James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes | ɹǝᴉploS ɹǝʇuᴉM ǝɥ┴ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sinistral) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2019-03-12 05:29 pm
sinistral) wrote in driftfleet2019-03-12 05:29 pm
02. | All lies and jests; still a man hears what he wants to hear
Who: (Winter Soldier) Bucky Barnes (sinistral)
Broadcast: No
Action: Yes; SS Starduck, SS Iskaulit, B'lire
When: From the start of the post-calibrations drift to visiting the new planet
SS STARDUCK
→ Reacclimation;
SS ISKAULIT
→ Work It Out;
→ Art Appreciation;
PLANETSIDE
→ Hunting;
→ Shopping;
WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;
sinistral) Broadcast: No
Action: Yes; SS Starduck, SS Iskaulit, B'lire
When: From the start of the post-calibrations drift to visiting the new planet
SS STARDUCK
→ Reacclimation;
The time spent aboard the Marsiva had been uncomfortable, to put it politely. Bucky still doesn't believe it, not really, when they're returned to their own ships; it comes with staying awake for the first twenty-four hours just to make sure this isn't a dream or a trick of the mind. Considering the state of his mind, he's not entirely convinced, but it does seem a little bit elaborate to just be a part of the Calibrations.
And if this is truly the ship, if they are truly back to what passes for daily life around here, then it has to start with checking over everything. Maybe he's taking the whole idea of Security a bit too literally but now that he's had some time to think about it, he can only conclude that his presence and assignment here is due only to what he is. What HYDRA turned him into has made him valuable; if he performs his role well, perhaps the switch inside his brain won't be flipped. So for that reason he's combing all of the ships nooks and crannies, looking for anything that might be out of order or out of (what passes for) the ordinary. He won't enter a crewmate's quarters without being asked to do so though; he sees it as too much an invasion of privacy.
When he's finally satisfied and no longer has that activity to occupy his mind, Bucky heads to the workout area in the cargo bay. He doesn't know which former crewmembers had seen to the upgrades of the equipment there, but he's thankful to be able to take advantage of it once more. And, judging by the force behind his punches, to do his best to attempt to break it. There's a lot of frustration to work out, enough so that it's definitely palpable. Call him out on it? Try to keep up? Pity the amount of protein solid he's going to have to consume to compensate for all those burned calories?
And if this is truly the ship, if they are truly back to what passes for daily life around here, then it has to start with checking over everything. Maybe he's taking the whole idea of Security a bit too literally but now that he's had some time to think about it, he can only conclude that his presence and assignment here is due only to what he is. What HYDRA turned him into has made him valuable; if he performs his role well, perhaps the switch inside his brain won't be flipped. So for that reason he's combing all of the ships nooks and crannies, looking for anything that might be out of order or out of (what passes for) the ordinary. He won't enter a crewmate's quarters without being asked to do so though; he sees it as too much an invasion of privacy.
When he's finally satisfied and no longer has that activity to occupy his mind, Bucky heads to the workout area in the cargo bay. He doesn't know which former crewmembers had seen to the upgrades of the equipment there, but he's thankful to be able to take advantage of it once more. And, judging by the force behind his punches, to do his best to attempt to break it. There's a lot of frustration to work out, enough so that it's definitely palpable. Call him out on it? Try to keep up? Pity the amount of protein solid he's going to have to consume to compensate for all those burned calories?
SS ISKAULIT
→ Work It Out;
Bucky really only has one goal in mind in coming to the Iskaulit: to push himself in a way he can't with the limited facilities on the Starduck, to force the body into exhaustion since the brain won't accept any other sort of quiet. That it's not the healthiest pursuit doesn't matter. As long as it works, it's fine. And he'll make it work.
He tries to choose odd hours if possible, hours that coincide with the times he'd expect most people to be sleeping and the facility to be empty. It doesn't always work in his favor but as long as there's a heavy bag or a speedbag available he stays, alternating time spent against the bag with weights. And if the facility appears too busy for his liking, he simply leaves with the intention of returning later.
He tries to choose odd hours if possible, hours that coincide with the times he'd expect most people to be sleeping and the facility to be empty. It doesn't always work in his favor but as long as there's a heavy bag or a speedbag available he stays, alternating time spent against the bag with weights. And if the facility appears too busy for his liking, he simply leaves with the intention of returning later.
→ Art Appreciation;
Though most of his time spent aboard the Iskaulit is spent in the gym, it's not the only reason Bucky visits. He hardly appreciates heavy-handed attempts at steering his actions but whether it had been the Vision, or the Atroma acting through the Vision, the scene he'd been shown of the mural aboard the Iskaulit has not faded from his memory. That in and of itself is significant enough for him to seek out the mural he'd been shown, to find its location and maybe figure out why it's so important.
Seeing it doesn't bring him any answers.
