( they're balanced on a knife's edge, the decision teetering back and forth, before he finally seems to make up his mind and it settles like a weight on the scales. fuck it, bucky thinks, and he lurches back to his feet and away from the woman's touch, but he nods curtly. )
James. My name is James.
( not technically a lie. but also not the entire truth either. his gloved right hand grazes against his side, comes away damp and red, and he swears low under his breath. )
Lead the way.
( when the woman inevitably reaches out to steady him again, he finds himself grudgingly taking the arm, and they move down the street like they're a couple just taking an evening stroll through the neighbourhood. and he remembers one too many days as soldiers staggering out of the field in austria together, the howling commandos leaning against each other like drunken men, propping each other up. you had to trust the man in the ditch beside you, to drag your half-breathing corpse out of the line of fire, pull you along, keep you walking, just one step more, just another until you could get to the medic's tent. a band of brothers.
(all of his comrades are dead and gone. there's the problem.)
but karen is a more-than-decent substitute, it turns out. she's all steely nerves and not flinching away from the smell of gunpowder or blood on his jacket, just marching them along and away from the scene of the crime, where the police will eventually gather and puzzle over the chaos, unless HYDRA comes and clears out their dead and injured before that happens. they're good at cleaning up their messes.
one foot in front of the other, sergeant barnes. bucky's attention drifts a little, but snaps back into focus as they're climbing the steps to an apartment building. he takes another shallow breath, cataloguing what he can tell of his body. the injuries aren't bad — he's sustained worse over the years, so much worse — but they're not good either, and it'll be good to sit down and catch his breath. get patched up. let that healing factor kick in and work on him overnight. while she's going for her keys, he speaks up again: )
no subject
James. My name is James.
( not technically a lie. but also not the entire truth either. his gloved right hand grazes against his side, comes away damp and red, and he swears low under his breath. )
Lead the way.
( when the woman inevitably reaches out to steady him again, he finds himself grudgingly taking the arm, and they move down the street like they're a couple just taking an evening stroll through the neighbourhood. and he remembers one too many days as soldiers staggering out of the field in austria together, the howling commandos leaning against each other like drunken men, propping each other up. you had to trust the man in the ditch beside you, to drag your half-breathing corpse out of the line of fire, pull you along, keep you walking, just one step more, just another until you could get to the medic's tent. a band of brothers.
(all of his comrades are dead and gone. there's the problem.)
but karen is a more-than-decent substitute, it turns out. she's all steely nerves and not flinching away from the smell of gunpowder or blood on his jacket, just marching them along and away from the scene of the crime, where the police will eventually gather and puzzle over the chaos, unless HYDRA comes and clears out their dead and injured before that happens. they're good at cleaning up their messes.
one foot in front of the other, sergeant barnes. bucky's attention drifts a little, but snaps back into focus as they're climbing the steps to an apartment building. he takes another shallow breath, cataloguing what he can tell of his body. the injuries aren't bad — he's sustained worse over the years, so much worse — but they're not good either, and it'll be good to sit down and catch his breath. get patched up. let that healing factor kick in and work on him overnight. while she's going for her keys, he speaks up again: )
I appreciate it.