where was i 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅?

this really good be their last time doing this. this really could be it, the end, goodbye.

so steve closes his eyes, parts his lips to unburden the tightness in his chest with a slow exhale. though his heart jumps an extra beat to feel bucky's pressed to his forehead. can't help itself, even when steve's throat has to bob with a thick swallow before he humors him with a soft laugh. "you always say that."

so maybe he hadn't been holding his breath in wait. maybe bucky was on the fence about dedicating his enthusiasm while steve stood stiff and radiated that unspoken threat of eruption. angrier than people could understand.. angrier than he could, either. though there'd always been a guess. it sat beside his hand, there, on a bony shoulder. a chip. an imaginary point to prove. only steve could look at all those flashing lights and think there was something bad on the horizon.

" i don't always say it. " three years ago, he'd stepped through a slat on the boardwalk and nearly snapped his ankle in the process.. hadn't said it then. want to point that out, though, is short-lived. it's shaken loose when thin fingers catch on his hip and, in a stronger grip than most thought him capable of, steve finally seemed to catch on. leant as he leant. met bucky in the middle where the difference in their heights could be frowned at, but left mostly ignored.

it isn't fair to hope he feels it. an anchor about his neck, dragging him down, the eventual deployment didn't make for a pleasant third wheel. and he hopes the slip of his frown, angled upward and out, is caught. understood.

" it can't hurt to be hopeful, can it ? " god help him if it did.

they'd leave by sea, one great vessel after another. sail across an ocean he's only ever wanted to wade in. a paper with a number ; that number is him, now, he supposes. it'd make for good reading material during the trip. see how long it takes to memorize the line-up and... and...

stomach was knotted long before he'd let his mind wander and here, now, turned to face steve's strained smile, it's difficult to keep forcing his own. so he doesn't. not a dramatic slide, it falls careful and unceremonious when his focus shrinks back towards the channel and the ships and that stink of brine he's worn nightly for years.

it isn't her face that unsettles him, rather the knowledge that loki knew to use it at all. natalia's eyes are softer than his.. still twinkle with a similar mischief, however. but the slant is wrong. the voice is wrong ( it's been too long since it sweltered warm for him ). she cocks her head and he can feel something twitch at the back of his throat. anger. he could work with that.

" what does it matter to you what i do with my free time ? " of late, he'd say he'd been squandering it. sacrificing more and more to the unspoken cause of keeping him out of trouble. the mouse the paw moves to bat. though james is no mouse and while loki stretches feline and purrs with intent, the only thing he swipes at, then, is teeth. bared and snapping, he's lunged, only just, " i told you not to come back. " after last time. what had ended as well at this has begun. funny ; it'd taken him this long to get it. the dance hadn't stopped, it'd merely met an interlude.

" i've wasted enough time dealin' with people who ran their mouths like you do, " no one runs their mouth like he does, but the point stands. if hours are spent in the throes of prolonged brood, those are hours he'd set aside for such. a choice bucky made. conscious and disturbingly alive.. it was a choice. and here, closer than he should've been, he knows that's what bothers loki the most. him doing things of his own volition. proving, still, how different they are. he wishes the gap was wider, though.

her wrist is as thin as it always was, deceptively delicate against his palm when it's grabbed. tugged. implying a reality where he'd tear the skin right off of him. steal back this thing that makes his pulse leap and sit around his collar far too tightly. but there is no give and all he accomplishes is closing that rift further — watching his reflection grow large in green eyes as he does.

the room is already full of all the things they aren't saying. these pieces of history and long, stretching yarns of truth. dove can feel them adding together, taking up all the air in the room, making it hard to move. apparently bucky can too.

are the strings of fate any different from a web of silk?

that is their story ; a novel on want and the lack of satisfaction. somewhere, once, he'd skipped to the ending. read how heavy her trigger finger was and wondered, in his ignorance, if her love would have weighed more. no second parcel is out there. no poem breathes a different conclusion. james lost himself to that reality once already and knows, his next exhale a shudder, that he'd reread it all again in spite of it.

" but you can't, " intercepted, his eyes remain closed, though he feels the heat of her gaze where it's settled. knows she can make out the gossamer trail of time around his face. pulled in.. fine lined at the bridge of his nose. dove could liken it to pain if she chooses, but the ache is older than her and he won't speak of it.

they don't lead lives with constitutional fairness. all guarantees settle pretend scores at a grave, nothing more. but it isn't often he's reminded of that enough to grieve for what it means. what it steals. she isn't her, red hair and a spider's grace, but the burn he endures, now, isn't dissimilar. through his fingers, she'd slipped. it plays its part when, here, they grip tighter. hold with firm indiscretion to what isn't already lost.

a mongrel — someone, somewhere, had called him that. implied a leash hadn't been held taut enough.. he'd only done as an angry dog would. decades sit between then and now but, suddenly, his teeth feel sharp. she wants to fly and he thinks of snapped wings.

