imfollowinghim | thirteen ✪ voice & spam

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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.]

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[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.]

[She's getting all of it. It would be harder not to, nowadays, and anyway, Bucky's feelings burn so brightly within him. It's not a surprise, but it's nice to revel in their light for a while.

She feels a bit like she's intruding - but he invited her here.

And, she reminds herself, for good reason.]

I can do this with Helena, too. She must have some good memories. I can illuminate them for her - give her something to hang on to, to build on.

I wouldn't get your hopes up.

[The brightness sputters out a bit, like the gray and grime from more recent memories is starting to spatter across it, or pushing through the cracks.]

There's some decent stuff- [If nothing else, Helena cares about Sarah and Kira, Bucky knows that.] But not a lot of it.

[It makes her chest twist and ache, clouding their mindscape with her own grief. It's not fair, but it never is.]

We'll need to give her new ones, too.

[He can't help it - he recoils almost immediately when her own feelings bleed in, but he feels guilty about it almost as quickly and tries not to yank out of the connection, if that's even possible. He's still not really sure how all this works.

(He's also probably "thinking" his words a little louder than he has to, like someone who thinks speaking louder and slower is going to help a French speaker understand English.)]

So, is this what he did? Help you remember the good stuff?

[Jean pulls back, too, more gently, even as she holds on to him. She knows it can be overwhelming, terrifying, to feel someone else's emotions.]

Yes. At the time, I...I didn't really want to live any more. [It's harder to remember, now; for so long, Annie has been alive. But it's still there.]

He showed me all the reasons I should.

But he didn't suggest things? [This feels important to distinguish, and his mind quivers with anticipation, almost like a cat with its fur puffed up, like he's still afraid of what that might mean.]

I don't want to put anything there that wasn't before.

No. No, never. [There's an earnest intensity in her voice. She's not offended at the question - anyone would ask, she thinks - but she needs him to know she wouldn't. That Charles taught her better than that.]

All he did was light the way.

[He believes her, even though the whole thing still makes him squirm a little uncomfortably.]

So, is that it? [He doesn't mean it offensively, he's just. Curious. And still a little bit stressed out, except this time it has a little to do with the fact that he's not sure how much this is going to help someone who doesn't have hardly any happy memories to focus on. If Helena even agrees to it.]

Maybe. [She's not sure either, not really. She had a normal childhood, before Annie died in her arms - a loving family and a bright future. She can't change Helena's past.]

I won't - change anything, I can tell you that. But I can help her change herself. Find new ways to live.

[She's quiet, for a moment. She watches the sun set above them, listens to laughter ages old.]

I know a man, back home.

[And the world shifts. Below, above, around, there is a man - short and sturdy, frayed and grizzled. He's kneeling by an ancient tree, cupping a baby bird in his hands. They're strong and rough and scarred, but their hold is impossibly gentle.]

Logan doesn't remember who he was, before people made him into a weapon. For years, all he did was kill. Even when he broke free - it's a part of himself he can't escape.

[Bucky watches, lets it happen, and takes in the scene with careful curiosity, not wanting to disturb anything or jostle the memory too much.

Or intrude, really, even if he does want to know more. He's known half a dozen and more guys who could fit this image, even if their memories were intact: people who looked tough and hardened and utterly unfriendly who were still capable of compassion.

He's seen it go the other way around, too, but.]

Why doesn't he remember?

At first, Charles thought it was just trauma. The things they did to him...

[Her lips curl. She doesn't know all the specifics, all the details, but she knows enough to hate them for it.]

But after working with him - it was on purpose. They wiped him clean so they could build him into whatever they wanted.

[The bird chirps weakly in Logan's hands. It's too weak to fly, but it flutters against his fingers.

Slowly, his claws slide out, forming a sharp, gleaming cage.]

[Bucky's eyes can't widen, since he's still got them squeezed shut, but there's still sort of that sense of shock, both because of the claws and what she said.

He hasn't been brainwashed, but the rest - trauma, experimentation, making you into a weapon - does feel familiar.

More familiar than he wants it to be.]

Did they do that to him?

Yes. It's all over his skeleton - adamantium, unbreakable metal.

[It would be so easy for him, to end that little life. Clean, and quick, and maybe kind.

She remembers asking him to kill her. She's careful not to let it show.]

They could do it because - he's like me, a mutant. His power is healing. He can recover from most anything.

Almost.

[He thinks/says it almost without meaning to, and there's a line of bitterness there that's more than he wants to show anyone, but it's there.

He shakes himself, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling guilty.]

I'm not- I don't care that you're a mutant. That's not why I was [Terrified?] Freaked out.

[His best friend can bend metal with his bare hands, and Bucky's a living, breathing science experiment gone wrong. It would be sort of hypocritical to be uncomfortable because of what they can do.]

I know. [The suspicion is always there, gnawing at the back of her mind, even if people show no fear or discomfort. She's so used to being hated.

But she's seen inside him, now.]

Telepathy is - it's a powerful, dangerous thing. And it can be...it can be abused.

[Her own bitterness sears through them, just for a moment, chased by guilt.]

I won't lie to you, and say I'm never tempted to...overstep my boundaries. But not - not with people I care about. [She would never meddle in Morgana's mind, or Anya's.] And I care about Helena. [There's a desperate, aching sincerity in the words.

The bird has rested enough; slowly, Logan's claws retract, as he reaches up and sets it on a low branch.

It's all about choices.]

I trust you. [He believes her, because she sounds like she means it, and it kind of feels like it'd be hard for her to lie about this, when they're talking like this. Jean's a good person.]

You could've messed around with me, and I don't think you have.

[He watches the rest of the scene play out with Logan and the bird, and he can't help but ask, even if he still feels like it's probably not his business.]

He going to be okay?

[That trust means more than she could possibly express; she just lets him feel some of her gratitude, before turning her focus back to her own memory.]

I...I hope so. He's not alone, any more. [And that can make all the difference, can't it?]

[It's strange feeling other people's emotions like this. Bucky's not sure how well he'd do as a telepath, because this is pretty overwhelming, and he's only been doing it for a couple minutes.]

Good. [Maybe that means there's some hope for him and Helena, too.]

spam

fireincarnate - 2014-08-12 20:55 (UTC) - Expand

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