Time Watches From the Shadow - Steve/Bucky, R, 9k
Title: Time Watches From the Shadow
Rating: R
Paring: Steve/Bucky, some canon Firefly allusions.
Length: ~9K
Warnings: AVENGERS/FIREFLY FUSION. Post-Serenity spoilers. Mostly movie-verse Avengers, plus some...other stuff?
Summary: With Bucky missing for god-knows-how-long, and rumors of human weapon experiments off-world, Steve is going to need some help rescuing his best friend. Luckily, Malcolm Reynolds has a reputation to uphold.
Notes: So,
futureperfect kept posting all these gifs on Tumblr where Bucky looked kind of floppy-haired in the style of Malcolm Reynolds. And then we started talking about how Firefly/Captain America might work, and then she wrote THIS, which just... you should go read, because it is definitely a different place from where this fic goes. Which gives her the perfect excuse to go write it. Anyway, this is for you, Renne, since you're apparently the only one who can get me to write fic, pretty much ever. ♥ All of Mal's swearing is from here.
Time Watches From the Shadow
They're about six leagues too late to kick the guy out of the hold, but Mal's thinking about it anyway. It must read on his face - because of course it does - since it's got Inara clearing her throat delicately (and there's a joke there he has to step on mighty harsh) and giving him those eyebrows. He gives them right back, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his pants, and rocks back on his heels, sucking on his teeth.
"Well I think it's nice," says Kaylee, like that's the end of things, and the three of them look down over the blonde who's pacing the length of the cargo area, his feet pinging quietly on the industrial-grade metal.
"You think everybody's nice," says Mal, eyes rolling up to the metal strutting in the ceiling. Maybe they'll be on his side; nobody else is.
"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Inara huffs, and pads down the stairway, twisting her silks up over one arm to keep from tredding on them. Mal takes a moment to admire, head tilted, the curve of her back, and then clears his throat and follows.
"Steve," Inara says, in that voice that makes people stand up and pay attention - and Mal's made awful close note of the way the guy looks at her, waiting for that gaze to slip places it shouldn't - and the man stops his restless movement, and regards her with what Mal can only describe as military respect. He doesn't get it. This guy, this stranger, this passenger they only took for a bit of money, because hell and damn if they like to get close enough to the Core planets anymore, but when you're passing through for medical that's that, but this guy, he's obviously trained, but not a Browncoat. And sure as a four-day-shit, not Alliance. Running from Alliance.
Hence the problem.
Steve.
"Ma'am," he says, and it's not sarcastic, it's...it's genuine, and Mal scoffs, and Inara and Steve glare at him. He turns the scoff into a poorly disguised clearing of his throat into his fist. Steve's gaze takes him in with equal respect, after a moment. "Captain," he adds, his hands clasped in front of him. "I apologize for my - the liberties - but contacting Veroe - "
"Oh stop it," Inara says, her voice laced with amusement and dismissal.
"I'm sorry - " Mal says, his hand on his chest for a second - "Did you - are you the captain of my ship now? Did that happen, and I was not paying attention?"
Kaylee's laughing from up on the overlook, but Mal doesn't look at her. Saucy mechanic. Nothing for it.
Inara says nothing, her lips thinning. Amusement expired. Whoops. Mal's still trying to figure out how far is too far, sometimes, with her. "Look," she says, and it's a good impression of patience, it really is. "The communications signal that went out - he should have asked permission, but that doesn't mean that it's... it didn't do any harm, and I'm sure he had a good reason for it."
Steve is nodding earnestly, his eyes wide and...well...earnest. It's just embarrassing, is what makes Mal crumble.
"Alright look," he says, holding up his hands, and he huffs out a deep breath. "Let's... if you bring that jao gao mess'a trouble down on us, there's gonna be problems. But seein' as it seems innocent and all - " He pauses to confirm this with the blonde wall of a man, who's back to his serious-faced nodding. "...maybe we can just overlook this little incident. 'Sides, we're puttin' you off at the next stop anyway, so - "
"Ah," Steve cuts in.
"Sooooo," Mal stretches out, his eyes narrowing. Inara looks vaguely smug for a moment.
"About that." The man rocks uncomfortably onto his other foot. It shouldn't register as a balance shift for close combat, but it does, and Mal's attention, if not his hand, flicks to his sidearm.
"Oh no," Mal says. "No no. We are not taking you all the way to Veroe - "
"I can pay - " Steve wheedles, his brow nicking down all serious-like.
"I am well and certain you can," Mal says, voice raising, "but there is nothing in this - "
Steve's face turns all frustrated, which isn't a good look for him. "I've been perfectly behaved, how could I have known that communication was forbidding on your damn pirate sh - "
"Whoa now!" Mal yells, startling back a step or two in affront, "Say that again, say that to my face - "
"I'll take him as a client," Inara says quietly.
"I did say - " Steve stars, and then stops, face furrowing even deeper into confusion. " - Pardon?"
"You what," Mal barks. Inara has the audacity to look all passive about the whole thing, like she didn't just offer to spread her legs for some yi dwei da buen chuo roh stranger. She stares him down, unimpressed as ever, and draws up to her full height, which still has him glaring down his nose at her.
"I don't know what that means," Steve whispers at her side.
"Give me money," she stage whispers back, holding out her hand promptly. She doesn't break eye contact with Mal, and he doesn't believe for a second that their passenger - her new client - is as innocent as he looks. Not know a Companion his frilly pink ass. But there he goes, fumbling paper bills out of what looks like a cowhide billfold, pressing it into her hand. She tucks it away into her robe and smiles serenely at Mal.
"Woman - " he starts, and then grits his teeth, zeroing his glare down on Steve, instead. "You. Why the seven hells d'you wanna stay on my boat so bad?"
Steve has the common sense - or good grace - to look a little bashful now, like that'll do a gorram thing for Mal's opinion of him. "I'm looking for someone - I was told you were the man to come to. That this ship did things other people wouldn't."
"She maybe does," Mal monotones, tipping his head at Inara, who rolls her eyes.
Steve sighs, obviously fed up with his treatment of the "lady." Well, good. He deserves as much frustration as Mal's feeling. "A - a friend of mine is trapped in a facility." He's searching Mal's face, those baby blues suddenly real sharp. "I heard your crew had experience - "
Mal's gun is out and tipped up under Steve's chin before he can finish the sentence. "Heard from who."
To the stranger's credit, he doesn't stammer under the press of steel. "Shepherd Book," he says calmly.
Mal feels a wash of cold, and then hot, and lowers his gun. "Tzao gao," he mutters. He takes a step back, and looks down the corridor that leads to the bridge. There's a moment of silence, before he clears his throat. "Give the man back his money," he says, waving at Inara as he turns. He doesn't look at either of them. Fuck if he wants to do any of this again. Fuck. "He can stay. You." Mal turns around, holsters his gun, and points at Steve. "Go talk to the pilot, tell her where you need to go. You get any of my crew killed, I'll tie you to the prow and make a masthead."
He turns and stalks down the corridor, dragging himself up onto the second level by the rungs planted into the wall. He's nearly out of range when he hears Steve ask Inara,
"It's...that easy?"
And her echoing sigh as she replies, "Guess so."
* * *
Steve knows he isn't the only larger guy on the ship - there's also that man with the hat, the one who likes guns so much - and they're built pretty similarly. But he can't help the feeling that he's going to break something as he ducks through the lowered doorway onto the bridge. That's where he assumes the pilot will be, anyway. He's spent the majority of the past few... well. The past long time - On World, on Core planets. Space travel is usually just shuttles. These big, long trips into the Black, he isn't sure about quite yet.
He firms his resolve - time to get over that kind of doubt.
As his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the bridge - easier to see out the front portals, he guesses, but it isn't like you fly a spaceship by seeing, so that was...kind of weird? - he realizes he's alone. "Um," he says, eyes shifting over control panels and switches. "Hello?"
"I've tasted your mind before," comes the soft reply from the captain's chair.
Steve takes a few more steps forward and looks down - a tiny girl with long black hair peers back up. "Hello," he says again, and holds out his hand. "I'm Steve."
The girl takes his palm in both hands and looks at the lines on it, not like a Reader, just like she's interested in them. "River," she says, distracted. "Where's your tights?"
"Ah," Steve says, caught off guard and feeling his face heat, strangely, because of it. "I don't... anymore. Not for a long time."
"Neither does he," she says in that same dream-like tone she'd greeted him with. "He's been waiting for ages and ages - they don't know. Every winter, every snow..." She closes her eyes. Steve feels distinctly uncomfortable. His hand is freed, and he tucks it awkwardly behind his back, clasping hand-to-wrist with the other. "Little brother, sidekick, fr - oh, you're in love with him. That's nice. He's not - there."
Steve feels his hackles rise, a sharp breath in through his nose. "You're the pilot?"
"I'm the resident crazy," River says, staring out through the windows again. "The map was rewalked as soon as you climbed in. Don't worry so much. We're on our way."
Steve isn't quite sure what to say to that. Or what the heck it means, anyway. So he stays silent for a minute, because that's better than making an idiot out of himself. He doesn't usually feel this way with people he doesn't understand, but there's a distinct flavor to River that he hasn't felt in... a really, really long time. He's worked with brilliant men in his long, long lifetime, and he's had many conversations that he hasn't been able to completely follow, but he hasn't been reminded so much of Tony -
"Stark," she says, and he feels the hair on the back of his arms in a wave of sensation.
"Excuse me?" he says quietly.
"Stark Industries. Own the planet. Finance the Alliance experiments. Little drills in little holes," she says, her smile sad. "I've tasted your mind before. Old, old, crumbling dust and..." she reaches a hand out, fingers flicking toward the darkness of space. "Rim... older. You, but not you. Winter was...with me. In the labs."
It doesn't make sense, but maybe it does. It's a little bit like talking to someone who learned the pidgin first, and then English. Or someone who only talks Trade.
"You've...seen Bucky?" he hazards.
River hums Hail to the Chief, in response. Just the first bar or two, then she lets her hand drop, props her elbow on her upturned knee. "We'll be there by tonight. He doesn't want to see you. All broken. Tin soldier, like in the story. One leg. Melted."
"One arm," Steve corrects her, and then realizes the reference she's making. "Oh." Does that make him the ballerina? This whole conversation is making his head hurt.
She laughs at him, but it's not unkind.
Steve props himself against the empty, dark side console that he has to assume is for a copilot. His hands push down his thighs, and he blows out a hard breath. An unwanted thought circles his mind.
"No," she says, and pushes her fingers up toward the ceiling, flicking two out of three switches on a panel above her head. "He's not like me."
The girl is disturbingly coherent when she wants to be, and it sends another shiver through him that he didn't have to ask. She's not like the other psychics she's known, but it does make the concept easier to grasp. "Will he be able to read my mind?" he asks her.
"Not any more than he already could," she says, and then lets her head roll on the back of the chair to peer at him again. "Captain - Captain of America. You should have a ship. America the beautiful. Amber waves of grain."
