And everybody was gone

[paragon]

Who: Steve Rogers
Where: Out and about, like the man said. Mostly around the residences, probably.
When: February 22nd, throughout the day.
What: See Steve's network post; now watch Steve plow your snow. Or just run into him somewhere out there. Please feel free to tag just there or just here or both as is your druthers; I just felt like doing a twofer.
Warnings: None to start out with, please include any warnings in subjects.
[Open to all/Closed to Natasha]

ota; i was just soakin' my head to unrattle my brain

[ Steve doesn't actually remember the ice, but as far as he can tell that's nothing new. He hit and his lights went out, and he may as well have died for all he remembers between then and waking up at SHIELD. He thinks if anything was gonna make him hate the cold it'd be living in Brooklyn during the Depression, but that, too, is what it is.

Memory's a funny thing, though, as he's learned well the past few weeks. It's sometimes just as much muscle memory as recall. Your life can be there in broad strokes, with the details coming in piecemeal as needed. Which isn't so different from how it always works. Steve's not sure he'll be able to tell exactly when he's got it all back; he'll probably just realize one day that he no longer gets stopped in his tracks by the things that do or don't come to mind.

He wonders if this is how it was for Bucky but doesn't know how to ask him that question.

So maybe the feeling in his gut when he looks out the window in the morning expecting to go out on his usual jog is due to not having heat in the middle of a New York winter or being frozen in the Arctic for nearly seventy years, or maybe it's simply thanks to having to change his plans. Either way it's a restless sensation, so he offers his services and changes into warmer clothes, gives Natasha a kiss and goes out through the garage so he can pick up the snow shovel before heading out. He'd gotten a few requests right away, so those sensibly still in their homes may see him heading from one job to another, or in the middle of clearing a driveway nearby. One woman even asked him to safely escort her older kids — still elementary school-aged, students of his he's still getting to know — to the nearest hilly slope for sledding so she could stay home with the baby. He's pretty much happy to oblige anyone today. ]

natasha; i'm so surprised you want to dance with me now

[ So, yeah, memories.

It's mostly been broad strokes up to now. The pieces he's gotten never tell the whole story. It's more like remembering parts of himself that the pieces eventually fit into — and sometimes they don't, until he remembers more. He's led an unusual life, that's for sure.

It's no different with Natasha. He knows what he feels. The details are trickier to pin down. He remembers being comforted by her, comforting her in turn. Being kissed by her on the cheek, the mouth. Fighting beside her and with her. It all speaks to an intimacy; he just doesn't know if it's the same one they've been sharing here. One real kiss, and even that— it's nothing like what he remembers of a life here, however vague and untrue. He thinks there should be more. If not everything, at least more.

But he'll give it more time. Wait for the details to fit what he knows in his gut and his chest. He doesn't know what else there is to do about it. Everyone's struggling with what's in (or isn't in) their own heads; he's not special. Mostly he tries to keep his mind and body occupied, with this place and with her. So maybe he doesn't mind the snow so much.

He'd cleared their own driveway first, so he comes back in through the garage, stomping and brushing off as much snow as he can, yanking off his boots on the top step before the door and leaving them in the garage before he goes in. In the hallway he shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it, looking around for her or Bucky or the kitten, who's just begun attempts to wander at will into various parts of the house unsupervised. ]

Comments

[zymasoldat]

[ (Sometime after this.)

There'd been a few days when he didn't remember the Winter Soldier, when he was something resembling the Bucky Barnes who died a whole lifetime ago. The one who'd been a loyal friend, a good son, a big brother. A war hero. The kind of guy who gets a memorial in the Smithsonian. He wasn't entirely that man, not with the memories of another, simpler life getting all tangled up in his head, but...

(He knows he shouldn't think this, not after everything he'd been through, how hard he had to fight to pull his memories from the ruined state in which HYDRA had left his mind.)

He can't deny it felt good, forgetting some things, just for a little while.

