riverviewlogs | turn back time;

Entry tags:

turn back time;

who: Bucky and OPEN
what: Various prompts spanning Prijata, the AU, and just random things.
when: The month of June
where: Around and about
warnings: Panic attacks

notes: Because this spans pre-AU and during-AU Bucky, I don't mind if anyone wants to tag in more than once to interact with both bits. Open to new or existing CR. If there isn't a prompt you like, just PM me and I'll work one out with you!

[i: Prijata; around the abandoned city and Quarantine]

[Bucky has been delivered a lot of unexpected things for the Prijata celebrations, gifts from people he never expected to get anything from, and gifts from anonymous sources. They're all thoughtful - food vouchers, clothes vouchers, survival equipment - but there's one gift that really takes him by surprise. A dog. An actual dog. The letter that comes with it states that this is a service dog designed to help veterans, she's his to borrow for six months and then either give her back or take her full time.

The things is...

He has no idea how to take care of a dog. It's not something he had as a kid, and the Soldier certainly wasn't given pets. He knows common sense things, like that she'll need to be fed and walked, but that's about it. Which is why he can be found in one of several places:

a) skulking around the various pet shops of Quarantine with a black lab trotting at his side.
b) sitting out in the outskirts of the abandoned town, throwing a stick idly for her and watching her return it.
c) awkwardly hoisting said dog into his arms so that he can climb the side of a building.]

[ii: Good and bad; at night down an alleyway; cw: panic attacks]

[Maybe it's being given the dog that's meant for a specific purpose that brings it to the surface, but Bucky has been dwelling more and more on his time as the Soldier. It leaves him on edge, tenser than usual, and less willing to mingle with the crowds. He doesn't sleep for as long as he can, unwilling to leave himself vulnerable to attack, but in the end he's only human.

Whenever he does manage to get some sleep, his dreams are far from pleasant, enough that he's not exactly a silent sleeper. The occasional moan might draw attention to his hiding spot, and anyone who tries to disturb him will find that he's not in the mood for it at all.]

[iii: Sergeant Barnes; AU plot; the park]

[It's absolutely amazing!

Of course he's been here for a few months now, but it's still mind boggling that he could be living in a place where there were people from all sorts of places and times. It's like one of those dime novels he used to read, all aliens and fanciful technology. He can still barely believe cell phones are a thing, he can only imagine how much this might have enhanced the war effort back home.

The only problem is... he doesn't seem to have a place to stay. All of his stuff was down an alleyway with him, and that's not exactly ideal. He's dressed in world war two uniform, having not quite got round to getting changed yet, with the insignia of a Sergeant clearly visible. Though he's obviously still Bucky, same face and same body, there are differences that might make him hard to identify. He's clean shaven, he doesn't walk with the wariness of a predator stalking prey, and he's smiling.

He even raises a hand in a friendly and lazy sort of greeting, friend or newcomer.]

[iv: Wildcard; anywhere; anytime]

[Got something you want to do with Bucky or Sergeant Barnes? Put it here, and let's do it!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ If Will had heard or recognized that he was no longer alone -before Bucky spoke- he gave no indication of it. He may have been aware, on that lizard brain level when we recognize we're being watched, but he didn't have Lecter's ridiculous nose as an early warning system.

Head down, he didn't immediately respond. He about had this note nailed down and just needed to.finish.it.and ... there.

Setting the pencil down, he shook out his left hand and sat back turning to look at Bucky. There was no anger, resentment or fear in his expression. He looked more curious in return, if anything. ]

Why would I? [ He asked in return. ] It was my error of judgement. You were responding to a threat assessment.

[ After a moment, he leaned over towards the messenger bag he had scavenged from somewhere. Pulling out a small hand towel, he set it down on the table and pushed it towards Bucky, before drawing his hand back. Inside the towel, as promised, lay the knife. It had been meticulously cleaned, the blade oiled to reduce the risk of any water damage. ]

You weren't threatening me.

