driftfleet | 001 ✪ video/audio

Entry tags:

001 ✪ video/audio

Who: Jim Barnes
Broadcast: Fleetwide video + audio
Action: Iskaulit.
When: August 20th.

[ The video flicks on to a spacious room, spans it from left to right, then top to bottom. There's a door off to the right side, and the camera follows it to the adjoining room, similarly large. Again, left to right, top to bottom. Both rooms are spic and span, empty, with wooden floors. And then it switches to audio. The voice is brusque, but amiable, with a moderate Brooklyn drawl. ]

Nice place for a gym. There could be a dojo next door, so it's all in one place. I've got a few sandbags to hang up, and some mats we could use. There's a notice outside for schedules — I know a lot of you folks have been offering training. The room's big enough, and there's plenty more like it on this ship.

Anybody else interested?

[ Anyone wandering the Iskaulit or looking for Bucky after the broadcast will find him humming as he puts up the sandbags. He's dressed very simply in the ship's jumpsuit, with no left sleeve. The left arm whirs in tune as he works. ]

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[ The answer is immediate, irrevocable, ]

Yes.

I will be there shortly for a briefing.

See you soon.

[ He spends the intervening time dragging the sandbags into a line, rolling his shoulders and stretching. The room's not even dusty, and that's perhaps what gnaws at him. It needs character. It shouldn't be just a base. ]

[ He never has his back to the door, but he still doesn't hear Winter come in, and stifles the yelp of Jesus — when he sees the man. Practically appeared out of thin air. Jim beams at him. ]

You made it. Hey.

[ This ship is vastly different from the Caprine, though it's far more open. He doesn't know if he likes it, though it looks like there are several different projects being started. It isn't hard to find Jim, and he approaches.

Granted, the way he approaches is...probably not as loud as he had intended. Habit makes him quiet his steps as well as standing silently until he's noticed.

At the very least, Jim looks pleased to see him, so he offers a nod in response, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.]

You said for me to meet you here. I'm sorry if I am late.

[ The tension in Winter's shoulders dims, and his smile brightens. Feedback loop. ]

Nah, you ain't, I've been here the whole day. [ a throwaway gesture to the sandbags. ] You wanna have a look around first, or get straight to work?

[ He casts a look around the room and to the adjoining doors to the next, quickly assessing the stability of the walls in certain situations before looking back at Jim.

There's nothing special about the room one way or the other, though things were not always as they seemed and it was good to be vigilant; but it was so exhausting. ]

They can be accomplished at once?

[ He raises his eyebrows. Shit, that was quick. ]

Oh. Okay, I see. Let's hang these up, then, and we can get a bite to eat.

[ He's careful to make it a neutral statement, not an overt suggestion or an order, just something normal someone might say. The bags already have hooks attached, so it's simply a matter of dragging them to the wooden frame he has set up and using a stepladder climb up and hang them. ]

[ They are heavy. He specifically requested a few special ones to withstand people with superstrength. Like them. ]

[ Winter nods once moving over to the sandbags. He looks them over and decides one at a time would be best to avoid potential mistakes. Grabbing one by the chain, he tests the weight before picking it up and hefting it over his shoulder, the bionic arm revving with a metallic whine as he lifts. It is indeed heavy, but not so much to make his knees buckle.

Because anything that didn't break him was fine.

He walks over to the stepladder, shifting the sandbag on his shoulder so Jim could reach up and hook it from the step ladder. Jim wanted to eat, so the sooner they got the task accomplished, the better.]

[ How strong was he? Jim doesn't — can't — disguise his own surprise at the ease with which he lifts and carries. But then again, given how stoic his alternate is, he doubts anything short of a mortal wound would get a real reaction. ]

[ He didn't think it was possible to hate HYDRA this much. It's filled him up, choking him, like a sickness. It's hard to breathe. He grits his teeth and hangs the sandbag, steadying it as it sways. ]

One down.

