thecapitol | (no subject)

The roof is one of his favourite places.

It's strange to consider he can have a favourite place sometimes, or a favourite food, a favourite piece of clothing, a favourite anything. Almost five months ago it was an unknown concept for something like him, unthinkable, unimaginable, certainly undeserved. Now though he has it, it's his and he doesn't intend to have it taken away.

With summer having turned into autumn the roof is no longer offers the prime sunning spots it once did but the space still offers benefits to Bucky, being open but still secure. When Sam comes across him he's settled in one of his favoured spots, one that allows him to put his back against a wall and gives a clear view of his surroundings, meaning he can't fail to notice anyone approaching.

So when Sam appears Bucky's eyes immediately snap open and he leans forwards, letting his arms rest across his legs, loose and ready. He won't say anything as he watches Sam approach, though notes the plates he's carrying, waiting for the other man to open the conversation.

The roof's one of Sam's favorite places around here, too, and in a way he's kind of glad it's here that he found him. Much better environment for trying to coax Barnes into having lunch with him than the training room, as far as Sam's concerned.

He doesn't keep his distance like he had the last time he'd run into Barnes, but he doesn't invade his personal space, either, just stops a reasonable conversation space away.

"Hey, man," he greets, shifting some of the plates to his other arm. "You hungry? This curfew thing's driving me crazy, I keep making more food than I can shove off on the people in my district. Thought I might try to pawn some of it off on you."

For a brief second, he'd thought about saying 'someone else' instead of 'you,' keep it nice and casual, but hell. Sam'd gone specifically looking for the guy, he can own up to that.

Bucky nods in greeting, eyes fixated on Sam as he approaches and then speaks his piece.

"It's difficult." is the first thing he says in agreement about the curfew. From Bucky's observation it had affected far more people than he would have originally suspected given the hours of restriction, a time he would assume normal people (not those like him) would choose to sleep through. He'd tried to understand the difficulty others had and decided upon a vague conclusion that it might not even be the hours themselves but simply the knowledge that it was forbidden that weighed on all the tributes so much.

There is a certain small temptation that he has entertained to himself, an inkling of his own that when something wasn't allowed the temptation to do it grew.

"You don't want it?"Bucky says cautiously. It smells better from closer up.

Sam tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement of that. Yeah, difficult's a good word for it. "Seeing a lot more of my districtmates, that's for sure. Still can't bring myself to sleep past the sun."

He could back home, sometimes, taking advantage of being able to sleep in every once in a while was a luxury he'd re-learned to enjoy. But here, well, he's gotten set back a little bit.

"Not all of it, no. I got dibs on one sandwich and a handful of onion rings, but the rest is yours." There's a brief pause, then he asks, "Is it cool if I sit next to you?"

Bucky wishes he could sleep at all. Well no, he can sleep if he tries, what he wishes is that he could have a pleasant dreamless sleep with certainty. Everytime he closes his eyes and lets himself drift off he feels like he's gambling with his own fragile piece of mind on what horrible piece of his fractured past he might see. He hates it, he can only sleep with trusted eyes to guard his back but then he got can't trust himself in sleep not to lash out either.

He's harming himself, he knows, compromising his effectiveness but there's nothing Bucky can do to stop it. Go without sleep or risk the nightmares, those were the only choices, certainly since he'd never trust any medication that could help him rest.

Bucky nods at Sam's clarification and decides that that is acceptable. "Okay."

Steve vouches for Sam and so far Bucky has seen no evidence he has anything to fear from him. Strangely the opposite, in fact.

There's a couple of things Sam could reccommend to try, to help with that. One day, maybe.

Of course, it's not like Sam doesn't assume that's something Barnes has difficulty with, but that's not the kind of thing you offer based on assumptions. No matter how sure they might be.

Sam grins at the acceptance, bright and pleased. "Cool." He turns around to sink down next to Barnes, leaning back against the wall. Sam keeps a good few inches between them, but still close enough to be within easy reach. And to offer over two of the foil-wrapped plates.

"Normally I'd do the polite thing and sit accross from you, but it feels weird, having my back out on the open like that."

The dark circles under Bucky's eyes tell enough of a story for anyone to guess.

With permission granted to Sam he sinks back a little to the wall, though stays on alert, his body ready to lunge into movement at the drop of a hat. The right hand takes the offered plat and Bucky stretches out his legs so he can settle it in his lap and pull the foil off from over the food.

