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"Hey, Buck! I'm home!"
"I'm in the living room, doll," Bucky shouted back.
Steve set the groceries in his arms on the table, wincing as a bottle of milk fell on its side. Thankfully the glass didn't break.
"Did you get plums?"
"They were all out. But I did manage to get us a couple of apples."
"Ah, hell."
"It's wartime. They're sending most of the fresh fruit overseas to the troops."
The sound of a heavy sigh carried into the kitchen. "I know, baby."
"So...tomorrow..."
"Please don't talk about it."
"I can't not talk about it," Steve said quietly to the apples in his hands.
"Come in here, at least, so we can talk face to face."
The wooden floorboards creaked under his feet as his walked down the short hallway to their main living space. As expected, Bucky was sitting in front of his mother's piano, plunking away the notes to a song that Steve almost recognized.
"You never taught me how to play."
"I will when I get back," Bucky said casually, tipping back his head and smiling at Steve, hair falling over his forehead. His fingers paused over the ivory keys, hovering a fingers' breadth above their tarnished surface.
"They're going to cut your hair."
"What, Stevie?"
"They're gonna cut your hair," he repeated, hating how his voice cracked. "That's what they do before boot camp. To keep everyone from getting lice."
"Did you read up on that?" The older man was still smiling as he turned back to the piano, but he sounded sad, and Steve hated that he did that to him.
"It's in the newspapers. Pictures of guys on leave from the military and they all have the same haircut."
"Hey, doll, it'll grow back."
"Provided you survive this." As soon as the words left his mouth, he buried his face in his hands, his thin frame shaking with silent sobs.
"Don't say that, Stevie. Please..." When Steve's legs gave out, Bucky was there to catch him, cradle him against his chest. "Baby, I got you. I always have, and I always will."
"You can't leave me. You can't, Buck. I can't do this..."
"I have to. If I don't go in, they'll send the police after me. I'll get sent to prison." He threaded his fingers through Steve's hair, shaking his head.
"I've heard about guys skipping town, going to Canada," Steve replied, a note of hope in his voice.
"This is only til the end of the war."
"And six months after that, too."
"I'll get leave. I'll be back to see you after basic training and before they ship me overseas. The war'll be over in a few months, Stevie."
"You can tell 'em that you're mom was a Quaker and you can't be in the war. They'll put you in a non-combat position. Something away from the front lines, where you'll be safe."
"You know I can't do that," Bucky said gently.
"Please, Buck," Steve begged, pulling back so he could stare into his boyfriend's eyes. "You could tell them that you're gay. They wouldn't take you then."
A strange smile flitted across Bucky's face, pulling at his lips. "Would you do the same if they'd let you enlist?"
"That's...that's not fair."
"Life ain't fair. If this situation was reversed, nothing would stop you from joining up. I didn't chose this, doll. I got drafted and there's nothing I can do about it." Bucky pulled back and crossed his arms, his eyes dark and hurt. "I don't wanna leave you here," he drawled, his accent coming through stronger than ever. "I love you and I don't wanna leave."
"But you're going to anyway, aren't you?"
"Why didn't you bring this up earlier? Two weeks ago, when I first found out that I got drafted and we coulda ran away to Canada. Crossed the border at night like a couple of rum runners." He turned away, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and rolling them up over his forearms. Normally, Steve would make a some comment about how that somehow made him a hundred times more attractive and that the dames overseas wouldn't know what hit them, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. "I can't do anything now. It's too late."
He hammered at the piano keys, pouring his anger out in sweet chords that rose through the air and made Steve smile in spite of everything.
"Vera Lynn, right?"
"I only know five songs, Stevie, and I learned this one for you. You like her voice..."
"I like yours better. It's going to be quiet around here."
Bucky shrugged, hoisting his shoulders toward his ears, never losing his place. "You'll get into trouble soon enough, I'm sure."
"You won't be here to save my ass, though."
"Most've the punks who gave you so much hell around here'll be drafted too, I expect. Trouble does have a way of finding you, though." His voice was sad and loving and trembled slightly, and Steve's heart broke a little.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, after I leave." As the last notes of the song faded away, Bucky rested his elbows on the worn wood of the piano's frame, where the lacquer had been scuffed away from years of use by his mother and grandmother.
"Of course I will," Steve promised. He didn't sound convincing to his own ears, and he could imagine how he sounded to his boyfriend.
"Don't let yourself get sick again. I won't be around to fix you chicken soup and run to the store to get those little crackers. I asked Ang to check up on you..." Of course he had. Their nosy neighbor was always looking for an excuse to come into their apartment and go through their fine silver, not that they had much left after this week's grocery run. He'd pawned the last knife and second to last spoon for a measly couple of dollars. It wouldn't last, but he knew Bucky was going to send him part of his checks and that would help. Plus, he'd get a job somewhere. Maybe the deli down the street. They were sure to be shorthanded, what with all able-bodied men being sent away...
"I can hear your mind spinning in circles from over here," Bucky joked dryly. "Don't give yourself a headache."
"I love you, Buck."
"Love you too. More than life."
Shuffling through the papers on the music rack, Bucky picked up their three records. One had been Sarah Rogers', and the other two were on loan from one of Bucky's exes.
"Here." He handed the paper-covered disc over his shoulder into Steve's hands. He made sure his grip was gentle, almost reverent. Vera Lynn stared back at him from the cover, a small smile on her lips, as if she knew the punchline to a joke that he'd never even heard of.
"Put the record on, baby. Let's dance to this song and pretend like tomorrow's never gonna come."
Steve forced a smile on his face as he placed the needle down on the 78, and turned the crank on the ancient Victrola, half expecting it to spin the record too slow. Vera Lynn's voice came out of the speaker, sweet and sad.
We'll meet again...don't know where...don't know when...
"C'mere, doll." He stood for the second time, held his arms out to his boyfriend, smiling through tears. "Just you and me, til the end of the line."
"Til the end of the line," Steve echoed, resting his head on Bucky's chest. The taller man put his arms around him, and they swayed to the music.
"Don't think about it, baby. I'm here with you now, and that's all that matters."
Bucky's heartbeat was steady under his ear, and Steve closed his eyes, curling his fingers in his boyfriend's shirt. "I love you."
"Love you too. I always have, and I always will. Ever since I saw you in that alley, beat all to hell and bleeding, but you didn't care. You weren't gonna stop getting back up, no matter how many times you got knocked down. That's who you are, Stevie. You're a great man. Don't you ever forget that."
Keep smiling through, just like you always do- til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away...
"This isn't forever. I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me. I'll write every day, even in boot camp. As soon as I get leave, I'll be back to see you, alright?" Steve forced himself to nod, even as tears dripped down onto his shoulder.
"I'll be here, waiting for you." Like always, he added silently, then berated himself for even thinking that. It wasn't Bucky's fault, none of this was. There was no way around any of this; if there was, they'd've found it by now.
As if sensing Steve's thoughts, Bucky tightened his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders, gentle fingers rubbing circles over the valleys and hills of his ribs, the bumps of his spine.
"We'll make it through this, just like we've made it through everything else. The war'll be over soon, and we'll be back to normal, just the two of us. Promise."
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day...