They sit on the fire escape landing, music drifting out the open window. The night's not too cloudy, and despite the apartment lights that semi-illuminate the alley, Bucky can make out some of the stars overhead.

A half-finished beer bottle hangs precariously from his fingertips and he hums a few notes as he recognizes the song that's playing.

Tomorrow he leaves for training.

"I like this one." Steve catches the tune and grins, resting his head back against the building's bricks.

Bucky smiles back, but it doesn't come so easy.

Steven Rogers. The army rejected him and it's a relief and a terror because thank God, he's not going to war, but unless things change real fast Bucky is and then what? And why is he still smiling like that?

"You are lookin' awful chipper."

"I'm gonna try again."

There it is.

Steve takes a sip from his own bottle; he's a lightweight but Bucky knows it's not the drink talking, it's just Steve. Stupid and determined and stupid and…

"They have you on file."

"They have Steve Rogers from Brooklyn on file." He moves to clink his bottle to Bucky's but instead knocks the bottle right out from his friends fingers. It crashes down in the alley in an explosion of beer and glass, and Steve looks mortified and Bucky starts laughing and it echoes off the alley walls and someone's bound to stick their head out and tell them to quiet down but it doesn't really matter. He's leaving tomorrow, isn't he?

"Sorry," Steve starts, but Bucky waves it off.

"I shouldn't have been dangling it." He concedes.

Looking down, though, he sobers. He doesn't see the glinting shards, but Steve; bloody and broken because he's too stupid or noble or something to run, and alone because Bucky'll be who the hell knows where probably getting shot at or worse. He turns slowly to look at Steve, a sick feeling that he tries to quell stirring in his belly.

"Don't you do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Steve looks at him for a long moment then grins a little. "But all the stupid's going with you."

"You are rotten." Bucky smirks and lightly cuffs his laughing friend before stealing the remaining beer bottle and finishing it off in a few gulps.

It's not enough.

"I'll be fine, Bucky."

Damn. That easy to read?

Bucky leans back against the window frame, and makes himself nod.

"And I'll be following you before you know it."

Bucky inclines his head towards Steve and salutes.

Steve, who's reckless, and stupid, and brave.

Steve, who's got more heart than anybody else Bucky's ever met.

Steve, who got dealt a bum pair of lungs, a lousy immune system, and enough other medical issues that Bucky needs both hands to tick them off.

Steve, who won't lay down even though the world seems determined to tear him apart.

Steve, who is honest, and kind, and good.

"What?" Steve, whose brow is furrowing as he prods Bucky in the shoulder. "What's that look?"

"Just take care of yourself."

And this time it's Steve who salutes.

"Sir, yes, sir. See? Practicing already so I don't fall too far behind."

"You're a natural, kid." He reaches out, relentlessly ruffling blonde hair as Steve tries to duck away with a plaintive "Hey!"

And for one last moment, they're just a couple of kids from Brooklyn.

But when Bucky wakes up tomorrow he'll be a soldier. What then?

He hopes, more than anything, that Steve will be safe.