita snorts, “That true, Cap?”

“Yeah okay, that might be a little true.” He admits.

Bucky throws out. “I still don’t know how the Bride of Frankenstein ends.”

“Neither do I.” Steve laughs, “I was too busy trying to bring the swelling down on my eye before my ma could see to go back in. He, had no sympathy whatsoever.”

“You interrupteda perfectly romantic moment, so no, you didn’t deserve my sympathy.”

“Unlike you Colette did help me ice my eye to be fair to her.”

“And I’ve never heard you quieter." Bucky remarks. "You didn’t say a single word, unless you count going tomato red as statement in itself, which it sort of was. She asked me after if ‘red face’ was another one of your ailments it was such a solid declaration of your embarrassment.”

Steve laughs and defends, “I was sixteen and had never said more than two words to a girl before then; and her skirt was still ridden up; tending to me. Also, you were leaking through your pants.It was burnt into my brain for months. You practicallyjumped her again the second I was home and out of eyeshot, and nearly fell down the stairs.”

“Thought you were out of eyeshot?”

“I wasn’t out of earshot. And McMullen’s mother saw you, gave my ma, and then me, a right talking to like we were responsible for yourteenage horniness.”

“We were warmed up. Weren’t gonna’ waste it, were we?” Bucky defends.

“Jesus Christ guys,” Gabe laughs, “where were you two whenever I came for a visit in New York?”

“Probably getting beaten up in an alley.” Steve admits freely, and Bucky points, agreeing with him. “Or a park. Or the toilets. Or anywhere really.”

“Ha!” Dugan laughs next to him, slapping his leg. He lights up a cigarette, and elbows him. “What about you Cap? You’ve heard about our dames, wives and sweethearts; you got yourself one?”

“No. Not yet.”

Dugan grins at him, winking. “Exactly. Not yet,Cap.”

. . .

Dernier quickly and efficientlyhot-wiresa supply truck the next day, and Bucky isn’t the only one who complains that he went too fast to follow - and tell Steve they’re going to steal another just for the sake of an actual lessonthis time.

Steve rolls his eyes, “We’re not stealing another one just for the sake of your criminal education.”

“Why not? They’re German trucks, not civilians, we don’t care.”

“Exactly. They’re German.The Army might notice if two go missing, and knowing you lot you’ll see a tank or armed one and take your chances on that just for the hell of it.”

They would, and their only argumentfor not feeling guilty about it is that they haven’t had a chance to commit it yet.

“Big stakes: big wins.” Dugan says at the same time as Morita says:

“Can’t blame us for having dreams, Cap.”

“Just get in the truck.” He says dully.

“Sir yes sir Captain Fun.” They retort sarcastically but do as they’re told, concealing themselves behind the canvas.

“I think they forget sometimes that we’re at war.”

“Bright side:” Jones says, about to climb in too. “At least in the front you can ignore them for an hour or two.”

“Downside,” Bucky fires back, “wecan’t.”

They drive on, Falsworth at the steering wheel; Steve in the passenger seat. He dumps a German hat and helmet on Falsworth’s and his own head as they close up on the small checkpoint; elbows the back rack to silence those hidden behind the crates. He sits on his helmet and Monty’s red beret.

They slow, Monty yells “Lebensmittellieferung” at them in perfect gravelly German, followed by the password from the set Peggy sent them spanning sixty miles of the base. They wave them through the checkpoint. They approach the bridge and Steve shrugs the shoulders of the jacket off his uniform, picks up the charges by his feet; checks the side mirror.

“Now Cap.” Falsworth motions, and he bangs on the back rack too. Steve flings himself from the moving truck, running right as Gabe goes left from the back. He jumps the wall, sticks a charge to the stone of the first bridge leg with the sticky squishy explosive Howard himself invented, triggers it and runs back, jumping into the still open passenger seat silently. He checks the mirrors and Gabe’s leg also disappears back under the cargo flap as he returns; the guards at the checkpoint still with their backs to them. He glimpses the faint line of a wire appearing back on the river bank below them from the water when he looks over the wall. They’re waved from the checkpoint on the other side. They keep driving at pace.

Eighty eight - eighty nine - ninety - bingo.

The bridge explodes with a loud boom and splash. Rubble rains down into the water - and a second and third blast echo out and up as Steve and Gabe’s charges ignite on the first leg of the bridge. He looks back and the centre and the first half of the bridge are gone, the leftover German’s are shouting, and Dernier runs out of the trees onto the road - Bucky’s arm swings out the flap to pull him into the back.

“Whoo!” He hears Dugan cheer, and Monty hits the gas, speeding down the road. They’re out of range by the time the German soldierson the second side have the chance to fire at them.

“Nicely done Jacques!” He calls into the back, “Tu as bien nagé?” (Did you have a nice swim?)

Jacques laughs in the back, “I went fishing mon ami, as you all took your sweet time!” He calls back and Morita swears as he must shake his hair out, flinging river water onto him.

With one quick diversion off their original path they’ve taken out a weapon supply line and a German phone line that ran along the bridge then back underground in one go. Steve grins, feeling accomplished.

. . .

The boys start calling Steve ‘Captain Nag’ and call Bucky ‘Trouble and Strife’, occasionally throwing out ‘the old married couple down the lane’. Monty becomes ‘posh twot’, Jim becomes ‘hoochman’, Dernier ‘boomtastic’ and Dugan becomes ‘moustachary’ which he complains about endlessly due to the lack of originality.

. . .

09TH JANURARY 1944 - ADMIRMAL RADIO (CBS) - UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

World news today, brought to you by the Admiral Corporation; makers of Admiral Radio; America’s smart set. By shortwave broadcast direct from important overseas stations as well as leading news centresof our own country. CBS correspondents are waiting to give you a complete report all things political and battlefront. But first, here’s Doug Edwards:

DOUG: The Allied 5 ^th Army in Italy has thrown back the German counterattacks and has cut deeper into the army defence lines around Casino, the strategic town guarding the Ron-de-Rown. In Russia, the Soviet Army have smashed within striking distance of three German escape railroads, and the fall of Solany and all of Poland seems imminent in the next few months.

British mosquito bombers were over German targets again last night. And in the far Pacific marine jungle fighters on New-Briton island have made new gains in the face of strong Jap opposition. Now for our first news direct overseas - Admiral Radio takes you to CBS Algeria; Winston Debeck reporting. [CONNECTION FIRED]

0:56 - 1:06

[STATIC]

DOUG: We regret that we are not able to make contact with Columbia’s correspondent in North Africa. However for home-front news Admiral radio takes you now to Washington. Don Pryor reporting:

DON: Congress goes back to work tomorrow after the holiday….

. . .

They’re in the middle of nowhere, walking among a copse of trees lining boxes and boxes of fields and farms. There’s brown splatters of dirt and craters where shells must have been dropped; and a large skid mark on the side of a hill. There’s a blackened husk of an plane laying at it’s end hidden among long overgrown grass; it looks several years old, but obviously no one’s touched or tended to the area since. It’s a smart move, who knows what could have been dropped when it went down, but has yet to be set off. There’s a few sheep he can see in the far distance, grazing, and the figure of a plumpish woman sweeping the deck of a farm house.

