revivalproject | No Plan. Great.

WHO: Bucky Barnes, OTA
WHERE: Temba woods
WHAT: Not dealing with feelings
WHEN: Early October
WARNINGS: :|

This Bucky kept to himself much like so many of the Buckys that had graced Agra 10 over the years. It was possible few had noticed any absence at all, though they may notice that his mood had certainly soured. His words were few and far between, and there seemed to be a permanent sort of glare set in his eyes.

He busied himself most days with hard labor, disappearing into the woods and felling trees. Whether you went out after him or happened upon him by chance, it wasn't hard to miss once you stumbled into the clearing he'd made.

From the looks of things Bucky could just about clear cut this whole forest if this mood continued. There were piles of logs and debris in various states of finish, and the loud sound of each blow of the axe echoing out in an impatient rhythm. One that halted abruptly, glancing back to acknowledge your presence briefly before he continued without a word.

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As agitated as Tony was, that suggestion of a smile that he caught out of the corner of his eye as he rounded another stump felt like a significant win, enough to draw his pacing closer to Bucky with some confidence that he wouldn't end up buried. "On the hot streak?" he decided Bucky must have been asking him about, much more interesting than anything Tony might have been fantasizing about him, and with a very casual hand on his hip and the other twirling to produce a figure, "Tough to say. Do you count threesomes as one, or two?"

Bucky didn't have to make that important philosophical distinction, though, as Iron Man circled a little closer yet, still keeping some stacks of logs between them, and meandering like this was just an absent wander. "It probably depends," he got a little closer to admitting, "on who you've figured out you are without him. Very different kind of mission."

"One," Bucky answered with a casual decisiveness that suggested it was something he'd thought about before now. Though it had been a while since anyone had made this particular sort of banter feel quite so normal. He imagined Sam giving him a look for that thought, and smiled faintly.

"I'm...James Bucky Barnes," Bucky recited reflexively, wincing a little at the obviousness. But even now he still needed the reminder sometimes. "I'm...someone who wants to do better. Make things better. Make amends."

Bucky reciting his name already felt dark, even before the suggestion of 'amends' had Tony stopping his pacing, leaving him standing stiffly with his hands in tense fists. They were doing pretty well so far, not talking about it, and Tony hadn't exactly brought an apology with him to the weird noise in the woods.

"Sounds like there's still a lot of other people involved in who you are," he suggested. Mostly a dodge, hopefully not an obvious one. If Tony kept talking, it would be less obvious; "Are you one of those people who changes their hair to match their girlfriend's? Single life must be rough."

He wasn't wrong.

Bucky breathed a laugh through his nose and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You sound like the Doc," he accused, a fondly annoyed look crossing his face.

"Is that a modern thing?" Single life was a hell of a lot different than it used to be, he knew that much. At least this place didn't have dating apps. "That why yours is getting longer?"

Bucky said that like Tony was supposed to understand who he meant, and after a beat with his eyebrows raised, the Iron Man very still, he tried, "Banner?" If so, Bucky's Bruce sounded much cooler than Tony's. The Bruce that Tony knew mostly glared at him, no matter what he had to say, and seemed unimpressed by Tony's AA psychology. He was great.

"Hey," Tony responded to the accusation, already defensive with both hands up. "If me and my girlfriend have the same hairdo right now, it's because we're experiencing this post-apocalyptic lifestyle together. It's a bonding thing. Natural progression."

He shook his head with another laugh. "Nah, never really got much time to talk with him. My uh-...therapist. We were in her office when-" All of...that.

So Bucky was happy to avoid rehashing his mistakes by flashing a teasing smile, Some of us manage."

It took Tony another moment to figure out what Bucky was trying not to say, because he was also trying not to think about it, and abruptly realized, "Oh," and took an unconscious step back, nodding too vigorously, of course, that 'doc', sure. "Well, then, she probably also told you already that hanging all of your development on other people like that, the amends and the--whatever--that's a lot of excuses to avoid doing the actual internal work. Those are all supposed to come after. Lot of steps before the amends."

"We might not be following the traditional route," Bucky acknowledged. The government was most concerned with makingsure he wasn't a danger to others. The amends had seemed an important step in that. Though they never left him feeling much until Sam had helped shift his motivation.

"The internal work might not be so easy for someone whose internal world is half fried," he noted, making light, "You're sounding more like Sam now," he added, watching his face to see if that name needed elaborating, a soft smile pulling at his lips, "You're not awful at this."

Tony didn't actually know what the 'traditional route' might have been, just what he had heard in meetings, mostly, and that he was trying to avoid voicing an apology he hadn't exactly untangled for himself. He still nodded like he understood, hands swinging awkwardly until he planted them purposefully on his hips, his head tilted down so the shimmer of light from the slits of his eyes puddled on the floor near Bucky's feet. What his face would betray about Sam behind that mask wouldn't exactly take an expert to interpret, but maybe a close study.

"'Not awful', that's great. Can I put you down as a reference?" he replied. "Listen, I know that excuse, half fried, I've been working from that one for too long to know it's actually bullshit, so we can't both be doing it. Tell you what, you get to say you're short-handed."

Bucky chuckled, glancing at his arm. "You saw it happen," he reminded, not quite willing to concede the title, but he smiled a little easier.

"...this game have any space at the table?" he ventured casually.

That might have been a terrible idea. This thing was still hanging over them, bruised and bleeding and cornered, and eventually it was going to lash out. After a beat of consideration, Tony said, "I'll make some calls, see what I can do," like there was likely to be a line out the door that he could get Bucky to the front of. Maybe they could learn to live with it, too.

Bucky knew he owed Stark an apology. But it seemed easier on both of them for the moment not to acknowledge it.

He breathed a small laugh and nodded, "Gotta keep up your ratio, I understand."

No Plan. Great.

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