Steve looks down at the floor.
"Not for a long time now," he says, and they sit in shadows together.
* * *
The facility is on a medical planet, one that's never been anything but industrial, so it doesn't have a proper name - it's just SI Mach 17 on a map, and Mal will deal with the fact that his pilot rerouted them without his permission five days before he even agreed to this mi tian gohn rescue plan later. He'd expected days to get ready for the extraction, maybe put together something real nice and clever. Instead, it's him and Zoe with guns and Steve with a -
"I don't understand how a shield is going to help," Mal says for about the twentieth time, in a loud hiss, as they get off the mule.
Zoe doesn't bother to answer, and Steve gives him a consternated look over one shoulder. Mal would much rather have bullets, is all.
He holds his breath as they make their way down the concrete ramp toward intake. It's a public facility, is the thing. Not a hospital, but the kind of place where rich-ass kids come and do their research to further the medical community or some luh suh like that. People making weapons out of people, if River's translated nattering is true. Simon had pulled him aside a few hours after dawn, and buzzed in his ear for a couple minutes about what they were probably going to expect.
Well shit, if Mal hadn't known that already he wouldn't have agreed to this rescue plan in the first place. Still, it was a still-unexpected courtesy from the doctor, and while he won't actively be spreading any praise around for it, he appreciates the gesture.
He hates just walking into places. Hates the way people look at his clothes like he's trying to say something (which he is, if Zoe's blandly raised eyebrow anytime he complains means anything) and how it's always plenty easy to get in, but getting out...
"I could just stay at the entrance," he offers cheerfully. Because like hell they're just gonna let them pop in and escort out some stiff. Simon had planned River's extraction for how many years? Spent how much of the family fortune doing it?
"That won't be necessary," Steve says, pulling a card out of his pocket and showing it to a receptionist wearing all powder-blue. Soothing, Mal guesses. Or something.
Zoe's eyebrows lift. It's the closest she ever gets to surprise, Mal observes ruefully. "I didn't know SHIELD actually existed," she says. It's like a question, but not.
Steve stuffs the card back into his pocket with something like embarrassment. "Oh sure," he says, eyes sliding over to the receptionist as she puts her communicator down and waves them through. He slings his shield onto his back and paces himself next to Mal, like standing too close to Zoe makes him nervous or something.
On second thought, Mal can't blame him too much for that.
"Never heard of 'em," Mal says, just to keep from being left out of the conversation.
"They're... old," Zoe says, and her face gets all quiet and closed up, like just saying it has suddenly made her realize that Steve is one big wuh de ma mystery.
"I'm old," is Steve's only response to that, and then he ducks down a hallway, pauses for a second to study a sign in Mandarin, and looks at Mal for help. "Where would they be keeping him, if he's awake?"
"If?" Zoe echoes, and Mal's about to tell him that he might be the expert at body removal, but that doesn't mean he knows the first gorram thing about how these cages are built, when Steve grabs a passing student with a light touch of the arm.
"Excuse me," he says, so polite it almost makes Mal bring up breakfast, "I'm looking for any live subject observation areas - "
"You - " the student gasps, fumbling her books and her bag and her glasses all at once. "Ohmygosh - "
Steve's turning pink. Zoe turns her face away in that way she does when something's funny. Mal doesn't like not getting the joke.
"Shh," Steve says, holding a finger up to his mouth, and winking, for - wo de tian a - "It's a surprise. Can you help me find - "
"Down corridor G!" the girl stammers out, and Mal thinks it's a damn good thing Inara isn't here to see it. She might get jealous, after all. "That's where all the historical stuff is - the Earth That Was SHIELD Initiative - there's a display, you can't miss it!" She takes out a hand-held device and holds it up in front of her, popping off an image of Steve, probably to show her friends later. "Wow!" She clutches her books to her chest, turning in a circle so she can still talk while she walks away. "Good luck, Captain America!"
Mal stares down the hallway. "Captain what."
"Nothing," Steve waves him off, and studies the signs again, redirecting them, Mal presumes, toward corridor G.
"Guay toh guay nown,," Mal accuses him, and Steve frowns, "So who the hell are you."
Zoe sighs her long-suffering sigh. "He's Captain America. Didn't you do any research before you joined the resistance, Mal? You're embarrassing."
Steve, though, looks surprised. "You've heard of me - "
"Of course I have," Zoe says flatly. "Anyone who holds a gun should have to study your troop movements. Come on, this is ridiculous."
Mal likes being shown up just as much as he likes being lied to. "Just out of curiosity," he says in his most falsely sweet voice, "why did you need us to get you in here if you're so famous?"
Steve's jaw clenches. "They wouldn't let me off-world. For a long time. Your ship was the only one that didn't ask for an ID to travel." He touched the pocket he'd stuffed the plastic card back into. "Anyone else knows I'm supposed to be - working."
"Protecting the core planets," Zoe corrects.
"It's just a figurehead job now," he says, and they stop abruptly.
It's a pretty damn big hallway. There's some weird stuff in it; most of it's clothing. Capes, and cuffs, and one that Mal thinks is a joke, where the sign says invisible lasso but there's, obviously, nothing there. There's a big robot, all silver, with a tiny head, and some nasty looking weapons - including some bows and staffs and things that Mal would've assumed would be a little archaic, even for Earth That Was. There's even some old Paper News squares, with big black words splashed on them. War. Always war. They never keep things for any other reason, Mal reckons. Some creepy looking masks and a thing with eight curling legs. A giant sickle, but it doesn't attach in a way that Mal thinks it'd make to swing. And a thousand other things he can't even start to identify.
And at the end of it, there's a couple of cells. Zoe's lingering over a black cat suit, her gaze contemplative, when Mal can't help himself. "Steve, are we thievin' a museum?"
The man frowns. He's staring into one of the cells, where a giant hammer and a huge, blue, glowing cube are ensconced. There's also a helmet with some horns on it; Mal doesn't even know what that's for. "Human beings aren't supposed to be in museums."
Zoe, who's moved along from the clothing, stops in front of a second cell. Her fingertips press against the glass. "Is that what he is?" she asks gently. "Human?"
Steve's breath catches, and his strides lengthen, and he stops in front of the cell. Whatever he sees - Mal's trying to catch up, here, but it's a long hallway, okay - makes him curse, which seems weirdly out of character for a guy who won't even speak Mandarin. Then he slings the shield off of his back, lifts it up over his head, and slams the everliving sha gwa out of the protective glass.
And even though Mal knows this stuff is made out of bomb-proof material, against all reason, it shatters.
* * *
In retrospect, Steve thinks there probably would've been a more subtle way to get into the cell. But when he sees Bucky, his instincts seem to take over, and in a way it's comforting to know that the shield still has some uses.
The noise, though - the impact - has a reaction that he wasn't expecting. Bucky, who had been staring listlessly at the wall, not even paying attention to the fact that he'd been stared out by people - which makes Steve wonder how many do it, how many faces pass by him every day - goes scrambling up a wall. It reminds him instantly of Peter; it also doesn't make any sense.
"Buck," he says, stepping over the shattered glass, and stares up into the cell. "Come on. Come on, we gotta get out of here." He lifts his hand to beckon Bucky down, and the man attacks him.
Not that it would be the first time, Steve thinks wryly, as he absorbs the impact with his shield and bent knees. He lets the momentum carry him back, and then slams his weight forward, sending Bucky careening back into a wall. Beyond all sense, the man seems to catch himself in mid air; Steve watches as Bucky reverses trajectory and comes back at him with nothing but bare hands, grabbing the edge of the shield and wrenching it away from Steve's arm.
Before he really understands what's going on, he's bent backward over a bolted down table with the edge of the shield at his throat, and a grimacing Bucky preparing to press down the final necessary inches.
Zoe steps in with a pistol and that about ends it.
"Hi," she says, no sweetness in her voice. Bucky stares past the barrel at Steve's face. No response there.
"Bucky," Steve starts, and Mal's shouting over his shoulder -
"Maybe we can save the touching reunion for some other time, seein' as we need to be makin' scarce, soonish?" he suggests at a volume. Bucky lets him up, and Steve coughs, rubbing at his throat. The bruising will wear away fast, but the sense of wrongness, of having his own weapon used against him, lingers.
Steve doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Bind Bucky's hands? Keep a gun to his back? Kiss him until the violins swell and there's a sudden moment of broken recognition, Bucky coming apart, loose under his hands, that wondering gaze -
Jesus.
Steve rubs his hand over his eyes and lowers his shield, grabbing Bucky by his forearm. "You think you're the only one who can live forever?" he mutters with a small measure of earned belligerence.
"Oh," Bucky says. "It's you."
Zoe drops her gun and takes point, moving them through the corridor with an easy grace. Steve admires her, the way she moves, but she scares him, too. There are a few guards coming from the way they've left - Mal's laying cover fire, but the facility didn't have that many to start with. Who guards a museum? Steve remembers the one cop who would walk the halls of the MoMA.
"You with us now?" Steve checks in on Bucky, leaving his arm. He misses the touch, tries not to go for it again.
"I'm not the one who left," Bucky says, a wry twist on his mouth. He reaches up for a katana on a wall - Steve feels like it looks familiar but he can't figure why - and drops the sheath on the ground.
Zoe's stopped by a panel at a door, and she looks back at Steve. "We need your badge again, I think."
Steve glances at Bucky, who gives him a hard look back. Steve isn't surprised when they progress together. It's...something he's always felt a mixture of guilt and gratitude for, this ability they have. How many hundreds of years - the numbers make him queasy, when he thinks about it.
How many times can you lose someone and find them again.
How many times until they stop wanting you to?
He pulls out his badge, jaw set, and swipes the card over the reader. The door makes a cranky beep, refusing to let them through. Zoe swears, levels her gun at the keypad, and -
"No!" Mal yells from behind, where he's running to catch up. "Don't - I just saw one of the guards do it, it activates a failsafe - we'll get sealed inside."
"Fuck," says Bucky. Privately, Steve agrees. "Great rescue there, Cap."
"Bucky," Steve says, exasperated, and looks at him.
Bucky's grinning. It's a sort of strange expression to see on his face. Steve wrestles with the urge to push him up against the portal, and something must show on him, because Bucky's gaze flickers down (to his throat?) and then up again, and Steve -
"Aaaany time now," Mal says from behind them, leveling his gun and clipping the arm of a guard.
"I thought we were sealed in," Zoe says, confused.
"Well, apparently they're not too concerned about lockin' in their folks with us," Mal observes wryly. The guard tries to lift his gun again, and Mal swears in pidgin and levels the gun again. "I will shoot you in your pretty face, put the gun down."
The guard drops his weapon.
"That's why I wanted your crew," Steve says, moving closer to the pad. "You don't kill if you don't have to."
"Hey, I can kill plenty fine - " Mal protests, and Bucky twists enough to talk at him.
"It was a compliment, jackass."
