fist_of_hydra: (Smile (WW2))
James "Bucky" Barnes ([personal profile] fist_of_hydra) wrote 2016-05-29 06:04 am (UTC)

Not really, but James wasn't about to admit that. Not with Palmer just a few feet away, staring around himself like a tourist who'd never seen a forest before.

"Not like I heard any better suggestions back there." He ran a hand through his now-short hair, and grimaced as he realized he'd forgotten to slick it back. Fuck it, half the time out in the field he'd let it do its own thing, nobody would remark on it.

His left hand was covered in bandages - he'd even had Gideon grub those up, put some faded fake blood on them for realism. It was the only way he could think of to hide the metal.

The camp came into sight as they crested a ridge, and James paused. Staring down at the rows of tents, he felt his shoulders going tight. God, it looked so familiar. He'd spent two years operating out of this camp. At the time, he'd thought of them as two years of Hell.

He'd had no idea what Hell really was.

"Hey, James." Palmer sounded concerned, this time. "You sure you can do this?"

Drawing a deep breath, James concentrated on the man he'd been the last time he was in that camp. His posture loosened, some of his ever-presented paranoid wariness dropping away. A cocky smile crossed his lips, and he slung his synthesized sniper rifle more comfortably on its strap across his back.

"Bucky," he corrected Palmer, rolling his eyes. "Only my mom calls me 'James', gimme a break. Let's move, gentlemen. The sooner we get to camp, the sooner we can all get a hot meal."

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