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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"...Just so we're clear, we're in agreement that none of this is in any way your fault, right?"
She may or may not be speaking as someone with experience of misplaced guilt. Mainly in other people.
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"But I did them."
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"That's kinda the point of mind control, though, isn't it?"
She pauses for a moment. She doesn't want to make this about her, but...
"My parents could - and did - make people do all kinds of horrendous shit. But I know where I'm putting the blame."
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He glances sideways at her.
"Your parents?"
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She glances away briefly, then back to him.
"They were both telepaths. It's not that uncommon of a power, for mutants. What they liked doing with it... that's less common."
Beat.
"For the record, I am extremely not telepathic. As you probably noticed."
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He leaves it at that, and takes a moment for another swallow of coffee.
"You don't need to be. You yell loud enough as it is, when you want to."
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"Oh, my sweet summer child. You haven't even seen me in a real fight."
Shouting at him and Natasha barely even counts!
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"What, am I wrong?"
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"You may not be totally incorrect."
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He settles a little more deeply into his seat, apparently not bothered by her arm resting across his shoulders.
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"Oh no," she assures him, utterly straight-faced. "It totally does."
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"How about that. It sure does."
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"Would I lie to you?"
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Mm-hmm.
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"So what've I missed with you while I've been gone?"
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Molly's coffee came, as ever, loaded with an enormous pile of glittery whipped cream and maple syrup; she skims the top off the heap with a spoon.
"She's still not talking, so we've been working with Kitt on sign language. Someone - who in theory remains anonymous but in reality was absolutely my jackass brother - has taught her all the ASL swearwords he could find, so that's... been fun."
She means 'jackass' with love, really! She adores Chase!
You can tell, because he's not dead yet.
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