[Will's behaviour is confusing as hell. He can't possibly believe that Bucky held no fault here, when he twice attacked a man who's only crime was to stand too close to him. His recollection of what happened is hazy at best, too closely tied with the memories of other things he'd rather forget, but he does know Will didn't threaten him.]

I attacked you without provocation, you can't put the blame of that elsewhere.

[He doesn't sound annoyed or combative yet, just confused.

Bucky might understand why Steve would make these sorts of arguments, blinded as he is by affection for the man Bucky used to be, but not a veritable stranger.]

You perceived provocation. [ Will countered in his same, calm tones. Though he winced slightly and looked down in an apologetic manner. ]

I'm sorry, I'm profiling a little there and I've been doing it a lot around you, which you've ... [ he paused, considered his words and then continued.] I don't react well to being analyzed either. I'm just used to the inevitability of it.

[ So not the point in this conversation. Will drummed his fingers and reached for his scotch. ]

Regardless. Whether it was my insistence in pressing into your space, the physical movement I made ... you responded to a perceived threat.

So no, you weren't unprovoked and I'm not going to hold your reaction to that provocation against you. It would be ... cruel.

[It sounds like something that Steve would say, but it just rings like excuses in his ears. He knows that it wasn't his fault for what happened with the Soldier, but it was still his hands that carried out the actions, so doesn't he have some culpability? And now... now when he's supposedly broken his programming, at what point do the excuses become too much?]

You're an idiot.

[He's blunt about it, but it still sounds more confused than anything.]

I could've killed you, probably would've if you hadn't retreated, and you're making excuses for me.

[ Would it be strange that Will actually ... laughed?

It was a soft sound and from the way he ducked his head and nodded, it was a sound of amused agreement with Bucky's assessment of his being an idiot. Reaching up, he rubbed his thumb along the side of his own cheekbone. ]

I've been accused of being an idiot quite a few times in my life. [ He agreed, sprawling back in his chair and the amusement fled, as if it were an ill fitted formal suit he could only stand to wear for brief periods. ]

You're not a monster. [ He said, bluntly and he reached for his scotch, the way a child might reach for a favored stuffed animal. ] You were trained to emulate one, and anyone can be trained against their nature. But in the end it's training, not who they are.

[Bucky's expression, always quite neutral, alters just slightly to something more dangerous. He knows that Will is a profiler, but that's some incredibly detailed and accurate deductions he's making, and it rubs inside Bucky like razors under his skin.]

What the hell do you know about it?

[He didn't really want anyone here to know about the Soldier. Even the people he trusted the most only knew the bare bones of the story, he doesn't think that he can ever really open up about everything that happened. Some things are definitely better left unsaid.]

[ If he wasn't quite possibly half the way into his bottle of scotch, Will might have redirected the question.

Or found some psychoanalytical way in which to respond to it.

Instead, he stared at Bucky for a long minute, before shooting back what was left in the glass and moving to stand up. ]

The F.B.I. keeps me around for one reason; I'm effective at hunting the monsters.

[ He explained as he undid the first few buttons of his shirt and undid the cuffs. The majority of the shirt remained buttoned (this wasn't an excuse for a strip tease) as he reached behind himself and yanked the the fabric up and over his head. Dropping the shirt on the table he stood up so Bucky could see his torso.

Beneath the flannel the profiler liked to the hide himself within, the man was actually incredibly fit. But that wasn't what this was about. His torso was a storyboard of scars. The most prominent of course was the one that ran the width of his abdomen, a blow that could have easily disemboweled him, had the perpetrator not wished it otherwise. But there were others.

The gunshot wound on his right shoulder, punctuating an older stabbing scar in the same area. Scars that had been fixed but the Riverview orientation team, but were still in place included the couple doozies that Dolaryhyde had given him.

