worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

Steve is willing to wait as long as it takes, although he's admittedly glad that Bucky appears to be home and dressed in something that isn't just leather and buckles, no matter how many layers he might be wearing.

He offers Bucky a hopeful smile as he steps through the door, making sure to keep his distance. "Just a couple of extra blankets and some chocolate bars. They're not exactly emergency rations, but they're good for an energy boost."

And they taste good, okay.

Then Steve pulls back the corner of the top blanket to reveal what appears to be just a knife hilt with a button on the grip. He sets the blankets down, then, and slides the bundle over to Bucky, so that Steve's never the one who picks up the knife, even in demonstration.

"You can use that until your combat knives, uh, come in," he says. "It'll take a little longer to get them. You hold down the button to get the blade to work."

Said blade, when activated, is extremely thin and sharp, surrounded by an energy field with a yellow glow. It won't cut things like magical fields or cabin doors, but it will cut just about anything else.

The blankets aren't exactly unwelcome, and the chocolate is... it sounds familiar, somehow, the word. He's not sure how or why, but it makes a definite wanting feeling, which is a little annoying. At least he's... relatively sure the goddamn target isn't going to try and poison him. Like 72% sure. Especially since he's being so careful to be non-threatening, Christ. That's both a relief and, actually, kind of annoying, too.

Once the door shuts behind Steve, he crouches to retrieve the knife, and hits the button immediately to have a look. And blinks, turning it this way and that, carefully not giving it a twirl until he knows what he's dealing with, though the balance feels all right, he supposes. What in here can he test it on that he doesn't need. Hmm. The (currently empty) bookcase doesn't need a corner on the top, does it?

The metal corner sheers neatly off with a quick chop, like butter, hitting the floor with a clink. Wow. There's an actual question in his voice, maybe a little bit impressed-sounding too, when he asks, "What is that?"

"I, uh, don't actually know, exactly," Steve has to admit, with a helpless little laugh. He's impressed, too. "A friend of mine made it. I trust him. He's getting you some real combat knives."

And then, "Hopefully you won't need to use that - or the other ones." But things can go south pretty quickly around here, and Steve's sure Bucky feels better with some kind of weapon in hand.

And, actually - "I have my shield. Or - it's not the exact same one, but it's close. If you remember that?"

"You dropped it. Like a moron." Which is to say, yes, he remembers. He lets go of the knife's button, and the blade disappears. So the lack of a sheath makes sense, which still means he'll need to make one-- preferably one that protects that button from being pressed on accident.

For now, it goes carefully into the pocket of the jacket he's wearing. And asks, looking at Steve sidelong, maybe at his shoulder or thereabouts. "Does that mean I have to give this one back?"

That makes Steve honest-to-God laugh with something that feels a lot like job, even if he does try to smack his hand over his mouth to cut it off.

"I - yeah. Yeah, I did. I got it back, but - the one I have here is different. It's lighter, but stronger. I just meant, if you ever need it, you can have it, too."

As for the knife, though, "Um. Probably? It seemed like a loan, yeah. But I'll make sure. The combat knives, though - no. Definitely not, no matter what."

It should not feel good to make someone laugh. It shouldn't but it does. It's not like he even really remembers anyone laughing around him before dying and waking up here. Maybe-- nasty laughter, sounds made over his head while he was helpless to respond-- not remembered specifically but felt like it must have happened, probably a lot. That's not the same as this, at all, even he can tell that.

He makes a grumpy little noise at the feeling and makes himself ignore it. It's probably nothing, anyway. He focuses instead on the practical considerations, and regretfully prepares himself for giving up a knife that can cut through metal like air. It's not like any of his gear for HYDRA was even his, so it's not exactly unfamiliar. He still looks kind of grouchy, though, when he considers the offer of the shield. He remembers bullets pinging off of it, remembers not being able to shoot on the midline until the stupid goddamn target stopped actually using it. He's not taking that away from him.

