Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Where are you from?”

It was a simple question. An easy way to start a conversation while trapped in a cage. A simple way to stave off the thoughts of how exactly they were going to get out of some jacked up Nazi work camp and how that seemed like a far-fetched idea at the best of times. Not that there were a lot of good times or anything, being a POW and all.

It didn’t slip past him though, that nobody was asking the guy in the corner—or the less occupied part of the cage since there were actually no corners—where he was from. Gabe didn’t like the ideas he had on why that could be. It all looked a little too familiar for his liking. So once the idea solidified in his head, Gabe slid down the bars and sat next to him. “Where you from?”

The man turned, surprise changing his usual angry expression just a little. He stared at Gabe for longer than was probably necessary. Probably weighing him up, figuring out what his angle was. Figuring out why he bothered to ask. Finally he opened his mouth. “Fresno.”

Gabe smiled. “Sunshine state, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Heard it’s nice out there.”

He snorted just a little. The sound carried a level of bitterness that, knowing what Gabe knew about certain government policies and what little he’d learned about the guy in the last couple seconds, made a hell of a lot of sense. He knew about how they were rounding up anybody who was Japanese and putting them in camps. He knew their stuff, their homes were probably not going to be there when they got let out again. If and when the war was over they’d probably be set free. Probably but that could take a long time; years maybe. “Used to be.”

Gabe figured there was nothing of any intelligence to say on the subject and anything he could say would probably just make this guy feel like he was humoring him. So he simply nodded and stayed put.

A few minutes later, the man held his hand out. “Jim Morita.”

Gabe took the offered hand and smiled. “Gabe Jones.”

~*~*~*~

“What are you going to do when you go home?”

It was an awkward question for most soldiers. Some didn’t want to think about it too hard because it felt, in the darkest nights, like getting their hopes up. Some just hadn’t decided if maybe the military would be the place they wanted to stay yet. Some just didn’t have a decent answer compared to the guys that had it all mapped out with a house and a wife and kids and a nice picket fence to hold it all in.

And then there was Jim who had no problem pointing out that, if the almighty government didn’t change their mind on a couple things, he didn’t have fuck all to go back to anyway.

His words, not Gabe’s.

But it didn’t stop Gabe from scraping together a couple cups of what they were calling coffee that day and sitting down next to Jim, pushing the mug into his hand. It seemed to take a little longer than usual for Jim to register that he wasn’t sitting alone anymore. “They don’t fucking get it.”

“No.” Gabe nodded. “No, they definitely don’t.”

“You don’t either.”

“Nope. And I’m not going to pretend to.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s yours. It’s not mine and I’ve got no business trying to act like it is.” Gabe sipped his coffee—and god almighty it was awful—and waited for a reaction.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jim finally lifted the mug and took a sip. “This coffee is shit.”

“You’re telling me.”

~*~*~*~

Losing one of their own was never easy but it was a war and it happened. It happened to most of them before they joined up on the SSR’s special strike team. They’d probably been ridiculously lucky that something hadn’t happened before then.

Still, Gabe didn’t feel like answering any more questions that night.

He also wasn’t going to ask where Jim found the beer he pressed into Gabe’s hand without a word. He took a couple gulps—it was warm but if that was the only problem at the moment, he was okay with it—before Jim said anything. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He wasn’t sure he heard right, at first and whether from the mission or the fallout from it, it took longer than usual for the words to sink in and have meaning. He forced a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

They sat in silence for a while longer. Gabe half expected them to sit like that for the rest of the night but suddenly, Jim broke the silence again. “I never really saw New York City.”

“No?”

Jim shook his head, taking the mug from Gabe and having a swallow of beer for himself. “Nah, just when we were shipping out. The statue… that kind of thing.”

“I’d show you around if you like.”

“That sounds good.”

The silence fell over them again but when it broke the second time, Gabe took the blame. “I’ve never been to California.”

Jim looked at him for a moment. “Well, fair’s fair, right? I could maybe show you the sights.”

Gabe managed a real smile at that. “You’re on.”

~*~*~*~

It was a question nobody had looked too hard at before things were official. Even after that, in the midst of all the celebration, it didn’t really come up. Not that they spent a hell of a lot of time celebrating. They were probably the quietest table in the London pub—which was in and of itself pretty shocking—but even over drinks to Captain America, the question didn’t come up.

It wasn’t until later, in a nice room in a nice hotel—because they’d earned it according to Philips—that it all started settling in. Going home. It had seemed like a far off fantasy for a long time and now it was going to be a reality. Gabe wasn’t sure what to do with that. He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was planning a trip out to California and making a list of places Jim might want to see in New York.

The knock on the door pulled him out of his plans and he got up, opening it and half expecting the management to tell him there’d been a mistake and SSR or not, he was not staying in their hotel. Luckily, it was just Jim. And a bottle of whiskey.

Gabe waved him in and watched as Jim set the bottle down and sat on the end of the bed. Of course, he’d be the first to give voice to the looming question. It was practically tradition at that point. “So… now what?”

Gabe moved slowly through the room before sitting down next to Jim. “I don’t know. We go home, I guess.”

“Home. Right.”

Gabe sighed. He knew what Jim was thinking. He knew Jim wasn’t sure if the SSR would pull any strings and maybe get the house and stuff the government had taken from him back. He wasn’t even sure that was possible, if he was honest about it. “Still want to see New York?”

“Yeah. If you still want to show me.”

“There was a great little luncheonette just down from my apartment back before the war.” Gabe smiled a little at the memory of the place and the very talkative and very in-the-know woman who ran it. “Best blueberry pie in the city.”

“Been awhile since I had blueberry pie...”

“I’ll take you there.”

“Okay.”

They sat there for a while, ignoring the bottle of whiskey—Gabe wasn’t sure if Jim brought it because he thought they’d need a drink or if it was a convenient in if Gabe didn’t open the door right away—and listening to the clamor of excitement still going strong out in the street below. Gabe wasn’t sure what drove him to keep talking but he went with the urge. “I’m going to have to hunt up a new apartment when we get there.” He turned and smiled at Jim. “I’d appreciate a second opinion.”

He smiled back, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“You could stick around for a while too. Lots to do in the big city.”

Jim stared at him with a look Gabe hadn’t seen since that first night in a HYDRA cage. He looked at him like he was trying to figure out the angle of all this talking he was doing. “Thought you wanted to see California.”

Gabe saw it for what it was. They were both cautious and with good reason but with victory fresh in his mind, he couldn’t help but be a little bolder than usual. “Yeah, I do.” His smile widened as Jim relaxed a little more, obviously letting the implications and possibilities sink in. “We’ll get there. Eventually.”