Chapter Text
October 15, 1942
Aintree Racecourse, Aintree, Northwest England
The watch was probably too much.
It had a handsome brown leather band, the face was black with a copper center, and the numbers and hands glowed in the dark. He'd gone all the way to Liverpool's city center to find an affordable department store, and then he'd waited around for another hour to have the back engraved — S/SGT OCT 1942. It was only one pound three shillings, plus an extra shilling for the engraving, but that was a good chunk of his pay that he hadn't sent home to Becca. It seemed the British pound didn't go quite as far as the American dollar, not to mention rationing was a lot more strict than it was back home.
He was insane. He was going to get himself court-martialed. It was almost certainly too much for an acquaintance, his squad leader, no matter how much he hoped Ted Clark was just as queer as he was. Sometimes he thought he might be. He sometimes caught him looking at Bucky for no apparent reason, before smiling and looking away.
Or maybe he was just delusional. Was it possible to have an engraving removed? Maybe he could just send it to Steve as a souvenir.
No, no, it was too late to chicken out now, he'd have to go through with it. Clark needed a new watch, he'd broken his old one on duty, but the Army was taking its time replacing it. If he was way off base and Clark called him a fag, he'd just laugh it off, make a joke of it.
And then hope he got shipped out to Europe or the Pacific so he'd never have to face him again.
So, with the watch box in hand, he looked for Clark. It was early morning, before breakfast. They were stationed at a horse track turned army base by the Brits. Apparently it was a pretty classy place, having played host to British royals and aristocrats. Now, however, the stables had been converted to barracks and there were showers installed in the bar. When they weren't training, their main job here was inspecting equipment coming in from the States, then sending it on to other Allied bases in England. Bucky was usually assigned to work in the motor pool, as he had a knack for assembling and fixing the jeeps and motorcycles that came through.
He found Clark sitting in the stands overlooking the track, reading. He was a tall man (Six foot five and a half inches, Clark declared when someone was bold enough to ask, half an inch away from too tall for the Army), with brown eyes and brown hair, and now in the morning light, he could see bits of red in his hair. He had one of the phrase books the officers had distributed a few days ago. "Morning, Sarge."
Clark smiled. "Hey, Barnes." He always seemed to be smiling, and he had such a nice smile —
Stop.
To avoid his gaze, Bucky briefly turned himself sideways so he could see the book's cover. "German?"
Ted smiled at him. "Yeah. I figured we'll probably end up in Europe eventually, might as well learn a bit."
Bucky nodded. "I already know French, so I picked Italian. Grabbed Arabic, too."
Clark leaned forward, eyes alight with interest. "You speak French?"
"Oui, j'ai étudié le français au lycée. Aimes-tu le français? (Yes, I studied French in high school. Do you like French?)"
His grin widened. "I wish I knew any of the words you just said." Bucky laughed. "Bet that makes you real popular with the ladies," he teased.
I'd rather be popular with you, said a voice in his head, which Bucky resolutely ignored. "Well, it never hurt." He gripped the watch box a little tighter, nervous. Just do it, get it over with. "Uh, I got you something." Clark looked surprised. "It — it's really not much, but — well, here." He held out the box, and Clark took it, still looking amazed. "The Army's dragging its feet replacing your watch, and you just got promoted, so I thought I'd..." Clark had opened the box and was staring at the watch, expression unreadable, and Bucky panicked. "This is weird, isn't it? I'm sorry, I'll just — "
He reached for the box, but Clark pulled it back out of his reach. "No!" Bucky pulled his hand back, startled. "I like it, this is really nice."
Bucky's face felt hot as Clark took the watch out and started winding it. "It's not — I mean it was less than two pounds, I dunno how much that is in American but it seemed like a good deal — "
"It doesn't seem cheap, though!" He fastened the watch to his right wrist and held it to his ear to hear the ticking, and he grinned. "Much better than the one I was considering at the PX."
He tried not to focus too much on the warm, bubbly feeling in his chest — he liked it, he didn't think it was weird, he wasn't repulsed by Bucky acting like a pansy —
"Great," he sighed, trying to breathe normally. "Glad you like it."
"What time do you have?"
He looked at his own watch. "7:39."
"Listen," he said as he adjusted the time, "some of the fellas are going to a pub in the village for drinks tonight, you wanna come? I'll get you a pass."
His immediate impulse was to say yes, but — "I'm on duty until 1800."
"That's fine. I'll wait for you."
He was smiling, and Bucky's heart did something complicated. "Okay."
"Good. I'll be buying your drinks tonight, as thanks."
Bucky laughed a little. "You don't have to do that."
"You're not spending a dime tonight, Barnes." His tongue ran over his lower lip, and it was — what? "How else am I supposed to thank you?"
Jesus Christ.
Was he flirting?
He couldn't possibly be.
Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times. "We — we can start with drinks."
Clark kept smiling, something Bucky couldn't explain in his eyes. "Okay, I'll see you tonight, then."
