thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who| Sam Wilson and MCU!Bucky Barnes
What| Baby steps towards that friendship thing. With onion rings.
Where| Up on the roof
When| Early afternoon
Warnings/Notes| discussion of PTSD

Sam's not usually the kind of guy that pushes. When he leaves an opening, makes an offer, he leaves it at that, and waits for the other person to either take it or not. The majority of the time, he figures it's up to them.

But there's always exceptions. Sometimes, Sam thinks some people need a little push, and sometimes - well, sometimes things get personal. He always pushes a little more when it's personal.

Barnes is personal. For a number of reasons, but none of those are the point. The point, is that since Barnes isn't making good on Sam's offer to stop by for lunch, Sam's going to bring the lunch to him. He did warn him that he'd be coming to ask him about going out sometime, after all.

So he loads up a few plates with sandwiches and homemade onion rings, covers them with foil and stacks them on top of each other, balancing them along with a couple of bottles of water, and then goes off searching. He stops by District 1 first, just in case, but isn't surprised not to find him there. Next is the Training Center, and when that fails, up to the roof.

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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.

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