All at once the smell hits so much stronger, rich and delicious, the smell of home cooking. Bucky's hungrier than he thought and wonders how long he's been up here, if he's lost track of time again but he can't brings himself to eat just yet. It's just sandwiches and onion rings, as Sam said, and Sam has no reason to put anything on his food but he has to make sure. "You made this alone?"

Since Bruce mentioned cooking their own meals being the only way to be sure Bucky's been extra vigilant about what he eats.

Then Sam says something to which Bucky can relate and he nods slowly, "For me, as well."

Sam sets the water bottles down, one on his left and one between him and Barnes, then gets to work on unwrapping the foil from his own plate.

At the question, though, he glances over at him. "Yeah, man, just me. I woudn't bring you something someone else'd made." Well. Not here, anyway. If they'd been back home, Sam might bring take out or something, but only if he'd had a really long day. There's not much point in trying to make sure someone gets a home cooked meal if it isn't home cooked.

"It's one of those things that you think'll go away eventually, but it never really does." He takes a bite of his sandwich, finishing it before he continues. "Of course, in a place like this, I guess it's a good thing."

It's enough from someone that Steve trusts for Bucky to pick up one of the onion rings between his fingers and examine it before taking a bite a few moments after Sam starts into his sandwich. It's good, still hot with the batter perfectly crispy and a moment later the rest of the onion ring is gone as well, which is a fair compliment to Sam's cooking skills.

"You're a soldier?" Bucky gives a nod of agreement. In this place it was too dangerous not to constantly keep watch, enemies were everywhere with eyes and ears wired into every building.

He doesn't watch Barnes eat, that'd just be weird. But he does grin a little when he hears the crunching of the onion ring, and dig into his own.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees. He might have gotten out, but he'll always be a soldier. And truth be told, going along with Steve, being here - he's pretty sure he's back in. "Pararescue."

Bucky considers, eating another onion ring as he does. Pararescue, that's impressive on its own. "The wings," the wings he destroyed, ripping one off with the power of the cybernetic arm, "you used them in that."

He turns his head towards Sam now, eyes quietly assessing as he gathers intelligence on the man next to him. "That's how you met Steve?"

Because Bucky doesn't actually know the story of how Sam and Steve met each other, how Sam Wilson came under Captain America's command. He hadn't been able to gather that information before being brought here, nor had he thought to ask Steve since then given everything else going on. The man with the wings had been out of mind until Sam had shown up in the Capitol himself.

"Mmm-hmm," Sam agrees with a nod, finishing the rest of his onion ring. "Me and my wingman, we were test pilots. Only ones who could use them worth a damn."

Which is understating it, in his opinion. Far be it for him not to be humble, but Sam knows exactly how good he is with those wings. Well. Was. It's beside the point now, anyway.

He takes a bite of his sandwich before he answers that question, though he shakes his head as he finishes chewing and swallowing. "Nah, I met him running at the National Mall. He made my workout look like recess in kindergarten and apparently felt the need to make sure I knew it."

Honestly, Sam's still not sure why Steve decided to talk to him - and mock the hell out of him - that day, but in retrospect, he's sure glad he did.

"You weren't assigned to his command?" Bucky asks.

He'd be both surprised and yet not if it was true. Even with his patchwork of memories and feelings Bucky knew that Steve had a knack for inspiring people to follow him, it was one of those things about Steve that he knew without really remembering. A grain of truth that couldn't be denied.

Bucky thinks this was even true when Steve was a child, maybe when he and Bucky Barnes had first met it was that which pulled Bucky into being his friend (sometimes he glimpses a skinny, tiny blonde haired boy, bruised and bloodied but determined). "He did?"

Sam shakes his head again, unscrewing the cap on one of the bottles of water and taking a drink. "Hell yeah, he did," he replies, but there's no malice there, and he just looks amused. "Lucky for him, I'm a sucker for a guy with a good sense of humor."

As frustrated as he'd been in the moment, by the time Steve'd circled back around to chat with him, Sam'd just found it funny.

"And no, I wasn't. When shit went bad, he showed up on my doorstep. Wasn't exactly the assist I thought I'd be trying to give, but, hey." He shrugs a little. "I knew I could help, so I did."

"He's a punk." Bucky said, picking up the sandwich now and biting into it, he still has to remember not to bolt the food down and pace himself. They liked him to eat quickly and efficiently so they could move on to the next task but now he can take his time and enjoy it, he can eat without thinking that someone will take it away from him. He's fairly sure it won't be taken away, anyway.

