[ Bucky doesn't even care at this point. His death creeps in at the edges of everything and he knows it like it's already an intimate friend. Because he feels as though it's just a matter of time. He escaped Zola's laboratory, sure, but every step the noose gets tighter. He'll take what joy he can get until it's all over.
Of course none of that ever shows on his face or drifts into his words and if he has nightmares then most people are kind enough not to acknowledge it. ] A walk? I could walk.
[ All he ever does is walk but they might have a few scant minutes alone. Maybe he'd get to touch him.
-- Changing his tune. ] The songs ain't all that special anyway.
(don't they all feel that way, though? Sometimes Howard feels that way. They're not even close to winning yet. The bombs keep dropping and hope with it. It's soulcrushing, but Barnes at least is a point of light in the darkness for him. When they lose men, or cities are lost, he always goes to him. Crawls into his bed and clutches him, because there's no one else who can comfort him the way he can, nor anyone he would trust to see that he was scared. Even Steve never saw that on him.
Howard squeezes his knee again.) Then we should walk.
(Because walking is good. WAlking is what he does when he can't sleep and James is on the front so he's worrying. Walking late into the night and to morning. Waiting for news of the man he loved.
He bounced up, and laughed.) Yeah, And I'm sure it'll be better when he's sober and doesn't get confused.
[ He groans but it's good-natured, his knees bracing to push himself off. ] Hang on, hang on.
[ His own beer gets drained as Howard hovers, clearly ready to get out of the bombed up bar and away from the noises of their little band. Bucky is too but he doesn't want to waste alcohol. ] You want yours? [ It's not even really a question considering he shrugs as he lifts it and downs it too, throat working a little as he swallows. When he's finished he wipes the back of his mouth with his hand and smirks. ]
(Mostly because he doesn't need it. Beer isn't his drink of choice either, and still, the guys needed it more. Anyway, he had a good bottle of scotch in his hotel room that they could enjoy once they were back. He watches him as he drinks, with a soft smile on his face. He goes to grab his jacket from the coat hanger that stood in a corner. It's not really cold out, technically he doesn't need it, but it's a matter of principles and how he wants to present himself.
He snorts when the other wipes his mouth with his hand, gently shaking his head.) You're vile.
(But it's with fondness as he inclines his head slightly to get the other to follow him outside, and down the street. There weren't many people out at this time of night, they were, thankfully, exempt from any curfew in place, but that didn't mean they were going to try to draw too much attention, though that was more because Howard slowed once they were a few blocks away, so he could walk close to him.)
[ He doesn't say you love it out loud but it's very much there in the quirk of his eyebrows and the shape of his mouth. He doesn't have a jacket to take and so he simply shoves his hands in his pants pockets and sets off after his friend.
Bucky's glad for the silence at first. It feels like a balm after the noise of the day, one ear still ringing slightly from tank fire. He wonders just how many bits of the war he'll have to take home with him ( ringing ears, scars, broken bones, a shattered heart? ). Still, when Howard slows and starts to talk he's eager to step a little closer, shoulders rounded against the night chill. ]
I'm fine. [ It's not really a lie, it's just that he doesn't want to catalogue the impact. He'd much prefer to avoid it at all costs. ] Nobody died. On our side anyway. Day went okay.
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Of course none of that ever shows on his face or drifts into his words and if he has nightmares then most people are kind enough not to acknowledge it. ] A walk? I could walk.
[ All he ever does is walk but they might have a few scant minutes alone. Maybe he'd get to touch him.
-- Changing his tune. ] The songs ain't all that special anyway.
no subject
Howard squeezes his knee again.) Then we should walk.
(Because walking is good. WAlking is what he does when he can't sleep and James is on the front so he's worrying. Walking late into the night and to morning. Waiting for news of the man he loved.
He bounced up, and laughed.) Yeah, And I'm sure it'll be better when he's sober and doesn't get confused.
Come on now, Barnes. no lolligagging.
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[ His own beer gets drained as Howard hovers, clearly ready to get out of the bombed up bar and away from the noises of their little band. Bucky is too but he doesn't want to waste alcohol. ] You want yours? [ It's not even really a question considering he shrugs as he lifts it and downs it too, throat working a little as he swallows. When he's finished he wipes the back of his mouth with his hand and smirks. ]
'Kay, now you can lead the way.
no subject
(Mostly because he doesn't need it. Beer isn't his drink of choice either, and still, the guys needed it more. Anyway, he had a good bottle of scotch in his hotel room that they could enjoy once they were back. He watches him as he drinks, with a soft smile on his face. He goes to grab his jacket from the coat hanger that stood in a corner. It's not really cold out, technically he doesn't need it, but it's a matter of principles and how he wants to present himself.
He snorts when the other wipes his mouth with his hand, gently shaking his head.) You're vile.
(But it's with fondness as he inclines his head slightly to get the other to follow him outside, and down the street. There weren't many people out at this time of night, they were, thankfully, exempt from any curfew in place, but that didn't mean they were going to try to draw too much attention, though that was more because Howard slowed once they were a few blocks away, so he could walk close to him.)
How are you really, Barnes?
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Bucky's glad for the silence at first. It feels like a balm after the noise of the day, one ear still ringing slightly from tank fire. He wonders just how many bits of the war he'll have to take home with him ( ringing ears, scars, broken bones, a shattered heart? ). Still, when Howard slows and starts to talk he's eager to step a little closer, shoulders rounded against the night chill. ]
I'm fine. [ It's not really a lie, it's just that he doesn't want to catalogue the impact. He'd much prefer to avoid it at all costs. ] Nobody died. On our side anyway. Day went okay.