Steve ignores them in favor of the panel. It looks familiar in a way he can't quite recognize, and he feels his frustration building again - surrounded by these artifacts, this life so long past. Relegated to a hallway, to a room - not even understood, really, just studied out of context, and - he feels around the ridges of the scanner, his fingertips brushing over a light blue screen.
A soft musical chime sounds, and an artificial voice says: "Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers."
Steve stares at the panel.
"Jarvis?" he blurts.
Bucky starts laughing behind him, gut-deep and rich and rounded. "You gotta be shitting me."
"Indeed," says the voice, and it doesn't seem to be coming from the panel, exactly, so much as all around them. "It is, as ever, a great pleasure to welcome you to the Stark Industries operating systems. How may I assist you today?"
"Uh," Steve says.
"Unlock the damn doors?" Bucky suggests.
Steve gives him a quelling glare that says Be polite, before he remembers that Jarvis has probably put up with a lot worse in his time. Either way, it doesn't seem to matter, since the door in front of them has just hissed and opened.
"I would think it wise at this time," Jarvis goes on, "to only unlock this particular door, as the other has a mounting force behind it. If you would be so good as to follow me, I shall return you to your vehicle, Mr. Rogers."
Mal takes up the rear, but he's still close enough to comment on this turn of events: "Is the building have a conversation with you, Steve?"
"Yes, um," Steve says, spotting another door opening of its own accord and herding everyone in that direction. "I'll...introduce you later?"
"Yeah," says Mal, sounding slightly dazed. "Great."
* * *
Mal's about had it. On the one hand, he thinks that's probably saying something - he can be a pretty patient guy. On the other hand, he's been aggravated by Steve from the start, so it's possible he's not being as generous as he could be. Even with the voice's help, they're not having the best time. The mule is visible - it's just surrounded by lien mohn soldiers. With very big guns.
The wall says, "If a diversion might be necessary, I would be quite pleased to alert the case of a fire to - "
"They're not gonna need guns for a fire," Bucky interrupts.
The wall actually sasses him back: "Calculations project a 59% success rate if fire is presented in a systematic spread, Mr. Barnes."
"No, he's right," Mal says, and then smacks himself in the forehead for talking to the wall. Zoe gives him a sideways glance, but doesn't say anything; she's seen him hit himself enough times not to worry about it by now. (That's a good look for you, sir, in her even tone.)
Everyone shifts back to look at him, and he finds himself suddenly on the spot. "Uh," he says, shifting back on his heels, where they're all squatting next to a wall. "That is, I mean... soldiers?" he offers, pointing over toward the people who are on his mule.
"We could just leave it - " Steve offers.
"This is bullshit," Bucky decides, and stands up.
"Bucky!" Steve hisses, unslinging the shield from his shoulder. Mal wants to know what the gorram hell they think they're doing - they, because Steve is following him out into the open now, and Mal's never seen two idiots with such big - fahn dahn, that's what they are, and he doesn't mean that in a good way.
Bucky's striding forward with that stupid sword, like a gun wouldn't be a million times better, and the soldiers
start to mutter and stand up and take their own weapons out. Real casual, which even Mal knows is stupid, and he doesn't even know this guy.
From there, it's a wo cao blood bath.
Mal's down on one knee while Bucky swings the katana close to his body, keeps it at his hip. It's almost like he's moving it with nothing but his wrist, and then this sweeping full-arm movements. Mal would be more horrified if he hadn't seem the same thing from River more than a couple times already - but even that doesn't make it any easier to swallow. Watching somebody move like that. "Ain't right." He's not even sure he's said it out loud - and jesus, there's blade through trachea, just at the right angle to make things messier than they need to be, as that last rattled breath presses blood up and out - and Zoe looks over at him and shrugs.
Saved bullets are saved time, according to her. Things aren't quite the same since the crash.
They don't talk about that.
Steve's got his shield off, and Mal cringes as it cracks into some poor guy's head hard enough to leave a good wedge-shaped dent in what used to be a skull. For all Steve was praising earlier about mercy, the man's got a nasty streak when it comes to anybody who gets too close to lifting a weapon to in Bucky's direction. He wants to know what the thing's made out of, too, since it seems to deflect any kind of ammunition. Including the katana - there's a moment where Bucky comes in, on a spin-kick, and it's like he doesn't even realize Steve is there, would probably have cut him in two if the sword hadn't put down against the shield with a bell-like clang instead.
"They remind me of us," Mal says after a minute. Zoe has nothing to say to that, so Mal adds: "I'm startin' to feel a might cowardly back here, Zo'."
She snorts, and stands up. "Well, sir, maybe you oughta run in there, then. Certainly seems like there's room for another body."
Steve and Bucky are back to back, now, slow circles while the remaining soldiers shift nervously amongst themselves. Zoe's right - things are pretty much all taken care of. Doesn't mean Mal can't speed things along, though. He turns his gun skyward and lets off a round above his head. All heads whip his way - Bucky uses the distraction as a merciless excuse to excavate somebody's liver from the inside.
"Jesus," Mal hears Steve mutter quietly, as the body slumps forward off the blade.
"Let's move along!" Mal yells at the other soldiers, and that seems to be enough - to realize that there's two more flanking them - and the rest of them flee. It's a little dissatisfying, if Mal's honest. It's been a while since he's had some.
"Sir," Zoe scolds him. She probably recognizes the face.
He coughs and trots toward the mule, which Steve's gotten fired up in the meantime.
They sling into the transport, and Bucky's on the back, the sword across his knees. He's got more blood on him than Mal knows to say about, and doesn't seem to care that it's there. He can hear Zoe sending a wave back to the crew that they're on their way, and to be ready to move. But all he can watch is the way the man's eyes don't waver, how hard they are, watching the building retreat in the distance.
Steve's looking at his shield, and nothing else.
Rescue's not always what you think it'll be, Mal knows. Maybe the Doc got lucky after all, with his crazyass sister. Maybe it's better for everybody that way, to have one foot on the terra firma and the other foot in another dimension, than to be like this guy.
Whatever he is.
"They're coming," Bucky says, soft enough to almost miss it, but all edges, too.
* * *
They make it back to the ship.
Steve's relieved, but he's not surprised. He chose the crew for a reason, and as they break atmo, he stays down in the cargo bay and tries to get himself collected. Simon's looking over Bucky, doing brain scans and bone density tests and checking for the same nerve damage that he's got files on his sister for. Cutting into his brain, Simon said. Over and over. A chill creeps up Steve's back again, and he steels himself against it. It's not like he didn't know. That was why he went in after the man.
But why the hell did he have to take so long.
That's the only question he can see in Bucky's face when Steve can manage to make himself look.
He paces the hold, rubs shine into his shield even though the blood's long off it. He's known Bucky as a killer before; it shouldn't be a shock anymore, but it's something he's always had a hard time letting go of. The Winter Soldier programming. He wonders if it's the same people, just generations later - the ones who turned him into what he was then, and the ones who -
Cutting into his brain.
Jesus.
"Steve?"
He looks up, and the mechanic girl is waiting at the top of the metal staircase. "Simon says - he'll - if you want to, you can talk to him?" Everything sounds like a question from her, but Steve nods and climbs up to her anyway. He leaves the shield behind.
She shows him down a few corridors and then points the way, and Steve squeezes her shoulder in thanks, not sure he can talk just then. There's blue light coming out of an open door way - it reminds Steve of Jarvis - Jarvis - who he should have said goodbye to, or at least thanks. It's too late to fix, but he can't shake the regret anyway. There's voices inside, and Steve pauses outside the door. River. Her half-awake voice, like she's always listening to someone else talk at the same time as her.
"He can't fix you. Couldn't fix me - keeps trying, but I don't want, want to be - "
"Hey," Bucky says, a low tone of voice, soothing. Steve remembers little sisters, nieces. "It's okay."
"I'm a real girl," River says, almost whisper-quiet. Then she takes a deep breath, Steve can hear her blowing it out hard. There's a sound of cloth on cloth - Steve imagines Bucky rubbing her back. She's so tiny - like a doll, and he just bets she hates that.
"You're - " Bucky starts, and Steve can feel himself craning to listen - and feels guilty for listening in. " - I think we're whatever we wanna be, huh. Maybe that's the point."
"Weapon," River says. "Spy, like a wound-up-music-box-ballerina - "
"Okay," Bucky says.
And River stops talking. Steve thinks that's kind of amazing, because he's heard about eight million words come out of the girl (or none at all) and none of them ever gave him the impression that she cared who was talking at the same time as her. And then she goes and blows it all by saying: "The dead man is listening in."
Steve takes a deep breath and eases around the corner. "Hey," he says, and River slides off the table where she's sitting next to Bucky - against a wall, always a wall at his back - and sort of...twirls? over to hug him. Steve awkwardly drapes an arm over her. "Uh," he says, glancing up at Bucky. His friend - maybe - shrugs.
Then she's gone.
"She's sweet," Bucky says. "Bonkers, though."
A laugh slips out of Steve, high and desperate, he can't help it. Bucky's grin is crooked all over, and there's something in his eyes that Steve's seen in River's. Like he's looking past Steve, or through him, or something. "So what are you now?" Steve asks.
Bucky's head rolls - and jeeze, that's River, right there - and looks at him. They're at eye level, like this - maybe Bucky's a little bit higher - so it's not as creepy as when the girl does it from below. "I was already a weapon." He sounds a little hollowed out about it. "Jesus, you didn't even know and you came and got me anyway, huh."
Steve doesn't know what to say to that. A little lance of anger cuts through him, wrestles its way up to the top. It's been so long since he's let himself feel it toward Bucky that it took its time rising. "Yeah, Buck. Yeah, I f - of course I came and got you, I just - I should've been faster - "
"Shut up," Bucky grits out. Steve clenches his jaw, watches Bucky pull his knees up. It's all blues and whites in the room, medical equipment and beds and lamps and...imaging...things. Things Steve doesn't even really understand.
They're quiet for a long time. After a while, Steve comes over to the counter and sits next to him. The surface is clean and white, slick. Steve can't figure out what the material is.
"You ever wish you were dead?" Bucky asks.
"Yes," Steve says promptly, because it's a conversation he's had with himself a lot, and he's been alive for far too long. It doesn't, however, mean that he wants to be dead. Just that he thinks he probably should be. "You?"
"Mm," Bucky says. "I already am."
Steve cracks. "Oh, Bucky." He can't help reaching out, but Bucky's curling forward, making room for Steve's arm to go around his shoulder, and his head fits under Steve's chin. His nose finds the back of Bucky's hairline. He smells like antiseptic. Like that museum, and something more. Nothing familiar. They've taken everything, Steve thinks, his throat roughed up. They always take everything. "No you're not," he harshes out after a second.
"I'll kill you," Bucky says against his chest, and Steve puts his hand up on the side of the man's face, cradling him there, and can feel the play of something as his facial muscles move, but not enough to translate what they mean. For that he has to straighten up, and look down, catch just the way the corner of Bucky's eye clenches up, like he's fighting it. It isn't a threat, though. Just something cleanly seen as a fact.
"No," Steve insists.
