El!
El has been with the site for nearly two years now and has continued to prove her value. Currently, she is heading up our site event, Battle for Liberterram, on top of keeping up with her own personal plots.
CHARACTER
SPOTLIGHT
Peggy Carter!
Lux's posts are all wonderful to read. She has done a wonderful job of grasping the new universe and incorporating Peggy into it.
CHARACTER
SPOTLIGHT
Peter Parker!
It's good to see Spidey back on the site. Watching him deal with the universe shift in his own snarky way has been nothing short of entertaining.
THREAD
SPOTLIGHT
Eight O'Clock on the Dot!
El and Lux are making magic in this thread. Straight up fireworks, and the way they've played with drawing out the reveal is top class.
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
It hadn’t been expected, or it had and James had tried to stuff the feeling under a very fragile facade, but eventually, the furniture got to him. This was not his, and every time he placed his keys on the hall stand and looked down the wall at the photos he grew ever more distant from it. He hadn’t picked the leather furniture. He hadn’t decided on the ornaments. He hadn’t picked the bed, or the sheets, or even the shampoo. It was like constantly walking into a mission. This was someone else’s design, and as comfortable as it was, the looming face of HYDRA kept creeping into the hairs at the back of his neck.
Instead of ordering a storage unit, James had everything transferred over to a few of the rooms in Stark Tower where they would be cleaned regularly, and this reality’s James could easily find them. It also saved on the cost of a storage unit. Aside from Steve’s room, which was left as it was in case he had grown used to the place. The trip to IKEA had been interesting too, but he managed it unharmed and without harming anyone else. It took six trips to get everything from the store to the car, and even then he had to borrow one of their trailers to get it all back. Steve had been amused when he’d gotten back to the apartment and found Bucky in the middle of assembling a table, frustrated look on his face at the wordless instructions. Putting everything else together had been more fun, and a lot easier, with the two of them.
Once it was completed, James took a step back into the hall to have a look at their handywork and finally allowed a small smile. This was his. His choices. Right down to the table runner and plates.
So it was very out of place, then, to come home and find himself feeling very out of place again. His first instinct had put him against the wall, and Hutch had his nose to the floor, going in ahead of James to scope the place. There were no strange smells and when he came back from the bathroom, James was standing in the middle of the room, breath heavy and eyes unfocused. For the first time since they’d met, Hutch didn’t immediately go to James’ side, but whined and flattened his ears. James couldn’t see anything. There were words in front of him, and pictures, and the quiet rage continued to build from a place in his heart that he didn’t touch when he was even with himself.
A hand came up to aggressively wipe against his eyes, leaving the patch across his face slightly pinker than before as he struggled to swallow. He couldn’t hold it down, and the same hand, his natural one, that went to his face came back up to crawl over his cheek and curl into his hair, slightly longer now than when he’d gotten there, and pull it until it started to hurt. His palm pressed in his over his eye socket and the snarl in his stomach clawed it’s way up to his throat as he went to his knees, metal hand stopping his fall as his shoulder sank lightly into it. Fingers gripped at the floorboard, small indents following through the wood but not splintering. His natural hand joined it, bracing him on all fours as his chest heaved and his head went as far to the floor as it could before his elbows had to buckle to allow him to touch it to the cool ground.
He wasn’t lost yet, but he couldn’t find his way back to what had caused it. That he had been doing so well, comparatively, and now, maybe, it was just time for him to lose it? Or the pure frustration that they had been here for three weeks, and they were no closer to going home? No closer to finding out what had caused it. Had it festered into a rage that he hadn’t released in his gym sessions? And the dog, an uncomfortable and unwelcome part of his life right now, still distanced, as if it, too, knew that Bucky didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong anywhere. His head snapped up at the soft click of the dog’s metal paw rounding the corner and he snarled at it, missing the whine but seeing the retreat and the tucked tail as it decided to avoid the situation entirely. It couldn’t help, here, and it knew. Knew that no-one could help him. Knew that he was still that same weapon HYDRA had turned him into. That he was nothing better than a gun that needed to be aimed by a more stable hand.
Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out and grabbed the first thing it could hold, the three seater, lifting it and throwing it to the opposite side of the apartment, hitting the wall with a loud bang before crashing to the floor. It released some of the anger, he noted, and he turned to the coffee table, scattering the ornaments and shoving the metal hand through the middle, fleshy hand gripping the side and pulled. The sound of splintering wood didn’t take long to overcome the room and he tossed the handful of splinters aside, picking up the table and throwing it into the floor, cracking through more of the wood.
Nothing was left attached, or whole by the time he had finished. The picture frames, mostly in the hallway, were left, and he hadn’t gone to his bedroom, or the balcony, but the fallout of his rage on the interior, the debris, was littered from doorway to doorway. The cupboards of the kitchen were hanging off in places, but mostly, that, too, had been unharmed. When the rage had finally started to subside, and his attacks on the unarmed furniture had slowed, he had finally fallen back to the floor against twisted pieces of metal and porcelain and wood and glass, unbothered by the way they cut and dug into his flesh. Also unchecked were the tears rolling from his eyes, angry and sad and bitter all at once.
