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[closed] See the way you hold yourself

who: Bucky Barnes [616] and Yuri Plisetsky
what: The day after his surprise birthday party, Yuri has Anger Issues.
when: 4/12, early morning
where: A gym near the housing building.
warnings: Feelings.

[It's early, barely 5:30 in the morning, and the sky is still dark, but Bucky Barnes has been awake for at least an hour. He took his run alone today, but he has a standing appointment at the gym with Yuri for most mornings, including today. The gym he frequents is well-equipped, but quiet - the customer base mostly save their workouts for the evenings after work, which is why he likes it so much.

Waiting on Yuri to arrive, no doubt after his own run, he's spread out on the mat going through some deep stretches, loosening up for the workout to come. He's thinking maybe some acrobatics today, some time on the pommel horse and the rings perhaps, but generally, Bucky wings it with the program. He's flexible - both figuratively and literally, looking at ease in his stretches, loose and casual. His hair is still damp with sweat from his run, but he's shed his track jacket for just his sweatpants, socks, and a thin tank-top.

Bending into a lunge on the mats, he checks the clock again, but that's when he hears the door clang shut.]

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[ James' voice almost didn't even seem to reach him. He wanted to hit, and hit, and hit, beat his hands raw, until he was down to bloodied pulp, or the bag had burst. Shaking, panting, Yuri's body jerked with the order, and for a moment he seemed ready to argue- baring his teeth in anger. But instead, he threw one last punch at the bag, before backing off.

Glancing away, Yuri brought his opposite hand up, rubbing the center of his palm with his thumb and chewing angrily on the inside of his cheek. ]

I wasn't done yet. [ he scowled, finally looking back to the other, beginning to feel the aching throb in his hands and knuckles, and finding he didn't mind that at all. ]

If you had let me tape your hands, maybe you could have gone longer. [He can't resist the dry little comment, turning from the bag to get the cream and a box of bandaids for his hands.] Pain can be grounding, but the point of these sessions is not to let you do real damage to yourself. You can use anger, but it has to come with focus.

I'm not gonna ask you what's got you so riled up. You can talk if you want to, but I won't push it. We're going to get your hands treated and then we're going to work on focus. I know you'd rather hit shit right now, but in a real fight, this kind of tunnel-vision fury can get you killed.

Edited 2017-05-08 15:49 (UTC)

[ Flexing his fists a few times didn't make Yuri feel any better about the fact that the other had made him stop. It didn't really make him feel any better about anything at all, really. He wanted to keep hitting the punching bag- but he knew that if he went for it now, it would just piss James off; and for once in his life he didn't really feel like alienating anyone else.

Even though he was technically the one doing the alienating. ]

It's- ugh. Fuck off, Barnes. [ Yuri growled, throwing his hands up, his nostrils flaring. ] My hands are fine. I've had worse. But I am focused. Try me. [ He snarled the last two words, green eyes blazing. ]

[Yuri underestimates the kind of shit James can take, probably. He would rather he stay away from the bag for now, though - the kid's hands are beat up enough as it is. Bucky just holds out the medicinal cream for his knuckles pointedly, his expression stern and unwavering.] Are you? This kind of all-or-nothin' rage leads a person to do stupid stuff. Believe me. I've made all kinds of stupid mistakes due to anger or arrogance. [After he's handed off the tub of cream, his right hand goes to his left, metal forearm for just a moment, an unconscious gesture. It only lasts a moment before he turns away.

Bending over, he rummages in his gym bag for a second, and pulls out a handgun. The brand is unclear, but it resembles a military-issue Beretta M9 - close enough to count. Bucky sits cross legged on the mats and he puts the gun in front of him.] Treat your hands, and then you're going to take this apart and put it back together until you know every pin like you know your skate blades.

Don't lecture me on my anger, or what I can or can't do with it! [ Yuri snapped at the other, snarling. He probably should have known better than to attack the other like this- but it was like Yakov. Yuri had never really known when to shut up when it came to his attitude towards his trainers.

Still, he felt a little stupid and insensitive after he had snatched the cream violently from the other's hand, and James' had moved towards his metal arm. For a moment, Yuri said nothing, his nostrils flaring, and it seemed almost as though he was just going to throw the cream right back in the other's face- but then Yuri popped open the cap, swearing underneath his breath as he placed a dollop of the cream on the back of his hand, and began spreading it across his knuckles.

He dropped down heavily to sit across from the other, still looking unimpressed, eyeing the gun as though it had personally offended him. It took everything in him to bite his tongue, to keep from making snide remarks about what a stupid and pointless exercise this was- even despite knowing that it wasn't. ]

Well are you going to show me how the hell to take it apart first, or am I just supposed to figure it out? In that case I won't be held responsible for wrecking your stupid gun.