It's a nice enough work of art he supposes; he's not one for appreciation of the arts, and he's got no skill in them himself. He can draw a rough map though, so the next time he visits, he brings along a journal and starts copying down that section of the wall he was shown aboard the Marsiva, mapping it out in rough lines on the paper. It's not a good drawing, more a diagram than anything else, but it's good enough for his purposes, good enough for him to write down his thoughts (questions, mostly) on the next few pages. And it's a good enough place to sit quietly, back against the wall because even here, in a place that's supposed to be peaceful, he's defensive and closed off more than anything else.
Seeing it doesn't bring him any answers.
It's a nice enough work of art he supposes; he's not one for appreciation of the arts, and he's got no skill in them himself. He can draw a rough map though, so the next time he visits, he brings along a journal and starts copying down that section of the wall he was shown aboard the Marsiva, mapping it out in rough lines on the paper. It's not a good drawing, more a diagram than anything else, but it's good enough for his purposes, good enough for him to write down his thoughts (questions, mostly) on the next few pages. And it's a good enough place to sit quietly, back against the wall because even here, in a place that's supposed to be peaceful, he's defensive and closed off more than anything else.
PLANETSIDE
→ Hunting;
It's more than a literal breath of fresh air to get off the ships and onto solid ground again. It's not that Bucky doesn't do well with being cooped up; it's more that the close quarters with others — even his shipmates — and the happenings on board the Marsiva have him feeling like a caged animal. And like a caged animal, his first instinct is to lash out; fortunately, the punching bags have held up against such expulsion of energy. So far, anyway.
Fortunately, this system's planet seems well suited to his kind of stress relief.
He's a regular in the wooded areas both for the exercise of hiking and the action of hunting. Ghosts or supernatural beings or whatever, he'll keep an eye out for them just fine, but it's the more substantial creatures that he makes his prey. People are willing to pay both for pelts and for the meat from carcasses; it seems a good use of his time.
Fortunately, this system's planet seems well suited to his kind of stress relief.
He's a regular in the wooded areas both for the exercise of hiking and the action of hunting. Ghosts or supernatural beings or whatever, he'll keep an eye out for them just fine, but it's the more substantial creatures that he makes his prey. People are willing to pay both for pelts and for the meat from carcasses; it seems a good use of his time.
→ Shopping;
Man certainly can't stay in the woods all the time and while Bucky's no stranger to wilderness survival, it'd be foolish not to take advantage of the offerings available via trade. And not all goods are physical; there's certainly something to be said for the pursuit of information, even though little enough of it seems to pertain to anything outside of this world's particular customs. Still he asks, here and there, unsatisfied by the answers but unwilling to stop trying.
He's examining wares at a particular establishment, carefully testing the weight and balance of a hunting knife while keeping half his attention on the conversations of the building's other occupants. It's when he overhears stories of a metallic man that he decides to take his leave; local legend or not, it definitely sounds like something he'd rather avoid being tangled up in and he's glad to have kept the habit of wearing long sleeves and gloves when going planetside. It's just easier to avoid the questions that he doesn't want to answer.
He's examining wares at a particular establishment, carefully testing the weight and balance of a hunting knife while keeping half his attention on the conversations of the building's other occupants. It's when he overhears stories of a metallic man that he decides to take his leave; local legend or not, it definitely sounds like something he'd rather avoid being tangled up in and he's glad to have kept the habit of wearing long sleeves and gloves when going planetside. It's just easier to avoid the questions that he doesn't want to answer.
WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;
Did we discuss something and I forgot? Have another idea? I'm open to almost anything, hit me up via PM or at ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
sometimesamuse and we'll figure out out. I do write starters in prose but if you prefer brackets I'm happy to match.
no subject
Bucky makes a frustrated sound. No, he doesn't need to know. But at the same time, he does, because how else is he supposed to deal with this situation? He's going in blind, and he doesn't like that. "I'm sure you don't," is what he says, first, because yeah - of course he doesn't. Who the hell would? It's not like Bucky - either of them, it seems - just up and spouted everything to Steve after he'd pulled him (them?) out of Azzano. Nobody wants to talk about that shit. And nobody's supposed to talk about it. But sometimes you've gotta do things that you hate for the benefit of others. He's pretty sure both of them know plenty about that.
But he focuses on the easier(ish) part of this conversation first, then - "Steve," he says, with a sigh. "Both of them. Yours and mine. They're both Steve, just like we're both us." He motions between the two of them. "Your Steve is busy drinking himself stupid because his best friend won't give him the time of day, and my Steve's been through what I can only assume is the same shit as you, and neither of you deserved it. And it ain't about what anyone deserved, but it is about getting up and moving on, and I want to help you do that."
He pauses, looking the other Bucky over for a minute, before shrugging a little. "Maybe you already have. What the hell do I know. But Steve - both of 'em - sure hasn't." And the idea that this other Bucky Barnes doesn't care about that, even a little... maybe he is an entirely different person, with just the same face. But it's hard to believe that.
no subject
The little frown is back, and this time he allows a little bit of confusion to bleed through his expression as well. He gets the distinct impression that they're having separate conversations, or perhaps two different versions of a conversation. "I don't own anyone. I've only met one person using that name. Are there others?" There's a brief pause, but Bucky doesn't have the crew listing for every ship in the Fleet memorized or anything stupid like that. He knows he hasn't interacted with the bulk of the Fleet; maybe that's normal and maybe it isn't, but he doesn't know if he'd believe anyone who claimed to know of absolutely everyone. Unless the claim came from someone like the Vision or Connor, perhaps; beings at least somewhat artificial, and for whom memory is slightly different. "It seems like Earth is a common enough origin planet, and Steve a common enough name on that planet at least. Maybe on others too. Can you specify?"
