worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

"Sort of," Steve agrees. "But the mission is the focus?"

Yeah, that probably doesn't make sense.

"I think I'm explaining it badly. But it's a way to find calm when you need it. For some people, it's like mental decluttering, but." He offers Bucky a wry, lopsided smile. He probably doesn't really have too much to declutter.

Except, "It might make it easier when you go through more breaches. Maybe?"

Well. Decluttering the mess of train-guy's memories doesn't sound... terrible. And anything to help with more breaches is worth trying, at least. He can do mission focus again. It shouldn't be hard. He's been doing it forever. It's a standard skill, even if he hasn't exactly been practicing it for the past few weeks.

He sets the untouched coffee back down. "Okay."

"Okay."

Steve watches him for a moment, but then nods a little, and settles just a bit more on his pillow. "I'm gonna close my eyes," he says, "but you don't have to."

He actually starts to close his eyes, then, but pauses. "Actually. Would you feel better if the door was locked? I can lock it so no one else can come in."

His gaze flicks to the door, then back to Steve's feet, and he nods. He would absolutely feel better if the door was locked, and didn't in fact realize it wasn't, now. As far as he can tell, his own locks as soon as it's all the way closed.

This one doesn't lock automatically, and in fact, when Steve lived here, he'd always just left it unlocked.

But it does lock and, given that it's his cabin, no one else can get in if he doesn't want them in. He doubts either of their wardens will even come looking for them, for an hour.

So he nods and gets up off the cushion, padding over to the door in socked feet and, making sure Bucky can see, in case he needs to unlock it, Steve engages the lock. Then he comes back to his cushion, plops down on crossed legs, puts his hands on his knees, and closes his eyes.

"Okay," he says again, on an exhale. "Like I said. You don't have to close your eyes. But if you don't, I want you to pick one spot and look at it, and only that spot. Maybe the door, or whatever makes you feel safest to watch."

He takes a slow breath, and then figures, after a few seconds, they might as well jump right in. "All I really want you to do is just... breathe. You can match my breathing if you want, or not, but just breathe, and only breathe, and don't think about a whole lot else for a couple of minutes."

Maybe it has to do with the relative feeling of safety of the occupant, whether doors automatically lock. He watches Steve move, handle the lock, then move back, eyes on hands and feet, then on Steve's chest once he's settled. He can still see the door out of the corner of his eye, and watching the only moving thing in the room is the probably going to go better for his nerves, anyway, so that's where he stays.

This is... very much an Asset thing. Look at one thing, don't think about anything, and breathe. It's the only thing he did that wasn't mission-related, directly ordered by a handler or tech, or the result of a flare of fear. It's practically the only coping mechanism he really has.

So this is easy. It's also not helping him relax in the slightest.

Steve is starting to think maybe he should have prepared better, but given that he generally flies by the seat of his pants, why should this be any different? He gives it a few minutes, trying to listen for Bucky's breathing, trying to gauge when it's at least steady and even - if it gets steady and even - before he says, softly, "Okay. Now I want you to... think about being up on deck."

He's noticed that Bucky seems pretty taken with the view, the few times he's spotted him up there. Steve can't really blame him. It's a hell of a view. And imagining it doesn't require Bucky to remember anything he might not, or hopefully anything associated with terrible connotations (except being stuck on this goddamned Barge, of course).

"Think about the view. I know it's always changing, and that's fine, but think about looking out at it. Think about that, and not anything else, except breathing and looking at the stars."

His breathing is even. His heart rate is under control. He's maybe halfway disassociated (not that he knows the term), but that's okay, he's used to that. It's what usually happens for mission focus, and especially post-mission focus when people are just talking around him and he doesn't have to listen except for warning tones and approaching hands.

It takes him a minute to focus on Steve actually saying something, because nobody who talks like that is a threat to track. It's weird. What he says is weird, too. Stars don't have anything to do with mission focus. That doesn't make sense.

He tries, though, because he's an obedient Asset. Most of the time, anyway. It's easier when he is, and it's a harmless enough order. It's hard, though. Stars don't belong. They aren't right. They don't. Fit. Though he keeps his breathing an expression under control, his heart rate's going up. That's the safest sign of stress, anyway, because usually nobody's paying attention to his pulse.

Steve is listening primarily to Bucky's breathing, admittedly, and that's steady and solid. He does fall silent for a few minutes, though, because the point is not to talk at Bucky the whole time, and let him actually visualize the things Steve's asking him to.

