6701/Outsourcing the Consequences

Outsourcing the Consequences
Date of Scene:	26 June 2021
Location:	04 James Barnes' Suite - Playground
Synopsis:	It's freaky Friday at the Playground when roles are reversed between Sam and Bucky, but Buck? Well, he ain't no councilor.
Cast of Characters:	James Barnes, Sam Wilson

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James Barnes has posed:
    One would think that Bucky would be happy with having most of the day to himself. Hell, even Bucky thought he would be, yet he wasn't. He was all sorts of antsy and nervous while Sam was gone. It makes sense, considering what came out of his subconscious on that sketch pad the other day. He'd never admit it, but right now? He just feels safer when Sam's around.

    So, he spent most of the day downstairs in the gym, going at it hard. Now he's back in the room, hair still shower-damp and on the couch with that sketch pad in his lap again.

    Lili snoozes on the floor next to the couch.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    It's late by the time Sam returns to the Playground. Later than he meant to be back, and then on top of that he sits in the car for a while after he arrives, forehead against the wheel. His brain is spinning in an uncomfortable way, and he's trying to sort through it all.

    Not that he's having any luck, and he stays like that long enough that the junior agent in charge of inventory management comes over and politely taps her knuckles against the driver-side window. Sam just about smashes his head into the car's roof in response. The agent stumbles over several apologies but Sam's the one that's really sorry. He pats the agent's shoulder and slips away before she asks any questions.

    On the way down to the personal quarters level, he briefly considers stopping in the commissary for food, given the last thing he ate was the omelette Bucky made him this morning, but he's just too damn tired. Sam does his usual polite knock-then-count-to-5 routine before he opens the door to Bucky's quarters, immediately dumping himself into the chair next to the couch. He doesn't even say anything, just waves his hand loosely through the air. Hi, or whatever.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky doesn't look up from whatever he's 'doodling' when he says, "You don't have to knock, y'know. It's not like you aren't basically living here too right now." He's pretty engrossed in the drawing, the soft sounds of the pencil against paper seem loud in the quiet of the room. "Where'd you go?" he asks. Not nosy, mind, just really trying to do that thing called 'small talk'.

    "There's pasta salad in the 'fridge. Sharon brought it by, but I'm betting she didn't make it. It's pretty good." So, he ate at least. It is damned delicious truth be told. It's carbs, but also so much with the cucumbers, tomatoes, bacon... not quite a ranch base? More dill than that. "...and a coupla cherry turnovers on the top the 'fridge." Fuck all if he doesn't sound almost like a normal damned human being? It might be disconcerting!

Sam Wilson has posed:
    If Sam weren't functioning basically on autopilot right now, he'd be more appreciative of Bucky's attempts at being cooperative, at making small talk. Maybe tomorrow he will be. Right now, though, he just mutters a soft "Yeah, sure," as he tips his head back against the chair and closes his eyes.

    He has the fingers of his left hand spread, palm flat, against the arm rest.

    The fact that he's acting entirely hypocritically right now isn't lost on him, though, so he leverages himself back up onto his feet. "I drove up to New York to visit family," he answers, though there's a flat intonation to how he says it that makes it read wrong. Not a lie, but something off.

    He cracks open the minifridge and crouches next to it for a while. The effort that doing anything more would require is suddenly just too much for Sam, so he stands back up and goes for a turnover instead. That's easy, at least, and when he sits back down he picks at one corner of the crust.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Bullshit," Bucky replies, there's not a lot of 'bite' in his voice, but maybe... a little disappointment? He doesn't set the sketch aside yet. In fact, he falls silent to work on it a little more. He sets aside the pencil he had and picks up another. Seems he's 'doodling' in color this time?

    Scribble, scribble, scratch, scratch.

    He finally seems to be satisfied with what he's working on and stands. He takes the few steps between himself and Sam and drops the sketch pad in his friend's lap.

    It's Sam, Sarah and the boys. The setting is a generic park some where, the sun's shining, a lunch themed feast is spread out on a picnic blanket. Sarah's sitting on one corner of that blanket, watching Sam and the kids toss around a baseball. ...and it's *good*, really really good. For something likely finished in a few hours, it's fantastic.

    After handing that off, Bucky goes to the 'fridge, dishes out a big helping of that pasta salad onto a paper plate and snags a bottle of Stewart's Orange & Cream. At least he doesn't just dump all that in Sam's lap like he did the sketch pad? He sets it on the end table beside the chair.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam pushes against the bridge of his nose with his thumb. "It really isn't," is all he says at first, eyes cast downwards, but then he's got a lapful of sketchbook to look at. So he stares at it. There's some part of Sam's brain registering that he needs to say something, but it's like he's stalled. Which is better than some of the unkind thoughts that could be bouncing around his head on repeat, admittedly.

