4229/Faulting the Frisbee

Faulting the Frisbee
Date of Scene:	08 April 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Steve and Bucky talk about the past. Sort of.
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Winter Soldier

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Captain America has posed:
    Since James Buchanan Barnes had been brought to the Avengers mansion, it had at least given him some time to make connections with others, some sort of interaction beyond what he would normally have in his prior role. Steve hadn't been around for the first few days, having spent that time trying to get the ducks in a row to take up whatever slack might be there in the investigation into the War Dogs.
    It took some doing, a transition of assets and a promise from Captain America for the lead operatives on it to have him assigned as back up when the situation calls for it. But once that had shifted into motion, it was only then that Cap was able to make his way back to the mansion and to return to at least look in on his old friend.
    There's a short rap of knuckles on the door jam as Steve looks in. Normally he in some ways feels the Gym is his digs. He spends a lot of time there, while the other teammates... seem to come down here usually when their arm is twisted figuratively or literally. So it's strange for him to give that small announcement of his arrival with the knock. "Heya." He offers in greeting.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    It could be looked at it like Steve dumped his friend off at the mansion, since there really was no real discussion about it. But Bucky doesn't look at it that way. It's akin to a safehouse, and there's a lot of patience about it -- and the fallout potential after he left the War Dogs. And that could still pick up again, he well knows. So staying in a place where there are no prying eyes (aside from the drone ones he has been told about repeatedly) is a safe move.

    Bucky didn't exactly know where to BE in the mansion, though. The gym and shooting range seem to be his haunts (damn prying eye drones), rarely in the room he was designated except to sleep. It's the gym again for now, Bucky was beating the hell out of a training bag with his right arm only, left out of play. He stops it from swaying, already looking to the door at the smallest of sounds. He's sweaty, breathing deeply but not heavily, workout clothes again: 'Avenger' branded things, whatever he was given, since he hasn't gone out anywhere yet. The arm is covered. His hair isn't slicked and he lacks all of his undercover items, beyond a failure to deal with the blonde thing yet. So his long hair is a tangle of loose bleached blonde in his face which he ignores entirely.

    A few fingers move in a brief wave. It's automatic, natural, and pulls from a place so many years ago, not that Bucky would be aware of it. Some shadow of a memory of Bucky in a bar with a lady, spotting Steve and that small simple wave was flashed. It's fine to join him.

Captain America has posed:
    Strolling into the place, Steve isn't dressed for a work out. He's wearing his civvies, something close to what he was wearing back at the motel though the t-shirt is of a different color. Perhaps the same jeans and jacket, though hard to tell with a man who has a fairly simple wardrobe like himself. But the baseball hat is tucked into his back pocket, giving his profile that sort of easy-going look to him as he had all that time back leaving Dodgers Stadium.
    "How are you settling in?" He asks as he strolls on up, his shoes crunching the mats as he walks over the corner of one and then steps into the line of the heavy workout bags. "Got everything you need?" He asks again even as he looks the place over a little before he'll take up a spot behind the bag, extending a hand to try and brace it for him if he plans to take a few more swings at it.
    There's something so weirdly nostalgic about the whole situation, similar to the ages past when Buck was working himself hard and Steve was struggling just to keep up. And it was almost comical back in the day when he'd brace the heavy bag for the young man who went on to become a Howling Commando.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    Bucky tilts his head a little bit, which mars his gaze with the loose hair, and answers, tone relaxed. "Fine." He just observes Steve's approach as he comes over to the bag, looks at his hand there on it, as if briefly puzzled or trying to pull something out of his own memory. And maybe failing. "Yes. ...More than that. Your gym is ...a little extreme," Bucky answers, with a shoot of a look over to a row of machines made for gods. Or something. Probably gods.

    He focuses back on Steve behind the bag, staring a little too long, but lets it go, returning to add a few more swings. He doesn't come out of nowhere to it: there's an intent to allow Steve to anticipate and brace the bag properly. Again, purely right handed: a heavy punch and two rapid backhands, same arm.

Captain America has posed:
    "Yeah," Steve looks around as he lowers his shoulder into the side of the bag, holding it there against the impact and his own frame barely shifting as he focuses upon the grip. "Stark's a decent guy, but he sometimes does overdo it." He says as he looks over the room, eyes drifting from point to point even as he winces at one of those heavy punches. He looks back then and nods, "Though I suppose if you think about it, he might be planning for the future too."
    That said he tucks in at the combo that follows and makes sure to give just enough counter-pressure so that the bag doesn't jostle from the impact. His other hand lifts to the top of the heavy, holding on as he murmurs. "Got things in motion to handle what had been going down before." Nebulous words, nebulous terms for the task that he had at hand.
    "Just take the time you need. And if this place rubs you the wrong way for some reason let me know, we'll figure something else out." The words are strange in some ways, echoes of the past in them, phrases akin to the murmured words of support that James gave when Steve's mother passed.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    Bucky is definitely listening, which means he goes into some more of an autopilot of a streak of jabs into the bag. It's a little more than necessary, really, like he's trying to drill a hole in one spot. High accuracy, power.