He cleared a spot for his head to rest, the last bit of anger swiping away the rubbish and torn threads of carpet so that he could curl himself into a ball. He couldn’t hold himself that way, but he didn’t need to, and his hands went to the back of his head, gently gripping his hair as his chest and back heaved and the tears turned into sadness and desperation. All of the questions and the anger from before had tired out, and now he was just left with the simple one. Why.
Post by Natalia Romanova on Mar 1, 2017 16:27:32 GMT
When Steve had told her that James was in the same dimensionally challenged predicament as they were, she'd known instantly that she would need to find him. He had been through so much over the decades, and especially over the past year. The thought of him constantly wondering if this was just another one of HYDRA's mental manipulations had crossed her mind more than a few times in the past couple of days.
Instead of racing to his side, however, she took a few days to get a grasp of the situation here in New England. On the surface, it seemed like the same Manhattan she'd grown accustomed to over the years. It was a bustling hub, filled with a wide variety of people. Some offered smiles as she passed them on the street, but most seemed tuned into their own little worlds. That was certainly nothing new.
There were some very distinct differences from the New York of her home dimension, however. First and foremost was the traffic. The Manhattan streets were still packed with cars on a daily basis, but now the skies were full of the horrendous stuff, too. She could only assume the flying cars were courtesy of a combination of Howard and Tony Stark's genius. Howard had attempted to show a prototype back in the day - at the World Fair where Steve had finally been accepted into the military, if she remembered correctly. Perhaps it had just taken his son's different - but no less brilliant - point of view to help him finalize and perfect the mechanism required.
Thoughts of the current age and dimension slowly drifted away as Natalia finally found herself at the front door of James' apartment. She hadn't called ahead, or even told Steve to do so for her. A part of her wondered if he would avoid her if he knew she was coming, so secrecy had been her friend.
She was about to knock on the door when something loud echoed out from the room inside. Fear clutched at her heart as she recognized the noise: violence. Was someone attempting to harm him? Reaching for the handle, she gave it a test turn.
Locked.
Looking down at herself, she frowned. She hadn't bothered to bring a pistol with her, and although she'd seen the bracelets worn by this dimension's version of herself, she hadn't had the guts to don them before leaving Atlantis. Weaponless, she patted herself down with one hand and continued to try the handle with the other while the sounds of furniture breaking continued. At last, she remembered the bobby pin tucked into her bright red locks and got to work.
By the time she managed to unlock all of the contraptions, silence had fallen over the inside of the apartment. Tucking the bobby pin into her pocket, she stepped inside, turning the handle and easing the door so that it didn't even click when it closed. It wasn't bright, so she hovered near the doorway for a few moments, snagging the pistol laying carelessly on the floor beside a recently smashed entry table. She hadn't known it would be there, but she'd guessed. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness as she continued further inside the apartment. Her footsteps were silent on the hardwood as she moved into the living room, eyes wide open in search of her ex-mentor and lover.
"James?" she hissed finally, spying the familiar glint of metal protruding from one shoulder of the man on the floor. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know something was clearly wrong with him. "James!" This time, there was considerably more urgency and fear in her voice. Checking that the safety was on before shoving the gun into her back pocket and rushed to his side.
She was on her knees beside him in a flash. Somewhere down the hall, she was certain she heard the whine of a dog. That would be Hutch, she guessed, the service dog Steve had mentioned after their first meeting. "Please be okay, please be okay..." she murmured, more to herself as she reached both hands out to try and physically inspect the man curled up on the floor. She wanted to turn him so that she could see more of his body, but if all he allowed her to do was gently grasp his hand to keep it from tugging at his own hair, that was fine, too. He seemed to be in a great deal of pain if the tears streaming down her face were any kind of indication, but aside from a few scrapes she could barely glimpse on his face, she couldn't see anything. Perhaps the wound was in his abdomen, which she couldn't see right now due to his curled up posture. "It's me, James. Natalia. I'm here, James. I'm here to help."
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
He didn't realise there were more ways to feel pain than just physically. It had been decades since he's felt anything close to how he was feeling now; and even then, for James himself, it had only been months. The closest was the fear he remembered when he found out that Steve was in the army. Actually in. Enlisted personnel. There had been no sending him home and every day of the war he had worried about what would happen if he lost his best friend. But never had he been sad. Not like this. Not even when he'd lost his parents.
James hadn't heard the sound of footsteps on the stairwell, nor the sound of the door jarring in its lock. Or even the ever slight drag of metal through wooden rubbish. Through the tears, he found he was struggling to breath, and started to add ‘panic attack’ to the list of psychological developments for the day. Luckily, paranoia was not something that arose, even as his name was spoken in question. He didn't answer, the tone registering in the back of his mind that he already knew the person asking and felt no sense of fear towards them. They were like Steve. A part of him as well regarded as his own feet. He didn't, however, answer, and he struggled to observe his own person for the moment, needing to run a diagnostic on the parts of him that weren't as hard wearing as the metal appendage that had done most of the damage around him.
Speaking of, the gray fingers curled in his hair, unclenching and pulling again. His name was repeated, less question more forceful statement. The nuances behind that were lost on him as he finally started to take in the wounds to his own body. Large, first. Nose. It was bleeding steadily and dripping backwards up his face from the gravity of his position. Bruise; kidney. He must have bumped into something. It felt wet, so the skin might have been punctured, but it wasn't bleeding currently. Bruises, assortment, varying degrees. Shoulder, bicep, chest; it didn't seem there was a part of him that didn't, or wouldn't, have some of those latter, but they were all superficial. All in all, he concluded, he’d done quite well.