    "My parents both died when I was a teenager," he says as he holds the sketchpad up slightly, tilted for a better viewing angle. This is something that hasn't come up in casual conversation before, though the fact that they weren't around any more could probably be easily inferred given that Sam doesn't really talk about them. Not directly, at least. The furthest into his own grief Sam gets is Riley, and it's never really about him when he brings it up. Just a way to bridge some gap, a way to make a connection, because that kind of loss is something a lot of people in their field shares.

    "Killed," he corrects himself, a moment later. "Two years apart. We moved down to Louisiana to live with my uncle Jim after my mom died. Her birthday was last week." He hasn't yet looked up from the sketch, though he's aware of what Bucky's doing. It's a strange role reversal, one that has him blinking hard at the paper in his hands.

James Barnes has posed:
    Here's the thing. Bucky doesn't have all of his memories of his time in the cold, but he has some of them and *they* had files on every single one of his friends. There likely is not a damned thing that Bucky doesn't know about Sam's life. Hell, he probably knows what the man's favorite cereal was as a kid. Bucky just doesn't bring the fact up much because those files also meant that all of his friends were likely going to be, at some point, his missions.

    So, "Yeah, I know," and he leaves that there. He's no councilor, he's not even CLOSE. His methods are nothing at all like Sam's.

    He looms over his friend, leaning all up in Sam's personal space to jab a finger down at that sketch without looking at it. "This is what you *need* right now and it's what *they* need, you dumbass. Why was she so pissed?" He literally reaches up to try and Gibbs slap Sam in the back of the head. At least he uses his right hand? If he connects or not, he continues. "You keeping her in the dark, man? Really? Don't you know that the dark is where people *die* because they can't see what's coming for them? You need to come clean with her, that's the only way to keep them safe. But you do that after *this*...." He jabs at the picture again with one finger. Family time, fun time, re-connect and then the fucking truth, if Buck has his way.

    He finally backs up, one big, quick step back because he needs the space before the next slap comes in harder.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    It was Cookie Crisp, for reference. Definitely not the kind of cereal Darlene Wilson allowed her kids to have all the time, but it was always Sam's pick when he got to choose.

    That Bucky knows this--knows anything at all about Sam's life beyond what has been made publicly available and privately shared, between the two of them--seems to catch Sam off-guard. His eyebrows draw together as he tries to fit the puzzle pieces together, but that's going to have to be a revelation for another time. Right now, it's just beyond him. "I was just--" And then Bucky smacks him upside the head, which has Sam up and out of the chair faster than his brain can really process, so he stumbles a bit on the way.

    The sketchpad ends up on the seat he's left behind, briefly wedged in against the side of the cushion before it falls to land face up, Bucky's sketch still on display. "What the hell?" he spits out, and then in a quick show of reciprocity steps back when Bucky does, putting himself out of reach. His left hand curls into a fist and releases twice in quick succession. "I know! I know, okay? I was just doing what I thought was right. This is a mess, and I'm just--" What is he doing? Treading water, trying to keep his head above it. "I called her back. It's fine, okay? It's fine. We'll drive down Friday while it's dark, stick around the house, everything will be fine."

    The way Sam's heart is hammering against his ribs right now isn't really fine, but he stops, closes his eyes, and breathes. Inhale-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four....

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's stare isn't the typical trademark BuckyStare right now, no it's more along the lines of 'sorry notsorry'. He's not, he's really not. He feels very much vindicated with the whole slapping thing. Someone needed to do it, smack some sense into Sam. Again... soooo not a councilor. He's treating Sam the same way he'd treat Steve or any other soldier friend that did a stupid.

    He barks out a laugh that sounds a little incredulous. "Damn, man, Sam... really? Skulking around in the fucking dark isn't even a necessary thing. Do you think HYDRA doesn't *know* where your sister lives? They don't think you're dead, they know we're all alive and hiding like a bunch of scared rabbits." Fingers touch to thumb on his left hand, one at a time. Boy aren't they just a pair?

    "Look, we aren't going to let them ruin this, okay? We take precautions, but no more than the ones we're taking when we're walking around the city. We're going to have a Goddamned fourth of July picnic in the fucking sunshine, a normal fucking day and then... then you are going to sit down and tell her everything that's going on so she knows what we're facing, what she's facing and she can make good, informed decisions about her and those boys moving forward, got it?"

    Wow, that is a LOT of words for Bucky. That's probably more words than he's said in at least a week combined. This, apparently, means something to him.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    See here's the thing. Sam doesn't know that, not really. To a degree, it's because he's been fighting to maintain some level of willful ignorance this entire time, but it's also because Sam has carefully boxed up the threat HYDRA presents. All they've been doing since Sam came back stateside, is deal with a very particular niche of whatever HYDRA's master plan is. Sure, they're embedded in all levels of the government. They have control of SHIELD, or at least what SHIELD was. Of course they have access to his files, know all of the minute details of his life.

