driftfleet | 03. | When everything's meant to be broken

Entry tags:

03. | When everything's meant to be broken

Who: the Bucky Barnes who no longer goes by Bucky or Barnes (

sinistral)
Broadcast: no
Action: yes; SS Starduck, Lyndia
When: throughout the visit to the Bix star system

SPACE
→ SS Starduck;

Once, far enough back in Earth history that no one would likely truly remember it, some sarcastic jackass responded to a challenge with two now infamous words: Watch me. And while it's more likely than not that the Soldier had been in cryo for said occurrence, he certainly seems to embody the spirit thereof. He's been told, by several different people at several different times, that his life is his to live as he wishes. It's invariably followed up by recommendations, and even at times objections when his wishes do not conform to the path they'd imagined. He can't, shouldn't, withdraw from everyone and everything, they say.

Watch me, his current behavior replies.

He's stopped visiting the Iskaulit, save for a single afternoon to memorize a document. Most of the Starduck's crew keeps to themselves, making the avoidance of casual conversation easy. He keeps appointments to train in the gym space in their cargo hold, still makes his own rounds of the ship to check its safety and integrity — and to check that nothing new has been planted on board without their knowledge. He checks, re-checks, and re-checks again the upgrades to their systems. He trains himself, choosing odd hours, times during which other members of the crew aren't likely to observe the way he uses — abuses — the punching bag. It's not solving anything, his brain supplies. It's not answering any questions.

Watch me, his fists beat into the bag in steady cadence. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me.

PLANETSIDE
→ Sun's Rest;

A desire to surround oneself with physical beauty seems simple enough, right? He recalls a conversation, one in which the other person had told him that the aesthetic appreciation of a thing need not be based on extensive knowledge or experience. The words were meant as a kindness, he thinks, and they're what sends him to see the glowing grove when he hears of it.

If a single word must describe the place, he supposes that beautiful is the one most would use.

Thankfully it also seems quiet, which is a small miracle. He directs his thanks to the flora and fungi of the planet; were it not for their apparently aggressive allergens, it's likely that there might be more people wandering the paths to enjoy the sights — or wandering off the paths to enjoy other activities. Put in that context, the relative emptiness is a blessing. Still, it apparently doesn't stop all of those with amorous intent and on hearing rustling and moaning (and a sneeze or two) from a particular cluster of bushes, he'd been quick to abandon his exploration of the weeping, flowered branches of a tree, not having any desire to know any more about who's in those bushes or what, exactly, they're doing together.

He stops by the edges of the lake, watching the glowing forms of the fish swimming underneath the water. There's an imagery there for which he doesn't have words. But as he sinks to a sitting position at the edge of the lake, he supposes that he doesn't really need them either. For a little while at least.

→ Kenn-Tellnic;

At least this planet is relatively high end, as far as supplying oneself is concerned. Proper combat knives are a requirement and most people would probably scoff at how much of a morning is given over to the pursuit of obtaining just that, but he's picky. He needs to be picky when it comes to something that needs to feel like an extension of his own body and needs to be just as reliable. It's a process that takes him through several shops and half the city before he finds something that meets his standards and specifications; he realizes the time once he's left the shop with purchases secure in their sheaths and decides that the cafe caddy-corner to his current position will do. It's glass and brushed aluminum and streamlined — apparently this planet's high-profile coffee chain — and even the short line of customers moves efficiently.

It's too good to be true.

There's certainly something to be admired in the efficiency of the operation that is taking an order, accepting payment, and fulfilling that order. It's clean. Impersonal. Exactly the way things should be, and the entire thing grinds to a halt when the cashier looks him in the eye and asks, in that distinct retail blend of perky-yet-interested-in-moving-the-line, for his name. It's an uncomfortable moment, made worse by her follow up, the slight slowing of two syllables: "name, sir?"

"Nothing. Never mind," he says, turning away from the counter to move for the door. He doesn't spare another glance for the girl left standing behind her register, nor for the other patrons of the shop. No coffee in the universe is worth answering that question right now.

→ Jungles;

Being around people has become increasingly uncomfortable. He knows it's all internal, all him; he was designed to be a weapon, not a person. At least out here he can put that reality of his existence to good use: there is game to hunt, and he's nothing if not a hunter. And the creatures here are certainly big enough and strong enough to provide a challenge.