Somewhere between falling to the floor and finishing his check, his voice had broken into a whisper, rising in response to her own voice as he heard body parts connect with wood next to him. “I can't… I can't…” Through sob he didn't even know how the sentence was meant to end. What couldn't he? Couldn't cope. Couldn't keep himself in check. Couldn't stop himself from falling back into old practices. For a moment, his whole body tensed, but released instantly, unable to summon the strength in his muscles to be anything but prone. Not even when he felt a hand on his back did they move except to acknowledge that something was there. As for his arm, that went where it was directed, seemingly sick of following orders, though his fingers did stay curled because none of this was Natalia’s fault.
The word, her name, splintering through his thoughts caused him to sob harder for several breaths. Why did it have to be her, he finally asked himself silently. Steve he could have handled. The man had seen him crying more than James cared for, but that Bucky was used to.
She shouldn't be helping, he continued with internal diatribe. She didn't have to. Shouldn’t have to. And yet, he was glad that it was her, for some reason. Was she the stable hand? “No-one can help me.” He finally said through several breaths. She was, though, regardless of what he said, and he picked himself up, slumping down through his shoulders and throwing his head back so that he could look at the ceiling. Anywhere, really, but at her face. He knew that if he did, he didn't know if he wouldn't just end up back on the floor again.
Post by Natalia Romanova on Mar 4, 2017 4:47:33 GMT
Natalia hadn’t seen James in this bad of state before. Whether his injuries were physical or psychological she wasn’t sure yet, but the lack of response to her intrusion was a bad sign. The fact that he didn’t even seem to register hearing her voice the first time filled her mind with red flags. By the time she got down to his side with the gun safely tucked away, she could hear the struggle he was having to breath and anticipated for the worst. She hadn’t heard any guns being fired, but there was more than one way to puncture a person’s lung.
As she shifted in her place beside him on the floor, she managed to glimpse his face in the moonlight shining in from a window. It was coated in blood and she couldn’t be sure if it was just shadows playing tricks on her eyes, or if his nose was slightly crooked. Most likely a broken nose - trivial compared to some of the injuries the two of them had taken in their time.
Her eyes darted away from his nose, up to his eyes as she heard the faint whisper of his voice. “Yes, you can,” she responded firmly, instinctively. She didn’t know what he wanted to say he couldn’t do, but that was a moot point. He was one of the strongest men she knew. Whatever he thought he couldn’t do, she knew he could.
His hand gave in to her touch, thankfully, and she finally managed to coax the appendage away from where it had been attempting to yank his hair out. “There we go…” she murmured, keeping one hand firmly clamped over his fist, just in case. She didn’t want him to repeat his previous actions if she pulled away, so it was just better to keep holding onto him.
When he finally managed a full sentence, she frowned. “Watch me,” she growled, the fire of determination shining in her eyes. “James, I need you to move some so I can look at you. And I need to know who did this to you.” Whoever had managed to do this to him, she knew they had to be strong. Fast, too. Hell, they’d probably had to get the drop on him. Turning her gaze up, she looked towards the balcony door and the windows. Nothing was visibly open or broken. Perhaps they’d come in through a different room. Or perhaps they’d had the sense to close the door after them.
No matter how smart, and no matter how strong they were, though, she’d kill them.
Returning her attention to the soldier at her knees, she ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair - a little shorter than she remembered - trying to help soothe him as her eyes skimmed across his upper body. Her fingers continued down from his hair and his face and slowly began to gently skim over his torso while her other hand remained clamped gently around his metal arm in an effort to help keep him up and steady. The broken nose and some kind of wound on his abdomen were the only really significant injuries she could find, thank god. Perhaps whoever had done this had heard her coming and left before they could finish the deed. If so, they were lucky sons of bitches… but as soon as she found them, that luck was going to run out.
“You’re bleeding. I need to get you patched up. Can you stand?” Bringing both hands up to his shoulders, she slid one arm carefully under his natural one until she was crouched beside him so that she could help heave him to his feet if he said yes.
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
He couldn’t deal with this. That was the climax he’d been looking for, he was sure of it. Or was that just the obvious thing to think. The obvious answer to his labouring breath and the feeling that he was going to suffocate or drown or both at the same time. The hair pulling worked, a little, for a while, until his hand was taken from his head and held away. He shook his head into the floor and heaved in another breath. “I can’t.” He insisted, less forceful than her own train, but no less believed in his heart; that whatever he couldn’t do, he couldn’t. Not at that moment.
Natalia was satisfied, at the least, that he allowed her to take his hand from his head when he wanted nothing to more than to continue feeling something. Her words registered briefly, enough to know she was talking, but not enough to know who she was talking to. When he spoke, Natalia had a response almost immediately and he huffed out a broken laugh. And how exactly was she going to help him? She was as messed up as he was on the inside. No matter how hard she tried to hide it.
No. No, no, no. Those were thoughts he thought about himself. Not about her. No matter how hard he tried to hide it. He was the monster. Instinctively, James shifted closer to the broken pieces of furniture that might make him hurt considerably more than just pulling at his hair. It coincided with Natalia telling him that she needed to see him so she could make sure he was okay. And then she asked who did this to him and he choked again, before a short pause, and then started to sob quietly. He didn’t want to bother her, after all.
