Steve snorts softly. "I haven't been that guy for years."
Honestly, in a lot of ways, Steve isn't sure he can even pull it off - going back, pretending to be him, even to avert what's coming.
"But I don't feel any different than I did when we got dumped off." Except worse, maybe. Terrified. But that's got nothing to do with it, he knows. "I figure that must not matter, either."
He just wishes he didn't have to deal with this. But he does, because wishing never made things how he wanted them. "I just feel - I don't know." Not ready. Definitely not ready for people to be happy about it.
"B noticed the first day I woke up," Steve points out, not quite a grumble - it's too fond for that. "Guess I shouldn'tve sent him to my cabin for clothes."
Of course, the question frustrates him more than nothing else. "I don't like myself any differently, because nothing's different."
He... doesn't like himself a whole lot. It's just now that doesn't matter anymore, which - fine. Fine, he can take a hint from the universe to stop wallowing, he guesses. But he doesn't want to sit down and examine it, and he doesn't want to tell people, to have them be happy about it, when he's not. Maybe that's the part he'd expected to be different - that by the time this happened, he'd be happy about it.
Well, he's not. He's just resigned. "I'm staying," he says, quietly. "B's staying. So I'm staying." Well - "After I... you know. Deal with what's waiting at home." Which brings up whole new types of terror.
"For a few years I was convinced the Admiral just got sick of me hanging around but, for whatever reason, wasn't willing to let me die." He frowns just thinking about it. "But it nagged at me. And after a while I understood that the only thing that has changed is how I see and treat people. The rest of me is the same."
Steve always was a big proponent of not having to radically change yourself to graduate. He remembers reassuring Lark about that, years ago.
But Steve had also felt like what he'd done must have been so terrible that there was no way out without radical change. Maybe that's why the lack of it feels like... like jumping off a cliff and expecting to fall forever, only to land on a ledge two feet down.
"I always thought the easiest way to deal with me would've been to send me home," he admits, quietly. "And now I don't even feel like I belong there anymore."
In a lot of ways, he's relieved. In others, it feels like the Admiral stole that from him, and he hates it.
"Do you ever feel like you belong now?" He'd been afraid of that, for himself after so many years, and for Steve because he remembers how this place wears down everything but the things you cling to.
Steve hitches one shoulder. "I don't know. I still hate so much about this place, Lark." That hasn't changed. "I'm not just going to fucking fall in line."
Not that he thinks Lark, of all people, would expect him to. But maybe it's more that - "The Admiral has to know that."
So maybe it's more that he wants to stay with his people - and knows that he can't just conform to do it. Which means he might lose them. Probably will. That's how it works.
"I think it's better that way. We need people who will see and think beyond the way things get accepted around here." It's a fine line to walk, but no one knows that better than Steve.
Steve laughs a little. "I don't know that engaged is a word anyone's gonna use when talking about me."
He pauses, shoves his hands in his pockets, fidgets a little. "I can't... I can't be that guy. Who tries to set up patrols, who tries to get people to work together. I can't be him again. Not - right now." If ever.
He's clearly ashamed to say it. But he has always tried to tell Lark the truth.
That gets a snort. "Lark, when have I ever been neutral about anything on the Barge?"
He might be tired, or helpless, or quiet. But never neutral.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do. But I don't have the luxury of not doing anything, I guess."
He's maybe a little angry about that, and then he feels awful for feeling that way, and it goes around and around in circles. But that's his problem to deal with.
He shakes his head. "There's always a choice. You could choose to do nothing. You wouldn't be the first; you wouldn't even be the only one here who's sitting it all out."
Lark's smile is small--the one that's most honest, most pleased, most easily missed. "I won't. I think I know- a balance we can hit. I'm just glad to have you back, Steve."
Not just back, but back, willing to be active even if he doesn't know how yet.
He isn't sure he wants to be back. But here he is, anyway. He's going to try, even though he's terrified it will all come crashing down on his head.
"I've never been good at balance," he says, but it's not an argument. It's - admitting a weakness. Trying to ask for help without actually asking. But Lark's already said he won't let Steve do nothing. Lark's already agreed. He'll help.
"I'm not gonna make an announcement," he adds. He - can't do that, either. He's still not proud, but more than that, the part of him that hadn't wanted to share things with the Barge as a whole, that has been burned too many times, that part is still here. Still loud. "I don't think anyone'll miss me for a few days or even a few weeks, if that's how long I end up back home - back there."
Because calling it home feels like something bitter in his mouth.
"I understand." What Steve does is none of their business, and Lark has always felt protective of Steve's privacy. He's always resented people who didn't reach out.
"You'll be coming back and staying until B is ready to go?" Just to be sure. He isn't, after all, ready for Steve to be gone.
Steve definitely feels a bit of relief; maybe he hadn't expected Lark to protest, but it's still nice to get that acceptance.
He nods, though, because, "Yeah. I'm - I'm gonna stay with him. After this." For as long as the Admiral - the universe - will let him.
