cap drabble: fulcrum
27 Jun 2015 10:38![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
domarzioneFulcrum [also at: ao3 | tumblr ]
1800 words | PG-ish | Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Howling Commandos
Bucky really wishes that Steve understood all of the ways that this wasn't a back alley in Brooklyn, that this was war, and that he had a half-dozen men who would follow him to hell but he could try a little harder to keep those excursions to a minimum.
Bucky watched Steve head off, ostensibly to organizes his notes and look through the papers they'd taken away with them before they'd blown up the house. But it was really to separate himself from the boys for a bit, until they could bitch at Bucky and between themselves and the tension wasn't so thick as to be uncomfortable. And while part of Bucky kind of resented having to clean up after Steve and his ego one more time, the rest of him knew that this was his actual real job now, given to him by the Army and the SSR, and not just the self-appointed task he'd given himself as a child.
The boys were pissed, justifiably so, and Bucky didn't deny them their anger. He didn't tell them it wouldn't happen again, that would be a lie, but he did promise that he'd do what he could because that wasn't. They had the usual expectations of their team sergeant -- he was supposed to fix everything, up to and including the dumbass actions of their CO -- and the foggier expectations that came with knowing that Sergeant Barnes had been friends with Captain Rogers since they'd been in short pants. He didn't tell them that he hadn't been able to keep Steve on a leash when he'd been a hundred pounds soaking wet; they needed their faith in his magical NCO abilities and Steve needed their faith in his magical NCO abilities and Bucky, who knew too well that he had no magical abilities, had to pull a sleight of hand for everyone's sake.
But sometimes, it was fucking tiring.
Eventually the boys were settled enough to be left unattended; they'd vented their frustration and their fear and Bucky had listened with genuine empathy without inviting disrespect. Rank and position meant that he could be friendly, but he couldn't be friends -- the gap between him and the boys was tiny compared to the gulf between them and Steve, but a team sergeant who was buddies with his men was a failure and the boys would have sniffed that out immediately. They'd have started to push, started to presume, and from that it would have been a short hop from Steve's orders being suggestions instead of lawful commands. And that would just end with telegrams home that began with "we regret to inform..."
But the slippery slope wasn't a problem among the Commandos; Dugan had been in the Army for forever and knew where the line was and, once he'd seen that Bucky did, too, he'd made sure none of the others had come close to crossing it. So Bucky left the boys trying to do something that looked like a science experiment with their K-rations and went off to where Steve had set himself up, far enough away for privacy but close enough for safety. Which in this case was on the far side of a big tree.
"We can skip the part where I ask you what the hell you were doing and you give me some bullshit answer and promise never to do it again," Bucky told him as he sat down, tossing a pair of ration packs between them. "We are not going to skip the part where I remind you that you are part of a unit, you are a commanding officer, and you do not get to run off into danger by yourself like there's nobody depending on you. This ain't Brooklyn, Steve. You're not there and you're not the you that was there. And everyone is very tired of waiting for you to figure that out."
Steve didn't say anything and Bucky knew it was because he was debating whether to fight back, whether or not to argue that doing the dangerous and impossible things were what he'd been built for and better he scare the boys than get them killed. Bucky didn't want to have that conversation again because Steve never listened to the rebuttal, which was that that was exactly how he was going to get the boys killed because they were going to follow their leader into hell if he ran in headfirst. So, instead, he reached for one of the ration boxes and opened up one side, tossing it to Steve, who caught it, before reaching for the other and opening it up for himself.
"You wanted to be cannon fodder, then you shouldn't have let them commission you," Bucky began once Steve had his mouth full of crackers and pork loaf. Twenty years had taught him that Steve was at his most defenseless then; Sarah Rogers's lessons in manners guaranteeing he wouldn't try to utter a word. "But you got yourself a shiny pair of railroad tracks instead and so you have to play by the rulebook that goes with them. And you know what those rules are, Steve. You don't have to like them, but you don't get to ignore them just because you don't like them."
Which was bullshit and Steve knew that was bullshit and that was most of the reason Bucky was still having this conversation six months in. The fact of it was that the Commandos were so unlike any regular Army unit that a lot of the rules simply didn't apply, but that didn't mean all of them didn't and Steve was still picking and choosing according to what he wanted to do instead of what he needed to do. What the boys needed him to do, too, and that's where Bucky had to step in as sergeant and not just as a friend. The boys understood that Steve was special, that Captain America was not going to be like any commander they'd had before. But, for comfort and safety, they needed him to be a little more like any commander they'd had before and Steve just hadn't been willing to make that compromise.
"The boys don't need you to hang back and give orders from the rear," Bucky went on as Steve continued to eat, the necessity of his metabolism outweighing the necessity of proving himself right. It had been a long time since their last meal and they'd all been hungry, but Steve had undoubtedly been hungrier longer. Bucky was pretty famished, but he could wait to eat to get this out first. "They do need you to stop being so goddamned reckless. You want to lead from the front, fine. But you have to do it remembering that there are men behind you. And while those men do not have your gifts, you do have their loyalty and their obedience. And you have to stop being careless with that."
