a_musingly | [closed to disassembling] - I Thought You Were Dead

Missions had never seemed so disarray and with so many big personalities as it was with the Avengers. While the missions were planned and generally executed well, it seemed that big names meant too much pride, which he had so very little tolerance for. He wanted to get in, do a good job and get out again. This latest missions had been a fiasco.

When they were attacked and forced to abandon the quinjet, he was not the only one who hastily exited it when it seemed like it was lost. Unlike Steve, he managed to grab a chute and even get it on before the jet blew sky high. It was awkward having to take the Widow down though, but he didn't complain until they had trekked out of the part of the forest that they had landed in and found that not all team members had made it out.

Steve was missing.

Everyone sort of expected him to explode or lose his mind or run away or whatever else they thought of him. Instead, he simply commandeered a new quinjet without permission and went looking for his friend. He went out every day looking, searching for signs even if the dense jungle made it impossible, and even when a few of the others wondered if the fall had killed Steve or the explosion had caught the man, he just kept going out until he got word that Steve had been found in some small village and made contact with Tony. Now was the time for his anger at the man being so stupid for jumping without a chute.

He arrived after the others clearly to find Steve in one piece rather than many. His flight jacket was open and his hair was bound back to keep out of his way, but if looks could kill, Steve would be in many pieces all over the jungle.

He had been in an elated mood when he found the tiny village with a single telephone in the chief's house and managed to make contact with JARVIS, who alerted the rest. Yes, he'd been more or less lost in the jungle for a week. No, he didn't enjoy the explosion one bit or being ejected from the plane in that manner. If he was going to jump off of planes and other similarly high places, he wants to do it under his own power and planning. On the other hand, he'd found the enemy base where the attack had come from and cleared it out easily on his own. So the mission hasn't been a complete loss.

Steve was not in the best shape, but it could have been much worse. A few scrapes and burns that were already healing, a bit dehydrated, lack of sleep and definitely hungry but he'll be alright with a few days of rest. It didn't stop him from wincing when he spotted Bucky stalking over to him from the quinjet. The others had taken one look at Bucky and told him he was on his own and cleared out. "Can the lecture wait? The others have already yelled at me but I'd really like to go home first before I hear it from you too." He gave Bucky his best wide-eyed puppy eyed look that somehow still worked on a few of the Avengers though others (like Natasha and Sam) had grown immune to.

His lips thinned when any thing that he might have said and did was cut off, glaring at Steve who looked tired and in need of the basics of sustaining life, all of which were on the quinjet that he had acquired by just plain not listening to any reasons that he couldn't take it. No one refused him when he wanted something, not even a machine worth about a million dollars. He set his jaw, aware that he wouldn't get to talk since everyone else had lectured the most important person to him already.

Instead, he turned away, giving Steve the cold shoulder and marched back to the quinjet. He could at least provide the man a ride back to the military base where he had acquired the jet and then they could be transported back to State-side. He reached up as he walked and tugged the tie from his hair so it fell about his face and obscured his expression, just another manner of the Winter Soldier's coldness.

Steve sighed. No doubt some feathers will have to be smoothed over the taking of the quinjet but he couldn't blame Bucky for it either. If their positions had been reversed he might have done the same thing. Bucky didn't give up on him and no doubt spent the last week searching tirelessly for him. More than he'd done when Bucky had fell from the train years ago.

He pushed himself into a light jog in order to catch up to Bucky, debating whether to start his apologies (and groveling) now or later. From the way Bucky had turned away, the almost angry footsteps and the stiff way he held himself, Steve wasn't sure if Bucky would be open to his words. A part of him was afraid that all the progress they'd made in the last few weeks were gone. He sighed again and decided apologies could start now, in case Bucky disappeared on him later.

"Bucky? I'm sorry. You must have been really worried. I tried to get out as soon as I could."

The only sound he made in reply to Steve catching up to him was a faint growl and then a flick of his eyes to make certain that his friend could keep up and wouldn't collapse from exhaustion and dehydration. He said nothing in reply to the apology, not feeling it was necessary to have one at all given that there had been so little choice based on where the mission was going. Coping with fear was not something he did and hadn't had to for many years.

He twitched his shoulders as if trying to dislodge an annoying fly as he mounted the platform to enter the quinjet. He slammed his hand none-too-gently on the button to close the hatch and set the machine ready for take off when he made it to the pilot's seat. He radiated cold and stiffness until they both were hidden from view and he was certain he had not earned any stowaways.

Only then did he sweep Steve into a bone-grinding, bruising hug. "I thought I might have lost you forever."

