driftfleet | A cry for help

Thank you, but it has already been treated. Dr. Crusher and Dr. Keller pulled me out of danger, and were able to mend my leg.

[She winces again a little as she turns back into a resting position. She's trying not to show pain here, especially after her little show of bravery. She looks this man in the eye, trying to see how much he could tell about the extent of her injury. Would he try and take her back to the fleet? He seemed the type to not let injured stay near a potentially dangerous area.]

Are you just getting here now? Or have you already faced the creatures on this ship?

[ But it's still hurting — aw hell, that was a pointless argument and he's just in the habit of fussing. Bucky just sighs with the memory of one hundred arguments of this nature with Steve, and looks back at her steadily. ]

Been a few rounds with them already. Nasty creatures.

[Wanda turns away from him. He didn't seem like he was going to insist about moving her. Wanda didn't think she would have had the strength or will to resist him if he had. Her gaze focuses on the hallway, leading further into the ship. The opening where the bugs had initially swarmed from.]

How many more do you think there are?

[ Bucky follows her line of sight, and unconsciously he mirrors Steve's posture: something sturdy and immovable. There was always that about him even when he was small, and when he was Cap it reminded everyone that there was someone who'd stand against the wind no matter how bad. ]

No idea. There's usually about five or six in every room, that's not counting the workers if you go further in, but they're not interested in a fight unless you get in the way. I figure these big ones are the soldiers and they'll just attack anything that moves.

[There it was again. The feeling of something so familiar, yet belonging to someone Wanda does not know. This man's stance... the star on his uniform... Wanda pushes the thoughts out of her head. It was possible she could just be imagining things. Projecting someone else's identity onto this stranger. And yet...]

They are bugs, yes? They function like a colony. Like ants. Would that not mean that there is something in charge? Something that is guiding them?

Yes, it's possible.

[ He frowns, and tries to recall if he smelled anything particularly pungent. Ants use scent trails. ]

Disrupting that might fix our soldier problem, but it might do the same to the workers, and they aren't doing anything that'd hurt us.

[ Which doesn't mean he won't hurt them if he's attacked, but going for them just seems like unnecessary cruelty. ]

[Wanda considers the man's words. It was true that the workers didn't seem to have any interest in them, unless their activities were disrupted. Yet... could their actions really be considered non-threatening?]

Are we sure that the workers are not doing something that we should be wary of? I could not get a very good look at what specifically they seemed to be doing, but, if it mandates that soldiers defend them, should we not be concerned about this?

[ He smiles wryly. ]

I'm a soldier, Miss. I'm not suspect because I protect civilians, am I?

[Wanda turns to look back at this "soldier." His smile seemed warm enough, but... Wanda has had enough experience around war to know that not all who would call themselves "soldiers" are exactly honorable.]

That all depends.

Yes it does, [ he says, simply, and his heart twists knowing that only those who've seen war would answer that way. ] but if you're willing to take my word for it, I think they're honestly harmless. Just looking for food and a place to stay.

[Wanda is honestly a little surprised by the honesty in this man's words. She'll give him a mild look of surprise, before recovering into a more mild expression.]

You... have served for a long time, have you not?

[ What kind of men has she met in her life, he wonders, and then wipes that thought away before it shows on his face. Instead, he gives her a worn smile. ]

Not that long, Miss. Just been around a while.

[Wanda could sense there was definitely more to it this man than just what his words would appear to mean on the surface. She hadn't used her mind-reading abilities since her arrival on the Marsiva, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. This man... his words... his stance... his uniform... there was something significant in all these things. And she wanted to know what that something was. Wanda's eyes begin to glow faintly with a crimson, ethereal energy, before she closes them in concentrated focus. Wanda was going to take a look into this man's mind.]

[ He's been taught to be wary of much, in the future, but telepaths are still in the realm of science fiction. As such, Wanda encounters no defences on the mental plane. Bucky's mind is noiseless. It's a winter's day, in some deep and dark December. The snow is pristine, and undisturbed. The whole world seems to have come to a complete stop. Not even the wind whistles. ]

[ As she explores further, she'll find that's not completely true. Here and there it's melted through, or shatters under her feet. The first thing there is the War, the grime of it spread across the ground like living vines, in red, brown, and black. The smell of gun-smoke; the crackle of falling mortars. Someone screaming. A blond man with a red, white, and blue uniform, a silver star set in the centre of the shield he carries on his back, walking confidently at the head of a unit. The image of him flickers. Sometimes he's six feet two and charging towards the guns, and other times when he's still he's five feet and glaring fiercely back, fists clenched, lip bloodied. The two don't fit, in Bucky's mind, and shift in and out of each other in his memory. But they are unequivocally the same man, because when he turns to smile at Bucky, the chill around Wanda immediately dissipates. ]