The rattle of a train speeds past on the other side of the sparse woods, and Steve listens out to work out what direction it’s going in. He checks his watch, writes down South and 15:23 in each column he has in his notebook. He returns it back to his pocket; and checks the position of the sun. It’s a particularly cold week, the chill beginning to catch even him. The cover of the trees haven’t helped much; as where they can escape the whistling wind within them, they can’t escape the temperature rising from the hardened ground. It rained yesterday for several hours, and their boots and socks are still damp; while their back’s are wet with clammy sweat. Their truck ran out of petrol two days ago while they were busy criss-crossing over the country.

“God, I could use a good shower.” Dugan groans, “who would have thought I’d miss that piss cold shower block in Achaherry.”

“Would you rather be hosed down like in the factory?” Gabe says, “we could recreate that for you if you like.”

“Yeah, lets not.” Bucky says from behind him. “You stink, I stink, we all stink. Get over it.”

“Alright Mr Sensitive, only trying to lighten the mood here.” Dugan defends a little more sharply than he normally would. He’s been getting more prickly too, with every dig Bucky makes. Steve, like the rain, is getting a little sick of it.

There’s something akin to a sob. He holds out a hand, and they stop behind him; trusting his ears more than their own. He ducks down onto his haunches and they follow until they're sure what it is.

“It’s probably an animal, Cap.” Morita tries to reassure after a moment when Steve tries to listen out further. It’s not the first time an animal has spooked them, but they can never be too careful this far behind enemy lines. He hears it again, and a rumble he didn’t pick up before; but realizes has been there for a while.

Steve knows what an animal sounds like, and that; that sounds like stuttering gasps that don’t come from something on four legs. There’s a engine running.

“Tu es jolie, n’est-ce pas ?” (You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?)

“Tha - Je dois y aller. Je t’ai dit que j’avais la corvée.” Comes a French female voice, nervous, and sounding rather young. (Tha - I must go. I told you I have chores--)

“Jolie voix aussi, ne pensez-vous pas Frances?” (Pretty voice too, don’t you think, Frances?) The man cuts her off again, and another one hums in agreement. A branch snaps, the girls voice sounds more to the right, towards the fields again, as though she’s backing off.

“Ma mère m’attend à revenir - s’il vous plaît je dois y aller.” (My mother is waiting for me - please, I must go.)

“Pourquoi ne pas venir avec nous, chéri.” The harder voice says, “Allez, monte dans le camion.” (Why don’t you come with us, darling.” The harder voice says, “Come on, get in the truck.”)

“Rodgers what is it? What can you hear?” Falsworth asks, and they’re looking at him in confusion, frowning. Bucky’s frowning, but not at him, head co*cked, like he’s trying to listen to what Steve is.

“Non I--” The voice is more panicked, something is dragged across the ground. “Arrêter!” (Stop!)

Steve takes off at a sharp run; the girl starts shouting; and the commandos already trying to keep up to Steve by running at full pelt, hear it too.

“Nous sommes Resistance, nous sommes votre peuple. (We’re Resistance, we’re your people.) The same voice says, followed by grunting and yells.

“Maman!” The girl screams, Steve breaches the treeline, and two men; with a running dirty pickup truck, are in front of him. They have the girl on the ground as she struggles, tearing at her clothes. She can’t be more than sixteen, they’re in their forties. He tackles one clean off her, slamming him into the ground. He shoves the other off with one hand halfway into the tackle and the man smacks withthwackagainst the truck, groaning. He stands, pulls his gun out; and is surrounded by the commandos. Falsworth has shoved himself between them and the girl on the ground, who is scrambling backwards to the treeline; obviously terrified.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Falsworth growls at them, and Steve stands, towering over the man on the ground to step towards the man hunched over but still standing. He can feel himself shaking with anger. The man swings his sidearm at all of them.

“Qui sont, Anglais, non- Américains?” (Who are - English, no -American’s?) The man bites out, recognizing the accent most of the commandos are yelling at him with. “Que fait American ici?” (What are American doing here?)

Dernier starts snapping at him in rapid fire French, so the other's silence themselves and the man barks back, looking back at his unmoving companion Steve has knocked out with one hit. It goes back and forth, the man swings the side arm at Dernier, and they all co*ck their weapons in warning, and the man drops it.

“They--are Resistance.” Dernier translates.

“I heard.” Steve growls out in French, and the man’s head snaps to him, then shrinks at his size. “Just because they’re Resistance doesn’t make it okay to attack a young girl. Where were you going to take her?”

“Just with us.”

“With you where?” Steve takes a step towards him, he suddenly swings out a knife. Steve knocks it away with ease, slamming him against the side of the pick-up. The man hangs from his collar, feet of the ground. “You will not ever touch her, or any other girl without her constant ever again. Do you understand me?”

There’s not a lot he can do, aside from killing these men, and, as awful as they are - he can’t do that. He’s not going to allow himself to get drunk on power like they just did. He drops the man back to his feet, hits him twice. He tugs him back to his feet and growls out, “Take your friend, and get the f*ck away from here. Now.”

He scarpers, grabbing his friend and dragging him into the car. He runs back to grab his gun and Bucky levels his at his head, he backs off without it, gets in the car and goes. Steve’s turns back to the girl, and crouches to join Falsworth closer to her height on the ground. She’s shaking something fierce still, but staring at him in wonder, and seems to realize they’re not going to hurt her when she accepts Falsworth’s jacket over her shoulders.

“Helene!” A rather portly woman comes running up, gasping, with a young boy who outpaces her. He’s short and gangly, and he tries to shove Steve and Falsworth away from what must be his sister. The mother, the figure Steve saw sweeping he realizes, grabs the girl and drags her away from them.

“Non, no, maman.” The girl calls, and the woman sweeps her hands over her cheeks and covers up her ripped skirt. Steve and Falsworth back up, hands up, to make it clear they mean no harm.

“Put your gun down for f*cks sake.” He hears behind him, and several clicks echo around him as his men put their safeties back on. Dernier crouches down to the same level, and he takes over when the girl looses her place and starts crying. The woman continues to look very suspicious, but the girl must get something out to reassure her. She points to Steve and Falsworth, with a shaking hand, mumbling into her mother’s bosom.

The mother clings to her daughter, but reaches one hand out to take Steve’s, and squeezes sharply to say thank you. Steve thanks God for his ears, for his whole body for being able to stop that. It’s not the first time he’s gotten involved in something like that, but it’s the first time he’s been able to stop something so suddenly in it’s tracks.

“Je vous remercie.” The mother murmurs to Steve, and then to all of them. “Je vous remercie” (Thank you. Thank you.)

“I am Elodie, please, please come back to my farm.” She says after a while, as her daughter finally starts to relax. She sends her younger son away, and he goes sprinting back to the farm to put the kettle on. “You saved my daughter. Let me repay you.”

They refuse at first, as they should keep going, but the woman insists - and so they relent.

. . .

When they’d left London there had been Christmas decorations up - homemade small garlands hanging in the archways of the underground bunker. He’d completely forgotten what month it was, really, until he saw them.