When they don't, there's always the escape of pure physical activity, running and hiking and climbing, if he can find it. Anything that presents a challenge; anything that pushes the body to its extremes, that elusive point of exhaustion where the brain finally quiets and nothing exists outside of pushing the muscles to achieve more. It's a luxury in every sense of the word: to have a body that can perform on such a level, and to have not only the freedom to exercise it, but a place that presents enough challenge to do so.

He's being reckless, he knows. But as it's not endangering others, he just doesn't give a damn.

WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;

Did we discuss something and I forgot in the hell that has been final projects and exams? Have another idea? ~~Want to go steal some Flouds?~~ I'm open to almost anything, hit me up via PM or at

sometimesamuse and we'll figure out out. I do write starters in prose but if you prefer brackets I'm happy to match.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sansa has never seen something so beautiful as Sun's Rest in all her life. She's drawn to it, just as she's drawn to beauty in other ways, and she and Lady explore the beautiful forest for a little while before she sees a familiar face. He's alone and Sansa doesn't want to be a bother, so she decides to leave him be but Lady has no such scruples; Bucky is someone she's fond of and she heads over, nosing at his right hand for pets.

"I am sorry," Sansa says, closing the distance between them to reclaim her wayward direwolf. "I was going to let you enjoy your time alone but Lady doesn't have my manners. She had other ideas and I do believe most of them involve rubs behind the ears. She's a traitorous creature and will leave me at any moment for you."

The first time he'd met Lady had been interesting. But since then he's come to see that the direwolf has perfectly fine manners — most of the time anyway. She's rather insistent when it comes to attention but since she's also rather protective of Sansa, he can't even mind it at all.

He shakes his head as she approaches; the apology is unnecessary. "She's not imposing. Neither are you."

With the invitation extended, Sansa draws closer and gives him a bit of a smile. She always likes to spend time with Bucky down on planets because it seems...safer, somehow, as if the Atroma cannot watch them as closely. She ruffles the fur behind Lady's ears and gives him a soft look.

"Direwolves aren't naturally trusting creatures, you know. I raised mine from a pup so she considers me her mother but in general, they aren't pets. She's taken to you, though, and seems to have deemed you safe. It's an honor, in her way of doing things."

"Predators recognize predators." It's the truth; Sansa may have raised her wolf, and trained her, but she's still a predator. Bucky might be one of the closest things to another predator that she encounters on a regular basis. "Some of it may honestly be that."

Or, it could be the ear rubs, considering that he hasn't stopped the motion since she approached.

"I would rather collect predators as friends than foes, then. I can imagine Lady could do a bit of damage if she chose to. Luckily, she's well-behaved for the most part even if Tyrion tries to pretend she's going to take his arm off from time to time."

Sansa looks over the beautiful scenery, taking it all in. She'd never have seen anything like this in Westeros and she wishes there was a way to capture it perfectly in case she never comes back. Even a drawing wouldn't do it justice.

"I tried to be with him," she says softly. "I failed. I thought with all the training and everything, I wouldn't be afraid any longer, but I guess it doesn't work that way. It was different when we were by ourselves. He told me it didn't matter to him and he loved me anyway but it mattered to me. I thought I'd defeated...it."

"I'm sure both she and he appreciate the charade."

He shifts a little when she speaks, moving slightly back from the edge of the water and stretching his legs out. Shrugging out of his jacket, he spreads it on the ground next to him and pats it in invitation. "You didn't fail. You tried, and that's something you weren't able to do before. A war isn't won with a single battle Sansa, but you've won the first skirmish."

Sansa settles next to him on the jacket, stretching her legs out before her. She's wearing something a little more modern today even if they are tailored trousers and she's glad for it since she's ended up in the wilderness, of sorts.

"Perhaps you're right. I just thought with all the training and the fact that I love him, there was no way I would be frightened. I just froze up in the middle of it, though, and I was angry with myself. I tried to keep pushing through it but he made me stop. I suppose he made the right decision for us, even if I didn't see it that way at first."

"That speaks highly to his character, that your own comfort was so important to him." It's a little strange to see her in pants outside of their gym sessions, but he's glad she has the practicality for it. Though the terrain in this park isn't too bad, there's a decent amount of wilderness between it and the main civilization.

"You didn't get good at squats overnight, did you?" There's the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth; he knows well how much she hates the exercise. He's still betting that he'll be able to get her to curse him out properly one of these days. "You're still training at them, aren't you? And you get a little further every time. So you didn't get this on the first try. Are you going to give it up as a lost cause, they way you begged me on your first day? Or are you going to work through it?"

