Journal

[ooc: Backdated to July 4th.]

The weird part about having a birthday on a national holiday is that you can never forget that it's happening. No matter where he was in the States, there were parades and fireworks; even in Europe the Howling Commandos always made a big deal of the twin occasions, even if it meant embarrassing Steve.

Especially if it meant embarrassing Steve.

So the weird part about being on the run in Morocco on the Fourth of July is that it's just another day. Steve wakes up in a quiet, mid-grade hotel, gets breakfast at a side-street cafe, and passes some time writing and drawing and watching the city pass by.

(The drawing is Bucky, T'Challa, Shuri, and Sharon -- cartoon versions of them, like T'Challa with panther ears and Sharon as a slinky vixen -- in front of the panther statue in Wakanda's capital.)

When he gets back to his hotel, ready to siesta out of the heat of the day, the door doesn't open to his room.

Milliways. It always makes him smile.

The local pub has an influx of Howling Commandos tonight. Steve doesn't always accompany them--beer tastes better here than it does at home, but that's still not very good--but tonight he has, and is smiling as Jones and Dugan compete in a darts contest that is not getting sloppier no matter how much they drink.

He glances at the door sometimes, just in case every new patron is a familiar face.

Steve's apartment is large and tidy, and slowly getting more personal touches--the books that he hasn't taken to Milliways, pictures and clippings, letters he needs to answer, his dress uniform on a stand. He has a few pieces of modern technology, too, a laptop from SHIELD, a tablet that reads STARK INDUSTRIES. But it's the books that are worn, the manila folders well-thumbed.

"Tony's building us all places in Stark Tower," he tells Orpheus.


[ooc: Adult content warning.]

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.

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."

The record label is putting Orpheus up for the night in a hotel near Central Park. No one looks twice when Orpheus is accompanied by the young man in a striped suit, not that questions would drive Steve from Orpheus's side anyway.

There's champagne and a fruit basket from the hotel, and once Steve has put the LP safely with his luggage, he snags an apple--the food at the party was good but tiny, and he's hungry again--and gets comfortable on the brocade couch as he has a bite and loosens his tie.

It's been something of an overwhelming night.


[ooc: Adult content within.]

[Previously.]

Steve's hand hovers over the small of Orpheus's back as they go upstairs to his room. He's still not sure what happened earlier, when they tried dancing, but the more important thing is that Orpheus is hurting and it's within Steve's power to help. Maybe even make him feel better.

This, he thinks, is what you do when you care about someone. Two backs to carry the burdens.

"Do you need help undressing?" he asks when they're in Orpheus's room.