Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imfollowinghim) wrote2014-08-07 08:09 pm
imfollowinghim) wrote2014-08-07 08:09 pm
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[It's been over a week since Bucky was almost beaten to death maybe a couple yards from the infirmary, and he feels... fine.
Fine. Sore, tired, still healing, but fine, and that's so deeply unsettling that he really doesn't know what to do with it at all. At all, because he's gone this long without having to talk about what happened to him in any detail at all, and he definitely doesn't want to start now. It's just a lot harder to dismiss little differences like increased appetite and tolerance to alcohol and apparently painkillers now, too, as not a big deal when the deep black and blue bruises on his ribs have already faded to almost nothing, when it should take a friggin' month for broken ribs to actually start feeling better, not days.
He's scared. He's been scared of what this is going to mean for a long time, and two days ago, after he'd shooed Steve away, locked the bathroom door behind him and turned on the shower, he'd spent a distressingly long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, wondering if now's the time his face is going to start peeling off to reveal some monster right out of a pulp underneath.
So he stays quiet about it, tries to pretend like he still feels like shit and doesn't want to do much - which isn't a difficult thing to pull off, because all of this means he is pretty fucking miserable - and if he's a little more sullen and cranky than usual, Steve seems to be chalking it up to the fact that he's got three busted ribs and a bad concussion, and leaves it at that. It works out for the most part.
But eventually, boredom does get the better of him. Sitting around in bed while you're recovering - unless you're really out of your mind with fever or whatever drugs were trying to help nudge you back along to health - is fucking terrible, no matter who you're with or where you are, and obviously it's not like he expects Steve to be keeping him company the whole time he convalesces. They can't both be sitting around in Steve's room feeling penned in and bored.
Bucky slips out of Steve's room sometime after his friend heads out to go for a jog, and as much as he wants to go for a run or punch the hell of something in the gym, he heads for the dining hall and helps himself to a giant stack of pancakes instead. Now that he's not as achey or metabolizing painkillers out of his system too quickly, he's even more ravenously hungry than usual, and winds up settling at a table near a corner, facing the door to get to work on finishing breakfast. The bruises around his eyes are gone, and there's still a bandage wrapped around his left hand - even though the cut's healed, he'd changed the wrappings himself so no one would get suspicious - and as much as he looks burned out and tired, he's in a lot better shape than he has any right to be, and kind of looks it.]
[It's been over a week since Bucky was almost beaten to death maybe a couple yards from the infirmary, and he feels... fine.
Fine. Sore, tired, still healing, but fine, and that's so deeply unsettling that he really doesn't know what to do with it at all. At all, because he's gone this long without having to talk about what happened to him in any detail at all, and he definitely doesn't want to start now. It's just a lot harder to dismiss little differences like increased appetite and tolerance to alcohol and apparently painkillers now, too, as not a big deal when the deep black and blue bruises on his ribs have already faded to almost nothing, when it should take a friggin' month for broken ribs to actually start feeling better, not days.
He's scared. He's been scared of what this is going to mean for a long time, and two days ago, after he'd shooed Steve away, locked the bathroom door behind him and turned on the shower, he'd spent a distressingly long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, wondering if now's the time his face is going to start peeling off to reveal some monster right out of a pulp underneath.
So he stays quiet about it, tries to pretend like he still feels like shit and doesn't want to do much - which isn't a difficult thing to pull off, because all of this means he is pretty fucking miserable - and if he's a little more sullen and cranky than usual, Steve seems to be chalking it up to the fact that he's got three busted ribs and a bad concussion, and leaves it at that. It works out for the most part.
But eventually, boredom does get the better of him. Sitting around in bed while you're recovering - unless you're really out of your mind with fever or whatever drugs were trying to help nudge you back along to health - is fucking terrible, no matter who you're with or where you are, and obviously it's not like he expects Steve to be keeping him company the whole time he convalesces. They can't both be sitting around in Steve's room feeling penned in and bored.
Bucky slips out of Steve's room sometime after his friend heads out to go for a jog, and as much as he wants to go for a run or punch the hell of something in the gym, he heads for the dining hall and helps himself to a giant stack of pancakes instead. Now that he's not as achey or metabolizing painkillers out of his system too quickly, he's even more ravenously hungry than usual, and winds up settling at a table near a corner, facing the door to get to work on finishing breakfast. The bruises around his eyes are gone, and there's still a bandage wrapped around his left hand - even though the cut's healed, he'd changed the wrappings himself so no one would get suspicious - and as much as he looks burned out and tired, he's in a lot better shape than he has any right to be, and kind of looks it.]
no subject
It could be worse, he knows. He's had worse, often enough that he's glad the cooks here are tolerable. Still, it's nothing new, nothing exciting, and he's becoming bored of eggs and toast. Which is really disheartening in a way, because his fondness for eggs and toast is really unprecedented.
He doesn't ask Bucky if he minds a companion - at this point, he doesn't think courtesies need standing on. Instead he sits with his eggs, his toast, his hash, and his orange juice. It's still not nearly enough in proportion to rival Bucky's plate.]
You must be feeling better.
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Bond doesn't need to say anything - if anything, this actually feels nice and familiar, like he's back at some army mess or just sitting around in the open going through whatever chow they'd managed to get their hands on. Bond might be from his future, but he still feels more like a buddy in a way most other people on board can't quite get at.]
Or I'm just sick of sitting on my ass looking at the same four walls. [Which he is. And he is feeling better, but.]
You want some toast with those eggs? [Pot, meet kettle.]
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[He takes it in stride, a small smile turning the corner of his mouth. Bond is not unaware of his inhuman affection for eggs, but he's not about to take it from Bucky.]
At least you heal fast. [It's perfectly neutral: maybe he means more, maybe he doesn't. He doesn't bother halting his breakfast, though, so it can't mean much.]
no subject
The smile slips from his face a little when Bond continues, and Bucky tries to shrug it off like it's not a big deal. Which it isn't. Obviously.]
I got lucky. [Which is true. He could very easily have died there.] And I'm still pretty fucked up on the inside, so it might be a while before I can keep up in the gym.
[And he sounds sort of disappointed at that. More than a little, honestly.]
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I could always promise to take it easy on you.
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[Not that he's really planning on following through on it, not if he wants to successfully get away with this little ruse. And he does.
Man, it is going to be a really boring couple weeks.]
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[Which is probably where the fun is. Look, he's a decent bloke, but he doesn't have to be a gentleman all the time.
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(Don't worry, Vesper is not one of them. She just knows you're not usually a gentleman.)]
Then I guess we can work something out.
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No naming names when you wind up in the infirmary again.