Steve nodded because he knew this part, too. And he was genuinely grateful for it. Just not enough to remember in the moment what it meant.
"You got any smokes left?" Bucky asked instead of continuing to belabor the point. He opened his own tin of pork loaf with a sigh. They'd been on K-rations for a week, enough for boredom and constipation to set in, and he couldn't muster up even the slightest enthusiasm for the meat that tasted like salt and can and smelled like foot. But he was starving and would probably eat tree bark if he had to. They had had to the other month, Dernier foraging for twigs and leaves and fruit that wouldn't kill them or give them the shits after they'd had to ditch their food supplies to keep from getting caught on the way out of Lingen.
"A few," Steve said, tossing Bucky the box of cigs that had come in his ration pack.
"Give 'em to me," Bucky told him, putting the box next to his own. "All of 'em. Including whatever you can get off of Stark when we get back."
Stark hated the Chesterfields that came in the rations, so he brought his own cartons of Pall Malls when he was going to be at SSR headquarters for any duration. He usually brought extras, giving them as casual gifts with the knowledge that they'd be traded on the black market. Steve didn't smoke much, not compared to everyone else, but he could hit up Stark for a box or two or three.
"Why?" Steve asked, more curious than wary but with enough of something in his voice that Bucky knew that Steve had been hoarding his supply to swap for something in particular.
"Because I am going to get the boys a nice bottle of something and I can't do it with what I got," Bucky replied. "And you are going to pay for it because you're the reason they need a drink."
Steve grunted agreement, a little grudgingly, which made Bucky wonder what Steve had been saving up for. It had to be something he couldn't ask Bucky's family back home to send him since they both got care packages on the regular. And while he could hope it was something for Carter -- that was a romance that could be timed with a sundial -- the odds were that it wasn't. But it didn't matter anymore; if Steve wanted to buy stuff on the black market, he should stop blowing his savings on make-up presents.
They set up a watch schedule for the night and Steve did the honorable thing and took the middle turn, the one that guaranteed a shitty night's rest for whoever got stuck with it. Bucky usually drew straws for it, except when it was used as a punishment, and Steve volunteering for it was as good as a public confession and apology. The boys took it as such and bedded down in better spirits than they had been in. Everyone would be fine in the morning, Bucky knew, and it would all be forgiven and forgotten until the next time. Which there would be, because Steve's contrition was genuine but not the kind he learned from, but they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.
1800 words | PG-ish | Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Howling Commandos
Bucky really wishes that Steve understood all of the ways that this wasn't a back alley in Brooklyn, that this was war, and that he had a half-dozen men who would follow him to hell but he could try a little harder to keep those excursions to a minimum.
Bucky watched Steve head off, ostensibly to organizes his notes and look through the papers they'd taken away with them before they'd blown up the house. But it was really to separate himself from the boys for a bit, until they could bitch at Bucky and between themselves and the tension wasn't so thick as to be uncomfortable. And while part of Bucky kind of resented having to clean up after Steve and his ego one more time, the rest of him knew that this was his actual real job now, given to him by the Army and the SSR, and not just the self-appointed task he'd given himself as a child.
The boys were pissed, justifiably so, and Bucky didn't deny them their anger. He didn't tell them it wouldn't happen again, that would be a lie, but he did promise that he'd do what he could because that wasn't. They had the usual expectations of their team sergeant -- he was supposed to fix everything, up to and including the dumbass actions of their CO -- and the foggier expectations that came with knowing that Sergeant Barnes had been friends with Captain Rogers since they'd been in short pants. He didn't tell them that he hadn't been able to keep Steve on a leash when he'd been a hundred pounds soaking wet; they needed their faith in his magical NCO abilities and Steve needed their faith in his magical NCO abilities and Bucky, who knew too well that he had no magical abilities, had to pull a sleight of hand for everyone's sake.
But sometimes, it was fucking tiring.
Eventually the boys were settled enough to be left unattended; they'd vented their frustration and their fear and Bucky had listened with genuine empathy without inviting disrespect. Rank and position meant that he could be friendly, but he couldn't be friends -- the gap between him and the boys was tiny compared to the gulf between them and Steve, but a team sergeant who was buddies with his men was a failure and the boys would have sniffed that out immediately. They'd have started to push, started to presume, and from that it would have been a short hop from Steve's orders being suggestions instead of lawful commands. And that would just end with telegrams home that began with "we regret to inform..."
But the slippery slope wasn't a problem among the Commandos; Dugan had been in the Army for forever and knew where the line was and, once he'd seen that Bucky did, too, he'd made sure none of the others had come close to crossing it. So Bucky left the boys trying to do something that looked like a science experiment with their K-rations and went off to where Steve had set himself up, far enough away for privacy but close enough for safety. Which in this case was on the far side of a big tree.