"God damn it, I will," Bucky rages at him, shoving upward again. He's got a scalpel in his hand, the sweet curve of it pressed up under Steve's jugular. Bucky's ranting, breathing uneven: "I wouldn't even know, it wouldn't even be me, you could say the wrong thing or ask the wrong - the wrong word - all it takes is a word - and I don't even - don't even know what they are, what sets me off, why do you - think I was - in a - "
He's hyperventilating, Steve realizes distantly, something he hasn't seen a trained soldier do in a long time. Steve puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders and pushes him back carefully. The scalpel clatters somewhere - Steve makes a note where it lands, so that no one's feet get cut up.
"Bucky," he says gently, ducking down an inch or so to peer into the man's eyes. "If you don't know by now, how much I don't care what you might do to me - "
He's not sure how to end the sentence, and cuts off, leaves the thought and the breath hanging, and just shakes his head, brows drawn together.
Bucky's eyes are red-rimmed, as his breathing slows. Simon's words curl into Steve's mind again and again: cut into his brain. Whatever's left of Bucky, though, it's enough. It'll always be enough - Steve doesn't know how he doesn't see that, how much of him is still in there, how Steve could never leave that, as long as there was just a second, just a chance that there might be something left.
His friend closes his eyes, turns away from him, and pushes back. Leans against Steve's side. The arm around him drapes down Bucky's chest, and Steve hugs him hard against his ribs, burying his face in his hair once more.
"Don't run away again," Steve pleads, and can feel the shuddering guilt work through...both of them, maybe. He's not sure where that movement started, just that it transmutes.
"I didn't," Bucky fights him, his voice rough. "They took me - "
"Bucky - " Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off.
"Fine," he says sharply, and then leans his chin down onto his chest. "...yeah. No, I - I promise."
* * *
Mal's not sure what the noise is, coming up from under them, but he's had worse sleep than this interrupted by less, and he's still willing to crack heads over it. He slams his bunk door open, pawing his way up the rungs, and slides his suspenders up onto his shoulders once he's got his shirt tucked in. "Does somebody want to tell me!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, "What that wang ba dan noise is!"
Zoe's standing at the top of the balcony, and she turns toward him, gesturing for him to look.
Mal comes forward, and sure enough, there's Jayne and Steve, Jayne with a good sledgehammer, cracking away at the shield while Steve holds it. Over and over again.
Zoe looks impossibly amused, which only serves to aggravate Mal more. He reaches for his sidearm, levels the gun, and shoots the head of the sledge before it can come down again. The resulting noise is a deafening clang, and then a series of pings as the bullet ricochets around the room. Everyone ducks but Steve, who tracks the bullet path and then reaches up the shield to absorb the impact. The bullet drops to the ground.
Hell if Mal gets how that works, but it does.
"Aw c'mon!" Jayne yells up at him, dropping the sledge onto the floor with an equally grating clang.
Steve is frowning up at him. "That was...incredibly dangerous, captain."
"Havin' you on my ship is incredibly dangerous," Mal parrots, and it seems all the noise has driven Inara out of her shuttle, to boot. Great. An audience of talker-backers. He takes the steps at a lazy trot, and by the time he's down there, Jayne has the good grace to look a little sheepish. There's enough other stuff scattered around the cargo area that he has to wonder how long they were at this for.
"I actually wanted to speak to you," Steve says, "about that. Your pilot tells me you're scheduled to pass Veroe in a few days. We'd still like to be put off there."
"Oh," Mal says, surprised at how easy that was. Maybe he's getting a little too used to taking on people forever, he thinks wryly. Simon's come out and is talking to Kaylee in hushed tones, and he watches keenly as they wrap hands together and one pulls the other away, into the depths of the ship. "Uh. Alright then." With the wind out of his sails, Mal's not sure what to do with himself. "Doc says your friend's healin' up good. What's on Veroe for you?"
Steve picks up his shield, examines it for dents, even though it's obvious to everyone there aren't gonna be any. "We've got...friends," is what he settles on. It's not convincing.
"Uh huh," Mal says. It's not his business. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter; or it shouldn't, but it kind of does. At least to him. "Maybe you wanna tell me what I'm settin' down into, seein' as how I nearly got myself shot full'a holes on your friend's account on our way out of our last stop."
Steve thinks for a moment, and then nods. Mal tells himself he's gonna stop being surprised by how reasonable Steve can be, any time now. "It's, maybe, a SHIELD outpost. I don't know. It's old intel. But we'll see what there is to see."
"We?" Mal asks, looking around. Bucky's nowhere to be seen.
The absence clearly isn't sitting well, either. Steve frowns and slings his shield over his shoulder.
"So, uh," Mal says, nodding at the disc. "These SHIELD guys, they give all of you one'a those?"
Zoe's groan from above confuses him, but when he frowns up at her, she's already turning away.
* * *
It's a cool morning on Veroe when they put down.
Steve didn't bring much with him, so there isn't much to off-load, either. Zoe's supervising a refuel - not strictly necessary, but why not, said Mal - and standing with him, watching the sunrise.
"I always get to missin' that," she says, watching the full disc of fire come up over the edge of the world. "This system's only got one sun?"
Steve hums confirmation, making brief eye contact with Bucky as he trots down the gangway, onto dusty ground. "It's good to see it again," he admits, though he's never been on Veroe before. Any sun is a comfort. He watches the spread of Bucky's shoulders, how easy it is to imagine nothing changed. It's deceptive, to watch a body work, knowing and not knowing that something's different on the inside. Bucky turns his collar up against the chill - it's a high-desert kind of feeling, like things will warm up significantly when the mist burns off.
He's nearly forgotten that Zoe's standing next to him, when she speaks again: "I had a husband," she says.
Steve looks at her.
She looks right back, and if he's supposed to deduce his own commentary from that - he supposes he can. "He died," Steve guesses, pitching it not quite as a question.
Zoe doesn't answer. She looks out at Bucky instead. "There's loss," she says, slamming the big green button on the control panel that locks down the fueling systems, "and then there's loss. Make sure you don't wallow in one so long you're forced into the other."
Steve pretty proud of himself for being able to meet her eye. "I've already had both, ma'am," he says.
She stops to think that over for a moment, and then nods. Her point still stands - he knows that.
"Please tell the others thank you," Steve says, and shakes her hand.
"I will," she says, and lifts her hand again in farewell as Steve plods down the walkway. He can hear the slam and whir of small engines at work, as she raises the door behind him.
Bucky's waiting in the sagebrush.
"You sure about this?" he asks, as the engines on Serenity fire up behind them.
Steve laughs, easy and honest. "If SHIELD won't take us in, I don't think anybody else will. It's probably worth a shot." They start to walk, and there's no path - no dirt tracks, no well-worn coyote movement, nothing. It reminds him too much of Earth That Was, and Steve fights the nostalgia. Bucky must feel it too, because there's a hand on his shoulder blade, and he didn't even notice the man's arm move.
They're alone, out in nature, for now. He can see the glint of low-atmo satellites, and in the distance, the familiar shape of the Robotic Drilling Towers familiar to any civilized planet. It's not Core, but it's still a solid township.
"Captain America, out on the Rim," Bucky muses. There's a moment of silence. "I could tear up this whole planet. Kill everyone on it. Then what would you do?"
"Stop you," Steve says, and it comes out a little tired. "Again."
"Fuck you, Rogers," Bucky says, a little good-naturedly. Steve huffs a laugh through his teeth. They look over at each other, and Steve stops them walking. He wants this done before they get in around... well, people. People not Bucky. Some things are only for his ears.
"Stop trying to scare me away," Steve says. He thinks of River and Simon, of how the brother gave up everything to save her. He thinks of a life gone to waste, and thinks it wasn't a waste at all. Not if you get what you want - what you need - in the end.
He also thinks maybe they've both been around so long that the idea of waste is a little bit ludicrous.
Bucky levels up, looks at him. "Not until you start being scared, Steve."
Something pushes him, hard, in the chest, and he reaches out and cups the back of Bucky's neck. "You moron," he says, "I'm scared all the time," and kisses him. It's a couple hundred years too late, on the wrong planet, and Steve will kick him if he says anything about it. His heart hammers in his chest until Bucky reaches for the straps for the shield and tugs on them, the metal hitting dirt with a thud.
"What - " Steve breaks away to ask.
"Oh," Bucky says, eyebrows lifting. "It's just, I'm about to shove you down, and I thought that would probably hurt with the shield still - "
Steve is laughing when Bucky crashes him into the sage. And it still hurts, because scrub isn't exactly welcoming, all hard sticks and branches and unforgiving scratchy foliage. Bucky's heavy on top of him, straddling him down, and Steve has a moment where he remembers the cell, the shield at his throat -
But it's Bucky's hands on his shoulders, and a warm mouth sealed against his own. Steve shoves his hands up under Bucky's coat, feeling warm, warm skin and the smell is different, now - it's not clinical anymore, it's real, and there's - something Steve knows, there. Something about Bucky is what Steve knows.
The kiss is long, not remotely chaste, and Steve can't breathe. Not that he's ever cared less about that - he wants the way Bucky nips at his mouth, the way teeth catch and drag and hold, the salve of tongue and days of stubble, and it's all - it's what he's wanted, and he's a little delirious with it, with the end of things, with the end of hunting and the start of having.
Bucky pushes up on him, surprisingly feline, and Steve catches at his arm - the bad one. "Is it - "
"No, no, it's fake," Bucky reassures him. "It's not, like, grown in a vat or something, jesus, Steve."
Frankly, Steve thinks it's a perfectly legitimate question, all things considered. He's got dirt and twigs and sage in his hair, and the sun is coming up over Bucky's left shoulder. It's blinding, which is not at all romantic, and Bucky shifts to block it out, which leaves him haloed.
"We should probably get to walking," Steve says, not feeling very convinced.
"True," Bucky muses. "We have no idea how far we might have to go - no food, just some water - foreign territory - "
Steve finds himself being kissed again, which he assumes means none of that matters. His fingers weave up into Bucky's hair - if he's going to look like he got bushwacked, so should the other man. He tugs a little, which doesn't seem to do much but make Bucky growl, which is - interesting.
"Mmmm-alright," Bucky forces himself away after a moment, glaring down at Steve. He climbs off, brushes off his pants, and offers a hand down, yanking Steve to his feet with a grunt. Steve leans over and pushes the sage out of his scalp, grinning like a fool, and Bucky kicks him in the boot.
"So," Steve says, picking up his shield again.
"So," Bucky says, squinting up at him. "Alright."
"Alright," Steve echoes, and his grin gets even bigger.
They walk. Closer than before, and that round in Bucky's shoulders seems to be gone, but that could just be the lack of shadows, now. They keep walking toward the rising sun, for a trajectory that they can follow, and Steve sneaks a glance over at Bucky, who catches him at it, and digs an elbow deep into his ribs. It's funny, Steve thinks, not minding the thickness of the thought at all, how when he walks a certain way, his shadow falls right behind him.