Despite not saying anything, Natalia still turned her attention back to him eventually, fingers carding through his hair. Instead of making him feel better, or calmer, it only made him feel worse that she had to see him like this. After he found the strength to sit back on his legs, Natalia’s fingers continued over his body, checking over his bruises. He recoiled when he fingers brushed over his face, but he otherwise let her continue without argument. Of course he was bleeding, he thought when she reached that point of his injuries. He couldn’t imagine what his face looked like, right now, but if he looked down and lifted his shirt, he’d be able to see that one. “Leave it.” He whispered, voice hoarse as he let his head roll to the opposite side that Natalia wasn’t on.
He needed to bleed. He wanted to bleed. The pain was what was real, here. Tired of not holding his head up, he dropped it forward, onto his chest, a moment before Natalia tried to get him to stand. Why? What was the point of it? There was no furniture left to sit on, unless they counted the bed, or the chairs on the balcony. Something about the way she cared so much about him, some empty soulless thing, made him curl in on himself, disregarding her touch, and suffer through several heavy sobs. “I did it.” He finally answered in regards to her earlier question of who had done the damage.
For the first time in what felt like hours, James opened his eyes for a brief moment and looked around at what he had done and his face twisted as his bottom lip quivvered. What if Steve had been there. What about Natalia? Jess? Or less durable people, like Tony, or Darcy, or… hell, even Howard, at this point. Oh god. Shaking his head quickly, he tried to rid himself of that before Natalia could see even more of the weakness of his character without a mission and allowed her to guide him to his feet, as unsteady as they were. "I did it." He whispered again, to himself.
Post by Natalia Romanova on Mar 15, 2017 0:01:46 GMT
Hearing him repeat the words of negativity again fanned the flames in her chest and she shook her head. “James…” She wanted to tell him that yes, he could. But without knowing the second half of that sentence, she didn’t want to push it. Instead, she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing the locks he’d been attempting to rend from his own skull until very recently.
His laughter as she assured him that she’d help put a bitter taste in her mouth, but she choked it back down. Nothing about this scenario was funny, at least not from her perspective. Forcing down a growl, she swiped her fingers down from his temple, along to his jaw. So long as she focused on soothing his pain and agony, she could cope with the scornful laughter.
And then he was crying. Jesus, how bad was he injured? She really needed to see that wound in his side. If this was anything like the slug he’d put into her back in 2009, she needed to get him medical attention fast. Shock would be upon him soon. “James…” she whispered, fighting back the tears borne of her fear as she tried to ease him into a cooperative state of mind. He was fighting her at every turn. It was as if he wanted to hurt - wanted to die. “Moy volk... Please… Help me help you…” she begged, knowing that she’d never forgive herself if she let him go.
Not like this.
He was moving a little, at least. It wasn’t much, but there on his knees, it was enough. Disregarding his comment to leave his wound alone, she continued to use one hand to support him by the shoulder while the other inspected his torso. The shirt was sticky, but she pulled it up anyways. It was dark in his apartment, and she dare not leave him to find a light switch, but she could see the gleam of blood streaming down towards the waist of his pants. “You what?” Her head snapped up, confusion spilling out across her shadowed features.
Surely that wasn’t right. How could he have done this to himself? And more importantly, why? “It’s okay, James…” she tried, inserting herself under his shoulder so that she could ease him up to his feet. The moonlight didn’t show her much, but she could at least tell that there was no furniture left standing inside the apartment. “Come on… I’ve got you…” Both hands remained firm around him as she maneuvered them towards the hallway. She couldn’t see any bruises, but she made sure not to put any pressure on the stab wound at least.
“Watch your eyes,” she warned, shortly before hitting a light switch in the hallway. The sound of a whimper hit her ears and she spied a dog hovering in the doorway of one bedroom. He looked more than a little anxious, but his attention was focused solely on James. “Easy, pup… Step aside…” She wasn’t sure if he’d understood her, or if he’d just taken note that he would get trampled if he didn’t heed her warning. Either way, the dog shifted, giving her enough space to enter the bedroom. “Thank you…”
Hitting the light switch here, too, she took a look around. This was the master bedroom, she could tell. “Almost there…” she murmured, kicking the door shut behind her. Yes, he’d said it was him that had done the damage, but in case he’d lied, she wanted a bit of warning and protection before the assailant returned. “Here we go…” There was a chair off to one side of the room and it was there she finally began to release her hold on him. The bed would have been easier to inspect him on, but that’s where she intended to put him to rest after she cleaned and patched him up. Once he was seated and seemed comfortable enough, she crouched in front of him, placing both hands on his knees and looked up. “<Talk to me, soldier…>”
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
She had the last say, if only because his throat refused to answer and his mind was empty of words to pass on anyway. Besides that, James wasn't used to arguing enough to get in the last word when someone else was more insistent and a capable person. He was told what to do; it’s what he was best at. But he didn’t want to do that either, he just wanted… he just… wanted… another heavy sob wracked his shoulders for a moment before he held it in to the point where it felt like his arms would give up on holding him from the floor and he’d sink into it. Somehow, they managed to hold, though he never answered his name. It didn’t even feel like his right now.