The apartment still smelled faintly of smoke — the kind that even an open window and three candles couldn’t quite hide. Yelena tried not to look at the pan soaking in the sink or the blackened evidence she’d shoved deep into the trash. The table, at least, looked decent: two plates, silverware, and the kind of dinner she could never actually make in under an hour.

She took a step back, arms folded, eyeing her handiwork with a frown. The takeout containers were hidden in the oven. A risky choice, but the best she’d had at the time. If he didn’t look too closely, maybe he’d believe it. Maybe.

When the door knocked, she grabbed the towel off her shoulder, tossed it over her arm like a professional, and opened it with the most casual smile she could muster.

“Dinner,” she said, stepping aside to let him in, voice light and deceptively confident. “I cooked.”

his mama would've tossed him back out through that door, the way james walks inside, boots still on, and squints at the table. halfway down the street, he'd smelt smoke.. followed it like a hound to a predictable destination, then— fire might not greet him but he can read the room. eye the plated entrees and wonder how long it'd taken her to get things just right. long enough he ought accept this ruse at face value, he supposed. swallow a jab. stifle a laugh. yelena looks more hopeful than she'd like pointed out and, for that, his raised chin aids his acknowledgment.

" looks good, " evidence of a long day is shed into his voice, rougher than it typically is, hoarse from extended disuse. down to the bags under his eyes, he doesn't disrobe her act and, for that, expects her not to bare him from his, either. where all is well and he's not reeking of gun smoke and pennies.

jacket first, it's shrugged off and sent to lay in a lazy bundle on the back of a sofa passed. toeing off his shoes would've been kind, but it isn't accomplished on entry and the further in he goes, it's clear he has no intent to try. fight laces he'd knotted with purpose, early that morning. new york city is no bigger than most others around it, but giving chase on foot never afforded him much leeway. she'd understand that, too.

If i can’t change things here, if i can’t have an effect, then i don’t care what happens to me. @sovietstrings

And she can hear the loudness in his words, the true nature of intention but the sentiment falls flat. It's concern that manifests on features so willingly, so openly. The furrowing brow that carries her opinion long before her mouth parts to share it. " But you can have an effect without risk. " A pause in the air, momentary silence as she contemplates her next move. It brews from the depth of her stomach, something reminiscent of their past they have tried so hard to outrun Did the reflection of the past help others weaponize it against them? But it's something acidic as it swells her throat, a sweetness on tongue compromised by the memories.

he chases it, some days. he meets it head-on and tests its teeth against his own. willpower crumbles. the world spins out. and in spite of his efforts, james is still alive. through smoke and ash, he breathes another day. limps his way home. some things the serum can't touch. won't fix the ache in his chest or how the hollow behind it feels vast and awful. but he moves all the same. blood in the beds of his nails.. absence in once-bright eyes. of everyone — in this life and those he'd lived before it — she would understand it best. surviving is hard. it exhausts the good in you. turns the body inward to meet the mind and settles there to putrify.

or, it would, were it not for her.

leather is half peeled from his torso when natalia speaks. both direct and somehow still evasive, he's idled in the impact of it. swallowing against a dry throat. blinking at a darkened corner of the room. " i almost got you killed. " over and over and over.. it speaks of her resilience more than any profound influence he'd had. though..

gloves are gone and fingers stretch. there's a gash between his index and middle, the webbing severed and weeping anew when tested. it's symbolic, he thinks. a bold red line, begging to be crossed. better he should take it to the sink. run it under lukewarm water that goes cold too quickly and stings more appropriate, still. isn't this how it always went with them ?

" i know what you're thinking, " faucet is still running, but james has gripped the edge of the counter, now. watches it circle down the drain before meeting her gaze in the mirror above. he holds it better than he does her, these days. " i'm not trying to do anything. " no elaboration can fill in the gap better than his clenched jaw and deep breath. the only place he'd pointed that gun, this night, is out. pulled the trigger on a face he'd known too long. an old ghost haunting his steps, they died screaming, loud as when they'd birthed this version of him. no lab coat, this time. no clinical precision. he'd struck their name from his list and now.. now he just wanted to rest.

i keep anger in my breastbone, he holds it in his hands. i feel sadness on my shoulders, he feels it in his lungs. 

we play this game until we come to love, and i realize that i am terrified (jugular vein) of what might come. what if it is not the same. what if he feels it somewhere else, what if it is just a flash fire, not the slow burn, what if it is congealing in one place instead of radiating, i try to change topics, flight response (sternum)

he takes my hands in his and puts them over his ribs and says, “everywhere, everywhere, like a sun is trying to escape me, like i am being consumed and you are filling up where used to be empty.” i say, “don’t be ridiculous humans are 99% empty space,” i nervous laugh (spiders down spine), he holds his gaze with me. 