This entry was originally posted at http://shadesofbrixton.dreamwidth.org/424316.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Rating: R
Paring: Steve/Bucky, some canon Firefly allusions.
Length: ~9K
Warnings: AVENGERS/FIREFLY FUSION. Post-Serenity spoilers. Mostly movie-verse Avengers, plus some...other stuff?
Summary: With Bucky missing for god-knows-how-long, and rumors of human weapon experiments off-world, Steve is going to need some help rescuing his best friend. Luckily, Malcolm Reynolds has a reputation to uphold.
Notes: So,
futureperfect kept posting all these gifs on Tumblr where Bucky looked kind of floppy-haired in the style of Malcolm Reynolds. And then we started talking about how Firefly/Captain America might work, and then she wrote THIS, which just... you should go read, because it is definitely a different place from where this fic goes. Which gives her the perfect excuse to go write it. Anyway, this is for you, Renne, since you're apparently the only one who can get me to write fic, pretty much ever. ♥ All of Mal's swearing is from here.
Time Watches From the Shadow
They're about six leagues too late to kick the guy out of the hold, but Mal's thinking about it anyway. It must read on his face - because of course it does - since it's got Inara clearing her throat delicately (and there's a joke there he has to step on mighty harsh) and giving him those eyebrows. He gives them right back, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his pants, and rocks back on his heels, sucking on his teeth.
"Well I think it's nice," says Kaylee, like that's the end of things, and the three of them look down over the blonde who's pacing the length of the cargo area, his feet pinging quietly on the industrial-grade metal.
"You think everybody's nice," says Mal, eyes rolling up to the metal strutting in the ceiling. Maybe they'll be on his side; nobody else is.
"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Inara huffs, and pads down the stairway, twisting her silks up over one arm to keep from tredding on them. Mal takes a moment to admire, head tilted, the curve of her back, and then clears his throat and follows.
"Steve," Inara says, in that voice that makes people stand up and pay attention - and Mal's made awful close note of the way the guy looks at her, waiting for that gaze to slip places it shouldn't - and the man stops his restless movement, and regards her with what Mal can only describe as military respect. He doesn't get it. This guy, this stranger, this passenger they only took for a bit of money, because hell and damn if they like to get close enough to the Core planets anymore, but when you're passing through for medical that's that, but this guy, he's obviously trained, but not a Browncoat. And sure as a four-day-shit, not Alliance. Running from Alliance.
Hence the problem.
Steve.
"Ma'am," he says, and it's not sarcastic, it's...it's genuine, and Mal scoffs, and Inara and Steve glare at him. He turns the scoff into a poorly disguised clearing of his throat into his fist. Steve's gaze takes him in with equal respect, after a moment. "Captain," he adds, his hands clasped in front of him. "I apologize for my - the liberties - but contacting Veroe - "
"Oh stop it," Inara says, her voice laced with amusement and dismissal.
"I'm sorry - " Mal says, his hand on his chest for a second - "Did you - are you the captain of my ship now? Did that happen, and I was not paying attention?"
Kaylee's laughing from up on the overlook, but Mal doesn't look at her. Saucy mechanic. Nothing for it.
Inara says nothing, her lips thinning. Amusement expired. Whoops. Mal's still trying to figure out how far is too far, sometimes, with her. "Look," she says, and it's a good impression of patience, it really is. "The communications signal that went out - he should have asked permission, but that doesn't mean that it's... it didn't do any harm, and I'm sure he had a good reason for it."
Steve is nodding earnestly, his eyes wide and...well...earnest. It's just embarrassing, is what makes Mal crumble.
"Alright look," he says, holding up his hands, and he huffs out a deep breath. "Let's... if you bring that jao gao mess'a trouble down on us, there's gonna be problems. But seein' as it seems innocent and all - " He pauses to confirm this with the blonde wall of a man, who's back to his serious-faced nodding. "...maybe we can just overlook this little incident. 'Sides, we're puttin' you off at the next stop anyway, so - "
"Ah," Steve cuts in.
"Sooooo," Mal stretches out, his eyes narrowing. Inara looks vaguely smug for a moment.
"About that." The man rocks uncomfortably onto his other foot. It shouldn't register as a balance shift for close combat, but it does, and Mal's attention, if not his hand, flicks to his sidearm.
"Oh no," Mal says. "No no. We are not taking you all the way to Veroe - "
"I can pay - " Steve wheedles, his brow nicking down all serious-like.
"I am well and certain you can," Mal says, voice raising, "but there is nothing in this - "
Steve's face turns all frustrated, which isn't a good look for him. "I've been perfectly behaved, how could I have known that communication was forbidding on your damn pirate sh - "
"Whoa now!" Mal yells, startling back a step or two in affront, "Say that again, say that to my face - "
"I'll take him as a client," Inara says quietly.
"I did say - " Steve stars, and then stops, face furrowing even deeper into confusion. " - Pardon?"
"You what," Mal barks. Inara has the audacity to look all passive about the whole thing, like she didn't just offer to spread her legs for some yi dwei da buen chuo roh stranger. She stares him down, unimpressed as ever, and draws up to her full height, which still has him glaring down his nose at her.
"I don't know what that means," Steve whispers at her side.
"Give me money," she stage whispers back, holding out her hand promptly. She doesn't break eye contact with Mal, and he doesn't believe for a second that their passenger - her new client - is as innocent as he looks. Not know a Companion his frilly pink ass. But there he goes, fumbling paper bills out of what looks like a cowhide billfold, pressing it into her hand. She tucks it away into her robe and smiles serenely at Mal.
"Woman - " he starts, and then grits his teeth, zeroing his glare down on Steve, instead. "You. Why the seven hells d'you wanna stay on my boat so bad?"
Steve has the common sense - or good grace - to look a little bashful now, like that'll do a gorram thing for Mal's opinion of him. "I'm looking for someone - I was told you were the man to come to. That this ship did things other people wouldn't."
"She maybe does," Mal monotones, tipping his head at Inara, who rolls her eyes.
Steve sighs, obviously fed up with his treatment of the "lady." Well, good. He deserves as much frustration as Mal's feeling. "A - a friend of mine is trapped in a facility." He's searching Mal's face, those baby blues suddenly real sharp. "I heard your crew had experience - "
Mal's gun is out and tipped up under Steve's chin before he can finish the sentence. "Heard from who."
To the stranger's credit, he doesn't stammer under the press of steel. "Shepherd Book," he says calmly.
Mal feels a wash of cold, and then hot, and lowers his gun. "Tzao gao," he mutters. He takes a step back, and looks down the corridor that leads to the bridge. There's a moment of silence, before he clears his throat. "Give the man back his money," he says, waving at Inara as he turns. He doesn't look at either of them. Fuck if he wants to do any of this again. Fuck. "He can stay. You." Mal turns around, holsters his gun, and points at Steve. "Go talk to the pilot, tell her where you need to go. You get any of my crew killed, I'll tie you to the prow and make a masthead."
He turns and stalks down the corridor, dragging himself up onto the second level by the rungs planted into the wall. He's nearly out of range when he hears Steve ask Inara,
"It's...that easy?"
And her echoing sigh as she replies, "Guess so."
* * *
Steve knows he isn't the only larger guy on the ship - there's also that man with the hat, the one who likes guns so much - and they're built pretty similarly. But he can't help the feeling that he's going to break something as he ducks through the lowered doorway onto the bridge. That's where he assumes the pilot will be, anyway. He's spent the majority of the past few... well. The past long time - On World, on Core planets. Space travel is usually just shuttles. These big, long trips into the Black, he isn't sure about quite yet.
He firms his resolve - time to get over that kind of doubt.
As his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the bridge - easier to see out the front portals, he guesses, but it isn't like you fly a spaceship by seeing, so that was...kind of weird? - he realizes he's alone. "Um," he says, eyes shifting over control panels and switches. "Hello?"
"I've tasted your mind before," comes the soft reply from the captain's chair.
Steve takes a few more steps forward and looks down - a tiny girl with long black hair peers back up. "Hello," he says again, and holds out his hand. "I'm Steve."
The girl takes his palm in both hands and looks at the lines on it, not like a Reader, just like she's interested in them. "River," she says, distracted. "Where's your tights?"
"Ah," Steve says, caught off guard and feeling his face heat, strangely, because of it. "I don't... anymore. Not for a long time."
"Neither does he," she says in that same dream-like tone she'd greeted him with. "He's been waiting for ages and ages - they don't know. Every winter, every snow..." She closes her eyes. Steve feels distinctly uncomfortable. His hand is freed, and he tucks it awkwardly behind his back, clasping hand-to-wrist with the other. "Little brother, sidekick, fr - oh, you're in love with him. That's nice. He's not - there."
Steve feels his hackles rise, a sharp breath in through his nose. "You're the pilot?"
"I'm the resident crazy," River says, staring out through the windows again. "The map was rewalked as soon as you climbed in. Don't worry so much. We're on our way."
Steve isn't quite sure what to say to that. Or what the heck it means, anyway. So he stays silent for a minute, because that's better than making an idiot out of himself. He doesn't usually feel this way with people he doesn't understand, but there's a distinct flavor to River that he hasn't felt in... a really, really long time. He's worked with brilliant men in his long, long lifetime, and he's had many conversations that he hasn't been able to completely follow, but he hasn't been reminded so much of Tony -
"Stark," she says, and he feels the hair on the back of his arms in a wave of sensation.
"Excuse me?" he says quietly.
"Stark Industries. Own the planet. Finance the Alliance experiments. Little drills in little holes," she says, her smile sad. "I've tasted your mind before. Old, old, crumbling dust and..." she reaches a hand out, fingers flicking toward the darkness of space. "Rim... older. You, but not you. Winter was...with me. In the labs."
It doesn't make sense, but maybe it does. It's a little bit like talking to someone who learned the pidgin first, and then English. Or someone who only talks Trade.
"You've...seen Bucky?" he hazards.
River hums Hail to the Chief, in response. Just the first bar or two, then she lets her hand drop, props her elbow on her upturned knee. "We'll be there by tonight. He doesn't want to see you. All broken. Tin soldier, like in the story. One leg. Melted."
"One arm," Steve corrects her, and then realizes the reference she's making. "Oh." Does that make him the ballerina? This whole conversation is making his head hurt.
She laughs at him, but it's not unkind.
Steve props himself against the empty, dark side console that he has to assume is for a copilot. His hands push down his thighs, and he blows out a hard breath. An unwanted thought circles his mind.
"No," she says, and pushes her fingers up toward the ceiling, flicking two out of three switches on a panel above her head. "He's not like me."
The girl is disturbingly coherent when she wants to be, and it sends another shiver through him that he didn't have to ask. She's not like the other psychics she's known, but it does make the concept easier to grasp. "Will he be able to read my mind?" he asks her.
"Not any more than he already could," she says, and then lets her head roll on the back of the chair to peer at him again. "Captain - Captain of America. You should have a ship. America the beautiful. Amber waves of grain."
Steve looks down at the floor.
"Not for a long time now," he says, and they sit in shadows together.
