[ he considers the worth of a closed door, of an obstacle placed in a potential enemy's approach, with the value of open sight lines. the apartment is quiet, he could hear anyone's approach.
[The war was over, but Bucky still hadn't left it. In some ways Steve himself hadn't left it, and he hadn't been left to fight nearly as long, he hadn't lost so much of everything he was without fighting. It made you consider things in a different light.
Steve closed the door quietly and then came over and sat down next to Bucky, arms on his knees, back to the wall.]
[ he doesn't speak for a long moment, and then repeats, softly, what he'd forced himself to type out: ] Car sounded familiar.
[ it's as close to an admission that this might be neurotic rather than based on actual threat assessment as he'll get, and there's a hint of frustration in his tone because even if his mind tells him that the odds of an attack are low, he can't stand down. ]
[ he remembers some things, but even five weeks after the day he broke into stephanie rogers' apartment in brooklyn, there are still more times that he draws a blank when she mentions something or someone from their shared past than times that he recalls a memory to go with her words. what memories he has don't feel like his and that is a large part of the reason he flinches away from bucky while barnes or james get no such reaction.
he isn't that man anymore, he can't be — there are expectations for bucky, patterns of behaviour that are normal and steph knows bucky better than james does. he could never pass for bucky, fool her into thinking that he is that man, even if he had the energy to make himself try. ( he doesn't. without a mission, without orders, it's all he can do to react when she engages him and to force himself into basic maintenance: showers, food. )
he reads, sometimes; basic reconnaissance of the life of a man who looked something like him and sounded like him, the man that became the winter soldier and then him, whoever he is now. it doesn't make it any easier to see her face fall when he can only come up with blankness and to know that he's failed again.
( he keeps waiting for the punishment that he knows comes with failure, but she never hurts him and that's something he doesn't understand, either. )
right now, he's on the couch — a feat in itself because he doesn't venture from the room she tells him is his voluntarily very often — legs drawn up and a book in his hands.
hesitantly: ] Did you throw up? [ a beat. ] On the roller coaster.
[ even if the desire to prod and poke is there, permanently thrumming underneath her flesh alongside a misplaced hope for bucky to emerge from the armoured shell of the man he is now ( a man she still swears she recognises, regardless of the look within his eyes never quite possessing the same amount of recognition or the mirth that had been so integral to a best friend she would have — and had — walked the line for, time and time again ), steph never pushes.
she leaves reminders of their youth around her apartment, sometimes, to observe the way his eyes might take note of them, searching to see if she can ever spy a moment of enlightenment — but the lack of a connection, of that spark that informs her she's triggered a memory, rarely comes. the disappointment she can never quite conceal is worse in the moments she hesitantly wraps her hand around his fingers, pointing to men and women in photographs as she accompanies them with stories and her fond, nostalgic chuckling.
( see, buck? that was the old man across the street that used to bandage me up when you weren't around to stop me from acting like a knucklehead or that was the dame who never gave you the time of day, but never quite wondering aloud, to bucky or herself, if any of them went on to have happy lives like they deserved, raising children and grandchildren stephanie rogers would never meet or see smile. )
she catches herself, now, when a memory strikes her in front of the television and has her faintly grinning to herself, turning to him with a do you remember that one time — before she stops and her lips fall closed. even the first syllable no longer leaves her tongue, but she makes an attempt to keep her sad smiles to herself when she happens upon a cheesy movie she thinks bucky would have ragged on her for watching. she would have interjected with a it was the only flick they were showing, but it's difficult to laugh over the night she spent watching gone with the wind at the cinema when she finds it on the classic movie channel, despite every line clicking within her mind as though she had been dragged to watch it a week ago.
she's become too accustomed to bucky — or james, the name she tries to address him by now to prevent the sight of him flinching away — faltering in his recognition to anticipate the abrupt question. as one might expect, he catches her off-guard, brows furrowing of their own accord before she can prevent the reaction.
she sounds almost sheepish when she confirms: ] Yeah. And all over your shoes. [ it hadn't been her crowning moment — but then again, neither had most of their youth before she'd been a symbol for america's war efforts, when her bones had been fragile and her constitution had been embarrassingly weak. ] I tried to warn you I didn't have the stomach for roller coasters.
