[for Jessica]

[onlyapassenger]

The ITF's job was -- and remains -- to keep tabs on everyone who entered Rapture, the underground hellhole of a city that showed up on the island as suddenly and inexplicably as any of the people who walk its shores. The primary mission, poorly defined but executed to the best of our ability, was, by most accounts, an unmitigated failure... Well,

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[notaparker]

I was only in that clinic bed for ten days, you'd think I wouldn't be so rusty. But then, that's as much to do with the fact that, in the absence of the ol' Rapture superheroin, I'm back at baseline human. A little under, in fact, what with the still-healing lung.

Which, frankly, isn't good enough. We've established, in the wake of that disaster, that I have to do better. I have to be better, and I have to be better prepared. Unfortunately, there's a limit on how well I can achieve that, given I'm keeping a secret identity under wraps. No public combat training. Runs, swimming, I can allow those, that's just a nerd who likes to keep fit.

Running an obstacle course with an emphasis on flips, swings, and moves that would end with my foot in someone's face, those are a little fishier.

So I come out to the obstacle course here at times when usually there's no one about, and if it's deserted, I do this...

...except this time, an arm cramps mid-swing and it's less foot to the face and more face to the dirt. My face. Also my dirt, now, I suppose.

A major factor in cramps is lack of oxygen. A major factor in lack of oxygen is, you know, lungs that are feeling poorly. I hate being injured.

I carefully resist thinking about whether this could be worse.

The universe delivers a concerned passer-by anyway. Apparently thinking about thinking that also counts. Swell.

"Swell," I say, turning my head to the side, so I'm not chewing dirt as I talk. "Just taking a nap. In the dirt. A dirt-nap. Wait, no."

[onlyapassenger]

"You're pretty talkative for a corpse," replies Bucky on an exhale of disbelieving laughter, dropping down into an easy crouch beside her to help her up, and offering her his hand. He supposes he's one to talk, all things considered, but that isn't the sort of information he's about to offer without prompting.

Glancing up at the obstacle course, he frowns, slightly, in thought, then looks back to Jessica, assessing her for any injuries she might be unlikely to share.

"What happened?"

[notaparker]

I give him the hand belonging to the arm that isn't sore, stretching it out as I let him help me back to my feet.

"Cramp," I say. "Must be because this isn't really my thing, I was just, you know, messing around."

He could buy it. I'd buy it. Maybe. He only just got here, right? On the other hand... he is one of the people running the ITF. Not like I've done anything suspicious in their neck of the woods recently or anything...

[onlyapassenger]

"That's some impressive messing around for someone who suffered a collapsed lung last month," Bucky replies casually, taking a step back only once he's sure she won't be taking another dirt nap anytime soon. "Especially if this isn't your thing, and all."

[notaparker]

I'm not sure what to make of that, or any of this. He's being casual in that way people are when they're totally not actually casual.

"Impressive?" I say, casually, thinking, oh god, how long was he watching. "Which part? The faceplant? I know, it'd get big views on youtube."

[onlyapassenger]

"Youtube?" he echoes, brows furrowing a little. Must be some internet thing. Shaking his head, he dismisses his own question, figuring it can't be too important, anyway; she's being evasive.

"The part before the faceplant."

[notaparker]

Crap. Crap crappity crap. All right, Drew, let's see what we can sell. Probably not a lot, and not just because there's no econonmy.

"The cramp? It was impressively awkward, that is for sure," I say.

Simply running away probably wouldn't work. I'm pretty sure he can run faster than I can, and even if he can't, I know that he can run longer than I can. Assuming he'd chase me, but even if he wouldn't, how'd that look?

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky folds his arms, ducking down his chin a little. The hint of a smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth, though the amusement is clear behind his eyes.

"Less impressive is your ability to lie," he says, biting back a laugh. "I saw the whole thing, Miss Drew. The flips, the jumps... Hell, even a kick or two. You're good. Decent." He pauses a beat, his expression sobering a touch. "But you could be a lot better."

[notaparker]

That hurts. I should work on that. Maybe I should sign up for acting class. Would that be suspicious? Maybe a little weird.

No, it wouldn't work, it'd probably involve actually acting. In front of people. Reading lines. That's not a picture that ends well. Less rose-throwing, more of the tomatoes.

...actually, the decent comment stings as well. I've beat up plenty of supervillains. With powers. I mean, when I had powers. They did, too.

(Yes, I was just bemoaning that I could be better. That doesn't mean I want to hear it from this guy. Who does he even think he is, some kind of drill sergeant?)

(...oh, right, yeah.)

"Couldn't... everyone?" I say, edging up a little. I honestly have no idea how to play this. Complete loss. I'm just saying words to be saying words, and that's no strategy at all.

[onlyapassenger]

"Not everyone has your raw talent," he points out, tone thoughtful. He looks up at the obstacle course, his eyes narrowing. "I mean, you're obviously untrained, but you have good instincts... When you're not falling on your face."

[notaparker]

"...I don't know what this is," I say.

I legitimately have no idea what is happening here any more. If I thought I was getting close to it, I was wrong. My cover is blown, or partially blown, and I'm just getting thoughtful compliments?

Partially compliments. For a partially blown cover, I suppose.

Who is he calling- no, actually, apart from that one time Peter tried to get Shang Chi to show him some moves, there hasn't exactly been a whole lot of training. But it's not like there's a superhero school, is there? Everyone just learns by doing.

[onlyapassenger]

Truth is, I don't either. I didn't think this far ahead... I just threw myself into a situation with no plan. I'd like to say I've gotten better about that over the years, but when it really counts, well... I still have a tendency to jump first, and figure out the landing after.

Kinda like my new friend, here.

"Makes two of us," he admits, looking back down to her. "I never intended on letting you know I was here, but your, ah, dirt nap complicated things... Drove my 'saving people' impulse into overdrive. But I gotta ask, if you like messing around so much, why aren't you in any of the classes?"

[notaparker]

"Okay, first of all, creepy," I say, because seriously, who does that? Stalkers and spies, that's who. "Second, maybe I just prefer faceplanting in front of no one I know, how about that?"

That's not bad, actually. Completely not the reason, but it's even kind of reason-adjacent. I don't want to do it in front of anyone I know or indeed anyone at all, because no one's meant to know I can do it.

Except Peter. And Barnes, here, which is less than ideal, even if he doesn't seem to think I'm all that great at it.

[onlyapassenger]

"Well, it'd explain why you got injured down in Rapture," he says, brows arching.

"Seeing as I doubt you were making pals with a bunch of Big Daddies."

[notaparker]

"...I'm completely blown, aren't I," I say. Sure, I could try to sell him on being coincidentally separated from my escort and running into trouble only to be saved by a heroic nurse -- the last part being strangely true, it's just that there was about half as much saving as I claim -- but these things add up, and it may be time to admit that.

[onlyapassenger]

"Define completely," says Bucky, expression softening a little. There are still plenty of question marks -- who, exactly, she is, being chief among them -- but there are enough answers, too, however half-formed, that he needs no confirmation to know she's not just an ordinary teenager.