Churchill’s orders apparently; to keep some semblance of morale high for the eighteen hour days people spent underground. Why the aides, guards, politicians, officers and secretaries would have higher morale with a twig of mistletoe hanging in the storeroom didn’t make much sense when they couldn’t spend it with their families, but Steve supposes it’s the thought that counts.

Since the base and the ensuing celebration, and with the orders to stay on the ground Steve, though he’s been tallying the days, it seems has lost track of them in relation to the actual calendar. They’ve barely stopped moving, hitting as many targets as they can until now. It turns out it’s a been eight days and nine nights since Christmas Day when Elodie brings them back to her farm, and secretes them away for a well-deserved dinner as payment for saving her daughter; grateful and appreciative. It’s January, a new year.

“I’ve grown used to the Boche soldiers marching through, but not American and my own people,” she'd kissed Jacques on each cheek, and continued speaking on quick French. “It is important that you come in.”

“That is alright my good lady,” Dernier replies in matching rapid, but soft, French, as Gabe translates quietly to them. “You should be careful, we are behind the line, if they catch you helping us the--”

“Oh bosh on that!” Elodie says, cutting him off, and spits in disgust on the ground. “You saved my eldest girls virtue, you are coming in and you are eating. Come quickly if it concerns you so, but you’re coming in!”

There’s still a few green dried garlands up, and the woman’s nephew secretly breeds rabbits for extra meat under chicken hutch and under the farmhouse foundations; which Elodie is mixing into a stew. It smells amazing as she whips it up; and she refuses them trying to help with the ingredients from their rations. She’ll have nothing of the sort; and assures them they have enough food, being so far out their crops and animals are not bothered often, and so if needed they can always butcher one of their birds. They’re one of the luckier families.

“It is hard work,” she tells them through Gabe and Jacques, “to handle the farm without my husband and father - he has been sent to the factories as he’s too old to serve, and I’ve lost several dozen of our sheep, but we cope. The young’un’s help but I’ve let them off for a few days longer than I should. That’s why they’re still up,” she adds, motioning to the grass and paper garlands over the fireplace and the Christmas oranges on the table. “I’ve been out; no time to take them down.”

Hélène seems, of course, almost infatuated with Steve now despite him being nearly a decade older; sticking close, asking him questions and thanking him profusely over and over again. She spends the entire time close to a very deep pink going on scarlet as she does, and Steve spends half the evening politely and kindly making conversation and corralling her hands away.

“This is a good thing,” Clément, the thirteen year old brother says, “It’s shut her up about Théo since he had to run off. She wouldn’t stop. All it was was Théo this, Théo that. I nearly squirted her with Bessy’s milk when I was milking her last week - she’s impossible.”

“Théo?” Falsworth asks in amusem*nt.

“Neighbour boy.” The grandmother answers from a chair in broken English, knitting, and then has the gall to roll her eyes.

“Nana!” Hélèneshouts, shocked at the betrayal.

The older woman scrunches up her nose. “You can do better.” She utters honestly, then mutters “mais pas si bon que” (“but not that good”) under her breath afterwards in relation to Steve. He and Gabe are the only ones to hear - him with his good ears, and Gabe as he’s just below the lady at her feet; helping her untangle her wool. He snorts very unsubtly. Hélènelooks over at them suspiciously, but then returns her undivided attention to Steve, and then Falsworth when she realizesshe’s getting nowhere.

The six year old Marguerite, curly hair tied up in a ribbon in the meantime has latched onto Bucky as if she could sense deep inside herself that he knew how to plait hair. The eleven year old has been assigned to chop vegetables. Dugan’s been loaded with the the babies, one of which is having a great time playing with his moustache and laughing hysterically as the man blows raspberries on the boy’s belly. He’s holding down the three year old with a foot as Morita tickles her incessantly. It -- it feels very special, even if it’s not Christmas anymore and they’re not really part of this family - they’ve been welcomed as if they are.

Louis, Elodie’s barely sixteen year old nephew returns from working the land and stops short in the door at the sight of the entire lower floor of the farmhouse full of soldiersand wriggling children. He freezes for a moment, hears Jacques’ language and their American accents, realizesthey’re not German; shrugs and walks inside to steal a slice of bread as if this is an entirely normal day. Elodie slaps a towel against his hand and he rolls his eyes, splashes water onto his face to wash off the dirt.

“Hands too you hooligan.” Elodie adds, “then bread. Un (One).”

“Tu ne vas pas demander, mon garçon?” (“You’re not going to ask, boy?”) The grandmother queries as he does so.

“Aunt Elodie has lots of friends, maman always says.” He replies, in French back. ”She likes strays. It does not surprise me to see she has adopted seven stray soldiers now.”

“Oof.” Elodie huffs, and whacks him again, but with amusem*nt this time. “He thinks he is a comedian, this one does.” She tells the group and they laugh, “How were the fields?”

“Frozen.”

“The sheep?”

“Woolly.”

“The cow?”

“Milky.” He retorts, chomping on some bread as if this is a daily tradition. “Maman says to stop stealing her butter by the way.”

“Tell your maman to stop stealing my flour then. And we’ll see.”

“You could both stop stealing off each other, you foolish girl.” The grandmother says, “bonne douleur.” (“Good Grief.”)

“We wouldn’t be sisters is we didn’t steal from each other.” Elodie waves off and Bucky snorts and Steve grins, because boy does that sound familiar. Sisters are the same it seems on both sides of the pond.

The eleven year old suddenly decides to solidify that assessmentas she starts complaining why she has to chop vegetables when the older Hélènedoesn’t.

“Because she’s had a nasty shock today, Brigitte, good god.”

“Yeah, she looks it.” Brigitte mutters venomously as Hélènecontinues to smile dreamily at Steve and Falsworth.

“And so this is what Clémentmade me from stuff he found, look, it’s a toy seed drill so I can work the land with mama.” Marguerite tells Bucky very importantly, giving him a tour of what she got in her Christmas stocking. She’s already gone through two tiny cards, a knitted hat, a wood spinner top she’s sharing with Clémentand a doll her mother made her from straw and a left over kitchen cloth.

“Oh wow,” Bucky replies in French, sounding effectively amazed to Marguerite’s immense approval, “can you show me how to use it? I’m from the city so I don’t know these important things you do.”

“Of course!” Maugueritte half shouts, and gets right down to it, taking Bucky’s hand and demonstrating it on the rug. She then makes him do it; then tells him no, he’s doing it “all wrong.It’s like this! Look!”

She’d started off speaking in forcefully slow French at first after being told by Jacques that they’re all terrible; but Bucky is better than most at this particular languageand she’d quickly forgotten when he made a point of replying in well-pronouncedFrench. He seems to be keeping up; and looks incredibly natural surrounded by dolls and sticky hands, but of course; he would. Steve would too to be fair, having babysatthe twins with Bucky more than a hundred times over, certainly more natural than being ogledby a very pretty, but very youngfifteen year old girl. He’s a little jealous honestly.

“Did you know,” Bucky says, “until I came over here I’d never seen a cow before.”

It’s a lie, sort of, because the first time he’d seen a cow was on the train en-route to winter training in Wisconsin in the October of 1942 - Steve knows because Bucky wrote him vigorously about them; not knowing they were ‘that big.’ It makes a clear point though, as Marguerite gasps as though someone’s just told her that St Nick, the Santa Claus isn’t real; it’s distinctively so shocking.