Hell, he told himself he'd stop using "stupid goddamn target" if the guy came through with a knife, and he did. But Captain America is the fucking target so that's not-- safe. And also he-- doesn't like it. And Steve is-- is-- uncomfortable. Too much. There's something lurking somewhere in his head that makes the name hurt, almost, when it's applied to that particular face.

So he tries, "I'm not taking your main weapon, Rogers. You need it."

Steve just shrugs one shoulder, trying (possibly poorly) to let the fact that Bucky just said his name slide nonchalantly by. His face is probably doing something complicated.

"I guess, but - if you need it, I want you to come get it."

He really doubts it'll ever happen, but he's got to make the offer.

"And there's - " He hesitates. "There's a robotics lab. And a warden who runs it. If your arm is ever damaged."

Frankly, he isn't sure it's not damaged now; Bucky had seemed okay two years down the road when Steve had found him, but that doesn't mean the arm was in great shape after their fight. And Steve knows how to run basic maintenance - on an arm this Bucky doesn't have. "His name is Elijah. He's a good guy."

Again, he's not sure if this information will ever be used, but he wants to make sure Bucky has it.

He ignores what Steve's face is doing, because Steve's face keeps doing weird things like that, every time he sees the guy. And also he doesn't want to think about what Steve's face is doing, because that requires thinking too hard about things he'd really rather just... not.

It helps that he immediately goes into even more uncomfortable subjects, one that makes the arm buzz threateningly. Like hell is anyone getting anywhere near him with tools, thank you very fucking much. There are no techs here, he's determined after the past week, and he doesn't want any. "It's fine." He can do his own maintenance, if it's necessary. (Shit, it really is going to be necessary. It might not be damaged, but it probably needs a tune-up.)

He pauses with memory-- actual memory, in order, that he can pull up at will. "There was a girl. The first day. Purple hair. She did scans? And talked a lot about robots."

That one takes Steve a second, but - well, there aren't so many girls with purple hair, at least, so, "Entrapta? I think that's the one. She does like robots a lot," Steve admits. "I think she knows what she's doing, but she can be a little overzealous. Don't let her talk you into something you don't want. You can tell people no."

At least, people that aren't Steve, because Bucky seems okay with that one. But either way, between Bucky's demeanor and the arm and the it's fine, Steve can kind of get that the idea of repairs is not going over well, and... he can understand, even if he doesn't like it.

A few seconds later, he realizes he's back to doing that thing where he's staring at Bucky like a wounded puppy again; he manages to stop, taking a slow breath and asking, "You been finding everything you do need okay?"

He waves that off with, "She didn't touch me," and the strongly implied meaning that she isn't going to touch him, though the conversation had actually be interesting, and he kind of wants to see all her robots. But on the whole, so far, nobody has actually been... giving any actual orders, so his ability to say "no" hasn't really been tested much-- and anyone who's come close to touching him has been quickly shied away from.

He eyes Steve sidelong again at the question. And the break from the staring. He supposed is anyone's going to stare at him, it's probably better to be this guy than everyone who's been doing it for as long as he can remember, but he'd still rather not be stared at period, Jesus. As for the question, there isn't much he needs, and people have either been surprisingly (suspiciously) helpful with the few things he does (like food) or surprisingly not helpful (like things to fucking do). He'd really kind of like some orders, just to keep from having to spend so much time doing absolutely nothing. And Steve made it pretty clear he's not going to be giving any of those.

But there is something he needs to know more about. "What do you know about cats. There's a blonde woman who. Wants to give me one."

Steve definitely relaxes at hearing that Entrapta didn't seem to do anything Bucky didn't want; he doesn't want to treat Bucky as unable to advocate for himself, he just wants to make sure that Bucky feels comfortable enough to do it.

