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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He's rusty and he doesn't have shoes. But muscle memory is a hell of a thing, and the music's down deep. It's a base component. One he hopes the Winter Soldier hasn't been robbed of. ]

[ No harm in lingering to look. He's listening for her, for the electric way the air changes in the room when the Widow is in it, and his mouth is already curving into a smile. True to his word though, he lets her enjoy the view of his body's movement. Actual peacock James Buchanan Barnes. ]

Should I flex, for good measure?

[She's wearing what more or less amounts to her uniform these days; ship-issue navy jumpsuit with the sleeves tied around her waist, tanktop, boots, holster strapped to her right thigh. The black sling across her chest is still present, but doesn't seem to carry the weight it had three weeks ago, the first time she'd worn it. Another week, and it'd be gone entirely--though even with it, she manages to not stand in the door so much as lounge, eyes sweeping over him. No point in pretending she isn't looking.]

[A quirked eyebrow, the faintest curve to her lips gives him an answer before she answers.]

I wouldn't want you to sprain something.

[ It's his uniform too, though without the gun. He prefers the knives tucked into his trousers. A tank top, for freedom of movement for his arm. His eyes flick to the cast; he doesn't comment or linger. ]

Oh, ha ha. I'll take a dinosaur joke next for 500, Alex.

[ Rolling his shoulders, so the muscles on his back ripple along with it as he carries the materials for the ring. Ok, now he's just showing off. ]

C'mon, surprise me.

[She's made her peace with it, for the time being, and it's a definite step in the right direction that he has, too--or at least fakes it well enough. It's not quite a smile on her lips yet, but it's creeping that way, as her eyes follow him across the room. The view's definitely something, what can she say? Even the arm is less unsettling these days, now that she has the real one wandering around here for comparison. They're night and day.]

[She slides inside, leans against the wall, almost posing herself as she replies.]

I don't know, a surprise might be dangerous. Wouldn't want your heart to give out.

[Innocent words, innocent tone, but there's nothing of innocence in her eyes.]

[ His smile in return is crooked. Showy. He's not afraid of whatever monster she thinks she is. Never has been, when it matches his own in step. It's hard to fear what's familiar. ]

One more about getting off my lawn. Or prune juice. Then I've got bingo.

[He treats her like something dangerous. Slow, easy movements, show no fear. It's actually one of the things she's learning to appreciate about him. Here's a man who knows just what someone like her is capable of, and still he invites her. Still, he teases, and still he lets her lead. Maybe it's because there's that something dangerous in him, too.]

[Another motion of her eyebrows, and that almost-smile blooms.]

Bingo? Way to play to the stereotype, Captain. Next thing we know instead of training it's going to be afternoon games of canasta and bedtime at six.

[ She has a beautiful smile. He can't say that. Just like he can't call her a lady, but instead, treat her like one. He hopes it's enough (and knows that it's not). ]

What's wrong with going to bed early?

[ Suitably indignant, as he bends (very suggestively and slowly) to fix up the lower ring cable. ]

If you can't beat it, join it, right?

[There's a lot of things they can't say, landmines in conversation, some of them previously tripped and littering the landscape with debris. It makes the dance more complicated...but then, she's always appreciated a challenge.]

Nothing wrong with it, really, if you can't think of a more interesting way to spend your evenings.

[Her words are deliberate, another step in the choreography. She's observant, he knows that, no way she could miss what he's doing--showing off--and maybe telling him how much she appreciates the view isn't something she can do, but it's at least a little obvious how much she's enjoying this. The banter. The wordplay. The dance.]

[ Tripped and burnt from the explosion, but as of yet, nothing that can't be dusted off and fixed. Nothing they can't come back from. The Red Room flits across his memory, a distant narration. It's a story, and that makes it whole and important, and what the mind does when it's been conditioned. This isn't a reset. They aren't pretending nothing happened. It's a negotiation. ]

[ And still, he's not at war with her. ]

Well, all the guys from my barber shop are dead....

[ it's a joke and it's not. He shrugs, as he fixes another cable. ]

Guess I just gotta find other ways to connect with my age group.

[In the middle of all of this, those familiar words hit her like a punch to the gut, like an echo across a universe a million miles from here. She hears a familiar voice, the same wry tone from another mouth: All the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so...So. So much in those words, and it shows in her eyes, a flicker on her face of something that might be grief. Grief she hides someplace behind her eyes, that peers out from behind a forced smile. There's barely any hesitation in her reply, and yet it still shows.]

Maybe you can start a shuffleboard league.

[ He snaps to attention like a hound that's scented blood, and concern flickers immediately in his eyes. But she evades it, and so, after a moment, he moves down from defcon two. Puts his fingers on the glass, flat. It'll be for her to reach out. She did say not to touch her. ]

I'm president of the We Should've Rioted When the Dodgers Moved club.

[It's better that he doesn't ask, but even if he does, the answer is something he'll understand. Steve. Does she need another answer? It's complicated enough without trying to add words to the feeling. She shakes her head just slightly, and it's not really a negative--just a response to his look, his gesture. Two fingers to the glass between them in response.]

You should really give the Mets a shot. They might be from Queens, but they're the closest you're getting these days.

You been to a baseball game since 1940, Captain?

[ If he'd had felt it necessary, he'd have pushed. Even as Natasha Romanoff is not a woman you push, not if you don't want to be stung. ]

Actually, yeah. I, ah, went dark, early on. [ his mouth twitches ] Lasted a while. Fury called the cavalry in to find me. [ I just wanted something normal and safe. ] Should've gone to the Yankees game instead. They never woulda looked there.