“Maman, never take me to the city.” She calls, very seriously. “I want to stay with Bessy the cow.”

“Of course dear, whatever you say.” Elodie calls carelessly back behind her.

It’s quite amusing to realize half the boys aren’t keeping up with the quick family back-and-forth aside from he, Gabe, Bucky and of course Jacques, whose deep in conversation with Elodie - but that was why they’d been given the babies. It’s also a shame really, because they are really missing out on something special.

“And I also got these.” Marguerite continues, once she’s recovered from the shock. She’s pulling out three coloured animals that look as though their images cut out of a book, mounted on card, and then attached to wooden bases. They consist of the animal itself and half and inch or so of grass or rock below them which has also been cut out; they stand up straight so Marguerite can bounce them across the floor in make-believe games. They’re quite beautiful really. Marguerite bounces them across the floor and lines them up so Bucky can see - and explains, “This is a lion. This is a…um…”

“A Tiger, Ritti.” Hélènereminds her, and turns back to Steve to tell him: “She likes animals, so we thought we’d teach her some new ones.”

“A tiger.” Marguerite continues, “and this is a bear.”

“That’s a lovely idea, Hélène. They’re great - did you make them?” She nods, blushing. “Really imaginative, I wish I could have thought of something like that when I was younger at home.”

“Where is home, Capitaine?”

“It’s Steve, Hélène. You can call me Steve. And New York.”

“New York?! What’s that like?” Because she’s obviously interested Steve tells her about Times Square, the milk bars, Broadway and the Bridges instead of the overcrowding, the crime and the sometimes less than stellar streets. He’s in the middle of it when he hears Bucky’s voice again.

“A bear. So that’s what a bear looks like.” He says, quieter,in English, and it’s a weirdsentence but he’s also said it in a weird way with a weirdlook on his face. Marguerite luckily doesn’t seem to notice.

“Lets play! They can have a fight, they can battle to save Margot!” The little girl replies, bouncing excitedly on her knees from Bucky’s lap, and hangs her doll Margot headfirst off the table in a precarious trap. “She’s stuck in a tree, I have to help her!”

Bucky blinks, and is back. ”Not if I save her first!”

“We’ll see about that!” She fires back just as quick. Steve gets a sudden flash of Jenna at the same age, sat on Bucky’s lap right before the twins started a horseback war, sitting and slinging themselves off both his and Bucky’s backs. He keeps talking to Hélène, but keeps one eye on the game as the baby howls again with another raspberry. “I want the lion. Who do you want? The bear?”

Bucky blanches a little again, “How about the tiger? If that’s okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Marguerite answers, handing him the tiger and lining up Bucky’s hands with it. “But my lion is going to win.” With no warning she launches into battle, and attacks Bucky’s hand and tiger with a roar.

They all have to break - from battles, raspberries, tickling, untangling and shutting down blushing teenagers - for dinner, which as Steve thought, is glorious. They sit at an actual wooden dining table with real if mismatched cutlery. Elodie serves them tea or coffee afterwards at her instance, and Jim throws in half a bottle of whisky he’s sequestered from god knows where - adding shots to the coffees to make them Irish. With that volunteering he becomes the new favourite of the grandmother and Gabe is kicked to the curb. It’s a nice ‘Christmas’, even if they’re at war.

Elodie saves Steve with a roll of her eyes at her daughterand decides Hélènehas recovered enough from her nasty shock to clear up and wash the dishes. Clémentis sent out for more firewood and Brigitte grins successfullyat her win; leaning back against her grandmother’s chairand whistling mockingly at her older sister. Marguerite refuses to speak to anyone but Bucky and their second battle to save the damsel doll ends with her lion attacking Bucky’s face instead of his tiger.

“Marguerite!” Elodie snaps when she see’s Bucky land on his back in shock but Steve waves her off, laughing.

“He has three sisters. This is nothing, he’s used to getting attacked with twice the force. Think of a dozen shaken sodas, with the volume of three banshees wrapped in the bodies of two twins girls and you’ve got a fairly good picture.” Elodie laughs and lets it go when she hears Bucky laughing himself and tells his friend not to go easy on the little brat. After all is said and done Steve decides, and calls: “Hey Marguerite.”

With the French picked up quickly, the little girl spins between Bucky’s outstretchedlegs. “Did you know he knows how to braid princess hair? He’samazing at it.”

Bucky glares at him with utter betrayal, and it’s only Marguerite astonished cheer that saves him from calling Steve an asshole.

. . .

Elodie insiststhey sleep over too, and when they all refuse, absolutelynot taking the families’ beds, she insists they sleepin the warm dry stable instead. They accept, and they help Louis lay new straw down in the clean stalls for them to sleep in before he goes home to his own mother whose been out on house calls until now. Steve asks him about the railway lines that run several fields down from Elodie’s farm. He gets the answer he’s hoping for.

. . .

10TH JANURARY 1944 - ADMIRMAL RADIO (CBS) - UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Stay tuned for the news. [STATIC]

World news today, brought to you by the Admiral Corporation; makers of Admiral Radio; America’s smart set. By shortwave broadcast direct from important overseas stations as well as leading news centresof our own country. CBS correspondents are waiting to give you a complete report all things political and battlefront. But first, here’s Doug Edwards:

DOUG: Leading the news today is the announcement that General Eisenhower has arrived in Britain to take over command of all forces for the invasion. And in French Morocco, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, completely recovered from his illness, has conferred with French General De’Guilde. On the war-front American troops in Italy have captured Mon-Serento, the main barrier blocking their way to the fortress of Casino. The Germans report a break in their lines by the new Russian offensive in the Monen-Groude area. And in the Pacific the Allied ground troops push against the Japs on New-Briton and New Guinea and continue at a slow pace. Now for the news of the fighting in Italy, Admiral Radio takes you overseas to Algeries. Winston Berdet reporting.

WINSTON: The Americans and Allies have captured the last hill barrier between them and the Rapido river….[STATIC]…fifteen hundred feet high, two miles this side of Casino, fell to our troops at nightfall yesterday after a rough twelve hour fight….[STATIC]….

. . .

“How’s the hay treating you Cap?” Morita asks dully to his side, as Steve shuffles again on the bed of hay and straw. A horse snorts in another stable a few doors away, and when Steve looks over Morita’s sat in the main walkway with an eyebrow raised. “Doesn’t look like it’s agreeing with you. You planning on getting any sleep anytime soon?”

He snorts, then sighs again, then gets up with a huff to join him on watch. “Can’t settle it seems.”

“How's that; we might be surrounded by manure but Christ, we’re not sleeping on rocks for once.”

It’s a fair point; they’ve gone sans tents tonight and half the boys have practically buried themselves in piles of straw. They’re stomachs are full and heavy with rabbit broth, chicken pieces, bread and several smatterings of greens thanks to the incredible generosity of Elodie. They’re protected by walls and a roof from the weather and surrounded by the warm body heat of the surrounding animals. For all intents and purposes Steve should be revelling in the warmth and catching his eight hours. “Maybe it’s the irony of it, now that we finally have it.” He says, folding open his map and compass again to track their progression across the country.

“Don’t tell me you can’t work out where we’re going?” He jokes.

