Fic: The Banality of Evil
Title: Banality of Evil
Author: Cat_13145
Rating: PG 13
Pairing: Union Jack/Destroyer, Bucky/Toro
Warnings: some swearing and references to concentration camps. Oh and Roger being snarky. I've had a bad day and he decided to take it out on Bucky
Summary: Roger recieves a late night visitor.
“I know you were raised by the army and as such devoid of manners,” Roger Aubrey remarked to the room, as he manoeuvred himself into the armchair by the fire. “But even ghosts have the manners to knock.”
Bucky stepped forward into the circle of light cast by the flames, knocking one metal fist against the fire place as he did so.
“Brat.” Roger observed, but there was no real malice in his voice. He took a sip from his glance and indicated the sideboard. “Pour yourself one. Or does Captain America not drink?”
Bucky grinned, moving and pouring out a whisky and soda, matching Roger, who smiled dryly.
“Za Vas.” He muttered. “Now what do you want?”
“Who says I want anything?” Bucky asked, finally moving to stand fully in the fire light. “Could just be catching up.
Roger snorted. “Child, if I learnt nothing else from the war, it is that your kind never comes to me without a good reason, so what is yours?”
He watched the face twist and clench, startling himself by how young it was. Gwennie and David both had grandchild older than this one looked. The thought saddened and angered him.
“I don’t you if you know that Toro’s back.”
He scowled. “Yes. But if you are after a job for him, then you came to the wrong place. Namor could have told you I left V Battalion years ago.”
“No. Toro doesn’t want anything to do with that anymore.”
Roger snorted, sipping from his glass. “I wish him luck with that. In my experience, “That” usually finds you.”
“I didn’t come here to argue.” Bucky snapped and Roger managed not to smile as he saw what he’d been looking for all evening. The smart assed kid who wouldn’t shut up or back down, no matter what the odds. “I came here, cause you’re the only person I can think of who might actually understand!”
“Understand what?” Roger asked, his curiosity getting the better of him for once.
Bucky learnt against the fire place, not meeting the other man’s eyes. “Toro still has nightmares.” He said, softly. “About the camps, what we saw.”
Roger nodded. “I doubt anyone who saw them does not.”
“Yeah, but...” he shook his head. “Toro remembers the bodies, the skeletal figures gazing at us, that sort of stuff, but me_”
“If you say you don’t remember it, I will know you’re lying.”
“It’s not that.” Bucky sighed. “It’s just...it doesn’t bother me as much as...as other stuff.”
Stuff even now neither of us dares voice. Roger thought looking at the young man, feeling pity. He was careful not to show it in his face, as he knew Bucky would not appreciate it.
“And he cannot understand why.” He made it a statement, not a question, something he knew the young man opposite him would appreciate.
“Yeah.” Bucky sighed, gazing at the wall. “I can’t talk to Cap about it, cause he wouldn’t understand either and it’d make him feel guilty, ditto anyone else whose alive. ‘Cept Nick or Logan and they’ve got their own demons.”
“Sometimes literally.” Roger observed dryly. He sighed. “So what do you want to know?”
He watched as Bucky chewed on his lip. “Did...did you and Bri...did you ever have these problems?”
A part of Roger laughed at the blush that spread over the young man’s face. Sixty years of pretending not to know, nearly forty since it stopped being an issue and they still all blushed or looked uncomfortable when they spoke of it.
“Yes.” He said, simply. “The war was an adventure for Brian, like something out of the books we used to read. For me,” he shrugged his face expressionless. “It was a nightmare.
“Brian could not understand my reluctance, at points; I admit my downright rudeness to those who seemed to wish to pretend that nothing had changed. Including Jacqueline.” He shook his head. “We had our biggest and most serious fight on the eve of the general election. Brian wanted to support Churchill; I wanted nothing to do with the man.” He smiled to himself. “Ironically, it was during that fight I hit upon the solution.”
“Which was?” He smiled more broadly at the eagerness in the young man’s voice. So Brian had been right about there being more than friendship between them.
“I like Chips.” He said calmly. “I liked them with fish, with sausage, with anything really. Brian hated them.” He looked at the young man, “you see what I’m saying?”
“Not really.”
“A relationship is about give and take. Brian gave me my chips, and I could take his attitude towards the war. We were both agreed that those responsible could not be allowed to escape, we both agreed it must never be repeated, we both agreed that,” he licked his lips, “That we couldn’t trust the All Winners Squad. The world had her sights on a new enemy.”
“Me.”
“Russia. Or communism in general.” Roger shrugged. “I was never entirely clear which they hated most.” There’s a bitterness in his voice, that he knows full well wasn’t present the last time they spoke. But that was nearly 60 years ago, and they’ve all changed.
“McCarthy.”
Roger smiled. “Another example of give and take.”
At the expression on Bucky’s face, he explained. “The illustrious Senator McCarthy pulled anyone connected with The Invaders over the coals. If I recall correctly, your friend Toro had the worst time of any of them. And having read the transcripts, I will say I’m surprised Fury had a career after it.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“Of course. Top drawer.” He watched as Bucky eased the drawer open, smiling slightly at the caution there. Train the boy in the way he should go and when he is old he will not stray from it, one of his school master’s voices supplies, though he doubts they would have approved of the snakes in the drawer he used to teach that message.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bucky looks like he wants to or might say more, but ultimately, he simply moves to the window.
“Goodnight Roger.” He says, slowly. “Keep the flags flying.”
“Brat.” He directed it at the window, but Bucky was already gone.
Sighing, he returned his attention to his drink; glancing at the photo of Brian he kept by his chair. Normally, it comforted him, but tonight it seemed to glare accusingly at him, in that annoying way Bri had had.
“I know, I know, I was rough on the kid.” He muttered, softly. “It’s just...” He almost choked, as he forced out the words. “Dam it Bri, when’s it going to be your turn?”