She ignored his ragged laugh and he felt fingers find his jaw, the muscles tensing before her fingers got to them. Things were starting to hurt, now, given that all of his adrenaline was wearing off and he was in considerable physical pain and currently bleeding. Which said nothing of the emotional pain he was trying, and failing, to contain. He was sure if it had been Steve, he wouldn’t have stopped crying, but Natalia had never seen this side of him. Only those watching him get tortured had ever seen anything close to it, he assumed, before he passed out. This felt nothing like what he remembered of that. His name came back to him in the form of a whisper and he doubted at first that he had even heard it.
It was the Russian that brought him to attention. He was hearing it, but it was strange. Words of calm affection mixed with the knowledge that anyone who spoke to him in Russian wasn’t doing anything to him from the kindness of their heart. Only one person ever… Natalia. He tried to turn his head to look at her, but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate and he let it drop forward again. His suggestion that she leave his wounds alone was met with deafness and he felt her hands continue to move, lifting his shirt to see it better and he didn’t argue, just stared into the glass on the other side of the room and took in what damages he could.
She certainly hadn’t been expecting the answer he provided, and it had been what helped him curl forward as she dropped her touch in the moment of confusion. She wasn’t having any of that, however, and put her arm back to his shoulder, and guided him to his feet. His breath hissed in before he bit his tongue, the sheet of pain spreading through his abdomen finally making itself known. In a way, it felt good, and he wanted to move just enough to set it off again. Maybe try and put a finger to it until he passed out from the pain. At the very least, he wouldn’t be able to do it while she was here. “It’s not okay. I did it. What if…” If it had been someone else? He didn’t know of anyone that could stop his metal arm. Hadn’t met those that could, in any case. Even Namor hadn’t been present at any moment when it might be required.
The destruction went as far as to be littered around the walkway behind the couches and James stepped over things where he could, and outright ignored them when he couldn’t. Had he taken the glass and splinters from his feet at some stage? Most likely when he was curled in on himself and crying, that made sense in the confusion of everything else that didn’t. As they walked, he finally looked at her, frowning and softening as he tried to decide if he was happy she was there or not. What if he lost control again? The dog had the sense to hide, but a dog couldn’t give him orders. What if he thought she might?
Speaking of orders, he ignored the one she gave next and squinted as the undamaged lights above them burned to life. Speaking of the dog, Natalia mentioned a pup shortly after he whimpered in time with it, and he remembered that he had one. It, however, did not listen to her completely, only enough to get past, as they approached the doorway until James snarled at it to move and it backed fully into the bedroom. Her thanks earned her a short tail wag, but nothing more as Hutch put his nose to James’ hand.
When Natalia led him to the reading chair, he didn’t even try to control his body falling into it, sinking into the material and closing his eyes as he tried to hold his breaths for as long as possible. He had thought that she would be more interested in finding towels or the first aid kit, but when she spoke from directly in front of him, his wince was for more than pain.
It was Russian, and he had already been having thoughts that this was HYDRA, it had only gotten worse when he’d found out that they were still active, and known by everyone. An entire state just to themselves. Maybe this Natalia was his handler. He forced himself into a seating position, folding the wound while the muscles around it spasmed in protest. <I don’t know what happened.> He responded honestly. <I-> His hands curled to the armrests as if he were expecting to be tortured, or throw the chair, and Hutch positioned himself between Natalia and James, pressing himself into James as well as he could without jumping into his owners lap, and barked to bring the assassin back to the real world.
It took a moment longer for his teeth to unclench and his muscles to relax. <I don’t know what happened.> He repeated, more monotonously than the first time. <It didn’t… feel real. It was off. That’s all I remember.>
Post by Natalia Romanova on Mar 31, 2017 15:24:33 GMT
It took some time, but she finally seemed to be getting through to him. Whether it was the endearment or the Russian in general that snapped him to attention, she wasn't yet sure. All she knew was that it had earned his gaze and furthered his cooperation, and she wasn't about to look that gift horse in the mouth. Slowly, but surely she began to piece together bits and pieces, but his accusation that he had been his own assailant was preposterous.
Wasn't it?
Surely, he wouldn't have done this to himself. Steve had mentioned calming him down, but she had never seen James this bad. He was a survivor, just like she was. It was part of the reason they'd grown so close. For all the Hell their handlers had put them through, neither had been willing to give up on life - especially when the other was around.
"What if what, James?" she asked, trying to urge him to finish his sentence. Thus far, he'd only been speaking in clips. She needed to get him talking more, to get him back to his right state of mind. "You can talk to me, James. Please talk to me, James..." None of this made any sense, and only he had the answers she needed.
Looking down at him as he dropped into the chair, she let out a deep sigh. This was bad. Now that she could see him in the light, though, most of the wounds seemed to be superficial. Perhaps his grogginess wasn't from pain or blood loss - maybe he was still having some kind of a panic attack. Jesus, this was bad.
She cringed as he sat up, bending slightly so that his wound was no longer in her sight. Reaching forward, she pushed gently at his shoulder, attempting to force him to sit back so that she could get a closer look at it. "It's okay, James..." she tried, her voice calm as she continued trying to assuage his fears with compassion. She wanted answers, and she would get them. But his health came first and foremost.