"I almost killed you." in fact he's not entirely sure how Sam survived after Bucky had kicked him off the side of helicarrier nor how Sam can sit beside him so easily now, offer him food and not be afraid that the Winter Soldier will lash out at him all over again.

He still doesn't remember that it was actually the second time he almost killed Sam.

There's definitely fondness in Sam's smile, as he shakes his head a little. "Good word for him."

And then Barnes says that, and Sam's real glad he hadn't actually been chewing anything at the moment. As it is, he still gives a quick huff of surprise, and he takes another swallow of water before he responds.

"Almost only counts in horseshoes, man." He purposefully leaves off the hand grenade part of that for two reasons: one, he's pretty sure there probably were some involved back there, and two, Sam's survived enough grenades going off around him that the second part doesn't really have any meaning for him anymore.

Sam turns slightly, so he can look at Barnes straight on. "You planning on trying to kill me now?"

He's pretty sure he isn't, after their talk in the training room, but he hadn't actually asked it last time, and he wants to hear Barnes's answer. Sam'd already made peace with trying to help a guy who'd tried to kill him, before he even came here, but that doesn't mean he's not well aware it's a choice that might seem a little odd.

It is a good word. It's a word that Bucky feels like he's said before, uncountable times in uncountable ways. He can't remember it but he knows it, it's a piece of the past.

"Horseshoes." he repeats blandly, shaking his minutely after. No, almost it might have been but almost it was with a full intention to see Sam dead. It doesn't matter that it was 'almost' in Bucky's thinking.

It's strange. The Soldier had (so far as he knew) a flawless track record up until that last mission, then not one but two targets had survived. Had something been wrong with him ever since the last wipe? Maybe, maybe not. There was no reason he wouldn't have considered the way he'd attempted to deal with Sam Wilson as anything but a certain death.

He should ask him how he survived later.

"No. That mission is no longer viable."

Sam kind of likes this guy, the one who sits next to him on the roof and lets him talk at him, who calls Steve a punk for making fun of his workout. Honestly, he's hoping he'll get to see more of him.

"It's a game," he replies, deliberately misinterpreting the reason behind the blandness. "It's been around forever, man. Just don't ask me to explain the rules, that about sums up my knowledge of it."

All he really cares about right now is the next bit, anyway.

"Good." Sam nods again, still not looking away from him. "Long as it stays that way, we're good."

He pauses to take another drink of water, shifting his gaze away. "If you think you're the first guy who ever tried to kill me and I didn't take it personal, you're gonna be disappointed. I've met a lot of soldiers when they weren't at their best, didn't know enemy from friend."

Of course, a soldier half delirious from blood loss or fever shooting at him, or a vet in the middle of a flashback trying to punch or stab him is a little different from the Winter Soldier smashing up his car and ripping off his goddamn wings. But whatever anger Sam'd had about that has run its course - he's pretty sure, anyway - and being pissed about it isn't going to do anymore good now than it would have the other times.

"I know it's a game." he says, sniffing a little at the deflection but not pursuing it, instead turning his interest to taking another bite of the sandwich in his hand before putting it back on the plate and picking up the bottle of water. Bucky unscrews the cap, takes a sniff at what's inside and upon not detecting any unusual chemical scents (not that it means anything when poisons and drugs are often odourless) takes a few swallows of water.

Nothing unusual in the taste either.

"Soldiers like me?" Bucky screws the lid back on the bottle when he asks this. He doesn't expect an affirmative, he does not believe there are other soldiers like him, the Winter Soldier had been a singular success and never recreated.

"Figured it was popular back in your day, when you guys got tired of pushing a hoop with a stick." It's probably not the best idea, to tease the guy who just reminded him that he almost killed him, even if it is gently teasing, but it comes out anyway.

It's not the first time he's been asked a question like that, soldiers who've been through a lot and can't - or don't want to - believe there might be anyone else out there like them. They're usually right, technically speaking, everyone's experiences are different. Sam's got a whole bunch of answers to that question, practiced ones meant to let the person know that not every soldier is the same, but it doesn't mean they're alone.

He doesn't say any of them. He's not here to be Barnes's counselor; he'd rather be his friend. And yeah, he's well aware the lines are blurred a little here, and they're probably going to blur a lot more than he'd let them back home, but there it is.

