Who Am I? » [Stucky]

120. Home Turf

Bucky was in commanding operation of the bulky submarine; guiding it tirelessly to its precise target. Three days had dragged by without a hitch, but the task hadn't become any less vapid or any less taxing. It took constant vigilance; focus upon the innumerable ticking dials and informative interfaces surrounding him in the claustrophobic compartment - constant crosschecking of tiny details. The Atlantic crossing was far less insufferable than the Mediterranean one; but was monotonous: keeping the nose pointed at the New York coast and making sure that the bulging belly of the submarine didn't scrape the floor of the ocean. Unlikely; but still a possibility with the changeable depths.

The walls groaned and creaked around him, bending and straining beneath the hulking pressure of the unrested sea, cruising at its maximum depth and concealed by the lack of sunlight which couldn't penetrate the deep waters. The constant repetitive ping of the sonar was getting under his skin; making him itch and twitch with irritancy, but it was a necessity for their protection: detecting any rogue things also dwelling in the depths.

Sam was his camaraderie, but right now, Sam was feeling the evnervation of the journey taking its toll too and appeared to be wrapped up in his own thoughts. He had been silent for a significant ten minutes; his eyes stilled and clouded over with deep thought as he wandered the halls of his mind. Bucky was both grateful and hateful of the silence: both were driving him slowly mad. The lack of sunlight and fresh air was giving him cabin fever.

He stood at the wheel, feeling like a true explorative captain of the seas; but it wasn't half as thrilling or glamorous as he imagined as a kid. He felt like he'd fallen straight out a novel: 'The Hunt for Red October' in fact. He knew if Steve was awake he would've said something.

Not any more though huh?

Not any more, Marko Ramius...

The memory replayed in his head and a pathetic smile turned his lips before they frowned again.

"Sam..." Bucky grumbled, his voice hoarse from the lack of drink he had been experiencing: having been wandering around the command deck for at least twelve hours without going anywhere else.

Sam's eyes lit up and his posture was corrected as he was reawaken from his chambers of thought. "Hm?" His dark eyes resettled on Bucky.

"Would you mind taking over? It's pretty simple... Just watch that depth counter, make sure it doesn't go over one-thousand six-hundred feet. Just steer us up if it gets close and make sure we don't veer off to the left or the right, we want to go to New York, nowhere else..." Bucky gave him no choice as he strode away, a slight wonkiness about his walk.

"Wha- oh..." Bucky was gone, his footsteps clattering away. Sam had understood and stepped up to the mark, taking charge of the Sub.

Bucky marched off to the infirmary; the pain in his upper thigh was going mad; the mutilated fleshy skin was stuck to his jeans and only itched and burned as the fabric moved and he had a nagging concern for Steve. Sam had been checking on Steve at intervals on his behalf, but it still didn't suffice - he trusted Sam, honestly, but he needed to see it with his own eyes that Steve wasn't dead.

Even with his whole thigh on fire with pain, flaring up and stinging like someone had taken nettles to his skin, he made his way over to the bed first. Steve had shifted slightly and the covers were a little displaced over his body; but that showed he was recovering. Two of Bucky's pale digits rested upon his wrist and discovered his pulse point: The pulse was still slower than it should be, but his heart was still beating and his chest was still moving up and down.

"Get well soon, Stevie..." Bucky whispered to him, his lips brushing over Steve's before retreating.

He trudged over to the cabinet and pulled out wound dressings, antiseptic a fresh syringe with a sealed package of needles and the bottle of morphine. He arranged the collected items on the desk. He assembled the needle and plunged it into the clear liquid before slurping it up by dragging the plunger back and placing it down on the clean metal slab side-table.