The question about cats actually throws him a little, enough that he starts to say, "I mean, you already ha-"

But then he catches himself. Bucky doesn't have a cat, Steve just has a cat that used to belong to Bucky. (Or, as Bucky would've said, didn't actually belong to anyone.) He refocuses on the question Bucky did ask, and answers that: "I know some. They usually seem pretty happy to be left alone. You have to make sure they have food and water and a litter box, maybe a soft place to sleep. But they don't seem to mind small spaces too much and they don't need to be walked or anything."

And then, "Do you want a cat?"

His eyes narrow at the slip. For a beat he considers ignoring it, but, only a beat. "I already what, Rogers." He can guess. He can fucking guess that this "other him" had a goddamn cat, and somehow... left it behind here? That was kind of fucked up of "other him". You don't do that to something that loves you.

What. The fuck does he know about love, Christ. His brain is a dumpster fire, sometimes. All the time.

But he still wants to hear Steve say it.

For a second, Steve just wants to keep his damned mouth shut. He's sure Bucky knows what he means.

But he doesn't keep his mouth shut. Of course he doesn't. "You had a cat. I mean - when you were here before. His name is Thomas Paine. I still have him, but - you don't have to take him back. Whether or not you get any other cats. I'll make sure he's taken care of. But you can have him if you want."

Steve tries to smile. "He always put up with you better than he put up with me, but I think he's doing okay with me and Lark."

"You" had, he says again. "You" had a cat. Because there's apparently a version of him that did in fact have something that loved him, that he actually knew what to do with, that he didn't smash or shoot or--

It's hard to believe, honestly. And at it being said so frankly, just like he'd fucking asked for, there's that urge to hit something again. It comes a lot, lately. (It's always come a lot.) Perfect example of why it couldn't be possible that this "other him" was remotely like him. "Other him" probably didn't have the urge to punch people, walls, whatever was in range every time he got a little upset.

Making his hands into fists, he turns further away from Steve, shoulders hunched up in frustration. "I'm not. Him. It probably wouldn't be safe with me." It probably wouldn't even like him.

Edited (typo) 2020-08-11 19:52 (UTC)

Well, shit. That was obviously the wrong thing to say. "Sorry," Steve apologizes, "Sorry, no. You're right. I mean - that you're not him. I shouldn't have put it that way." It's why he'd tried to stop speaking in the first place, for all the good that had obviously done.

But, "Not that a cat probably wouldn't be safe with you. I think it would. I mean, you've gone a whole five minutes without punching me in the nose, so - that's like going five years without hurting a cat."

It's a terrible joke, possibly made more terrible by the fact that Steve can see the way Bucky's tensed, even turned away as he is. "I'm sorry," he says again, running a hand through his hair. "I really don't think a cat would be unsafe with you. But the point is that you feel safe."

Don't feel too bad, Steve. He did ask, after all, and he knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

He's not sure he likes any of those answers, either. "How'm I supposed to know what safe even feels like," he bites off. Feeling ill, remembering again what hit-Steve looks like and hating every line of the mental image, he glares at the floor and adds, "And I said I wasn't gonna hit you." There may not be a lot of decisions he's great at making, but once he makes them, he's not going back on them.

It may be that he's missed the point of the joke. Or even that it technically was a joke.

Well, that is a question if ever there was one. Steve's quiet for a long moment, because he doesn't actually think the Winter Soldier ever felt safe, probably. And that just makes him angry, and... angry doesn't help Bucky. So he's got to not get angry, or sad, or any of it. He's got to shove it down and think of a way to answer the question, or at least try.

What he comes up with is, quietly "It... kinda feels like knowing someone else is on watch. Someone you - think is competent."

Since someone you trust is also probably pretty foreign. Thanks for nothing, HYDRA.

And as for the rest, Steve admits, with a little quiver of laughter, "I... wasn't expecting to hold you to that, if I made you mad. It's okay if you hit me. I'd rather you hit me than anyone else."

That is probably not a healthy or helpful thing to say, but he's already said it.

