ever marching as to war

Memorial Day had passed by with little more than a couple of a beers and a five minute conversation, but Bucky'll be damned if he lets Steve's birthday go the same way. Even during the darkest days of the War, birthdays were always given the special treatment; hell, Toro once blew their cover making sure Bucky had a good one. The gruelling grind of the past couple of months is still fresh in body and mind, but in the simple preparation for the day's get-together, Bucky's found some semblance of peace.

He's not much of a party animal -- he's not even much of a planner -- but things fall into place easily enough. They set up in and around Steve's place, that nice bar of his getting some use for once. There are a couple of goats spinning on a spit outside, courtesy of Thor, and a more traditional grill manned by Bucky himself. Platters of cheeses and fruits and vegetables line a table covered in a red, white and blue tablecloth, and there's more than enough flag-themed birthday cake to go around (strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream make up the familiar stars and stripes, doubling as both food and decoration). Music from Steve's youth plays in the background out of borrowed speakers, and in lieu of streamers, there's a banner that stretches over the front door of his house that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY, OLD MAN.

It's not a lot, but it's something.

[Open to Marvels, significant others/close friends of Marvels, and any assorted friends of Steve. This post will be linked to the main community on July 4th. Slated post here. ST/LT welcome!]

"Again."

Arms crossed, Bucky almost looks bored as he looks down at Jessica. They've been meeting like this for close to a month, now, but never at the same, let alone the same place; while Jessica has so far managed to avoid much suspicion being drawn her way, Bucky doesn't have the same luxury. His friends, though well-meaning, are also a bunch of glorified stalkers, and it's taken some effort on his part to keep these training sessions a secret.

Not that he's complaining; it's a way to maintain his own skills, after all, because when he's on his game, few can surpass his ability to disappear. That trick, though, isn't one he'll be passing on to the girl; some things have to be kept close to the vest to remain effective, and the idea of teaching those methods calls to mind memories he'd rather stay buried.

After a moment, he sighs, crouching down to offer his hand. "I mean, unless you'd rather roll around on the ground for a while. That's a valid option, too."