* * *
The facility is on a medical planet, one that's never been anything but industrial, so it doesn't have a proper name - it's just SI Mach 17 on a map, and Mal will deal with the fact that his pilot rerouted them without his permission five days before he even agreed to this mi tian gohn rescue plan later. He'd expected days to get ready for the extraction, maybe put together something real nice and clever. Instead, it's him and Zoe with guns and Steve with a -
"I don't understand how a shield is going to help," Mal says for about the twentieth time, in a loud hiss, as they get off the mule.
Zoe doesn't bother to answer, and Steve gives him a consternated look over one shoulder. Mal would much rather have bullets, is all.
He holds his breath as they make their way down the concrete ramp toward intake. It's a public facility, is the thing. Not a hospital, but the kind of place where rich-ass kids come and do their research to further the medical community or some luh suh like that. People making weapons out of people, if River's translated nattering is true. Simon had pulled him aside a few hours after dawn, and buzzed in his ear for a couple minutes about what they were probably going to expect.
Well shit, if Mal hadn't known that already he wouldn't have agreed to this rescue plan in the first place. Still, it was a still-unexpected courtesy from the doctor, and while he won't actively be spreading any praise around for it, he appreciates the gesture.
He hates just walking into places. Hates the way people look at his clothes like he's trying to say something (which he is, if Zoe's blandly raised eyebrow anytime he complains means anything) and how it's always plenty easy to get in, but getting out...
"I could just stay at the entrance," he offers cheerfully. Because like hell they're just gonna let them pop in and escort out some stiff. Simon had planned River's extraction for how many years? Spent how much of the family fortune doing it?
"That won't be necessary," Steve says, pulling a card out of his pocket and showing it to a receptionist wearing all powder-blue. Soothing, Mal guesses. Or something.
Zoe's eyebrows lift. It's the closest she ever gets to surprise, Mal observes ruefully. "I didn't know SHIELD actually existed," she says. It's like a question, but not.
Steve stuffs the card back into his pocket with something like embarrassment. "Oh sure," he says, eyes sliding over to the receptionist as she puts her communicator down and waves them through. He slings his shield onto his back and paces himself next to Mal, like standing too close to Zoe makes him nervous or something.
On second thought, Mal can't blame him too much for that.
"Never heard of 'em," Mal says, just to keep from being left out of the conversation.
"They're... old," Zoe says, and her face gets all quiet and closed up, like just saying it has suddenly made her realize that Steve is one big wuh de ma mystery.
"I'm old," is Steve's only response to that, and then he ducks down a hallway, pauses for a second to study a sign in Mandarin, and looks at Mal for help. "Where would they be keeping him, if he's awake?"
"If?" Zoe echoes, and Mal's about to tell him that he might be the expert at body removal, but that doesn't mean he knows the first gorram thing about how these cages are built, when Steve grabs a passing student with a light touch of the arm.
"Excuse me," he says, so polite it almost makes Mal bring up breakfast, "I'm looking for any live subject observation areas - "
"You - " the student gasps, fumbling her books and her bag and her glasses all at once. "Ohmygosh - "
Steve's turning pink. Zoe turns her face away in that way she does when something's funny. Mal doesn't like not getting the joke.
"Shh," Steve says, holding a finger up to his mouth, and winking, for - wo de tian a - "It's a surprise. Can you help me find - "
"Down corridor G!" the girl stammers out, and Mal thinks it's a damn good thing Inara isn't here to see it. She might get jealous, after all. "That's where all the historical stuff is - the Earth That Was SHIELD Initiative - there's a display, you can't miss it!" She takes out a hand-held device and holds it up in front of her, popping off an image of Steve, probably to show her friends later. "Wow!" She clutches her books to her chest, turning in a circle so she can still talk while she walks away. "Good luck, Captain America!"
Mal stares down the hallway. "Captain what."
"Nothing," Steve waves him off, and studies the signs again, redirecting them, Mal presumes, toward corridor G.
"Guay toh guay nown,," Mal accuses him, and Steve frowns, "So who the hell are you."
Zoe sighs her long-suffering sigh. "He's Captain America. Didn't you do any research before you joined the resistance, Mal? You're embarrassing."
Steve, though, looks surprised. "You've heard of me - "
"Of course I have," Zoe says flatly. "Anyone who holds a gun should have to study your troop movements. Come on, this is ridiculous."
Mal likes being shown up just as much as he likes being lied to. "Just out of curiosity," he says in his most falsely sweet voice, "why did you need us to get you in here if you're so famous?"
Steve's jaw clenches. "They wouldn't let me off-world. For a long time. Your ship was the only one that didn't ask for an ID to travel." He touched the pocket he'd stuffed the plastic card back into. "Anyone else knows I'm supposed to be - working."
"Protecting the core planets," Zoe corrects.
"It's just a figurehead job now," he says, and they stop abruptly.
It's a pretty damn big hallway. There's some weird stuff in it; most of it's clothing. Capes, and cuffs, and one that Mal thinks is a joke, where the sign says invisible lasso but there's, obviously, nothing there. There's a big robot, all silver, with a tiny head, and some nasty looking weapons - including some bows and staffs and things that Mal would've assumed would be a little archaic, even for Earth That Was. There's even some old Paper News squares, with big black words splashed on them. War. Always war. They never keep things for any other reason, Mal reckons. Some creepy looking masks and a thing with eight curling legs. A giant sickle, but it doesn't attach in a way that Mal thinks it'd make to swing. And a thousand other things he can't even start to identify.
And at the end of it, there's a couple of cells. Zoe's lingering over a black cat suit, her gaze contemplative, when Mal can't help himself. "Steve, are we thievin' a museum?"
The man frowns. He's staring into one of the cells, where a giant hammer and a huge, blue, glowing cube are ensconced. There's also a helmet with some horns on it; Mal doesn't even know what that's for. "Human beings aren't supposed to be in museums."
Zoe, who's moved along from the clothing, stops in front of a second cell. Her fingertips press against the glass. "Is that what he is?" she asks gently. "Human?"
Steve's breath catches, and his strides lengthen, and he stops in front of the cell. Whatever he sees - Mal's trying to catch up, here, but it's a long hallway, okay - makes him curse, which seems weirdly out of character for a guy who won't even speak Mandarin. Then he slings the shield off of his back, lifts it up over his head, and slams the everliving sha gwa out of the protective glass.
And even though Mal knows this stuff is made out of bomb-proof material, against all reason, it shatters.
* * *
In retrospect, Steve thinks there probably would've been a more subtle way to get into the cell. But when he sees Bucky, his instincts seem to take over, and in a way it's comforting to know that the shield still has some uses.
The noise, though - the impact - has a reaction that he wasn't expecting. Bucky, who had been staring listlessly at the wall, not even paying attention to the fact that he'd been stared out by people - which makes Steve wonder how many do it, how many faces pass by him every day - goes scrambling up a wall. It reminds him instantly of Peter; it also doesn't make any sense.
"Buck," he says, stepping over the shattered glass, and stares up into the cell. "Come on. Come on, we gotta get out of here." He lifts his hand to beckon Bucky down, and the man attacks him.
Not that it would be the first time, Steve thinks wryly, as he absorbs the impact with his shield and bent knees. He lets the momentum carry him back, and then slams his weight forward, sending Bucky careening back into a wall. Beyond all sense, the man seems to catch himself in mid air; Steve watches as Bucky reverses trajectory and comes back at him with nothing but bare hands, grabbing the edge of the shield and wrenching it away from Steve's arm.
Before he really understands what's going on, he's bent backward over a bolted down table with the edge of the shield at his throat, and a grimacing Bucky preparing to press down the final necessary inches.
Zoe steps in with a pistol and that about ends it.
"Hi," she says, no sweetness in her voice. Bucky stares past the barrel at Steve's face. No response there.
"Bucky," Steve starts, and Mal's shouting over his shoulder -
"Maybe we can save the touching reunion for some other time, seein' as we need to be makin' scarce, soonish?" he suggests at a volume. Bucky lets him up, and Steve coughs, rubbing at his throat. The bruising will wear away fast, but the sense of wrongness, of having his own weapon used against him, lingers.
Steve doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Bind Bucky's hands? Keep a gun to his back? Kiss him until the violins swell and there's a sudden moment of broken recognition, Bucky coming apart, loose under his hands, that wondering gaze -
Jesus.
Steve rubs his hand over his eyes and lowers his shield, grabbing Bucky by his forearm. "You think you're the only one who can live forever?" he mutters with a small measure of earned belligerence.
"Oh," Bucky says. "It's you."
Zoe drops her gun and takes point, moving them through the corridor with an easy grace. Steve admires her, the way she moves, but she scares him, too. There are a few guards coming from the way they've left - Mal's laying cover fire, but the facility didn't have that many to start with. Who guards a museum? Steve remembers the one cop who would walk the halls of the MoMA.
"You with us now?" Steve checks in on Bucky, leaving his arm. He misses the touch, tries not to go for it again.
"I'm not the one who left," Bucky says, a wry twist on his mouth. He reaches up for a katana on a wall - Steve feels like it looks familiar but he can't figure why - and drops the sheath on the ground.
Zoe's stopped by a panel at a door, and she looks back at Steve. "We need your badge again, I think."
Steve glances at Bucky, who gives him a hard look back. Steve isn't surprised when they progress together. It's...something he's always felt a mixture of guilt and gratitude for, this ability they have. How many hundreds of years - the numbers make him queasy, when he thinks about it.
How many times can you lose someone and find them again.
How many times until they stop wanting you to?
He pulls out his badge, jaw set, and swipes the card over the reader. The door makes a cranky beep, refusing to let them through. Zoe swears, levels her gun at the keypad, and -
"No!" Mal yells from behind, where he's running to catch up. "Don't - I just saw one of the guards do it, it activates a failsafe - we'll get sealed inside."
"Fuck," says Bucky. Privately, Steve agrees. "Great rescue there, Cap."
"Bucky," Steve says, exasperated, and looks at him.
Bucky's grinning. It's a sort of strange expression to see on his face. Steve wrestles with the urge to push him up against the portal, and something must show on him, because Bucky's gaze flickers down (to his throat?) and then up again, and Steve -
"Aaaany time now," Mal says from behind them, leveling his gun and clipping the arm of a guard.
"I thought we were sealed in," Zoe says, confused.
"Well, apparently they're not too concerned about lockin' in their folks with us," Mal observes wryly. The guard tries to lift his gun again, and Mal swears in pidgin and levels the gun again. "I will shoot you in your pretty face, put the gun down."
The guard drops his weapon.
"That's why I wanted your crew," Steve says, moving closer to the pad. "You don't kill if you don't have to."
"Hey, I can kill plenty fine - " Mal protests, and Bucky twists enough to talk at him.
"It was a compliment, jackass."
Steve ignores them in favor of the panel. It looks familiar in a way he can't quite recognize, and he feels his frustration building again - surrounded by these artifacts, this life so long past. Relegated to a hallway, to a room - not even understood, really, just studied out of context, and - he feels around the ridges of the scanner, his fingertips brushing over a light blue screen.