[ she smiles, albeit weakly. a part of her wants to insist they return to the spot, one day — but like every other object and person in her past, she imagines the amusement park she had once been in awe of has faded and been ripped apart, merely becoming a ghost of what it once was. ]
[ he doesn't remember that she threw up all over his shoes, but he does remember that she threw up, and he thinks he recalls a reference to it later, too, something about payback that he can't quite put into context. he's getting used to not being able to put things into context; some days it bothers him more than others.
today, with her smiling at him even as weakly as that, he takes the victory without focusing on the losses, or at least he tries. ]
I liked the roller coaster.
[ at least he thinks he did. there's something in his tone that's almost asking for confirmation, despite it not being phrased as a question. he's still learning who he is, now. sometimes, the past helps with that. more often than not, it really doesn't. ]
[ they kiss more. the added element of physicality between them gives james a whole new range of expression to communicate with, to engage with steve when words are still difficult and smiles sit heavy and wrong on his face. he can offer steve comfort in the touch of a hand to his shoulder and a reminder that he's here by shoving his feet under steve's thigh when they're watching tv.
it's not much, but it's a means of interacting with steve that doesn't leave him exhausted and, sometimes, panicked, and he's found that not only does he like the way steve's touch makes him feel, he craves it now.
it's not just about pleasure. he likes pleasure, of course it does. he doesn't even mind the loss of control that comes with a violent orgasm shaking through him, but — he likes contact. no one's touched the asset for any reason aside from maintenance or punishment, and to have steve's fingers casually brush against the back of his neck makes him feel- more human, maybe.
like he's someone worth touching.
he still doesn't know how to ask for it, but he's started seeking it out. today, it's by sitting too close to steve on the cough with a glass of orange juice in one hand ( metal ), all but crowding him against the cushion at the side with no respect for personal space. ]
[Steve doesn't seem to mind. A great part of him understands that their dynamic is - strange. Unhealthy, even. It's why he doesn't tell anyone what he's been doing to make James more relaxed around him, why he doesn't say anything about what they've been doing to get him to get to know the world around them, to get to remember the life he left behind. Sometimes Steve thinks that's becoming less and less of an issue. He doesn't - he doesn't have Bucky, not in the plenitude of the image of a man he once knew, but he still has him. In a way, he has someone he can love as a friend, even - more.
What they are to one another doesn't have a name right now. He doesn't keep it at 'friends', as unaccustomed as James might still be to the concept in general, but - it feels like more, too. Like something no one else but them could really understand.
Maybe that's why he keeps James in the apartment more and more. Why he stays inside with him more and more, leaving others to question and receive silence in return.
They don't have to know. Steve was never one to share, anyway, and this goes beyond private, goes beyond intimate. But maybe it goes somewhere in the area of guilt, too. Shame for what seems like taking advantage of a human being who doesn't know any better - yet. So what happens when he does? When James suddenly becomes Bucky and realizes this was never what they were meant to be?
Steve's eyes are heavy and his lips in a thin line when suddenly he feels James next to him. He's not just there, sitting by his side with a glass in his hand, though - there's a kind of intent and Steve sees is plainly. It's not something he has to have smacked on his face to fully get it, but it doesn't mean he's acting on it until it becomes a little more frontal.
The gaze is just a little lighter when he turns to James, but the thoughts are still there. He'd like to think he's becoming better at reading the other man's gestures in the silence; he just hopes he isn't becoming better at reading Steve in return.
He almost forces a smile, but it's not an uncomfortable one. James trusts him enough to be close, and he likes that. He craves it.
He brushes a thumb on James' chin, eyes drifting from his own to his lips.]