He really, honestly just does not know what the other man is talking about. Then again he keeps mostly to himself or his ship — that's why he'd been assigned a ship, hadn't it? To make it his priority, his primary function? And he certainly keeps his presence in the rest of the Fleet minimal at best, mostly because there's very little that he needs outside of what the Starduck can provide. Perhaps he's missing a crucial piece or two of information, things that this man must think he already has. But as it hasn't been pertinent to life on the Starduck, he hasn't considered it pertinent to himself or to the safety of his crew — who also seem to keep pretty much to themselves.
no subject
Bucky lets out a slow breath. "That's not what I meant," he says, because... this is frustrating. But it's probably frustrating, he tries to tell himself, because he expects the guy to know exactly what he means, and of course he doesn't. They're the same person, but they're not the same person at the same time - they're more like twins. Brothers. Just because it's like talking to himself - and honestly, it's really, really not like talking to himself at all, and maybe that's helping make this clear - doesn't mean the guy is going to know what he means.
Bucky. His name is Bucky. Or - James, or Barnes, or whatever, but he's got a name. He's got a brain of his own. Experiences of his own. And a way of being fucking annoying and honest and open and closed all on his own, too.
"You're me," he starts again, slowly, "but if different things had happened to me." God, that's fucking hard to think about, but it's true. One different step, one different twist in the storyline, and this is what he becomes. Instead, this is what Steve is, now. It's enough to make him feel sick, but he pushes on or he'll never get his point across. "You have a best friend - or a person you've met, whatever. Named Steve. I have a best friend named Steve, too. He's the guy that the one you know would be, if what had happened to you happened to him instead."
He pauses. "Is this making sense?" Maybe it's better to stop and check, instead of getting the whole fucking thing out, only to get the same question again: Who are you talking about, and what do you mean?
no subject
He's shaking his head at the next though. "I am not you," and while it's not exactly gentle, there is a calmness to it because he's not trying to make this into an argument. "Maybe a long time ago we might have been similar, if any of this alternative reality idea is actually true. But I am my own person." It's an idea that's important to him — that should be important to anyone, he thinks. No one should own another person, or pieces of another person. Of course that's not how it really works and he's certainly an extreme example of it, but it's an idea that has become important to his existence.
Of course, that does leave a problem: he has a best friend. He knows he does, because he read about it in the museum. He'd listened to the audio recording in the exhibit. But how can he have a best friend when he has no memories of the person with whom he's supposed to be best friends? When the most concrete thing he knows about the man that he thinks this other him means is a kill order? "I have people who know me, or think they know me, or have ideas about me." He pauses, glancing at the other man's eyes to make sure he understands what Bucky is trying to say. Words have power after all, and his are chosen very deliberately. "I have no idea who they are."
He shrugs at the question though — they're part of a space fleet for an alien reality show, does anything make sense? — tipping his head to the side before starting to walk. It's as much of an invitation as he'll give; he just doesn't like staying in one place for too long. It reminds him too much of stalking a target, and he has no intention of being one himself. The weather on this planet is mild enough to make walking pleasant, and he'd prefer continuing this conversation in motion instead of in front of the building.
no subject
In which case, "No. You're not me. But I thought maybe... if we were the same, I might be a better bet as someone who might understand you." He pauses, and then - well, in for a penny, in for a pound. He might as well go for broke: "And you might be my best bet for someone who'd understand my Steve - a Steve who went through the same shit you did."
He watches the other Bucky for a long moment, considering the rest of what he'd said. "Sure. They know you, and you don't know them. But you know why that is? Because you're not making an effort to get to know them. They didn't know you either, once upon a time. You can always start over."
He gets that maybe it feels forced. But while it seems weird... it also seems like an easy way to make friends. Allies. Whatever. "You don't have to trust them. But you don't have to distrust them on principle, either, pal. Maybe they want to help. Maybe you should let 'em - or at least give them the chance to prove it."
no subject
There's no animosity in the words. People are free to do and think and be who they want to be, or they should be at least. Freedom is important. It's why he says very little when these conversations come up, or avoids them altogether. That's a choice of freedom too, as is the conscious decision not to want to explain. It makes him wonder sometimes; he thinks that the people who push against the invisible barriers of these freedoms must never have had their own freedom so revoked.
He doesn't want to explain that either.
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and curses quietly in Russian as he walks; the language is well suited to it when it wants to be. It still feels like they're having two separate conversations and he's not entirely sure how to close the gap — or if he even desires to do so. It's probably at least part stubbornness, so maybe that really is somewhat consistent if this whole multiple versions thing is to be believed. He hadn't wanted to explain it like this, but he might not have a choice. "You insist that you want to understand. I don't think you can, but I also have the impression that you will not be satisfied until I say something, some deep dark thing about what I am. I will not give you that."
