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

[redactions]

[ The metal is cold to the touch: colder than it has a right to be, an effect of the coolant inside working to keep it that way. It's not frost, but enough for a sting to her hand. ]

[ Evenly, ] It's the single most advanced prosthetic anyone's created.

[ When her hand lifts up far enough, he turns his forearm, to show her how the plates move together to increase the force of a punch. He carries a shield, and it wouldn't be inaccurate to say this half of him is the mace. ]

[mucked]

[ she isn't proud of how quickly she does the (mild, estimated) calculations: this man is one-part weapon. more weaponized than he ever was before, and far more worrying was the implication that the other one -- the winter soldier -- harboured a mission to kill what she loved. the reminder turns her blood as cold as the cooled metal under her fingers. ]

How much power does it house? [ ... ] How does it measure against -- against the serum, for example?

[ against the single most advanced soldier anyone's created... ]

[redactions]

I don't know.

[ Jim shares the same worry: did from the moment he knew what the Winter Soldier's mission was. He flexes his fingers. ]

It's vibranium, or close to it. Nothing's stopping it anytime soon.

[ Any attack they mount on the Winter Soldier should he turn needs to be mental, and not physical. They can't win otherwise. ]

[mucked]

[ and so the battle would be a proper slog, then. uphill and hard. peggy chews her bottom lip and gives her head a sad, sad shake. vibranium, or close to it. what a terrifying thought.

it inspires a bones-deep need for howard, and for his rocket-quick mind to be set upon the problem. with time and space between them (quite literally) she can almost begin to forgive him his trespasses, so long as she otherwise thinks of him with all the ways he might help her.

finally (daringly!) she dances her fingertips across the scarred tissue at jim's shoulder. she clucks her tongue. ] Oh, the things the war did to us. [ a brief rare glimpse of her own scars is betrayed in how sorrowful she sounds. ] But I must say -- I like the star.

[redactions]

[ Grief is one scar. He offers her a faint smile as she brushes her fingers over his physical ones, and then, finally, he sits, and purses his lips. ]

Yeah. About those. [ how to even begin. ] You ever had to sit through fireworks?

[mucked]

I'm not certain sit is the best description of what I do through fireworks -- [ soft and honest. a little too honest, perhaps, and the regret shows on her face in the wake of such a confession. peggy stays firm and outwardly unflappable in the face of such loud celebrations, reminiscent of...other things.

and she hadn't spent the same lengthy time in direct combat as some of the other soldiers. a spy's lucky break, that. she can't imagine how much worse it might be for someone else. ]

Turn into a statue, perhaps. Or freeze like ice. But I don't sit.

[ not through fireworks. ]

[redactions]

[ Fussy and precise as always. The corners of his eyes crinkle. ]

We used to say battle fatigue, but those ain't exactly the right words. It's — called post-traumatic stress. There's medicine for it now, and people you can talk to. Everyone who comes back has it in some degree.

[ What a joke, like they can come back. He sets his jaw. ]

I'm just sayin', you know — [ if you need someone to talk to ]

[mucked]

[ battle fatigue. bloody hell -- she wants to say she doesn't suffer from it, and that it hasn't touched her the way it's touched others. some ugly inner part of her recoils (only for a moment) at the thought of being as hurt and vulnerable as thompson had become at his core. but that reaction is in itself a sort of battle fatigue, and peggy's eyes flutter briefly shut while she reminds herself that all who survived that grind came out of it as some different person. and that it does them all a disservice if she allows a twinge of ego to consider herself better than any of them.

she looks at jim again: ] I know. [ i understand. she can't quite thank him for the unspoken offer, especially considering the circumstances under which it's been given. but she can look him in his eyes and do her best not to falter. ]

[redactions]

[ He expected a battle. None happens, and the relief almost makes it to the surface. ]

All right.

[ That's all he can really ask. ]

Just know you're not alone.

[mucked]

Nor are you, Captain.

[ the rank is given with affection -- and just a sliver of uncertainty. she remembers a moment of near-similar intimacy between herself and mister jarvis: then, he'd been tending to her wounds instead of her now investigating the cracks in jim's armour. but their conversations has taken similar bents...on loneliness, and on the hard truth that none of them had to operate alone if they didn't want to. every lone wolf from that war had a handful of others who felt the same, and they are all better served by banding together. ]

[redactions]

[ Everyone is alone. They can pretend not to be. The first, and truest lesson. ]

You know, I kinda like the sound of that. Captain.

[ It'll never sit easy on his shoulders. But he can pretend this, too. ]

[mucked]

And you captain your ship, don't you? [ ... ] I never asked: do you carry that title because of your rank here, or because of...of home?

[ what do they call you, decades and choices away? ]

[redactions]

Yeah that — wasn't by choice, the Atroma assigned me when ours disappeared and [ he shrugs ] didn't seem right to leave the crew.

[mucked]

It wouldn't have been -- [ she agrees, without question, with his logic on that front. ] I'm certain you do them proud.

[ the words aren't empty. sergeant he might have been, but often enough it's the sergeants who truly control the channels of power amidst the men. ]

[redactions]

[ She means it in goodwill, as praise. It feels like a gunshot. ]

You have a lot of faith in me.

[mucked]

So did he. [ ... ] It's infectious.

[redactions]

[ But Steve never had anything else — anyone else to compare his friend to. Jim's fingers curl slightly on his trouser leg. ]

I needed that. Thank you. It's — [ he sighs ] no one in the future knows who he really was, and most don't care.

[mucked]

[ their loss -- a sentiment expressed before, but felt again just now. peggy's own fingers work uselessly against her palm as she wrestles with the notion of...of what? reaching out? touching him, gently, to express some measure of camaraderie.

except that (back home) she can't escape reminders. even here...? well, those anxious fingers dive into her jumpsuit's pocket, and she pulls out an empty vial. ] In 1946, everyone cares. But it's all selfish profiteering. [ she holds the vial out to jim. ] That once housed the last remaining sample of his blood, you know.

[redactions]

[ He takes the vial, in his metal hand, and idly, thinks about crushing it where it is. ]

You were with us in '44 after we nearly attracted Jerry's fire with that patch a'grass we burnt? He bled on it. We burnt everything we would — you know we never kept a medic. There wasn't any shortage of people trying to get his blood, no matter that he'd given samples already.

[ Soft, ]

Erskine died to protect this. It's too dangerous for anyone's hands.

[ Even hers. He's sorry. ]

I hope you get rid of it.

[mucked]

I did. [ it is, after all, empty. it's nothing but clear clean glass -- the blood long since disposed. ] Poured it away. Said my second farewells. No one could be trusted with it.

[redactions]

Thank you.

[ But of course, she would. She has always acted on Steve's side: the side of principle. ]

We should head back to the ship, y'think? Unless you'd like to have dinner.

[mucked]

As tempting as a date with you happens to be, [ she waves a hand, dismissive, ] I'll pass. I'd best check in with the Starstruck. Funny, really, the way a crew worms its way into your heart.