But the Soldier still is and will always be a part of him. And yeah, nice as it was to be another version of himself for a few days, he knew even then, on some level, that he was incomplete. Without the Soldier, a piece of him was missing. Soon enough, though, more memories started to return to him, triggered by faces and smells and tastes and all sorts of things. The nightmares started, too, bringing with them vague images and impressions of the Winter Soldier.

As Bucky pieced his life back together, bit by bit, the good and the godawful, he started to feel whole again. But there was also the guilt, the shame, the sick, sharp twist in his gut whenever he could see himself pulling a trigger or choking the life out of someone on HYDRA's orders. His hands, his body, his training, cutting down lives and shaping the century. Every mission, leaving the world a worse place than he found it.

He starts to avoid home, the more he remembers. When he's around, he forces a smile and some strained conversations about nothing. He tries not to make it awkward, and tries, for as long as he can, to hold on to the man he was when he woke up in the hospital. Sometimes he tells himself he does it for Steve, to be the friend he deserves... But he knows that's a load of crap. He does it for himself, just as he ran away and evaded all attempts to find him for the past two years.

Bucky thinks about the fake doctor's words often-- 'You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop'-- and it's true, and he hates that it's true. He wishes it wasn't, that he could just sit Steve down and tell him why he ran. But how can he even begin to tell his best friend (Are they even that anymore?) what it's like to see his own fist trying its damnedest to break his face open, over and over again?

If it wasn't for the snowstorm, Bucky would've kept up his routine of avoidance. He still could, really, if he was determined enough to trudge through several feet of snow. But it isn't as if he has anywhere to go. So he keeps busy with household tasks and catching up on his reading, at least until he can't ignore the fact that there's something wrong here.

Well. Something more than the usual levels of wrong.

After a quick check around the house, it isn't long before he finds Steve in the basement, cleaning up the remnants of one of their punching bags. He stands there, halfway down the steps, watching Steve for a moment. He could make a joke, try to defuse the situation, but... ]

Do you need a hand with that?

[paragon]

[ He could make a joke; Steve wouldn't blame him. There's more sand on the floor than still in the bag, which hangs wilted from the ceiling — at least he hadn't hit it clean off the hook this time — and there are scattered granules along his arms, on his face and neck where he'd clearly tried to wipe away more grains of the stuff. He's been sweating, skin sticky and tacky with it, which means he was at it for a while, though when Bucky comes down the stairs Steve's already squatting over a garbage bag with a broom and dustpan in either hand. Good thing the flooring is concrete, the few scattered mats smooth and easy to brush clean.

The scrape of sand and bristles is enough to cover Bucky's descent — not that he makes much noise these days, when he's around. So he takes Steve a little by surprise, though he turns back to his task a couple seconds after looking in Bucky's direction and shaking his head in a no. ]

I got it.

[ Speaking of shameful thoughts: for a moment, however brief, Steve wishes Bucky would just leave him alone, like he's been doing. It passes as quickly as it comes, leaving Steve no more or less weary than he was a minute ago. He's tried damned hard not to resent Bucky for keeping himself hidden the past couple years, and for the most part, moments of inevitable frustration aside, he's succeeded. God knows Bucky never asked Steve to go chasing after him. He understands it. He's had a lot of time to understand it. But the fact is if they weren't here, Bucky would be frozen in a tube in Wakanda right now, and Steve's not sure how many more times he can just let him go.

(The answer is as many times as Bucky needs him to. Steve knows that as well as he knows his own name.)

It's just a bad time. ]

—if you could just hold the bag open, Buck.

[ He pushes up from his crouch so he's standing, looking toward his friend on the staircase like he's not sure he'll actually come down, in spite of the offer. ]

[zymasoldat]

[ 'I got it.' Now there's a familiar refrain. For a moment, it brings him back to Brooklyn, to when they were both different people. Hell, they even look like strangers now, compared to who they were back then, before the serum and before HYDRA. Bucky isn't foolish enough to think of their old lives as 'simpler' times, because they hadn't been. Life was always messy and tough and complicated, but back then, he could at least think of the future as something wide open and full of boundless possibilities.