@sovietstrings asked : " i sleep better if you’re around.. your heartbeat’s really loud. " ;3;

"Is that so?" Logan doesn't mean it to be rude, but a quiet admittance, a thing of understanding and sweet delicacy. They usually sleep back to back on missions like this, but he is certain James can hear the smile on his lips wrapping around those words. Thank god they aren't facing one another for once, he'd never be able to hide the soft blush painting his cheeks at such an admission.

"I'm glad I can be your safe haven." At this, he does turn somewhat to his back, head shifting to glance up at the ceiling. There is a comfort in knowing James is close by as well, but he won't admit as such. It's more meaningful when things like this come from the other man in question.

better hadn't meant longer, the night still in its infancy when he'd initially woken up. stared at the boarded window to his left.. a slowly creaking fan overhead. the crack on the ceiling splintered to the west and he'd followed it to that comforting thud. rhythmic, it's a beat he's learned how to pace. could've recognized it in a crowded room. logan didn't move for hours and he'd watched him through the bulk of them. right up until now, where words fail to comfort in the same vein, but the soldier accepts them as the balm they are.

" you must've been dreaming, " he points it out but doesn't elaborate, metal fingers curled over the knee he'd propped them on. so near to leisure, the illusion is perfected. tame. quiet. a spectator in this room, his handler the only constant he hasn't poked holes in. yet. and for good reason. without a guide, the world beyond that door was too loud. too bright. the streets were lined with too many faces and his trigger finger itched at the thought alone.

better he stay here, quiet and complicit.

usually  it  is  steve  that  plays  dumb.        that  ducks  his  head  &*  diverts  conversation  ;  pushes  buttons  about  the  girls  bucky  brings  around  –  reminds  him  white  picket  fences  are  hurdles  that  they  can't  cross.      not  together  ,  anyway.      it  always  ends  the  same  ,  with  the  result  steve  never  spoke  aloud  about  craving  –  hushed  voices  turned  to  moans  &*  burning  looks  that  promised  fealty.        neither  said  the  truth  ;  danced  around  it.         what  would  it  take  for  them  to  admit  the  air  between  them  was  not  that  of  friendship  ?       

or  maybe  bucky  pushes  now  because  a  chance  has  finally  reared  its  head.         all  those  years  of  practicing  for  some  imaginary  dame  weren't  wasted  on  that  scrawny  kid  just  waiting  to  die  of  tuberculosis  –  no  ,  they  could  pay  off  with  the  doe  eyed  brunette  that  saw  him  even  before  these  muscles  came  into  existence. 

so  he  pauses  ,  gaze  suddenly  wary  as  he  cast  blues  back  towards  bucky.      his  mouth  feels  dry  as  a  pit  yawns  open  in  his  stomach.       he'd  never  considered  that  one  day  it  might  be  him  that  settled  down.      that  had  never  really  been  an  option  in  his  brain.        no  dame  would  choose  him.      bucky  would  marry  &*  things  would  change.        sometimes  bucky  insinuated  they  wouldn't  ,  but    …    steve  would  never  let  it  keep  happening.       not  when  a  wife  who  could  learn  of  it  sat  in  the  equation.        would  she  see  it  was  nothing  ?       was  it  nothing  ?       

(  *  you  are  nothing.      not  a  choice.       not  an  option.      there  was  never  chance  ;  just  blind  hope  &*  unanswered  prayers.      there  is  no  happy  ending  with  this  man.  )     

a  swallow  is  given  as  he  lets  his  gaze  drop  to  the  woodland  floor.       he's  made  himself  something  –  captain  america.        he  was  never  of  use  to  bucky  or  any  dame  before  –  but  he  is  something  here.        it  makes  sense  that  his  chance  of  a  wife  came  along  with  the  improvements.       he  only  crossed  paths  with  peggy  because  of  the  experiment.        he  has  value  now.      he  took  up  the  shield  to  save  bucky     …     tracks  that  he'd  lose  him  when  bucky  can  finally  push  him  out  of  the  nest  without  the  guilt  of  knowing  he'd  splatter  on  the  ground.       