[ As Winter retrieves another, Jim moves the stepladder. So on, and so forth. ]

[ This task is relatively mild compared to other more recent tasks he's been given, so the final two he brings over together, one on his shoulder and the other being dragged across the floor. When they're both in place, he steps back and rotates his left shoulder quickly to get all the plates back into proper alignment.

He clenches and un-clenches the fist of his right hand, looking over to Jim with an open expression. Not vacant, just.. waiting for what is next. ]

Was there something else you needed me to do?

[ Silence is fluid between them, and comfortable. Jim stops humming, content to follow the beat of Winter's heart, the no-sound of his footsteps. Just the way the air shifts around him, ghostly as well. Both arms whir, and that's discordant. ]

[ Jim dusts his hands, and comes up to Winter, looking over him. ]

We finished. Good job.

[ Praising him first is more important. Then, ]

Have you done maintenance yet? On your arm?

[ Winter enjoys the companionable silence while they finish up, watching Jim as he approaches, visibly trying to relax. It's a lot harder than it looks. ]

Thank you, sir. [ A small upturn of the corner of his mouth. ]

[ His blood runs cold at the last bit of questioning, remembering that Jim had told him that it was to be necessity. He hadn't done it. Nor was there anyone here that he trusted enough with it.

Winter knew nothing about the arm save for whether it was working or not. He shakes his head, eyes downcast as he schools his expression to something more normal. ]

No, sir. I will accept any disciplinary action necessary.

[ Is this a test? he thinks, dimly. He's asking another man. In an elevator, as they clear him for level 6. This feels like one, this cage with suddenly tightening bars, pressing in on his skin. He can't hate HYDRA more. He can't use that hatred. He can't even show it to the man who should feel it too. So a dance then, a transmutation. Hatred can be anger, and anger is focus. Bucky likes to sidestep, light on his feet. But Jim goes to the cold thing in him for this, and it stamps the unnecessary feeling out. He stiffens. For a long time, he says nothing. Then, sharply, ]

What is the problem?

[ The silence lasts only for a minute or two, but it feels like hours, the sound of his heart thumping wildly in his chest, the idle noises the arm makes as he shifts; they feel drawn out, almost.

He's eerily calm when he manages to collect himself, raising his head to look at Jim head-on, hair still hanging in his face slightly. ]

..Current issues with The Weapon are unknown. Working close to full capacity.

[ It's your arm, he nearly snarls, and collars the monster. This man is not the target. He's calm, but the silence has had its effect. They aren't that different, in this respect. Point, and shoot. ]

Acknowledged.

[ A beat, and he melts. ]

[ Softer, ] Do you want to see how mine works so you can do it for yourself? It looks like the same blueprint, just minor differences.

[ He's been offered an out, and he's never been so grateful for it. It doesn't go unnoticed that Jim's temperament has changed, if only due to his irritation in his incompetence. That, he can deal with.

His eyes widen a fraction when he realizes he can actually do something in regards to the arm if it's not operational. Winter nods his head, straightening his posture. ]

Please?

[ He'll feel badly for this after, but not regret it. Regret is for one thing: letting Steve fall. The rest — he doesn't care enough. Symptom of depression, the shrink says. The shrink, he ignores. It's Sam's words that stick. ]

All right. Follow me.

[ He strides in front, putting a note on the door to say he's temporarily out, and then goes back to the shuttle and to the Heron. All in absolute silence, looking back only to see if the Winter Soldier is following him (and he is). ]

[ The space he picks is the cargo bay, quiet this time of day now that the small kid isn't running around. He sets the toolbox on the ground and strips off his undershirt, unselfconscious. The scars are red against his skin, standing out in the light. ]

Sit here.

[ The walk back to the Heron is silent enough that it gives him time to think and process what the hell just happened. This feels like a reprimand, though he can't find it in himself to care. Jim is going to show him a thing or two about his arm. Part of him is excited to learn something new- something that didn't pertain to killing someone.

That was nice.

