Trust In Me The Same Way (with your time, with your blood) || Bucky & Steve
Likely.
That’s the word Bucky would use to describe the odds of Steve picking up the coded hint he’d left in this week’s classifieds.
It’s refreshing-- because there’s not much he can say he’s sure of these days.
It’s been months - nearly a year - since he’s last seen Steve, since they last met in secret-- when Bucky told him he could no longer accompany him and the other heroes running from the Accords. Nearly a year without a trace of contact, all too similar to the days before he ensnared himself in the Avengers’ lives-- Steve’s life.
He hadn’t even so much as sent word that he’d survived the prison break.
And like that, a whisper of doubt gnaws at his impulses. Ticks the muscle in his jaw, taps his finger against the metal of his arm-- hidden beneath the layer of leather and cloth that make up his jacket and sling. Turn back, it says.
The injuries sustained escaping Hart’s burning wreckage have long since healed, but the instinct to go this alone runs bone deep.
( some wounds are too severe to scar over )
Carl Schurz Park is by no means the idyllic rendezvous one might expect from someone like him. The morning’s dusting of snow fell way to the afternoon sun hours ago, but the lingering chill in the air’s done nothing to deter people from their daily routines. He’s better off for it, even if it grates at his paranoia. Here, there’s nothing out of place about a man sitting on a bench, reading from a book that’s definitely not stolen from some coffee shop in Queens.
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“You’ve got five minutes.” A courteous nod is offered in Stark’s direction, the azure helm swaying gently as Rogers’ line of vision remains strategically poised on the futurist’s, tensions beginning to ease as the knots embedded in Tony’s shoulders start to unwind against layers of protective metal. The engineer knew that the other founding Avenger would eventually see reason, dormant pessimism drifting away as stern features inevitably soften.
“Five minutes is all I need...“ Relief sinks in, the man automatically firing off a silent signal to SHIELD’s dispatched ‘Cape Killers’ who linger in the distance, a coded directive received via digital comms for them to stand down under his dictated protocol that had been ascertained beforehand. Discussions were to ensue, and the last thing Tony wanted was for them to engage with untoward interference hindering any means of reconciliation.
It starts with a handshake - a gesture which is firm yet familiar, the metallic red gauntlet maintaining the motion as the blue eyes reflected back to him momentarily avert to the side, a subtle flicker of movement akin to a tell which unfortunately alludes to something almost toxic present in the air. The air trapped in Stark’s throat upon inhalation as quick firing neurons extrapolate the potential meaning - but it’s too late, synapses going into overdrive as a sensor begins to howl within the disjointed fragments of the opened visor, detecting a small measure of interference which was inevitably going to amplify. An automated reaction as the encased palm is carefully turned over to reveal a minuscule device planted from the brief yet trusting physical contact.
Temporary suspicion makes way for searing agony, a series of sharp electronic pulses shooting out to penetrate the suit, traversing along intricate circuitry with the intention of bringing the suit offline - a SHIELD electron scrambler previously developed by Nick Fury’s tech team to counteract the possibility of the engineer ever turning rogue and going to the ‘other side’ ( whatever the hell that meant ). But the shock doesn’t simply cut off the power and subsequent motor functions of the armour, the developers having not considered at the time of conception of a much greater part being played by the CEO himself with his current physical condition.
As with the past months leading up to the altercation, Extremis neurologically linked Tony with his array of suits, the impact of such a shock bordering on incapacitation, nerve endings viciously igniting as the jolts drive directly into Stark’s cerebellum. Impulses that sever the association and override every part of the man’s biology, indicators of potential cardiac arrest and heightened nerve damage flagged up in memory logs after the fact. Limbs grow inadequately heavy, the weight of alloys dragging the man and rooting him to the spot as the privilege of free movement is crippled, unforthcoming servos whirring in stagnated transition. But that doesn’t stop the engineer’s perseverance, a burdensome arm raised in defiance - an utterance of “son of a bitch!” audibly yelled in Rogers’ direction as the blond’s fist squarely connects with his jaw.
The strength of the blow is brutal, the brunt of the force sending a shockwave which is almost as paralysingly awe-striking as that initial traitorous and dirty move, his first and second upper bicuspids shattering in the process into jagged pieces within the confines of the CEO’s mouth ( so much for that dental veneer... ). There’s the taste of iron at the back of his throat which Tony isn’t particularly unfamiliar with after far too many violent occasions, a pool of crimson savagely emerging and verging on stifling his ability to breath, lips falling agape to messily spit the fractured fragments and liquid. All while being subjected to subsequent expertly delivered knocks to the chest and visage to keep him off balance and on his toes, a series of fast paced movements that the futurist maintains a visual record of regardless of his inability to fully fight back barring defensive manoeuvres.