A soft musical chime sounds, and an artificial voice says: "Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers."
Steve stares at the panel.
"Jarvis?" he blurts.
Bucky starts laughing behind him, gut-deep and rich and rounded. "You gotta be shitting me."
"Indeed," says the voice, and it doesn't seem to be coming from the panel, exactly, so much as all around them. "It is, as ever, a great pleasure to welcome you to the Stark Industries operating systems. How may I assist you today?"
"Uh," Steve says.
"Unlock the damn doors?" Bucky suggests.
Steve gives him a quelling glare that says Be polite, before he remembers that Jarvis has probably put up with a lot worse in his time. Either way, it doesn't seem to matter, since the door in front of them has just hissed and opened.
"I would think it wise at this time," Jarvis goes on, "to only unlock this particular door, as the other has a mounting force behind it. If you would be so good as to follow me, I shall return you to your vehicle, Mr. Rogers."
Mal takes up the rear, but he's still close enough to comment on this turn of events: "Is the building have a conversation with you, Steve?"
"Yes, um," Steve says, spotting another door opening of its own accord and herding everyone in that direction. "I'll...introduce you later?"
"Yeah," says Mal, sounding slightly dazed. "Great."
* * *
Mal's about had it. On the one hand, he thinks that's probably saying something - he can be a pretty patient guy. On the other hand, he's been aggravated by Steve from the start, so it's possible he's not being as generous as he could be. Even with the voice's help, they're not having the best time. The mule is visible - it's just surrounded by lien mohn soldiers. With very big guns.
The wall says, "If a diversion might be necessary, I would be quite pleased to alert the case of a fire to - "
"They're not gonna need guns for a fire," Bucky interrupts.
The wall actually sasses him back: "Calculations project a 59% success rate if fire is presented in a systematic spread, Mr. Barnes."
"No, he's right," Mal says, and then smacks himself in the forehead for talking to the wall. Zoe gives him a sideways glance, but doesn't say anything; she's seen him hit himself enough times not to worry about it by now. (That's a good look for you, sir, in her even tone.)
Everyone shifts back to look at him, and he finds himself suddenly on the spot. "Uh," he says, shifting back on his heels, where they're all squatting next to a wall. "That is, I mean... soldiers?" he offers, pointing over toward the people who are on his mule.
"We could just leave it - " Steve offers.
"This is bullshit," Bucky decides, and stands up.
"Bucky!" Steve hisses, unslinging the shield from his shoulder. Mal wants to know what the gorram hell they think they're doing - they, because Steve is following him out into the open now, and Mal's never seen two idiots with such big - fahn dahn, that's what they are, and he doesn't mean that in a good way.
Bucky's striding forward with that stupid sword, like a gun wouldn't be a million times better, and the soldiers
start to mutter and stand up and take their own weapons out. Real casual, which even Mal knows is stupid, and he doesn't even know this guy.
From there, it's a wo cao blood bath.
Mal's down on one knee while Bucky swings the katana close to his body, keeps it at his hip. It's almost like he's moving it with nothing but his wrist, and then this sweeping full-arm movements. Mal would be more horrified if he hadn't seem the same thing from River more than a couple times already - but even that doesn't make it any easier to swallow. Watching somebody move like that. "Ain't right." He's not even sure he's said it out loud - and jesus, there's blade through trachea, just at the right angle to make things messier than they need to be, as that last rattled breath presses blood up and out - and Zoe looks over at him and shrugs.
Saved bullets are saved time, according to her. Things aren't quite the same since the crash.
They don't talk about that.
Steve's got his shield off, and Mal cringes as it cracks into some poor guy's head hard enough to leave a good wedge-shaped dent in what used to be a skull. For all Steve was praising earlier about mercy, the man's got a nasty streak when it comes to anybody who gets too close to lifting a weapon to in Bucky's direction. He wants to know what the thing's made out of, too, since it seems to deflect any kind of ammunition. Including the katana - there's a moment where Bucky comes in, on a spin-kick, and it's like he doesn't even realize Steve is there, would probably have cut him in two if the sword hadn't put down against the shield with a bell-like clang instead.
"They remind me of us," Mal says after a minute. Zoe has nothing to say to that, so Mal adds: "I'm startin' to feel a might cowardly back here, Zo'."
She snorts, and stands up. "Well, sir, maybe you oughta run in there, then. Certainly seems like there's room for another body."
Steve and Bucky are back to back, now, slow circles while the remaining soldiers shift nervously amongst themselves. Zoe's right - things are pretty much all taken care of. Doesn't mean Mal can't speed things along, though. He turns his gun skyward and lets off a round above his head. All heads whip his way - Bucky uses the distraction as a merciless excuse to excavate somebody's liver from the inside.
"Jesus," Mal hears Steve mutter quietly, as the body slumps forward off the blade.
"Let's move along!" Mal yells at the other soldiers, and that seems to be enough - to realize that there's two more flanking them - and the rest of them flee. It's a little dissatisfying, if Mal's honest. It's been a while since he's had some.
"Sir," Zoe scolds him. She probably recognizes the face.
He coughs and trots toward the mule, which Steve's gotten fired up in the meantime.
They sling into the transport, and Bucky's on the back, the sword across his knees. He's got more blood on him than Mal knows to say about, and doesn't seem to care that it's there. He can hear Zoe sending a wave back to the crew that they're on their way, and to be ready to move. But all he can watch is the way the man's eyes don't waver, how hard they are, watching the building retreat in the distance.
Steve's looking at his shield, and nothing else.
Rescue's not always what you think it'll be, Mal knows. Maybe the Doc got lucky after all, with his crazyass sister. Maybe it's better for everybody that way, to have one foot on the terra firma and the other foot in another dimension, than to be like this guy.
Whatever he is.
"They're coming," Bucky says, soft enough to almost miss it, but all edges, too.
* * *
They make it back to the ship.
Steve's relieved, but he's not surprised. He chose the crew for a reason, and as they break atmo, he stays down in the cargo bay and tries to get himself collected. Simon's looking over Bucky, doing brain scans and bone density tests and checking for the same nerve damage that he's got files on his sister for. Cutting into his brain, Simon said. Over and over. A chill creeps up Steve's back again, and he steels himself against it. It's not like he didn't know. That was why he went in after the man.
But why the hell did he have to take so long.
That's the only question he can see in Bucky's face when Steve can manage to make himself look.
He paces the hold, rubs shine into his shield even though the blood's long off it. He's known Bucky as a killer before; it shouldn't be a shock anymore, but it's something he's always had a hard time letting go of. The Winter Soldier programming. He wonders if it's the same people, just generations later - the ones who turned him into what he was then, and the ones who -
Cutting into his brain.
Jesus.
"Steve?"
He looks up, and the mechanic girl is waiting at the top of the metal staircase. "Simon says - he'll - if you want to, you can talk to him?" Everything sounds like a question from her, but Steve nods and climbs up to her anyway. He leaves the shield behind.
She shows him down a few corridors and then points the way, and Steve squeezes her shoulder in thanks, not sure he can talk just then. There's blue light coming out of an open door way - it reminds Steve of Jarvis - Jarvis - who he should have said goodbye to, or at least thanks. It's too late to fix, but he can't shake the regret anyway. There's voices inside, and Steve pauses outside the door. River. Her half-awake voice, like she's always listening to someone else talk at the same time as her.
"He can't fix you. Couldn't fix me - keeps trying, but I don't want, want to be - "
"Hey," Bucky says, a low tone of voice, soothing. Steve remembers little sisters, nieces. "It's okay."
"I'm a real girl," River says, almost whisper-quiet. Then she takes a deep breath, Steve can hear her blowing it out hard. There's a sound of cloth on cloth - Steve imagines Bucky rubbing her back. She's so tiny - like a doll, and he just bets she hates that.
"You're - " Bucky starts, and Steve can feel himself craning to listen - and feels guilty for listening in. " - I think we're whatever we wanna be, huh. Maybe that's the point."
"Weapon," River says. "Spy, like a wound-up-music-box-ballerina - "
"Okay," Bucky says.
And River stops talking. Steve thinks that's kind of amazing, because he's heard about eight million words come out of the girl (or none at all) and none of them ever gave him the impression that she cared who was talking at the same time as her. And then she goes and blows it all by saying: "The dead man is listening in."
Steve takes a deep breath and eases around the corner. "Hey," he says, and River slides off the table where she's sitting next to Bucky - against a wall, always a wall at his back - and sort of...twirls? over to hug him. Steve awkwardly drapes an arm over her. "Uh," he says, glancing up at Bucky. His friend - maybe - shrugs.
Then she's gone.
"She's sweet," Bucky says. "Bonkers, though."
A laugh slips out of Steve, high and desperate, he can't help it. Bucky's grin is crooked all over, and there's something in his eyes that Steve's seen in River's. Like he's looking past Steve, or through him, or something. "So what are you now?" Steve asks.
Bucky's head rolls - and jeeze, that's River, right there - and looks at him. They're at eye level, like this - maybe Bucky's a little bit higher - so it's not as creepy as when the girl does it from below. "I was already a weapon." He sounds a little hollowed out about it. "Jesus, you didn't even know and you came and got me anyway, huh."
Steve doesn't know what to say to that. A little lance of anger cuts through him, wrestles its way up to the top. It's been so long since he's let himself feel it toward Bucky that it took its time rising. "Yeah, Buck. Yeah, I f - of course I came and got you, I just - I should've been faster - "
"Shut up," Bucky grits out. Steve clenches his jaw, watches Bucky pull his knees up. It's all blues and whites in the room, medical equipment and beds and lamps and...imaging...things. Things Steve doesn't even really understand.
They're quiet for a long time. After a while, Steve comes over to the counter and sits next to him. The surface is clean and white, slick. Steve can't figure out what the material is.
"You ever wish you were dead?" Bucky asks.
"Yes," Steve says promptly, because it's a conversation he's had with himself a lot, and he's been alive for far too long. It doesn't, however, mean that he wants to be dead. Just that he thinks he probably should be. "You?"
"Mm," Bucky says. "I already am."
Steve cracks. "Oh, Bucky." He can't help reaching out, but Bucky's curling forward, making room for Steve's arm to go around his shoulder, and his head fits under Steve's chin. His nose finds the back of Bucky's hairline. He smells like antiseptic. Like that museum, and something more. Nothing familiar. They've taken everything, Steve thinks, his throat roughed up. They always take everything. "No you're not," he harshes out after a second.
"I'll kill you," Bucky says against his chest, and Steve puts his hand up on the side of the man's face, cradling him there, and can feel the play of something as his facial muscles move, but not enough to translate what they mean. For that he has to straighten up, and look down, catch just the way the corner of Bucky's eye clenches up, like he's fighting it. It isn't a threat, though. Just something cleanly seen as a fact.
"No," Steve insists.