Will lifted his floppy hair, exposing the scar at the top of his head again, where someone had taken a surgical bone saw to his body possibly intending to open up his skull. That movement, the shift of his hair and the turn of his head, also drew attention to the scar just under his cheekbone. Mostly hidden by his scruff and the shadow of his cheek, it still suggested he'd been stabbed through and through in the face.

Dropping his hair and straightening, Will reached for his shirt but he was in no hurry to drag it back on. He had no shame in the scars. ]

There's a smaller one, under my jaw here, where one of the monsters was making ready to cut off my face, while I was still awake for the process. [ He tilted his head slightly as he plucked at the buttons to open them. ] In some ways, that one is the most horrific, even though he was stopped before he could do more than make the initial incision.

[ Shaking the shirt out, he shrugged back into it but didn't bother buttoning it closed before lowering himself back into the chair. ]

I am ... intimate with the monsters, Peter. I know them when I crawl inside their heads, and they crawl inside mine. Mutually assured destruction.

[ He looked down and began to button his shirt. ]

You're not a monster.

Edited 2017-06-17 15:38 (UTC)

[He's not sure what he's expecting when Will gets up and starts to strip off, but he remains still and silent, just watching. The scars tell a story of a hard life, and one nearly lost several times to people vindictive enough to want to kill just for the sake of killing.

Sadly, they're not shocking.

Bucky has done worse than these men to other innocents, he's been the monster on the other end of the knife, and it took a long time for him to initially break and be made into the Soldier. He knows about torture, he learned from the Nazis, and it's sickening to see that sort of roadmap laid out on someone's skin.

Is he not a monster?

It seems like Will is a good judge, considering how much experience he has, but Bucky would wager that he's never met anyone like him before. It feels like he's been given something important, and it's like a pressure on him to give back, like he owes Will for the kindness being shown. The kindnesses that have been shown since they met.]

Don't try to crawl inside mine.

[It's as much a warning for Will's safety as it is a threat.]

You might think I'm not a monster, but I've been killing people for decades, and I could do it again.

[There's a moment of hesitation, before he tacks a single word onto the end of that, the giving back that he feels he owes.]

James.

[ It's not till Bucky says the words 'Don't try to crawl inside mine' that Will recognizes that he's been doing the very thing he's been terrified of Anderson doing to him. It's a stark realization, an uncomfortable one and where Bucky has seen kindness, Will feels as though he's been anything but considerate.

In this realization, he takes a breath and genuinely offers what he can. ]

It's not something I can turn off, believe me I wish I could. [ Perception; a lens that turned both ways and rarely gave either viewer a reprieve. ] But I will do my best to honor your request James, and keep my psychoanalyzing to myself.

[ To treat James as a person, not an observation.

And he will start by not pointing out the difference between killing people and designing their destruction. Won't point out that were James the monster he believes himself to be, he wouldn't be the conflicted, tortured mind that had come to find out ~~if Will was alright~~ why a virtual stranger hadn't turned him in.

That were James a monster at his core, he would have killed Will in that alley and felt joy in it. ]

Well, to myself and the actual monsters outside the walls. [ He continued, offering them both a distraction from the subject of each other. Perhaps he could have asked after Sasha, he wanted too, but he was concerned that could turn them back down the path of what happened the other night.

Instead he sat up and tapped at his notes. ]

I'm putting together a small team to go out, northwest of the city to follow up on the work of a previous team to gather soil samples. Apparently, it's good soil for farming but the area is infested with over-sized alien hogs.

Have you had any experience with them?

Edited 2017-06-17 16:32 (UTC)

[Bucky's not an idiot. Keeping it to himself doesn't mean that he won't do it, just that he'll hold whatever he decides he finds out to himself. It's not very comforting, he'll always be wondering just what Will has figured out about him whenever he sees him. It makes him want to flee into the comforting anonymity of the back alleys where he can be mostly alone.

The change of subject takes him by surprise, but after a moment he twigs what Will is trying to do.]

Not those ones exactly.