[When James returns and finds not just Steve, but Steph, things are - complicated. Both of them remember the man he used to be, but he has only vague pieces to latch onto in terms of knowing them back. Were it another universe and he'd be searching for memories of a woman, but where they are dictates that the Rogers he befriended once upon a time was a man. In the end it doesn't matter, though. Both Steve and Steph want the same for James. Both of them can try to give him what he needs. Maybe what he even wants.
That's what James says, when he kisses Steve. I wanted to. And then feelings surface and things get messy, leaving James against the wall with his pants unbuttoned and Steve with a hand wet with his come.
They don't talk about it again. Steve doesn't tell it happened to Steph and he doesn't know why, not even when they quietly make love again in their room, leaving Steve to wonder if James is out there, if he can hear. It makes his heart speed up and sink at the same time, like it's something that disgusts him for how exciting it is, and excites him despite any disgust.
Then one day he returns with groceries in his arms, and sees them. James and Steph, too close to just be talking, Steph jerking too suddenly to be innocent.
None of them have to say a thing. Steve knows what this is. He knows what they were doing, because he would have had that exact same look on his face.]
[ bucky returns — james, it's james now — and he remembers steve, but not her. of course he doesn't remember her, she's not from this world and he's never known her. she's always been mostly all right with this not being her world, has managed to smile over the pain of peggy not recognising her even in the good moment when she recognises steve, when she remembers instead of succumbing to her illness — but james doesn't remember her, there is no spark of recognition, none at all, and it hurts.
she's missed him so much, she's mourned him and carried his ghost with her and he's never even known her. his 'til the end of the line was for steve, not for her, and they're the same person, but they're not identical.
( she wonders: in her universe, is he alive? does the winter soldier go left unchecked because she isn't there? there hasn't been any great sense of urgency in returning, but in the aftermath of shield's fall, she feels it. )
she knows she loves steve, that's what that feeling is and if it's strange, she doesn't care — and she knows he loves james, because she loves james so much that there are moments when she can't bear to look at him because everything he means to her? steve meant to him, and she didn't, doesn't, not this version of him.
she figures that something happened between him and james, but not what, because at some point things change between them — there's something else in his expression when they make love. used to be, they were both complete, complementary and a whole with just the two of them. now there are pieces missing of both of them, holes that bucky's reemergence have made visible, painfully so.
and then james kisses her, and he might not know her, but she can't refuse him anything, and doesn't want to refuse him this —
and then steve returns with the groceries and steph can't help the way she jerks, but hates the way it puts tension in james' shoulders.
she doesn't feel guilty, because she thinks — she thinks maybe if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't have denied james either. she doesn't know if he's bisexual the same way she is, to the same extent, but she can't imagine any version of herself not loving james buchanan barnes. ]
he understands, intellectually, that there are different universes and that in one of them steph rogers is captain america instead of steve, and he understands that they're almost-but-not-quite the same person. he understands it intellectually, but he didn't grow up with her, he doesn't know her. how can he not know her, when they're the same person? and she clearly knows him, or the man that he used to be before the war.
( her sadness is overwhelming, sometimes, when it bleeds through the cracks of her smiles and her stubbornness. )
steve is easier, if only marginally so, and more difficult at the same time because when he looks at steve, there's a pang of recognition even if all the memories he's regained don't feel like they're his own at all. so it's steve he turns to when there's an itch under his skin, steve that he kisses, steve who makes him come. the pleasure is so different from everything he's used to that he doesn't think he'll ever forget it. ( he knows he would, if they wiped him again. )
kissing steph is different, because there's no recognition. it's on his terms in a different way that it was with steve. he needed to, with steve. with her, it's just because hw wants to, and part of him thinks that that instinct is wrong because she's steve's, and there's a very small part that knows that he's not supposed to ruin steve's chances with a gal — but the thought disappears as quickly as it's come, and the kiss feels good.
she's holding on to him like maybe this is something she needs, not just wants, before she carefully softens her grip on his shoulder. he doesn't know how to read her well, but he figures that is deliberate —
and then steve comes in, steph jerks back, not guilty exactly but-
he doesn't know what to do, so he takes a step back, pressing himself against the wall. ]
[For a moment, there's no sign of a reaction. Not in Steve's expression, not in his body. Even the hand that holds the keys to the apartment doesn't go anywhere, not until he lowers his gaze with parted lips, like he knew exactly what he was going to say before it just left him completely.
