justakidfrombrklyn (
justakidfrombrklyn) wrote2014-08-28 02:34 am
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The headaches began after he came out of the ice...
To say that a lot of things had changed once he'd come out of the ice wasn't just an understatement; it was practically cruel. The worst part in a lot of ways, though, was the way people treated him: as if the ice had preserved him, kept him exactly as he'd been when he'd sent the plane crash landing into the Atlantic.
It couldn't be further from the truth, though.
He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.
And then there were the headaches.
He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...
Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.
Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.
Beautiful things to draw.
He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...
It couldn't be further from the truth, though.
He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.
And then there were the headaches.
He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...
Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.
Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.
Beautiful things to draw.
He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...
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He leaned back in his seat.
"Is there a purpose to it?"
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"Everyone has different reasons, really."
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"And... Bucky has a Watcher."
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"Oh, so you did end up telling him about the Watchers?" Methos said, as he came back out, in clean jeans, and an oversized sweater. He smiled faintly at the coffee brewing, and hopped behind the bar to help himself. "I don't know why you were so surprised, Joe; the Watchers' security is almost as bad as SHIELD's."
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"Part of what they did to him wiped his memory. The more information we can find out about what happened during all those years he was in their power, the more we should be able to help him."
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"I'll do that then. And you-" he levelled a finger at Methos "-not one word from you. You're the one who designed the security in the first place."
"In the nineties!" Methos countered. "It was perfectly sound in the nineties! I've offerred to update it, but nooo, they don't want my grubby little Immortal paws anywhere near their precious systems." He rolled his eyes, and drank his coffee.
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"You really should talk to Tony. You sound just like him."
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"Believe it or not, that just makes the prospect even more unsettling."
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And his eyes were full of innocence, the only hint to his impishness found at the tiniest curl of his lip.
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"You just want to see the trainwreck."
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He sighed a little.
"I wish Natasha was here."
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"He's not the only one."
He closed his eyes before he glanced down at his phone.
"I need to go make a call. If you'll excuse me."
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Joe waited until he'd heard both the stair doors shut, before saying:
"He's up there, isn't he."
"Yup."
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"Pick up, Sam. Pi--"
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He stares wide-eyed at Steve, caught completely by surprise.
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"Bucky?"
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The rest of him is just sure he should've at least left Adam with a knife in his heart, because this is definitely his fault.
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"Buck," he said softly, "Bucky. It's Steve. I... I had no idea. I've been looking for you."
He gave a faint, brittle smile.
"Guess you've been laughing it up, me chasing you around, and you following along after us. Jerk."
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His deployment, leaving Steve behind, the worry he tried to hide, the relief that at least his fragile friend would be far, far away from the front lines--
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"Buck..." he said slowly, stepping forward again.
"Bucky, God..." and his eyes are shining for a different reason now, "God, Buck, I've..." and the words aren't good enough but "I've missed you so much."
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