Journal

After all the ups and downs and adrenaline rushes of the day, one hopes Steve can be forgiven for pushes Orpheus against the door as soon as its closed and kissing him senseless.

[ooc: Contains adult content, and lots of it.]

Steve often gets Bucky to have a meal together, or work out in the gym, or even just to have a drink together and shoot the breeze. So he thinks nothing of it when he goes to wake Bucky this morning, thinks nothing will be out of the ordinary as he taps on the door in a playful rhythm. "Bucky! Wake up! Let's get some breakfast, I'm starving."

Usually it only takes Bucky a minute or two to yell back--something like, "Hold your horses, I'm not decent!"--or sometimes he yanks the door open and tackles Steve in the hall. Just to teach him a lesson, you understand.

This morning...nothing. Not even a grumpy, "Come back later!"

Steve taps on the door again, louder. "Bucky?" He waits a moment more. "Barnes, I will get the music man and make him play Reveille until you get out of bed, and nobody wants that."

Still nothing.

Suddenly it's not funny anymore. "Bucky," Steve says quietly and tries the knob.

Locked. Okay. Bucky's been having so much trouble sleeping lately, he must be deep under. Steve thinks, I could leave him be and get him for lunch, but he doesn't. Not yet. Just a quick peek, to check on him.

Bucky gave him a key, "for whatever you might need it for," so Steve unlocks the door, swallows hard and pushes it open, with one more, "Bucky?" though this time he doesn't expect an answer. Only hopes for one.

The room looks perfectly normal. Perfectly fine. Neatly made bed. Spotless desk. Armchair in the corner.

And Bucky's rifle hanging from the bed post.

Steve's breath catches in his chest. Bucky is a soldier during wartime, even at Milliways, and soldiers on active duty go nowhere without their weapon, not even to the mess hall.

If there's ever a sign that something is wrong, this is it.

For a moment, perhaps two, Steve can't do a thing. Bucky. Even with all the weirdness going on, Steve hand't thought it would really effect either of them, not as badly as some. After all, he's been fine since Orpheus has been here, and he thought maybe the haunting was easing up a little...

Clearly he was wrong.

Steve touches the rifle lightly with one finger, breathing deeply to calm the pounding in his ears. He whispers, to make himself feel better if nothing else, "I'm coming to get you, buddy."

He leaves, closing and locking the door behind him. While it's tempting to crawl back into bed and let Orpheus comfort him, he has to find Jack Green.

Despite his resolve to stay strong, he can't keep the bleakness out of his voice when he tells Jack, "That thing has Bucky. He's gone."

Once they're back inside, Steve drops onto a stool at the bar and says, "Coffee, please. Irish it up."

A large cup appears on the bar top. Steve's hands are steady when he picks it up.

He's grateful for that.


He has a sip, then says quietly, "So what the hell was that?"

In the morning, Steve wakes feeling pretty good. He kisses Orpheus and puts on a tracksuit and sneakers, determined to go for a run, fog or no fog.

The mist hasn't let up but he forges ahead at a steady pace, the hood of his tracksuit up, hearing no sound but his own footsteps and breathing and the faint lapping of water against the lake shore.

And then there's a faint rustle in the trees. Movement that Steve sees out of the corner of his eye, but when he looks at it directly, it's just more trees and fog.

He slows, stops and lowers the hood. He's not breathing hard but his lungs suddenly feel tight and cold, as if he's been gasping for breath for hours.

"Who's there?" he whispers and then coughs past the restriction in his throat. He says more firmly, "Who's there?"

No one's there.
See you.
Right?

"Nobody here but us," Steve murmurs and resumes running, a little faster than before.

Steve puts down his cup so he can hang his jacket, grab some towels and take off his damp clothes.

"Sorry about that, down by the lake," he says again. "I've spent enough time in the woods lately that they shouldn't seem strange to me."

Picnic basket in hand, Steve goes looking for Orpheus. He's got a romantic evening planned--all he needs is one immortal musician.

He comes up behind Orpheus and slides his arm across Orpheus's chest, dropping a kiss on his ear. "Hey, music man."

Steve has had a busy day--busier than he anticipated, in fact, and he'd rather go back to base fresh than worn out.

And he has the key Orpheus gave him.

So it's one supersoldier, one sleepy shower and a solid eight hours later, who's asleep in Orpheus's bed.



[ooc: Adult content warning.]

Previously:

"Just tell me I'm not wearing tights."

Another condolence letter.

Sure, it's couched in official terms, one commanding officer reporting to another, but it's a condolence letter all the same.

Rogers's next of kin is listed as James Barnes, who, of course, is also missing, presumed killed in action. After that is his sponsor, Senator Brandt, so he's the one who will receive the letter and have to break the news that America's New Hope is gone.

Philips's voice is as steady as it ever is while he dictates the letter.

"Senator Brandt, I regret to report that Captain Steven G. Rogers went missing behind enemy lines on the third. Aerial reconnaissance has proven unfruitful. As a result, I must declare Captain Rogers killed in action. Period."

Agent Carter pauses in the entrance to the tent, bracing herself as Philips dictates the end of the letter. She brings in the latest report, her expression professional, her demeanor calm. "The last surveillance flight is back. No sign of activity."

In the past twelve hours, Steve has been dressed for exactly two of them. he and Orpheus have slept, lounged, talked, necked (and more, wink wink), ate and slept some more. He's listened to Orpheus hum and even sing a little, and he's watched Orpheus sleep and stroked his hair, and felt equally happy doing both.

This has been one of the ... best days of Steve's life.



[ooc: Preemptive adult content warning.]

London, 1943

Downtime is both precious and rare when you're in an elite military force. Steve spends it at Milliways when he can, and at the pub that's become their local when he wants to stay in London.

(Which he often does, despite the air raids and curfews. He's come to love this dark, sprawling city. It's not New York, but it'll do until it's time to go home.)

So Steve is having a drink and smiling at the singing. Another thing to like about the English--no matter what, they keep on singing.