I miss the taste of a sweeter life, I miss the conversation.

[dislocked]

Who: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers
When: 7/6
Where: Vacation Planet
What: After all the annoying ship politics, Steve and Bucky go for a serious R&R because this shit is bananas.
Warnings: Potentially shirtless supersoldiers, you've been warned.



[ It's funny the things you notice when you pay attention. Like Steve, for one; the undaunted leader of the Avengers and all the trappings and responsibilities that come with it -- the man has been a beacon of hope for so long that everyone forgets that there's a man underneath, and that man is as privy to exhaustion and fatigue as any other. It just takes a much longer time for it to take hold.

Bucky knows the man inside better than anyone else possibly can, recognizes the signs because he's felt a lot of it himself, spread too thin with too much coming his way. No one's stopped to ask if Steve needs help, because everyone had assumed that those broad shoulders could carry them just fine. How wrong they are.

And so Bucky takes him away from all of it, giving Steve a much-needed breather before he drowns under all that weight. They're escaping from the dangerous idiocy and hysteria that has taken hold of the ship, a thing that hangs like a noose of past sins at his throat, threatening to close around everything Bucky has tried to build for himself since he's been here. He doesn't stray far from Steve lately because he's human, too, and their bond with each other goes both ways.

Which brings them to the beach, where Bucky had finally opted for a singlet and board shorts (the jeans and shirt thing had lasted a week or so, but the weather had gotten too hot even for him, and really, no one seems to give a fuck about his arm). He packs a basket of food and drinks and takes Steve here; him with his sketchpads and pencils. They had walked along the surf, collecting seashells for the better part of a couple of hours, and now Bucky's decided to sit in the water to cool off, the waves welcoming and cold as it splashes over his stomach. The pail of shells sits near Steve, and he asks, ]

Are you going to make a necklace out of those?

Comments

[abide]

[ As difficult as it is, he tries not to think about it.

The responsibilities and the weight will still be there when they return to the Moira. The problems won't have dissolved, and they won't be any closer to finding a solution than they had been when Steve had addressed the crew. Their responses had been varied, of course, but it's too much to think on all at once. (Above all else, what he doesn't understand is why the captains haven't intervened more than they have, and that, too, sits wrong with him.) But he can't think about that now, not when Bucky is trying. Really trying. They both struggle, and it's not exactly the easiest bridge to gap sometimes, so he appreciates what his friend is doing.

And then, sometimes, there are moments like this when it reminds him of a trip to Coney Island, of their disaster of a visit to Rockaway Beach. Steve's sort of laughing about that particular memory when the question catches him off-guard, having idly kept a hand on the bucket to keep it from washing away in the surf. His shorts and tee are soaked from the water, but it hardly matters considering how warm it is. ]

I hadn't thought about it. [ It's a good idea though. He smiles. ] What are you gonna do with your half?

[dislocked]

I don't know. Give it back.

[ The amount of things that belong to Bucky can be counted on one hand, and that in itself has its merits when he has to disappear at a moment's notice. He's used to having nothing to lose, although Steve's presence back in his life has complicated that particular thing.

They're rebuilding their friendship, reconnecting with each other again, and he's smiling, the memory of Rockaway beach a warm, bittersweet one, a throwback to simpler days when they weren't who they are now. ]

Or you can pick one, and I'll keep that.

[abide]

Just one? I don't know, Buck, it could get pretty lonely for a seashell in space.

[ It's the most ridiculous thing he could of said, and yet, he doesn't care. In fact, it doesn't stop him from sorting through the assortment of shells to dig for one he'd picked up about an hour ago, letting the foamy surf wash the sand from its ridges so that the stormy blue color of it flashes in the sunlight. It reminds him of the look Bucky has in his eyes sometimes, one of recognition and hope, the love and camaraderie that they'd lost and are still trying to find.

He reaches out to hand it to him, and then, casually, Steve offers him the bucket. ] Pick one for me too. The rest we'll leave here.

[dislocked]

[ Bucky looks over at the shell before he takes it, a beautiful stormy blue that makes his breath catch. It's an exquisite thing, the shells, like nothing he's ever seen in the beaches on earth -- not that he's been there recently. He holds on to the shell Steve chooses, quietly protective of it before he fishes around in the bucket to find one.

He finally chooses a shimmering green shell the color of the sea, the color of that little fleck in Steve's eyes that Bucky thinks makes him special before the world even knew he existed, and he thinks of Rockaway Beach and all the beaches they had been to before that as he hands the shell to him, keeping the pail tucked between them. ]

Here. Now it won't be lonely. [ Whether Bucky means the shell or something else, well. ]

[abide]

[ He takes it with similar reverence, tucking it into his palm and curling his fingers over it. It's one of very few things Steve will want to keep with him, much like the dogtags he refuses to remove unless they're somewhere like this, and the weight on his shoulders feels a small fraction lighter as he settles back, knees bent and feet pushing into wet sand. Peace never comes without a price, he knows, but for this, he would risk everything to keep it a little longer. ]

Guess it won't be. [ It's an absent reply, looking out towards the horizon. Lost for a moment in a memory that comes creeping back when he tilts his head to look at him. ] Hey. [ He speaks up after a second, content to let the waves fill in the silence. ] Remember that night we finally got back from the beach, how red we both were? You had it worse since you thought it was smart to leave your shirt off the whole time. Didn't stop complaining for days.

[ But only to him, only when Steve pinched or punched him teasingly. The things friends do to each other. He grins. ] I brought sunscreen. Just in case. [ Since that hadn't really existed when they'd been growing up, it had been an even longer suffering. ]

[dislocked]

[ Oh, Steve's as bad an influence on him as Bucky's been with Steve. They're thick as thieves together, each one egging the other on no matter what -- always believing that the other would always be there. His smile widens at that; brighter days, light moments that they enjoyed together.

