003 ✪ text

[redactions]

Who: Jim Barnes
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: nope.
When: Feb 2.

Two questions:

1. Has anyone managed to fix the "modifications" made to our ships a few months ago?

2. Has anyone else found their personal items being sold on this station?

Comments

[redactions]

I'll show you pastries.

[ Grumpily fond. He brings his half over to Steve. ]

[enshields]

I'll bet.

[And he shuffles over on the crate to make room for Jim to sit these other parts down. He picks up one of the small catalyzers, and examines it a moment longer than he needs to. Then,]

You think they knew? What they were doing, when...

[A faint flick of one hand to indicate their surroundings. Steve hates the cold just as well, but there's a special sort of irony in turning Jim's ship into an icebox.]

[redactions]

[ Wearily, ]

Yeah, I'm pretty sure they did, since the rooms are the opposite. [ he exhales, grumpily ] Nothing we can do about it now.

[enshields]

[Speculatively,]

I could find somebody to punch.

[that'sajoke.jpeg.]

[redactions]

[ He laughs, honestly and helplessly. ]

Buddy, I'm pretty sure you'd have ta stand in line.

[enshields]

Yeah, but-- [He slots a filament into Jim's science project, drawling out those words a little unnecessarily.] You're forgetting I punched Hitler. I mean... if anyone can cut to the front of the line, it'd be the guy that punched Hitler, right? Two hundred times?

[The laughter gets a bright smile, both eyebrows playfully raised.]

[redactions]

Punk.

[ Jim ruffles his hair, playfully. ]

[enshields]

You keep statin' the obvious, your face is gonna freeze like that.

[Or... something. But Steve shoves back at him and then, more seriously,]

So what'd you find? On the station. These mystery items.

[redactions]

[ He leans in, not for strength, but for closeness. Lost time. ]

Did any of your paintings ever go on auction? After — you know.

[enshields]

[That's a big hint in and of itself, but Steve just rolls one shoulder back.]

The ones that survived, yeah. Most of them got sold to private collectors after the War when my estate got-- [his mouth thins.] handled. The rest of my stuff got destroyed in a warehouse fire in '63.

[Those items had been carefully categorized, part of a defunct museum exhibit that had been shut away as interest in Captain America's legacy waned. Only a few paintings had been part of it anyway, the rest were personal effects and boundless speculation.]

[redactions]

[ Oh, you big lump. Jim listens anyway, nodding agreeably. ]

There's one in my living room. It was a steal.

[ The shield was all he had, before it, and the shield was only part of the truth, not everything. Steve was a creator before he was a soldier. ]

[enshields]

[That language is far too specific to be anything but--]

Romanoff?

[redactions]

[ A quiet huff. ]

Yeah. She got it for me.

[enshields]

[Ah. Something, unconfirmed until this point, clicks into place in the back of his mind, and Steve rubs engine grease from between his fingers with a rag.]

You really miss her, huh?

[redactions]

[ He never talks about Nat. It seems pointless — that and he's not about to give up her secrets. Jim's mouth twitches, feeling a trap but not knowing why. ]

You could say that.

[enshields]

[God, he misses the days Jim would come home with lipstick on his collar and a swagger in his step. He never kissed and told - not once - but Steve always knew. Mourning for that part of him is a curiously detached feeling, and he looks down.]

Not sure if I should say I'm glad you had her, or I'm glad she had you. Little of both, maybe.

[It's his way of not pressing the issue. He'll leave well enough alone. Jim's earned and well deserves his privacy.]

[redactions]

[ He swallows. For a while nothing gets said, and nothing needs to be. ]

C'mon, let's finish as much of this as we can.

[enshields]

[Steve bumps his shoulder gently, just enough to drive home the fact that he's there. And then he bends his head to their work without a word.]