Steve wishes he could help. Both James and Steph, each for their own reasons. He loves her, and - once upon a time he loved him too, still believes he does now, even if he doesn't allow himself to think he could ever look at him the same way. (Then what happened that day, when he had to wash James' come from his hand while he heard him showering in the other room?) To think that anything could come between him and what he has with Steph seems so strange even though it was inevitable, knowing she has her own home she has to return to, no matter what happens here, and yet - he doesn't think it interfered, not exactly. It didn't change what he felt. If anything, it just... placed itself next to it, like a presence he can no longer ignore.
But this isn't about him. He wants to make it okay for James and he wants to make it stop hurting for Steph, wants her to have the chance he's getting, the blessing of knowing a friend you thought you'd lost isn't so far gone after all, even if there is so much they have to piece back together. He can see it hurts her, he can see the sadness in her smiles and reassurances because they're just like his, just like looking in a mirror.
Just like he's doing now.
He nods when he looks down and away, but he doesn't know why. It's a light, idle gesture. Then he turns and shuts the door, then he walks on over to the table to set the bags down.
Of course Steph would kiss him. He knows exactly how she feels because it's how he felt, and that needs no further explanation. And... of course James would kiss her in return. Of course it wouldn't have meant anything because it was Steve. It was a gesture, it was the pleasure of his hand between his legs - and whatever meaning it had for James was entirely physical and his responses came from nowhere emotional. Maybe he just craved the touch from someone who wanted him to have something... good. God knows he was denied that for too long. He sees that now.
With a sigh, he settles his hands heavily on the back of a chair, eyes down before they're up again, back on the couple that he's sure doesn't want to know what he's thinking.]
[ He wakes up in Kyoto, rain lashing the window and the air around him warm.
They’d failed the mission; he can feel it in his side - just beneath his ribs where the bullet’s been dug out, replaced with a wad of bandages and gauze.
The team that they went in with (not the regulars - more foreign associates than he’s accustomed to) has been reduced to himself and the asset; who lies on the adjacent bed, and for all that Rumlow knows, the other soldier is as unconscious as he was until five minutes ago.
So they’ve been left to recover, he assumes, to await further orders, because a botched mission is not something that goes down well with the management, and he’s wiling to put money on the fact that they’re going to get sent straight back in after a week; there is no such thing as unfinished business with Hydra.
The rain casts strange shadows on the sleeping man, mingling with the neon of the sign outside their window, and Rumlow looks over, wondering if he should check his vitals - if he’ll get a metal hand around his neck if he dares.
It’s just a tangle of dark hair against a pillow; chestnut on off-white. He can’t see his face. The image is startlingly human.
Rumlow sits up with a growl of discomfort. ]
You alive over there? [ What’s the term that Pierce uses? ]-- Status?
[ they'd failed the mission through no fault of their own, but fault is a concept that evades the asset's understanding. fault is not for weapons because it implies agency and choice; that it was not his, their fault does not matter. what matters is that they failed and that there will be punishment and the cold and the chair-
he knows these things, and he accepts these things, and the handler ( rumlow, brock ) and the asset manage to go to ground in a safe house. there is rain and pain and then unconsciousness until the sharp edge of sound pulls him from it, demanding a reaction, demanding answer. status is asked and he forces his eyes open, despite the fact that the ceiling swims in his vision. he does not try to focus his eyes on the handler. ]
Combat-efficiency severely compromised. [ is the answer, honest and near-immediate and a little rough. there is no edge of pain in his voice for all that he is in pain. unconsciousness does not usually come easily to him, but he's lost enough blood that it does now, that it's a struggle to remain alert, to wait for further instructions-
there are knives in his uniform and he counts them, catalogues their locations, keeps himself awake. ]
Severely, huh? [ It's actually something of a miracle that they made it to the safe house at all, considering the combined state they were in last night. He hasn't had a mission turn so sour in a long time, but, he thinks dourly, got to shake things up sometimes. He props himself up on one hand and assesses his own state - could have been worse (could have been dead) - it's mostly the gunshot wound that's causing trouble.