[But he's spent a hell of a lot of time outside the walls, so he's fought more than his fair share of monsters.]

If you're going to ask me to join your team, don't. I don't play well in groups.

I wasn't going to ask. [ Will said in a soft, level tone.

Seriously the 'doesn't play well with others' was one of the first things he'd read off James. It was hard to ignore something that was practically shouted in your ears. ]

I'm keeping the team small, quick and hopefully non-threatening to these creatures. Our job is to try to assess just how much of a threat they would pose to any agricultural endeavors and if they can be relocated or will require extermination.

[ Something in the way he says the last word suggests that is the absolute last route he wants to see pursued. ]

I was simply curious if you had any information on them. The better I can prep the team, the better chance we have of avoiding an accidental conflict.

[He doesn't feel embarrassed for assuming, only relieved that Will had already read the situation correctly and he had never been in the running for coming along. He's seen a number of these missions go out, and the idea of having to trust anyone to watch his back during any of them is enough to make him want to run for the hills.]

Sorry, no.

[He pushes up from the table.]

But I can go and get information.

[That's something he can do alone, and it's a way of making up for what he did. The danger that the monsters might present doesn't even register as a factor.]

I think that's rather our mission. [ Will pointed out in a wry tone.

He leaned to the side to pick up his bottle of scotch off the floor. Unscrewing the top he splashed a healthy dose into the tumbler. Closing it back up, he set it back down on the floor, before sprawling back in the chair.

Though he was a small man, he managed to take up as much of that chair as he could manage, limbs going every which way as he considered the situation.

Because he didn't want to reject James' offer out of hand. He could imagine it was as much about settling a debt, wiping the slate clean to allow James to re-establish control in their relationship, as it was about helping.

As promised, Will kept this observation to himself and didn't even look at James, eyes down on the amber liquid in his glass, as he swirled it around. ]

Could you get me a rough run down of the terrain? This is the hogs' territory after all, it would help to have an idea of ... [ he paused to take a sip of scotch, before finishing the obvious thought. ] what trees are available for fleeing up.

[Of course that's their mission. Idiot. He should have known better than to make such a stupid offer, but at least Will doesn't seem to be laughing at him for it, more offering a viable alternative that might actually be useful.]

Sure.

[He glances over at the scotch, before deciding that it's really not his business to say anything if Will decides to day drink in a library. There's an awkward pause, but he has to ask.]

How is your hand?

[He knows it wasn't a fatal wound, but there's a lot of ligaments and nerves there, he could still have done some permanent damage.]

[ In response to the question, Will lifted his hand. His sleeve fell back, he hadn't closed the button on the cuff yet, exposing the bandage that ran half way up his forearm.

Wriggling all four fingers and thumb, he did a quick touch of his thumb to each finger tip to show that they were working and his dexterity hadn't been affected. ]

Writing is painful. [ He admitted, not trying to be ridiculously stoic. ] And I expect it will affect my marksmanship for awhile.

[ His lips twitched with that last statement, before he remembered that James wouldn't have any context for the humor. Lowering his arm, he did yank the sleeve over the bandage and moved to button it. ]

That last bit is my pathetic attempt at humor. I'm the worst shot in our department. It took me ten shots to drop a man at point blank range.

Edited 2017-06-17 21:37 (UTC)

[His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, he didn't think that people would be allowed to work with the police if they couldn't even pass a basic shooting test. Especially given how often Will seemed to put himself in danger.]

No permanent damage?

[That's what he's bothered about.

He won't make a comment on being a poor marksman, it's not really his right, but the look of continued surprise on his face probably says it for him.]

[ Will considered any number of dry responses to the question, but despite the amount of scotch he'd consumed so far that evening, he held his tongue on all of them.

Instead, he lowered his injured arm and shook his head. ]

No. It went out of its way to avoid any permanent damage. [ He confirmed and nodded towards where the knife was sitting on the table between them, still wrapped in the towel. ]

I oiled it, after I washed it, and ran it across a strop. There shouldn't be any rust damage.

