Steve Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theclearchoice) wrote2014-05-11 12:45 am
theclearchoice) wrote2014-05-11 12:45 am
Entry tags:
[RP] please come back from bowels of black, from silent shores, to me once more
Steve never considered himself a voodoopunk. Not really. They're friends of his; he enjoys the rituals, even if he's not sure he believes in them and doesn't really take part, and they don't mind being used as models when he brings his sketchbook. Bucky spent less time with him then Steve did, but they knew him, in passing and through Steve's stories; and Steve, well, he was there at least every couple of weeks, if not more often.
Often enough that when he doesn't turn up for a month, they come looking for him. And when he tells them what happens, they practically drag him out of the house to that night's meeting, and things start happening, and nowhere along the way does Steve have the chance to say no.
No, that's not true. He could have. But he never does, never stops to think about the dolls that lie in the streets and what might have happened, never considers how it might turn out. All he knows is that they're offering him a way to get Bucky back, and he doesn't have the strength to say no to that. Not when the wound is this fresh. Maybe if he'd had a chance to heal, but not now, when the only thing he can think every minute, every time he sits in the suddenly-empty apartment they shared, every time he looks at sketchbooks full of idle drawings, every time he thinks about talking to anyone he knew, because they all knew Bucky too -- the only thing he can think is, he's gone, and it still hurts so much he can't breathe.
He doesn't say no. He just lets them move things along. And the first time he worries, wonders what it will be like, wonders what Bucky will think, is when Byron is opening the door and shooing the technicians out and telling them to give Steve a moment alone with his friend.
And it's too late to do anything but step inside.
He closes the door behind him with his eyes on the table, on the doll sitting there, looking like any other doll and somehow so different because of who he is.
"Bucky?"
Often enough that when he doesn't turn up for a month, they come looking for him. And when he tells them what happens, they practically drag him out of the house to that night's meeting, and things start happening, and nowhere along the way does Steve have the chance to say no.
No, that's not true. He could have. But he never does, never stops to think about the dolls that lie in the streets and what might have happened, never considers how it might turn out. All he knows is that they're offering him a way to get Bucky back, and he doesn't have the strength to say no to that. Not when the wound is this fresh. Maybe if he'd had a chance to heal, but not now, when the only thing he can think every minute, every time he sits in the suddenly-empty apartment they shared, every time he looks at sketchbooks full of idle drawings, every time he thinks about talking to anyone he knew, because they all knew Bucky too -- the only thing he can think is, he's gone, and it still hurts so much he can't breathe.
He doesn't say no. He just lets them move things along. And the first time he worries, wonders what it will be like, wonders what Bucky will think, is when Byron is opening the door and shooing the technicians out and telling them to give Steve a moment alone with his friend.
And it's too late to do anything but step inside.
He closes the door behind him with his eyes on the table, on the doll sitting there, looking like any other doll and somehow so different because of who he is.
"Bucky?"
no subject
He watches Bucky nod, slow and stilted and not at all like he usually moves, but at least he's listening. At least he's there to hear.
And there's things Steve could say, there's things he could tell him about how hard it was without him, and why he did this, but he doesn't. Hopefully Bucky understands, or at least knows the important parts. That Steve didn't mean to hurt him by doing this. That he'll be right there till they figure out how to make it work, every step of the way.
What he says instead is, "They're probably going to kick us out of here soon. Maybe we should head home."
no subject
He nods slowly, awkward and unsure. They probably would and he should learn how to stand properly anyway.
He strings together a few words of agreement but doesn't move, not immediately. He still holds onto Steve, unwilling to separate just yet. He will in a few minutes but...But he needs the reminder of why he's here right now, why he's dealing with this body, this trap.
no subject
He doesn't know that something else won't happen, if he does.
It isn't too much longer before the knock comes, startling Steve -- though even then, not quite enough to let go.
"Give us a minute," he shouts back at the muffled questioning through the door, trying to make himself let go.
no subject
If things were different, he would be tensing up right now, holding on tighter and refusing to go. Things aren't that way now though and he's left only looking to Steve, uncertain of what todo. He can move enough to get out of here but somehow he's sure that, if he leaves, everything will just fall apart, end horribly and then he would be lost.