milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

"Go. Go! Take this journal and write down everything you can remember. It will help, I promise you."

"Princess--"

"Do not argue. Find somewhere quiet, where you won't be bothered."

"The kids aren't a bother."

"They are also not quiet."

* * * * * * *

It's been a long time since he's been here, enough that if pressed he couldn't actually say how long. He hadn't exactly meant to come, either, but he'd been thinking about finding somewhere out of the way when he walked out of Shuri's lab, and there's no question that Milliways fits that description better than anywhere else.

About ten minutes later, Bucky Barnes is settled in at one of the quieter booths in the back, the journal open in front of him. (A close observer might notice that each page is subtly embossed with the logo of the Wakandan Design Group.)

He's holding a pen in his right hand and tapping it against the blank page. From time to time he sets down the pen and picks up the cup of coffee waiting beside him instead. A swallow or two later, he repeats the process, swapping cup for pen.

His left hand is immaterial to the whole process, as it's entirely absent. A series of gauze bandages are barely visible under the collar of his shirt, and his left sleeve is neatly pinned shut over where his arm used to be.

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Peter comes down into the bar and sees the only person he's recognized from outside the bar since he got here. Of course it's not someone he really knows at all. In fact, the only time they met, he was kinda, not really beating him up, but trying to slow him down.

Doesn't meant he won't talk to him though. He will. Because, again, the first person he's recognized from back 'home' since he got here.

"If you make marks on the page in the shape of letters you get words," he says, grinning a little. And maybe taking his life into his own hands by teasing him. No one ever said he had good self-preservation instincts.

"Is that so."

His tone is as dry as desert dust. He glances at the seat across from him, then back at Parker in as what's as clear an invitation as he's likely to get.

"Even if I leave out the vowels?"

His grin gets bigger. The dry tone doesn't faze him at all.

He and his bottle of root beer slide into the other side of the booth.

"You'll get weird shorthand that way, but you could try."

"Maybe even a whole new alphabet. Who knows."

He swaps the pen for his coffee and takes a long swallow.

"Haven't seen you around here before, have I?"

"Maybe. You can make up your own language."

He shakes his head. "Only been here a couple weeks, I think? And I'm pretty sure I'd've noticed you sitting in here."

He huffs a breath of wry laughter.

"Probably. I usually don't try to hide when I'm here."

All bets are off anywhere else... or at least they used to be.

"Welcome to the end of the world."

"Heh. No one usually notices me at all." Ever, not just here. It's not really a problem, because it keeps his identity all wrapped up, it's just kind of disappointing when trying to interact with people.

"Thanks. And - uh - sorry I webbed you to the floor that one time." Mr. Stark told him to.

"That can be useful," Bucky advises him.

"Yeah, about that. It's Peter, right?"

"Yeah, maybe." He sips his drink.

He nods. "Yeah. And you're... Bucky? Sgt Barnes," he says.

"Make it Bucky," he says.

"What I want to know is, why the hell were you trying to impress Stark?"

He nods. Bucky works and is way less formal.

"Um -" his ears turn pink and he really wishes they didn't, "-pretty much so he'd let me join the Avengers." And yes, he heard the sneer there. He's trying not to let that part bother him.

He drops the pen to the still-unmarked journal and pinches the bridge of his nose as if fighting back a sudden headache.

"Did it work?"

He thinks he knows the answer, but it doesn't hurt to check.

He tilts his head.

"Technically - yes. Well, not the airport thing. Or, the airport thing, plus another thing. But yes. Then I told him 'no'." And Mr. Stark had been so damned confused for like 19 seconds.

Bucky looks at him.

"Why'd you change your mind?"

No one's asked him that before. Well, Mr. Stark had kind of asked.

"Wanted to stick around my neighborhood. Finish high school. Stuff like that."

He nods.

"Not a bad idea."

Bucky waves to a waitrat and taps his coffee cup to request a refill, then looks back at Peter.

"War - of whatever kind - will wait."

"I wasn't trying to get into war. I just wanna help people. And the Avengers have way more resources." He can't be like Iron Man all by himself.

One corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile.

"Steve was right. You've got heart."

"He told me that after he dropped a jetway on me before he ran away - presumably to help you. Did you know jetways are heavy?"

"Sure."

He likes this kid.

"That was the point. To keep you busy."

He makes a face, sort of a smirk. "Yeah, I figured that part out." He's pretty smart. "Of course, I'm still not entirely sure what the whole thing was about."

The smile fades.

"Do you want to know?"

It's a serious question.

"Yeah, I actually do. I only got the few points Mr. Stark told me."

It takes a conscious effort not to roll his left shoulder, looking for the weight that's no longer there.

"What'd he tell you?"

"Not much. Just that Captain America was wrong, and he needed my help." Mr. Stark needed his help, not Steve.