[He doesn't think that he's ever met someone who would oil and care for the blade that ran them through, then return it to the person that attacked them. He's beginning to understand just why Will has so many scars... the man has no self preservation instincts whatsoever.

There's a moment of hesitation, but he does eventually take the knife and slide it into one of his many hidden pockets.]

If you see me that way again, just run. If I come after you, then you better hope you get in a lucky shot.

[ For a moment, Will sat there and watched James. He watched the way the knife disappeared, made note of it but no remarks.

Eventually, he sat up and moved to turn back to his work. He expected the other man was getting ready to take his leave. When he spoke, his voice was low key, there was no challenge or arrogance in his words, neither was there any heat or aggressive nature.

It was simply a fact; and if his tone suggested anything it was a sense of ruefulness. ]

I don't run.

[He knows someone else that never runs.

He hates it and admires it all at the same time, though it incites less strong emotion in him with Will than it does with Steve. So he just scowls.]

Then you'll have to learn to be a better shot, you won't get ten tries to take me down.

[ Will considered mentioning that the people he'd killed, he'd done so with his bare hands, manipulation and a knife, but they weren't there yet in their relationship.

So rather than try to insist he could manage himself, he paused in his writing and looked up at James from over top the rim of his glasses. ]

That rotator cuff issue I mentioned? It means when I use a handgun I have to utilize the Weaver stance.

[ As he spoke, he felt Beverly Katz's hand's on his shoulders and heard her voice, as clear as if she were in the room with them. It was so vivid he turned his head slightly and saw her standing there ... well, a slice of her anyway.

Will's head jerked as if he'd been slapped hard and he reached up to yank his glasses off his face, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]

I have trouble getting my foot and body position right, in order to counter balance the recoil.

[He notices the way that Will moves, jerks, and refocuses. Is he sick? Seeing something? It sets Bucky on edge again, and his muscles subtly tense as if ready to fight or flee.]

I'll teach you.

[The words are out of his mouth before he realises he's going to say them, but he doesn't take them back. He owes Will, and if the idiot is going to keep getting in dangerous situations, he needs to know how to shoot properly.

A rotator cuff issue is no excuse, the harsh part of his mind whispers, he knows how to shoot with a broken arm if he needs to. It can be done.]

[ With his glasses off, Will didn't catch the tensing of muscles; though if he had he certainly would have understood. He unnerved a lot of people.

It's on the tip of his tongue to offer an automatic refusal, more instinct than intent. But Will bites back the words and forces himself to stop and think it through. He's in a world with actual animal type monsters, the sort that couldn't be psychologically manipulated or talked into a circle until you could escape them. Well, at least not all of them.

Being more accurate with a handgun would save him lugging a shotgun or a rifle around everywhere. Also, given the eye/hand coordination James had demonstrated with he stabbed him, Will suspected the man knew what he was teaching.

Taking up his glasses once more, the profiler perched them on his face, slid part way down his nose as he turned to look at the other man. After a breath, he nodded. ]

I'd appreciate that, if it's not too much trouble? [ It wasn't that he thought James would have offered just to be polite, but he felt the need to give the man a chance to have second thoughts. ]

It's fine.

[Maybe.

He's tried to teach Ellie to shoot a little better, but she's different, she understands. He hasn't really taught anyone else since the other Soldiers, since he had been a weapon, and he's not sure how well it'll actually go. But he's willing to try, and maybe he can help Will defend himself better.]

But you don't use what I teach you for anything but defence.

[He's had that problem with Ivar already.]

Using a gun to kill is an absolute last resort. [ Will offered and it wasn't a lie.

Outside of Hobbs, which had been in the defense of Abigail, Will had never used a single on of his guns on any of his kills. ]

turn back time;

My work here is complete \o/

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icon duplication but ... scotch!

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