[ ha. ha ha ha ha ha. ]

Ruined the damn game. I never went after that.

[Went dark, he says, and she gets the feeling that maybe he's a little more Soldier than Steve in what he isn't saying about that time. Looking for something familiar. She does wonder, briefly, if that's what the Soldier she knows disappeared to do. Wonders if Steve and Sam will find him, and if they'd find him in a place like that. Surrounded by people? She doesn't know. Can't see it. She can see this James Barnes doing it, though, and while there's still that little shadow haunting her eyes, there's a little more realism in the smile now.]

If you really wanted to avoid them, you should have gone to a Red Sox game.

[ It startles him into a laugh, which dissolves the lines on his face, brings his own genuine warmth to the surface. It's no blazing light, not like Steve, but something carefully kept, shuttered, shown only when the air is safe to breathe. ]

You're a terrible influence.

[ Still smiling, he looks at his feet, then at her. ]

[She still thinks the difference between him and Winter, between him and Steve, is most visible when he smiles like that. When he laughs. It isn't a bad thing at all. Maybe the opposite, in fact. When he laughs like that, he just looks like a normal guy in his 30s, wry and unguarded, the kind of guy she could be friends with. The kind of guy with a laugh that makes her want to smile despite herself, and regardless of where or what they are she lets herself. A smile, a quiet huff of her own that isn't quite laughter, as she looks back at him, their eyes meeting.]

Well, yeah. But isn't that what makes me fun?

[ He laughs again, and it echoes in the room. There's no ghost of his own Natasha hanging over him, just an overlap that's deeply familiar, a presence he missed and is seeing it now. Fun is my specialty, she'd said to him, when they traded more barbs than jokes. Before they were friends. ]

You shoulda codenamed yourself Trouble.

[ He shakes his head. ]

You're sure gonna get me into a lot of it.

[The sound does more to warm the room than any amount of heating could. It's a sound that pulls her from against the wall, lets her feel comfortable enough to pace the floor, booted feet light and quiet against the wood as she moves towards the ring he's building, pausing briefly near him to offer a look, amused.]

You're a big boy, Captain. I'm sure you'll be able to dig us both out of it again.

[Just a little plural, but big enough to count. An offering. If he wants it, still.]

[ It's the offering that lights the smile up to a blaze, but nothing overpowering. A hearth fire. The small, but comfortable place. A we. Two against the world is always stronger than one. ]

Oh, I'll live, [ but his shoulders set, and he looks up at her thoughtfully, and takes the next step in their dance ] but are you sure you want me to take your hand and jump?

[ Jokes aside, that's trust. Does she trust him, knowing what he is? That he has duplicities, same as her? That he changes faces — not quite as seamlessly — but as quickly? ]

[Trust is a complicated thing. Difficult at the best of times, with the best of people, and this is definitely not the best of times. Does she trust him? No, not completely. Could she trust him? She thinks so. Given time. Given necessity. She's been here roughly four months at this point, a long time for any operation, especially one that requires constant vigilance, staying in character. She's tired. It'd be nice, to be able to know that someone might have her back.]

I'm not afraid of falling, Captain. Are you?

[Take my hand and we'll see, is the answer under the words.]

I know you're not afraid.

[ She's brave. She always has been, and she's let him see that. He stands up, rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. ]

I'd — [ his mouth twists, unhappily ] don't make this. Something you have to do to survive. You could use me, but you don't need me. You were fine before me and you'll be fine well after. I just — [ he exhales, and stares at his feet ] you have a choice, all right? I would like for you to make the one that doesn't leave you all by yourself, but that's not my call. All I can do is [ care about you ] give you the option.

[ She said there's always a war, and he will always be in its trenches. Teams trust each other to fulfill a function. Friends trust each other with their hearts. But if she needs him, like Steve once did, he would walk into Hell, and that is a power to be handled carefully. And even then, he needs desperately to find his role relative to her. To be something she wants him to be. ]

[That little gesture is all the real warning she has that the conversation is about to take a turn for the direct, for the serious, to tell her that he's about to do something earnest and sincere and completely unasked for. Surprisingly, she doesn't mind nearly as much as she had the last time. Maybe that's because she's had a few weeks to get her head straight, and to finally take a clearer look at things.]

I'm always fine. Doesn't mean it's easy. [She doesn't move away, and that's something; doesn't stop looking at him, and that's something else.]

There's a difference between survival and living, Captain. You know that better than most people. [What has he been doing, since the war?] I'm tired of just surviving.

[They're both looking for where they fit, with each other, with this world. Maybe together, they can figure it out. Maybe they can both give living a shot.]

[ She doesn't move away, and she doesn't evade. Each is a precious jewel, and he jealousy hoards both. ]

I'm tired of it too, [ he says, softly. ] but if you'll be patient, I can learn. I've still got a lot of catching up to do.

[ And one day, maybe for a few minutes, he can keep pace with her. It's a nice thought. ]

I'm not going anywhere.

[She isn't running anymore. It's not necessarily a promise; she has no control over what Atroma does. She could vanish tomorrow. So could he. But that uncertainty is part of life, and that's what she's trying to hold onto. Living. Sometimes, that means taking a risk. She's taken worse risks than taking a chance on him.]

Neither am I.

[ Not a promise either. Who knows what life brings, and anything other than the one, important promise feels like tempting fate. ]

Speaking of learning. You think you might want to [ he waves to the boxing ring ] spar, sometime?

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