“Hilarious Jim.” Steve intones, “I’m just thinking about the best route in and out.”

“In and out?”

“Of the city.”

“Not around?”

Steve shakes his head. In particular he’s looking at the railway lines etched in blue and red, and how many cargo trains he’s heard go past in the valley further below. He’s thinking of his options and has been writing down the times so he knows the schedule and directions. He’d like to stop in Nancy, or Nanzig as the Germans have dubbed it after taking it, briefly as the SSR have a safe-house they can report in further and resupply at; and there’s more information that moves among city folk than there is with farmland folk. He just has a feeling he could find something of interest there - an instinct - and the safe-house would provide more of a secure line than their carry-on radio for further intel. The railway just below them runs to a drop off station in Laneuveville-devant before carrying on or diverting away from Nancy. They could hitch a ride and stow away, jump off at the cargo drop-off and trek the rest of the way in and do the same back out. Or they could steal another car or find more petrol for the truck they already have and make their way in that way; and put up with the checkpoint. Nancy apparently so far has hardly been touched, but it’s still very much occupied. The trains though…it would be the quickest way, and being this close to a potential safe-house is extremely convenient while they’re here for a stock up. It’s not essential before they move on but--

“Cap.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re thinking too much again.”

Steve huffs, running a hand over his prickly jaw with a laugh; being able to, and having the opportunity to grow stubble now is a strange thing. “Right. That obvious is it?”

Morita shrugs, puffing on a cigarette; looking out the stable doorway onto the French farmland. “You have a look about you.” He explains, “You get a frown and you’re eyes start darting; like you’re minds going a mile a minute. Hey! Shoo!” He suddenly calls, waving off a chicken that’s trying to cluck it’s way over Steve’s map. “Whatever you’re thinking just stop, man. Go with your gut - it’s normally right. Would you shove off, you stupid bird.”

Steve laughs quietly and helps him chase it off, catching it so it doesn’t squawk and peck at him, and popping it into an empty stall when it won’t stop. Morita’s laughing at him by the end; especially the way he waddled with his arms held out straight in front of him, dodging flapping wings and shushing the thing frantically. “I think that proves I’ve never been a farm hand a day in my life.” He jokes as he sits back down; accepts a couple of drags off the cigarette Jim offers to him to finish.

He puffs it experimentally, slowly, inhaling and breathing out; waiting for his lungs to catch. It never comes, just like it never came in Scotland where he dared to have his first ever real cigarette. His experience with asthma cigarettes are the only reason he didn’t embarrass himself on the first and second drags - already knowing how to inhale. Throughout the months that he was on tour he hadn’t touched a stick, rolled or straight, even though he could; not wanting to smoke it alone out of fear maybe? Just inhaling second-hand smoke used to set him off sometimes; and so Bucky had never taken to it out of solidarity; but Steve had learnt in the first year of their friendship not to go out in the Barnes’ small garden in the evening if Bucky’s father was back from base; and his friend Bertie from his life drawing classes always made a point of going outside. The times where Bertie did want company more whilst he smoked, usually a drink or two in or when he was riled up and ranting about something he’d seen in the paper - he used to shoo Steve back at least three feet and yell his sentences at him over the space.

Steve with his bad ear spent half that time repeating “What?” at him anyway; so it’s both an amusing and annoying memory. He smiles when he thinks of it; and how when he’d given up and just come closer so they could actually have a conversation; Bertie would shout “Ah ah!” at him and bounce back as many steps as Steve had taken forward. He swore off all their smoking sessions together completely after Steve had his first proper attack in front of him and the gang at an afternoon party; which was one of his worst to date; and one that had left him on a nebulizer for several days, and in the hospital for a week. Nothing in particular had set him off then, as far as he remembers - which is not much, but Bertie drilled down on the seriousness of his health almost as much as Bucky did after that.

He wonders where his friend is now; on the coast of Italy or England or France - maybe they’re both here in a miraculous coincidence; him on-shore and Bertie a hundred feet below water off-shore. Or the Pacific, Bertie could also be in the Pacific with the majority of the submarines; he's not sure - they’ve been out of touch for a while now - and Steve can’t blame Bertie for that. That one's on him and his own stupid stubborn jealousy when Bertie got a 1-A and Steve got himself a 4-F after trying to enlist together.

“This is so weird.” He can’t help commenting quietly.

“What?” Morita asks, “the cig? Not up to your usual fancy fa*gs?”

Steve laughs at the very thought of fancy cigarettes, “God no." He explains. "I used to have asthma.” Jim’s eyes widen as he understands. All the commandos have been briefed on Project Rebirth and the serum of course; have seen his original enlistment photo after they requested to; have heard Bucky’s tales of his ninety-five pounds soaking wet asshole exploits, but haven’t heard the full explanation of his previous ailments. “Just someone smoking around me could set it off sometimes, and asthma cigarettes aren’t the same; taste, texture; everything. And now - nothing. It’s just weird. Guess I haven’t completely learnt about my new body as much as I thought.”

“The fact that you call it a ‘new body’ is a little weird.” Morita comments, and Steve’s neck heats up in embarrassment. When he glances at Morita, almost shyly, about to pull on his sleeves he realizes the man doesn’t mean it in a bad way. Jim’s looking out into the countryside again, staying alert, so he hasn’t noticed the flash of upset that came across Steve’s face. “It’s just crazy is all,” he continues, “that that’s a thing that happened in our time - it’s insane when looking at your old photos with how much you’ve changed.”

“Yeah.” Steve comments, not really knowing how to continue, because while his body feels and moves wildly different; in himself he feels the same if…maybe he feels things a little more than he used to. Like Bucky said with his almost binary moral compass; the right and the wrong - his scope of feeling is just extra too.The serum amplifies everything, Erksine had said. He’s not entirely sure if that’s real or in his head; psychosomatic, like several doctors told his ma he was about his asthma at first, but it's something he's more aware of. That was how he got labelled with nervous trouble on his medical records. His ma used to march out and roll her eyes when any doc’ even got close to mentioning that, because “that boy, with the amount of trouble he gets in, is the least ‘nervous’ child I have ever metin my life.He’s not making this up.”

There’s a faint rumble, and he stands quickly, climbing up onto a barrel and then the edge of a pen door to make himself taller. He does it quietly so he doesn’t wake Dernier and Falsworth sleeping in that stable pen. He spies the brief flash in the trees, tracking the direction of the train, and returns to his map and compass. He routes in the back pocket of his suit, pulling out his tiny black flip-book - opening it up to the page with a list of times and directions. He tracks the direction on the map; back down from Nancy to Besançon at 01:04 hours.

Morita watches him note it down, and plucks the cigarette from Steve’s mouth as it smoulders down to the very end in his preoccupation. “Watch your lips Cap, geez. Just cause you can’t burn your lungs now doesn’t mean you have to go out of your way to burn everything else.”

