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betheshield
May. 26th, 2015 02:57 pmtookthewheelThe war is over. It's been over for a couple days, at least in the European theatre. Bucky had read about it in the London newspapers, giant headlines splashed across the whole page. Victory in Europe!
He wishes he could feel as happy about it as everyone else but for him the war had ended weeks previous with a fall from a train in Austria down a chasm hundreds of feet deep. Even if that and the injuries he'd gotten as a result hadn't been enough to drive the fight out of him, the news of a plane gone down in the Arctic after they dragged his sorry ass back home had been.
Fucking idiot. Idiot. How could you.
Bucky knew this war would probably end up killing Steve but he'd always assumed, or maybe hoped, it would kill him too. The two of them would live or die together, that was the way it was supposed to be and if one of them had to die while the other lived on... it should have been Bucky. It was meant to be him, he was sure, except for the work of the little rat-weasel who was currently locked up in the SSR's top secret holding cells.
Some people had called it a miracle that he'd survived that fall, the loss of an arm and days lying sub-zero temperatures until the retrieval mission had found him. Retrieval being the word there as they'd come looking for a body to take home, not a still breathing man. Bucky called it shitty luck.
Just didn't seem right, the whole world out there celebrating while Steve was dead.
The first thing he'd wanted to do after being let out of the hospital was go find a bar and see if he couldn't get shitfaced drunk the way Steve couldn't, except that when he woke up that morning he'd found an envelope on his bedside table, left by one Agent Peggy Carter. Inside had been an address and a time with the instruction that he not be late. For a moment he'd considered ignoring it, then dismissed that as pathetic. Just because he's feeling sorry for himself doesn't give him licence to act like a jackass to the woman who'd meant so much to Steve and been a friend to him to boot.
So eight o'clock sharp Bucky arrives at a shelled out pub he vaguely recognises from way back, picks his way unsteadily through the rubble to get inside and looks around for the lady of the hour. "Agent Carter?"
He's not sure how official this is meant to be. The choice of locale reads as something shady, though if it is regarding some official business he's not sure how useful Peggy is expecting him to be, empty left sleeve and all.
He wishes he could feel as happy about it as everyone else but for him the war had ended weeks previous with a fall from a train in Austria down a chasm hundreds of feet deep. Even if that and the injuries he'd gotten as a result hadn't been enough to drive the fight out of him, the news of a plane gone down in the Arctic after they dragged his sorry ass back home had been.
Fucking idiot. Idiot. How could you.
Bucky knew this war would probably end up killing Steve but he'd always assumed, or maybe hoped, it would kill him too. The two of them would live or die together, that was the way it was supposed to be and if one of them had to die while the other lived on... it should have been Bucky. It was meant to be him, he was sure, except for the work of the little rat-weasel who was currently locked up in the SSR's top secret holding cells.
Some people had called it a miracle that he'd survived that fall, the loss of an arm and days lying sub-zero temperatures until the retrieval mission had found him. Retrieval being the word there as they'd come looking for a body to take home, not a still breathing man. Bucky called it shitty luck.
Just didn't seem right, the whole world out there celebrating while Steve was dead.
The first thing he'd wanted to do after being let out of the hospital was go find a bar and see if he couldn't get shitfaced drunk the way Steve couldn't, except that when he woke up that morning he'd found an envelope on his bedside table, left by one Agent Peggy Carter. Inside had been an address and a time with the instruction that he not be late. For a moment he'd considered ignoring it, then dismissed that as pathetic. Just because he's feeling sorry for himself doesn't give him licence to act like a jackass to the woman who'd meant so much to Steve and been a friend to him to boot.
So eight o'clock sharp Bucky arrives at a shelled out pub he vaguely recognises from way back, picks his way unsteadily through the rubble to get inside and looks around for the lady of the hour. "Agent Carter?"
He's not sure how official this is meant to be. The choice of locale reads as something shady, though if it is regarding some official business he's not sure how useful Peggy is expecting him to be, empty left sleeve and all.
