[EP] dated for January 10th

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky had been counting the days to January 6th since the first of December, as eager to get his old arm back as he was for the initial change of scenery, but the date came and went with little ceremony and no magical return to the status quo. While he'd hesitate to call himself surly as a result of this, he hasn't exactly been a bucket of sunshine, either.

His temper short and his patience shot, Bucky's tried his damnedest to keep his chin up as the days stretch on, but there's only so much to be done about a clockwork arm that's been in a state of constant repair since the New Year. He's been going without it, lately, not wanting the hassle while he goes about his business, but this afternoon was meant to be the exception. He'd worn the damn thing so he could go get food for the house only for it to become dead weight before he could get to any shop. Closer to the Compound than he is to home, he ducks inside in the hopes he could fix the damn thing and go about this day, but even this plan doesn't go without obstacle.

Seated in the corner of the Rec Room, his left arm detached and laying motionless on a table, he's nearly done with the temporary patch up job when--

"Dammit," Bucky mutters under his breath, the tool he's using slipping from his grasp when he turns it a hair too hard and it catches. While he doesn't care to be doing such technical work out in the open in the first place, with limited options, he's making do. Still, frustrated, he backs up his chair and kneels to the ground to retrieve the screwdriver.

Distantly, he's aware he's attracted some attention, but at the moment, he doesn't care too much about saying hello.

A public EP, open to anyone; played in a private journal just because it's predated.

Comments

[onlyapassenger]

"My arm's sitting on a table," is Bucky's terse reply as he resurfaces, face flushed, but screwdriver in hand. He's distracted enough that he doesn't bother looking over to Lucy until he's managed to get a grip of the screw again, though by the time he does, his arm goes all but forgotten. Somehow he doesn't even to ask what's wrong; it's written plain across her face. They've been through this before, the two of them, though now, there's no file to burn.

"...when?"

[radicalize]

On more than one occasion, Bucky had called her an open book, someone who wore her bleeding heart on her sleeve, and other variations on the same. Lucy had never disputed it, either, well aware of the truth inherent in such claims. So it was that she wasn't as surprised as she could have been when he knew at just a glance what had happened. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her in such a state, anyway, though it was different with Pete than it had been with Bruce, whose name was really Bryce, whom it was possible she had never known at all. It was a whole future that had been pulled out from under her this time. Somewhere, deep down, she was painfully resentful of that, but mostly, she was just fucking tired.

"Couple of days ago," she answered, teeth pressing briefly to her lower lip. "Guess I shouldn't really be surprised, right?"

[onlyapassenger]

The first thing he wants to tell her is that she should've come to him sooner. That he could've helped her, though he doesn't know how. There's no helping someone through a loss of this magnitude; there's simply being there when needed. Not wanting to give her the impression that he's blaming her, however, when nothing else could be further from the truth, he just drops what he's holding, and turns in his chair to face her fully.

"C'mere," he says, waving her towards him with his one arm, and doing his damnedest not to feel as ridiculous as he probably looks. It's just not fair that she'd have to go through another loss so soon, but then, nothing about life is fair. He learned that lesson a long time ago; why it keeps surprising him so many years later is a mystery.

[radicalize]

At the invitation, Lucy didn't hesitate to move towards him, not worrying, for the moment, that he had an arm on the table that apparently needed to be worked on. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she so rarely was that she supposed she could be forgiven for it this once. Having another shoulder to lean on, even just someone else whom this place hadn't taken away, meant the world, and though she had every intention of putting that into words, for the moment, she didn't know how to. There was too much and not enough to say all at once. Even having long since gotten used to this, it never actually got any easier, nor did the fact of that become any less difficult to cope with.

"It's just the way things go around here," she murmured, half to herself, a little dazed despite her best efforts not to be. "I know that. I knew that going into this, and it still..."

[onlyapassenger]

"Doesn't make it any easier," he finishes for her, the words half lost in her hair. Distantly, he wonders if he's really the right person to be comforting anyone through loss; though he's undoubtedly suffered it himself, more times than he can count, he's also been the cause of such a loss, and it feels almost wrong to play this role. But then he reminds himself that he's one of the people she has left, and it's not his job to take that away from her, too.

[radicalize]

Face pressed into his shoulder, Lucy nodded as much as she could without pulling away, figuring that summed it up pretty well. She ought to have been used to it, she thought, and in a sense, she was, but it hurt just as much as ever, if not more so, with every person who went, every loss she was left to pick up the pieces from. Right now, though, it was at least a little easier not to focus quite so hard on that. Max had been gone for ages — almost two whole fucking years, if she remembered right — but there was a reason why she'd asked Bucky to be the one to give her away, back when she still had a wedding to plan. He was the closest thing to family she had, and she would have been crazy not to be grateful for that now.

"It really doesn't," she murmured, her own words half-muffled. "Even when you think it should, it doesn't. It won't."

[onlyapassenger]

"You don't want it to get easier," he mutters, almost hoping she doesn't hear him, that she doesn't ask him to repeat himself. While he doesn't -- and wouldn't -- wish her to suffer, there's a measure of relief that she's not yet hardened enough to not feel each disappearance as keenly as the first. She's too pure -- too good -- to lose that spark, and though this place might seek to test her, she hasn't yet failed in that regard.

He worries about the day she does, and if he'll still be here to see it.

[radicalize]

Though half-aware that he'd said something, the words themselves got lost somewhere in there. It was like she'd said to Mathias, though, that maybe she still hadn't learned and maybe she never would, but she was — anyone was — better off for it. That didn't help her any now, though, still raw from the loss itself. There was more she could have said, that she wanted to, but as much as she wished she were able, she didn't have it in her to tell him thanks anyway for having agreed to give her away but it, for obvious reasons, wouldn't be necessary now. They'd barely planned for the wedding, but that didn't make it any less difficult to consider that it wasn't going to be happening.

"Thanks," she said instead, figuring that would suffice. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something, and there was so little to say at a time like this anyway. "For — being here. And all."

[onlyapassenger]

"I'll be here as long as I'm able," he assures her. It's the only promise that's his to give, but it bears saying all the same. For as long as the bastards running this place allows him the opportunity to be there for her, he will be. Anything else would be unconscionable.

"So you don't need to thank me."

[radicalize]

No one was going to be here forever. That was all but guaranteed, only emphasized in Pete's disappearance. For now, though, as long as he was able was something to be grateful for in itself, and Lucy nodded, the motion slight but perceptible. "I'm just really glad you're not gone," she murmured. Everything had changed and it hadn't at the same time, but at least some things were consistent, some people not yet vanished like so many others had.