Now look at them. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, in the future, and it's not the world that the Stark Expo promised.

Before, he'd remind Steve that just because you can go at things on your own, it didn't mean you had to. Now, he stands on the stairs, silent, a little uncertain as to whether he should stay or head back up, until Steve shifts gears and takes him up on the offer. Then he starts down the rest of the way, crouching down to hold the garbage bag open for his friend. ]

So... What'd that punching bag ever do to you? [ He glances up at Steve, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Look, he's trying. ]

[paragon]

Nothin'. Innocent bystander.

[ The joke will have to do for an attempt at returning the smile, since his mouth only seems capable of pulling tight in something more of a grimace. He looks away and drops the bottom of the broom back to the floor, crouching down again beside Bucky and getting back to it. At this point it's still more shoveling the dustpan under the pile of sand and using the sides of the bristles to prevent the mess from just getting pushed farther across the floor. He's been doing a lot of this today. ] Don't worry, I'll buy a new one.

[ He doesn't really think it's what Bucky's asking, but he's also not sure how much he really wants to know. Steve supposes he ought to know anyway; it's his house, too, and he has to live with the both of them. He's just never been one for spilling his guts, not even to Bucky, not even when they were kids. He sure as hell doesn't know how to start now, but he's not up for making Bucky drag it out of him, either, if he even would.

After a minute, he says, ] Nat and I broke it off. [ He doesn't look up from his task, but he does stand a little abruptly to reach for the bag, unhooking it and letting what will fall to the ground do so and dropping the rest into the garbage bag. No point doing the work to make the floor spotless if more sand's just gonna end up on it. Nat and I, like it was a mutual decision. Well, he's never been without his pride. Bucky can probably read between the lines anyway. ]

[zymasoldat]

[ He makes a soft, short sound, an mm that borders on amused before he, too, looks away, keeping his eyes on the sand as it gets swept up. Of course he's not worried about the punching bag, but he knows that Steve doesn't actually think that he is. And so, nothing more needs to be said on that.

He lets the next minute go by in silence. Whatever's eating at Steve, he doesn't know, exactly, but he knows there are a lot of contenders. It's not easy for any of them, living like this, not knowing what exactly's going on here or back home. And besides that, besides the intrusive memories of a life spent in this town, there's every unresolved matter from home hanging in the air, artfully avoided at all costs. Any number of things could have Steve frustrated enough to retreat down here to work it off himself. He never was one for opening the emotional floodgates-- hell, neither was Bucky, though he could be a little more open and pushy about it than his friend. But even that's harder now after he spent so long being made to forget how to even be human.

Bucky looks up again when Steve starts to let him in on what happened, that he and Nat broke it off. If it weren't for the fact that he always chooses his words carefully when alluding to their real lives, he might ask if that's really so surprising, considering. They hadn't been a couple, really, before Wayward Pines, in all of its strangeness, convinced them they were.

But, in all honesty, he gets it. Their memories of this town certainly feel real, and as far as those memories are concerned, Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff were practically destined to be together from the day they all met on the playground.

And he knows, better than anyone, what it's like to remember doing things he had no control over. To see the Soldier's missions play out with his own eyes. Of course, what Steve and Natasha are going through isn't quite like that, but he wonders, in this moment, if Steve can now truly understand where he was coming from in their talk on the quinjet. (I know. But I did it.)

A moment passes as he seems to absorb the news. ]

I thought things were going well. What changed? [ It may be a loaded question, but he asks it anyway. ]

[paragon]

[ That's not the answer he was expecting, and it startles Steve enough to look down at him. If anything, he expects Bucky to ask him if he's surprised — it's been the question looping through his own mind while he's been down here sure enough, and Bucky's never let him get away with anything. Or never used to, at least. Briefly, he wonders if things have really changed that much, confusion writ between his brow and the lines on his forehead, until realization dawns just as clearly.

