Honor in Essence

“A place to be hmm? My, what a detailed story you tell. You’re stuck in this thing for a few hours my friend. I suggest you learn to relax before we actually start moving.”

He scowled as the man got to his feet. No respect for air travel etiquette whatsoever. He grabbed his shirt, pulling him back down into the seat.

Was too unsteady to resist the insistence to be sat, not that Bertram appreciated the help. Tugged his clothing straight, more an excuse to be busy with his hands than caring about a wrinkle. “They do that? Just-, just fall outta the blasted sky?” 

Good gods. Alcohol wasn’t going to help this, not even a little.

Bah. As if Bertram can even label this guy as something so crass. There’s something inherently pleasing about making him smile, about the way his eyes go a little bit shocked at every fool thing dropping from Bertram’s lips.

So he looked more than a little lost as he looked around. To him it was absolutely fascinating. None of it really seemed to match up in quality with what his fathers rather ridiculous robes were made of, but he found he didn’t care. As long as it held up to travel and didn’t look like it was cut from a burlap sack he wouldn’t mind too much. 

There was someone moving around in the back that he assumed was the tailor, but even as he walked forward he was worried because he had no idea what to say or what all this would entail. When clothing had been ordered for him back home it took several days to a couple weeks to get them, and they didn’t have that kind of time here he was pretty sure. But he was so thin that finding pre-made clothes that would fit him… He’d always been told it was impossible. 

It was a measure gratifying to be back at the inn. Renning stretched for the ceiling, long and hard, before turning back to his charge, “Well, I believe that everything currently necessary has been dealt with. I must see to Reginald, though you are welcome to accompany me.”

The invitation slipped free before he gave such an actual thought, decorum and politeness showing its hand again.

In truth he’d much prefer some time alone with his steed, to just...to just decompress, to let the tension leave his body, to have discourse with the one creature that had been so constantly at his side, though glory and nightmare alike. “No doubt he would enjoy the added attention.” Gods, man!

He was enthralled by him, there was no doubt about that because the man was gorgeous, but again the thought of having to see him in a professional environment made him stop himself from saying something inappropriate. Just then, the man said something about his relationship with Steve and he was almost choking on his drink.

The bed was nothing like the one he’d left. Inconsistent in padding, the bedding stiff and over bleached. But shelter was still shelter, and Volke hadn’t grown used enough to the world to ever complain at having such.

No matter how barren. How cold and lifeless.

-

Halls were never this busy, so crowded and full of noise.

Volke hated it, detested every voice in his ear, the constant press of shoulders, the waving of hands and arms all round him. Almost felt suffocated, chest and lungs growing clenched, not a shadow in sight to just exist by himself in, to be-.

“Hey!” A hand caught his arm, retaliation halted only because he knew that voice, and was so often content to exist in this grip. A moment and the General moved around him, the insistent press of the crowd buffered by his height and breadth. “Guy, hey, glad I ran into you.” Volke’s felt his chest clench, so strange and soft. “Have you chattered at Bastian yet?”

Slid back a step to give Volke whatever room he wanted, not that the complete lack of expression on his face gave any sort of indication that it was actually desired. “But anyway, Bastian. He’s got some idiot idea for what to do about that fool situation on the coast, and he’s gonna try to hook you in. How much to hire you for me instead?”

That-, hah, that was actually surprise in those eyes, a brief furrow of his dark brows, “You’re going to hire me?”

“Right.”

“...So that Duke Fayre can’t?”

Oh, but those were terrible thoughts. Surely ones that needn’t be dwelled on when conversing with such an engaging man. 

-

But then the man spoke again and Bucky turned to look at him with wide eyes. “You met Gabe?” He asked before he could hold himself back and a small smile drew on his lips. “It must have been one hell of a experience to meet a real war hero, right? I can’t imagine what something like that would have done to me when I was a child.”

“Irrevocably changing,” Renning assured with such deep conviction, steps swift in the manner of a man with suddenly much more important things to do than stride about a den of motorcycles. “I would not have been more awed at that age than if the Lord himself had descended upon the lawn.” The event itself was difficult to recall, though it had been a lavish affair. Perhaps the man’s granddaughter’s wedding? 

Following the man with the thoughts still swirling in his brain, Bucky cocked his head and put his hands in his pockets.

There was no other movement though, no evidence of pursuit or of anyone coming near the cabin. Such was hardly something to trust though, with how heavy the snow had fallen.

At the hand on his chest, there was that return of forgetting how to actually breath moment again. Why the hell did this man make him so breathless? They had sex once. It was just sex. Nothing more. “Yeah suppose I am,” he sighed, his eyes looking up at Bertram. “It’s a rather… long story on how it all happened. But I guess just consider me a super solider… kinda like Captain America.”

Couldn’t quit the grin though, certainly not after seeing the sudden flare of that flushed skin. Even whistled, low and amused. Supersoldier, aye? A interesting tidbit,  though this fella didn’t seem quite so highkey as mister Red-White-and-Blue, what with spinning all over the city with that gaudy Shield of his.

He looked at the man, then back over his shoulder at the long distance between him and a car that might sadly be his best option for cushioning, then back at the man once more. He didn’t sign anymore. But he did flip the guy off, and that was vaguely satisfying to do. There would be no deals, no negotiations. Sascha was thoroughly done with that life, even it it may end up being his only life.

Struck his hand out swift and sudden, as if assaulting the air, satisfaction blooming along with the usual revulsion as pipes burst and a column of water shot out from below, a meter wide. Forced the Hydra bastard into the air, and then a jerk back of Geoffrey’s elbow had the column arc, enough back towards him that it bore the guy against the rooftop, rough and sudden.

Fucker’d likely be knocked out.

If HYDRA wanted this to be covert, he’d set off fucking fire works. One operative managed to get close, only to get a knife buried in his neck as Bucky tore the weapon out of his hand. He only had to glance at the gun painted with yellow stripes to recognize it was a tazer. For one reason or another, HYDRA wanted him alive.

He ducked down, got her in the throat before sweeping left, shoulder shoved into a man’s gut. Another dark clothed horde joined the one already in here as Bertram put the blade through the guy’s heart, more resistance felt than he was used to.

Mayhaps these bastards were getting wise to his tricks. Goddamn.

Maybe he, and this random gunslinger, outta get to higher ground. And then maybe through one of the side buildings.