[for Jessica]

[onlyapassenger]

The ITF's job was -- and remains -- to keep tabs on everyone who entered Rapture, the underground hellhole of a city that showed up on the island as suddenly and inexplicably as any of the people who walk its shores. The primary mission, poorly defined but executed to the best of our ability, was, by most accounts, an unmitigated failure... Well, you can imagine how well I've been taking to that. We got our people out alive, but it was at the cost of children, and no matter how many shoulders want to carry the burden of what happened down there, mine may just be the most qualified.

I've followed up on all those who were injured in Rapture, at a distance, but Jessica Drew is the only one I've kept track of long after her recovery. I'll admit, her name piqued my interest. It has since it showed up in the Times earlier in the year. That she's not the Jessica Drew I'm acquainted with was obvious from the word go, but after keeping an eye on her over the past few weeks since her release from the clinic, I wonder if I didn't dismiss that possibility too soon.

'Cause she might not be Spider-Woman, but she sure as hell moves a lot like Spider-Man.

The first time was sheer coincidence; he'd been looking for Jason at the obstacle course and found Jessica instead. Had she just been messing around, he wouldn't have stuck around to watch, would have left her to her own devices with maybe a warning that she ought to be careful up there, but though it was plain to see she lacked training, she was nevertheless skilled, in her way. Rough around the edges, but maybe not as out of her depth in a place like Rapture as her injures suggested.

Curiosity, though, is what sees him return, what has him noting her progress with each of his visits. Spying on people isn't a skill he has much use for on the Island, but it's still one that he breaks out occasionally; Jason alone has kept him from getting rusty. Never in the habit of staying for very long, however, Bucky's getting ready to leave after his usual few minutes of observation when the sound of her falling draws his attention back to course: she's landed face first in the dirt.

Retaining his anonymity not nearly as important as making sure she isn't hurt, Bucky gives up his position in the trees after a few seconds of waiting to see if she'll move, making his way towards her with purposeful, but not hurried, strides.

"Christ, are you alright?"

Comments

[notaparker]

I was only in that clinic bed for ten days, you'd think I wouldn't be so rusty. But then, that's as much to do with the fact that, in the absence of the ol' Rapture superheroin, I'm back at baseline human. A little under, in fact, what with the still-healing lung.

Which, frankly, isn't good enough. We've established, in the wake of that disaster, that I have to do better. I have to be better, and I have to be better prepared. Unfortunately, there's a limit on how well I can achieve that, given I'm keeping a secret identity under wraps. No public combat training. Runs, swimming, I can allow those, that's just a nerd who likes to keep fit.

Running an obstacle course with an emphasis on flips, swings, and moves that would end with my foot in someone's face, those are a little fishier.

So I come out to the obstacle course here at times when usually there's no one about, and if it's deserted, I do this...

...except this time, an arm cramps mid-swing and it's less foot to the face and more face to the dirt. My face. Also my dirt, now, I suppose.

A major factor in cramps is lack of oxygen. A major factor in lack of oxygen is, you know, lungs that are feeling poorly. I hate being injured.

I carefully resist thinking about whether this could be worse.

The universe delivers a concerned passer-by anyway. Apparently thinking about thinking that also counts. Swell.

"Swell," I say, turning my head to the side, so I'm not chewing dirt as I talk. "Just taking a nap. In the dirt. A dirt-nap. Wait, no."

[onlyapassenger]

"You're pretty talkative for a corpse," replies Bucky on an exhale of disbelieving laughter, dropping down into an easy crouch beside her to help her up, and offering her his hand. He supposes he's one to talk, all things considered, but that isn't the sort of information he's about to offer without prompting.

Glancing up at the obstacle course, he frowns, slightly, in thought, then looks back to Jessica, assessing her for any injuries she might be unlikely to share.

"What happened?"

[notaparker]

I give him the hand belonging to the arm that isn't sore, stretching it out as I let him help me back to my feet.

"Cramp," I say. "Must be because this isn't really my thing, I was just, you know, messing around."

He could buy it. I'd buy it. Maybe. He only just got here, right? On the other hand... he is one of the people running the ITF. Not like I've done anything suspicious in their neck of the woods recently or anything...

[onlyapassenger]

"That's some impressive messing around for someone who suffered a collapsed lung last month," Bucky replies casually, taking a step back only once he's sure she won't be taking another dirt nap anytime soon. "Especially if this isn't your thing, and all."

[notaparker]

I'm not sure what to make of that, or any of this. He's being casual in that way people are when they're totally not actually casual.

"Impressive?" I say, casually, thinking, oh god, how long was he watching. "Which part? The faceplant? I know, it'd get big views on youtube."

[onlyapassenger]

"Youtube?" he echoes, brows furrowing a little. Must be some internet thing. Shaking his head, he dismisses his own question, figuring it can't be too important, anyway; she's being evasive.