Steve followed gamely behind, wincing internally as his apology was ignored entirely and winced again at the ungentle way Bucky treated the delicate equipment they were in. No matter that Bucky was giving out strong keep-away vibes, he took a seat next to Bucky on the quinjet anyway. It's been a week since he's last seen his friend and he wants to stay as close as possible. (He had not so much fear that Bucky wouldn't survive the explosion but that his oldest friend would have taken the chance to disappear from his life again.) He'd started brooding over that possibility as the quinjet took off on autopilot when he found himself being swept up in a tight hug.

Oh.

He'd misread his friend completely. Not mad then, not really. Steve returned the hug just as hard as it was given, wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky's body. "I'm not that easy to kill. Not by a long shot." He let out a shuddering laugh and buried his face against Bucky's shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and gunpowder. "It'll take much more than that to get rid of me."

When he felt Steve's arms around him with the same kind of bruising force, that was only encouragement to tighten his hold until he was certain that his metal arm was going to threaten to break a few ribs if he allowed power to keep surging through it. He relented just before causing real damage, aware that it was the last thing that Steve needed after fighting the last week through hostile jungle and removing an enemy base from them likes of the planet. Aside from looking constantly, he had done very little about possible hostiles in the area.

"You're all I have," he whispered harshly, his fingers digging into uniform and muscle beneath, clinging without shame to the other man. "I can't lose you; I can't... even think about losing you anymore. If you're going to do stupid stuff like that, you have to at least take me with you."

It hurt, Bucky's arms around him was tight as a vice, but it was a good kind of hurt. A reminder that this wasn't a dream or hallucination, that Bucky was here, alive and himself, in front of him. That he HAD been missed, very much so, even without the words Bucky was saying. He grunted, shifting himself in his seat so that Bucky's knees wasn't digging into a rather uncomfortable place but otherwise didn't shift his friend's grip on him in any way.

"You have me. You'll always have me. They'll be accidents like today but I'll always find a way back somehow." He lifted one hand to brush back Bucky's hair from his face so he could look at him directly into the eyes. "It's the same with me you know. If...if one day you want to disappear, you have to take me with you. I can't contemplate just living alone in the apartment and doing missions without you." He has a responsibility towards the Avengers but hasn't he been Captain America long enough? If the choice came up can't he be selfish for once?

It didn't matter about the awkwardness of the position or how his knees and back were uncomfortable. He paid so little attention to it that only when Steve actually shifted to get a little more comfortable did he allow himself to move and that was to almost crawl into the the other man's lap. He held off, standing over Steve and holding his friend in the same relentless grip. If he could, he might even stay in this exact bent and cramped position for the entire flight back to the States.

"I can't... lose you," he repeated, his voice dropping deeper with rough emotion. "I looked and I looked for you, but there was no sign. I didn't give up; I didn't stop looking for the entire time that you were missing." His stomach took that moment to growl loudly as if to add its input to the mistreatment it had suffered in the ordeal. His blue eyes peered at Steve, swallowing hard and nodding a little. "B-but... you don't need me like I need you. There's everyone else and you... you wouldn't just leave them behind for me, would you?"

Later on, if Steve checked, he'll find hand and finger shaped bruises on his body where Bucky held onto him so fiercely. He didn't mind one bit. Pain like this was good, it grounded him in reality. He shifted again, encouraging Bucky to get into a position that would be more comfortable for him (not that they could be as comfortable here in the cramped quarters of a quinjet rather than their own apartment or even their own tiny bed). Bent over and scrunched up like this couldn't be good for Bucky's back.

There was a little voice in the back of his head (that sounded amazingly like Sam) that was telling him that this co-dependance on each other was not healthy for either of them. He ignored it, pushed it away. What was important was here and now. "I know you didn't. I would have done the same. But I wish you didn't neglect yourself like this for me." He frowned at hearing the noise from Bucky's stomach, his own stomach twinging sympathetically at the noise. Steve had some field rations on him and was able to find edible berries and the like to live off of in the days he was lost in the jungle. It wasn't entirely enough but he didn't starve at least. Bucky on the other hand felt like he lost both weight and sleep.

He met Bucky's eyes and leaned up until their foreheads were pressed together. "I need you. I've always needed you. And...they need Captain America more, not so much Steve Rogers. That and the shield can be passed on to someone else." If he was just Steve Rogers again, surely there will be nothing holding him back to follow Bucky.

He would never ever feel bad about leaving such marks on Steve, a sign of his growing dependence on the man who was slowly but surely teasing memories back and giving him a life that he hadn't had in so long. He had also always known that missions were dangerous but never before had the stakes in them felt so high when Steve was involved. Most missions went off without a hitch, performed flawless if with some bickering between the group, and he had even grudgingly had allowed Stark in particular to rib him slightly but with severe limitations. His metal arm was still off limits to touching.

