strangetrip | [GP/EP] Check-in Day

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[GP/EP] Check-in Day

The woodwinds in her collection were for noodling mostly, and the violin was for memory of her family, but when Curnen really wanted to play she turned again and again to her guitar. This would probably always be her best instrument. It was the first of the month, she’d been here over a year, and it was probably a check-in day. So she sat on the lawn with her instrument in her lap, sending out a subtle magic to call anyone stranded in their little world this way.

At one point, though, she set aside the guitar and turned her face to the sky. For just a few minutes she required a different kind of magic.

It had been a week now since Scanlan had vanished in the battle. And Pike, too, though Curnen honestly couldn’t have cared less about her going away if she tried. Still. The two of them were family to people very dear to her, people who missed them. And Scanlan had been her friend. You marked something like that with a song.

Of all the money that e'er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

It was a traditional Irish goodbye, a farewell to friends said with love, drinking, well wishes, and the hope of meeting again. She couldn’t think of a better one for the occasion. And as she sang she twined her magic into her voice in a new way, sending the song to any ears that needed it, ears of those who knew and missed the departed. Not all of them might understand it, not all of them knew what she was, but she didn’t particularly care about that right now. The song was more important than the hiding.

Once the last note had dissipated she picked up her guitar again and resumed her work. If there were anybody out there, they had to know where to go.

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It’d been a whirlwind couple of days for Steve. Peggy’s funeral came and went, and before he’d had a chance to figure out those feelings, he’d met up with Sharon Carter again. The pretty nurse who lived across the hall. Turns out Agent 13 was Peggy Carter’s niece? Steve had taken the weekend, flown back out to California, and gone on a road trip to clear his head. But that road trip ended in a strange imprisonment, as he’d nearly ran out of gas and stopped to ask for directions. What sounded like the start of a strange horror film, was actually the next adventure in Steve Rogers’ life.

After a few conversations with the local residents, and spending part of the day walking as far as he could in every direction, Steve had started to come to terms with his current situation. As much as one could. He’d tried getting his cell phone to work, but having left the charger back at his motel in Los Angeles, he was rapidly running out of batteries. There were phones at the hotel, but none of them connected to any numbers he remembered.

Steve had to figure out what to do. But he also had to survive. Eating, sleeping, and connecting with other people were his top priorities while he wrapped his head around this new, whole mess.

So he was outside the restaurant looking at the day’s specials. “Roast chicken,” he read aloud. He wondered if there were vegetables available. Or bread. Or anything besides chicken. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a shiver went down his spine.

Bucky had to admit, he was exhausted. His day here had been full of interactions with people he'd never met, including one who wanted to shoot him. He'd shared words with the young girl, River, over coffee and sweets. Slowly, he felt like he was starting to understand the place and the predicament he was in.

He froze when he saw him there as well. Why did he think he would be able to escape Steve Rogers?

Bucky stared, not sure if he even wanted to approach Steve. He knew that Steve was Steve and he was almost like a mountie or ranger, someone who never stopped until the got their man, regardless of his innocence. He'd been hard to avoid, stepping left and right, trying to give Steve and the others the slip, always moving to another safe house before Steve and his falcon could find him.

Unfortunately, he wasn't going to be able to get away this time. So he stood there, waiting to see what Steve would do. He really didn't want to make the first move. A part of him still really wanted to run.

Steve turned around, unsure what he was going to find. But there was something behind him there, something he couldn't ignore. His eyes went a little wide when he caught sight of Bucky standing there. Not moving.

"Buck?" He asked as he turned his body completely and took a step forward. "Is... is that you?"

"I..." Bucky paused. "I am the one you used to call Bucky." His words were soft, his head tilted to the side as he stared curiously at Steve. It's odd, the way that he is speaking. He'd cognizant of it, and yet he doesn't stop himself. He's not sure he wants to be the man Steve remembers, not sure if he can be.

His eyes move down, glancing at the floor as he struggles not to take a step backward. Steve gets closer, approaching him and he doesn't know how to react. He's shy, nervous even. He had not want to be found, but this place just keeps making sure everyone would find him.

"You... You're the man from the museum," he tries to say.

Steve held his hands up in a placating gesture--a calming show of his palms, as if to say I'm no threat. He stepped forward again. "It's me. It's Steve."

The Bucky in front of him looked a little better than the one he'd battled on the airship--the one who had pulled him out of the river, then fled. The one he'd imagined finding. This Bucky still looked terrified--like a mangey hare about to take off at any moment. Steve didn't want that. He wanted his friend back. He'd do whatever it took.

"Yes. Well. Yes, there's a museum." He admitted it sheepishly. "What do you mean... I used to call...?"

Bucky sighed. He was going to have to explain. He didn't want to explain. He really wanted to just turn and run. His head tilted and he eyed Steve up and down, taking in his demeanor and body language. "I know who you are. You..."

