James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nerves_of_ice) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
milliways_bar2021-02-21 03:24 pm
nerves_of_ice) wrote in milliways_bar2021-02-21 03:24 pm
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"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.
"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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A thought seems to catch him, and he backtracks, "Most scientists. I know one I trust."
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"That too will be a journey, I should think," he says.
"The only scientist I know well is Jemma Simmons, whom I have met here. She is curious and can be too focused perhaps on the end result, but if it's tempered with compassion. Some lack that."
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"I don't know this Jemma Simmons."
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He has quite firm opinions on this.
"She is young and very, very skilled. But she tells me her job is rather quiet. I hope she'll get a chance to show her brilliance to the world."
S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Never heard of it.
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It's agreement with both observations - and for a single word, it is incredibly firm.
"If you say so. I hope it stays quiet."
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"That,I believe,is the true wisdom of age. To long for quiet,uneventful days, and calm nights."
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"Then right now I must be the wisest man alive."
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His sigh does carry a hint of longing.
"I would not mind it one bit."
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"Things rough back home for you?"
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He looks down at his hands and then back at James. "They are grown and must make their own choices."
Even if their father wishes they would do otherwise.
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He takes another swallow of coffee from a cup that's going cold, ignoring the change in the taste.
"Vengeance... doesn't really help all that much. But I'm guessing you already know that."
A beat.
"I'm sorry."
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He looks at James.
"The young must make their own mistakes."
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Small lights, like stars, blink to life above the tips of his fingers and slowly disappear.
"Is filled with stars."
He smiles. Almost apologetically.
"When children stayed in my home, I would sometimes do so if the night seemed long and this new place they found themselves in was unknown and alarming. It would become something we would say to each other. And in the end, it likely brought me the most comfort."
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