Nothing irregular.
Moving to the edge of the bed, he stands - slowly, groggily - because he’ll be damned if he returns back to base with the asset in ten thousand shades of fucked up; Pierce will quite easily have his head for any trauma caused to the arm alone.
The side of the opposite bed dips when he presses a knee into the mattress, jarring the winter soldier’s rather prone looking figure slightly. Rumlow leans, reaching forward to grasp the asset’s chin, tilting his head enough to see his eyes. ]
They got us good, didn’t they. [ He’s got painkillers and there’s bound to be something alcoholic in the kitchen - might as well medicate if they’re going to be stuck here. He isn’t rough with the soldier - not as he’s seen the Hydra team be - his hands are firm, he’s not afraid of him either. It’s a little late in the game to be cruel for cruelty’s sake, just now. ] Help me out here, where’s the damage?
[ this is confusing, but the confirmation that the man he once was would have agreed is- comforting, somehow. he doesn't think he can be bucky, knows steve would see right through him if he tried it. pretending to be bucky would be like putting on an ill-fitting suit. ]
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thousandyard2014-08-05 12:05 am
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[ he considers the worth of a closed door, of an obstacle placed in a potential enemy's approach, with the value of open sight lines. the apartment is quiet, he could hear anyone's approach.
so he nods his assent. ]
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Steve closed the door quietly and then came over and sat down next to Bucky, arms on his knees, back to the wall.]
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[ it's as close to an admission that this might be neurotic rather than based on actual threat assessment as he'll get, and there's a hint of frustration in his tone because even if his mind tells him that the odds of an attack are low, he can't stand down. ]
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What about it?
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WHOOPS tmw you thought you'd hit something and you hadn't
gathers this thread close and coos at it
bbs
: (
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Yes.
[ he knows that. but he can go another night at least without sleep. ]
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[ but what's the alternative, really? ]
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what have i done i'm awful at fight scenes
as am i, let's gently handwave things
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gently shoves this toward
when they told me
to not make homes out of people
i laughed
because who would be foolish enough
to plant the seeds of themselves
in a skin that wasn’t theirs,
or in a smile they didn’t own
but when i turned to show you
there was only quiet, empty space
and my roots from around your ribcage
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he isn't that man anymore, he can't be — there are expectations for bucky, patterns of behaviour that are normal and steph knows bucky better than james does. he could never pass for bucky, fool her into thinking that he is that man, even if he had the energy to make himself try. ( he doesn't. without a mission, without orders, it's all he can do to react when she engages him and to force himself into basic maintenance: showers, food. )
he reads, sometimes; basic reconnaissance of the life of a man who looked something like him and sounded like him, the man that became the winter soldier and then him, whoever he is now. it doesn't make it any easier to see her face fall when he can only come up with blankness and to know that he's failed again.
( he keeps waiting for the punishment that he knows comes with failure, but she never hurts him and that's something he doesn't understand, either. )
right now, he's on the couch — a feat in itself because he doesn't venture from the room she tells him is his voluntarily very often — legs drawn up and a book in his hands.
hesitantly: ] Did you throw up? [ a beat. ] On the roller coaster.
[ he thinks that is a memory. ]
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she leaves reminders of their youth around her apartment, sometimes, to observe the way his eyes might take note of them, searching to see if she can ever spy a moment of enlightenment — but the lack of a connection, of that spark that informs her she's triggered a memory, rarely comes. the disappointment she can never quite conceal is worse in the moments she hesitantly wraps her hand around his fingers, pointing to men and women in photographs as she accompanies them with stories and her fond, nostalgic chuckling.