"I didn't neglect myself," he replied, though there was a distinct undertone of guilt in his voice. He hadn't slept much, hadn't taken time to eat and no one was going to keep him grounded long enough to insist that he do either. He could refuel his own quinjet just fine, thank you very much, and he took off with clearance or without it. He suspected a member or two of the Avengers had finally stepped in to keep the base from shooting him down or when he was on the tarmac. He instead fell back on his usual assessment of himself. "I'm functional."

His eyes fluttered half-closed at the comforting press of their foreheads, some of the strain leaving his features. "I won't let you throw away your new life for me," he murmured softly. "I'd rather just hide in your closet and stay there than let you leave it and be miserable on my account. You like what you do and who you do it with."

There was always an element of danger to any mission, no matter how easy and simple it looked on paper. No one could control all the variables at all times. It had been like this back during the war when working with the Howling Commandos and it was no different seventy plus years in the future with the Avengers. He could only do this best and trust his teammates, Bucky included to do his best and worry in private.

"I just heard your stomach." He said chidingly and brushed one of his thumbs gently underneath the eyes where dark under-circles had formed due to lack of sleep. "And I can tell you didn't sleep much either." Steve didn't expect the other Avengers to have been able to stop Bucky or even to get him to take care of himself just a bit more than he had. While they and Bucky had been getting better working in the field, off-duty interactions were a different matter entirely. "I've said this before and I'll say it again, functional is NOT optimal. I want you to be optimal as much as possible." No doubt this was discussion they'll be revisiting again and again.

"You won't be 'letting' me." He replied just as softly, fingers stroking down one cheek in a light carress. "It'll be my choice. And I'm not going to hide you away somewhere like a dirty secret or some weapon to be taken out and used when necessary." The last especially. He'd have become just like Hydra at that point.

"That's a normal sound," he replied stiffly, only to have his stomach clench painfully in reminder that he was sub-optimal right now. He had managed to drink water to keep himself hydrated but food had been a distraction from looking over the forest canopy for signs of his friend, and he hadn't packed anything when he stole this quinjet anyway. "And I caught a few hours," he replied defensively. Only while he was waiting for the jet to refuel and had no other options; it was probably good he wasn't entirely piloting right now.

"I was looking for you, and that took priority," he said as if that justified everything that he had done for the last week as he searched desperately for Steve. "I've been trained to go with minimal if I need to. And you're here now, so that's all that matters to me." He tightened his grip just a fraction more before slowly relenting because his back hurt and he knew that they couldn't stay like this the whole time.

"Sometimes I just need to hide away," he muttered, his head leaning into the caress heavily, like he was tipping forward, his eyes slowly closing like he might fall asleep right then and there. "I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy so I know what it looks like in someone."

"No it's not." Steve chided again. "Stomachs that have gotten adequate amounts of food AND drink does not sound like that. And somehow I don't think your 'few hours' does not come anywhere close to at least five hours a day." And five hours a day was a very loose definition of adequate sleep for both of them. When they get home, he was going to have both of them clean up, eat, then hustle into the pillow fort still in the living room for at least twelve hour of sleep. While the bed will probably be better sleep, Bucky would feel better in the pillow fort after the last few days.

He sighed, knowing that to argue further would be future. "Sit down...it makes my back hurt to look at you in this position." No that there was anywhere else but back into the pilot seat (unless Bucky crawled into his lap) or they moved into the back. The back wasn't really an option for long term though. Even if the plane was on autopilot someone needed to stay in the front to keep an eye on anything unexpected. One air-related accident in a week was enough.

"I know...." He felt the need himself, which was why he had his own apartment out in Brooklyn instead of taking the floor Tony had set aside for him in the Tower. "You know that I'm not the best example for you right? There's still a lot of stuff I need to work on." But he was trying, really trying now these days, instead of simply just existing. For himself and for Bucky as well.

He frowned because he had not gotten adequate food or sleep, but he was fully hydrated, so that was something. He might have caught two hours of broken sleep a day and even when grounded, he paced like a caged animal for the time when he could get back to the quinjet to go looking again. "You're not supposed to nag me for spending so much time looking for you when I only meant well," he finally replied sourly. He would have kept going until his body or mind had given out too.

He finally relented in his hold, backing off with great reluctance as he shifted back into the pilot's seat with more than a few glances as Steve like the man might disappear at any moment. He flipped the quinjet off of autopilot and took the controls to give his mind something other than his entire focus being on Steve. "You can sleep and I'll get us State's side again." Assuming he wasn't captured for the illegal and continued use of government property that was.

