thecapitol | just need a place to breathe

Entry tags:

just need a place to breathe

Who| Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson and the Initiate, Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff
What| Using blind spots to talk about emotional issues. And some District 13 stuff, that too
Where| Various spots in the Capitol
When| After Panem Nightly
Warnings/Notes| Probably discussion of PTSD, violence and death

((prompts for people in the comments!))

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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."

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."

Sam hadn't given any explanations about his nightmare back in the arena, hadn't even asked how much Initiate had seen. He hadn't wanted to do it while he was serving as messed up entertainment for thousands of people, and he still didn't want to do it now that they were back in the Capitol. Not with the chance that the Capitol was listening in.

It didn't matter, that it probably wasn't anything that the Capitol would care about. Sam cared, about them knowing any of it. Especially about him admitting it where they could hear. It wasn't entirely enough to make him risk trying to get Initiate to a blind spot, not on its own - but after he catches that latest addition of Panem Nightly, he realizes that there's something else he does need to tell him about.

So he claims restlessness at being stuck in the tower, asks Initiate to come out into the city with him, maybe grab a bite to eat.

It's not until they're tucked away at a corner table at the restaurant that Sam rubs a hand over the back of his neck, leans forward a little and asks quietly, "I've been told this is a Capitol blind spot, you happen to know if that's true?"

It'd been pretty easy thinking of an excuse to get Steve and Bucky to go into the Capitol with him, but Natasha's a little bit harder. Especially when he'd already used the lack of excuse of boredom with Initiate, and doesn't really want to do it again so soon.

So he'd showed up at her door with a flower in hand - because why the hell not, after the arena, she deserves one.

"I was going to get you a whole bouquet," he'd commented when she'd answered. "But I bought this one because it looked pretty and the florist scolded me because I guess it represents danger, so I thought I'd just take you along and let you pick it out yourself. Apparently I'm incompetent at choosing flowers."

On the way to the flower shop is the art museum, though, and come on, he hasn't gone there yet and they're already here, they might as well, right? ...okay look, he's trying here at this whole covert thing, but mostly he's just figuring she already knows there's a blind spot under an out of the way archway in the museum and hoping she'll play along.

It had been without qualm as he agreed. Sam was a friend, and he could hardly say no to a walk out of the building or option of food. He keeps the growning knowing up inside, right up until Sam asks his quiet query.

He smiles, and it's just the same as he gives in his brighter moments, but the rest of him has changed. Without his even trying, his shoulders are straight and back, chin lifted just slightly, face ever more firm. It's all the difference of a motherfucker getting slouch like he has too much limb to know what to do with, to one what's all claws and fangs and sharp edges, knowing exactly what to do and still more.

He's let Sam see much of his broken bits, as where he's not but pieces, but still inside are enough pieces to mold and reflect that of the skilled war leader at of the past. And a blindspot generally gets at meaning motherfucking business.

"I DO," He says. The fluctuations are, as ever, a detriment in a place like this. But he'll manage fine. He's lived long enough to know when and how to make balance of such private speech to something innocuous. And at worst, he can wave over someone with pen and paper as what he can borrow. "All of motherfucking knowing am I. AND SO BE ASSUMPTION. We ain't passing no mere palaver. HIT ME. Tell me what you got for, brother."

"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.

There’s a reason that Sam trusts Initiate, that he respects the hell out of him, and that right there is part of it. You can’t fake that, and Sam responds instinctively, back straightening and shoulders squaring, ready to weather whatever the hell comes at them. Hopefully no one who can read body language well is paying too much attention to them, because Sam’s not spy enough to realize that they no longer really look anything like two friends having lunch.

It might as well be a war table.

"It's only half business," he warns. "It's also a little bit personal, some stuff I don't want them hearing. Shit that's just mine, you know?" Well, his and the people he talks to about it, but he chooses who those people are. Anyone from the Capitol isn't one of them.

But business first. "When the arena ended, the night they're saying those two Tributes were murdered, I ran into a guy from District 13. He said he was on a mission, that they were retrieving.”

“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.

He nods along as all it makes perfect sense. He's long since gotten used to his business being everybody's but he can understand the desire. He sure as shit looks forward to the day he can get being near his quadrants without Capitol knowing fuck all about it. He still revelled in the memory of their week long escape, when he, Terezi, Signless, and Disciple ran for the fucking hills.

He'll adjust to the personal laterways. Being both is a thing what he can do, but not up at the same time.