( see, buck? that was the old man across the street that used to bandage me up when you weren't around to stop me from acting like a knucklehead or that was the dame who never gave you the time of day, but never quite wondering aloud, to bucky or herself, if any of them went on to have happy lives like they deserved, raising children and grandchildren stephanie rogers would never meet or see smile. )
she catches herself, now, when a memory strikes her in front of the television and has her faintly grinning to herself, turning to him with a do you remember that one time — before she stops and her lips fall closed. even the first syllable no longer leaves her tongue, but she makes an attempt to keep her sad smiles to herself when she happens upon a cheesy movie she thinks bucky would have ragged on her for watching. she would have interjected with a it was the only flick they were showing, but it's difficult to laugh over the night she spent watching gone with the wind at the cinema when she finds it on the classic movie channel, despite every line clicking within her mind as though she had been dragged to watch it a week ago.
she's become too accustomed to bucky — or james, the name she tries to address him by now to prevent the sight of him flinching away — faltering in his recognition to anticipate the abrupt question. as one might expect, he catches her off-guard, brows furrowing of their own accord before she can prevent the reaction.
she sounds almost sheepish when she confirms: ] Yeah. And all over your shoes. [ it hadn't been her crowning moment — but then again, neither had most of their youth before she'd been a symbol for america's war efforts, when her bones had been fragile and her constitution had been embarrassingly weak. ] I tried to warn you I didn't have the stomach for roller coasters.
[ she smiles, albeit weakly. a part of her wants to insist they return to the spot, one day — but like every other object and person in her past, she imagines the amusement park she had once been in awe of has faded and been ripped apart, merely becoming a ghost of what it once was. ]
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today, with her smiling at him even as weakly as that, he takes the victory without focusing on the losses, or at least he tries. ]
I liked the roller coaster.
[ at least he thinks he did. there's something in his tone that's almost asking for confirmation, despite it not being phrased as a question. he's still learning who he is, now. sometimes, the past helps with that. more often than not, it really doesn't. ]
THIS IS SO LATE sorry august ate me
shhh never worry
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GEN
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it's not much, but it's a means of interacting with steve that doesn't leave him exhausted and, sometimes, panicked, and he's found that not only does he like the way steve's touch makes him feel, he craves it now.
it's not just about pleasure. he likes pleasure, of course it does. he doesn't even mind the loss of control that comes with a violent orgasm shaking through him, but — he likes contact. no one's touched the asset for any reason aside from maintenance or punishment, and to have steve's fingers casually brush against the back of his neck makes him feel- more human, maybe.
like he's someone worth touching.
he still doesn't know how to ask for it, but he's started seeking it out. today, it's by sitting too close to steve on the cough with a glass of orange juice in one hand ( metal ), all but crowding him against the cushion at the side with no respect for personal space. ]
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What they are to one another doesn't have a name right now. He doesn't keep it at 'friends', as unaccustomed as James might still be to the concept in general, but - it feels like more, too. Like something no one else but them could really understand.
Maybe that's why he keeps James in the apartment more and more. Why he stays inside with him more and more, leaving others to question and receive silence in return.
They don't have to know. Steve was never one to share, anyway, and this goes beyond private, goes beyond intimate. But maybe it goes somewhere in the area of guilt, too. Shame for what seems like taking advantage of a human being who doesn't know any better - yet. So what happens when he does? When James suddenly becomes Bucky and realizes this was never what they were meant to be?
Steve's eyes are heavy and his lips in a thin line when suddenly he feels James next to him. He's not just there, sitting by his side with a glass in his hand, though - there's a kind of intent and Steve sees is plainly. It's not something he has to have smacked on his face to fully get it, but it doesn't mean he's acting on it until it becomes a little more frontal.
The gaze is just a little lighter when he turns to James, but the thoughts are still there. He'd like to think he's becoming better at reading the other man's gestures in the silence; he just hopes he isn't becoming better at reading Steve in return.
He almost forces a smile, but it's not an uncomfortable one. James trusts him enough to be close, and he likes that. He craves it.
He brushes a thumb on James' chin, eyes drifting from his own to his lips.]
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That's what James says, when he kisses Steve. I wanted to. And then feelings surface and things get messy, leaving James against the wall with his pants unbuttoned and Steve with a hand wet with his come.
