[WWII AU] a brand new day

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky wakes in the predawn darkness, long before reveille would normally be called. He spends a few minutes reviewing the mission in his head before he rolls from his cot; there's no room to think about anything else. He meets Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos at five-fifteen. As planned, they're on the move before the hour has passed.

It's a long day, a hard day, but in the end a successful day, for the most part. The hidden facility carved into the hillside is no more when they leave, HYDRA's agents defeated, their stockpiles destroyed. But there's still no sign of Schmidt, nor of Zola, and that remains incredibly frustrating.

Still, there's reason to celebrate today's win, and the squad's more or less exuberant on their return, some fourteen or so hours later. Steve disappears into the command tent to debrief with Colonel Phillips; Bucky'll catch up with him afterward, as usual. He spends a few minutes trading quips with the others before disappearing to weapons storage to see to his own rifle - also as usual. Something about taking care of it helps him feel like he's cleaning the blood off his own hands.

After that, he finds he's too restless to settle yet, and figures it's not the best idea for him to be around others until he sorts himself out. Bucky wanders along the edge of camp in the dark, then veers from the path and off into the field where he'd spent some time watching the stars only a couple of days ago.

It should be peaceful there, more or less.

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

He finishes cleaning out the bolt, examines it again, then moves on to the rest of the weapon.

"Colonel Phillips isn't the kind of guy to let someone useful sit on the sidelines," he reassures her.

[from_the_outside]

She chuckles. "No, I think you're right."

These old .45s are a breeze to reassemble; she snaps each section in place and pulls the slide back, then checks the sight before she offers the pistol to Bucky. "Want to check it over?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He gives her an amused smile, but doesn't reach for it yet. "Will it bother you if I do?"

More seriously, he adds, "I was watching you with it. It's clear you know what you're doing."

[from_the_outside]

"It won't bother me," she assures him. "I would, if it were my gun and you'd been handling it." She offers the pistol to him again. "Go ahead."

[nerves_of_ice]

She means it, he can tell, and a surge of fondness washes through him at her understanding. She's something special, all right, and not like any other dame he's known.

Bucky sets down the Browning and takes the pistol, checking it over swiftly but with the kind of thorough familiarity that comes from frequent use and skill.

"Nice job," he approves.

[from_the_outside]

She watches as he checks over her work with the calm certainty of someone positive she knows what the hell she's doing. At his approval, she nods, satisfied. "Good."

It's a funny feeling, knowing that her work here might help keep him safe out on the next mission... and that he trusted her with something so important. Her stomach tightens, like she's tying loose knots in her gut. "Thanks for letting me help."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Thank you for helping," he teases, setting the pistol down. "I figure you're probably less familiar with that, though."

Bucky nods at the M1.

[from_the_outside]

"You're right." The States haven't officially used the M1 in decades; she doesn't think she's ever even fired one. "But I could give it a whirl. I've used other carbines."

She runs a light finger admiringly along the wood of the stock. "But none of them were this pretty."

[nerves_of_ice]

"It's a beauty, isn't it?" he agrees. "Came pretty well polished, but a touch of oil on the wood - just a bare touch, mind you, not enough to cause slip or damage - keeps it just that bit better."

Bucky considers the carbine, then considers her. "As long as you don't mind me calling the shots if you look like you're getting in trouble," he says, after a second. "If you're okay with that, then go ahead. Wouldn't hurt for you to be familiar with these anyway."

[from_the_outside]

"I don't mind. You'll have these out in the field. They need to be up to your standards."

She reaches for the carbine and hefts it, feeling the weight of it in her hands, the smooth grain of the stock. Just like before, she removes the magazine and pulls back the bolt, checking and double checking that the gun is unloaded before she does anything else. "Which brush do you like for this?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"That one." He leans closer to her and points at it. "It's an easy gun to care for, really. It's this one that's finicky."

[from_the_outside]

She turns her head and glances at him, rather than following his pointing finger; he's so close she can catch the scent of clean skin. "Good to know."

Reaching for the brush, she sets the carbine down and begins scrubbing out the bole. "How do you like it? The M1?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"I like it okay, I guess. Light, easy to work with, gets the job done. Works in a lot of situations," he tells her, giving most of his attention back to the Browning.

"Do you use anything besides handguns?"

[from_the_outside]

"Very occasionally."

She runs the brush up through the bore to the action and back out again, then repeats the motion. "But usually it's handguns and hand-to-hand, if I get in trouble."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Hand to hand?" Bucky gives her a curious look.

[from_the_outside]

"Mhm."

She finishes scrubbing out the barrel and saturates a patch with oil, then rams it carefully into the bore. "Boxing, kickboxing, grappling. A few different styles."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait just a second." Bucky stares at her in mixed disbelief and delight.

"You box?"

[from_the_outside]

She gives him an amused glance back and finishes swabbing out the bore. "Yes, I box."

Sharon sets the cleaning rod aside and turns the carbine upside down to release the action. "You like to box?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"You could say that," he laughs. "I used to teach a couple of classes back at the YMCA in Brooklyn. Taught Steve, too."

[from_the_outside]

"Really?"

She likes that laugh. She likes it a lot. "Maybe you can show me a few moves."

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky gives her a quick, mischievous grin and starts reassembling the Browning.

"I don't know," he drawls. "You might lay me out, and then where would I be?"

[from_the_outside]

"Hm."

She carefully swabs out and lubricates the action, then removes the bottom of the stock, exposing the carbine's innards so she can work on them. "Then I guess maybe I'd have a few things to show you."

[nerves_of_ice]

He laughs under his breath at that, low and soft.

"Now that I believe, no matter what."

[from_the_outside]

She slants a teasing half-smile at him, then focuses back on the carbine.

"So you taught boxing? Did you like that?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles. "Sure. It's a lot of fun. I do okay at it," he tells her.

"Mostly I taught the lower weight groups, and a couple of special kids' classes."