It's not a lecture. It's passing on some advice. Sorry, kid, you're the only student I got, you get to deal with my little pearls of wisdom. [It's a little dry, but it's still somewhat of a joke, meant to show that he isn't angry or upset by the backtalk. It's good to question authority. Even if it's still a little weird that he, Bucky Barnes, is the authority in this situation.

This is karma for all the times Major Samson had to deal with him, isn't it?

He quirks a brow, quietly pleased that Yuri is willing, if angrily reluctant, to learn.] I'll show you once. Pay attention. And I don't care if you damage this one, I picked it up in town.

[He doesn't explain that the repetitive task will be good to focus on, that something to do with his hands might help him think through what's making him angry, or give him something else to think about entirely. He starts pulling the gun apart with practiced, easy motions, barely having to look down at the firearm as he explains what piece goes where and how they interconnect, what pieces will need to be cleaned and oiled.]

[ Beneath his breath, but still loud enough for James to hear, Yuri muttered, ] Suck on your pearls old man.

[ But then, he was quiet. Still frustrated beyond belief- still angry. But at least he was clearly making an effort to pay attention. His brows furrowed and eyes focused on the motions of the other's hands, doing his best to catalogue what the other's telling him, repeating the steps underneath his breath once James has said them to try and retain them. ]

Doesn't look so hard. [ Yuri grunts once the other is done, and has put the gun back together again. ]

[He lets it go. Yuri is angry and lashing out, and while he's probably not all that angry at Bucky, it doesn't matter anyway. He can take the shitty attitude just fine. He runs through the taking apart and putting back together of the beretta with plenty of even, calm instruction.

When he says it doesn't look so hard, Bucky pushes the gun across the mat to him.] Your turn, then. Focus on the parts. You're gonna be doing this more than once.

Whatever.

[ Yuri scowled, turning the beretta over in his hands for a moment, making himself comfortable on the floor with his legs folded. The, his hands began to move.

He wasn't as fast as Bucky was at it, his motions not as smooth. He shook the gun, trying to get the slide to release as his finger pressed down on the button on the side, like James had demonstrated. Swearing under his breath, he grit his teeth when it didn't come loose right away. (Because he hadn't turned the safety lock ninety degrees. As much as he'd been paying attention, he'd still managed to miss this subtle, but important step.) ]

[Bucky sits back with a bottle of water and watches him for a little while. He wants Yuri to figure things out for himself, think for himself. This isn't, after all, about mindlessly following. But at the same time, he doesn't want him to get so frustrated that they're back to square one. If it goes on for a few minutes, the swearing and fiddling, he says around the mouth of his water bottle, quietly,]

Turn your safety lock.

[ Narrowing his eyes, Yuri shot the other a nasty glare. ]

I didn't ask for your help. [ He snarled, before looking back to the gun and snarling at it. Notably, doing as he had been told, though. Sliding the lock to free the slide of the barrel. Exhaling a slow breath, Yuri did his best to calm down, so that he could focus on taking the rest of the gun apart without any more mistakes.

He made sure to place the pieces down in the order they had come apart, in order to reassemble them easier. Either that, or to have more projectiles to throw if it really started to piss him off. ]

It's those stupid fucking assholes from my home. [ He snapped out suddenly, as the bullet chamber slid free into his palm, Yuri's jaw locking, and his teeth grinding. ] They say they can't fucking go home. Like they'd know a god damn thing about it!

[Bucky weathers the verbal barbs with the calm disaffection of a man who grew up around drill sergeants yelling at him instead of speaking in normal voices. It doesn't seem to bother him. Maybe that's why this mentor-student thing is actually working out. He watches, tracks Yuri's progress with his eyes, but he sits and works on breathing exercises, still damp with sweat.

Then he starts to talk, and somehow, Bucky feels like he's opened a door. Done something right for a change.] Why do they think they can't go home?

[ Yuri's fingers tightened on the parts of the gun that he had disassembled, pausing in the work of it to try and calm down- his body starting to shake with the rage built up inside of him. He was going cross eyed with it, his teeth grinding so hard that it was starting to make his jaw ache. ]

Because apparently they came from somewhere else. Some stupid fucking space ship and maybe their version of home is destroyed- and that's fucked! [ Yuri can't focus on the parts of the gun anymore, and he ends up throwing them furiously to the ground- getting up onto his feet and whirling away- slamming his fist as hard as he can into the nearest surface. Which happens to be a rather unforgiving wall. Pain blossoms through his hand, down his arm. Knuckles throbbing, breathing coming in harsh and wracked. He does it again. The corners of his eyes feel wet- it makes him angrier, and his other fist hits the wall.

He knows anger; but this is anger like he has never felt. Encompassing everything, feeling like the only way to soothe it is to bleed it out. ]

[Bucky catches a pin from the parts Yuri throws down, before it can roll too far away and get lost, but he doesn't scold or mention the burst of anger. It only takes him a handful of minutes to reassemble the firearm and slide it aside for now. Then he leans back on his hands as he watches the kid slamming his hand into the wall once, twice, three times.]

