Bucky’s head whips around; here he’d been eyeing the couch weathered at the edges, wondering if he can curl up on it tonight, or if he’s too tall…when Steve suddenly starts to laugh. And not a short chuckle or belly laugh, but the kind of laugh that bubbles up and tinged with something strange at the edges pricks at Bucky’s skin. Bucky stares as Steve laughs and laughs like that was a real gut-buster.
Look, sometimes Bucky can crack a good joke….but he’s not some chuckles-a-minute kinda guy and what he just said wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs either. Sometimes it helps GIs to find something to bitch about to pass the time - or get through the day - and nothing’s an easier target than bad coffee and rations.
Bucky’s gaze slides down Steve’s back, then again up the back of his head, like he can figure him out as Steve fusses around the kitchen. It sounds a little like some of the poor bastards back on the front who’d…well, had enough. Reached the end of the rope, and couldn’t take a second more ‘cause if they weren’t already over the edge, they were one foot over the cliff’s edge. He just never figured he’d hear it from Steve; Steve laughs like he’ll go nuts if he doesn’t find something funny there.
“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is soft. At last, Steve’s laugh dies down. “You good, pal?”
Steve throws himself into it; what better way to avoid your problems than by burying yourself in your work, even if it’s just getting some coffee in them. Bucky can only watch Steve putter around the kitchen like he used to back in New York, with an uneasy sense sitting heavy in his stomach. It’s like watching their lives in a funhouse mirror, only now they’re holed up and hiding .
When Steve does turn, the smile’s fooling nobody. There’s misery all over Steve’s face, so deep-seated there that Bucky’s heart aches. Bucky doesn’t hesitate. The leather creaks under him as Bucky rises and joins him; close enough to touch, if Steve needs another reminder, and not halfway across the room. The morbid part of Bucky thinks maybe Steve should enjoy it while he can; if Bucky’s KIA in the War, he’s bound to go back to his time one way or another.
“I didn’t know you noticed,” Bucky’s mouth presses in a thin line, and he looks away. God, he almost wants to ask how things go to shit... but at the same time, he doesn’t want to know. What if he gets taken out by a grenade? Or interrogated by HYDRA, and he doesn’t make it out? Bucky’s stomach clenches. Nah. Maybe he’s better off not knowing. “I was hoping no one figured it out. Always felt something was weird with me, but I didn’t want to be some lab freak. So I thought…maybe it was adrenaline. Or maybe I was a damn good shot, or just had some devil’s luck. I mean, I didn’t come out looking like all that.”
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Look, sometimes Bucky can crack a good joke….but he’s not some chuckles-a-minute kinda guy and what he just said wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs either. Sometimes it helps GIs to find something to bitch about to pass the time - or get through the day - and nothing’s an easier target than bad coffee and rations.
Bucky’s gaze slides down Steve’s back, then again up the back of his head, like he can figure him out as Steve fusses around the kitchen. It sounds a little like some of the poor bastards back on the front who’d…well, had enough. Reached the end of the rope, and couldn’t take a second more ‘cause if they weren’t already over the edge, they were one foot over the cliff’s edge. He just never figured he’d hear it from Steve; Steve laughs like he’ll go nuts if he doesn’t find something funny there.
“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is soft. At last, Steve’s laugh dies down. “You good, pal?”
Steve throws himself into it; what better way to avoid your problems than by burying yourself in your work, even if it’s just getting some coffee in them. Bucky can only watch Steve putter around the kitchen like he used to back in New York, with an uneasy sense sitting heavy in his stomach. It’s like watching their lives in a funhouse mirror, only now they’re holed up and hiding .
When Steve does turn, the smile’s fooling nobody. There’s misery all over Steve’s face, so deep-seated there that Bucky’s heart aches. Bucky doesn’t hesitate. The leather creaks under him as Bucky rises and joins him; close enough to touch, if Steve needs another reminder, and not halfway across the room. The morbid part of Bucky thinks maybe Steve should enjoy it while he can; if Bucky’s KIA in the War, he’s bound to go back to his time one way or another.
“I didn’t know you noticed,” Bucky’s mouth presses in a thin line, and he looks away. God, he almost wants to ask how things go to shit... but at the same time, he doesn’t want to know. What if he gets taken out by a grenade? Or interrogated by HYDRA, and he doesn’t make it out? Bucky’s stomach clenches. Nah. Maybe he’s better off not knowing. “I was hoping no one figured it out. Always felt something was weird with me, but I didn’t want to be some lab freak. So I thought…maybe it was adrenaline. Or maybe I was a damn good shot, or just had some devil’s luck. I mean, I didn’t come out looking like all that.”