They don't talk about it again. Steve doesn't tell it happened to Steph and he doesn't know why, not even when they quietly make love again in their room, leaving Steve to wonder if James is out there, if he can hear. It makes his heart speed up and sink at the same time, like it's something that disgusts him for how exciting it is, and excites him despite any disgust.
Then one day he returns with groceries in his arms, and sees them. James and Steph, too close to just be talking, Steph jerking too suddenly to be innocent.
None of them have to say a thing. Steve knows what this is. He knows what they were doing, because he would have had that exact same look on his face.]
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she's missed him so much, she's mourned him and carried his ghost with her and he's never even known her. his 'til the end of the line was for steve, not for her, and they're the same person, but they're not identical.
( she wonders: in her universe, is he alive? does the winter soldier go left unchecked because she isn't there? there hasn't been any great sense of urgency in returning, but in the aftermath of shield's fall, she feels it. )
she knows she loves steve, that's what that feeling is and if it's strange, she doesn't care — and she knows he loves james, because she loves james so much that there are moments when she can't bear to look at him because everything he means to her? steve meant to him, and she didn't, doesn't, not this version of him.
she figures that something happened between him and james, but not what, because at some point things change between them — there's something else in his expression when they make love. used to be, they were both complete, complementary and a whole with just the two of them. now there are pieces missing of both of them, holes that bucky's reemergence have made visible, painfully so.
and then james kisses her, and he might not know her, but she can't refuse him anything, and doesn't want to refuse him this —
and then steve returns with the groceries and steph can't help the way she jerks, but hates the way it puts tension in james' shoulders.
she doesn't feel guilty, because she thinks — she thinks maybe if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't have denied james either. she doesn't know if he's bisexual the same way she is, to the same extent, but she can't imagine any version of herself not loving james buchanan barnes. ]
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he understands, intellectually, that there are different universes and that in one of them steph rogers is captain america instead of steve, and he understands that they're almost-but-not-quite the same person. he understands it intellectually, but he didn't grow up with her, he doesn't know her. how can he not know her, when they're the same person? and she clearly knows him, or the man that he used to be before the war.
( her sadness is overwhelming, sometimes, when it bleeds through the cracks of her smiles and her stubbornness. )
steve is easier, if only marginally so, and more difficult at the same time because when he looks at steve, there's a pang of recognition even if all the memories he's regained don't feel like they're his own at all. so it's steve he turns to when there's an itch under his skin, steve that he kisses, steve who makes him come. the pleasure is so different from everything he's used to that he doesn't think he'll ever forget it. ( he knows he would, if they wiped him again. )
kissing steph is different, because there's no recognition. it's on his terms in a different way that it was with steve. he needed to, with steve. with her, it's just because hw wants to, and part of him thinks that that instinct is wrong because she's steve's, and there's a very small part that knows that he's not supposed to ruin steve's chances with a gal — but the thought disappears as quickly as it's come, and the kiss feels good.
she's holding on to him like maybe this is something she needs, not just wants, before she carefully softens her grip on his shoulder. he doesn't know how to read her well, but he figures that is deliberate —
and then steve comes in, steph jerks back, not guilty exactly but-
he doesn't know what to do, so he takes a step back, pressing himself against the wall. ]
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Steve wishes he could help. Both James and Steph, each for their own reasons. He loves her, and - once upon a time he loved him too, still believes he does now, even if he doesn't allow himself to think he could ever look at him the same way. (Then what happened that day, when he had to wash James' come from his hand while he heard him showering in the other room?) To think that anything could come between him and what he has with Steph seems so strange even though it was inevitable, knowing she has her own home she has to return to, no matter what happens here, and yet - he doesn't think it interfered, not exactly. It didn't change what he felt. If anything, it just... placed itself next to it, like a presence he can no longer ignore.
But this isn't about him. He wants to make it okay for James and he wants to make it stop hurting for Steph, wants her to have the chance he's getting, the blessing of knowing a friend you thought you'd lost isn't so far gone after all, even if there is so much they have to piece back together. He can see it hurts her, he can see the sadness in her smiles and reassurances because they're just like his, just like looking in a mirror.