He lets his arms hang at his sides, shoulders rolling in a slight stretch for a moment. It's a little too warm in the sun for the jacket and gloves but that's fine. "You tell me that my best friend is a man named Steve. I have also read this in a museum exhibit, and in a history book, so I am taking it as a fact." He pauses with a slight frown, trying to sort out the words, to be precise in his meaning. "I have no memory of this man except that I met him on my last mission. His face is here now, but it's not exactly the same." Slightly different, and he's noted those differences in his journal with his other notes, but he still can't parse the information; there's simply not enough of it. "I do not mean dim memories. I do not mean willful ignorance to save embarrassment. I mean no memory; nothing at all. Do you understand that?"
no subject
Honestly, maybe the weirdest thing of all is hearing Russian come out of his own mouth - except no, it's not his own mouth, and that's been pretty well established by now. It's not that Bucky is necessarily confused, or that he doesn't understand. He does - mostly. But maybe there really is a part of him that cannot and will not ever understand how a guy who looks like Bucky Barnes can exist in the world and not want to be friends with Steve.
Then again, there's the other Steve, who doesn't want to be friends with Bucky. So, "I understand," he says, but adds, "academically. I guess I just can't really get it to settle in my gut."
Because his intention is not - entirely - to push this guy on Steve. If that's just going to make everyone miserable, then it's a mistake, and one he wouldn't put either of them through. But the truth is, he does have a hard time understanding, and maybe he should learn to step back when it comes to Steve, but those were the one kind of fight that he never did learn how to pick and choose.
But really, what it comes down to is, "You don't have to - confess to me, or whatever. I guess I'm just saying if you want to - but you don't," he concludes, before the other can maybe insist again that he doesn't. Bucky can definitely get that he's certainly being told that. "So you don't, and I get that, too. Maybe I'm just trying to say that if you change your mind, for as long a I'm here, the offer doesn't expire." He frowns a little, but, "Can we settle on that? And then I step off and leave you alone and figure my own shit out myself, because it sounds like you aren't interested in helping, and I guess that means you really aren't."
Okay, maybe it's a little tiny bit snarky, because he is disappointed. But maybe who he's disappointed in is himself, more than this other version of him. He can't understand, and it's hard to stop pushing. He doesn't want to. But if this is how it's gonna go... "So you don't care if I'm friends with a guy you don't know, then," he adds, almost carefully, almost like a challenge. If this Bucky won't be Steve's best friend, then fuck trying to step back and let it happen between them.
Maybe that's just being selfish. Maybe there's no maybe about it. But where Steve will rarely let himself be selfish, Bucky has always had at least a little less of a problem with it.
no subject
There's a pause in which he brushes an errant lock of hair behind his ear before continuing, looking the other man in the eye. "Should I judge you cruelly for not being the bosom companion to a man you have met here once, a man with whom you've exchanged maybe a dozen words? Should I judge that you want nothing to do with this person when your only interaction lasted a handful of minutes?" A beat. "These are not facetious questions. I would like to understand this viewpoint... but I do not need to. And I will respect if you do prefer not to answer."
It's a deliberate throwback to his own earlier comments about wants and needs. Maybe the other man will understand that, and maybe he won't. Although from the stress he's putting on the want, maybe he does get it. Or maybe it's a ploy to get what he wants, what Bucky does not want to give. "Maybe we are similar in some ways but I am not you, and you are not me. And this is good, because we are our own persons, and that is all anyone should be. Our similarity however does not automatically broker a trust between us. You are asking me, within a few minutes of meeting me, for something intensely personal and private. I will remember your offer and your request both, but you have not yet earned my trust."
The challenge in the other man's voice is clear, and he allows the confusion to show quite clearly on his face. "Why should anyone have any sort of say over who another person would choose as a friend?" His entire life — what he knows, at least — has been nothing but rigid, unwavering control, forced into carrying out missions with no choice in the matter. Perhaps he's taking it too far, or seeing things far too plainly, but for him it really is that simple. "What I would feel should have no bearing on what your head and your heart are telling you to do, yes? If you want to be friends with someone — anyone — I would think that to be between the two of you, not a third party. Is that not the nature of free will?"
no subject
Honestly, if nothing else, hearing all of this - the logical, calm way the man is trying to explain, the things he clearly points out - just drives home, all the harder, how very similar they are not. And maybe it's Bucky's fault, he realizes, for falling into the trap of assuming that just because they have the same past, up to what is clearly a very specific and defining point, that they'd have some common ground. Some innate trust - some kind of connection.
But they don't. And it's also driving home, really, how his own Steve must feel - which yeah, okay, just makes Bucky feel ten times as shitty for everything that's happened there, too. "I think the only answer I can give you," he says carefully, watching the other man's face, "is that I really, really do not understand the depth of what happened to you. And I'm getting the idea that it would be ridiculous to even try."
