Sebastian Stan Short Stories

Bucky Barnes [3]

"The Real Story"

Non-canon to any Marvel plots (as far as I know)

Could be spoilers if you haven't seen any Captain America movies.

Setting: May 1943, Indiana

*

I watched the man in his uniform approach the front porch, squinting against the afternoon sun. Every now and then, the Army would send out a doctor to double check my husband's draft exemption. They usually traveled in pairs, but this was nothing new. He began the short walk up to the porch and I recognized him. I took the stairs slowly, trying to believe what I saw.

"James," I said quietly as I took him in. A sergeant's stripes on his arm, his uniform crisp and perfect, his hat sitting perfectly straight across his brow. "Tell me you stole that uniform from somebody."

"I haven't been called James by anyone but you. Can I come in first before I get you all angry?" he teased. My temper was legendary, and there was no good reason for me to happy about his joining the army with a war in full swing.

"Of course," I told him, leading him up to the door. He took his hat off as he crossed the threshold, and I locked the door behind him. No one locked their doors around here, but my neighbors had a bad habit of walking in without asking permission.

As soon as I turned around, I was in his arms and clinging to him.

"I saw the ring," he whispered. "Who's the lucky fella?"

"You don't know him," I answered. James released me from the hug but still held onto my arms, like I was doing to his. He had gained a bit more muscle from basic training.

"Here I was hoping you hadn't found Mr. Right yet," he admitted.

"I found him a long time ago, but he only spent the summers here. He lived in New York City and now he's in the army," I joked lamely. He leaned in closer to me, and I closed my eyes. It had been years since I had last seen or heard from him, years since he had stopped visiting Indiana and stayed in New York in the hopes of finding better work after he finished school.

"He sounds like an idiot," James said quietly.

And then he was kissing me and I was blindly guiding him to the unused second bedroom with the bed that still didn't have sheets. He was asking where my husband was and I was telling him Indianapolis for the next week. We were tumbling on a bare mattress as the sun fell lower in the sky.

*

"Where do you go from here?" I asked James, standing next to the stove while a pan of cubed potatoes fried. I had a cup of coffee, flavored with Irish cream, in my hand, while James had plain black.

"Back to New York until the 107th gets mobilized. I was at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin, but I got travel leave to get to New York," he explained. "I have to be there at the end of the week."

"I'm surprised they didn't pack you all on a train together," I said.

"It was an option. A couple days on a train and leave in the city or leave to get there," he replied. I was silent as the potatoes fried in the skillet, unsure what to ask or say. James took the initiative. "How long have you been married?"

"A few months. Back in April," I said simply.

"And no baby?"

"Not yet. He's disappointed about that," I said, quieter. I began to scrape the potatoes out of the pan and onto plates, replacing them with two thick slices of ham. "Where do you think you'll go after New York?"

James didn't seem bothered by my change of topic.

"London. It's the usual layover point between here and there. All the gossips say we'll go to Italy. Some place called Azzano," he told me.

"At least you might get to see some pretty scenery. I hear it's beautiful," I said optimistically. James scooted his chair out and I heard his socked feet walk their way across the kitchen. He sat his hands on my hips, and it brought a smile to my face.

"This was always the dream, you know? The house in the old country, you waiting for me every night, starting our family. But I didn't think I could give it to you," he admitted. I took a half a step back until I met his chest. He had left his jacket upstairs, along with his belt and shoes.

"We can have tonight at the very least," I promised.

I let the stupid ham burn.

*

I sent him away the next morning after staying awake most of the night. He had to return to New York, and I was left in Indiana without him.

My picture and a short message were tucked into his uniform pocket, along with the address of a friend who wouldn't mind collecting his letters for me. His picture and unit information were hidden in the back of a drawer my husband never touched.

I began a letter for him the minute he was out the door.

*

Author's Note:

As I mentioned in the Bucky short "Daydreams", I had an idea about the real story behind my version of Bucky's dream girl. And this is their start. Stay tuned for more; there's plenty.