milliways_bar | (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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"I appreciate the offer," Bucky tells him. "Not sure what my doc would think, though."

Shuri has definite opinions of technology outside Wakanda, that he knows. They're all bad.

"I could take something back to show her?"

"I'll see what I can get," Fives says. He can't steal too much from the Republic, but at this point he could throw some notes together from the things he's been reading, and assemble something basic enough.

"Leave it at the bar for you, maybe. Bucky, right?"

"Bucky, yeah," he confirms.

"Only if it's no trouble."

"No trouble," Fives assures him. "Got to have a hobby, right?"

Hilarious for someone who doesn't even get 'leave,' but it's not unknown for clones to have interests.

"So I'm told."

The expression on his face now is very, very wry and a little bemused all at once.

"Mine's taking care of goats."

A beat of silence falls.

"I didn't pick it."

"Wouldn't judge you if you did," Fives says. If he's taking time out of the fight, taking care of something sounds like a good thing to do.

But he does have to ask:

"...what's a goat?"

Edited 2021-02-27 17:16 (UTC)

"Little fuzzy animal," Bucky tells him, without any sign of surprise. Different worlds, different experiences. "Or woolly, I guess. About that tall." He holds his hand out, showing the height above ground.

"They eat a lot. And bleat. Four legs, floppy ears, a stubby tail. Pretty cute, I guess."

Fives just gives a slight smile. "Farming, then? Or nerfherding - goat herding, I guess.

"Definitely no judgement. Sounds peaceful, apart from the bleats."

"It is," Bucky says. "I think that's the point."

"Shuri - my doc, I guess - she and her brother say I need to do things that aren't about death and violence. To rest from war."

"You gotta listen to your doctor."

But strike one for why clones make better soldiers - they dont' need this kind of rest.

"My brother Kix - he's our medic - he'd freeze me in carbonite if I tried to do anything against his advice."

"Freeze you in carbonite, huh?"

He sounds very dry for some reason.

"That happen to you a lot?"

Fives pauses for a beat. Uh oh what did he do now

"No, because I've got the good sense to stay where my medic puts me."

...he totally doesn't.

"Keep it that way," he advises, still dry.

"The thawing cycle sucks."

"Oh I plan to," Fives says. "I've heard the stories."

Never mind that carbonite is usually used for sentient trafficking, and not even clones warrent that treatment.

"Good plan," he agrees.

"So your brother Kix is a medic? How many brothers do you have?"

Fives coughs a small throaty laugh.

"Last count? About ten million."

Clones.

Bucky stares at him.

"That's... a lot."

Fives jerks a thumb back at himself.

"Clone army."

"Your army's bigger than I thought."

"Big war," Fives says wryly. "Big galaxy."

"How many planets?"

"Three billion?" Fives says, trying to remember. "About that."

Bucky stares at him.

"Okay." A beat. "Like you said. Big galaxy."

"Least the Republic is only a few thousand worlds," Fives says. "But yeah, takes a big army."

"I guess so."

The idea of a war spreading to encompass hundreds and thousands of worlds is a grim one, he finds. Fives's army is as large as Russia's had been at the end of World War II, and his country--

--wait. No. No.

He gives himself a hard mental shake, and refocuses his attention.

"Here's hoping your war's won soon, so you guys can retire and do whatever else you want."

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