Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imfollowinghim) wrote2015-03-18 08:41 pm
imfollowinghim) wrote2015-03-18 08:41 pm
twenty eight ✪ voice & spam
[Voice, backdated to March 17]
[Bucky leaves T'Pol's body where it is. He wipes his knife on his pants, an automatic gesture that leaves another green smear of blood on his soaked uniform, and after staring at her for a moment, he walks downstairs to sit with Steve's corpse. And sits.
Maybe ten minutes later, he clicks on his communicator.]
Steve's dead.
[Bucky's voice is hollow. There's anger there, but it's smothered by the numbness he feels, the strange unreality of it all.
(It's being instinctively self protective, withdrawing instead of thinking about it. He doesn't want to think about what she'd tried to do to him, or what happened to Steve, so shutting down helps him focus. Keeps him from just staying sitting on the floor next to Steve.)]
So's T'Pol.
[The silence stretches for several seconds, even though he doesn't kill the connection.]
I need someone to take her to the infirmary. She's on deck. [I stabbed her, he thinks but doesn't say, because he can still feel her hands on his face and her thoughts on his, and he's got Steve's blood on his clothes and even though it's a more than familiar sensation, he thinks he's going to be sick.] I've got him.
[Open Spam, March 17th through 19th]
[The first thing Bucky does after bringing Steve to the infirmary is go to the inmate showers, strip off his bloody combat uniform, and stand under water that's so hot, it's almost scalding. He's practically catatonic, mouth drawn into a thin line as he just stands motionless under the hot, steaming water.
He turns up in the infirmary an hour or so later, sitting similarly motionlessly by Steve's bedside in a fresh uniform. He's got the shield next to him, clean now and leaning against the chair he's rooted himself to. He's largely unresponsive, even if people talk to him - or more accurately, his responses are just delayed, like he's shut out pretty much everything but the person in the bed in front of him - and he's got a mean five o'clock shadow going at some point. Hunger starts gnawing at him at some point, but for the first time in a really long time - maybe since the last time Steve was really, really sick - he totally ignores it. Even after the late shift starts, he doesn't move to leave. He doesn't even sleep.
(His thoughts feel sharp and brittle, like they had after Zola had been finished with him for the day and he'd been thrown back into a cell to sleep. Or try to sleep. It feels like what T'Pol had tried to do ripped a bandage off a wound that hadn't healed, and he doesn't want to fucking deal with it.)
But once Steve's up and around, Bucky vanishes. He's not in any of his usual haunts, not on the network, nowhere really.
(Thank god he's still got C-Rations in his room. 8v)]
[Bucky leaves T'Pol's body where it is. He wipes his knife on his pants, an automatic gesture that leaves another green smear of blood on his soaked uniform, and after staring at her for a moment, he walks downstairs to sit with Steve's corpse. And sits.
Maybe ten minutes later, he clicks on his communicator.]
Steve's dead.
[Bucky's voice is hollow. There's anger there, but it's smothered by the numbness he feels, the strange unreality of it all.
(It's being instinctively self protective, withdrawing instead of thinking about it. He doesn't want to think about what she'd tried to do to him, or what happened to Steve, so shutting down helps him focus. Keeps him from just staying sitting on the floor next to Steve.)]
So's T'Pol.
[The silence stretches for several seconds, even though he doesn't kill the connection.]
I need someone to take her to the infirmary. She's on deck. [I stabbed her, he thinks but doesn't say, because he can still feel her hands on his face and her thoughts on his, and he's got Steve's blood on his clothes and even though it's a more than familiar sensation, he thinks he's going to be sick.] I've got him.
[Open Spam, March 17th through 19th]
[The first thing Bucky does after bringing Steve to the infirmary is go to the inmate showers, strip off his bloody combat uniform, and stand under water that's so hot, it's almost scalding. He's practically catatonic, mouth drawn into a thin line as he just stands motionless under the hot, steaming water.