“Ha. Thanks.” Steve mutters, grinning, as Morita makes sure it’s out completely and safely in the dirt. He dumps it in a tin after to make sure it’s away from the hay.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Morita ventures, “the doctor who…” he waves at Steve, “did this, his formula, what was he like? Being German and all.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, “Like a lot of other men.” He says, “just because he was German doesn’t mean he was a certain way. He was a genius, funny too and a good man. A very good man, if desperate to be successful in his work - in his own very particular way.” With distance, Steve can very much see that now. “It was the only thing he had left in the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me once that what a lot of people tend to forget is that the first country the Nazi’s invaded was their own. He was a refugee, and he was Jewish. He and his family were caught trying to cross the border to Belgium when they started segregating the Jews, and were split up. His wife and son taken away, while he was forced to continue his work for Hydra. They told him that if he didn’t they’d kill his family but…they’d already died in a ghetto camp a year before he got away. Hydra were just using the love he had for them. He didn’t know until Agent Carter told him when she rescued him - she was the one who convinced him to get his revenge by switching sides instead of throwing his life away that night in vengeance. I read his file, after.” Steve sighs, “He was a great man, and I’ll always be grateful to him for what he’s done for me. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, but at least he’s with them now.”

Morita hums, and seems to veer himself up for something. Steve watches him carefully, feeling like something’s coming. “It’s awful.” He says, “what they’re doing to the Jews in the ghettos and the work camps. But they’re not the only country doing sh*t like that.” He utters and Steve thinks at first, Romania and other Axis countries, but then freezes; feeling like this is something else. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out before Morita continues. “First country they invaded was their own, huh? Sounds awful familiar to what happened to the neighbourhood I grew up in right after I shipped back out.”

Steve’s very quiet for a long moment as that revelation hits, at what Morita’s just insinuated and invested in him. He asks, a little hollowly. “Do you mean the U.S?”

Morita stares out at the sky, “My mother was four when she arrived in the States with her family. My father’s father arrived when he was nineteen from Japan; my father was born there so was I and my brothers - and my sister. We’re American citizens - second and third generation. It didn’t stop the government from rounding them up in camps too, six months after Pearl Harbour. We thought our family would be safe; but we were wrong.”

“Jim I’ve--they’re just evacuations,” Steve starts warily, “I’ve never heard anything--”

“About military camps?” Morita says quietly, “You wouldn’t. Barely anyone would. They’re not reporting it; so no one knows about it - the company line is evacuations for the safety of America - so lets face it; with the sh*t going on right now; who cares enough to fight about it? Two thirds of the country probably agree with it. My parents are in a camp called Mazanar, my little brother’s been split up in another camp - I don’t know where - with my aunt. The only reason I know that it even happened is cause my sister got out and hid before they could grab her. She sent me a letter in a letter, hidden in a wrapper of a chocolate bar last year. She’s in Mexico, hiding. Her best friend’s parents hid her and then helped smuggle her over the border to make sure she got out safe. I’d never liked her friend up until then; now that girl’s my favourite person in the world. My sister wanted to go back for Mom and Dad, or Howie, my little brother, but she was too scared. She’s fourteen Cap, younger than Hélène today. Fourteen. My eldest brother serving back in Italy almost deserted when he found out he was so angry.”

Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing, it’s surely so impossibly impossible - they’re at war but the U.S are supposed to be -- their own country, the country of immigrants, couldn’t be doing that, could they? They’re supposed to be better.

“You’re se--” he cuts himself off, “Jim, I’m so sorry. That’s not right.”

“Yeah, well, I guess me and your doctor have some things in common after-all- and it’s not the genius part.”

Steve swallows, head still spinning. “I wouldn’t go that far - I’d say your pretty close to genius with a radio.” He tries to console.

Jim gives him a stiff, flat look. ”Was that your attempt at making me feel better?”

“I know. I’m terrible at it. I’m so sorry Jim.”

“You are a bit, yeah. But thanks for trying, Cap. And for listening to my sh*t.”

“It’s not sh*t, Jim. It’s your family for Christ sake and nothing justifies - I don’t even know what to say - if it’s true and they’re backhandedly trying to cover it up as something else- which they must be cause I had no idea.” He hisses out a “Jesus,” unable to believe how so solely invested in the war and his own position on the tour he was to miss this happening on the same soil he was walking on. Christ, with the rallies he used to go to he should have known about this. It’s hardly the first time rich powerful men have lied to disguise bigotry. “For the record, it’s disgusting. And I’ll always listen. Can you write your parents?”

“Tried. Didn’t get anything back. Albert and Johnny didn’t get anything either when they did the same. Al’ got a responsefrom my aunt whose looking after my littlest brother - but their camp is a little more lenientthan most apparently. God knows anything else. You and the boys ‘cept Gabe are lucky you’re white, that’s all I’ll say.”

The horse whinnies again, and the wayward chicken clucks in it’s Steve-assigned prison.

“Sorry.” Morita utters after a while. “I kinda brought the mood down, huh?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Don’t lie Cap, you’re terrible at it when you don’t have cards in your hands.” He says. “It’s only, my face kinda’ caught flack in my last unit - way more this time round after the Harbour - so I didn’t really think anyone would listen. Figured you might be a safe one to air it out too.”

Steve nods, feeling rather honoured at that. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to.”

They make comfortable conversation for another hour; Steve notes down another train speeding across the country, and offers to take Gabe’s watch when Morita finishes his in an hour and a half.

“You sure about that?”

“Why not? I feel like I’m not going to settle and I don’t need as much sleep as the rest of you. Another perk to the serum.”

“Ooh lucky you,” Morita mocks, “no need to rub it in.”

“There’s no fun in it otherwise.”

Morita snorts. “You want another cigarette?”

Steve hesitatesand Morita adds, “to share if you like. I can never finish a full one - my dad would be ashamed of me if he could see me now.”

“Yeah alright. Might as well let myself feel like the rebelliousteenager I never was.”

“Ha!” Morita laughs quietly, mood cheering, as he lights the smoke. “I don’t believe that for a second from what I’ve heard you got up to. Barnes said your record was fighting three people in one week alone.”

Steve takes a drag. “Four actually. And that’s four fights…with multiplepeople.” He admits, not ashamed whatsoever. “I didn’t tell Buck about the last one.”

“Exactly my point, Cap.” Morita points, “exactly my point. Responsible teenager my ass.”

“Hey, I never hung round the bike racks to smoke. Or drink. Much.” He keeps admitting, “And I was only involved in a riot at a rally once.”

“You know you’re not really helping yourself here, right?”

“To be fair that one wasn’t my fault.”

“That one?” Morita blurts incredulously.

“The other one doesn’t count in this - I wasn’t a teenager.”

“f*ck my life.” Morita hisses, laughing. “How are you even in one piece?”

“I like to think by Gods’s pity,” he laughs, “seeing as he slugged me with bad lungs, heart, back and everything else - it’s only fair he threw me the occasionalbone.”

“From the state of you now I’d say he threw you ten.”

Steve huffs, “Yeah. I’ve been thinking the same thing; I should do my Thanks be to God's really; make sure He knows I’m grateful. Howard would argue that it’s all just science but--I don’t think he’s ever put too much stock in it so…and anyway, it’s not his body.”

“That bother you? That he’s not a believer and you are?”

“God No.” Steve breathes, finding it funny. “I grew up with Bucky whose never given the Almighty one ounce of slack no matter how much the nuns tried to shove it down his throat everyday; or how much Father Matthews used to lecture at him about it. He used to get; ‘has all the words but none of the follow-through’ and I used to get; ‘has the spirit and soul of thy Lord but the mouth of an annoying knat.”