"Okay, Sarge."
Bucky turned away, ready to head to his billet to get ready for his shift at the motor pool. "You can call me Ted," he called after him.
He looked back at Clark — Ted — and smiled. "Only if you call me Bucky."
That night, after his duty shift, Bucky found Ted lounging in a chair outside the stables-turned-barracks, close to Bucky's own billet. He was in his service uniform, his fingers laced over his stomach as he stared up at the sky, the clouds beginning to turn orange as the sun set. Bucky could see the watch on his wrist and Jesus — how did he make olive drab look so good? Bucky was only human.
"Bonjour, Bucky!" he greeted brightly, sitting up and adjusting his hat as Bucky approached.
He smiled. "Bonsoir, really, since it's evening. And shouldn't you be speaking German?"
Ted laughed. "Okay, yeah. Uh, Guten... Guten Abend. I think that's right."
Bucky gave a little tip of his cap. "Buonasera, signore." Ted laughed again. Bucky liked making him laugh. "You really didn't have to wait," he told Ted. "It's only a couple hours until curfew."
"I don't mind. You going dressed as a grease monkey, or are you changing?"
He glanced down at himself, at the smear of oil across the front of his denim work uniform — the product of having to change a stubborn oil filter housing. At least his skin was clean. "Yeah, just — give me five minutes."
"I'll be here."
He changed into his own service uniform and combed his hair back into order — the Brylcreem seemed be holding on okay — and added a splash of aftershave.
"Well." Ted looked over him when he came back, and something in his gaze made Bucky's heart race. "You clean up nice."
"Not so bad yourself," Bucky said, and immediately wanted to shoot himself in the foot. He can't flirt with him, what the fuck —
But Ted just grinned. "Thanks. Here's your pass, let's get going."
The Kirkdale Arms wasn't the closest pub to the base, but it was a favorite of the local girls, which made it a favorite of the visiting servicemen, worth the fifteen minute walk to get a look at civilian ladies. Bucky frequented it himself once or twice a week, if he had the spare change for a beer or two. On Wednesday and Saturday nights, there was a live swing band, and occasionally there was a very drunk old man who came in to play ragtime tunes on the piano.
"So, you're from New York, right?" Ted asked as they left the base.
"Uh, yeah. Brooklyn. You?"
"Idaho. Coeur D'Alene, originally, but I was at college in Boise when I decided to enlist."
"Yeah? What were you studying?"
"Education. I want to be a teacher. Science, I think. You go to college?"
Bucky shook his head. "Had to work, to help support my sisters after my parents died. Never could have afforded it, anyway."
"You could still go."
"Dunno." He'd never really thought about it. After Dad died, and then Ma, his sisters had to come first, and then he'd kept Steve in art school. "Ellie, my youngest sister, she's still in high school, if she wants to go, she can, but — maybe?"
"Okay." He turned around, walking backwards as he regarded Bucky. "What would you study?"
"Uh, I don't know. I like math. My dad was an accountant, I could do that. Or maybe I could do more with French."
Ted turned back around, falling back in with Bucky. "You're being too practical."
Bucky laughed lightly. "Is there such a thing as too practical?"
"Yes," he said resolutely. "Say time and money were no object, what would you want to do for the rest of your life? What are you passionate about?"
"You're really going for the deep questions, huh?"
"That's how you learn about people. Too deep?"
"Not really, I just don't know if I have an answer." Bucky shrugged. "I was never really much into school, so I never thought I'd go on to college. I only finished high school because Ma wanted me to."
"Maybe a better question, then." Ted rubbed at his chin. "Denis Diderot said the passion for happiness was the only true passion. What makes you happy?"
"My family, I guess?"
"You said you had sisters?"
"Yeah. Becca's twenty-one, Ellie's fourteen. Fifteen in December. And then there's Steve, my best friend. He's been like a brother to me since we were kids. You got family back home?"
"I have a little brother, Kermit. He'll be almost nine now. But I haven't seen him since he was a toddler."
"Oh."
"I don't get along with my mom and stepfather, so — " he was frowning, and then he waved a hand. "That's not a happy topic, let's not talk about that."
If Ted was queer, maybe they fell out over that? Bucky wasn't going to pry, obviously, but he couldn't imagine not talking to his sisters. That was the main reason he never told anyone he was queer.
"So, then, you're passionate about teaching?"
"Yeah." Ted smiled at him, clearly grateful for the subject change. "Kids are great, y'know? Especially the elementary age, they're learning about the world and how it works and why it works, I want to teach them about the world."
Bucky was smiling. Oh my god, he's adorable. "That's — I like that. I wish my teachers thought like that. I bet you'll make a good teacher." Ted beamed at him, Bucky flushed, and he looked away, fishing for a subject change. "You, uh, got a girl?"
Oh god what the fuck that was even worse.