He turns up in the infirmary an hour or so later, sitting similarly motionlessly by Steve's bedside in a fresh uniform. He's got the shield next to him, clean now and leaning against the chair he's rooted himself to. He's largely unresponsive, even if people talk to him - or more accurately, his responses are just delayed, like he's shut out pretty much everything but the person in the bed in front of him - and he's got a mean five o'clock shadow going at some point. Hunger starts gnawing at him at some point, but for the first time in a really long time - maybe since the last time Steve was really, really sick - he totally ignores it. Even after the late shift starts, he doesn't move to leave. He doesn't even sleep.
(His thoughts feel sharp and brittle, like they had after Zola had been finished with him for the day and he'd been thrown back into a cell to sleep. Or try to sleep. It feels like what T'Pol had tried to do ripped a bandage off a wound that hadn't healed, and he doesn't want to fucking deal with it.)
But once Steve's up and around, Bucky vanishes. He's not in any of his usual haunts, not on the network, nowhere really.
(Thank god he's still got C-Rations in his room. 8v)]
SPAM
So he tries to get Steve over to the bunk, or the chair, or something instead of standing up, because he won't make him lie down and take it easy, but he doesn't want to stand here watching him hurt himself more than necessary.]
Fine.
[It's a lie, and sounds like a lie, but he really doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't even really know what to say, honestly.]
SPAM (and then this kind of went on a tangent whoops)
[It sounds more teasing than accusing, because look, he knows how it goes. He is intimately familiar with insisting he's fine when he's not, so he knows he doesn't really have the right to call Bucky on it. Only Bucky calls him on it, so it's not like Steve can be expected to do anything less.
He knows Bucky isn't fine. How can he be? He's not even trying to act like he is.] You could've gone back to my place, [he says, quietly. It's nicer. It's more removed from the war. And Steve wasn't there, not until very recently. But the fact that Bucky gravitates more toward this bothers him. It isn't that he doesn't want or need privacy. It's just...] We've gotta get you some nicer digs.
[Okay, maybe he's just trying to look for something else to talk about. But he's kind of been thinking about it for a while. He knows Bucky doesn't want to feel like he's on vacation, but there are ways to do that without being stuck in a closet like this. Neither of them ever actually thought of this tiny room on the SSR base as anything like a home - he thinks.]
SPAM (but it's a good tangent)
This is fine. [He means it. It's better than other places he's lived, and he's got Steve's apartment to stay in if he doesn't want to be in here, but he can retreat back into the familiar world he knew before he found out about the future and aliens and shit.
Anyway, he shrugs.] Guess I got attached.
[It's something familiar, without feeling like home. He needs that. Stability without the real chance of missing what he's maybe not ever going to have again.
God, what a fucking mess.
Bucky runs a hand through his hair, expression somewhere between frustrated and genuinely apologetic.]
I just needed some space. I don't like people- [He looks away, shrugging dismissively as he tries to find a good way to say this without saying too much about why, even if Steve knows.] Messing around in my head.
SPAM (<3)
Steve huffs a little, tilting his head.] Fine, sure. But - [You deserve more, is what he wants to say. Bucky doesn't have to live this way, especially not here. That he chooses to... says something, but Steve's just not sure what. Although on the other hand, Steve remembers pretty well how he felt the first few days - weeks - in his apartment. The place felt too nice. Too big. Like he didn't deserve it - like he didn't need it. Most of that's faded, but some small part of it maybe never will.
So he laughs a little, hoarsely, and reaches over, tossing an orange at Bucky, so maybe he'll start peeling and eating it out of habit.] That's because you like getting attached to scruffy, small things. [You know. Like Steve.
He nods, though, even if Bucky's not looking at him, a minute later. That makes a lot of sense, and he isn't going to go poking a hot needle in it. He wouldn't want Bucky doing the same.] Yeah. I'll bet. It was wrong, and it was immoral, and I know why she did it, but she shouldn't have. [And he's still sorry, but Bucky won't want to hear it, so he doesn't say it - but his voice does.] Guess I could do to be better at this wardening stuff.