Morita laughs, “An annoying knat?”

“I asked a lot of questions,” Steve explains with a reminiscingsmile, “As in alot.Buck made it worse - ‘cause they stopped putting up with his crap when we were thirteen knowing it wouldn’t be something they’d like. Used to come at him ready with a ruler before he even opened his mouth. I had the decency to at least raise my hand, and tailor the questions so that they were actually ‘questions’and not unhelpful comments. Used to spout off his nonsensefor him sometimes to keep him shut up so he wouldn’t get whacked.”

He can’t help but shake his head at the memory of ‘not sure I’m about this sacrificem’larcky’, ‘I wouldn’t want Abraham as a parent if he tried to kill me for bragging rights on obedience, and ‘god forbid Samson cut his hair - what a twit - send him straight to the flames’ followed by the usual‘James Barnes I will not tell you again!’

He particularly remembers the ‘You said that last time and you haven’t hit me yet so I think I’ll keep going.’Steve hadn’t known whether to be horrified or to start crying with laughterat his daring, and had no sympathy whatsoever for what followed.

Bucky was unpopular with the nuns, but loved by the majority of the teachers; all the academic ones anyway - normally the top of all his classes. Steve shrugs, smiling softly at the memory.

“Everyone believes what they believe, who am I to tell the that they’re wrong. I could be wrong. Faith is faith at heart, and everyone has their own relationship with it. Don’t get me wrong I follow the Testaments, but the Bible does have it’s flaws. It’s not supposed to be taken literally - I don’t think anyway, I mean, otherwise me eating shrimp for the first time on tour would have been a sin. Bucky always likes to say that the Bibles brutal and harsh, but it’s also filled with love for the world. That’s the part I care about,” he says, then admits, “I tend to ignore the other parts.”

“Ah.” Morita comments, nodding. “God on your terms instead of you on his.”

“Something like that, yeah.” Steve shrugs, “I repent when I need to, or when I feel like I should, even if there’s not a Confession box or priest close. Faith’s faith.” He repeats, taking back the cigarette to breathe in the tobacco again. “People judged me my whole life, so what right do I have to judge them - believe what you believe; Catholic, Protestant, Hebrew, the earth and sky, science, booze, money - whatever. Everyone has an opinion.”

“And you and Barnes are Catholic, right? Irish Catholic?” Steve hums. “I thought so,” Morita says, “there’s a lot of Irish in New York, right? That and Italians.”

“There’s a lot of everything in New York.” Steve laughs, passing it back. “My ma was Irish, my pa too I think, but most of Buck’s recent family is from Indiana. Got a bunch of extended relatives out there still. What’s Fresno like? You know, before.” He cuts in awkwardly, “One of the USO dancers was from California - said she’d never seen snow before she got to on the road.”

“Well yeah. It’s California, Cap.” Jim answers, smirking. “It doesn’t snow in California.”

Steve shrugs, “Hey don’t look at me, the furthestI got growing up was Jersey.” He reconsiders, “No, I take it back, the Hampton’s once.”

“Sunny, a lot of hotels, lots electric streetcars - especially downtown where I lived. It's close to Yosemite Park too; so we went out there a lot."

"Nice," Steve says.

"Yeah. But going back for a moment - ooh.” Morita then mocks, “the Hamptons,look at you posh boy.”

Steve laughs again, “No just - no, I’m part of the co*ckroach building generation. Bertie, a friend of mine had a lot of family money. He took us out there for my birthday once. Fourth of July.”

“How do you even meet someone with ‘family money?”

“Artclass.”

“Art class? So that’s what your always doing in that book - drawing--no hold up, wait, go back again.” Morita suddenly says, hands up as if to stop him from talking even though he’s silent as a fox. He asks, flatly, disbelievingly. “You’re birthday’s on the Fourth of July?”

Steve groans, “Yeah, I know. Okay, I know.”

“Wow, Captain America.It really must have been fate. Your birthday’s the Fourth of July, absolutely unbelievable.” He scoffs.

“It’s just a coincidence.”

“As if,” Morita scoffs again, counting on his fingers, “Godly, patriotic, wears the American flag on his back, notorious fighter for the downtrodden and downhearted--”

“--Urgh Jim stop--"

“--the underdog, born on the Fourth of f*cking July --sounds like destiny to me.”

“Yeah okay,” Steve relents, rolling his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I do. And a good man of course, we can’t forget that.”

Steve huffs, but feels a pit of warmth heat up in his stomach when he looks back at Jim, and squints his eyes teasingly suspicious. “You’re being far too nice - what do you want?”

“That obvious is it?” Morita asks, winking.

“You have a look about you.” Steve throws right back.

The work horse whines loudly behind them, Topper, Steve thinks he’s called. He kicks the stable door with distress. Steve turns to look to see him shifting back and forth on big hooves, huffing clouds of cold air out of his nostrils. He whines again, knocking his hindquarters against the empty tray of hay.

Steve stands and goes to soothe the creature before he wakes one of the boys. “Hey hey, sshh boy. It’s okay.”

“It’s probably just a bird or something. There’s one nesting in the eves above him.” Morita calls quietly.

“Ssshh sshh.” Steve repeats, stroking a hand down his muzzle and along the side of his neck. He still finds it so neat to be near such a powerful creature. He’d of course seen the milk horses, and the riding horses every which way in Texas and Oklahoma, but he’s never really been physically around animals that aren’t stray cats, rats and pigeons. And Topper is even larger than the milk horses, taller than him, a purebred shire horse; black and white with a think mound of hair cascading down his neck, over his behind and over his hooves. He’s amazing to look at, even more so to touch. He whines again. “Hey.” Steve calls - he kicks the stall another time.

Abruptly Steve realizes he’s not the only one whining, and the horse whinnies again, lashing his huge head to the left, knocking against the wooden bars separating the pens as if he’s trying to tell Steve something. He hushes the horse again with one hand and peers through the bars and corner of the next stall alone. Dugan is snoring quietly in the corner of a new bed of straw under a blanket, turned away, and it disguises it at first but then he hears an upset “no please.”

There’s a sharp whine, not from Topper and Steve hears it now coming from deep in Bucky’s throat. The straw rustles and there's a thud on the wall between the pens - not from Topper either - Bucky’s almost thrashing, fighting against his bedroll tangled round his legs and one arm.

“No, stop,please. Bear bear bear- it’s a bear. I’m trying please. No no nonono no, not again.”

Oh Christ,Steve thinks, and leaves the horse and crosses straight to the next pen and through the open area. Bucky's backed himself up against the wall so he didn’t see him at first, but he sees him now.

“I’ll be good I’ll be good - I’m try - BarnesSergeant3245---” And that’s it right there.

“Buck hey, you’re safe. You’re--”

Before Steve even goes to touch him his mind whispers mistake but his gut and heart has the power here. His hand closes on Bucky’s flailing forearm - his eyes fly open - and Steve’s on his ass on the floor. Bucky has his Colt M1911A1 levelled at Steve’s head, gun co*cked and safety off. His finger’s a breadth away from the trigger. He’s looking at Steve but he’s not looking at Steve. Topper neighs and kicks at the stall - Bucky swings the gun at the horse.