Steve looks away and up, fingers curling into fists even as he steps over the pile of sand on the floor. It doesn't prevent new grains of sand from sticking to the soles of his feet, but that's a lost cause anyway, and he leaves a small trail in his wake as he moves to the center of the room, raising his hand to the smoke detector that Natasha had showed them that first day. The side of his fist cracks the plastic apart, a couple pieces falling to the floor, and he reaches between what remains to pull the camera out, ripping it from the connecting wires with a tug. It's dealt with just as swiftly in his palm, and Steve walks back over to Bucky, dropping the remnants of lens and casing into the bag. ]

You know damn well what.

[ He leans down to pick the broom handle up from the floor and does his best to gather the sand he tracked back toward the uneven pile. ]

[zymasoldat]

[ Bucky watches Steve make quick work of the camera with a somewhat bemused expression on his face, though he can't really say he's surprised by the approach to that little problem. It's a temporary measure, of course-- somehow, the camera will be replaced soon enough, and he can't say it doesn't make him leery, like this might put the three of them even more on the radar, lead to some escalation in surveillance...

But for now, they can speak freely. Bucky glances down at the remains of the camera as it goes in the garbage bag, then watches Steve sweep up the remaining traces of sand. ]

Yeah. I know. [ The bag seems to have enough in it now that it'll stay open on its own, so Bucky leaves it to stand back up to his full height. ] But you had to have seen it coming, Steve.

[ There you go, there's what he wanted to say initially, with none of that feigned surprise. And it's not that he's unsympathetic-- he's far from unsympathetic, and he tries to convey that with his voice, even if his words sound blunt. ]

[paragon]

[ Back in the day he could always rely on Bucky to be frank with him, even when — especially when — Steve didn't want to hear it. He'd taken it for granted as a given, a matter of course, until he couldn't anymore. So he doesn't now. There were days after Bucky fell when he would've given anything to hear his best friend giving him a hard time again, and while it's different actually having the man in front of him, he doesn't think that grief will ever completely leave him. He nods. ]

Yeah. I just— [ thought I was in love. ] I was gonna give it more time. [ He's not sure what kind of man that makes him. There's still sand on the floor, but Bucky is standing and facing him for once, and Steve doesn't actually want to talk about Natasha. He looks behind him to rest the broom against the wall. ] Got nothin' but, pal.

[zymasoldat]

[ More time. He can get that, wanting to draw a good thing out, even if it's fake. Steve had so many friends back home, people who believed in him enough to put their freedom on the line so the two of them could make it to Siberia and put a stop to the other Winter Soldiers. And now he's here with nobody but Bucky and Natasha and a head full of fake memories of a different, easier life. With one old friend who might as well be a ghost and another placed in the role of long-term girlfriend...

Must be lonely. So yeah, Bucky can see why Steve would want to keep it going. He nods, his eyes drifting down to the floor for a moment. ]

Well... Her loss, right? [ He offers a weak, wry smile. It's the kind of thing he's said before, and he always meant it whenever a gal would brush his friend off before he even had a chance to put his foot in his mouth. But this thing with Natasha, it's nothing like those old, awkward exploits back in Brooklyn. Seriously, he adds: ] It felt real, didn't it. [ It's not quite a question. Tilting his head a little, he adds: ] Did you feel like this before?

[ This seems to be the first time it even occurs to him, the possibility that Steve's feelings for Natasha might not have been entirely imposed on him by whatever's going on in this town. ]

[paragon]

[ He doesn't want to talk about Natasha — he can't offer much more than a huff of air through his nose and the accompanying winded hit to the gut to acknowledge Bucky's statement, unsure how comforting that reminiscence is — but then there's the question. He drops his gaze to the ground, flexing his fingers absently; he'd actually managed to work them to soreness. It's not that he doesn't know the answer, and Bucky's the only one listening now, but he doesn't want to hear it with his own ears. Whatever he'd held quietly in the back of his mind, that can of worms is well and truly opened. It doesn't matter now. ]

I just wanted to hold onto the friends I had.

