Bermuda, fighting Nazis for a mystical gem.
Well, that was one of the more surreal things he'd done in a while.
He still didn't exactly know what it was called because the stone was never the same name twice when he tried to talk to Wilson about it, but that was Dr. Strange's business now, and the whole matter had been somewhat exhausting. A good kind of exhausting. The kind of exhausting that you knew you'd actually /done/ something.
Once they'd been picked up by the USS Preston, been debriefed and had some time to relax and change out of the blasphemous remains of their German uniforms, when Bucky turned his head to look over at Steve, it was a perfect, exhausted /happiness/ that came with his muted smile, making his pale eyes shine. Not dissimilar to the look of afterglow that washed over him post-coital.
Of course there were problems to face with. Matt the code monkey and radio dork was kind of struggling with the weird factor, Jean was injured and technically Wade died for a little while, but nobody was there by force. He didn't tie anyone up and drag them to Bermuda. It was Wade's mission, Jean came willingly and Matt took the money, so in his mind they'd all signed a disclaimer.
If you don't want to risk your life, then don't be a super hero.
Is that what he was doing?
He certainly didn't think so. Mercenary work. Really, really strange mercenary work.
Still, basking in the afterglow of a mission successful, there was still the matter of an 18 hour car ride back to New York--a ride that went from 5 people in the car down to just two--and then? And then a well-earned victory drink, as promised.
It didn't matter that the alcohol had no effect on the blond, the act of having a good old fashioned camaraderie drink was tradition in a manner of speaking. And coming off a mission against the final remnants of the German army, circa 1941? It called for a drink. Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers brought to justice the final members of the third Reich. Go team USA.
Steve had to drive them back. Bucky could have, he insisted time and again, almost-laughing as he elbowed the blond and let his hand linger on one broadly built shoulder. Relenting easily as the pair returned to Steve's apartment in the SHIELD established building.
Only to find the place in absolute ruin.
The shocked and confused look on Steve's face mirrored in his brunette counterpart's for a couple minutes, the entire floor in a state of clean up, repair and mourning for the lives lost.
It's amazing how quickly the destruction of your best friend's apartment--the pretend solace that you'd both hidden in and now were returning to, victorious and warm on the inside even if you were frosted by winter on the outside--could sober a man. The creeping stoicism falling hard across the two soldiers, a single name resounded in Bucky's mind, he didn't even take pause to guess and simply /couldn't/ look up at Steve as he gritted out a hard, but articulate, "I'm sorry."
This was his fault. Felt it in his bones. Barely hearing anything said as he and Steve walked over to talk to the milling Agents and clean up crew. Some vague sound of someone telling him that his apartment was hit as well came as no surprise and was given a stoically curt nod of understanding. Of course it was. Now both he /and/ Steve were homeless. Great. Looked like it was going to be hotel bound for him, at least.
Looking into the apartment, the remains of the Christmas decorations he had taken care to put up torn to shreds. The furniture demolished. The record player was in several places and the V-disc he gave Steve was in three places. 'Brotherly Jump' and 'More Than You Know'. It also looked like someone had slain a plaid monster in here with all of Steve's clothing shredded.
He was painting a path in blood.
They had no proof, of course. There wasn't even a hair that lead them to Loki himself, and he'd gone through the extra trouble of using a different gang of people. There was no doubt in Bucky's mind and still, he felt no rage over the destruction. Only consideration. He had started with taking his wrath out on his and Steve's things and homes, it was only a matter of time before...
Bucky stopped in his tracks, pieces of Steve's blender hanging from his fingertips numbly as things went very, very cold in a flash.
The glass pitcher belonging to the blender crashed to the floor and broke in half again as Bucky dropped it.
His only panicked utterance was a low mumble as the man broke his stoic grip on himself and /bolted/ as quickly as his legs would carry him out of the remains of the apartment. Half way down the hall, he realized that he didn't have his keys on him. That's right, he had been drinking so Steve drove. Skidding to a halt, Bucky pivoted swiftly and bolted back toward the apartment door only to find Steve already there, looking at him strangely.
"I need my keys,"insisting vehemently of his friend. Lover. Whatever he was. Right now Steve was the Guy Who Has My Keys.
He had somewhere he needed to be, days ago. Not that he could stop what was already done, but urgency gnawed at him none the less.