He glanced over at Steve, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You realize I don't care," he replied stubbornly. "You're the only important thing that I have."

Steve can't help but motherhen. "I know, I know." He said soothingly. "I'm not ungrateful Bucky. Again, I'm sorry I worried you." He might not have to but it had been done anyway so it merits an apology in Steve's book. He himself haven't rested much while in the jungle, not with the danger of wild animals and possible ambushes by Hydra waiting around every corner. Short naps, no matter that they added up to more or less 3-4 hours a night were no substitution for real sleep.

He settled more comfortably in the co-pilots seat, slouching a little in sign of how tired he really is instead of seating up straight like he usually did. He caught one of the glances thrown his way and reached out with a hand, resting it on Bucky's thigh. A physical reassurance that they were both here. "Sleep sounds good. If you drop off at the Tower, one of the Avengers can take care of the rest." It was a little unfair, asking hem to clean up for them both afterwards but Steve will think of something to make it up to them later. Steve slouched a bit more and his eyes slid halfway closed.

He sighed again, knowing that this was another on-going discussion between the two of them. One that he probably needs more help with.

He grunted but said nothing more to the apology, not feeling that Steve had to make any towards him after all that he had done in the past. He certainly hadn't apologized for getting hurt when he had on the mission a few weeks ago, and he didn't think that Steve would ever owe him one for taking him in like some stray alley cat. Besides, it had been a trying week on them both and the sooner that they hit State-side, the better it would be for them both. He might even tolerate staying at the Stark Tower to get Steve feed, watered and sleeping rather than make the trek to the apartment.

He reached up and set a flight path for them through the computer, taking the most direct route. He paused at the feel of a hand on his thigh and glanced down at it before he sighed out some of the tension in him. "Yes, the Tower would be best. You will eat and sleep there too," he said in a no-nonsense tone as if he had already planned out how this was all going to go. "Once I know you're safe, I'll return the quinjet to the proper authorities."

He glanced at Steve and narrowed his eyes. "Sleep."

Despite the fact that he didn't mean to do it, Steve still would apologize. It was part good manners to apologize, and partly to show that he understood that the last week had been difficult for them both. And when they get back, Steve will let Bucky motherhen him for a bit; it was only fair. At the same time, he'll do his best to drag Bucky into doing the same.

"Aright..." He murmured sleepily in assent, giving the thigh underneath his hand a light squeeze and left it there as he started drifting off. The suggestion that they stay at Stark Tower surprised him, considering how Bucky never entirely felt comfortable there. He fell asleep, head tilted slightly back against the headrest with a last, "Wake me up when we're almost there..."

His last words turned out to be unnecessary; he woke up at the feeling of the light bump of the quinjut touching down on the tarmac.

The Winter Soldier said nothing more, simply piloting to focus on something other than the sleeping figure in the chair next to him. Like all of his endeavors, he does them well and silently. He maintained their flight plan and even hazarded a motion to inform the Avengers of the fact he was bringing a quinjet in that area and planned on parking it there until morning. He also informed JARVIS in a clipped tone that he and Steve would require a room for the night and possible food and drink before they left the next morning.

They arrived without incident and on radio silence, and he was shutting down the quinjet controls when Steve woke next to him, but he barely glanced at the other man as he finished the final checks and shut the machine down. He opened the back hatch without a word and rose to his feet, thoroughly exhausted but unwilling to show it save the way that he dragged his feet a little and how thick the lines under his eyes were.

"Come, you need sustenance and more sleep," he muttered and proceeded out of the back of the jet.

Steve sighed inwardly as Bucky seemingly put on the cold unfeeling Winter Soldier front like protective armour (maybe it WAS something like that to Bucky but he wished Bucky didn't feel it was necessary to put up that front any time they were in public) and stalked out of the quinjet. Or tried to stalk. He could see that if he'd been gone for another day, Bucky would probably have collapsed from exhaustion whether he liked it or not. He was still tired but at least he'd been able to sleep a bit in the two and half hours on the flight back while Bucky flew the quinjet.

They were greeted politely by JARVIS, who informed them that food will be delivered in twenty minutes and that Steve's usual suite was ready for them. "So do you, Bucky. We should get clean first though." Because if Bucky has been letting things like food and sleep slide, cleanliness probably was not even anywhere close on the list of things Bucky did while he had been gone. The elevator was already open and waiting for them and took them directly to Steve's floor.

"C'mon. We can share the shower. It's big enough." This was the one thing he liked about Stark Tower, the shower and the accompanying bath (or Jacuzzi really) in the suite was big enough to fit four of him and the hot water was near-endless.