Are they from an alternate timeline? One where they wind up at this space ship? [A pause. Thinking about the logistics, if their version of home might be destroyed, then maybe being here is the end of their line. But it isn't for Yuri.] That is fucked.

It is fucked. [ Yuri's voice broke, his fist slamming the wall one last time, his shoulders shaking as his eyes began to well. Furious, ashamed, he pushed at his face and sucked in sharp, heavy breaths. Trying to calm himself down, keeping his back to the other, not wanting James to see him getting this emotional. Not that it was any great secret, given the way he couldn't seem to stop shaking, couldn't quite manage to get his breathing under his own control. ]

I don't know. They just said they got pulled onto a ship. With another Yuri. [ His stomach twisted and clenched, and it felt like it had last night- like he had been stabbed in the gut, the heart, and the blades were being twisted viciously inside of him. ]

How do you stand it? [ His voice was so small, his posture slumping, sinking to his knees, his forehead hitting the wall- followed by his fist. Not even halfheartedly beaten against it's unyeilding surface this time. ]

Knowing there is another you. Not just out there but- knowing you're not what they want. Not what they expected... I can't... [ He squeezed his eyes shut, twin hot, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he stuttered for breath. ]

[Bucky pulls himself to his feet, but he doesn't move closer just yet, letting Yuri work out the dregs of his anger, push through it to the heart of what's bothering him. Another Yuri. So this is what has him tied up in knots inside. Bucky gets it, to an extent - learning that there was another Bucky Barnes here was an unexpected experience. Maybe it should bother him more, but they're so different that it's been easier and easier to separate them in his mind. They barely even keep the same social circles here, like a dance, carefully avoiding stepping on each other's toes.

That doesn't mean Yuri will have an easier time with it. He approaches the kid after a few minutes, after he starts to fold in on himself, and kneels next to him, reaching out his right hand to rest his fingers lightly against his shoulder, unsure how much touch is welcome at the moment.]

It's... complicated. [He finally says, voice level but heavy.] There's no right or easy way to deal with other timelines. Other universes. I ain't got a guidebook for this kinda thing.

C'mere, look at me. I can tell you one thing. You don't have to be their Yuri. You don't have to be what they expect, or what they want. If they got a problem with you, I'll knock their heads together myself. [He says it calmly, but there's a current of truth in it, vehemence. He will do it.]

You only gotta worry about - and I know this sounds cheesy as hell, alright? - you only gotta worry about being yourself. A thing I learned over the years is, you can't define yourself by other people. Not even other versions of yourself.

[ His hands ached, his knuckles well and truly bleeding now. They were already starting to purple with bruising, and as the flames of his anger began to fall, reducing to a low simmer he became more and more aware of the ache of them. Uncurling his fists at last cause him to wince, his fingers feeling splintered, even though he knew he hadn't broken anything.

At the other's request, he made a soft noise of protest. Not wanting to, ashamed, now, of how viciously emotional he had been. Sure, he was prone to outbursts- always angry- but this was different. It was something more visceral, and far more personal than his usual acerbic tendencies. ]

I just want... [ He started, but stopped, shaking his head weakly, before finally turning his head to look at the other- looking stricken. Hurt, and small. ]

And if that's not good enough? [ He asked, feeling carved hollow, his voice weak and soft.

As much as Yuri hated to admit it, he worked hard to please others.
He always had. If it wasn't working to make his grandfather proud,
then it was to prove Yakov wrong, to prove to Viktor he was worthwhile, to convince him to choreograph his short program, and then to show that he was better than Katsudon. And if what he was- who he was... wasn't enough?

He was lost. ]

Edited 2017-05-28 10:19 (UTC)

[And if that's not good enough?

The words hit him directly in a hurt of his own, deep down, and he exhales a breath like it's been punched out of him. Those thoughts echo a lot of his own thoughts about himself, past and present. They don't look the same, and they don't have the same experiences, but it's like looking in a mirror all the same.] Oh, kiddo. [He gets medicinal wipes from the first aid kit and draws Yuri back to the mats to sit, taking one of his hands to inspect the damage and wipe away some of the blood. His metal hand is just as careful as the flesh one.]

I... know how hard it can be. To feel like you're living in someone else's shadow, tryin' to live up to the world's expectations. [He blows out another breath like he's trying to get his thoughts together, struggling for the words to say. Struggling with the decision whether or not to reveal his own vulnerabilities and soft, easily-hurt bits.] I never wanted to be Captain America. That was always Steve, to me. To the rest of the world, too. Tryin' to fill his shoes, tryin' to be him... I can't do it.

I still have days thinkin' I'm not good enough. I don't know if those thoughts ever go away. [He closes his eyes for a moment and drags a hand through his damp hair.] You just... gotta do what you need to do, and not try to be someone you can't be.

All I can really tell you is that here, with me, you're enough.

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[closed] See the way you hold yourself

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