Just like he's doing now.
He nods when he looks down and away, but he doesn't know why. It's a light, idle gesture. Then he turns and shuts the door, then he walks on over to the table to set the bags down.
Of course Steph would kiss him. He knows exactly how she feels because it's how he felt, and that needs no further explanation. And... of course James would kiss her in return. Of course it wouldn't have meant anything because it was Steve. It was a gesture, it was the pleasure of his hand between his legs - and whatever meaning it had for James was entirely physical and his responses came from nowhere emotional. Maybe he just craved the touch from someone who wanted him to have something... good. God knows he was denied that for too long. He sees that now.
With a sigh, he settles his hands heavily on the back of a chair, eyes down before they're up again, back on the couple that he's sure doesn't want to know what he's thinking.]
Who wants a smoothie.
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[ He wakes up in Kyoto, rain lashing the window and the air around him warm.
They’d failed the mission; he can feel it in his side - just beneath his ribs where the bullet’s been dug out, replaced with a wad of bandages and gauze.
The team that they went in with (not the regulars - more foreign associates than he’s accustomed to) has been reduced to himself and the asset; who lies on the adjacent bed, and for all that Rumlow knows, the other soldier is as unconscious as he was until five minutes ago.
So they’ve been left to recover, he assumes, to await further orders, because a botched mission is not something that goes down well with the management, and he’s wiling to put money on the fact that they’re going to get sent straight back in after a week; there is no such thing as unfinished business with Hydra.
The rain casts strange shadows on the sleeping man, mingling with the neon of the sign outside their window, and Rumlow looks over, wondering if he should check his vitals - if he’ll get a metal hand around his neck if he dares.
It’s just a tangle of dark hair against a pillow; chestnut on off-white. He can’t see his face. The image is startlingly human.
Rumlow sits up with a growl of discomfort. ]
You alive over there? [ What’s the term that Pierce uses? ]-- Status?
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he knows these things, and he accepts these things, and the handler ( rumlow, brock ) and the asset manage to go to ground in a safe house. there is rain and pain and then unconsciousness until the sharp edge of sound pulls him from it, demanding a reaction, demanding answer. status is asked and he forces his eyes open, despite the fact that the ceiling swims in his vision. he does not try to focus his eyes on the handler. ]
Combat-efficiency severely compromised. [ is the answer, honest and near-immediate and a little rough. there is no edge of pain in his voice for all that he is in pain. unconsciousness does not usually come easily to him, but he's lost enough blood that it does now, that it's a struggle to remain alert, to wait for further instructions-
there are knives in his uniform and he counts them, catalogues their locations, keeps himself awake. ]
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Nothing irregular.
Moving to the edge of the bed, he stands - slowly, groggily - because he’ll be damned if he returns back to base with the asset in ten thousand shades of fucked up; Pierce will quite easily have his head for any trauma caused to the arm alone.
The side of the opposite bed dips when he presses a knee into the mattress, jarring the winter soldier’s rather prone looking figure slightly. Rumlow leans, reaching forward to grasp the asset’s chin, tilting his head enough to see his eyes. ]
They got us good, didn’t they. [ He’s got painkillers and there’s bound to be something alcoholic in the kitchen - might as well medicate if they’re going to be stuck here. He isn’t rough with the soldier - not as he’s seen the Hydra team be - his hands are firm, he’s not afraid of him either. It’s a little late in the game to be cruel for cruelty’s sake, just now. ] Help me out here, where’s the damage?
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http://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/2070474.html?thread=1107225290#cmt1107225290
[ A handful of seconds later- ] You always liked to give me a hard time, so you probably would agree.
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[ this is confusing, but the confirmation that the man he once was would have agreed is- comforting, somehow. he doesn't think he can be bucky, knows steve would see right through him if he tried it. pretending to be bucky would be like putting on an ill-fitting suit. ]
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That you did.
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