As much as she hates to admit it, Bucky has a fine point in this matter. She hadn't become good at the gym exercises overnight and it had taken quite a bit of work and her own mettle to push through and learn. She still hates squats, yes, but she can do quite a few more reps than she could at the beginning and she is getting better every time they meet.

"I suppose you're right. I shouldn't be so hard on myself," Sansa admits, shrugging a bit. "It's just...Tyrion doesn't consider it this way, before you potentially get angry, but in Westeros it's a man's right to bed his wife. Not being able to do it makes me feel as if I'm a failure, somehow. I'll just have to keep working at it and hope he doesn't give up on me."

He knows he has a point, but he's not planning on gloating nor holding it over her head in any way. This is clearly important to her and knowing how private Sansa can be, it's a huge thing that she is comfortable enough in their association to talk with him about it.

"Do you know that he doesn't consider it this way, or are you assuming his thoughts based on behavior that is common in your land?" There's no admonishment in it, and he keeps his voice as gentle as he can manage. "You know him better than I do, but it sounds to me like even if he knows it is his right, he views it instead as a privilege, one that deserves respect and one he's willing to wait for."

He's quiet for a moment, though a soft chuckle rumbles in his chest when Lady forcibly leans her weight against him; he'd paused in his petting of her ears for a moment and she's apparently not shy about letting him know it. "I assume that your love for each other also contains a healthy amount of respect for each other. Why are you so resistant to thinking you deserve it as much as he does? You don't have to answer that to me or to anyone, but it might be something to think about on your own."

"No, he's said many times it'd be a privilege and an honor to be with me," Sansa says, agreeing with Bucky's analysis of the matter. "He doesn't think of it as a right, not really. He never has. Even when we were first married when I was fourteen, he never touched me even though he could have by rights."

Sansa smooths her trousers while she thinks about the other half of what Bucky's said. Why is it that she doesn't think she deserves it too? She doesn't know but she suspects Ramsay is the root of it.

"I was ruined. I know it...in my mind, I know it wasn't my fault but it doesn't stop me from thinking that way. In Westeros, a woman's virginity is prized above all else. The religion they keep to in the South, the Faith of the Seven? They revere the Maiden as one of their gods."

"He's a good man." And it reassures him to hear it so. Sansa deserves consideration, and respect, and to be treated with a gentle hand. It seems that Tyrion gives her all of this and even more.

"You were not, and are not, ruined. Please believe that." It's not the easiest thing for him to articulate, simply because sexuality isn't a factor for him; he doesn't believe he could be attracted to anyone. "The choice of who you gave it to should have been your own, but the fact that you do not have it doesn't make you any less. It's only a tool used by someone to try to hold you down. Remember when I taught you how to break out of a choke hold? This choke is harder because it's not a physical thing, but I do believe it's something you can break because I've seen how determined you can be."

"I think sometimes you have more faith in me than I have in myself. Of course, that is what family does for one another - lends you strength when you don't quite have enough to carry on."

Sansa thinks about his words and his comparison to the physical choke hold. He's not wrong, really, and perhaps if she can think of it this way she can break the hold Ramsay still has on her mind.

"It's just hard to want things and then find myself paralyzed and unable to follow through. He doesn't blame me for it but I blame myself. I should stop doing that."

“You can have as much of my strength as you need.” Of course he’s much better at providing physical strength than anything else, but the sentiment still stands. “And you’d do the same for me.”

He’s an honorary member of her House, honorary family. Two broken people trying to be a little less broken.

“It’s easier to say it than to accept the reality of it. We both know the most effective weapon turned on either of us was our own minds.” He pauses, turning his words over in his head to make sure they express what he wants to say correctly. “It’s not something that’s going to come to you overnight, or without a lot of hard work and some pain. But you have patience and determination both.”

"In that, it will be very much like the gym. I'm glad you let me talk about it, though. I didn't exactly feel comfortable talking to Tyrion. I didn't want him to feel bad about anything because he did nothing wrong. He...he was perfect. There's nothing else he could have done differently than he already did and he was right to make us stop."

Even if Sansa hadn't wanted to at the time, she sees that it's the right decision now.

"I am lucky, to be surrounded by such good people. It's not the case at home, I'm afraid."

"I don't mind being your sounding board. As long as you don't want advice on actual bedroom activities, because I'm very unqualified." It's an attempt to bring a little levity into a conversation that can very easily — too easily — get darker. "He cares about you, and intimacy can take many forms. I would imagine that you don't have to engage in the sexual part of it to feel close to each other."

