The Color Of Blood

Part Five; Strong

Of course, because Steve was incapable of leaving things alone, the first thing he did when Bucky shipped out was something stupid.

The whole time, he could hear Bucky's voice in his head telling him what a stupid idea it was, exasperated and chiding. But louder than that was the need inside of him, the urgency, to do something that mattered.

He thought of Bucky tromping across marshes and hunched in ravines, gun slung over his shoulder. He was berated by the image of Bucky in a shower of bullets and bombs.

What was really stupid was asking Steve to stay here, to cower, while Bucky was shipped away and forced into a war he wanted no part in.

He wondered how often Bucky thought of him; he liked to imagine quite often, but he knew the pressures of war didn't leave much room for pleasantries.

All throughout basic training, Steve could hear Bucky's voice; when his asthma started acting up, he could hear Bucky telling him to take it easy. As he fell behind the others during a simple run, he could hear Buck saying, "I told you so." And when Steve lay awake at night, surrounded by soldiers who didn't care to know him, he could hear Bucky whispering, "We could run away."

He spent long nights wondering what that would have looked like, if they had really left all of this behind. The whole damn world seemed to be in the middle of the war by that point and he knew that nowhere was really safe, but Bucky had been right; it was nice to dream.

They could have found a place, some magical, mystical new world where same-sex matches were accepted. A place where they didn't have to hide shared kisses in shadowed corners. A place where they could hold hands and profess their love proudly.

And maybe, just maybe, a place like that did exist out there. But war certainly wasn't it.

A lot of things changed at once for Steve as he was thrust upon the world as the brave new icon Captain America. Overnight, he became a sensation. He was big and strong and everything he always felt inside, but now the outside matched. People would look at him and gape; some were awed, some fearful, and some were a strange mixture of both.

It was the safest he could be, as he'd promised Bucky, but there was a longing in him to do more. He was the face of a movement, but he had never felt so hollow. He danced, he sang, he sold bonds and shook hands of the right people, and more than anything he thought of Bucky.

He'd hate this new look, Steve often told himself, especially the outfit. But it was his duty, the only one he had. This was the best thing he could do now.

So if singing and prancing around onstage was what Steve was meant to do, then by god he would do it.

Bucky always told Steve how strong he was. He liked to remind Steve that he was the strongest person he knew. And yet here, now, he felt useless. He was a puppet on a string, tugged in directions he had no control over.

His body was everything he ever needed it to be, but never in his life had he felt weaker.

And then they told him that Sergeant James Barnes was dead.

Instinctively, Steve knew this was wrong.

When they were taught about the colors, they were told as fairy tale musings. They were a gift, a mystical and magical thing that arrived because of one's soulmate. And just like in fairy tales, gifts usually came at the cost of a curse. In this case, the curse was when one of the Matches died; just as quickly as the color had come, it would be stripped away. Gone forever.

As Steve watched Phillips stoically signing death letters to families back home, we saw the flash of gold on the man's ring finger. He saw the brown grain of the table and the green strands of the grass.

And as innately as he knew he loved Bucky, Steve knew that his soulmate was not dead.

He repeated the reassurance to himself until the words lost meaning and became nothing more than jumbled sounds in his head.

Bucky was not dead. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. Bucky was not dead...

And yet there was that feeling in his stomach that twisted and turned and asked, What if?

What if it was a fluke? What if the serum that made him strong also made the color permanent?

It wasn't until he found him, strapped to the lab table, muttering his own name and identification number, that Steve truly let himself believe it. Bucky was not dead. The relief that flooded his body was palpable.

"Buck?" He jostled Bucky, who blinked blearily and inclined his head to meet Steve's eyes.

"Steve?" A smile spread across his face and his fingertips fluttered at his side. He said his name like it was made of air. "Steve."

"I thought you were dead," Steve admitted, like a deep dark secret he needed to divulge before it ate him alive.

Bucky couldn't do much more than stare, hands gripping Steve's biceps. "I thought you were smaller." He swayed, unsteady on his feet.

A laugh lodged itself in Steve's throat. "We have to go."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. His hand trailed from Steve's arm to his shoulder, skimming across the skin of Steve's neck, and stopped just short of his jaw. "Are you real?"

With a sigh, Steve leaned into the touch. It felt like home in a way that he hadn't felt since Bucky left for war all those months ago. "I'm real, Bucky. I'm here."

Bucky nodded. He stepped closer to press a soft kiss to Steve's lips. It lasted only a moment but a thousand feelings passed between them. When they parted, Bucky was smiling. His eyes-- so blue, bluer than Steve remembered and he cursed himself for ever thinking they were duller-- looked clear.

"Told you not to do anything stupid," he said.

"Yeah," Steve snorted, "and I told you to stay safe. Looks like we're even." He grabbed hold of Bucky's hand, lacing their fingers together. "We have to get out of here."

Dragging Bucky along with him, they made their escape. They didn't have a chance to really talk as they found the other survivors and started the long trek back to base, but Steve was in no hurry to explain. He was just happy to have Bucky back, to be here, to feel strong and useful and like himself again.

And when he lost Bucky again a few months later, watching helplessly as he fell from the train, Steve drew all of that strength inside himself to finish the mission and do what he had to do.

It wasn't until he got back to base with the others, recounting to Phillips how Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes hadn't survived, that he realized what was wrong.

All around him, just like the day he met Bucky and every day after, there was color.