The physical pain doesn’t begin to compare with the sense of damaging disappointment that the Avenger experiences, sentiment and conviction in the blond he had once considered a friend diminishing to an all time low, despite years of self-imposed lowering expectations. Stark notices that the accompanying members of both parties have engaged in combat without his express permission, and it’s just as well - no one appears to want to go down without a fight, cogs turning as the genius digs deeper to conclude why this little godforsaken rendezvous had been agreed to. Their location not far from the prison indicating that this whole ordeal had been a goddamn diversion for a much grander scheme, one which he attempts to relay to the SHIELD team with little success in effectively connecting with.
It makes the futurist sick to his stomach, the notion of he and his immediate team being played as pawns in this whole endeavour, silently scolding himself in self-loathing as Rogers continues his assault - strategy that sees the soldier opt to reduce the possibility of evasive actions, his shield powerfully swung to make contact with and severely damage one of the suit’s jetboots. A surge of outwardly imperceptible heat is experienced, singed internal biological connectors beneath the billionaire’s dermis being systemically repaired to re-gain an integral means of communication with the suit, a backup axiom in place which is desperately invoked and kicked into high gear.
A sharp jut of Tony’s chin sees his visor swiftly close with a snap, a minor victory considering that it transiently halts the hammering to his injured face, the true aim being for the man to bring up whatever remnants of his HUD that he could. It’s scarcely present due to the lack of power, but that all changes, the futurist beginning to manually override configurations through sheer grit and determined thought alone beneath echoing bludgeons creating a morbidly bloodthirsty beat. The process commencing with a distant remote connection established from a private server at Stark Industries, infiltrating his armour’s complex framework with the inclusion of an ethereal voice that embodies an Irish twang.
< POWER RE-ROUTE SUCCESSFUL. REBOOTING
& BACK ONLINE, SIR. ANALYSING OPPONENT’S
FIGHT PATTERN. COUNTER-MEASURES READY >
Months of development with the use of excessive real-world simulations post J.A.R.V.I.S.’s ‘departure’, and this was how F.R.I.D.A.Y. was being debuted in the field ( with an opponent at the peak of his game, no less ). Time to put their physical and virtual money where their respective mouths were, the AI rapidly commencing to analyse the logged memories and current visuals of Captain Rogers’ fighting prowess whilst under pressure - past and present footage alike invoked, minute details of drawn open and utilised to project the trajectory of his upcoming aggressive approach. Tony daringly lowers his visage, glancing at the other man one final time from behind the limiting visual slots embedded within the visor, noting the barrage of blows dedicated to expressly cause damage to his armour when--- The counter-measures are engaged, a gauntlet raised with perfect timing, fingertips clasping the curved outline of the blond’s shield before he can deliver another downward shove.
< LET’S KICK HIS ASS >
Iron Man’s opposing repulsor whirrs to life, an accentuated blast traversing to send the circular layers of vibranium hurtling across the open space, a loud clang heard as it makes contact with the hard ground in a sorry heap. Instinctively blocking a defensive and protective jab from the other, a secondary burst of energy is aimed squarely at the centre of Rogers’ chest, the impact sending him painfully careening away in a less than glamorous fashion. Stark’s damaged boot makes it difficult to effectively fly in a cohesive manner, sparks haphazardly expelled from the open aperture. And yet he follows suite nonetheless, each gauntlet’s repulsor firing up to inflict an additional means of momentum whilst distributing further impacts to the older Avenger’s visage - a sense of mercy having vehemently diminished since the start of this whole ordeal, animosity steadily rising over the months and progressively filling with hate.
< YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME, STEVE.
THIS ARMOUR HAS RECORDED EVERY PUNCH
YOU’VE EVER THROWN. IT KNOWS YOUR MOVES
BEFORE YOU DO. STAY DOWN. FINAL WARNING >
However there’s a lingering ounce left, the now dominant futurist sneering as an outstretched palm is poignantly raised. The words are met with a weary yet rebellious display, the patriotic Avenger rising to his feet with a fatigued albeit challenging stance, arms defensively lifting to either side of his visage to form fists ready for further combat.