Because, after all, "I can tell you that I'd like to think I'd give this Kazimir guy a chance. That I'd want to sit down with him and find out what he knows, what he thinks, and where we could meet in the middle. But that's just what I think I'd do, and without any of this actually happening to me, I don't know for sure. Maybe I'd react the way you are. Maybe I'd do what I think I would. But it's not fair of me to answer, the same way I guess it's not fair of me to ask."
He lets out a slow breath, finally tearing his eyes away from the face that is so like his own, and yet so very, very different. "Your Steve - the one you don't know. He needs a friend. And I want to be that friend. I want - " He stops himself there, because it's too personal to say that he wants Steve back. That he is being selfish. That it's stupid and probably a bad move, but that he wants to do it anyway. That he misses Steve so goddamned much, but he was trying to leave the door open for this Steve and this Bucky to make amends. That he didn't want to get in the way of that. But that if he's not... then fuck politeness.
That's probably what Steve would say, anyway.
"Let me ask you a question. If someone genuinely wanted to help you - if someone you trusted, not me, just someone you did trust, whoever they might be - said that there was something wrong with you and they wanted to help. If they asked you whether they could try to make things better for you. If you genuinely trusted them to have your best interests in mind, and see things you couldn't - what would you say?"
no subject
He shakes his head a little; it's not exactly the question he'd asked, but isn't that the summation of their entire interaction? "Life rarely seems to care about things like fairness; or at least that is our perspective of it." Sometimes it's the little things, things like the minor inconvenience of clothing that doesn't fit right about the shoulders. Sometimes it's the larger things, a man who doesn't know who he is anymore. Sometimes it's everything in between. The only thing Bucky knows for sure is that it is life, and that he thinks he would like to go on trying to figure out what shape his own should take.
He's also getting the impression that he's going to have to force the Steve issue at some point, because people keep mentioning Steve to him. It doesn't line up at all with his interaction with the man, a brief few minutes in the gym when Bucky split a punching bag and Steve offered to replace it. He's not sure what he's supposed to have gotten out of that few minutes of conversation. "If you want to be his friend, then why wouldn't you?" He pauses again, trying to express his thoughts carefully and precisely. "All I know about him is what I read in a museum exhibit. He's as much a stranger to me as half the people in this Fleet. I wouldn't begrudge you befriending any of them, so why would I stop you from this?"
The question gives him pause, because the idea of it is so fantastical that he doesn't quite know how to answer. "I don't know." He thinks he understands what the other man is asking, at least logically. And he certainly knows that he himself is broken. "I cannot imagine trusting anyone that much, so I don't know what answer I would give."
After a brief pause he looks over his companion from head to toe. "May I ask you a personal question?"
no subject
Although - yeah, he snorts a laugh, because, "No. Life sure ain't fair. Lotta things would be different, if it was," he agrees. Because where to even start that list... but it doesn't matter. Life isn't fair, and that means you just work with what you have. Steve's the guy who always tries to make things fair. Bucky's always been the one who knows it's not, and he gets angry about it, sure. Wants to change it, sure. But he's always been a little more willing to work within the rules of the game than Steve, for better or for worse. It's just how they work - and how they work together.
Even if there are a hell of a lot of rules that Bucky wouldn't break for anyone but Steve. Sometimes, it feels like he's breaking a lot of them, just by what he's doing here. "I don't know," he says, in answer to the first question. "It just feels... like cheating," he finally admits, figuring he might as well be honest, if it's honesty he wants back. That's a Steve tactic, too, but one Bucky's tried to live by, since taking up the shield. If you're gonna ask for honesty, you'd better be willing to put out, yourself. "It feels like going back in time. Like not facing the music. Like I'm getting a second chance I really don't deserve to get."
But then, hey - life ain't fair. Sometimes it works in your favor. If this is actually in his favor. Honestly, he doesn't even know. Because maybe he's getting Steve back - but he's also getting his Steve back, and he has been through whatever unmentionable things this Bucky has, and it just makes him feel sick. Sick and guilty and useless. And then it really does start to feel like life is giving him exactly what he deserves, whatever the hell that is.
But still, the idea that this other version of him - and that his own version of Steve - can't even imagine trusting anyone like that... It's a hard, bitter, painful pill to swallow. But at least that answer seems honest, and as open as it can be, and, "That's an answer," he says, quietly. "It's just fine."
For certain definitions of fine, anyway.
Bucky frowns a little at the question directed at him, but - "I mean, hell. I've tried asking you plenty. Might as well - go ahead."
no subject
It's a dangerous path in which to trap one's thoughts, disguised as an interesting thought exercise. He doesn't trust things like what-ifs — and the very idea of what-if applied to his life is painful. It's a private kind of pain though, one he neither wants nor needs to share.