"Dammit..." she grumbled as the dog shoved its way between her legs so that he was sitting as close to James as possible. "You are not helping..." Shifting so that she was beside the dog, she grabbed his collar and gently tried to urge him so that they could sit evenly in front of the super soldier.
"It's okay, James," she repeated, reaching up, her hands finding his natural one. "I know... I know... This whole world is different, but I promise you it's real. We're trying to find answers, and trying to find a way back home. Steve, Namor, myself..." Standing, she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"We're going to try to fix this. We have to be strong, though." She could feel a few tears trickling down her cheeks and quickly swiped them away as she turned to inspect the room, trying to discern where a medical kit might be hiding. The confusion of this new world was still very real and vivid in her mind. She knew what he was going through; she and Steve had gone through similar bouts of confusion. Steve had lost his identity; she'd forced the mother of a child out of this body and into god only knew where. "But first, I'm going to patch you up..."
With one last look at James, she moved into the bathroom, making quick work of finding the medical kit and cleaning supplies. She returned to his side in no time, only to find the dog in her way once more. "You and I are going to have issues..." Her eyes swiveled down to the collar around his neck, picking out the name engraved on the little tag. It was then that she finally noticed the metallic appendage sticking out of his chest where a front paw should have been. "...Hutch..." Sighing, she made space beside the dog and got to work.
The pan of warm water was red by the time she finished, but she was satisfied with the work she'd done. At some point in the process, the dog had finally decided she wasn't a threat and moved to lay beside the chair so that he could still see James, but wasn't in her way. Somehow or another, she'd managed to get him out of the shirt and pants clinging to the coagulated blood coating his body so that she could assess and bandage his wounds. Wiping her hands clean, she stared up at the stitches across his abdomen and then let her gaze drift further up to the face of the man. "I think I'm done... How're you feeling?" she asked, grabbing a glass of water she'd poured in the bathroom and offering it up for him to drink.
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
Did he even have the strength to argue any more? He didn’t know. His chest felt like it was caving in and burning hotly still. His eyes hurt, but for other reasons, and he still couldn’t feel the physical wounds, but they would come, and soon. It was her words that started to stir him into something that resembled obedience, and when the physical pain came, he couldn’t fight any more. It took too much energy. The look in her face when he mentioned he’d done the damage was one of disbelief, and he frowned as his bottom lip shook for a moment. Why didn’t she believe him? He turned away from her and let her proceed with her prodding and then her guiding. Her query for the rest of his sentence didn’t go down well with his attempts to stop himself from crying in front of her and he closed his eyes, feeling the tears leak out from behind his lashes.
“What if I’d hurt someone?” Discounting himself as a someone to have hurt, he pictured her and Steve and Darcy. His voice small as it shook through the statement and he felt his body follow through as they walked. Was it blood loss or shame? He supposed it could have also been his continuing distress, too, or the worry he heard in Natalia’s voice. Why was she being so nice to him?
He was in the chair before he had time to ask and that was when he tried to breath through the pain. Or, more accurately, not breath through it. He hadn’t expected the sharp pain from hearing her speak Russian. Was it pain? No, he was expecting to be punished, and he wasn’t. The strangeness of it was what had made him flinch. The Russian disappeared when he sat up in favour of English and his eyes attempted to look for her as she pushed him back into the chair. His muscles thanked her, but James didn’t. Still, his body relaxed into the chair again and he looked down at her hands. Except they weren’t hers, now, and Hutch knew it.
<I want him put in isolation... let him defrost for 24 hours.> Two bodies stood in front of him as his hair covered his vision and he tried to readjust to the world around him. <And then?> The second of the bodies spoke and James tried to focus in on him until- <.... Put him in the chair for a while and refreeze him.> The first voice was empty to him. <Are you sure? That-> The second voice. <I want him to forget what year it is. I want him to forget the names of colors. I want him to stop breathing, should I order it.> The first was snarling and stepping into the second man. James could make out a finger pressing into the second man’s chest. <But-> <I’m in charge of this project now, but by all means, if you want to question my orders again, I’ll make sure you show him how to stop breathing.> The first man stepped back and pulled out a pistol, turning it down to check the bullets before-
The bark snapped him back to reality just at the sound of the barrel clicking into place. Hutch looked up at her as James’ gaze refocused enough to know he was back. Natalia didn’t seem to notice and his eyes went down as she grabbed his collar. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he looked up at her, wondering if he should be keeping her away from James right now instead. She didn’t end up taking him too far away, just to the side, and he sniffed her hand as she pulled back and went to the front of James. He was speaking again, and Hutch looked up at his owner.
The skin on skin contact made him close his eyes again and shake his head. She didn’t understand. Or maybe she did, and he didn’t. Was she understanding better than he was understanding, well, everything. He understood the names she was mentioning, and he shut his eyes tighter as he felt her kiss his forehead. All thoughts of the world and the pain and his friends disappeared and he was back at the facility. He was back in Natalia’s apartment. He wanted to reach up and touch her cheek, show her that he cared about what she was saying, but she was too quick, and he was in so much pain, and by the time his hand lifted to follow through with his thoughts, she was already gone. No, she wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
But she wasn’t imaginary.