“I can do this all day...“ It’s the comment regarding Steve’s previous moves which cleverly strikes him, contemplating and retrieving a sense of spontaneity, for a tactic that could seem ‘out of character’ for him. Counter-intuitive... The blond abruptly lunges with the full weight of his body, effectively knocking the armoured man onto his back with a loud crash, delivering opportunistic punches to the visor once more with the intent of dislodging it and halting any potential communication or requests for backup. The objective only partially succeeding at first, the soldier’s displaced shield grabbed to distribute a series of acute shunts to rip it off, met with the futurist’s horror-stricken expression as blood pools over tanned flesh wounded by the afflicted damage.
For the first time in quite a while, there’s an air of terrifying unpredictability to Steve, a notion which shakes the engineer to his very core - echoes of a previous conversation where Tony had proclaimed that he ’never trusted anyone without a dark side’ coming to mind. The unknown was a concept that the dark haired man was accustomed to analysing, to find conclusive parameters to put an end to uncharted territory. So when the soldier raises the shield once more, Stark doesn’t necessarily know what to think, instinctively raising his gauntlets to protect his visage and ( more importantly ) the crucial cerebral payload resting in the layers within. And yet the curvature of the metal disk meets with the outer casing of the arc reactor powering the suit instead, the brusque damage putting an end to the distribution of sustainable and clean energy supply, rendering the armour useless ( it may as well be a glorified metal coffin ).
The would-be teammates remain poised in their conclusive lethargy, Rogers collapsing from the futurist as the battle comes to an anti-climatic end, fatigue taking over the both of them as realisation sinks in amidst breathless pants. There are a number of comments that come to Tony’s mind amidst this entire debacle, but it’s the immediacy of the vibranium shield being present that sees him focus on it. Eyes acrimoniously fixated upon it as it remains clutched in Steve’s tired hand - the singular means of ensuring the futurist’s current defeat. The man muttering in embittered confrontation, reflective of a hidden history that he and the two ‘men out of time’ hiding behind patriotic colours shared.
“That shield doesn’t belong to you...
You don’t deserve it. My father made that shield...”
“------JARVIS is currently running diagnostics and self-repairing. He isn’t controlling any of the tech in this room right now…” Procedures begin to filter before the man’s very eyes in a transition of internalised concentration, streams of code effortlessly processed as the futurist makes the mental link to tap into a particular file - one which holds the blond’s personal preferences for when he had previously visited or stayed in his assigned training quarters of Avengers Tower.
Music, temperature, ambience - it was all present and beginning to visibly manifest in the room, the lighting altering as a vinyl track that the soldier had been particularly fond of begins to play from discreet speakers. Further harking back to the past as an old show reel commences upon a nearby screen on the adjacent wall, archived footage of the Howling Commandos playing on a loop.
CROSSROADS MARCH 5-8 men's retreat, it was a call I'm in the midst of before a great backslide I got a call to come to this event and with no hesitation , look God offers a way out before and during any cicumstance, so when you are at a crossroad take the high road. #CROSSROADS5\5-8 #HEARTHECALL #SERVANTNOTSERVERD https://www.instagram.com/p/B8B7LftBeaW/?igshid=eyi3d4rgu49t
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I didn’t get here over night... it’s taken me many years of inner work to process our existence... (and I’m still evolving) Our whole life is leading us to know who & what we are to embody and express it. When you’ve been journeying alone for as long as I have, you get hype when you see others who travel the path and express the journey in beautiful creative ways!! ✨✨ Peace Goddess @sarocthemc for your love! ❤️ Thank you for this musical gem! #forever 👑✨ . Describes the @thesacredjourneywithin perfectly! 💜✨🕉👁👑❣️❤️ . . #goddessmusic #shine #sarocthemc #mindbodymedicine #personalgrowth #worthit #awakening #therapy #fuckyocouch #affirmations #meditation #tantrayoga #selfcare #selflove #thedivinefeminine #hearthecall #merge #sisterhood #transformation #therise #theglowup #innervoice #listen #intuition #chakrahealing
Making a documentary film is about discovering, learning, growing, being open, and following my intuition. It’s about trusting the process and flowing with my colorful curiosity. It's not like a short film or one of the play’s I’ve written with a set script, a set cast or crew. The documentary film is a living project, it comes alive & reveals itself to me the more I surrender to the process. It takes a village & the village is growing. ✨💜✨ Thank you to everyone who’s been apart of The SJW Movement! You are appreciated & loved!❤️ movie 🎥🙏🏽✨ @thejourneyuncut . . . #movie #theharrafproductiongroup #documentaryfilmmaking #souljourney #mindbodymedicine #riteofpassage #mindbodysouljourney #hearthecall #initiation #theherosjourney #creativeexpression #selfexpression #creator (at Sacred Valley of the Incas, Peru)