[ Where the darker colours fade to neon, there's new scents, too many, overpowering. Voices. He's in a gym, where the colours are sepia and the leather smell of his jacket is strong in his nostrils, better than what's out there in the world. His left hand is metal, and he's pulling a sleeve on it that changes its appearance to normal flesh. A woman with red hair and a dark black SHIELD uniform is chewing bubblegum, watching him. You shouldn't, Natasha says, voice distant. It helps, he answers, and she looks away. 2013 is barely there. 1945 swims back into it. When Wanda reaches the very heart of the landscape, the wind picks up. The sound of a train, on full throttle. The world is now loud, screeching. Remember when you made me ride the Cyclone at Coney Island? Yeah, and I threw up? This isn't payback, is it? ]

[ Steve falls, and the world comes to a stop. It's not healed, only been packed with ice until it's covered completely, and crumbles away at Wanda's touch. Grief devours, and unkindly. His brother is gone — his whole heart and half of his very soul turn to ash in his mouth. There's no wind, only a howl of despair when he finds the blood at the bottom of the ravine, and no body. ]

[ It's 2012 and there's an empty grave at Arlington inscribed with the name Steven G. Rogers. The place smells like whiskey, and the sun is getting low, and nothing moves. ]

[It's too much. The visions, the sensations, the memories... this man's head... it was too much for her. Too much sorrow. Too much grief. The sight of those words, that name, inscribed upon the empty-grave marker. They are burned into Wanda's brain, as she pulls herself out of Bucky's head. Bucky. That was his name for this man. She shouldn't... no, she couldn't use it. James Barnes. The name of the man before him. The name of the man who carried so much sadness within him.]

[As Wanda opens her eyes, she's gasping. Crying. The anguish of feeling exactly what Sgt. Barnes' had felt. It was crashing over her, like a massive title wave. Yet, the magnitude of it all wasn't an unfamiliar pain to her. It was the feeling of losing someone... someone who means more to you than even yourself. The loss that leaves a gaping hole, the likes of which will likely never be truly filled ever again. Yes... Wanda has felt this before. Nonetheless, it doesn't stop the tears from falling down her face. Nor does it calm the storm of emotion playing out on her face.]

[She can't bring herself to speak. She doesn't know what to say. Instead, she just cries. She reaches out to him, grasping the sleeve of his uniform. The sleeve covering his cybernetic arm. She doesn't pull it, she doesn't push it. She just holds onto it... and the rain continues to fall.]

[ His vision swims, and was he thinking of — Steve? He was always thinking of Steve, except there was never red at the edges like this, and he shakes his head, pulling himself out of it, wondering why there's trouble breathing. Re-assess the surroundings. Bug ship. No hostiles. He was talking to this young lady. ]

Miss? Did you — [ feel that? Where did it come from? but he stops dead at the sight of her tears, and twists his arm out of her grip to rest his hand gently on hers. Soft: ] Hey, sweetheart, what's the matter? You all right?

I-

[Wanda can barely bring her mouth to form words, or her throat to voice them. Nothing in her head sounds right. What can she say? What could she possibly say? The only thing that comes to mind is:]

I am sorry.

[She looks up at Sgt. Barnes. Her eyes staring straight into his own, trying to convey as much sincere empathy as she can offer. Tears continue to trickle down her cheeks.]

[ He tilts his head curiously, vision still reddish at the edges. Focus, Barnes. ]

Sorry for...?

[Wanda just shakes her head in response. She can't bring herself to say more. Her gaze drops away from Sgt. Barnes' face and down to the floor. Her crying has slowed, but her shoulders still shake a little from some errant sobbing.]

[ If she'll let him, he sits down on her left, and wraps an arm around her shoulders, content to be present until she's willing to talk. ]

[Wanda feels Sgt. Barnes' arm wrap around her. She startles at first, but she doesn't immediately pull away. Instead, she looks up at his face again. A pained expression still plastered upon her face. She looks away again, quickly enough. Brushing tears from her eyes, she attempts to calm her breathing down to a normal rhythm.]

[Once she feels she has control enough over herself again, she finally speaks. Her tone is quiet, unsure of the words that find their way out of her mouth.]

So... you are Captain America... That must have been a very hard burden for you to bear.

[She says it like she doesn't already know just how hard it was for him. However, it's the only thing she can think to say.]

[ His hand drops, and he gives her a curious look, not expecting that statement out of all others. ]

How did — oh, never mind. [ it's probably the uniform, even with the lack of shield ] Nah. S'mostly publicity these days.

[ A pause, then, ]

We're from the same world, huh?

[She cannot bring herself to look at him. She knows these next words... may likely hurt.]

No. We are not.

[A pause. Her mouth opens, closes. Attempting to form words.]

But I do know... a Captain America.

But —

[ He frowns. She knew the name. This is Natasha all over again. ]

[ Quietly, ] It's Steve, isn't it?

[ The better world, where Bucky's the dead one. ]

[Wanda turns even further away from him. She braces internally for the reaction that her response will likely bring.]

Yes.

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