He's rubbing his shell absently, bumping his shoulder against his. ] You decided it'd be great to punch those burns whenever you can, you punk. You got noogies for that. [ He pauses, trying to remember. He laughs softly, just a little. ] You were no peach about it either, you know. Like a small angry lobster.

[abide]

[ Their shoulders bump, and Steve leans against him, eyes closed for the brief moments he remembers. Bucky had locked an arm around his neck, thinking he'd have the upper hand, but he'd managed to use what little body weight he'd had back then to drag him down and wrestle him. They'd ended up breaking one of the only lamps in the apartment... Still, it'd been worth the extra punch Steve had gotten in, and to this day, he hadn't regretted it. ]

Worth every one of 'em too. [ There's a huff. ] And I know. Why do you think I pinched you so hard each time you laughed about it? [ Things had been so easy then, so simple. They could roughhouse, be affectionate and warm, and trusted each other to the bone. Now, some of it's still there, buried and waiting beneath the shadows. Steve doesn't want to risk poking at it quite yet, instead shifting to nudge him with his foot. ] Should get some of that on before you get too much sun.

[ But he doesn't make a move to retrieve it from the other things they'd brought with them, tucked safely further back on a blanket. ]

[dislocked]

Because you knew I was right. [ Bucky snorts at the memory -- above everything they were closer than brothers, more than best friends; they brought out the worst and best of each other, and he feels Steve lean against him, another glimpse of what they were before to each other before the world took the other away.

He leans back against him, taking the chance. He feels just a little bit more like the old Bucky again, precious summer days long lost but not quite forgotten. He splashes him lightly, shell safely tucked in his other hand. ] I'll be fine, I recover quick.

[ He'll regret those words in a few hours. Looking to the horizon after a moment, he muses. ] We should take a boat. Go out there for awhile.

[abide]

You say that now.

[ But Steve doesn't press any further than that. If Bucky wants to risk the wrath of the sun on this alien planet, then he isn't going to drag out a pointless fight. He's already done enough chastising for one day, thinking back to the way he'd addressed the rest of the ship, and he rests there comfortably, leaning and being lean on. Moving feels like energy he can't expend just yet, but it's rare for Bucky to suggest anything at all. He couldn't deny him that. Or the world, if he'd asked for it. ]

Won't be able to do that sitting around. I think there's a place just down the beach that rents them. [ And it's not as if they don't have the credits to spend on something like that either. He might not feel comfortable doing it any other time, but this means something. It's important somehow, the thread of a memory he wants to lock away inside himself forever. Steve rocks to the side and nudges him. ] Come on. Let's check it out.

[ And he rolls to his feet to gather up the few things they'd brought with them. ]

[dislocked]

[ It's all right -- this is Steve's day; he doesn't have to worry about anything here, with this world and all it has to offer at their proverbial feet. Steve is what matters here, not the little things that are ultimately inconsequential in the general scheme of things. He wants to stay like this for a while longer, just the both of them away from all that threatens to weigh on their shoulders.

This is a reminder that they're not alone, that even through the decades neither one can ever give up on the other. He cherishes these new memories now, the things that he'll remember to pen into his notebook to keep for himself. But then Steve's already moving, and he grunts, coming up after him. He takes the pail of shells with them as they tromp up the beach towards the rental shack, squinting. ]

Are we going for a motorboat? Because if we're not, you're rowing. [ He's smirking -- because that's not true; they're a team, they've always done their fair share. ]

[abide]

Maybe we should think about getting something that involves less effort.

[ Said with a grin, though there's still a careful sentiment behind the words. After all, they're supposed to be relaxing—or trying to. Steve is certain that he's forgotten how to do that, even if the day being filled with these small things has been one of the most rewarding he's had in such a long time, and even if the weight of guilt is still a severe constant, it's made a little lighter by the person at his side and the warmth in his face. If he closes his eyes and listens, he could be another universe away in a smaller body with that same person, the sun warm on his face and the world a heck of a lot less intimidating.

All Steve does is give him a nudge and jog the rest of the way to the small stand, asking a few questions here and there before deciding on something simple. With an engine. (They'd even had one that works when both people work the peddles, but he hadn't been kidding when he'd said less effort.) And by the time they're on the water, out in the middle of it, a good distance from the shore with nothing but the sound of the waves and the strange alien birds crooning overhead as they fly by, Steve is cutting the engine so they can drift.

He sits, staring out at the horizon again before licking at sun-chapped lips and curling his fingers over the edge of the boat. ] You know... [ A pause, breathing, and he doesn't look at him. Not yet. ] Sometimes, I still can't believe you're here. [ Some days feel like a dream. ]

[dislocked]

[ The golden boy.

Steve shines in the light, with the sun in his hair and eyes bluer than the sky. He's not looking at him yet, but Bucky's breath catches briefly in ways that he cannot explain. He thinks of a smaller man with the heart of a lion, fierce and unrelenting even if his body had often let him down.

And here he is now, strong and broad but still fragile in a hundred little ways, wearing the wounds of years gone by -- all the ones that can so easily be reopened. Bucky watches him for a few moments, understanding instinctively the guilt that Steve carries; irrational as Bucky thinks it may be. Out here in the middle of nowhere, they're effectively alone with each other without anything else to serve as a distraction.

Steve is a collection of good intentions and little kindnesses that Bucky doesn't deserve, and he looks over the boat, running his fingers lightly through the water. There is so much weight in his words, and Bucky doesn't know where to start. Had he been lonely? Had he thought of him often? Which one had it been, the boy from Brooklyn or the thing that had almost killed him?

He's both and neither all at once, but he's sure Steve already knows. ] Were you hoping for it?