Bucky nodded his head, frowning slightly. "I'm Bucky, but... I'm not the man you want me to be." Slowly, Bucky raised his metal hand, waving the fingers at Steve. "I... I can't be the man from your past. He is not me. I saw him, at the museum. I..." Bucky stammered, having trouble putting the words together.

He didn't want to fight with Steve.

"I'm broken."

While his friend spoke, Steve simply stared, not sure how to put all of this together. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that he was stuck in some sort of magical prison, kidnapped from his time and placed here with a bunch of strangers--well, mostly strangers. Strangers and Bucky.

Then Bucky said he was broken, and Steve felt his heart crack.

"You're not--" He started, but he didn't want to argue with Bucky. He didn't want to fight with his friend.

Steve took a moment, hands on his hips. His eyes moved to the floor, then to the dining hall, then back to Bucky again. "Come and eat with me."

It was hard for Bucky to put it into words to Steve. He wasn't broken, not really, but it was the easiest way to describe it to Steve without too many words to follow it up. He couldn't be the Bucky that Steve wanted him to be, that Steve remembered. He could be a Bucky, someone who remembers those times and tries to move forward, but he wasn't the old Bucky. And that was the man that he knew Steve wanted. He needed to know Steve could accept him now, as he was.

Bucky nodded his head, his face neutral of any emotion. It would take time before he relaxed around Steve enough to smile. "Food. Is good." Slowly, Bucky nodded his head and took a step forward. He hesitated, not that he didn't want to go, but he wondered if Steve would hug him or something.

"Time. Just need time. Friendship... Will come." He glanced up at Steve, his eyes pleading for his friend to understand. "We... We're here, in this place, stuck. And, now this? Just... Slow, okay?" He wasn't so naive to think Steve was the same man who went into the ice either. He wanted to get to know Steve, or so he thought.

Steve was the kind of person who really listened. He wasn't just sitting around, waiting for his chance to jump into the conversation. He was genuinely interested in and concerned about what everyone--Bucky especially--had to say. So his eyes stayed on the other man's face, his mouth closed. He nodded.

"Slow. I can do slow." Steve's heart was thundering. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around his old friend, to grab his head and force their foreheads together. He'd missed Bucky more than almost everyone else. Heck, at times he'd missed Bucky more than Peggy.

"They keep telling me we're stuck here, so... we've got all the time in the world, Bucky." Steve turned to walk to the restaurant, taking his time so Bucky could fall into step with him.

In time, Bucky thought that he may warm up to Steve again. It wasn't that he didn't want his best, oldest friend back in his life. He just needed some time. Bucky gave Steve the smallest, slightest smile as they walked side by side, heading to the restaurant.

Bucky sighed, looking over at Steve. "I... I remember things, but it's... Hard to explain. I remember some things, but not everything. I have gaps I'm trying to fill in." Bucky really thought he should show Steve his journals. That would explain everything. "I saw the museum exhibit," he said softly.

His shoulders shrugged as he looked over at his oldest friend. "They did say that. Stuck here..." His voice trailed off. "At least, here, I... I won't feel like I'm on the run." It would be good to feel like he could relax, at least a little.

Steve took his time, moving slowly into the restaurant area. There was some chicken dish available, and Steve was hungry, so that's what he wanted. They could find a seat and eat some food, and maybe get some drinks. Not that the drinks did much to affect Steve--his metabolism worked against him and the effects of alcohol.

"You're not on the run here," Steve said, gently. "You don't have to be on the run with me. What can I do?" He asked. "How can I help?"

Bucky followed along. He was quiet as he made his way into the restaurant area. Bucky helped himself to a small plate of, well, chicken something. He didn't even know what it was. That and a large glass of something with alcohol and he was moving over to a small table in the corner. It was perfect for him, the same one he'd occupied when he had food with River. He could put his back to the wall and nobody could sneak up on him from behind.

When they were finally seated and somewhere with a bit more privacy, Bucky spoke to Steve, keeping his voice low. "Safe here. For now. Not on the run, no." He gave Steve a wry look. "Your friend wasn't very stealthy. He was easy to avoid."

Bucky frowned. "Not sure." It wasn't like they were back home. "Stark is here." He practically whispered the words to Steve. He'd been almost afraid to say them louder, but the weight of the words would outweigh his tone of voice or decibel level. He needed to know when Steve came from, especially after some of the things he'd heard from Tony and Peter.

"My friend?" Steve asked. Bucky wasn't making much sense--speaking in short, chopped sentences. Steve didn't mind so much, normally he could figure it all out... but he wanted more. Wanted to know what was going on, wanted to help where he could. He couldn't help unless he had the facts.

"Tony." Steve frowned just slightly. "Tony wasn't very stealthy?"

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[GP/EP] Check-in Day

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