"We can skip the part where I ask you what the hell you were doing and you give me some bullshit answer and promise never to do it again," Bucky told him as he sat down, tossing a pair of ration packs between them. "We are not going to skip the part where I remind you that you are part of a unit, you are a commanding officer, and you do not get to run off into danger by yourself like there's nobody depending on you. This ain't Brooklyn, Steve. You're not there and you're not the you that was there. And everyone is very tired of waiting for you to figure that out."
Steve didn't say anything and Bucky knew it was because he was debating whether to fight back, whether or not to argue that doing the dangerous and impossible things were what he'd been built for and better he scare the boys than get them killed. Bucky didn't want to have that conversation again because Steve never listened to the rebuttal, which was that that was exactly how he was going to get the boys killed because they were going to follow their leader into hell if he ran in headfirst. So, instead, he reached for one of the ration boxes and opened up one side, tossing it to Steve, who caught it, before reaching for the other and opening it up for himself.
"You wanted to be cannon fodder, then you shouldn't have let them commission you," Bucky began once Steve had his mouth full of crackers and pork loaf. Twenty years had taught him that Steve was at his most defenseless then; Sarah Rogers's lessons in manners guaranteeing he wouldn't try to utter a word. "But you got yourself a shiny pair of railroad tracks instead and so you have to play by the rulebook that goes with them. And you know what those rules are, Steve. You don't have to like them, but you don't get to ignore them just because you don't like them."
Which was bullshit and Steve knew that was bullshit and that was most of the reason Bucky was still having this conversation six months in. The fact of it was that the Commandos were so unlike any regular Army unit that a lot of the rules simply didn't apply, but that didn't mean all of them didn't and Steve was still picking and choosing according to what he wanted to do instead of what he needed to do. What the boys needed him to do, too, and that's where Bucky had to step in as sergeant and not just as a friend. The boys understood that Steve was special, that Captain America was not going to be like any commander they'd had before. But, for comfort and safety, they needed him to be a little more like any commander they'd had before and Steve just hadn't been willing to make that compromise.
"The boys don't need you to hang back and give orders from the rear," Bucky went on as Steve continued to eat, the necessity of his metabolism outweighing the necessity of proving himself right. It had been a long time since their last meal and they'd all been hungry, but Steve had undoubtedly been hungrier longer. Bucky was pretty famished, but he could wait to eat to get this out first. "They do need you to stop being so goddamned reckless. You want to lead from the front, fine. But you have to do it remembering that there are men behind you. And while those men do not have your gifts, you do have their loyalty and their obedience. And you have to stop being careless with that."
Steve nodded because he knew this part, too. And he was genuinely grateful for it. Just not enough to remember in the moment what it meant.
"You got any smokes left?" Bucky asked instead of continuing to belabor the point. He opened his own tin of pork loaf with a sigh. They'd been on K-rations for a week, enough for boredom and constipation to set in, and he couldn't muster up even the slightest enthusiasm for the meat that tasted like salt and can and smelled like foot. But he was starving and would probably eat tree bark if he had to. They had had to the other month, Dernier foraging for twigs and leaves and fruit that wouldn't kill them or give them the shits after they'd had to ditch their food supplies to keep from getting caught on the way out of Lingen.
"A few," Steve said, tossing Bucky the box of cigs that had come in his ration pack.
"Give 'em to me," Bucky told him, putting the box next to his own. "All of 'em. Including whatever you can get off of Stark when we get back."
Stark hated the Chesterfields that came in the rations, so he brought his own cartons of Pall Malls when he was going to be at SSR headquarters for any duration. He usually brought extras, giving them as casual gifts with the knowledge that they'd be traded on the black market. Steve didn't smoke much, not compared to everyone else, but he could hit up Stark for a box or two or three.
"Why?" Steve asked, more curious than wary but with enough of something in his voice that Bucky knew that Steve had been hoarding his supply to swap for something in particular.
"Because I am going to get the boys a nice bottle of something and I can't do it with what I got," Bucky replied. "And you are going to pay for it because you're the reason they need a drink."
Steve grunted agreement, a little grudgingly, which made Bucky wonder what Steve had been saving up for. It had to be something he couldn't ask Bucky's family back home to send him since they both got care packages on the regular. And while he could hope it was something for Carter -- that was a romance that could be timed with a sundial -- the odds were that it wasn't. But it didn't matter anymore; if Steve wanted to buy stuff on the black market, he should stop blowing his savings on make-up presents.
They set up a watch schedule for the night and Steve did the honorable thing and took the middle turn, the one that guaranteed a shitty night's rest for whoever got stuck with it. Bucky usually drew straws for it, except when it was used as a punishment, and Steve volunteering for it was as good as a public confession and apology. The boys took it as such and bedded down in better spirits than they had been in. Everyone would be fine in the morning, Bucky knew, and it would all be forgiven and forgotten until the next time. Which there would be, because Steve's contrition was genuine but not the kind he learned from, but they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.