He shrugs as the other man talks. For as hard as this conversation is, for as rough as it's gone thus far, there are some things about it that he really may be the ideal sounding board. The thing about most of his life being a blank even to himself means he doesn't have some of the hangups that others might. "Are you stopping yourself for you, or are you stopping yourself because my existence is a convenient excuse?" There is some curiosity behind the question because it does seem so far removed from anything he'd want to do. Then again there isn't really anyone in the Fleet to whom he would give the term friend. There are his shipmates certainly, and he feels a responsibility toward them in being their Security officer, and a respect for them in their respect for him and his idiosyncrasies. And there are a few others among the Fleet who have his respect. But the idea of a friend, the trust implied by the definition of the word, isn't something with which he's comfortable, and may not be for a long time. "You don't have to answer that to me, but you're giving me the impression that maybe you need to answer it to yourself."
If he is an excuse or not won't really bother him, he thinks. He doesn't — or at least shouldn't — have any control over what another person thinks or feels or does; it is not on him to do anything to change the behavior of another. But at the same time part of this conversation has been an attempt to get him to change his own behavior in regard to the silence he keeps about himself, hasn't it? The threads have the potential to be easily tangled, or so it seems, and there are already a few points that he wants to write down to better aid himself in sorting them out. Now however is not the time.
And while he doubts that his companion really means fine in terms of its strict dictionary definition, at least the other man seems like he will accept the answer as it had been given. So he chooses not to offer a counter to those words, and instead to ask the question for which he's been given permission. "What is your preferred name?" It might sound innocent, he's not sure, but to him the question feels very personal to even ask.
no subject
"I guess it depends on your definition of 'better'," Bucky admits quietly. "But - no. There's no way to tell." Not really. There are a hundred thousand million ways things could turn out differently, and thinking about it too hard just gets you nowhere. He knows that. "It's probably better not to know."
He wonders, though, just for a second - don't they already know? Just a little, just by standing here and seeing each other, talking to each other... it's a glimpse at what might have been. It just feels awfully unfair, all around, though. Not better or worse. even if Bucky thinks he might take being this man over having what happened to him happen to Steve. But then, that's still cruel, isn't it?
And in the end, he can't change anything. So why even think about it? He can only change the future. Not the past.
Of course, it feels a lot like he's being called out, a moment later, and it makes him bristle in this way he doesn't like to think about too much. "You're not an excuse," he says, quickly, and he means it. He doesn't know what the right choice is, here, with regard to Steve, but he doesn't like the idea that he's looking for ways out of being friends. That's not what he's doing - God, he hopes that's not what he's doing. "I've just never been in this situation before," he finally says, because it's pretty much the truth. "There's not exactly a rulebook for having two of your best friend running around." It's fucking confusing, is what it is. Because they're both Steve. He cares for them both equally. And yet one wants to spend time with him, talk to him, and one keeps pulling away, wants space, won't talk. Of course he gravitates toward the former, but it doesn't mean he wants to leave the latter in his dust.
But really, it's the last question that he doesn't expect - more because to him, it's not a big deal at all. It's not an invasive question, and he blinks, looking like he was braced for something... well. Not that. "Uh. Well - Bucky, honestly," he says, quietly. "But I guess I've never been in the position to potentially have to share it with - someone else. If you want it... you were here first." he can go by - hell. What does he have that's just his? Cap sure isn't it, but Steve doesn't seem to use it much, either. He'd kind of hate it, but he'd make due. He feels like maybe this guy, right here, in front of him deserves to choose first. Deserves the name he wants more, if he had to fight to get it back. "Would you tell me what you prefer?"
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But he does agree; it's likely better off not knowing. Omnipotence seems like one of those things that is both blessing and curse and he's pretty sure it's more the latter than the former.
His lips do quirk into something almost resembling a smile though. "I am an excuse. Or I can be, in certain ways, for certain things. It's convenient to some people." He's been convenient in a lot of ways for as long as he can remember: a convenient kill here and there, a convenient training tool for his indestructibility. A convenient experiment. So many conveniences that one more seems little enough of a burden. But never having been in this situation is something they share, at least in terms of what few similarities they apparently have. "If there was a rulebook, would you cater to it? Or would you do what you feel is right?"
Then again, he does have a unique viewpoint on life lived by the constraints of a book. And ten little words. He's not even really aware of his left hand curling into a fist at the thought, until one of the plates on the back of the palm catches against the leather at the inside of this glove and he has to force the digits to uncurl.
He shakes his head. "I don't need it." And it's true; he really doesn't. But he doesn't know if this other man will understand, and this is something, a small thing, that he is willing to explain. "I read it in a museum. It doesn't mean anything to me, doesn't belong to me. It seems pointless to take it from you for the sake of convenience."
That follow up question though has more of an impact than he'd anticipated. It's another decision he'll have to make, and he's sure it's another decision that other people will be all too willing to make for him. It makes his answer a little hesitant, and his caution likely shows clearly in the words. "I don't know. I haven't decided yet."
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Bucky laughs softly, but it's in agreement, because - yeah. He has no idea what the Atroma are truly capable of, and he'd really rather not test it. He doesn't like being here, doesn't like the idea of all these people being kidnapped and watched. Just because he's willing to stay for now doesn't mean he's okay with the premise of it all, but that's not the important part right now.
