It Ain't The Usual
It takes maybe an hour and a half for Steve to track him down.
Bucky’s decided today of all days is a good time to live the ‘punch-away-your-problems’ philosophy. He’d left SHIELD with his blood singing in his ears and the singular urge to put his fist through the next wall. Instead, he’d hauled ass across three city blocks to the little hole in the wall gym.
Maybe God hadn’t completely washed his hands of the sinner that was James Buchanan Barnes, because the gym sat open and untouched by the damage that scarred the city. It was a modern-day miracle. One Bucky took no issue in accepting.
He didn’t have his gym bag; that was buried underneath untold amounts of rubble. But the clothes Becca had scrounged up for him to wear were acceptable enough; a set of loose track pants and a hoodie that hung off him. ‘Course he didn’t have his wraps with him, but a couple of split knuckles never really hurt no one.
So here he was, ignoring the few patrons of the gym around him as he pummelled the bag swaying in front of him; wishing with everything in him that it was a particular Swiss scientist instead.
Then in comes Steve. Lumbering with his shoulder’s raised sheepishly, looking about as subtle as a smack to the face. He came to a stop a few short steps away. Bucky saw him eye up the bloody streaks he was leaving against the bag; but Steve didn’t say nothing of it. Just clenched his jaw and looked away.
“‘M sorry.” Steve issued, sincere as you please. None of that Captain America Pride in his voice, either. This was all Steve Rogers. Looking contrite and pained at the very notion that he’d hurt his friend.
Normally, Bucky would have been merciful and let him off the hook.
Normally, Steve would have had Bucky’s back.
“You should be more ‘n sorry.” Bucky all but growled. He smacked the bag harder; wondering if it was the physical exertion he sought or the sharp pain from his knuckles and the lingering whine of his sore body.
“I shouldn’t have made you talk about it.” Steve agreed softly. His shoulders went even higher up as he gazed mournfully down at his shoes.
“No, you damn well shouldn’t’ve.” Bucky grit out. “You knew I never wanted ta talk about what happened there.” Bucky’s hits came faster. Harder. The chain on the bag squealed pathetically.
“I did. But,” Steve hesitated a second flat before he was ploughing ahead, reckless in this as he was everything else, “I guess I never really understood why not. I mean, it ain’t like we have any other secrets from each other.”
The chain snapped. The bag went flying with a tear along its material spilling sand to the floor.
Bucky barely even noticed. He’d turned to his friend with eyes ablaze. “This wasn’t some goddamn secret!” Bucky spat. “This wasn’t somethin’ stupid like not telling you about a girl I’d been making time with, or whether I was the one who’d smacked McTernan around after he went an’ ran his mouth about you. This was me not wantin’ to talk about the worst fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me. It was about not lettin’ word spread around in case the Brass got the smart idea to send me home without you.” Bucky took a handful of steps forward and shoved Steve hard in the chest. Hard enough to make him stumble back. “Hell, maybe one day I’d have told you about it, but you think I wanted to spill about it in front of all the rest of them? Huh? Talk about that shit in front of people I don’t hardly know?”
Steve’s face was white. His hands at his side. He didn’t do a damn thing to defend himself when Bucky got back up in his space and shoved him a second time.
“You’re a goddamn ass, Steve Rogers. A fuckin’ disgrace of a best friend.” Bucky didn’t close the distance between them a third time – too worried the next step might be him socking the guy right in the mouth.
“I know,” Steve agreed. “I’m real sorry Buck.”
Bucky snorted like an angry bull as he turned away. His eyes swept the space only to find every single set of eyes in the gym on them. Some of them even had their phones in hand – no doubt with thoughts of filming them on their mind.
Bucky glowered at every single last one of them. Gave the few who had managed to fumble their phones in their direction a one finger salute before grabbing a fistful of Steve’s hoodie and propelling him toward the door.
“Let’s get the hell outta here.”
Bucky followed him out the door. He stuffed his bleeding hands into the front pocket of his borrowed hoodie as they meandered down the street. The silence that stretched between them was nothing like their normal comfortable quiet.
“I should’ve realised.” Steve said. “I should’ve realised that if you didn’t wanna talk it’d be for a good reason. And I shouldn’t’ve pushed you to talk back there either.”
“No. You shouldn’t’ve.” Bucky agreed coolly. Despite himself, he felt his ire already beginning to fade.
James Buchanan Barnes could hold a grudge to the grave itself, but not if that grudge was against one Steven Grant Rogers.
“You don’t gotta worry about the others. I told ‘em straight that it would be in everyone’s best interest if they kept what you said to themselves.”
This was the reason Steve hadn’t followed him right away? Too busy trying to intimidate a group Bucky knew Steve admired; all because he knew Bucky didn’t trust them.
The last of Bucky’s ire fell away, leaving him feeling mighty drained.
“What they say?” He asked, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s in silent acceptance to the other’s numerous apologies.
“Tony and Bruce swore down they’d never breathe a word of it; Tony even looked like he meant it.” Steve mused, offering his friend a short smile. “Natasha and Clint didn’t say much, they mostly looked to Fury.”
“And Fury? What’d he say?”
“Says he won’t record it in your official file but that he’s gonna recommend you go see someone. Some Doctor shrink.”
Bucky bristled. “I ain’t crazy.”
“I know,” Steve bumped their shoulders together, “Just ‘cause Fury recommends it, don’t mean you gotta do it. I told ‘em as well that we weren’t interested ‘n finding out what was done to you; that you’ve been fine all this time ‘n’ you’ll be just fine going forward – enhanced or not.”
A weight he hadn’t been aware of carrying lifted from Bucky’s shoulder.
The sky above was turning dark when they finally decided to turn toward Becca’s house. They’d need to impose on her hospitality at least one more night, and after that they could start looking at finding a new place.
The streetlights came on, lighting the still busy streets as people hustled, head low and shoulders high, to wherever it was they were going to. The city streets still didn’t feel like home to the two returned soldiers; but there was a familiar quality to them that offered its own kind of comfort.
Four blocks from Becca’s place, Bucky ducked into a little corner shop. He emerged a few minutes later with a pack of smokes and a colourful zippo lighter. He said nothing when Steve pulled a stick from the offered pack and lit up with him.
Smoke curled the air in front of them even as the taste of nicotine burned their tongues.
Steve stuck to one cigarette, puffing it slow and letting it last. Bucky went through his like a starving man, lighting up his next the very second the first had burnt out.
“Hey,” Steve called when they arrived at Becca’s stoop. “You don’t gotta answer if you don’t wanna, but I-,” He scuffed his toes on the brick steps and didn’t look up to meet his friend’s eye. “What happened to that kid? The one you and Dugan saved? He make it out in the end?”
Bucky gave a snort that wasn’t half bitter as it was sad. He stubbed out the last inch of his cigarette and flicked the butt to the curb. “According to Dum Dum they killed him two days later. Shot ‘im clean through when he wouldn’t stop cryin’ out for his Pop.”
“Shit.” Steve muttered, shaking his head.
“Better he died quick.” Bucky said before jogging up the front steps.
Steve watched his friend go. “Yeah, I guess so.”