proudlywehailed | Drift Fleet: IC Inbox

[ Pause. He exhales. ]

Thanks.

[he's quiet for a long time, not really sure how to respond to that. when he speaks up, he's quiet, hesitant, and his eyes are stuck on the pie.]

... Can you tell me about him?

[ It's not a shot, not a balm. ]

Sure. What do you want to know?

Did he draw often?

[he remembers the paintings.]

All the time.

[ Art was Steve's domain: never mind that he was colourblind. They used to wash the ink off newspapers carefully, and Jim hid pencils around the house, or slipped them into his coat pockets to make him think he had more than he did. It fooled no one, but they pretended. ]

We used to joke he could draw through an earthquake, he was so absorbed. Later it was that he could sit through shelling.

... Colorblind...

[he narrows his eyes.]

He looked like the wind could knock him over.

Yeah. He had just about every illness that wouldn't kill ya.

How'd he manage to...

[he makes eye contact with jim when he starts that sentence and stops himself. the reason he made it that far is sitting there.

[he looks back to the pie.]

... I'm sorry.

Sorry for?

Being a reminder. I don't want to do that to you.

[ A snort. ]

You're actin' like I can't even be around you, which ain't true.

Does it hurt to be?

[an honest, open question, and one he studies jim for. he doesn't expect an honest answer.]

It always hurts to lose something, even if you don't know what that something is.

[ Notice how it's not an answer to the question. ]

Not what I asked.

[he looks more serious, now.]

Does it hurt you to be around me? It bothered you to hear the name he used to call you. Does it bother you to see his face, hear his voice, and know it's not him? You keep worrying about me, telling me I'm bearing the weight of the world, but they took your world away from you, didn't they? And you're the only one left to carry the burden if left you.

My problems don't come first. I'm not going to lay anything on a man who won't even tell me where his limits lie. I have you and Clay, Jim. That's it. If he decides he never wants to speak to me again, he'd have every right, and if I'm doing damage, I don't want to put that on you.

I'll trust you... when you trust me. You and I both know we can't afford to half-ass trust.

[ Talk about a sniper's eye. He's had the learned stoicism — but he supposes to a Steve Rogers it wouldn't be much of a mask. ]

[ Yes it does hurt, the knowing. He's not a good enough man to say it doesn't matter or that he'll ever get over it. ]

What does trust mean, to you?

[ Because he trusts the pieces of Steve, but he doesn't know what else is in there, and it hurts more not knowing whether he'd be willing to put a bullet in the man's skull, if it came to that, same as he would to his alternate. Jim damn well hopes it doesn't, that any piece of Steve Rogers is strong enough to fight like hell, but he's been a prisoner before, too. Some suffering is too much, sometimes the will isn't enough. And it's okay. ]

It depends on the level. I trust you enough to come to you with the things I have to face here. The new. You were the first person I talked to when I woke up today.

[the "but" is in the air before it even comes out of his mouth.]

But I'm starting to wonder if I can trust you past that. You've asked me to, and you've told me over and over that I could be him, if I ever wanted to be. But you don't want me to be him, because that would mean facing a man who's been through a hell you'd never wish on him--at least, that's how you interpret what happened to me.

[and he's putting that out there to be thought about. orion doesn't think he went through hell. there were hard times, but it was worth it. everything he had to do, for the people's freedom, he would do again.]

Trust--real trust--is something I haven't believed in in a long time. And I don't think you know what trust is anymore, either. I think you knew, when he was there, but then there's me, something your world would see as evil, and you can't quite wrap your heart around it. [and at that, he diverts his gaze, staring at the pie in front of him. it doesn't feel like it was saved for him anymore.]

It's not that you're not my Bucky, I'm just not your Steve. So you keep telling me to let you help, and everybody wants Steve's mouth to start saying Steve's words again, but when it works, and you're around enough to dig something up and it comes out--which is what happened just now, I'm assuming, forgive me if I'm wrong about that--everybody's quick to remember that it's not Steve's mouth.

[he glances back at him again.] I'm the bad guy for not wanting to open up when you're all so damaged by my "transformation", but when anything remotely like what you want me to be comes out, how dare I slander his image with the blood on my hands.

[there's an almost comical level of resentment in this. he hasn't gotten to process what he saw, or knowing what others might have, in those rooms.]

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