Besides, Barnes is probably perfectly aware that Sam's never run into someone like the Winter Soldier.

"Of course not, not the way you mean." He gives a one shouldered shrug. "Doesn't mean I don't see the similarities, with them and you. With you and me."

All the reaction Sam gets from Bucky for that is an unimpressed look. He doesn't know what Sam is referring to but he's aware enough to know when he's being teased about something, though he doesn't say anything about it because he doesn't want to give away that he has no clue what kind of game involves pushing a hoop with a stick.

Well, Sam could probably guess that anyway.

Bucky turns his head back down to his plate, toying with an onion ring between metal fingers. He doesn't know how to feel about that statement. "Did they get better?"

Can I get better? is hidden, more blatantly than Bucky would like, in that statement. He's not very good at subtlety.

He can see that unimpressed face out of the corner of his eye, but it doesn't phase him. One day, man, he'll get a smile.

The hidden question in that is definitely loud and clear. Sam remembers asking the same question, phrased a little different - does it get better - but with the same one hidden, and yeah, see, it's similarities like that that get him.

"Yeah. They got better, they're getting better." He turns again, so he can look at Barnes full-on. "Not going to lie to you, man, it isn't easy, and it isn't quick. Sometimes you slip, sometimes you sit there going 'I'm supposed to be done with this, it's supposed to be behind me.'" Sam stops there, before he gets really started on anything remotely like a spiel. "But you get better, little bit at a time."

Sam better be in it for the long haul, then. It took enough time for Steve of all people to coax a smile out of Bucky. They come a little easier than they once did, for sure, but only in the presence of people he'd come to have some measure of trust in and that's a number still very much in the single digits. It's not that he doesn't want to smile, it's finding a strong enough reason to.

He finishes playing with the onion ring in favour of eating it, the crunch of the batter between his teeth and burst of flavour across his tongue a welcome focus as Sam talks to him. The man speaks from experience, he can tell that much. He also notes the switch from talking about 'they' to 'me' to 'you', leaving no doubt that Sam's attempting to reassure Bucky as to his own progress.

In retrospect his question was obvious.

"Maybe." he can't quite believe it still, even with the slow crawl of improvement he's had since coming here. Progress arguable hindered by what the Capitol forces him to do.

Sam's not going anywhere. Well. He's not planning on it, anyway, but he guesses in a place like this, that's even less of a guarantee than he'd be able to give back home. But as far as he's concerned, he's in this for good. Kind of like joining up with Steve, he guesses. It hadn't been anything he'd planned on and he still doesn't know exactly what he's doing, but he can't imagine deciding any different.

His lips quirk upwards in a hint of a smile. "That's better than you laughing at me or chucking one of those onion rings at me to get me to shut up, man, I can work with maybe."

He pops another onion ring in his mouth, pausing to finish eating it before he turns more serious again. "I know there's not a lot of reasons for you to trust me; I'm not expecting you to. But I'd like to try to earn it."

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind." he says, looking at his onion rings with a whole new perspective. They wouldn't be very effective ammunition but the results might be amusing.

Sam seems bound and determined to do it no matter what Bucky says, he wonders if telling him not to do so would even work. Maybe nothing short of actually attempting to kill him again would do so, which, as Bucky stated earlier, he has no intention of doing. "I can't stop you from trying."

He can't find it in himself to be entirely opposed either if part of that attempt involves getting food as good as this.

His smile grows a little. "Kind of is now though, huh?"

It's completely possible that Sam just set himself up for some kind of food getting chucked at him in the future, but he can't bring himself to be at all upset about it.

He takes a moment to think about his response to that. He should say that of course Barnes can, that Sam's going to strongly suggest things, but Barnes can stop him any time he wants. Thing is, though, Sam knows he's not going to stick to that. "Probably not," he admits. "I'm probably going to ask you if something's okay so many times you're going to get annoyed as hell with me, and I'm gonna try not to do anything that's really not okay with you, but I'm not going to stop trying."

Might as well be honest here.

"Yes." he doesn't smile but glances away briefly, as if hiding his amusement.

Something about an apple and a window. That seems relevant to the topic.

"You sound like Steve." it's a very apt comparison.

"Good," Sam replies, sounding satisfied. It's not a smile, but hell, he'll take it.

He raises one eyebrow at that, amused. "You mean the guy you called a punk like ten minutes ago, that's who I sound like?" He sounds the opposite of offended, though. "I'm taking that as a good thing, so thank you."