But Ted gave a light laugh. "Nah, I never had the time, college, you know? You?"
He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not. No girl back home, but that could mean anything. Was he expecting Ted to just say 'no, actually I just want you'? Jesus.
"No. No one serious, anyway."
"Ah, Bucky Barnes, breaker of hearts."
Bucky snorted at his teasing tone. "I'll have you know my Ma raised a perfect gentleman."
He laughed. "So how'd you get that nickname, Bucky?"
Bucky smiled. "My friend Steve. He says it's because my dad called me buckaroo when I was little, but he also started calling me that after he read Call of the Wild, so." He shrugged.
"Oh yeah, the dog was called Buck. I never read it, but I saw the movie, with Clark Gable."
Bucky perked up, as he usually did when anyone mentioned Clark Gable. "The book's better, but the movie's alright. Clark Gable's great, though, I've seen all his movies."
And if that wasn't the queerest thing he could have said. But Ted grinned. "I like Tyrone Power, you see him as Zorro?"
"Power is overrated as Zorro, Douglas Fairbanks was the greatest — "
"Wasn't that picture silent?"
"Doesn't mean it's not better, did you even see it?"
"No."
"You should. It was the first movie I ever saw."
"You should take me." Bucky nearly stumbled as he looked at Ted, startled. "We can watch the papers, maybe a theater around here will show it."
Bucky tried to remember how to speak. "You — you'd see it with me?"
"Yeah, why not?" Ted was smiling at him, and Bucky found it hard to breathe. "There are theaters that show old silent pictures. Or maybe we'll see something with your boy Clark Gable."
His face flushed as Ted winked at him. "I — "
"Hey, Sarge!"
Private Ricardo Gutierrez, who everyone called Gut, was leaning out the open door of the pub. Gut was the ammo bearer for their rifle squad. "And Sergeant Barnes! You made it! Come on, come on."
He ushered them inside, and Bucky looked around as he took off his hat. There was a gaggle of local girls, already surrounded by servicemen. A fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, nearly drowned out by the jangly ragtime from the piano at the back of the pub.
"Sounds like Scotty's here tonight," Bucky commented as they followed Gut to a table in the corner.
Scotty was the drunk who played ragtime — Bucky could see him at the piano, in shirtsleeves wearing a British Army helmet and tweed trousers. As expected, there was a half-empty pint of beer on top of the piano that shook a little as he played his jaunty tune. Bucky knew as the night went on, he would get steadily drunker, and oddly, his playing would get steadily better. He was pushing seventy and had served in the Great War, but would tell no one his name. If asked, he would only say, "I'm just here to play for you lads." Everyone called him Scotty, after Scott Joplin, on account of his preference for ragtime.
"Yeah, he is. Dum-Dum had him play 'That Old Black Magic' earlier and he got it note for note."
Corporal Dugan himself, a burly man with an impressive mustache, sat forward to pick up his half drunk pint of beer. "'Course he did, he's a damn wizard!"
"No such thing as wizards." Ted picked up a brown bowler hat that was in the chair he'd been about to sit in. "Is this yours, Dugan?" He turned it in his hands, and Bucky could see the corporal chevrons stitched to the front.
Dugan took it back. "I lost my hat in the city last week, remember?"
"Yeah, and I put the requisition in, you'll get a new one soon. Why'd you buy that thing?"
"This thing, Sarge, is stylish." Dugan set the hat on his head at an angle, then looked around at them all expectantly.
"Oh yeah," Bucky deadpanned, "straight outta the pages of Vogue."
They laughed — Dugan threw the hat at Bucky, and Bucky caught it and threw it back, snickering.
"Okay, yeah, well," Ted was smiling, "if an officer sees it, I had nothing to do with it." Dugan gave him a goofy little salute.
"Oh, yeah, fellas!" Gut leaned in, grinning. "There's some dance at the parish hall next weekend, the girls are looking for dates. You dance, right, Barnes?"
"Yeah."
"Right, look, see the blonde in the green dress?" He did — she was very pretty, hair pinned neatly back. "Apparently she was accepted at the Royal Academy of Dance."
Bucky made a face and looked back at Gut. "You know that probably means she dances ballet, right?"
"She won't be dancing ballet at the parish hall! Anyway, she's the prettiest one in here."
Actually, Ted was —
No.
"She is," he agreed, trying to distract his own thoughts. "I could definitely make a little time with her."
The guys laughed, Ted too, but Bucky felt a pang of something that felt a lot like guilt as Ted stood and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm getting a drink. Beer, Bucky?"
"Uh, yeah." He wanted to argue more against him paying for Bucky drinks, but instead he settled on, "...Thanks." Too bad he couldn't ask him to dance. He wondered if Ted liked dancing.
"Go get your dame, pal." he leaned in, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. "Maybe she also loves Clark Gable."
Bucky blinked up at him, and Ted winked before heading to the bar. Bucky watched him go, face warm.
Shit, he was a mess.