“Whoa whoa!” Steve calls, trying to be calm, hands up - and the guns back on him. Bucky’s eyes are glassy, andgod he’s absolutely shaking. His finger twitches, Steve freezes solid in his bones, heart beating a mile a minute. “You’re fine, hey your--”

“Cap--”

“Stay over there Jim.” Steve orders sharply at the man whose stood up in confusion in the doorway. He must catch sight of Bucky’s head and the straw sticking up from his bedhead hair through the pen bars.

“Yo Barnsey.” He calls, “ You’re awake too huh--whoa Cap--hey--”

“Jim,stay over there.” Steve orders again, quiet but firm at the heart of his panic and Topper’s huffing, hands still up.

“Cap,” Jim says warily, but good on him, calmly. ”He’s got a gun on you.”

“I know.” Steve replies, “but we’re good. Aren’t we, Buck? We’re fine.” He pushes, and shoo’s a lone hand in Jim’s direction, “go back on watch. I’ve got it. It’s my bad, I startled him, that’s all.”

He’s done more than just startle him for sure, and Jim knows it too considering Bucky’s still pointing the gun at him, and doesn’t look like he’s close to putting it down. He hears a faint clatter as Jim lays his Thompson back onto the ground, but Steve only has eyes for Bucky. His hand shakes; finger twitches.

“Bucky.” He says very lowly. ”It’s me. You’re in France. You’re with us, the commandos; me.You were just dreaming. You’re safe.”

He makes a very slow movement, crawling up onto one knee, and then onto his feet. Bucky’s hand jerks, but he doesn’t follow the movement; the gun now pointed at his stomach instead of his throat. His eyes are now darting between the space on either side of Steve’s head, and his panting breaths are slowly growing calmer. “You wanna’ point that gun away from me, pal? I’d appreciate it.”

Bucky’s hand shakes, and he brings his other hand up to cradle the barrel sharply to steady it - eyes flicking from Steve’s ear to chin to Topper - muzzle shoved round the corner bar. He freezes on the nostrils blowing clouds of warm steam. “Bear-bear-bear” Steve realizes he’s whispering under his breath for some reason, “not dog not cat, has to be a bear. Bear, a bear--”

“Bucky.” Steve says again, firmly, and Bucky’s eyes flick back to him. He blinks, and his eyes clear.

He drops the gun sharply with one hand and swings it down into the straw, falling back on his haunches - flicks the safety back on. “sh*t sh*t sh*t,” he hisses, turning off sharply from the…woodland animal he was mumbling about - what?“Oh god, Steve. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sh*t--”

“You were just dreaming.” Steve says quietly, coming closer. “It’s okay. That was my fault.” - even though it wasn’t really, but he knows Bucky’s going to start a cycle of self recrimination otherwise - “I startled you when I tried to wake you. You were--you were having a nightmare.” Topper whinnies next to him again.

“Oh.” Bucky mumbles, body starting to calm with his breaths. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Steve reassures gently, “I was already up. You didn’t wake anyone, ‘cept maybe this big guy here.” He motions a thumb at the horse to the left.

Bucky nods, “Okay. Okay, good.”

No, not good Bucky,Steve thinks, it’s not good that your only concern is if you woke someone with what looked like a horrificallyderanged nightmare. You just pointed a gun at me, and almost fired - more than once. That’s not okay…how many nightmares is this now? The first that Steve’s had - and yes, he had to - wake him from so far, but that’s only because normally by the time Steve realizes Bucky’s having one his friend’s already woken himself up with an aborted shout or gasp. Otherwise he’s quiet, silent almost as he dreams; twitching and flinching in his sleep.

“Do you know where we are?” Steve asks, just for something to say. “We’re in France.” He answers his own question when Bucky falters, then nods after Steve’s said it.

“France.” He mutters, untangling his blanket from his legs, not looking at Steve. He scratches his arm straight after and Steve clasps his wrist to stop him; or tries to - Bucky jerks backwards at the touch.

“Sorry.” He mutters again, and forces himself to stop scratching with an almost constipated frown. Steve purses his lips, thinking as he always does whenever something like this happened - to the room he found Bucky in; the ‘medical' ward.

“What the hell did they do to you, Buck?”

Bucky sticks the tip of his tongue out to lick the blood away from where he’s bitten his lip like it’s nothing. He looks at Steve, “I don’t…I don’t remember.” He answers with the faintest of shrugs, and tucks the gun he almost shot Steve with right back to where it was. He curls up again, hand still on the barrel.

. . .

Steve lets the boys know the new plan to head into the city. According to Steve’s schedule there’s a train running into Nancy at 10:23, which slows in the valley as the track changes course.

He, Bucky, Dernier and Dugan climb up the side of the train at a sprint, and hop a ride to the city. The other boys keep watch at the farm, and help Elodie out where they can before they come back - raking the cold frozen land with the younger boys and fetching the chicken’s eggs as the Brigitte milks the cow.

An hour before they leave Bucky is side tracked by Margueritte running up to him with a handful of wildflowers that he then dutifully braids into her hair in a crown. He does the same for Brigitte when he catches her smiling shyly at him, but in a more elaborate braid he’s seen his ma do for Becca’s hair on her first school dance. He tells her this one is very grown up, and weaves wildflowers into the strands so they stand out purple and pink against her blonde hair.

Steve changes his clothes to civilian ones, as does Dugan; though they stay armed. Luckily, as they don’t exactly have a uniform the majority of them can pass without getting changed. They’re in and out of the almost untouched city; walking among French civilians and German Guards, and hit the safe-house for supplies as Dernier heads to a stall to buy a newspaper and listen for anything they can find. The city itself has never been bombed, and is practically untouched in terms of damage; the only sign it’s occupied at all is the occasional guard and the Nazi propaganda posters.

The Resistance and SOE spy ‘White mouse’ has been there recently, on her way to Marseilles as part of the Pat O’Leary Escape Line - with seven downed British pilots is the talk they hear. She’s flown right through to the next and remained as elusive as ever, much to Nazi consternation. They grab intel, and radio in their coded position - thirty minutes later, as they’re going through available false identity papers hidden under the floorboards - the cat meows and the fax starts spewing the coordinates of the new target. They correlate with the map; and it’s in Belgium; which is what they’ve been waiting for; the next Hydra base - this time one of the large factories on Steve’s remembered map. The preferred approach is faxed to in a combination of numbers; which Steve will crack when they get back.

There’s whispers in the town market that there’s been a leak - a Resistance member captured outside Versailles, but it’s something that happens far too often. Bucky is satisfied he gets his chance to practice hot-wiring another car, a Chevrolet, and they drive back with their goods and supplies; looking over the French newspaper in the back.

They wish Elodie and her children good fortune with kisses on each cheek and drive through the night, as Steve sits in the back with a torch cracking the coded fax with the list of keys phrases until he finds the correct one. Gabe switches him out at 02:00, and tonight with the jolting of the vehicle he manages to sleep.

He doesn’t remember how or when he went, but knows he was on his side, and he was watching his friend.

Bucky’s back to the silent twitching, and Steve doesn’t know if he should wake him anymore.