Friends? Bucky's not sure he really remembers how to have those anymore. He even feels like he's letting Steve down in that regard, because he's not the guy he used to be. That guy made friends and had dates chasing after him he'd been warm and social. That guy died in the war. Bucky's not sure he'll ever be quite like that again, even if he tries.
He chuckles, though, because he doesn't really have a strong opinion on the other branches. It's not the kind of guy he is and he'd been too busy in the war to worry about much more than staying alive and taking down Nazis. It's not that the rivalries hadn't been there, but it hadn't been Bucky's thing. Serving had been about doing the right thing, not about an enjoyment of war.
"Army. I was a sergeant." It feels strange to say, like it was another life. Maybe it was. Seventy years is a long time. Some people don't even live that long. No one thought Bucky had. They all thought he was dead and he can't blame anyone for not thinking otherwise.
"What about you? Marines?" It's not a blind guess, either. The guy's got an air about him. Bucky figures he could be wrong, but he doesn't think he is.
Rumlow's version of friendship was rather different than most. For one, he and his friends tended to be rather crude and violent with their relationship, and they often took nothing personally. They opened up here and there, shot the shit, but it was mostly about having one another's back. He had learned through being a soldier that he didn't have to like everyone on his team, but he had to trust them and their skills. That was the basis of how he formed friendships.
And the Soldier... well, he figured the Soldier could use a friend like that. No questions asked, no expectations except to not let him get shot, mauled and broken unless he actually wanted to be. He'd return the favour, and if they needed to shoot the shit, he would be there for that too. Well, until the Soldier found out who he was and what he had associated with, but even then, they were something of the same but with vastly different reasons to why.
"Ah, an infantryman, huh? You do seem like the kind of capable man with a rank to you," he said with a nod of his head. He would have saluted, but his hands were busy and he figured it would push the conversation towards a formality that neither of them needed or wanted. "Were you deployed in Europe, Southeast Asia or the Middle East?" He knew exactly where of course, but it would be strange not to ask, even if he left broad and generalized.
Rumlow smiled at the guess. "No, I was Army," he said proudly. "I joined that branch because of my childhood hero, and I made Corporal and then stopped. Too much paperwork in the higher NCO ranks, and I like to be down with the men elbowing through the dirt more than the average bear."
Roughness isn't really what Bucky needs, but someone who even sort of understands? That's worth more than a lot of tings to him right now. Even Steve and Peggy don't know what it was like to be a POW. They've all been in war and they've all been in danger, but Bucky's the only one of them who was captured and tortured and jumped right back in again only to get recaptured by HYDRA again.
"Europe. I was a sniper. Saw plenty of action." He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Never really nailed the paperwork, but I got away with it, anyway."
He could understand not wanting the paperwork to eat up your time when there were men out there laying down their lives. Bucky couldn't have taken a back seat like that, either.
"Who was your childhood hero?" Is that too invasive? Brock seems like the kind of guy who can stand up for himself just fine if he doesn't want to answer.
He nodded his head, and he knew exactly the kind of contributions that snipers made in the Second Great War. The most famous of them were from the Soviet Union, but he knew a few Americans which had contributed. They were often a sticking point, and now in the US military service, their identities were sealed to protect them. Back then... no so much.
"I bet you would. Europe can be some rough terrain, probably difficult to find a good nest to station yourself in outside of old buildings. It would be a pain if you were the attacker and had to continually move," he said, though he knew that they were insinuating vastly different timelines. It was part of the game.
Now he knew he had walked himself into a corner with mentioning a childhood hero, and he couldn't well say Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers as that would give away that they were of the same world and it would lead to more questions. He smiled all the same and said a name he knew the Soldier wouldn't know but could actually find, "Gary Gordon. He was Delta Force who protected the injured after a helicopter crash. They gave him the Medal of Honor and everything."
In the end, it hadn't been a sniper to convince him to join. It had been old comics, hard fought to stay hidden and one of the few bright points of an otherwise bitterly sour childhood. "I was a natural apparently, so I became a sniper as well. Still hated paperwork."
Bucky hums in a noncommittal agreement with the statements about terrain in Europe. It's not secret that the US military will always do things their way, even if that means sending people into countries they have no business being in even if they discount all the minor things in the past ten years that they've admitted to being involved in in Europe. It's easy to imagine several ways Bucky could have been serving there, either in secret or out in the open, without implying the war he actually fought in.
"Gary Gordon." He repeats. "I'll have to see if I can look him up."
He means it, too. It's been hard catching up and military personnel haven't been top priority, but he thinks it would be worth the extra effort. If he was big enough to inspire Brock to enlist, he's probably interesting.
"What kind of work have you been doing here?" It's more asked because Bucky has no idea what he should do than anything else.
He was literally part of the government who went into all manner of places under secrets orders to set a certain precedent. Before that, he was part of many military operations that could never be disclosed to the public and would never receive acknowledgement for. That was just the way it was, and he didn't do it so someone could pat him on the ass. It was interesting how, if he had no idea who the Soldier was, he could have allowed the leading silences and little clues to build a completely different narrative than he knew existed. So the Soldier had skills beyond simply being handed all the toughest missions and basically soloing them.
"I'm not sure if they would have record of him here, but by all means," he said with a grin. Of course, Gary Gordon was acknowledged with another sniper at the same place doing the same job, but he couldn't recall the guy's name at this point.
Now there was a loaded question, wasn't it? He supposed that generalizing was his only option at this point. "Not much, though I've participated in a hostage situation. I haven't been here long enough to completely understand the politics, but I get involved in the little things. What about you?"