He watches the other, though, eyes a little more narrowed, if only because, "It seems like making yourself into an excuse is just as bad as making yourself be friends with someone else. That's not fair to you. You're a person. Not an excuse." Maybe Bucky wants things for him, but he's never not considered this man in front of him - well, a man. He is, no matter what someone else - HYDRA - might have told him otherwise.
Although his lips twitch up at the question, because, "I dunno. Steve's less likely to follow the rules than I am, if you want that bit of information. But I couldn't say. I guess I'd have to read it, first, and decide if it was bullshit or not." Even if it wasn't... most things with Steve require throwing the rules out the window, even if they are perfectly good rules. So maybe he can't really pretend he'd plan on following much of said rulebook, if it even existed.
He wonders if that's what the other man is thinking about at all, when his fist clenches like that. Probably not - if he claims he doesn't remember Steve, then Bucky believes him. Which makes him wonder - and worry - about what else might have him so tense, but he's certainly learned through this conversation that it's not really his place to ask. It's hard, but he stays quiet, and focuses on the matter of a name instead.
He can't say he's not a little relieved, in a way, when the other says he doesn't want it. That Bucky can keep it. But even still, "It does belong to you," he says, quietly. "You have as much right to it as I do, whether you remember it or not - but if you don't want it, if that's your choice, then I'll keep it. And - thanks." He smiles a little more. "I am used to it, and I would like to keep it." Maybe that's important to say, too, just like he goes on: "If you want to know more about where it came from - you can ask me." He feels obligated to offer, like he needs this other Bucky, or whatever he wants to be called, to know that his family history isn't lost if he wants to know it. But Bucky can also accept, now, even if he doesn't like it, that the other man may never ask. He has to be okay with that - or, at least, he has to be okay enough with it to move on.
And as for the lack of alternative options, "I can't blame you - if someone asked me out of the blue what I wanted to be called, and I didn't already have a name I was used to, I don't think I'd know, either. Honestly, it sounds kind of daunting, to decide. Maybe I'm gettin' off easy."
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"No. I am a weapon," he corrects. "I am learning how to be something else but above all, I am that. Anyone who forgets that is a fool, myself included." He's aware that he can be triggered, and that the Atroma may be able to do so. It's not a comfortable thought, but at least there seems to be enough muscle in the Fleet that he could be stopped, if it came to that.
He takes the information about rules solemnly though, storing it away because it doesn't make sense to him. For someone who doesn't follow rules, Steve had seemed pretty meek and subdued when they'd run into each other in the gym — if it is in fact the same Steve. There are contradictions there, another puzzle to figure out.
At least he has the chance to figure it out, instead of just carrying out orders he'd been given, then being wiped and doing it over again.
"No." The rebuttal is soft but insistent. "It's yours more than mine; it means more to you than to me. Keep it." The thanks feels a little awkward to accept but he is trying, at least. Social norms still aren't his strong suit. "And I will consider your offer." It's not something he'd ever expected, to be able to hold something that may have once been his own — something he may never recover on his own. It hasn't escaped him that the pursuit of his memories may in fact be entirely in vain. He wants it, but wanting things has rarely turned out well for him. It's going to take more than a little consideration, pulling the offer apart to examine it from several angles. He recognizes that the behavior isn't normal, but for him it's very much a necessity.
"I have designations," he says quietly. "Things I was called. They belong to me more than that name. But I have to think about what I would use."
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"Technically," Bucky says, because he can't help it, "you're a person with skills that make him dangerous." That's the point, right? That he's a person - who's maybe used to being treated like a thing, but if he continues to think of himself that way, Bucky doesn't see it getting any better.
Then again, Bucky is definitely not the expert on any of this.
He nods, though, because an I'll consider your offer seems like the best he's ever going to get out of this guy, and, "Good. Please do." He pauses, and then adds, quietly, "I do want to help you. I know it's up to you, to determine whether you want what I'm offering. I will do my best to respect that. But I've been through a little of what you've been through, even if I can't pretend it's anything more than a shadow." Bucky was a prisoner at Azzano, and he was pumped full of drugs - of Schmidt's knock-off serum - against his will. It's small and pathetic, compared to what he knows the Winter Soldier has been through, but maybe it gives him enough of an understanding - and more of one that Steve has ever had. Thank God. "You can talk to me. If you want to. But I'll stop offering, because now you know.
"And when you figure out what you want to be called - let me know, and I promise I'll use that." Even if it's hard. He can't bring himself to really push this guy any more than he can push Steve. God, it's such a mess, and it's a mess you can't make better with one single offer to listen, but it's all he's got.
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In his mind it's the most important thing about his existence, because it is the one thing that could change everything in a matter of heartbeats.
