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

[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. ]