Especially when the business is being as vital and startling as that. "BEEN HERE NEAR A SWEEP. They ain't never made motherfucking move as like that before as I'm knowing. DID THEY TELL? Retrieving what sorts?" Of course, he's grateful for this information. It ain't so easy to express at this time as he's being, but he is. Every bit counted. Every bit got one step further. He was a motherfucking highblood if he couldn't play the long game, no one could.

"THIS CAN BE EITHER WHICH WAY. Good is that the time for making moves is nearing. BAD, WELL. Let's be praying this ain't no move desperate. FROM MY MAINS HERE. My motherfucking capitol based homies. AIN'T NOTHING GONE TO PUT SUCH FIRES SET."

"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's pretty good at switching back and forth between personal and business, mostly because lately, all of his business has been pretty personal. But for now, he can do just business.

"Tributes. I think. He said they could only take one or two of us at a time, and if they were caught, they couldn't save any more of us." He gives a little, wry smile. "Asked me not to tell anyone who couldn't have that kind of information, so right now it's just you, Steve, and Natasha."

He pauses a little, considering that last bit. "He seemed... stressed. But not more than a soldier on a mission that could go bad, real quick. He didn't seem desperate. And he told me some of the reasons we got for not trusting District 13 are valid, so."

Edited 2015-01-23 22:47 (UTC)

"Then they're preparing at last," He hums, half to himself. If it wasn't just Tributes, it didn't take away the matter of them being taken. It would've been made a scene if they was just distracting at from whatever else. The recruiting is all about to begin

"MOTHERFUCKER'S BEING RIGHT," He says. "Not all just for trusts and what be undone. NOT ALL JUST FOR THE BETRAYING. If we get motherfuckers here getting hope up to high for those what are left for dead as thinking they're there, it'll be no good at for us or anybody." All while he says it, he wonders if others might be there, brothers and sisters what've been long fucking lost. They won't be. He knows that right now.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING KNOW? Was almost hoping as this brother was being not but paranoid. GETTING MEMORY UP AND ON OF OLD STRIFE. Old bias." He sighs and shakes his head. "BUT WE GOT PREPARATION AT FOR THIS. Ain't as if all we could afford no relaxing up in motherfucking war anyway. AT THE VERY LEAST WE GOT AT FOR ONE THING. They think as they can use us for being soldiers." They'll keep us longer.

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.

“Seems that way to me. Didn’t have a number to give me, though I think I might’ve gotten it outta him if he did, but he said they’d be back. Not the last we’ll hear from them.” Sam’d wanted more, than the brief time he got talking to Barnes, but he got why they’d had to do it quick and dirty. They didn’t have time to go to a blindspot, and you never knew who was listening in.

“Yeah. False hope never did anyone any good.” Hope is a damn good thing, and its absence is pretty much catastrophic, but Sam’d spent a while learning the difference between the hope that everyone needed and the hope that was just another form of denial.

They think as they can use us for being soldiers. Sam scrubs a hand over his face at that, for a moment, looking just as tired and resigned as he felt. Another war that none of them had any choice in being in, another government - or wannabe government - who only cared about what you could do for them, who only saw them as soldiers for their cause.

And it was still their best shot at going home, or at least at getting the arenas to stop.

“They’re our best shot and we’re theirs, though I doubt the ones in charge there will be all that keen on letting any of us know that they need us. You got any idea, what the situation’s like down in District 13?”

It’d been one of the things he’d wanted to ask Barnes, but hadn’t had time.

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 sighs and shakes his head. "Nothing as what ain't inference, being sorry at to say. ALL THINGS AS WHAT GONE AND BEEN TOLD. Their holding weapon as all to keep Capitol at stalemate. THEIR NEEDING ALL TO HIDE MEANING THEM STILL A SORTS OF WEAK. Been told beforeways as they got allegiance to the Districts but..."

Considering all they knew of the rebels, all he knew of rebels as a whole, he wasn't so sure. Certainly many, in the sense of having a mutual enemy. But any what so much as breathed Capitol air...

"I MET A MOTHERFUCKING CULTIST," He says, going off into regale of story old. "A follower of the Signless back when all I was a subjugglator still. THREE THERE HAD BEEN BUT THIS ONE STOOD OUT FOR THEY HAD NO SIGN, NO COLOR. And when they motherfucking spoke, I could hear it on their voice. THEY SOUNDED..." Like me. "...FAMILIAR. And so I bled the motherfucker. JUST THE SMALLEST SPILL OF BLOOD. Just the fuck enough as everyone and all could see. MY TROOPS. The other two cultists. THEY HADN'T KNOWN THEY WERE HOSTING A HIGHBLOOD. Not a motherfucking indigo. AS LIKE WE THE SUBJUGGLATORS WERE TO BE. They reviled and feared the troll. WERE THEIR TIMES NOT ALREADY UP, GOT SUSPICION AT TO ME THE TWO WOULD HAVE MOTHERFUCKING CULLED THAT SORRY SACK."