"He doesn't give up either." Even when he should, even when it would be better for him to do so. "He never did."

Bucky keeps his gaze on the gleaming city that stretches beyond the rooftop. "I know that... but I can't remember how."

"Now that is something we have in common."

Except when he'd let go of his wings. But that hadn't been giving up so much as needing some time, to get his head back on straight.

"Just a feeling, without the memories that go with it?" Sam pauses for a moment, considering, then asks, "Do you want to get those back? To remember everything?"

"I... don't like it. I don't like not knowing how I know things."

It's not just about Steve, really. There's so much more he can't explain. It's memory and all the information that HYDRA forced into his head when they made him their killing machine. Bucky can't say for sure what he knows or how he knows it, it makes him afraid of what lurks inside his own mind, waiting for a trigger to bring it to the surface.

He keeps looking forwards. "I want to remember the man I was before."

The one who was Steve Rogers friend, the one who was called a hero. The other memories, the ones of the things HYDRA did to him and made him do, he's not so sure about those.

"It's not a comfortable feeling, yeah."

Memory wiping and brain washed based amnesia is probably pretty different from the trauma based memory loss Sam's used to dealing with. But it still reminds him of the soldiers he's had sitting down in his office, going "everyone's telling me there was a kid there, but I don't remember her, I don't," or "how am I supposed to deal with them calling me a hero if I can't remember half of what they say I did," or Sam himself, thinking if he could just figure out why the smell of lilac made him want to throw up, he wouldn't be so pissed off about it.

He shreds the batter off one of his onion rings as he thinks about that, eating the onion plain and then snacking on a few of the batter pieces.

"You don't get the good memories without the not so good. I don't think that's going to be something that's different with you." Sam glances over at him. "You found anything that helps? With getting the memories back, or handling the bad ones?"

When Sam eats Bucky does too, as if belatedly remembering the food is there to be eaten. He shoves pieces into his mouth, chewing methodically and swallowing. Now they've cooled down some the onion rings are less pleasant to consume but still good fare. He wouldn't leave anything on his plate even if they weren't.

He almost says 'Steve' but that's not quite true. Steve helps in his own way because Steve lived alongside Bucky Barnes for so many years, Steve can tell him things and sometimes Bucky can add in the details. Sometimes Steve does something, speaks or word or moves in a certain way that sparks something inside him but mostly it's emptiness inside. "I can't predict them."

Coping with the bad ones however, "I have a tribble. It helps." he wipes his mouth with his hand. "Occupation helps."

"Don't think anyone can, really. I've heard being around familiar things helps, having people tell you stories about it, but I'm guessing you already got that." Barnes may not have mentioned Steve, but Sam's thinking of him, anyway. With how determined Steve'd been that he'd know him, Sam figures there's no way the guy isn't going to do everything he can.

He can't help but smile a little a the tribble thing, though. "Good for you, man."

The next part's a little easier, because it's pretty much Sam's specialty - but it's also harder, since he's not sure how much Barnes will be willing to let him help. How much it can help, considering where they are, and the pretty unique circumstances they're dealing with. Hell, even how much he should help, given that he keeps telling himself he's not looking to be Barnes's counselor.

But he suggests it anyway. "I know some stuff; grounding techniques, things to keep you in the moment instead of getting caught up in the memories, that kind of thing. Some stuff that's worked for me, some for others. Might help, if you're willing to try."

"Steve tries."

The plate is empty and Bucky sets it to the side, drawing his long legs up to his chest now. He shrugs uncertainly and thinks of the tribble with its softness and calming sounds, how such a small thing can help so much he doesn't know but it does all the same.

That doesn't mean he's not looking for more ways to keep himself where he needs to be, though. Not if it means he can stay alert and present without losing time the way he has before, lost inside his own head.

Sam's offer gets a cautious look, a slow nod before he speaks. "What... how do they work?"

“I figured. You got Steve in your corner, you’re solid.”

He smiles at Barnes’s nod, taking it as a good sign. Sam’s had been who scoffed at even the suggestion, so at least he’s willing to listen to what they are.

“It’s exercises, really. Stuff you practice when you’re doing okay, so when you need it, it’s already habit. The thing that helped me the most was focusing on my senses - what am I hearing right now, what can I smell, what can I touch, taste, what am I seeing - I’d just start listing off the furniture in the room, the colors, describing how the wall I was touching felt. Back when things were worse for me, I’d put on music to give me something to listen to, disrupt my thoughts. Carry around a tube of toothpaste or vanilla extract, sometimes a lemon, that’d cover scent and taste and it sure as hell gave me something to focus on describing. Keep a stress ball in my pocket.”