    "I will. And I'm in for any follow-up with them," Bucky adds. "Though I'd rather bring my rifle." With a liquid slide of eyes he steps back, shaking out his arm a little.

    He then taps his knuckles on the bag twice. And awkardly considers his answer. "People are being friendly. It... the whole world feels like it is rubbing skin off, lately," Bucky says more seriously, but it isn't sad. It just is.

    The familiarity is hard for him to come to terms with, this ghostly, odd feeling. "Was that -- I feel like there was something that I'm missing. I can't put a name to it." He looks at the bag. "Was there another place... like this?" An intensity comes in, the frustration of trying to remember.

Captain America has posed:
    "Yeah," Steve replies, a little sadly as he steps to the side but leaves one hand holding the bag as if partially leaning against it. Though he looks up and observes the surface of where the man struck, perhaps gliding his free hand over it to make sure the thing is still viable and won't split with another round of impacts. "I have no idea what you remember," He looks sidelong towards Bucky and tries another smile albeit a small one.
    "But we used to be friends. You've saved my life..." His smile grows a little, broader with a warmth of sincerity growing to it. "Dozens of times. And a bunch more during the war." It's a small joke, but to be fair... James could have made a career out of all the fights he broke up to save his pal Steve.
    "Your family was always wonderful to me. And we fought together. And then I thought I lost you." His smile slips and he holds up a hand as if trying to summon words with the gesture but none fitting are brought forth. "And just... let's just say it was a long road to here, Buck."

Winter Soldier has posed:
    Bucky clearly doesn't know what to say. The strangeness of events in a huge blankness of the past is rough. The empty gap of 'before'. He rests the hand on the bag, watching it swing, as if letting it pick away a few seconds for him. "I can't possibly be the same, that you knew," Bucky guesses, with a restrained tone. "This has to be a mess for you, too." Bucky looks down, and then back up to his friend.
    "To get back something that isn't quite what you lost." Bucky's brows furrow a little, and he goes about stripping the glove and wraps off, deciding that he's had enough of the training bag. He continues unraveling the wrap. "But, no. Maybe I don't remember /why/ you're my best friend. But you /are/. That's... what I have."

Captain America has posed:
    "Well," Cap steps to the side, "Maybe that's enough. For now at least." His smile is a little wan, but it's warm and sincere. He lightly claps his hands together and then opens them wide indicating in the age old body language of guys everywhere that he should toss the gloves to him once he pulls them off. If he catches them he'll put them back on the hook on the wall for him to grab later or for them to get cleaned by someone else.
    "What matters is that even when things got rough, you always stood by me." He turns back and steps away, resting his hands on his hips and looking a little awkward as he looks towards the door with a scrunched up eye, then back towards him. "So you're kinda stuck with me. Get used to it." That said he smirks again and gives a nod.
    "You wanna go grab something to eat or still need to stomp around here a bit longer?" He asks as he looks the place over.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    The more muted, broken personality can't be the easiest thing to see all the time, in your friend's skin. But things come through now and then, that ease that blunted part aside: like the immediate response to toss the gloves. Thrown, and even with a smile.
    "It feels backwards. You looking out for me. So I think maybe you weren't lying, about that I saved you. There's a debt here." Serious tone, then the sarcasm. "To be paid in full with food, slowly, over many meals." He scrubs his right hand up over his face and into his hair. A human movement, less robot. The flicker of a smile and partially lidded eyes.

    "You didn't come prepared to spar or work out, anyway," Bucky observes of his friend's jeans, while moving towards the seating where he left a small lump of his stuff, such as a towel.

Captain America has posed:
    "Well yeah," Cap repeats again, his language pattern different than he usually uses with most people. It's almost as if they're both eighteen again and just goofing around as he murmurs, "I figured I got off lucky with you losing your memory that I don't have to pay you back the twenty bucks I owe you." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts to walk with Bucky towards the door.
    "Best not to spend a few hours whupping you unless that jog your memory and suddenly I gotta pay you back." Now that might simultaneously trigger some touch of nostalgia considering the way they'd hassle each other at times, but there's no malice there. Not in his eyes neither his smile nor words.
    "Though, I should warn you if you ask folks to practice with you, be careful of that Rogue girl. She cheats."

Winter Soldier has posed:
    Bucky snares the bag and towel in robotic hand. "It's eighty bucks," Bucky answers, off the cuff, with a sling of right hand across to cap's upper chest, in a flip, sideways swat. No power behind it, of course. "/Interest/," Bucky says, drawing his hand back with one finger still out, with a upward tilt of head.

    "I met her. If she cheats, maybe she'd like being a target. Hmh. ...Practice. With you, it'd just end up as a few hours of shield-frisbee," Bucky hassles back, though the memory of their actual fighting dampens it.

Captain America has posed:
    A small chuffing snort is given back as he gets to those double doors leading outside and he shoulders it open, one arm sliding over the bar to hold it open for him. "Alright, eighty bucks." He admits and accepts the added burden so heavily placed upon his shoulders. And once he's through the door he'll follow after his old partner.
    Then as the door closes behind them he'll reply, "Don't fault the frisbee." Small words of admonishment but given with a wry chuckle.