Her voice was there in front of him, and he opened his eyes after she’d turned around and walked through the closet into the bathroom. He could hear her going through the cupboards and he looked down at his hands. Left, flesh, right… flashes of the last few hours went through his mind, pictures of people he’d personally killed with it. His teeth clenched and he wondered how well he’d fair against it. Only a second later did he notice the motion happening beside him and watched as the dog jumped up and braced against the arm of the chair, metal paw tapping on James’ arm as the dog looked into his eyes and blinked. He didn’t know what it was about that action, but James dropped forward again and started to cry, arms hanging limply by his side.
Hutch pushed off from the arm and snaked back around the couch, looking at Natalia as she reappeared before he stuck his head into James’ lap and licked his forehead. It tasted like blood and tears. Natalia spoke and Hutch retreated to look at her, tail waving gently behind him in recognition of her usefulness. He knew her, of course, but this was different. When she mentioned his name, his tail moved more actively and he allowed her to push him away. The smell of medical supplies didn’t hurt either her cause either. It was a repellent for the pooch.
James wasn’t in any state to care about names or recognition and he let Natalia go to work, sitting back when she pushed him there gently. At some point, he picked up one of the used rags and attempted to wipe at his face, managing to clean up most of the mess before he gave up and stopped moving again. Hutch waited as patiently as he could, used to waiting for James to be patched up after a mission. Afterwards, he knew that James would give him a lot of attention, and a lot of pats, and when Natalia finally put down the last dirty rag, he looked up at her, snuffling around on the floor for a bit before he stood. James looked from Natalia to the dog and back to her.
How are you feeling.
A simple question, and he didn’t think that he could answer it. He didn’t feel anything, and when she offered him the glass of water, he stared at it as if he didn’t understand what it was. He didn’t understand the sentiment behind it. The compassion and care. No, wait, that was what they gave him, wasn’t it? To reacclimate. He looked down and to the right, trying to figure it out when her question returned to him. Maybe she had meant physically. <It hurts less.>
Post by Natalia Romanova on Apr 11, 2017 15:54:05 GMT
“Don’t focus on hypotheticals,” Natalia chided, lifting a hand to place against his cheek. “Focus on the here and now. Focus on me, and focus on the fact that aside from yourself, you didn’t hurt anyone else.” Blaming himself for what he’d done? She’d be a hypocrite if she wasn’t okay with that. But weighing himself down with guilt over something he hadn’t done was inexcusable.
She’d never seen James in this rough of shape. His wounds weren’t the worst she knew he’d taken over the years, but his lack of mental clarity suggested not all of them were physical. Unfortunately, with the dimension shift, she couldn’t simply ask him to state facts about the world around them - because honestly, she wasn’t even sure of the true answers herself.
Thankfully, the dog seemed to know better than to get in her way as she worked on patching James up, though he never strayed far. Finally, he plopped down beside the chair, and she was able to help him more easily. Her eyes drifted down to the mutt periodically as she worked, but he seemed content to simply stare up at James. She’d never pictured him as a dog person, but judging by the arm and the level of attention this pup was giving James, he likely wasn’t just any dog.
Natalia frowned as James stared blankly at the glass of water she was offering. “Drink,” she urged gently, reaching forward with her other hand to swipe a stray trickle of crimson stained sweat from the side of his forehead. At least he was speaking, though what he offered wasn’t terribly much. Her frown deepened as she looked down at the whole scene. Did he think he was back with HYDRA right now? Is this how they’d always patched him up before shoving him back into cryo?
“James…” Her voice was soft as she spoke again, this time in an attempt to make certain he knew he was safe with her. “Do you know where you are? Who you are? James, do you know my name?” she asked, kneeling down again and placing a gentle hand on his knee. “You’re safe with me. Please, I need you to know that…”
WORDS: Enough… I don’t wanna talk about it. >.> OUTFIT || TAG: James Barnes
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
Don’t… how could he not? James was stronger than almost everyone he knew. Before and now. It was very likely that literally any of them could have walked in on him in the middle of his… lapse. “Steve is staying here, what if he had walked in?” It was almost a whisper as he remembered what had happened the last time he was in Steve’s apartment. He didn’t think that would have happened again, but the fight might have. A fight he didn’t want to think about. A shiver ran through the length of his spine and speared out through his ribs. It lasted only a few seconds until he shook his head. She was right, he couldn’t focus on that. It would just keep tearing him up.
This was the part that Hutch found the most tedious: waiting. James should really stop getting himself hurt, but it had been a while since he had; and that was because he had been on a mission. He looked at Nat whenever she turned to peer at him. At one point, Hutch shuffled forward slightly to lick at her pants and then dropped his head back onto his paws. She was doing a good job, for someone that he didn’t recognize as a medical professional. When she had finished, Hutch had already rolled onto his back and his muzzle was pressed against James’ leg, sniffing at him and licking the skin that showed through the ripped clothes.
It was such a basic thing, to take the water and drink it, but his arms didn’t move until she gave the order. Right, that’s what he had to do. Automatically, and mechanically, he reached forward with his metal arm and took the glass, resting it on the arm of the chair before his elbow bent and brought the glass to his lips. Before he had much of a chance to think when the glass returned to the arm of the chair, Natalia was speaking again. James? No-one ever called him that. His focus moved slowly along her body until he could see her own green eyes staring down at him. She followed his name with three questions and he watched as she crouched, her hand reaching out to maintain some form of touch, some connection, with him. He recognized it as a grounding technique.
