002 ✪ audio + action

[redactions]

Who: Jim Barnes
Broadcast: Fleetwide audio.
Action: On the moon.
When: Sept. 20th.

Good morning. This is Captain James Barnes. By now we've assessed the damage to the ships — seems like it only slowed us down some, and whoever the enemy was they don't seem to have followed us. That's not why I'm here.

[ a half-beat of pause, then, ]

We can't guarantee there'll always be shields or weapons aboard our ships at any given time. That doesn't mean we can't work out a system to make sure we're covering for each other in a fight. If we can form groups of two or three ships, at least one with weapons, and coordinate a few flying formations, we stand a much better chance.

As for communications, if they're taken offline like that again we are going to need a solution. We used manual signalling in my War; I'm open to options that don't have us scrambling blind during a crisis like that.

[ a beat ]

We got lucky, this time. We might not be again.

Barnes out.




→ shooting range

[ You know. This is simple. The pistols take getting used to, but it's a matter of practice. Assembly. Disassembly. Ready, aim, fire. One end of the shooting range is devoted entirely to Jim trying out all the variants he can get his hands on. They are laid on the table in front of him neatly. ]

[ All the shots hit the centre ring of the target, if not, damned closed. He's not concentrating too hard or scowling, just seems perfectly placid, and steady. When he feels eyes on him, ]

Sorry, did you want [ gesturing to the row of pistols ] one a'these?

→ some seedy bar

[ This alcohol is completely algae-free and that might be the entire reason he's even bothering with it. This place doesn't look quite as ripe for sudden violence either; but there's still murmuring in the background and a card game that looks like it might be heating up. ]

[ He's sitting alone, in the corner, nursing a glass. Another one sits beside him, completely untouched. It's always been for Steve. ]

Comments

[reconstitution]

[ He looks down at the table, shaking his head subtly. ]

I don't know what I want. [ Doesn't really know what to want for himself aside from his memories. ]

..But I don't know if I can be him.

[redactions]

[ There's a moment where he doesn't draw breath. And then, softly, ]

Permission to speak freely?

[reconstitution]

[ He looks back up at Jim, almost taken aback at being asked, nodding his head. ]

Granted?

[redactions]

Don't try.

[ There's new lines on his face as his shoulders drop. ]

Don't make my mistake, and make yourself into him — exactly him. You'll go nuts tryin' t'be somebody you're not.

[ a beat, and the whiskey swirls in the glass ]

You figure out who you are. If it's like him, then you know, that's all right. If it ain't, then it just ain't. You've walked through hell, pal. Nobody comes out the same.

[reconstitution]

[ He wants to argue that being him is a hell of a lot better than being nothing...Which is where he still feels he is. Recovery is one monster that he's not prepared for.

But Winter gets it, and he's grateful. Enough so that he offers Jim what could poorly be passed as a smile. ]

You're fucking biased, James Barnes.

[redactions]

[ He matches it with a half-smile of his own. ]

Yeah, well, I never pretended not to be.

[ The last sip in his glass gets swirled, before Jim tips it at him in a cheers gesture, and drinks it down. Waving to the bartender, ]

Refill, please.

[reconstitution]

No, I guess not. Just didn't know what it was at first.

[ He watches Jim down the rest of his drink and call over the bartender. He looks innocuous enough, so Winter tells himself to calm down.

He lets out a breath slowly, raising his hand above the table. ]

And one more? ..With an extra glass?

[redactions]

[ The barkeep gives him a curious look, and obliges. ]

Whiskey, huh? Good choice.

[ It's the hard stuff. The Winter Soldier probably doesn't even know what that means, let alone know it'll probably not have any effect. ]

[reconstitution]

It's as good as any.

[ Nonchalant, but they both know that he just didn't know where to start. Having to decide wouldn't have ended in a choice anytime soon. ]

[redactions]

I s'pose.

[ He clinks his glass against Winter's when it arrives. ]

Cheers, pal.

[reconstitution]

Yeah, cheers.

[ He pulls the glass toward himself, bringing it up and taking a drink. The whiskey burns his throat a bit as it goes down, but it's nice. Winter considers downing the rest of it, but wants to savor it. ]

[redactions]

[ Jim is watching him curiously. ]

Nice?

[reconstitution]

It is. It's warm.

[ He glances back at Jim. ]

[redactions]

Well there's plenty of time to try all of 'em, see what you like. Okay?

[reconstitution]

Okay. I'd like that.

[ He takes another less-careful sip of his drink. ]

[redactions]

[ He smiles wistfully. ]

I'm a whiskey fella myself. Those — scotch, gin, vodka, maybe? And bourbon. You could ask for a mixed cocktail too, or even a martini, but I'm not sure they do those here.

[reconstitution]

Whichever you think. You are the expert.

[ More like 'you are the one that remembers any of this, so why don't you take the reigns'? ]

[redactions]

[ He stills as though shot. Then, very deliberately, ]

You're the one choosing.

[reconstitution]

[ The wrong answer, then. He backtracks, worrying his lip before offering a nod. ]

..I only meant as a suggestion. Won't happen again.

[redactions]

[ He shakes his head, the misstep was his. ]

No, I mean, there's a lot to choose from — too much, maybe. It helps to have a list and work from the top down.

[ He pulls out a notebook from his pocket, and hands it to Winter. ]

You can use mine if you want.

[reconstitution]

[ Another nod as he takes the notebook in hand. He finds an empty page, diligent in not reading anything Jim has written. His penmanship doesn't flow as neatly or as perfected as Jim's-- his-- used to before the war.

The words are smaller, written in quick strokes of the pen, letters slanting slightly to the right. His list is in Cyrillic, a habit much harder to break. Once he is finished, he scans the list a few times before settling at the top again.

It will do. ]

Thank you.

[redactions]

[ Deliberately, he avoids reading, just nursing the glass of whiskey. Softly, ]

Don't thank me. These are things you're owed. You know?

[reconstitution]

You don't need to pay for things that they did..

[ He closes the book, setting it and the pen down so he can take down the rest of his whiskey. ]

[redactions]

[ He shakes his head again. ]

It's not that. Everyone is owed decency, even if they don't return it, or it hurts you to give it.

[ These are my operating parameters. ]

Especially you.

[reconstitution]

You've been nothing but kind to me.

[ He shrugs, his finger tracing a random pattern against the side of his empty glass. Even if the don't return it, or it hurts you to give..

It makes him wonder if he's doing enough, himself. ]