Then again, he's not the most qualified to ask.

"Though I'm hesitant to express thankfulness for anything of this place," and that's mostly out of distrust for the Atroma and their games, "it does perhaps have its good points."

"It does have its good points. I wouldn't have Lady outside of this place," she says, giving the direwolf a quick scratch behind the ears. "And I wouldn't be able to be with Tyrion or have met you and your friends."

Sansa tips her head a bit, watching Bucky for a moment. "You've become very dear to me. I know I tell you this often but I feel like I cannot express it clearly enough, that I cannot describe exactly how much your friendship has meant to me during my time here. I feel as if I can talk to you about anything and you won't judge me for it. It's a rare thing in the world."

That's a strange concept: friends. There's really no one he'd put in such a category, because it implies a level of trust he's not willing to give another person. There are people who know him, claim to know more about him than he knows about himself and have plenty of opinions about who he is and how he should act. It's not at all comfortable. But he supposes this isn't the time to argue the semantics of it; the conversation really isn't about him anyway.

Or at least, it's only partly about him.

He looks out across the water of the lake. It's stunning, lit as it is by the phosphorescence in the plants and animal life. "I don't like judging people. I don't like forcing my ideas on others. It's not right. Everyone should have the freedom to live as they want to."

It's not that simple and he knows it, but it's a nice thought regardless.

"They do. I've fought for that for myself and I'd fight for it for any of those I hold dear. You're one of those people, for me."

Sansa turns her head to look at him, watch him as he watches the water. "It's so beautiful here, isn't it? If I had never come to the Fleet, I'd never see places like this. I'd never know such beauty in my life. I wonder what makes it glow that way. I've never seen such a thing in all my days."

"I hope it's a battle you'd never have to fight, but I thank you Sansa. Truly."

It might be wishful thinking, only because one never knows what the Atroma are going to come up with next. But at least the night seems to provide a moment of peace and beauty; as much as he dislikes thanking their captors for anything, he can't deny that sights like this are truly amazing. "It's got to be something in the plants or fish themselves, but I'm not science-minded enough to know what. Still, we can enjoy it plenty without knowing how, right?"

"We can. There's a great many things I don't understand about the Fleet because Westeros doesn't have them," Sansa admits. "I usually just accept them as the magic of the place but sometimes, if I get too curious, I ask Vision to explain them for me. He's quite patient in these matters."

She wonders if Vision could explain why the plants and animals glow here - it's something she thinks Bran might have been interested in, as a boy; he'd always been a reader unlike Sansa or Arya.

"I shall have to ask him about this planet and see what he thinks. He explained electric lights to me once and if I were clever enough, I might be able to build them back home."

"Sometimes needing the explanation can bog down the importance of just enjoying the moment."

Not that the explanation wouldn't be interesting, at least somewhat. But he's fine with forgoing it for now to simply enjoy the sights, to take a moment to forget everything that's been bothering him lately. It's not easy, but he thinks it might be worth the effort.

"He might know. He certainly seems versed in a variety of topics." And none of the explanations he's offered have been patronizing; that certainly helps with a willingness to talk to him.

"Vision is kind. I think I like Wanda and Vision best of your...people from home," Sansa says, not wanting to really speak much on the other version of Bucky or the other man she'd met from his world.

"You've all welcomed me as much as I would welcome any of you to Winterfell. Of course, I think it's much more pleasant here than at Winterfell - there's no snow here. If you like snow, though, the North is perfect. I could be in the snow until my hands grew numb, I think, and never tire of it."

“I don’t really know them,” he replies quietly. “Here I guess I’ve gotten to know a little of them, but they’re all strangers to me. Strangers who know who and what I am and insist that they know me, when I don’t even know who I am.” To call the situation uncomfortable paints it in a very mild light.

He shakes his head though when she mentions snow. It’s not the snow that he minds, it’s the cold. “I think I’ve had enough cold for anyone. Though I heard it said that space is cold as well.”

"Well, no one can truly know anyone, I think. You've seen inside my mind and I still think there's parts of me you don't know," Sansa says, considering his words. "There's no way to know all facets of a person, all angles. Assuming that you do is arrogant and like to lead to ruin. We all have our secrets."

Sansa agrees that space is cold. The cold is a comfort, though, because it reminds her of home. Perhaps it isn't a comfort to everyone.

03. | When everything's meant to be broken

sun's rest

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