milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Another night in another city; another night in which he finds himself once more lying awake and staring at the ceiling.

At least this time not all the dreams were nightmares.

After a while, he gets up. Moving silently in the darkness of his rented room, James Barnes heads for the door, taking his journal from the top of the fridge as he goes.

He opens it to Milliways, and scans the room briefly before taking a seat at a table off to the side. Frowning with concentration, he flips to a blank page and begins to write - slowly, with frequent pauses for thought.

Eventually a waitrat brings him a cup of coffee. He thanks it absently, in Russian, and continues his painstaking work.

[ooc: Bucky is still several months before Civil War. Yes, I have seen it, but there are no spoilers here, I promise.

Open to all until it scrolls or I note otherwise. Thanks!]

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Steve pops into the bar sometimes, looks around*, and pops out again.

Today, that pleased little smile crosses his face, and he closes the door to his apartment behind him.

"Hey, Buck."

*for Bucky. Shh.

He stops writing with the pen still on the page and looks up at Steve.

"Hey."

He's about to pull out a chair when he says instead, "Mind if I join you?"

Because there's best friend privileges and then there's being an obnoxious pain in the butt.

...not that Steve minds being an obnoxious pain in the butt. Sometimes it's very useful.

"Go ahead."

There's no sign of increased tension, at least.

Obnoxious level: low.

"Thanks." He spins th chair and sits in it backwards, his arms crossed over the back. "Didja get my note?"

He blinks once, confusion in his eyes, and sets down the pen.

"Note?"

"I left a note for you with the bar a while back."

He waves to the journal. "Please, though, finish your thought. It can wait."

"Oh."

He takes a second to absorb that.

"I didn't ... I came in and, and sat here. Didn't stop at the bar."

A beat.

"... I guess it's been a while.

Sorry."

"Hey, you're here now," Steve says, though a faint worry line is appearing between his eyebrows.

He turns to signal a wait rat.

"Still."

He glances down at the page, frowns at it, then lets out a quiet sigh and reaches for the coffee instead.

"I promised. I fucked up."

Steve glances at him, then at the wait rat. "Burger and fries," he tells the rat, and asks Bucky, "You want anything?"

There's a long pause.

"... a... um. Maybe... a piece of fruit?"

[ooc: Just rewatched Winter Soldier to prep for seeing Civil War tomorrow. ;___; Buckyyyyy. *hugs him, and you*]

"Like he said," Steve tells the wait rat, who twitches his whiskers and scampers off.

Steve exhales slowly. "Look, I know things are... Sporadic. You're here now. You're okay. Believe it or not, I'm always happy to see your ugly mug no matter how long it's been."

"No matter how long," he echoes. "Right."

"Well," Steve says. "Beats the alternative."

[ooc: yyyyyyyyyyep. know the feeling! *hugs back lots*]

"Yeah."

He looks down at the journal again.

Steve rests his chin on his crossed arms, looking at Bucky.

Quietly, "Can I help with ... Anything?" And he nods to the journal.

"... do you remember, uh, pickup ball games? In Brooklyn?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "We used to watch from the sidelines, mostly.

"You... Remember that, too?"

In answer, he turns the journal toward Steve so that the other man can see it.

There's only a few sentences, as disjointed and halting on the page as they are in his mind.

Brooklyn. Sunlight and long shadows; afternoon? Bunch of guys-- can't see the faces, not clear -

Caught a ball. Threw it back. I think I was laughing.

So was Steve.

Steve reads it and smiles to himself.

"I don't know if that was a specific day. It could have been a dozen different ones."

He pauses. "You were the athlete, but you were always willing to keep me company even if it meant not playing. They were good days."

"They blur. Sometimes things... stand out. Little things."

A slight smile flickers, there and gone.

"But yeah. Good days."

"Memory's funny that way," Steve muses. "Sometimes I catch a scent or hear a sound and it's like it's 1931 again."

The wait rat returns with their food -- burger and fries for Steve, a small selection of fresh fruit for Bucky. Steve murmurs, "Thank you," and gives Bucky the plate.

"Like the taste of oranges, or a jazz trumpet in the distance. Nothing specific, just that it happened."

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