    Why would they bother, though? There are a half-dozen obvious answers but Sam's never been forced to confront them, too busy running and fighting and running some more. Bucky lays it all out just like that, and he might as well have gotten that second slap in for the way Sam reels back until he's up against the wall.

    He blinks, and blinks again, and then he grips his left hand with his right so hard that his arm shakes with the force he's applying. It's disorienting to feel his breathing start to pick up, his lungs constricting, and Sam fights against it with the same measured in-hold-out-hold pattern he usually does, but it doesn't quite seem like it's working this way around.

James Barnes has posed:
    Has it been mentioned that Bucky isn't a councilor? Well, he's not. But he's also not one to panic in the face of someone else's obvious panic. It's not like he hasn't seen this shit a million and twelve times before.

    When he approaches Sam, it's not with kid gloves or like he's approaching a scared animal. No, it's straight on, balls out, three big steps and he's there. He reaches up with his right hand to grasp Sam's shoulder a little roughly and give him a shake. "Sam!" he snaps, not panic... demanding. He takes his left hand and points to Sam's eyes with his middle and index fingers, then to his own eyes. Twice, he repeats the motion twice well ordering, "Sam, look at me!"

    If he gets his friend to comply, Bucky will lower his voice a little, but the tone is still even and a little 'command-y'. "Nothing, absolutely nothing I just told you changes a fucking thing, you get that? Not a thing. It only changes the way you look at it. It has no effect on the outcome. I dunno about you, but I'm sick and fucking tired of walking around with my head up my own fucking ass and looking *sideways* at this problem."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam stares down at the bare floor. He knows how to deal with this, done it a hundred times or more side-by-side with someone, talking them through it. Coaching someone through one of several verbal exercises he knows can be useful, or guiding them into the pattern of square breathing, the one he uses himself when he's stressed.

    But it's like all of that slips right through his grasp when he tries to reach for it, a trusted tool that is suddenly gone, like it was never there. All he can hear is the slam of his heartbeat in his ears, loud enough that it's even drowning out his own breathing which has spiked into sharp inhales and explosive exhales.

    The wall is the only thing keeping him upright, at least until Bucky's there with a hand on his shoulder. Sam feels like his strings have been cut. All he can think is how it's his fault, his sister and his nephews and his brother are in danger and it's because of him, because he wanted to be an Avenger, because he thought he was making a difference but was that really it? Wasn't Gideon right, saying that all Sam really wanted was to be a hero so he went back on every promise he made to himself when he was discharged, strapped himself back into the EXO suit and put his face out on Avengers PR like that was fine. It's not fine. This is not fine, Sam is not fine, nothing about this is fine, because HYDRA is going to kill Sarah and AJ and Cass and even Gideon despite their fractured relationship and--and--and--and there's nothing Sam can do about it because it's his own fault.

    Bucky's rough handling quite literally shakes those thoughts out of Sam's brain, breaks the circuit, but then it's just a litany of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck between Sam's ears. It's not an improvement.

    His head rolls back. It's less lifting his head to meet Bucky's eyes than it is his muscles no longer being willing to hold his head up, so back up against the wall it goes. He's still blinking too many times for it to be natural, but Sam is at least looking now, despite the wide-eyed panic still reading loud and clear on his face. He looks, and he listens, and he tries to breathe.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky resists the urge to slap Sam again, barely. He does reach up and grab his friend's face with his left hand. He's not wearing gloves, he never does at home, so it's cool metal to skin. He squeezes Sam's face firmly, but not enough to hurt. He *knows* that look, he sees it all the time in the mirror.

    "No!" snapped out, firm and authoritative. Bossy little bitch, isn't he? "Don't go there, Sam. If you go there then that means you've been wrong about me this whole time, Steve's been wrong about me this whole time. Are you guys wrong? Was it MY fault or HYDRA's? Huh? We. Are. Not. The. Mother. Fucking. Bad. Guys." Oh, how this conversation will one day be so much ammunition for Sam!

    "Now you take a fucking breath, eat your fucking pasta salad, pet the fucking dog, and process this shit so we can figure out who we need to *kill* to make this mess go away." Seriously, one hundred percent, Bucky is OVER this HYDRA bullshit. At this point, he doesn't care if he has to travel the damned globe and take out every single one of their 'heads' BY HIMSELF, he will do it.

    There's a sense of sweet irony in the fact that it was THEM that created the boogeyman that might just be able to accomplish that goal.

    He lets go of Sam's face, but keeps hold of his shoulder, grip firm.