Got it in one. Safe is an incomprehensible term, at this point. Trust is even harder to fathom. All in all, that's not a bad descriptor, though-- he can... imagine that, almost. Like it's on the tip of his brain taunting him with the memory of the feeling. He spends several seconds focusing hard on it, as if that will help it show itself, but of course that never works, just leaves him with the beginnings of a headache.

He has no one he'd put on watch, anyway, so he supposes unhappily that it doesn't matter. "I said it. I'm sticking by it. I. Remember what you look like when I hit you." It's one of the few things he does have, still.

"Oh," is all Steve can say to that, for a moment, mostly because... well. It's kind of like one of those good-punches-to-the-gut feelings that he gets, sometimes.

He probably shouldn't be surprised. Not that Bucky will keep his word, nor that Bucky can remember that much, at least. He knows Steve's name, even if Steve won't pretend it's because he remembers anything more than his last mission briefing.

Yet.

He knows that can change.

"I healed all right, though," he adds, like that will be helpful. "I mean, plenty's happened to me since then, even. I'm good. You don't have to worry about my dumb face."

Yeah, "oh". At least feel secure in the fact that your buddy never wants to see that again, Steve. There's something important there, even if he doesn't entirely understand it himself.

(The fractured mental pictures of small, skinny Steve have been pored over obsessively, but they still don't make sense, having no context whatsoever so far. He's not even entirely sure if they're real, since he didn't get the chance to corroborate at the Smithsonian that Captain America did in fact used to look like a starving rat.)

"Yes, I can see you healed." That comes out kind of sarcastic, oops. He flexes his metal fist again with a little buzz, then asks, "How long. You said you had been here, on this ship. A long time. How long has it been since."

How long have you been here is not a complicated question at all. And yet still, Steve maybe waits a second too long to answer.

"On board the Barge? About six years. I got sent home once, without meaning to leave. And I went home for a while intentionally, after my inmate graduated. So it's 2016 at home. For me. But I've spent six years on the Barge, in addition to that."

Which probably still sounds more complicated than it should. "Time passes strangely, here. I don't even know if anybody really gets older. I guess it wouldn't surprise me, given everything else."

There's part of him that wants to ask how much of that time the "other him" was here, but the rest of him viciously squashes that part. It's like prodding at an open wound, and he knows it's a bad idea. Better to just let the body (the mind) do its thing without interference. The bleeding always stops. The potential lack of aging barely even registers. It's not like he has any real experience with aging anymore, except watching other people do it.

Time for the next big question: "How much of that were you a prisoner. An. Inmate."

Steve takes a slow breath on that one, before he has to admit, "Four years."

He's... not exactly proud of it, and not exactly ashamed of it. It's complicated all over again. But given that he would never leave Bucky here and given that he also still has zero desire to work for the Admiral, staying an inmate seems like the best option.

He also has no idea how to graduate, and he isn't sure he ever did.

"Most people aren't inmates that long," he feels the need to point out, because he doesn't think Bucky will by any means still be an inmate in four years. "Most graduate a couple of months to a year after they get assigned a permanent warden. I've had... three, but one was sent home against her will and one left voluntarily. Cal Kestis is my warden now. If you - ever needed someone to take me down or find me. Or revive me. Lark Tennant would, too."

That makes two of them who have no idea how to graduate. Or if they want to.

Some kind of benchmark for time is why he'd wanted to know, but he discovers to his annoyance that one year isn't really any easier to conceptualize than four years when you're used to counting existence as a span of days, a week at most. So he just nods, files that away, takes in the names, and... frowns. There is one thing he can conceptualize, in there, and he doesn't like it.

So he looks back in Steve's direction. "No one is fucking taking you down. The hell, Rogers."

There is something so bone-deep familiar in that reaction that despite the inappropriateness of it, Steve kind of ends up smiling.

Well. At least he can't really profess to often have appropriate reactions to things, so it's not really different than the usual.

But they have before seems like a poor argument in response, so Steve focuses on something else that's much more important: "Has anyone explained floods to you?"

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also that was "joy" up there not "job" hello it is monday

I figured it out, no worries XD

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