He also knows that the point is probably not to ask questions that require answers, but today's kind of an exception to the rule, so he does ask, eventually, "Is that working okay for you?" At worst, he figures, he'll break Bucky's concentration, get an eyeroll he can't see (his eyes are still closed, trying to keep himself as nonthreatening as possible) and they can start over again.

There's no response, because he's still struggling with the whole "think about stars" vs "sit quietly in the Chair and not get anyone's attention" problem, and because that wasn't an order. Nobody asks the Asset if something is working okay, unless it's the arm, and the arm isn't even being worked on right now. It probably wasn't even directed at him. Too gentle-sounding.

Yeah, he's definitely not thinking he's on the Barge anymore.

Whether it's wise or not, Steve lets it go for a few minutes more. The point is quiet meditation, after all, and he'd never doubted that Bucky could pick up the basics pretty quickly.

So he wants those few minutes, just breathing, maybe subconsciously matching his breathing to Bucky's, before cracking one eye open to ask, a little louder, but certainly not in any way barking an order that demands a response like the Asset might expect, "Buck? How're you doing, buddy?"

Edited 2020-09-14 03:19 (UTC)

Still no response. He's just kind of staring blankly at Steve's chest, and while the metal arm is still and quiet, there's a little tremor running through the flesh arm, fingers stuttering very softly on the cushion. He's very still, otherwise. Not a hair is moving, not a rustle of fabric as he breathes.

He's waiting. He failed the stars order, because it kept slipping out of his brain. Stars don't belong. It's just in his head, so maybe no one will know, but it's still a failed order.

Okay, yeah... that's probably not good. Sure, the quiet breathing and stillness are what meditation is supposed to be, but...

No, it's probably not good. Steve sure is good at messing things up, and sitting here staring at the absolute lack of expression on Bucky's face... Steve's starting to think maybe he really messed up, here.

And the only thing for it is to slide off his cushion and kneel down in front of Bucky, reaching out to put one hand on Bucky's knee. "Buck," he tries softly, first. He'll try again, louder, if he has to.

The fact that he might get slammed against the opposite wall is just part and parcel of being Bucky's best friend. Steve's not particularly worried about that.

Though the usual method of breaking these episodes is a slap, a touch to the knee is enough to at least get a reaction. For once, that reaction isn't lashing out, though after a quick, hard inhale and a couple blinks to reorient himself, he does lose control of his breathing into short, shallow gasps. He looks down sharply, chin nearly to his chest, hiding his face in hair, and both hands fist up on the cushion to either side of him.

He's not entirely sure where he is, yet, only that someone is touching him and that's never a good sign.

Steve's first instinct, is, naturally, to move closer. To tighten that grip on Bucky, to slide down next to him and wrap his arm around him. To let him know he's okay, he's not alone.

He also knows that's probably going to make it worse, and instead pulls his hand back, clenching it at his side so he doesn't reach out again.

"Hey," he says, softly. "Hey. Sorry, I - thought that was a good idea. Probably should've known better, huh?"

God, Bucky's got to be sick of Steve apologizing to him. "Do you want me to back off?" he asks, quietly, admittedly already shifting a little, assuming the answer will be yes.

His eyes flick up briefly, peeking through hair, because that's-- handlers don't talk like that. He doesn't want things, he's just an asset.

That's. The target. The-- not target. He'd decided not to use that, because he's not hitting that face again. He knows this. "Rogers," he croaks as the name comes back, and with it, memory of where he actually is, what they were supposed to be doing, and oh hey, how he fucked up something again. Mission focus, like hell.

The stillness is gone, and he's shaking, and bringing his hands up to grind his palms into his eyes. "Fuck."

"Shit," Steve breathes; he knows, logically, that Bucky isn't cold, necessarily, but what ends up happening is that he unzips his hoodie and tries to get it around Bucky's shoulders all the same. Maybe the whole not getting shoved or slammed back thing is making him more stupid than usual.

He does, at least, pull his hands back when he's done, if the fabric even makes it onto Bucky's shoulders in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "Sorry. We don't ever have to try that again."

It seems today he's more subdued than last time, so there's no shoving or scrambling. There's a little hunch, not quite a flinch but close, as Steve leans over him, but once he realizes it's just a jacket, he tugs it closer around him like a blanket. He will never not take an additional layer of warmth. The fact that this one smells like Steve is... both better and worse than something neutral. Ugh.

"Mission focus," he says, low and rough. "It's what you wanted. Then got confused."

The fact that Bucky doesn't throw the sweatshirt in his face means... a lot. More than it probably should, honestly, but when has Steve ever been reasonable about anything.

