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!]

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[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. ]

[He nods, giving Will the benefit of believing that as true for now. He scribbles down a number for one of his many burner phones.]

In a few days when your wrist is healed a bit better, call me, we'll start then.

[ Now it was Will's turn to nod, as he took the paper with the number scribbled on it, studied it briefly, then folded it carefully into his pocket. ]

I'll be in touch when we're back from this little jaunt.

[ He said, giving a nod towards the work he'd been doing. So long as he didn't get eaten by anything outside the fence, that should be a reasonable time frame for his wrist to be on it's way to healing. ]

[This time, he doesn't bother to reply.

He simply walks away on feet light enough to make no sound on the floors of the library, his apology has been discharged and the offer of help extended. He has recon to do now, to map out the terrain as promised.]

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