❛       she  is.      ❜       he  relents  when  the  silence  has  stretched  too  long.      when  his  thoughts  sound  too  much  like  joseph  rogers.       his  hands  smooth  together  in  front  of  him.          his  voice  sounded  too  small.          ❛     she  could  lead  this  whole  army  if  she  wanted  to.      probably  win  the  whole  damn  war  herself.    ❜         he  believes  that  ,  too.        peggy  was  more  competent  than  anyone  here  ;  more  determined  ;  more  deserving.        if  anyone  could  have  been  a  better  captain  than  him  ,  it  was  her  by  a  mile.     

he  licks  his  lips  against  the  cold  ,  light  dimmed  from  his  gaze.     but  something  burns  in  them  anyway  –  no  amount  of  interest  in  him  from  peggy  could  hollow  out  the  flame.      the  thoughts  won't  quit  ;  maybe  because  the  serum  amplifies  everything.        every  good  part  of  him  —  including  love.     because  his  thoughts  about  bucky  were  all  good.       loving  bucky  has  always  been  good.         even  if  he  prayed  &*  begged  for  it  to  away  ;  to  accept  a  future  where  bucky  was  not  his  in  the  night.      it  was  still  here.      the  serum  hadn't  cured  it  like  his  scoliosis.         ❛    is  that  what  you  want  ?    ❜       he  sounds  almost   …    hurt.     no , not almost ; it reflects in baby blues , clear was day.     ❛    tell  me  to  go  back  in  there.   ❜        it's  bold  –  quiet  &*  stubborn.      his  voice  is  stronger  ,  though.       he  turns  to  face  him  ,  that  steady  resilience  of  his  unwavering.           ❛    if  that's  what  you  want    …    for  me  to  find  a  different  dance  partner  ,  i  mean.   ❜

there's too much room between them. the world swells cold and bucky would shiver if he weren't already numb. an offset to what has already festered, his mind is in several places and none of them are here. none of them sit with steve, several paces away, looking at a landscape still new to him. still open and awe inspiring. the feeling will wear off, eventually, he imagines. it has to him. each tree is a reminder of a brother's brains exploded against the bark. no patch of grass will ever look green again. some days, it's all red. darker than the palm of a pinkened hand, turned over and eyed for the way his fingers can't quite turn a fist inside. pins and needles and that need to move.

he almost doesn't hear him, back there.

steve's moving, not quickly, but fast enough to warrant how he flinches. stays forward-facing, eyes tracing the outline of a cloud soaked sun. it'll be setting, fully, soon. they'll dip into darkness and everything will feel.. appropriate. honest. bright lights of brooklyn are years to the wind. he's exhaling and..

" steve.. " bucky's voice is tired. it sags with his shoulders and, once turned, he starts his appraisal at the toes of shined boots. legs are long now.. his hips just as slight. at the broadness of his chest is where steve's the most changed, he thinks. alarmingly changed. god, his stomach is rolling.

he's gotten closer and for a second, hair-split and floundering, he almost retreats. almost recoils from the heat of that stare and the implications within it. out here, in the open, far enough from eavesdropping ears, he shouldn't be concerned. no one would care enough about the exploits of supposed friends when the sky opens in fire swarms and the impending bullets of dawn already promise their pepper. and bucky isn't concerned.. not by that. sitting in judgement has become a new norm over the years. his c.o. would argue he'd gotten too well adjusted, in fact.

it's steve who is different. with his chin raised and his stance certain. any closer and he'll have to look up to him. crane to see that expectation. the disappointment. he's waiting for the second shoe to drop and it is, instead, held in a viced grip.

" don't make it sound like it's that easy. " he deserves a nice girl. a pretty dame who looks at him with want and respect. steve deserves the happy life, white picket fence and a gaggle of babes all giggling at his knees. he'd deserved it long before his back was straight and his cheeks full. and that.. that guilt is why bucky can't let go. his belly lurches and it takes him looking away, off to the summit of a nearby range, to dredge up words that sit awkward and heavy. " you an' i both know it's what you should do. " that isn't an answer, deliberately. there are no words in english or any other language his tongue doesn't know, that could form to make clear his intentions. so he swallows them instead. leans a still-bruised shoulder against the sturdy barrel of an oak and goes idle. " especially for a woman like that. "

picking at the bark, it crumbles to the snow beneath, buried in his shuffle. another victim of his nerves. they aren't children anymore, hiding behind a veil of innocent intentions and the prospect of make-believe practice for their futures. what a joke..

" you'll regret it, " temple, now, the roll to scratch his forehead is thoughtless and grazing. it's self-sabotage to stymie his want to round. face this newest foe — his cowardice — and bare his teeth. give steve what he wants ; doesn't he always ?

he shouldn't be here. he shouldn't be doing this. james' knowledge of her should have never included her taste but liza's tongue grazes his and he's chasing it down for another. until the blunt edges of bit nails are threatening to sink in at her jaw — he has a mind to let them. leave a signature to mark the occasion. stake a claim.

better than anyone, she should know he's not a good person. shield had done a admirable job with their redactions ; names, dates, locations.. they lived beneath black tape and in return, be walked similar lines to feign himself docile, for them. he doesn't feel docile right now. where breathing is ragged and the shake of her voice blows pupils wide and wild. even in the dark, he can make out the tint on her cheeks. the want sat beneath it.