thecapitol | just need a place to breathe

Frankly, Steve is the easiest one to get alone out in the Capitol, without looking any more suspicious than usual. It's not the first time they'd gone running together, and they're both early risers - especially lately - so really, all Sam has to do is wait for them to reach the park the next time they go out for a very early morning run.

And maybe push himself a little bit more than he usually does, but that's not like it's unusual, either. He knows he's never going to keep up with Steve in flat out running, but that hasn't stopped him from pushing himself in the past. Sam's clearly out of breath as they come up to a park bench, and he slows, dropping down onto it.

"Capitol blind spot," he tells Steve with a smile, in between catching his breath and wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "You're walking around with the weight of a couple of worlds on your shoulders, man, and this lack of sleep thing is going to bite us both in the ass. I think we're way past due for a few conversations without anyone listening in."

Slowed to a stop, Steve moves to stand by the bench, hands on his hips as he stands there looking at Sam. He's not even surprised in the least that Sam lead him out here, really, he's almost surprised it didn't happen sooner, but time hasn't always been their friend. He gives the man a smile as he takes a glance around to make sure they are really alone. Blind spots only work if their's also no one nearby.

He makes an almost amused sound, but it's a little strained. And breathy, but running winds him a little now, a light sheen of sweat - that wouldn't have been there before - decorates his brow. His cells don't renew as they used to, makes it so he actually gets tired now. Even if it still takes a lot to happen. A reminder of how much of a grip the Capitol has on them. It aches.

"Yeah," he looks down with a self deprecating smile that's almost more of grimace. Part of him was so sure he was hiding it better than that. Though, maybe that was the tell. "Does seem about time, doesn't it?" His voice isn't reluctant, but there's a reserved nature to it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees, raising his eyebrows and looking steadily at Steve. It doesn't matter how good Steve's hiding it, man, Sam still knows. He'd known Steve wasn't completely okay pretty much the first time he'd met him - and somehow, he has the feeling that being here hasn't helped a whole lot. But he also remembers just how quick Steve can shut down, and how reluctant he is to open up at all.

Sam doesn't have a problem going first. Besides, this isn't just about Steve - Sam needs this, too, and Steve is one of the people that Sam trusts most, with this part of himself.

"Thanks," he says softly. "For letting me stay with you and Bucky. I needed that." It'd been the best sleep he'd gotten since coming back from the arena, pretty much. "I thought I was past my days of nightmares every night, shows what I know."

This isn't exactly what Sam'd had in mind, when he warned Bucky that he'd be asking him to come out into the city with him. But it's a really good reason to get the two of them out in the Capitol together, and a fantastic excuse for why they'd just be kind of scouting around, without any definite purpose for being in the city.

Eventually they end up in a back alley, one of the blind spots that Venus'd told him about. Sam yanks open the side door to one of the clubs nearby, nudging some debris from the alley to prop it open just an inch or so, so if anyone comes back here, he can claim they were just taking a breather.

"It's a Capitol blind spot," he explains, leaning against the wall of the alley. "Best I could come up with, to give you a place to talk. Like I said before, it doesn't have to be to me. But I thought there might be some stuff you wanted to say, about this place, about Hydra. If there is, I'd want to hear it."

"Are you sure?"

Bucky is moving as soon as Sam tells him that, pacing up and down the space. His eyes dart to every nook and cranny, searching for any sign of hidden cameras or microphones in the area the way he was trained to. The Capitol technology might be vastly superior to the surveillance technology Bucky was familiar with dealing with and he'd never been able to detect a camera in the arena but he still had to try.

The idea that there were places where their eyes and ears did not reach is hard to believe, even though he's come to have a measure of trust in Sam. He wants to be certain they are safe before he contemplates saying anything that could get either of them punished.

His efforts reveal nothing though, so he paces back towards Sam.

“Yeah,” he replies, watching Bucky do his search. Sam trusts Venus; she wouldn’t have told him it was good if it wasn’t. He waits until Bucky’s done searching to continue, though.

“This isn’t the only one. Some people’ve been using them for a while now, for things they’d get in trouble for or they don’t want the Capitol to know. Figured we might as well use ‘em, too. Our shit is ours, you know? We should decide who gets to hear it, and it’s not people who’d use it against us.”

He knows - or at least he’s assuming - that the people who’re using these blind spots are probably using them to discuss rebellion stuff, but Sam doesn’t care. This matters, just as much.

"It appears secure." Bucky reports, before shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at Sam.

He sniffs because of the cold air and huddles down in his jacket as he sinks into the reality of why Sam has brought him here. So he can talk, so he can talk without being overheard. Bucky looks down at the ground, trying to think of all the things that have been locked in his head for months, ever since he was allowed to start remembering them. All the things he's seen, experienced and recalled since escaping HYDRA.

"You really want to hear me talk?" he hesitates.