He realises, in retrospect, the troll had to have been young to have grey, uncolored, eyes still. But then, so was he when he when he bore fear into their pans, and rent them to pieces inside and out. So was he when he had his troops set that hive cluster alight.

"Got some here what all don't exactly wave the fighting flag. WHAT ALL MAKE TO SAVE THEMSELVES AND THEIR OWN. Or otherwise bear the Capitol's mark in whatever motherfucking way. I DO NOT KNOW IF THEY WILL BE SAMELIKE. But they could be. AND WE OUGHT BE OF MIND. They may not save those what sing the city's praises, regardless of stance." Which may be a thing many rebels get agreeance with even here. But he knew people. People what were helping from this side. And for love of Messiahs, he just did make allegory of Capitol rebels to Highblood rebels. As he was.

"THEY'RE STAYING HIDDEN," He continues. "If they ain't motherfucking restrictive, they're careless. BETTING ONE MORE ALL THAN THE OTHER. They have means of contact at to us what they fear in using. THEY WANT AT FOR US TO SPEAK. But doing so has seen the end of District three and many others." And that was not an option he wanted to lay down just yet.

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.

"Maybe." he glances down at the dirty alley ground. Much of the Capitol is kept conspicuously clean, coming somewhere that actually looks less than pristine is a good change. Bucky speaks with bitterness seeping into his voice, "I don't think I'll be able to find out the truth."

The question... the question is something he hasn't thought of in-depth before. The memory plays out like a movie with Bucky along for the ride, helpless to do anything but watch his past torture over and over again.

He swallows before admitting, "I was... angry. Scared. I didn't want it."

Sam grabs a roll, ripping it in half and spreading butter over it while he listens.

“They don’t trust anyone who might have Capitol ties, whether or not they’re willing to cut them. It’s paranoia, mostly justified and probably served them well in the past, but still paranoia.”

And it makes things difficult, when it comes to thinking of District 13 as allies. When it comes to knowing that they’re going to look out for themselves first, that they’re only going to see the Tributes for what they can do for District 13. That they won’t hesitate over anyone who might be the barest hint of a threat.

He thinks of the Tributes he’s come to see as friends, nearly all of them with rebel leanings but still trying to hide them in the Capitol, thinks of other ones he likes but doesn’t know well enough, thinks of Porrim and Azula and Jolie, and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“I thought about it, you know. Singing the Capitol’s praises, trying to make them think I’d be the last person to rebel. But I’m not a spy, I couldn’t pull it off. The best I can do is try to look neutral, while doing stuff like this.” He makes a gesture at the table. “Gonna go ahead and state it right now, while I can be blunt - the only side I’m on is ours. And the only lead I’m gonna follow is Steve’s, and yours.”

There are others - he’d follow Natasha, and Jet and Albert, and most of the rest of his friends under certain circumstances, but Steve gets an absolute blanket statement. And, as far as the rebellion is concerned, so does Initiate.

“No, probably not,” he admits reluctantly. Rumlow sure as hell isn’t going to tell them the truth, and even if Sam doesn’t believe that the wipes were the only thing keeping Bucky sane, he doesn’t have anything more to go on than instinct.

He’s quiet as he watches Bucky, waiting for him to come out of the memory and answer the question before he does anything. Then Sam shoves a hand into his pocket, pulls out the closest he’d been able to find to the Capitol version of a stress ball. It’s rainbow colored and sparkles, but it seems tough enough that it should be able to withstand a lot of pressure, and he offers it to Bucky.

“If you need to take a step back, if something I ask you isn’t somewhere you’re ready to go, you let me know, okay? If you start getting caught up in things and I need to do something to remind you that you’re here with me, I can. Don’t feel like you need to get everything out all at once, ‘cause we can do this again.”

He waits again, for a long moment, then says, “You didn’t want it, you didn’t want any of it?” He knows Bucky didn’t, but he asks anyway.

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.

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just need a place to breathe

For Steve

For Bucky

For Initiate

For Natasha

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Re: For Steve