Sam pauses to take a swallow of water, screwing the cap back on the bottle and setting it aside.

“There’s others - deep breathing, muscle relaxation, listing off names of animals or reciting the alphabet, counting numbers, it’s all about what works best for you. You can try 'em out until you find what fits.”

Bucky has always been an apt pupil, right from childhood. His wall in the Smithsonian museum says so. He listens and takes into account all the information Sam provides for him,

"I can do that. Practice." he does have a lot of time on his hands when the arena isn't running, which is something he dislikes or is perhaps just taking a lot of time to get used to. His life was once so rigidly structured with every hour free of the ice filled with some task or engagement by his handlers, now no one gives him directives and it is largely left up to him to fill the many hours of the day.

He doesn't like to admit to weakness, not when he is meant to be a Soldier, a weapon better than -- no, that's what he used to be. Now he is something else. Still, the point remains, he has a problem which is causing him weakness and it needs to be solved. Sam is the one offering solutions.

"Understood. I will consider them." he looks uncomfortable about the fact but willing. If it can ease those dark circles under his eyes than all the better.

Edited 2014-12-10 21:20 (UTC)

“Then you’re already ahead of a lot of people I know.” Honestly, getting people to practice those kind of skills regularly was one of the most difficult things about trying to get them to stick.

Sam nods when Barnes says he’ll consider them, neatly stacking their empty plates and garbage together. “It can help, especially at first, if you practice them with someone. I’m gonna have to explain some of them more in depth to you anyways, when you get to wanting to try them out, so. Doesn’t have to be much, just as often as you’re comfortable with, but I could use the practice, too.”

Discipline is one thing Bucky doesn't lack, considered how harshly it had been drilled into him by HYDRA. If they gave him something to learn he must learn it and even without the threat of punishment hanging over his head the compulsion to take any new skill to an expert level in a minimum time frame isn't going away.

He watches Sam gather up the plates, taking it as a signal the meeting was over. "You want to practice them with you?"

It makes sense with Sam being the one suggesting them and the one holding the knowledge. "When?"

There's a slight smile at that question, and he gives a little shrug. “Whenever you want. We can set days and times if you want, or you can just drop by whenever you feel like you’re good to practice. Or whenever you feel like you need to. It’s up to you.”

He could just go ahead and name some days, yeah, but he wants Barnes to be in control of this. That, and that's what he would have done if this was a session, and it isn't. It's just a guy trying to be a friend.

Surprise flickers noticeably across Bucky's face when Sam says the decision of when is up to him, he was clearly expecting to be dictated to and ready to accept that. But no, he has the choice and he has to face up to making it.

It's best not to overthink it, the more he does the more he'll get tangled up in all the numerous options he has. "Can we start tomorrow?"

Better too to get things over with quickly.

That surprise definitely tells Sam that he’d made the right decision there. It’s not like he wants to completely throw Barnes off into the deep end of having to make all of the choices for himself, but between Hydra and now the Capitol, he’s kind of assuming Barnes doesn’t get a lot of them.

“Tomorrow’s great, man. My place or yours?” He pauses, then adds, “Or we could go with the roof again.”

He weighs the options.

His District, barely known, only returned to for clothing or when he was ordered to by the Capitol presence in the tower.

Sam's District, largely unknown to him even if he knew by study which other Tributes resided there.

The roof he dismisses outright as too public to engage in. His most familiar space is Steve's room but that doesn't seem right either, so after deliberation he returns to the first option he examined. "District 1."

Bucky stands up from his spot as he says it, rolling his metal shoulder to ease some of the stiffness in it.

For a very brief moment, Sam entertains the idea of holding out his hand, to get Barnes to help him up. But he doesn't want to be the one to make this awkward, and honestly, he's not sure they're there yet, so he pushes himself up, dusting off his jeans.

"Tomorrow in District 1 it is. I'll bring the snacks," he says with a smile. "Thanks for eating lunch with me, man."

Bucky nods and after a moments pushes his mismatched hands into the pockets of his jacket and turns to walk away, heading for the elevator at the other end of the garden.

The lunch had been good and left him with more to think about than he would have expected. At least he has plenty of time to prepare himself for meeting with Sam again tomorrow.