Sam hooks his thumbs through the beltloops of his jeans, settling himself more comfortably against the wall. Settling in to listen, as much as Bucky want him to.

"I really do," he says, quiet but firm. Even more now than when he'd first offered, though he meant it plenty back then. "You need somewhere to start, or you want me just to be quiet and listen, I can do either. But whatever you want to tell me, man, I want to hear it."

His mouth opens, closes.

There's so many things lodged inside his head and now in his throat. It feels like they're caught on the ghosts of old orders, demands to keep silent because he was a weapon and weapons didn't get to have thoughts or feeling and they certainly didn't have the right to voice them.

It's his minds attempt at self-preservation, Bucky thinks and wonders if in the past they'd tried to trick him into talking, searching for any last traces of humanity that they could eradicate in their Soldier. This spurs the tight ball of anger that had reared its head over Rumlow back into being but the words stay locked in his throat.

"Ask me something." he says finally, aware that time is ticking by on every moment he dallies.

A question could be something like an order and orders he's good at following. Something has to give, even if he needs a push to make it happen.

Usually, Sam can roll with the punches, can just about always figure out something to say or do. But when Bucky tells him to ask him something, even though Sam'd just offered to give him a place to start - well. It's been a long time since Sam's frozen this bad.

He doesn't know what to ask him. There's a lot he could think of, but he doesn't know which one of them to go with. Sam doesn't want this to be about what he wants to know about Bucky - because honestly, the answer's everything. He wants this to be about what Bucky's willing to talk about, and everything that flashes through his mind might be somewhere that Bucky isn't willing to go yet.

This is what he gets, for blurring the lines.

But Sam doesn't make offers that he isn't prepared to follow through on, and after a moment, he goes with what they'd been talking about when Sam first thought of bringing Bucky to a blindspot. The first thing he saw Bucky show real anger over, that's got to be as good a place as any.

"Rumlow," he says. "What'd you two talk about, what'd that bring up for you?"

It's a good question to open with in terms of getting an actual emotional response out of Bucky, a good one to open the floodgates as the saying went. His eyes darken immediately, fill with anger mixed in with uncertainly and perhaps a touch of fear as he thinks back to that conversation. It was far less satisfying encounter than the one they'd had in the arena.

"He told me the wipes were for my own good and they were the only thing keeping me stable" he says, slowly, grinding the words out. "He said without them I'll... become psychotic, or a vegetable." his hands are curling to fists. "The first time I went functional I almost killed a doctor."

The thing he's afraid of is that Rumlow is right and it's only the Capitol resets that are keeping him together. "I can remember doing that."

There they go, that was definitely a good start. The fear and uncertainty aren't nearly as good to see as the anger, but given what they're talking about, it’s not unexpected. Sam leans back a little, preparing to settle in and listen.

Right up until he hears what Rumlow actually said.

Anger simmers under Sam's skin, and he twists his fingers into the fabric of his coat, clenching it hard. "Rumlow’s full of shit," he says flatly. "Brains heal, shit, with your healing wiping was probably the only way they could stop you from getting better. You might not remember everything, but you're not gonna be a vegetable. And if he was talking about you not being able to handle what you do remember, he's still full of shit."

He exhales, reminds himself again that this is supposed to be about Bucky talking, and shakes his hands loose, pulling on his coat to straighten it. "Sorry," he murmurs. "You remember attacking a doctor?"

Bucky stares at the show of anger, before clenching his jaw and looking aside. "I don't remember, he could know more about me than I do. He's HYDRA." the one's who'd modified, tortured and enslaved him for several decades. "I don't know how many times I could have worked with him."

Rumlow wasn't a handler, he knows that and is immensely grateful for it. A handler would be far more trouble to deal with than a simple commander.

The topic of Bucky's brain healing is one he's had a rather horrible realisation about lately, one that will probably come up here soon but for now is put on the back burner in favour of answering the question.

"After..." he has to think, "I think it was after they put the arm on." that metal fist tightens as he speaks. "I woke up, there was doctor leaning over me, I tried to choke him." The memory is hazy, with a dreamlike quality about it. He'd been drugged, probably, or it's just his mind making it that way.

He winces a little, when Bucky stares at him. "He's Hydra," he agrees. "He wouldn't know a damn thing about recovery if it bit him in the ass."

There's more he wants to say to that, so damn much more, but he needs to do a better job remembering that this is about Bucky talking. Bucky didn't ask for Sam to try to reassure him or get angry about any of that, and just because Sam doesn't want to treat this too much like one of his sessions back home doesn't mean he can forget that.

"Why'd you try to choke him?" Sam can guess, the answer's probably obvious, but he wants to get Bucky talking. To see if Bucky can put it into words, see what his perceptions of his actions, of what'd happened to him then, are.

For Steve

Re: For Steve

no subject

For Bucky

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

For Initiate

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

For Natasha