Winter is grateful that the cargo bay was chosen- he knows where the exits are and how to maneuver in one. Had the other chosen the Heron's med bay, he's not so sure he could keep it together. His brain liked to go foggy when sitting in his own. ]

[ He sits as instructed, watching Jim as he takes his shirt off and grabs a tool box. He knew he shouldn't have expected anything similar to the chair in the Vault-- cold, unforgiving, terrifying.

The soldier can't help but look at the scars surrounding Jim's own arm, much like his own, and can't help but wonder if his hurts, too. ]

[ The Winter Soldier sits opposite him. Jim puts his arm flat on the table, between them. He's giving the man an open, exploitable weakness, and the part of him that knows the monster shivers at being on the receiving end. He himself rarely resists the option to go for the throat. Why should another him have reason to resist the impulse? ]

[ He'll just deal. The toolbox doesn't have what he needs, so he's appropriated what he can. A flat screwdriver pries the plates open, and they hiss at the cooling gel glints off the lamplight. It's dark blue: there's no wiring. Instead, there's rows of microchips, connected by very thin, almost transparent fibres. His eyes flick up to the Soldier's. ]

Movement. [ he points to another. ] This, for analysing feedback from my fingers. This [ he points to a microchip. ] controls flexibility around the elbow.

[ Winter pays very close attention to how Jim removes the plating in case the need arises. Although, he has a feeling that he'll be expected to do the same as part of the lesson.

He's never done it before, so there is a part of him that is eager to try it. He always did like whenever the need to hack something arose on a mission.. Though it was very, very seldom. Espionage didn't align with his missions.]

[ He leans closer when Jim gestures to each one, committing it to memory. When given the chance, he's always been able to pick things up quickly. Now that he's stuck, there will be lots of chances. The thought actually makes that oppressive presence at the back of his mind lighten considerably.

Winter catches Jim's eye when he looks up, but studiously looks back down to his arm. ]

Understood.

[ He sets the screwdriver down. ]

Now, I have to check nothing's out of place, or loose.

[ Deliberately, he presses lightly on each chip, testing it. Nothing's wrong, so nothing falls out or moves. Then he checks the fibres, that none of them are tangled. All in full view of Winter. ]

Got that?

[ This seemed like such an innocuous task, and he has to wonder why he was never allowed to do it himself. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle it.. Jim was doing just fine and it didn't look like there was much he could mess up.

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he nods once in understanding, making sure he's paying close attention to the fibers; not a one out of place. ]

Yes, sir.

Okay. Now — [ he curls and uncurls his fingers, and then his fist. ] the fingers sometimes twitch by themselves, but that's normal. If they don't stop, that's a wiring issue. If your plates jam or screech, there's either somethin' stuck in 'em or something wrong with the chip.

[ He closes the plates, and they slide into place with a soft click. ]

This part [ he taps his shoulder, over the white star, ] don't open by yourself. It's fused to the bone, and the serum regrew the flesh around it. The plates are a lot more resistant to damage 'cuz a'that. But if we get hurt — we will need a surgeon at least, and morphine.

[ He leaves the rest to Winter's imagination. ]

[ Winter is diligent in his mental note taking, and he is rather keen to get his own arm open so he can put the knowledge to practical use.

He wasn't a stranger to the occasional unconscious finger twitch here and there- it has happened enough times since being stationed out here. Thankfully, it's good to know what the cause is and that he doesn't have to tolerate it until a tech can fix it.. ]

....Are there qualified technicians here?

[ That's honestly the part that's bothering him the most. He doesn't see why a surgeon would be favored over someone who knows the tech, but perhaps maybe that's Jim's preference. ]

[ He presses his lips together, unhappily. ]

No. There's just us... Stay out of trouble.

[ It's to protect themselves as much as it is to protect others from the ferocity of the Soldier. But Jim's having doubts about that now. The Soldier's attacked no one without being directed to or provoked. In fact — he doesn't seem to do much of anything unless prompted. ]

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