<I am in the apartment. I know… your name is Natalia.> He shouldered the second question, fully aware that she would also know that it had been skipped on purpose. But would she know the reason? He knew who he was. He was James, of course. Steven and Natalia’s friend. Many other adjectives he could apply to either of them. But there was more to who he was that he didn’t want to get into. He was James, he was The Winter Soldier… he was a mess. He breathed in through his nose, the sound indicating that he wasn’t done with his tears just yet, and he reached with his natural hand to wipe everything clear. <I know where I am.> In a foreign land, with foreign friends, and foreign feelings. <I just want to go... home.> Wherever that was now. The word almost stuck in his throat, but his sad eyes held any moisture that threatened to leave. She didn’t need to see him crying just now.
Post by Natalia Romanova on Apr 28, 2017 23:58:20 GMT
“Steve’s a big boy,” she assured him, trying on a gentle smile for size. “I have faith that he would have been able to handle himself if he’d come home at the wrong time.” Even in this dimension, he had the super serum running through his veins and all the same combat training he did back where they were from. She really did have no doubt that Steve would have been able to hold his own if he’d happened upon a panicked Winter Soldier.
Natalia was glad to see that once the dog seemed sure that she was here to help, he was considerably more patient. Not only that, he seemed almost affectionate towards her. So far as she knew, there was no food residue on her pants, so his gentle licks must be the dog’s way of thanking her for taking care of James in a way he couldn’t. ‘Smart pup...’ she thought to herself, pausing once to give his head a brief caress in her own show of gratitude.
When James finally reached for the water, Natalia’s chest heaved out in a gentle sigh of relief. She felt like one of his handlers, but at least he was drinking, so that was a win. Her eyes trailed up and down his form as he drank the water, watching for any other wounds she might have missed on her first pass of medical upkeep. When she didn’t find any, she moved on to asking a barrage of questions meant to jar him out of his own mind and to help her discern where he was at mentally.
“Good…” He’d skipped the second question, and he’d done so on purpose. She didn’t press him into answering it again, however. His lack of a response was an answer enough for her at this point.
The next statements out of his lips nearly brought tears to Natalia’s eyes, but she fought them down. Instead, she merely nodded and squeezed his leg carefully. “I know… I know you do…” she sighed, moving carefully up to her toes again. Stepping to the side of the chair Hutch wasn’t laying on, she ran her fingers through James’ hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We’re working on a solution, but for now, we’re going to have to tough it out. Just know that you’re not alone here, okay? Steve and Tony and Sam… And me… We’re all with you.”
The more names that tumbled off of her lips, the more she wondered if this wasn’t some kind of an attack against the Avengers. But Sam wasn’t a part of the team… nor was James… And Clint hadn’t been afflicted. Of course, they’d already considered that idea once before. Still, she kept coming back to it, and probably would until she learned more about just how many had been shunted to this alternate dimension.
“Can you stand? If so, we should get you into bed. I’ll stay as long as you’d like.”
Can you tell me Doctor, why I still can't get to sleep
And night time’s just a jungle dark, and a barking M16
James laughed. A horrid hacking sound as it tried to compete with his occasional sob or strained throat so he wouldnt cry in front of her. Again. The previous fight still played out in his mind despite his attempts to shelve it, but he didn't mention it to Natalia, opting instead to disappear into some kind of trance until it eventually passed. Steve was his brother, his best friend. James didn't want to hurt him, but his conditioning was stronger than his will power. But it didn't happen, and Natali was here instead. Lithe little Natalia who knew all of his most dangerous moves and how to slip away from them. Natalia who could, if she needed to, shut him down. The look in his eyes as he looked up at her mirrored the blank expressions he gave to his handlers whilst he was waiting for an order, but it passed when he looked back down at his hands.
The feeling, however, didn't leave. Especially in the following moments when it seemed like a debrief, but he knew it wasn't. She was trying to help, and it was working, but his brain was scattering through different memories and reactions and switching between who he was and who he used to be. It wasn't a pleasant feeling and he could feel his eyes welling with water at his own frustration. The initial pass was cleaned away with a hand.
Her hand went to his leg and squeezed gently. His head remained downcast as she stood, and he caught sight of his dog rolling back onto his stomach to look up at Natalia. James closed his eyes and felt his body slump when she ran her fingers through his hair. It was such a caring movement and he really didn't feel like he'd deserved it after… well, tearing up the living area. Losing his mind for, what? There hadn't even been a reason, as far as he could gather. When she leaned in to kiss his head again, he felt a rogue tear escape and wiped it away quickly, also mindful not to crush the glass in his other hand. A solution. A way home. Tony and Sam were news to him, and he tried to focus on that as quickly as possible.
Until of course Natalia mentioned going to bed. James body stiffened again, memories of going to sleep after missions rattling through his mind. Hitch had other ideas, and they jarred him from those thoughts a second after they occurred. The dog jumped to his feet and trotted to the door, flopping down on a soft bed. “I don't want to go to sleep.” His voice was soft and didn't really hold any kind of rebellion behind it. His choice of words also betrayed the fatigue he was feeling, but thankfully, he thought to himself, that was an internal feeling.