"I just woke up in time to make the trek here." And realistically, Bucky hasn't exactly had a variety of jobs in his life. Before the army, it was all unskilled labor, which is fine, but he wouldn't mind exploring other avenues. He knows he doesn't want to fight if he doesn't have to, but maybe he could look into some kind of security work.
"Not even sure what the job market's like. My friends are putting me up when we go back to Olympia, but I want to pull my weight and get out of their hair when I can." He can't just sit around being Steve and Peggy's third wheel, even if that's exactly what he'd have made Steve do.
"Into the cold, huh?" He nodded his head as if appreciating that little detail, but really, there was a certain amount of irony that the Winter Soldier appeared when it was time to hike into Siberian winter-like conditions. "I guess if you served in winter in Europe, you would have endured many a snow storm."
"Friends, huh? Well, that's awful kind of them," he remarked. He could take an easy guess on whom said friends were. War-era types no doubt. "I think the job market is what you want it to be, and there's a job for anyone. I sometimes work security at a refugee lead clinic now and again, so our skills are valuable."
And he would have offered to be roomies, but that would go south so badly and so quickly, it wasn't even worth entertaining. It wasn't that he actually lived anywhere for long. He was transient and had no fixed address. Why should he? He didn't belong much of anywhere.
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He chuckles, though, because he doesn't really have a strong opinion on the other branches. It's not the kind of guy he is and he'd been too busy in the war to worry about much more than staying alive and taking down Nazis. It's not that the rivalries hadn't been there, but it hadn't been Bucky's thing. Serving had been about doing the right thing, not about an enjoyment of war.
"Army. I was a sergeant." It feels strange to say, like it was another life. Maybe it was. Seventy years is a long time. Some people don't even live that long. No one thought Bucky had. They all thought he was dead and he can't blame anyone for not thinking otherwise.
"What about you? Marines?" It's not a blind guess, either. The guy's got an air about him. Bucky figures he could be wrong, but he doesn't think he is.
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And the Soldier... well, he figured the Soldier could use a friend like that. No questions asked, no expectations except to not let him get shot, mauled and broken unless he actually wanted to be. He'd return the favour, and if they needed to shoot the shit, he would be there for that too. Well, until the Soldier found out who he was and what he had associated with, but even then, they were something of the same but with vastly different reasons to why.
"Ah, an infantryman, huh? You do seem like the kind of capable man with a rank to you," he said with a nod of his head. He would have saluted, but his hands were busy and he figured it would push the conversation towards a formality that neither of them needed or wanted. "Were you deployed in Europe, Southeast Asia or the Middle East?" He knew exactly where of course, but it would be strange not to ask, even if he left broad and generalized.
Rumlow smiled at the guess. "No, I was Army," he said proudly. "I joined that branch because of my childhood hero, and I made Corporal and then stopped. Too much paperwork in the higher NCO ranks, and I like to be down with the men elbowing through the dirt more than the average bear."
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"Europe. I was a sniper. Saw plenty of action." He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Never really nailed the paperwork, but I got away with it, anyway."
He could understand not wanting the paperwork to eat up your time when there were men out there laying down their lives. Bucky couldn't have taken a back seat like that, either.
"Who was your childhood hero?" Is that too invasive? Brock seems like the kind of guy who can stand up for himself just fine if he doesn't want to answer.
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"I bet you would. Europe can be some rough terrain, probably difficult to find a good nest to station yourself in outside of old buildings. It would be a pain if you were the attacker and had to continually move," he said, though he knew that they were insinuating vastly different timelines. It was part of the game.
Now he knew he had walked himself into a corner with mentioning a childhood hero, and he couldn't well say Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers as that would give away that they were of the same world and it would lead to more questions. He smiled all the same and said a name he knew the Soldier wouldn't know but could actually find, "Gary Gordon. He was Delta Force who protected the injured after a helicopter crash. They gave him the Medal of Honor and everything."
In the end, it hadn't been a sniper to convince him to join. It had been old comics, hard fought to stay hidden and one of the few bright points of an otherwise bitterly sour childhood. "I was a natural apparently, so I became a sniper as well. Still hated paperwork."
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"Gary Gordon." He repeats. "I'll have to see if I can look him up."
He means it, too. It's been hard catching up and military personnel haven't been top priority, but he thinks it would be worth the extra effort. If he was big enough to inspire Brock to enlist, he's probably interesting.
"What kind of work have you been doing here?" It's more asked because Bucky has no idea what he should do than anything else.
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"I'm not sure if they would have record of him here, but by all means," he said with a grin. Of course, Gary Gordon was acknowledged with another sniper at the same place doing the same job, but he couldn't recall the guy's name at this point.
Now there was a loaded question, wasn't it? He supposed that generalizing was his only option at this point. "Not much, though I've participated in a hostage situation. I haven't been here long enough to completely understand the politics, but I get involved in the little things. What about you?"
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"Not even sure what the job market's like. My friends are putting me up when we go back to Olympia, but I want to pull my weight and get out of their hair when I can." He can't just sit around being Steve and Peggy's third wheel, even if that's exactly what he'd have made Steve do.
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"Friends, huh? Well, that's awful kind of them," he remarked. He could take an easy guess on whom said friends were. War-era types no doubt. "I think the job market is what you want it to be, and there's a job for anyone. I sometimes work security at a refugee lead clinic now and again, so our skills are valuable."
And he would have offered to be roomies, but that would go south so badly and so quickly, it wasn't even worth entertaining. It wasn't that he actually lived anywhere for long. He was transient and had no fixed address. Why should he? He didn't belong much of anywhere.