He knew he was going to have to eat, but really, he wanted to rest more than anything. His vision was not staying right anymore and it was hard to concentrate, and he felt far too heavy for his own body but stalked along all the same. The elevator he stared at the buttons because he was hitting the point of awareness where he knew he was about to malfunction badly. No, no he didn't malfunction anymore; only Hydra had used such a word to refer to the behaviours they didn't like or wouldn't tolerate.

"Okay," he said, not about to fight the idea of a shower. His hair was oily and hung stiffly about his cheeks, though he had to follow Steve to its location because he had never done much exploring to this place. It was huge though, reminded him a little of the shower with Hydra but far, far more fancy.

He stripped tiredly, wrinkling his nose at the smell that came off of his uniform and the dirt and old sweat smears on his skin. "Ugh, I smell like a public washroom in a third world country," he muttered, but it wasn't his quote. It was a quote he had picked up from a handler and apparently stored. Exhaustion had his mind spewing out this strange obscure information. He walked into the huge shower all the same and stood under the water, at first just letting it wash away some of the week of grime. He almost dozed on his feet.

Tony had taken him on a tour of the entire tower, or at least the floors he'd set aside for Avengers use when they'd gather again together in New York, partly showing off and partly trying to sell to him the idea of living together. He appreciated the time and the cost gone into the floors but ultimately deciding that he needed his own space away. Still, there had been occasional nights that he stayed over after a late return from a mission or just to spend time with the team, so he knows the Tower fairly well. There was a fully equipped kitchen and the bathroom was state of the art, both with far more options than he ever needed or even knows how to use.

Steve stripped down as well, the uniform pretty much a complete loss and glad to be out of the dirty smelly things. He let out a soft laugh at the comment. "I don't have a fancy comparison for what I smell like, just that it isn't good." He joined Bucky under the hot spray, the water beneath them running dark with dirt, dried blood and other things that Steve doesn't want to think much about. The hot water feels wonderful on his skin and he could feel some of the tension going away.

He did frown at the way Bucky was almost dozing off on his feet and reached out with a steadying hand on the elbow. "Want me to wash your hair?"

He was aware of Steve nearby to his location in the shower, but the man's presence was a comfort rather than an alarm. If anything, he could relax more despite them both being filthy, exhausted, probably dehydrated and hungry. He shifted on his feet lightly and only opened his eyes again when he felt the touch to his elbow, glancing over at Steve standing naked next to him. He shuffled over as if to make more room under the spray, which really wasn't necessary given how much of it there was.

He noted the discolour of the water and that prompted him to push on the soap dispenser. "I can do it," he muttered softly before he suddenly turned his back towards Steve. "Can you wash my back for me?" His hair was in reach after all, his back was a bit more complicated to get to and another person in the shower was an opportunity that he wasn't going to miss out on either. "I can do yours in return if you like."

"Of course." Steve can't quite remember the last time someone scrubbed his back for him. Maybe when he was a little kid and his mother had done it for him. Of course once he'd grown up and was old enough to wash by himself it probably stopped. He pumped out a generous amount of soap, lathered it up and started scrubbing from the shoulders and moved slowly down the back, making sure to scrub a bit of the sides of Bucky's torso as well, working hard with his fingertips. There were a few scars here and there on Bucky's back but they looked old and there wasn't any sign of recent wounds on Bucky's body.

His own body on the other hand, had a few still-healing scrapes and burns particularly on one shoulder, his left flank and thigh. There were a few other cuts, already mostly healed and could only been seen if you looked carefully for lines of pink on the skin. But what stood out among all that were the darkening hand and finger prints on his body.

Because of the speed of his metabolism, he built up and lost muscle and fat faster than most save perhaps Steve himself. He had lost weight but was still fit and capable of carrying himself well enough. His head hung forward as Steve scrubbed the dirt, grime and sweat from his skin, his arms shifting from his sides as the pass of his friend's hand along his sides and the tension bled from his shoulders as his breathing deepened as if he had gone to sleep. He hadn't, but the touch felt good and reassuring after so much concern. "Mmmm... Stevie," he moaned and shifted under the other man's hands even pass what he knew was clean.

Still, he eventually pulled away to rinse off and a quick clean of his chest, thighs and arms before he was lathering up his own hands and attacking Steve's back with the same kind of warm curious but effective cleaning. As he worked, he revealed what was hidden on his friend's skin, healing marks and burns, but it was the finger prints that attracted his attention sharply, waking him up immediately. "...who did this to you?" He ran his finger tips over the bruised imprints. "Who grabbed you like this?"

[closed to disassembling] - I Thought You Were Dead

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject