imfollowinghim | thirteen ✪ voice & spam

Entry tags:

thirteen ✪ voice & spam

[Bucky sounds somewhere between pissed off and totally burnt out and hollow when he clicks on the comm, because boy, does he have an announcement for you.]

Helena just killed Cosima Niehaus. She jumped her in an empty cabin, she knows her from back home. Sort of.

[It's a little confusing and definitely private, so Bucky doesn't feel like getting into it on a public feed like this.]

I'm bringing Cosima to the infirmary, and I'm not putting Helena in Zero, [Because he's been down there and he's not sure how he feels about it - had he stuck Ben in there? He thinks maybe he did, and it makes him feel a little sick to his stomach - especially given Helena's been locked up before and he doesn't want her thinking this is like that.] But she's on house arrest in her room until I figure out how to get her to cut this shit out.

[Private to Ben]

Can I pick your brain about something?

[Three guesses what it's about.]

[Open Spam]

[After Bucky's brought Cosima to the infirmary and made sure Helena's still in her room, he knows he needs some space. He can't go right into talking to Helena while he's somewhere between furious and emotionally flatlining, because he's mad, but he knows this isn't entirely her fault, and he doesn't know what to do with it, or how to move forward.

Funny, but he thinks he remembers something like this happening forever ago. That might have been part of the reason he'd bothered Ben.

He's pissed. At himself, mostly, so it's easy to head down to the gym, pull off his uniform jacket, wrap his hands and start focusing on beating the shit out of a punching bag instead of thinking about anything else. He'd learned how to box young - his dad had taught him some, and then he'd learned more as he'd got older, partly out of necessity (he could earn money for winning fights, and it never hurt to know how to throw a mean punch when your best friend was hell bent on taking on every bully in New York, let alone Brooklyn) and partly because he'd just been good at it.

So he attacks the bag like he knows what he's doing, because he does, and there's something almost mechanical and vicious about it, not to mention the look on his face. The bag's not in danger of getting ripped out of the ceiling, but it still swings forcefully, maybe even a little more than it probably should.

After a while, he heads back to his room to hose himself off, and hits up the dining hall. He's changed into his Commandos jacket, and slips a couple things into his jacket pockets - an apple, a roll wrapped in a paper napkin - before heading on his way. He doesn't really have time to sit and eat enough lunch for two people today.

Because he does, after all, have two other stops he needs to make:]

[Spam for Helena]

[Once he's calmed down enough to do this the right way, instead of just scowling at her and hoping that did something marginally productive, Bucky heads back to Helena's room. It's part of the reason he'd stopped by the dining hall first, besides just being hungry - maybe the food can act as some kind of peace offering for sticking her in here in the first place.

Even if the reason it'd happened was because she killed someone.

He takes a breath before knocking on the door, just to give her a head's up someone's outside.]

It's Bucky. I'm coming in. [And then he's pushing open the door, not entirely certain of what he's stepping into.]

[Spam for Cosima]

[And after that's done, it's time for the harder part of this messy little operation: apologizing to the person your inmate attacked and killed within like, a couple hours of them showing up here in the first place.

This is made worse by the fact that it doesn't seem like she's awake when he first gets there, which means he's just. Going to awkwardly loiter around trying not to look too out of place or uncomfortable just waiting around here for signs of life or movement. Maybe he should've waited a while longer - he remembers the death toll and how bad it sucks - but he kind of feels like this shouldn't wait, even if it's just a short visit. It's not like either one of them's going anywhere for a while, although she's a little more stuck than he is.

So, hi. There's a stranger sort of awkwardly hanging around your hospital bed, wearing a uniform that might not look entirely unfamiliar to you.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There's some vague brush of memory when she says the name, which happens every once and a while. Sometimes he thinks he remembers more of his last time here than he thinks, but following any of the trails of thought don't usually go anywhere besides the clear exceptions.

So it's easy enough to brush off and focus back on what she's talking about and, well, she's right. Helena never really got a normal childhood, or anything close to it. She doesn't have anything to re-remember.]

Yeah, no. She never really got that.

[Jean nods, clamping down hard on the flare of rage in her chest. She can't afford to get upset right now.]

What kind of life has she had? I - I've got a general idea, I think, but not any details.

She's- [He hesitates a fraction of a second, but if he wants to get her help, he has to be honest with people. Jean especially has a shot at figuring it all out pretty quickly, if this is something Helena'd be comfortable with.] She's a clone. She was raised in a convent, and then these psychos took her in and basically told her she had to kill all the other clones of her out there. She's kinda grown up thinking she's some kinda weapon, not really a person.

[Immediately, of course, she thinks of Ben; grown to be a weapon, used and abused his entire life.

She thinks of Logan, too. She thinks of Erik. She thinks of the Black Queen.]

I think the main thing is showing her that there's more than that. More to her, more to the world. [Her brow furrows.] I can help her...explore that.

[Which makes you the fourth person who's seen the Ben connection, including Ben himself. u_u]

How? [He huffs out a frustrated breath, mostly at himself.] Sorry, I just- I'm not sure I'm really gonna get it without knowing what it's like.

[But he doesn't want to. And is reluctant to admit that.]

...I could show you. [Her tone is hesitant; not because she's worried, but because he is.]

[He is. He really is, and he feels like an idiot for doing this, but.]

Yeah, okay. [He's probably going to regret this, and his expression still communicates that fear under the set, determined look he's got going on, even though he's really, really trying to hide it, but.] When should we start?

...Are you sure? [Jean knows what fear looks like.]

And - any time you want. Any time you're comfortable.

Now. [There's zero hesitation this time.] Let's do it now.

[Let's get it over with, is what he probably means. Before he has time to really think twice about this.

If this could help Helena, he needs to do it.]

[She recognises that, too - that fierce, steadfast determination. It makes her smile, just a little.]

Okay. Do you want me to come to you?

No. [And again, zero hesitation, all fierce resolve, because he is not freaking out in a place where he can't get the hell out of there fast if he needs to, and his room isn't that.] I'll come to you.

Okay. [There's a gentle creak, as her door opens.]

[Bucky's down there a minute or two later, still looking somewhere between fiercely determined and incredibly uncomfortable. He's in his Commandos uniform, and after he closes the door behind him, his hands go into his jacket pockets. He looks defensive and on edge, and he knows he probably does, but this is just how it's going to be.

Still, he doesn't just stand by the door and keep staring at her, taking a couple steps into the room instead.]

So what do I have to do?

[Jean has dragged the armchair to face her bed. She's sitting crosslegged on the rumpled sheets.

She smiles up at him as she gestures to the chair.]

First, you need to relax.

[Bucky does at the very least manage a forced smile at that, with maybe the faint traces of humor around the edges.]

That's a lot easier said than done.

[He does, however, take a seat and then lets out a breath, trying to shake off at least some of the tension.

So he's relaxed. Or as relaxed as he's likely going to get.]

[She doesn't laugh, but warm amusement shines in her eyes. He's so -

He reminds her of Scott, right now. She pushes the thought away.]

We'll start slow, okay? And if you want to stop, just tell me.

Okay. [He's doing this to help Helena. He just needs to focus on that, and he'll be fine.

There's still the urge to curl his hands into fists, though. Not to lash out or anything, but that's a smaller gesture than hunching in on himself or something.

And he thinks he does trust her, anyway.] I'm ready.

[She considers reaching out, curling gentle hands around his fists, but decides against it. She keeps her hands on her knees, as she closes her eyes and reaches out.

He'll feel a warmth seeping into him, as she touches his mind. She can reign the fire in, stop it from scorching him, but she can never hide it.

Her words are soft, resonating gentle assurance.]

Are you okay?

[Bucky's mind isn't relaxed, even if he's fighting to pretend like it is. It's like a forest fire that's not quite been extinguished, with images and emotion flaring up without warning even as he tries to stamp them out.

They're all the same - dark and painful and angry and helpless - and he half flinches when he hears the voice, even though he doesn't try to shove her out. Not that he'd really know how to, even if he wanted to.

He answers out loud, and the echo of emotion in his mind makes it pretty clear how unsure he actually feels.]

I think so.

[He's stressed and uncomfortable, and she could stop this right now, but she doesn't. That's not what he wants; she can see it even through the anxious fear.

He wants to do this for Helena, and she doesn't bother to suppress the surge of affection.]

You shouldn't try to stop the memories. It only - it brings attention to them. [She's been careful not to dwell on any of the flashes, only experiencing hints of pain and terror and fury. She'll only look at what he chooses to show her.]

[He lets out a breath he hadn't really known he'd been holding at the affection, and some of the tension - just a fraction of it, really - bleeds away for the moment.]

That's easier said than done, too, [He grates out, trying to sound funny and falling short. His fingernails are biting into his palms, and he tries to just keep breathing, his mind instinctively flitting to the mantra of name, rank and serial number as he tries to calm himself down.

A memory of the table still bubbles up and boils over, and he just tries to breathe through it, force it back down and think about something else. Anything else. Not how he'd thought he'd been hearing voices then, too, how he'd hallucinated everything from his mother to Steve to watching them peel his skin off, and it had hurt, but he knows this isn't the same, he's just scared and trying desperately not to be. It feels similar, with the disembodied voice and everything else, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe that will make it easier.]

Edited 2014-07-21 03:56 (UTC)

[She can't help but feel it with him, but she refuses to get sucked in, or remember similar situations; the last thing they need is to feed off each others' trauma.]

Let's try to focus on something else. Something good.

[Something good. Okay. Something good.

He mentally shakes himself, swallows thickly and reaches out for anything brighter. It's probably not shocking that he winds up grabbing onto a memory of Steve - it's a memory they'd talked about not too long ago, when it'd been so hot, Bucky had convinced him to drag mattresses up on the roof of their apartment building, which had worked until a thunderstorm snuck up on them a few days later. They'd laughed a lot afterward, shivering and damp while Bucky tried to dump just about every dry blanket they'd had on Steve to make sure he hadn't caught cold.

His hands relax a bit, and he takes in and lets out a shaky breath, waiting for the next move.]

[Warm amusement cloaks Jean's words.]

You two got into a lot of trouble, didn't you?

[And gently, so gently, she steers his thoughts before the war. Adventures without body counts.]

[Bucky lets out another breath, and slowly his fists unclench. There are bloody little half moon cuts in his palms, but he's either ignoring them or hasn't really noticed.]

Yeah, we did.

[The memories are all warm and fond, even though they hadn't had a lot, and even if things had been hard. Bucky had snuck them into Ebbets Field for Steve's birthday even though there was no way in hell they'd be able to afford tickets, and occasionally they'd snuck into movie theaters too, when they couldn't scrape together a couple cents to actually pay for stuff. (Steve's always been honest, if also a little shit.)

And then there had been fights, too, but Bucky had never minded cleaning Steve up after, or getting a bloody nose or a black eye on his behalf, either. This he doesn't mind sharing, even if he's probably not super sure how much of this - like the laughter and fierce protectiveness and deep devotion to this stubborn idiot he'd made friends with - Jean is getting.]

no subject

no subject

private

private

private

private

private

private

private

private

private

private

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam

spam