He shakes his head, holding up a hand to forestall any more elaboration on the offer. He does believe it will be dropped if he asks — he's not sure why he believes that, if the belief rides on the shoulders of his own stubbornness or his counterpart's — but he also has a feeling that the offers might keep coming if he doesn't cut them off here. "I don't trust having a conversation like that in a place I don't feel is secure. Planets are a better choice than the vehicles of the Fleet, but—" he gestures around them; no one is near but there are ample places for listening or recording devices, to say nothing of items that could do the same from a distance. He doesn't trust it. "There is too much opportunity in this location. I don't like it." It probably speaks volumes that his primary expressed concern relates to the kinds of covert activities he's performed on missions. His other concerns he'll keep private to himself.
"If you have need of an immediate designation, I have been called Soldier. Soldat, actually; the Russian was the most common." He shrugs. "It is not a name, but it is serviceable enough in the interim."
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And given that possibility - and many others - it makes sense, to be wary of being overheard. Bucky knows why they're here, and you sure as shit can't have reality TV without the TV part of it. "I understand," he says - because he does. He gets that, too. Sometimes it pays to be the guy who thinks of all the possible ways things can go wrong - and it usually pays to appreciate that guy, too.
As for the name... To be honest, Bucky maybe inwardly cringes a little. Because it isn't really a name at all. But he had asked the question, and it's his own problem if he doesn't like the answer. That's definitely what he's walking away from this conversation with. "Soldat, then," he says, trying it out; it feels thick and foreign and cold on his tongue, but he nods. "All right. I'll use that."
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He looks away, attention drawn by movement but it's just a normal squirrel (if it's normal for squirrels to have six legs); his attention returns to his companion soon enough. "I will ask. At some point." Once he'd figured out some of his own thoughts around the possibility.
"I know it's not a name." He knows too there might be those who are less than pleased by it. "никто would be more accurate a designation. But I don't imagine you'd like that."
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"If you mean calibrations - then yes." And just because Bucky got out of having anyone in his head doesn't mean he wasn't exposed to it. He knows what it was like for other people, and he gets the other's point. It's clear that the Atroma can get in their heads - and just like what happened with Loki, it settles very, very poorly in Bucky's gut.
Still, he frowns - "Honestly? I think I'm the one here to shake things up. Not you." There are more people from his counterpart's universe, after all. Bucky - and now his Steve - are the only two from theirs. If anything, they're probably here to cause confusion, to make things complicated. But he can still see the concern. Anything that has the potential for drama might be useful, and a mass murderer? Could definitely cause some drama. "Steve said people don't stay dead," he says carefully. "That the Atroma bring them back. But I guess that doesn't mean hurting people won't still make good reality TV."
Basically - he gets it. He understands the concern, and all he can say, really, is, "I hope it's never convenient."
And as for the name - or lack thereof - the look on his face is clear enough. "No. I don't like it," he says, quietly, evenly. "If you don't mind, I'll stick with Soldat."
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Right. Ratings.
“What a unique hell that is!” The bitterness is clear in his voice. “The ability to unleash a murderer, and bring back all his victims! To make everyone live out that hell, and remember every minute of it!” His hand curls into a fist again the leather of the glove stretched over it creaks and threatens to tear with the violence of the motion. “I’m sure the ratings would be off the charts.”
He looks away, because he has thought about it more frequently than perhaps he should. “I think it’s more a matter of time.”
He shrugs, gaze returning to the other man. He knew that his counterpart wouldn’t like it. But he claims no responsibility over the likes or dislikes of others. “As you like.” At least he’s confirmed that the chips in their heads do translate, with what he’s assuming is a modicum of accuracy.
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Everything's always a popularity contest, isn't it.
Well. Almost everything. Sometimes they're just bloodbaths. Audiences seem to love those, too.
Bucky's quiet for a long moment after that, if only because - yeah. Yeah, it sounds fucking awful, to know you're capable of something terrible, and to not want to do it, to be dead-set against it - and to know that someone can make you do it, anyway. He gets, maybe a little, why forming connections under those conditions is... hard. Unappealing. "Is there anything I can do?" he asks, quietly, again - knowing they're being watched, but there's still just only so much you can do. "Do you have a plan in place? You don't have to tell me what it is - hell, you don't have to tell me yes or no. But if you needed an extra set of enhanced hands... I've got 'em."
Again - it's probably an empty offer. Soldat doesn't have any reason to trust him. But Bucky is Captain America, and he's also - well, he's not the same, but he maybe started out the same as the man in front of him now - and he has to at least offer. That's what you do. He cares.
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"Shoot to kill. That's what you can do." The words are dispassionate, but not because he doesn't care. It's because he knows how people will hesitate, will try to find any other way. He's taken advantage of that kind of hesitation more than once himself, and knows how deadly he can be. "The head, the heart, or the right lung. Those are your best options."
It's probably not something he should do, give away such information, but those are standard weaknesses he thinks. Normal areas to shoot, when looking to kill a person. Though he supposes as well that there's also the option of just destroying the Starduck, if he was still on it; it would be quick, efficient. Easy. Likely easier than looking straight at the man one is about to shoot.
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But Bucky thinks he probably can.
"In case you don't remember, or haven't been told," he adds, with just a hint of dry humor, but not much, and certainly not at the other's expense - more at the fucking universe in general, "I was a sniper in the war. It's not something I forgot how to do."
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