milliways_bar | (no subject)

Another day, another city. He's not sure how long he'll be in this one - weeks, maybe a month or two, if he's lucky. He hasn't been lucky for a half-year or so now, but there's nothing to do about that except stay ready, and move when he needs to.

He'd picked the apartment because it was high up in the building. He prefers it that way; it lets him watch from various angles and lines of sight when he needs to, and gives him quick access to the roof and escape.

Not that he can see much from inside at the moment, of course, having just finished taping newspaper -- multiple thicknesses -- over the windows. It helps; the lines of text and distortion of blurry newsprint photos disguise any shadows that he might cast from within.

James takes a moment to look around. It's got everything he needs; sleeping bag unrolled on the cheap mattress in the corner, the windows (now covered), washroom no bigger than a closet, kitchenette barely bigger than that, even complete with the unimaginable luxury of a full-size fridge...

... ah. Food. Right.

He's not hungry, but food's the fuel that's necessary to keep going. It's too late to go to the market now, though. Instead, he goes to the apartment door, and opens it into Milliways.

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Steve nods. There's suddenly a lump in his throat and he's not quite sure why.

"She's still alive."

He mutters something under his breath in Russian that sounds like it's halfway between a prayer and a curse.

"Tell her -- tell her whatever you, you think she'd want to know."

"All right. I will."

He studies Bucky's face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just ..."

"... I thought they were all ... gone."

"It's just the three of us now."

He nods, silent for a moment.

Just the three of them.

"Whenever Orpheus pours a libation, I think about my guys," Steve says, toying with a French fry. "I hope they're resting in peace, whatever that may mean."

"Yeah," he agrees, quietly.

"They... deserve that. At least that."

"They have more than that. We all do. Books have been written about us. Movies made. Fellas named Paul Newman and James Dean played you and me once, which apparently is a big deal. There's an exhibit in the Smithsonian about us right now."

He's quiet a moment.

"Still feels like we're fighting the same fight over and over sometimes."

Edited 2017-02-02 18:33 (UTC)

For an instant, some weariness leaks through in his expression, in the way he's holding himself.

"We are."

Bucky shakes his head and reaches for the cup of coffee that Bar's just refreshed for him.

"Never mind."

"You can tell me, Buck."

He takes a swallow from the mug, then sets it down and stares into it.

"Things don't... change. Is all."

"Yeah."

He stares at the bottles -- rows and rows of them -- behind the bar.

"Some things. Small things. The way that people look at the world and at each other ... those change. The small changes make the big ones possible."

Another pause, then, "People stand up. Ordinary people, who don't think they're special or brave... sometimes they're the bravest ones of all."

"People like you."

A beat.

"Except you were never ordinary. Not really."

Steve smiles a bit, but says, "People like I used to be. It's easy for me now. I know my body's going to do what I tell it to do, and any pain is going to be brief and heal quick, and it'll take more than anyone's been able to manage to kill me.

"Other folks don't have that. I think that makes them braver than I'll ever be."

"No way in hell."

There's a familiar stubbornness in his tone.

"How many times did I find you after a fight, still getting up to go at it no matter how hard you got knocked down?"

"Too many," Steve says, "but that's not my point. I mean the bravery of ordinary people, Buck -- that's somethin' else. That's all I mean.

"The world isn't perfect and never will be, but sometimes you can see how it might."

Edited 2017-02-10 04:53 (UTC)

"You're better at that than I am."

A half-smile.

"Not a surprise."

"You're making me blush, Buck," Steve murmurs, smiling to himself.

"Anyway, point is, there's a lot of the old thoughts and ways around, but even more of the new ways, too. It won't always be the same fight."

"That's something, I guess."

He finishes the last of his coffee and considers it for a second, then gives Steve a sideways look.

"You want another round?"

Steve grins in response. "Always."

More time with his best friend? Always.