"God damn it, I will," Bucky rages at him, shoving upward again. He's got a scalpel in his hand, the sweet curve of it pressed up under Steve's jugular. Bucky's ranting, breathing uneven: "I wouldn't even know, it wouldn't even be me, you could say the wrong thing or ask the wrong - the wrong word - all it takes is a word - and I don't even - don't even know what they are, what sets me off, why do you - think I was - in a - "
He's hyperventilating, Steve realizes distantly, something he hasn't seen a trained soldier do in a long time. Steve puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders and pushes him back carefully. The scalpel clatters somewhere - Steve makes a note where it lands, so that no one's feet get cut up.
"Bucky," he says gently, ducking down an inch or so to peer into the man's eyes. "If you don't know by now, how much I don't care what you might do to me - "
He's not sure how to end the sentence, and cuts off, leaves the thought and the breath hanging, and just shakes his head, brows drawn together.
Bucky's eyes are red-rimmed, as his breathing slows. Simon's words curl into Steve's mind again and again: cut into his brain. Whatever's left of Bucky, though, it's enough. It'll always be enough - Steve doesn't know how he doesn't see that, how much of him is still in there, how Steve could never leave that, as long as there was just a second, just a chance that there might be something left.
His friend closes his eyes, turns away from him, and pushes back. Leans against Steve's side. The arm around him drapes down Bucky's chest, and Steve hugs him hard against his ribs, burying his face in his hair once more.
"Don't run away again," Steve pleads, and can feel the shuddering guilt work through...both of them, maybe. He's not sure where that movement started, just that it transmutes.
"I didn't," Bucky fights him, his voice rough. "They took me - "
"Bucky - " Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off.
"Fine," he says sharply, and then leans his chin down onto his chest. "...yeah. No, I - I promise."
* * *
Mal's not sure what the noise is, coming up from under them, but he's had worse sleep than this interrupted by less, and he's still willing to crack heads over it. He slams his bunk door open, pawing his way up the rungs, and slides his suspenders up onto his shoulders once he's got his shirt tucked in. "Does somebody want to tell me!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, "What that wang ba dan noise is!"
Zoe's standing at the top of the balcony, and she turns toward him, gesturing for him to look.
Mal comes forward, and sure enough, there's Jayne and Steve, Jayne with a good sledgehammer, cracking away at the shield while Steve holds it. Over and over again.
Zoe looks impossibly amused, which only serves to aggravate Mal more. He reaches for his sidearm, levels the gun, and shoots the head of the sledge before it can come down again. The resulting noise is a deafening clang, and then a series of pings as the bullet ricochets around the room. Everyone ducks but Steve, who tracks the bullet path and then reaches up the shield to absorb the impact. The bullet drops to the ground.
Hell if Mal gets how that works, but it does.
"Aw c'mon!" Jayne yells up at him, dropping the sledge onto the floor with an equally grating clang.
Steve is frowning up at him. "That was...incredibly dangerous, captain."
"Havin' you on my ship is incredibly dangerous," Mal parrots, and it seems all the noise has driven Inara out of her shuttle, to boot. Great. An audience of talker-backers. He takes the steps at a lazy trot, and by the time he's down there, Jayne has the good grace to look a little sheepish. There's enough other stuff scattered around the cargo area that he has to wonder how long they were at this for.
"I actually wanted to speak to you," Steve says, "about that. Your pilot tells me you're scheduled to pass Veroe in a few days. We'd still like to be put off there."
"Oh," Mal says, surprised at how easy that was. Maybe he's getting a little too used to taking on people forever, he thinks wryly. Simon's come out and is talking to Kaylee in hushed tones, and he watches keenly as they wrap hands together and one pulls the other away, into the depths of the ship. "Uh. Alright then." With the wind out of his sails, Mal's not sure what to do with himself. "Doc says your friend's healin' up good. What's on Veroe for you?"
Steve picks up his shield, examines it for dents, even though it's obvious to everyone there aren't gonna be any. "We've got...friends," is what he settles on. It's not convincing.
"Uh huh," Mal says. It's not his business. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter; or it shouldn't, but it kind of does. At least to him. "Maybe you wanna tell me what I'm settin' down into, seein' as how I nearly got myself shot full'a holes on your friend's account on our way out of our last stop."
Steve thinks for a moment, and then nods. Mal tells himself he's gonna stop being surprised by how reasonable Steve can be, any time now. "It's, maybe, a SHIELD outpost. I don't know. It's old intel. But we'll see what there is to see."
"We?" Mal asks, looking around. Bucky's nowhere to be seen.
The absence clearly isn't sitting well, either. Steve frowns and slings his shield over his shoulder.
"So, uh," Mal says, nodding at the disc. "These SHIELD guys, they give all of you one'a those?"
Zoe's groan from above confuses him, but when he frowns up at her, she's already turning away.
* * *
It's a cool morning on Veroe when they put down.
Steve didn't bring much with him, so there isn't much to off-load, either. Zoe's supervising a refuel - not strictly necessary, but why not, said Mal - and standing with him, watching the sunrise.
"I always get to missin' that," she says, watching the full disc of fire come up over the edge of the world. "This system's only got one sun?"
Steve hums confirmation, making brief eye contact with Bucky as he trots down the gangway, onto dusty ground. "It's good to see it again," he admits, though he's never been on Veroe before. Any sun is a comfort. He watches the spread of Bucky's shoulders, how easy it is to imagine nothing changed. It's deceptive, to watch a body work, knowing and not knowing that something's different on the inside. Bucky turns his collar up against the chill - it's a high-desert kind of feeling, like things will warm up significantly when the mist burns off.
He's nearly forgotten that Zoe's standing next to him, when she speaks again: "I had a husband," she says.
Steve looks at her.
She looks right back, and if he's supposed to deduce his own commentary from that - he supposes he can. "He died," Steve guesses, pitching it not quite as a question.
Zoe doesn't answer. She looks out at Bucky instead. "There's loss," she says, slamming the big green button on the control panel that locks down the fueling systems, "and then there's loss. Make sure you don't wallow in one so long you're forced into the other."
Steve pretty proud of himself for being able to meet her eye. "I've already had both, ma'am," he says.
She stops to think that over for a moment, and then nods. Her point still stands - he knows that.
"Please tell the others thank you," Steve says, and shakes her hand.
"I will," she says, and lifts her hand again in farewell as Steve plods down the walkway. He can hear the slam and whir of small engines at work, as she raises the door behind him.
Bucky's waiting in the sagebrush.
"You sure about this?" he asks, as the engines on Serenity fire up behind them.
Steve laughs, easy and honest. "If SHIELD won't take us in, I don't think anybody else will. It's probably worth a shot." They start to walk, and there's no path - no dirt tracks, no well-worn coyote movement, nothing. It reminds him too much of Earth That Was, and Steve fights the nostalgia. Bucky must feel it too, because there's a hand on his shoulder blade, and he didn't even notice the man's arm move.
They're alone, out in nature, for now. He can see the glint of low-atmo satellites, and in the distance, the familiar shape of the Robotic Drilling Towers familiar to any civilized planet. It's not Core, but it's still a solid township.
"Captain America, out on the Rim," Bucky muses. There's a moment of silence. "I could tear up this whole planet. Kill everyone on it. Then what would you do?"
"Stop you," Steve says, and it comes out a little tired. "Again."
"Fuck you, Rogers," Bucky says, a little good-naturedly. Steve huffs a laugh through his teeth. They look over at each other, and Steve stops them walking. He wants this done before they get in around... well, people. People not Bucky. Some things are only for his ears.
"Stop trying to scare me away," Steve says. He thinks of River and Simon, of how the brother gave up everything to save her. He thinks of a life gone to waste, and thinks it wasn't a waste at all. Not if you get what you want - what you need - in the end.
He also thinks maybe they've both been around so long that the idea of waste is a little bit ludicrous.
Bucky levels up, looks at him. "Not until you start being scared, Steve."
Something pushes him, hard, in the chest, and he reaches out and cups the back of Bucky's neck. "You moron," he says, "I'm scared all the time," and kisses him. It's a couple hundred years too late, on the wrong planet, and Steve will kick him if he says anything about it. His heart hammers in his chest until Bucky reaches for the straps for the shield and tugs on them, the metal hitting dirt with a thud.
"What - " Steve breaks away to ask.
"Oh," Bucky says, eyebrows lifting. "It's just, I'm about to shove you down, and I thought that would probably hurt with the shield still - "
Steve is laughing when Bucky crashes him into the sage. And it still hurts, because scrub isn't exactly welcoming, all hard sticks and branches and unforgiving scratchy foliage. Bucky's heavy on top of him, straddling him down, and Steve has a moment where he remembers the cell, the shield at his throat -
But it's Bucky's hands on his shoulders, and a warm mouth sealed against his own. Steve shoves his hands up under Bucky's coat, feeling warm, warm skin and the smell is different, now - it's not clinical anymore, it's real, and there's - something Steve knows, there. Something about Bucky is what Steve knows.
The kiss is long, not remotely chaste, and Steve can't breathe. Not that he's ever cared less about that - he wants the way Bucky nips at his mouth, the way teeth catch and drag and hold, the salve of tongue and days of stubble, and it's all - it's what he's wanted, and he's a little delirious with it, with the end of things, with the end of hunting and the start of having.
Bucky pushes up on him, surprisingly feline, and Steve catches at his arm - the bad one. "Is it - "
"No, no, it's fake," Bucky reassures him. "It's not, like, grown in a vat or something, jesus, Steve."
Frankly, Steve thinks it's a perfectly legitimate question, all things considered. He's got dirt and twigs and sage in his hair, and the sun is coming up over Bucky's left shoulder. It's blinding, which is not at all romantic, and Bucky shifts to block it out, which leaves him haloed.
"We should probably get to walking," Steve says, not feeling very convinced.
"True," Bucky muses. "We have no idea how far we might have to go - no food, just some water - foreign territory - "
Steve finds himself being kissed again, which he assumes means none of that matters. His fingers weave up into Bucky's hair - if he's going to look like he got bushwacked, so should the other man. He tugs a little, which doesn't seem to do much but make Bucky growl, which is - interesting.
"Mmmm-alright," Bucky forces himself away after a moment, glaring down at Steve. He climbs off, brushes off his pants, and offers a hand down, yanking Steve to his feet with a grunt. Steve leans over and pushes the sage out of his scalp, grinning like a fool, and Bucky kicks him in the boot.
"So," Steve says, picking up his shield again.
"So," Bucky says, squinting up at him. "Alright."
"Alright," Steve echoes, and his grin gets even bigger.
They walk. Closer than before, and that round in Bucky's shoulders seems to be gone, but that could just be the lack of shadows, now. They keep walking toward the rising sun, for a trajectory that they can follow, and Steve sneaks a glance over at Bucky, who catches him at it, and digs an elbow deep into his ribs. It's funny, Steve thinks, not minding the thickness of the thought at all, how when he walks a certain way, his shadow falls right behind him.
This entry was originally posted at http://shadesofbrixton.dreamwidth.org/424316.html. Please comment there using OpenID.