    Lili watches from the floor near the couch, so far she hasn't moved or made a sound... her ears are perked, but as of now, nothing in Bucky's demeanor has alerted her to any sort of trouble from him.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The temperature difference between Sam's skin and the cold metal of Bucky's arm is enough of a shock that it resets Sam's breathing pattern halfway through an exhale, but it feels almost... nice? Not bad. The accelerated flow of blood in Sam's system has started to overheat him already, sweat on the inside of his elbows and the back of his neck. So it's weirdly grounding, that touch, because the accompanying pressure makes it impossible to ignore.

    Still, this isn't something Buck is just going to command Sam out of, not Sam of all people. It's something Bucky says, though, that replaces the mantra of negative thinking and swear words on a loop in Sam's head.

    We're not the bad guys.

    And it's true. Sam knows that, about himself, about Steve, about the rest of SHIELD still loyal and brave bunkered down here in the face of what seems like an insurmountable evil. Knows that about Bucky, which is why Sam fights to get through to the guy. Honestly, this is going to be something to laugh about, once they're clear of this. How much shit Sam had put Bucky through in the hopes of making a difference, and then this sudden role reversal, where it's Bucky the one talking Sam down.

    Not funny right now, though. Most of what Bucky says after about murdering HYDRA goons doesn't really pierce the surface level of Sam's thoughts, but it's okay. He keeps reminding himself who the bad guys are, here, and soon enough he can drop back into that measured rhythm of inhale-hold-exhale-hold. He reaches up, grabs onto Bucky's bicep, and nods once. "Yeah," he says, and his voice is a wreck, shaky, but he's talking, not out of breath. "Yeah, okay."

James Barnes has posed:
    "Yeah..." Bucky repeats firmly before he brings that cold metal hand back up again to grip the back of Sam's neck so he can hold his friends gaze with those pale blues of his. There's a clarity in those eyes that Sam probably hasn't ever seen before. Sam, after all, never knew 'pre-HYDRA' James Buchanan Barnes.

    "Yeah..." One more time for good measure and he lets go and takes a step back.

    He walks over and picks up the sketch pad. He tears the sketch from the book and takes the few steps back to Sam so he can shove it against his friend's chest as he says, "Nothing's going to happen to them, Sam, because we're the mother fucking *heroes* and we're going to make sure it doesn't." There's so much certainty in his voice that it's downright impossible to not believe those words, at least a little bit. He doesn't walk away again until Sam has at least one hand on that piece of paper.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's still shaky, inside and out, but his heart rate is already dropping back down to something approaching normal. It's not 100% clear-and-confident Sam looking back at Bucky when they lock eyes, still some distance there, but it's a vast improvement over no more than a minute or so ago when Sam was at the peak of what was, he can acknowledge fully now, a panic attack.

    Even with his training, Sam still has to fight back an instinctive surge of shame. He knows he shouldn't have to but he does, because he's only human. People all over the world go through the same thing he just did. Hell, it's not even like Sam's a stranger to having one, it's just that it's never been around anyone that he's come to know since taking the wings back up again. He has a bright moment of clarity where he's able to acknowledge that it's because he'd rather suffer in silence rather than be a burden on anyone else. No. Be someone that the people around him don't think they can rely on. That's it.

    These are thoughts that Sam can have right now without processing them. He's not quite at that point yet, but he's stable and cognizant enough to take the sketch when it's jammed against his chest. He doesn't say anything but he does nod, and his expression reads as convinced, both from what Bucky's saying and soon enough from his own internal dialogue, confirming it.

    He does need a few minutes in the bathroom after to wash his face and decompress with more deep breathing, and then he's absolutely going to demolish that pasta salad. Maybe both of the cherry turnovers if Bucky doesn't call dibs on the other one.

James Barnes has posed:
    While Sam is in the bathroom, Bucky takes a few steps back until he's right against the couch and just falls down onto it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and runs his right hand over his eyes and then down over his stubbled chin. "Fuck," he whispers to himself. That was a LOT. His own doubts, his own TERROR of HYDRA... it all starts to creep back in on him again.

    Now Lili comes to rest her head on his leg. He absently strokes one of her ears and clamps it all back down. No. He can't, he won't lose his fucking shit now, not after that.

    Bucky would rip off his own right arm - something that means a little more when one considers the state of his left - to have even a little piece of what's in that sketch, of what Sam has. He knows it'll never happen, he knows he'll always be pretty much alone in life, no family. So he'll be damned if he'll ever let anything rip it away from Sam.

    He's recovered and back to another sketch by the time his friend is done in the bathroom. He doesn't call dibs on the pastry, he's had three already.

    Bucky looks up when Sam comes back in and doesn't ask the obvious 'you okay' question? He knows the answer, but maybe Sam will be a little closer to okay once he sees his family, the family Bucky will never have.

    ...and maybe Bucky'll be okay when the day comes that he *finally* realizes that family doesn't have to mean blood.