[ It sounds petty and accusing and Steve lets out a breath. He's been speaking in code since they got here, anything true he's had to say made untrustworthy just by dint of that alone. He hates it, he's no good at it, and it chafes at his soul but apparently sticks there well enough even when the camera's gone. ] And I'm not such a good one to be around right now.

[ It's less of an apology than an invitation for Bucky to get the hell out of dodge, if it's what he wants. ]

[zymasoldat]

You still have--

[ He stops short, sucking in a breath, not even sure how he was going to finish that remark. Her. Me. Us. It feels like a hollow sentiment when he can't speak for Natasha and knows he's barely been present, himself. Because of the cameras, Steve's a lot more likely to get a different Bucky Barnes than the one he's talking to right now. Sparing a quick glance at the trash bag, Bucky soon sets his gaze back on Steve, fixing him with a serious look. ]

You don't have to be. [ Not like Bucky's been a great friend lately, either. Besides, with their history, they've racked up enough points with each other that they can afford to be less than their best sometimes. It's just that Bucky's pretty sure he used up all of his, going into hiding, being so much trouble when he was finally flushed out. ] I'm still here. [ It's easier to say this time. He manages without any hesitation. ] And you took out the camera, so you might as well make it count.

[paragon]

[ He'd asked Natasha if they were missing something. A last-ditch effort to see if there was a chance that what she'd thought she felt for him hadn't been entirely imposed on her, if only for his own peace of mind. She hadn't given him a direct answer but still shut down that line of thought pretty thoroughly. As she always has, in her own way, which is an answer in and of itself.

He's not sure he can bring himself to ask the question again in such quick succession, even if Bucky's not gonna be breaking up with him any time soon. He's wondered if there's some memory after what he's got from Wakanda that can explain Bucky being out of the ice, but there's just the raft and then nothing. He remembers enough now that the things that don't come back easily are just foggy and confusing, rather than complete blanks. So no, he's not missing anything. Bucky never chose to stay at his side, before this place; neither did Natasha. He doesn't begrudge either of them their choices if by his side isn't where they need to be, and it's why he hadn't fought Bucky going in the tube. But there was a reason he couldn't finish that sentence just now. ]

They never made a lick of difference to me, Buck. If there's something you want me to say you just gotta be around to hear it.

[zymasoldat]

[ Steve's words hit him like a splash of freezing water. They don't hurt, exactly-- it's not like it even was Steve's intent to hurt him. It's more like a system shock, that wake-up call he's been doing his damnedest to avoid. What Steve says is the truth: he's the reason they haven't been communicating, not Steve. And he knows it-- he's known it, because how could he not? It's been a conscious choice on his part.

But it doesn't mean he's ready to have this talk. He'd put it off longer if it was solely up to him, but it's not; that's not how friendship works. These past couple of weeks, they've been a crash course in remembering what it's like to have that. This conversation might be painful, but it needs to happen. ]

I know. [ It's only two reluctant words, but they carry an undercurrent of guilt that lingers heavily between them. ] But I don't even know what I want you to say.

[ Because everything about him, about the past seventy years, is just so messy, so complicated, so ugly. ]

[paragon]

Then at least give me a chance to figure it out.

[ He'll find the words, if he has to, and he's always been willing to give Bucky time to come by his own in due time if he could just get Bucky to stop running. They have all the time in the world if Steve can manage that, but so far he hasn't, not even trapped in the same small town together. Steve can't exactly blame him — he's got his own guilt to contend with, after all. But it's not up to Bucky to absolve that, just for Steve to live with.

He takes a breath, letting it brace up against all those old (and new) hurts, giving Bucky a small smile. ]

Used to be easier, huh?

[ Not everything. Not even most things. But the two of them, that'd been one of the few constants. It's not nostalgia so much as a statement of fact. ]