Still, "Yeah, well. Maybe it's not the right thing for you." He'd just wanted to try something. To help.

But then, "I guess there's a reason you didn't want me to find you," he huffs out, softly. Maybe thinking this time, things would be different than how they'd gone back home was just stupid. He'd promised Bucky, before, the Bucky he'd married, that he'd try to be here for him.

But this Bucky, with these experiences...

"I'm sorry. I know you wanted orders, or protocols, or whatever, but - maybe you shouldn't be getting them from me."

Orders he can't follow aren't... necessarily better than none at all. But he's pretty sure-- inching up to 83%, now-- that Steve isn't going to punish him for failing. And it's not like anyone else is offering. His warden has so far been very careful not to give him anything resembling an order (he's only had her for a couple days, anyway, at this point), and he only gets them from the custodial warden for like six hours out of twenty-four. Which leaves him with eighteen more to fill.

He hunches in his temporary, protective, Steve-smelling blanket and works in not hyperventilating, first of all, and not slipping back into that state, second of all. "What did you mean," he finally asks. "Didn't want you to find me."

Steve is definitely not going to punish him; he figures the best way to prove that is to simply not do it. And that's pretty easy.

At the question, he maybe makes a face, but yeah - he'd said it. He might as well explain it. He shuffles back a bit and plants his butt on the floor instead of his own cushion, a little closer but not exactly in arms' reach.

"Back home - after the helicarriers. You disappeared for two years. Definitely didn't want me to find you." Because he'd definitely tried. Maybe not the full two years, exactly, because there had been Ultron in the middle there, but still.

"I mean - it was your prerogative. Your choice. Even if it didn't start out that way." Steve hadn't been there, he can't say. "And it can be your choice here."

He considers that for a long moment. His original urge to run, to avoid the hell out of this person who made him so angry and afraid he had to hit and keep hitting instead of just ending it properly. How long it took to come prod Steve about being small versus being big, because he'd been scared almost out of his mind about it. How conversations with Steve always seem to end in freakouts and malfunctions and general upset. For both of them, it seems like.

But he keeps coming back, too. Something about this situation makes it different than whatever happened "back home". Because his imagination is still kind of limited, and he really doesn't like thinking about any other (better) versions of himself, he doesn't have any idea what that could be. He does know he's not going to avoid this asshole for two years, though.

So finally he says, maybe a little stubbornly, "I'm not him."

"I know," Steve says, and... okay, there's maybe more exasperation behind it than he means to put, but, "I know that."

But the thing is, "You're you. You've always been you. Even when you don't remember, you're you. I don't - know how else to put it."

He wants to get up, but that would probably be bad, so he just pulls his legs closer, digs his fingers into the fabric of his jeans. "I don't expect you to feel the same way about anything. I know I've said it. But - Buck, you're not some weird alternate universe version of some guy I knew."

Steve huffs a little. "Believe me, I've met those. And you know what? They were still you, one way or the other. That's why - I don't know. If I'm bad for you, if it's bad for you to be around me, I get it. If you don't want to be the guy you think I want you to be, then - I get it. But don't pretend I don't know you, like I keep comparing you to somebody else. I'm not."

He blows out a breath. "But if it's easier for you to think that way, then - I don't know." Because Steve will do anything for Bucky, but... he doesn't know how well he'd be able to pretend this isn't Bucky. Clearly his past actions have shown that.

That. Is not the reaction he expected. He did not expect to be ranted at. It takes him a minute to get through all that, and push any feelings he has about that to the side (because there's a lot of complicated feelings there that he does not want to deal with right now, maybe ever), and finally settle on a "Steve you dumbass" look.

"I'm not avoiding you for two years. Like him." Maybe that will make his point clearer? Since this time he's actually articulating it with actual words instead of implications. He forgot how dumb Steve is sometimes, apparently. ( ... wait, when did he know Steve was dumb. Train-guy probably, ugh.)

Frankly, it's maybe a little sad how much that look is Steve's favorite look. Maybe because it means Bucky's not freaking out. Maybe because it's viscerally familiar. Maybe both, or neither.

Either way, "Oh," Steve says, softly, because - "Okay." He thinks he gets what Bucky's trying to say, anyway. He hopes so.

Even if, "If you wanted to. That would be okay. I just want you to be okay." If that means pulling himself out of Bucky's life, well. Steve won't pretend that might make things easier, in a lot of ways. Even if not all of them.

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smart edit, pal

and yet I still missed the typo XD

that's okay I don't even see the typo

NINJA TYPO

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