"The part before the faceplant."

[notaparker]

Crap. Crap crappity crap. All right, Drew, let's see what we can sell. Probably not a lot, and not just because there's no econonmy.

"The cramp? It was impressively awkward, that is for sure," I say.

Simply running away probably wouldn't work. I'm pretty sure he can run faster than I can, and even if he can't, I know that he can run longer than I can. Assuming he'd chase me, but even if he wouldn't, how'd that look?

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky folds his arms, ducking down his chin a little. The hint of a smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth, though the amusement is clear behind his eyes.

"Less impressive is your ability to lie," he says, biting back a laugh. "I saw the whole thing, Miss Drew. The flips, the jumps... Hell, even a kick or two. You're good. Decent." He pauses a beat, his expression sobering a touch. "But you could be a lot better."

[notaparker]

That hurts. I should work on that. Maybe I should sign up for acting class. Would that be suspicious? Maybe a little weird.

No, it wouldn't work, it'd probably involve actually acting. In front of people. Reading lines. That's not a picture that ends well. Less rose-throwing, more of the tomatoes.

...actually, the decent comment stings as well. I've beat up plenty of supervillains. With powers. I mean, when I had powers. They did, too.

(Yes, I was just bemoaning that I could be better. That doesn't mean I want to hear it from this guy. Who does he even think he is, some kind of drill sergeant?)

(...oh, right, yeah.)

"Couldn't... everyone?" I say, edging up a little. I honestly have no idea how to play this. Complete loss. I'm just saying words to be saying words, and that's no strategy at all.

[onlyapassenger]

"Not everyone has your raw talent," he points out, tone thoughtful. He looks up at the obstacle course, his eyes narrowing. "I mean, you're obviously untrained, but you have good instincts... When you're not falling on your face."

[notaparker]

"...I don't know what this is," I say.

I legitimately have no idea what is happening here any more. If I thought I was getting close to it, I was wrong. My cover is blown, or partially blown, and I'm just getting thoughtful compliments?

Partially compliments. For a partially blown cover, I suppose.

Who is he calling- no, actually, apart from that one time Peter tried to get Shang Chi to show him some moves, there hasn't exactly been a whole lot of training. But it's not like there's a superhero school, is there? Everyone just learns by doing.

[onlyapassenger]

Truth is, I don't either. I didn't think this far ahead... I just threw myself into a situation with no plan. I'd like to say I've gotten better about that over the years, but when it really counts, well... I still have a tendency to jump first, and figure out the landing after.

Kinda like my new friend, here.

"Makes two of us," he admits, looking back down to her. "I never intended on letting you know I was here, but your, ah, dirt nap complicated things... Drove my 'saving people' impulse into overdrive. But I gotta ask, if you like messing around so much, why aren't you in any of the classes?"

[notaparker]

"Okay, first of all, creepy," I say, because seriously, who does that? Stalkers and spies, that's who. "Second, maybe I just prefer faceplanting in front of no one I know, how about that?"

That's not bad, actually. Completely not the reason, but it's even kind of reason-adjacent. I don't want to do it in front of anyone I know or indeed anyone at all, because no one's meant to know I can do it.

Except Peter. And Barnes, here, which is less than ideal, even if he doesn't seem to think I'm all that great at it.

[onlyapassenger]

"Well, it'd explain why you got injured down in Rapture," he says, brows arching.

"Seeing as I doubt you were making pals with a bunch of Big Daddies."

[notaparker]

"...I'm completely blown, aren't I," I say. Sure, I could try to sell him on being coincidentally separated from my escort and running into trouble only to be saved by a heroic nurse -- the last part being strangely true, it's just that there was about half as much saving as I claim -- but these things add up, and it may be time to admit that.

[onlyapassenger]

"Define completely," says Bucky, expression softening a little. There are still plenty of question marks -- who, exactly, she is, being chief among them -- but there are enough answers, too, however half-formed, that he needs no confirmation to know she's not just an ordinary teenager.

[notaparker]

"Substantially, then," I say. "My facade of normalcy is done-for, how about that. At least, as far as you're concerned, but possibly not as far as... everyone is...?"

I inject a note of hope into that.

[onlyapassenger]

"I'm not going to go spreading the news that you're some kind of spider girl, if that's what you're getting at," says Bucky, holding up his hands in an attempt at reassurance. He's kept enough secret identities to himself over the years for it to be old hat, after all, and besides, having had to weather through the media shitstorm after his own identity as Winter Soldier was leaked to the press, it's not an experience he's about to force anyone else through if it can be helped.

"But if you're gonna keep running half-cocked into dangerous situations, I'd sure as hell prefer if you had some kind of training..."

[notaparker]

"Spider-Woman," I say, reflexively, in the interests of gender equality.

