Captain America Fic: Here Comes The Bride
Title: Here Comes The Bride
Fandom: Captain America Movieverse
Pairing: Bucky/Steve
Summary: Written for this prompt at capkink. Bucky learns that the Howling Commandos call him Mrs. Rogers behind his back.
“Bucky. Hey, Bucky...”
Someone shook him gently by the shoulder. Blearily Bucky came awake, fighting off the heavy exhaustion which had settled over him.
He was lying with his head on Steve’s shoulder, all his weight leaning on the other man while he’d dozed. With a jolt he sat upright, offering Steve an apologetic smile, painfully aware of the knowing looks the rest of the Howling Commandos were shooting the both of them.
Steve remained blissfully ignorant, all his attention on Bucky.
“You should go get some proper sleep,” Steve said softly. They, and the rest of the team, were sat in the parlour of an abandoned farmhouse, using crates as makeshift furniture and playing poker by the light of a single gas lamp. Finding the place had been a godsend - nobody had been looking forward to sleeping in a ditch again.
“Yeah, sure...” Bucky mumbled. He hated it when he felt this way, tired right through to the bone, the world unreal and thin around him. He hauled himself to his feet and very nearly face planted it right into the poker game.
Quick as a flash Steve was on his feet, catching Bucky by the shoulders and holding him firmly upright.
“I think I’ll turn in too, fellas...” he said, gently steering Bucky towards the door. Now he was on his feet some of the weariness had faded, and he shrugged Steve’s hands off, embarrassed.
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Dugan called after them.
“They ain’t what’s gonna be bitin’...” Morita added in a low voice. Badly muffled laughter followed.
They’d all laid their bedrolls down in the barn next to the farmhouse. There was plenty of hay left which made sleeping arrangements a hell of a lot more comfortable, and there were several fast escape routes if the need arose.
Halfway there, Bucky suddenly stopped short.
“Aw hell...” he cursed, hand flying to where his side arm should have been sitting on his hip. “I’ve left my gun back there. I’ll just be a minute...”
“You should get your head down,” Steve said, grabbing Bucky gently by the arm. “I’ll get it for you.”
“No,” Bucky said, shaking him off and already turning back to the farmhouse. After everyone having seen him fall asleep draped all over Steve, the last thing he needed was Steve running errands for him like Bucky was some kind of delicate princess who couldn’t handle his own damn kit. “It’s alright, I got it Steve...”
The night’s air was cold, and it wasn’t a lot warmer in the farmhouse. Bucky blew on his hands to warm them up as he made his way back to the parlour. He was just about to open the door when Dugan’s voice brought him up short.
“Mrs Rogers was looking like hell this evening, weren’t he?”
For a moment Bucky was confused. Then gloomy realisation dawned. Mrs Rogers. Him.
“You’d look less than fragrant if you’d spent two days straight perched on top of a freezing crag peering down a rifle sight, Dugan.” That was Falsworth.
“Sure saved my ass,” and that was Jones. Bucky had taken out a Nazi scout just as he loomed from nowhere behind Jones, knife already drawn to stick it straight into the soldier’s back. That had been right before everything went well and truly to hell. They’d thought they’d just be going up against a squad of regular Nazi troopers, but then out of nowhere Hydra had appeared, swarming all over the place. They’d been forced to pull back - leaving Bucky stranded up on the windswept cliff top where he’d had to stay hidden for two damn days, surrounded on all sides by the enemy. Eventually of course Steve had returned all guns blazing to rescue Bucky’s miserable ass, and the Howling Commandos had taken Hydra apart. When it was all over Bucky had been absolutely dead on his feet - still was.
“Thought Rogers was gonna go crazy when he had to leave the wife out there,” said Morita after a pause filled only with the sound of cards being shuffled.
“Had to talk him out of turning about and storming right back into the fight to grab the guy,” Dugan added. “Told him straight out that he’d get himself and Bucky killed. Still... the way he was actin’... part of me thought the crazy bastard might actually have pulled it off.”
“He’s got a blind spot a mile wide when it comes to the old ball and chain,” said Jones. “Might get someone in a whole heap of trouble one day.”
“C’mon Gabe,” said Morita. “Don’t you go resentin’ Mr and Mrs Rogers their marital bliss. And I fold.”
Dernier said something in French that Bucky didn’t understand, although he definitely caught the words Madame Rogers in there somewhere.
Having had more than enough eavesdropping, Bucky abruptly pushed the door open and stepped into the parlour. The five men huddled round the cards glanced over at him. If Bucky had been expecting awkwardness there was none. Instead Dugan just tilted back the brim of his bowler and flashed his customary dangerous grin at Bucky.
“Fancy a game of cards after all Buck?” he asked. “Falsworth here is desperate to win his money back off someone.”
“Nah, I just forgot...” Bucky grabbed his pistol off the upturned crate he and Steve had been sharing earlier.
“Come on Bucky, just one game,” said Jones. “Taking these amateurs to the cleaners is just too easy...” There was a large pile of coins in front of him.
“Guys, let the man get some damn sleep,” Morita broke in. “He’s about to drop.”
“Night Barnes,” Dugan called after him as Bucky left. A couple of the others echoed him, rapidly followed by a lot of cursing and what sounded like an argument over a pair of aces.
When Bucky finally made it to the barn Steve was already hunkered down in his bedroll. The sight of him lying there cushioned on the hay, wrapped up warm in his army issue blanket, sent a fresh wave of intense fatigue through Bucky. He collapsed gratefully onto his own bedroll, laid down on the hay next to Steve’s.
He should just have shut his eyes and fallen straight asleep - god knew he was tired enough for it. Instead he found himself staring at Steve instead, remembering what Dugan and Morita had said about the way he’d behaved when they’d been forced to leave Bucky behind. A warm, contented feeling spread through Bucky’s chest, and, despite his exhaustion, an affectionate smile snuck onto his face.
Steve smiled back, reaching over to run a hand through Bucky’s hair.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Bucky yawned. “Just peachy.”
Steve laughed softly, then leaned over to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s forehead. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes open any more, and he felt his mind tumbling forward rapidly into blissful unconsciousness, soothed on its way by Steve’s fingers still running gently through his hair.
His last clear thoughts as sleep finally took him was that there were far, far worse things to be in this world than married to Steven Rogers. But also, that if anyone ever dared to call him Mrs Rogers to his goddamn face, they’d be straight in line for a swift punch right in the kisser.