"Are you recruiting, is that what this is? Because I'm not joining the ITF."

I wouldn't actually be entirely against it. I'm a little leery of the guns cocked attitude, but I can get the idea of a protection group. They're a little SHIELD-y. A very little, since I don't know that they're big on espionage.

Were it back home, I'd have less reservations about that kind of thing. My identity is less of a thing. Jessica Drew doesn't have anyone for the bad guys to find.

There, at least. Here, not only are there people I'd like to not put in danger, I'm also risking someone else's secret identity. So, no joining paramilitary groups.

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky laughs outright, quickly pressing his lips together in an attempt to stop, though he succeeds only in letting out a snort instead. Bringing a hand up to his face, he smoothes his palm over his mouth, and shakes his head. Though some part of him notes that she just potentially revealed an important bit of information with her correction, he ignores it for now, intending to return to it later.

"Kid, the only thing you'd be good for the ITF right now is target practice. You need military training for us to even consider you, so, no, you're not being recruited, I swear. I'm just pointing out that if you're going to make a habit of putting yourself in harm's way, you might want to have something better to offer than just your face as an obstacle."

[notaparker]

Well, I totally didn't want to join their stupid guns club anyway. I try not to bristle, a little unsuccessfully. Having the idea laughed at isn't exactly a great pick-me-up.

"Fine, I can't join in all your reindeer games, message received," I say, throwing my hands up. "You do realize if I sign up for any of the classes, that kind of gives the game away, right? I don't really have a lot of options as far as training goes."

[onlyapassenger]

"I'm seriously the only person who's figured you out?" he asks, dubious, but not entirely dismissive of the idea. She's been around for months, after all, and it's only recently that she's stuck out enough to get on his radar; if she joins any of the classes, the chances of someone else noticing increase exponentially.

[notaparker]

"You seriously are," I say.

That I know about. That's a concern. I only know that he knows because I fell on my face and he decided to step in and check on me. If anyone else has connected the dots and not felt the urge to tell me, I'd have no idea.

But then, they'd have no confirmation. They'd have to find some proof, and all of that is securely locked in my lab or on me. So that's not the same thing as knowing, surely.

Or they could just find a Who's Who of superheroes on the bookshelf at any minute. There's always that.

[onlyapassenger]

"And I'm guessing asking you to keep your nose clean the future isn't gonna work, is it?"

He's talked himself into a corner; it's not the first time. His mouth's always gotten him into as much trouble as his fists; he's not like Steve, able to talk his way out of anything. Bucky's good for quips and egging people on, making things worse instead of better. Because the problem is, he can't walk away, now. He knows she's a danger to herself, and he knows she's not particularly open to the idea of looking elsewhere for help, leaving him, in essence, the only option. There could have been better outcomes, as far as he's concerned.

"...what's your schedule like?" he asks, like he doesn't already know.

[notaparker]

"Between the classes and the labwork there's the odd sliver of free time," I say, squinting at him a little. He's acknowledged that I'm hardly going to stay out of trouble, which is good. Mostly because I don't think it would even work if I tried, I don't have that kind of life.

[onlyapassenger]

"Then I hope you're not attached to your budding social life, kiddo," he says, not entirely happy with the idea, but considering it better than the alternative of just washing his hands of any responsibility entirely. He's better than that, and he knows it, even if it's taken him a damn long while to acknowledge it.

"I already know you're more than meets the eye, so your secret identity excuse doesn't hold any weight if you're just working with me."

[notaparker]

"...kinda was," I say, because, actually, it's been kind of nice. "It can bud slower. Are you serious? You're going to Mr Miyagi me?"

I can hardly question his credentials. His enthusiasm, maybe, but not his credentials.

[onlyapassenger]

His head tilts to the side, a questioning look settling over his features.

"...come again?"

[notaparker]

"...wax on, wax off?" I say.

I even do the gestures.

What universe is this guy from, again? Maybe that doesn't mean anything to him.

[onlyapassenger]

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Bucky replies, his expression slipping from questioning to baffled over the course of a few seconds. He brings a hand up to the back of his neck. "I, uh, missed out on a few decades."

[notaparker]

"Then it's a deal," I say, nodding firmly as if he has agreed to the imaginary deal I just made up right now. "You teach me the ways of the warrior, I teach you the ways of the pop culturally literate."

Basically by making references all the time until he starts catching on. Which may be never, admittedly.

[onlyapassenger]

"Right," he says with a dubious smile, letting his hand fall back to his side. "How about we start with the ways of not landing on your face first, and work our way from there?"

[notaparker]

"Whatever you say, sensei," I say.

This could work out. The secret stays safe, I get the actual technique I've always been missing. Peter even recognized that, back in the day, and tried to get that Shang-Chi guy to show him some moves. And succeeded in being shown... one move.

It's a good move. But a girl kind of needs more than one move.