There's a pause. "B's Steve. In his universe. He - left him. And I even understand why he did it." He is, after all, going to leave his own Bucky. And isn't that complicated and complex, and dredges up so many feelings, from guilt to bone-deep sorrow to relief. "But I can't. I won't. I - don't want to."
He takes a breath, and glances up at Lark. This might be the only person on the Barge that will really, truly understand what he's going to say next. He might have said it to Annie first. But Lark... Lark was his best man. "My husband is gone. If it was even the same man that I'm going back to... he won't remember. He can't remember. This isn't like what HYDRA did. It never happened for him. I - can't. I can't go back to him. I can't stay there."
Please, please understand. It feels like tearing his chest open in a way that even talking to B and Annie doesn't.
There's relief in the way Lark nods. "I worried sometimes that you would decide to go try to start over again with someone who hadn't lived that with you. Or that you'd let someone talk you into handling your loss that way. But if it was me, if it was Alec? It's not the same person... You can't pick up two lives and try to make them fit the same picture after something like that."
"I thought about it," Steve finds himself admitting. He really had. A lot. A lot. Even now, it's a conscious effort not to reach for his chest, for the dog tags under his shirt. One of them is Bucky's. His Bucky's.
But that man doesn't exist. Will never exist again. He's just in Steve's mind. In those marriage papers, and... he's also thought about taking them with him, when he leaves. He might. He knows why he'd had Iris file them. He thinks that reason isn't valid anymore.
"We were both supposed to remember," he says, and suddenly his voice is choked, tight. He can barely get the words out. "Or neither of us. Not - But of course it's like this." Of course it's just him. He's fucking graduated, and he's still being punished.
That, at least, is familiar. Almost comforting.
"I'm not trying to replace him with B," he adds, voice a little stronger now. He needs Lark to know that. He needs B to know that, but there's still so much B doesn't know. "But B knows me. He still wants me around. I - fuck," he buries a hand in his hair. "I really want that."
B knows Steve. This Steve. The man he is now. Bucky doesn't anymore. No one back where he's from does. That's why it can't be home anymore. Ever again.
"It isn't a second chance. It's not a do-over. B is B," he says, knowing Steve knows this. It just bears being said out loud so they both know they understand. "You're allowed to love more than once."
"You don't have to," he says, in case Steve needs to hear it. There is so much pressure to do things about what you feel, and Lark has always insisted that doing nothing is a completely sane response. Sometimes it's the best response. "You have him right now. If you look ahead at what might happen, it takes you away from having him right now."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
Honestly, in a lot of ways, Steve isn't sure he can even pull it off - going back, pretending to be him, even to avert what's coming.
"But I don't feel any different than I did when we got dumped off." Except worse, maybe. Terrified. But that's got nothing to do with it, he knows. "I figure that must not matter, either."
He just wishes he didn't have to deal with this. But he does, because wishing never made things how he wanted them. "I just feel - I don't know." Not ready. Definitely not ready for people to be happy about it.
Still, "I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner."
no subject
"The only important question is, do you like who you are today? And do you like yourself less than you did when you were an inmate?"
no subject
Of course, the question frustrates him more than nothing else. "I don't like myself any differently, because nothing's different."
He... doesn't like himself a whole lot. It's just now that doesn't matter anymore, which - fine. Fine, he can take a hint from the universe to stop wallowing, he guesses. But he doesn't want to sit down and examine it, and he doesn't want to tell people, to have them be happy about it, when he's not. Maybe that's the part he'd expected to be different - that by the time this happened, he'd be happy about it.
Well, he's not. He's just resigned. "I'm staying," he says, quietly. "B's staying. So I'm staying." Well - "After I... you know. Deal with what's waiting at home." Which brings up whole new types of terror.
no subject
no subject
But Steve had also felt like what he'd done must have been so terrible that there was no way out without radical change. Maybe that's why the lack of it feels like... like jumping off a cliff and expecting to fall forever, only to land on a ledge two feet down.
"I always thought the easiest way to deal with me would've been to send me home," he admits, quietly. "And now I don't even feel like I belong there anymore."
In a lot of ways, he's relieved. In others, it feels like the Admiral stole that from him, and he hates it.
no subject
no subject
Not that he thinks Lark, of all people, would expect him to. But maybe it's more that - "The Admiral has to know that."
So maybe it's more that he wants to stay with his people - and knows that he can't just conform to do it. Which means he might lose them. Probably will. That's how it works.
no subject
no subject
Still. "I'm not going to convince anyone else of anything."
It's partly a statement of defeat, maybe; but partly a statement of intent. He's done trying, he thinks.
no subject
no subject
He pauses, shoves his hands in his pockets, fidgets a little. "I can't... I can't be that guy. Who tries to set up patrols, who tries to get people to work together. I can't be him again. Not - right now." If ever.
He's clearly ashamed to say it. But he has always tried to tell Lark the truth.
no subject
no subject
He might be tired, or helpless, or quiet. But never neutral.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do. But I don't have the luxury of not doing anything, I guess."
He's maybe a little angry about that, and then he feels awful for feeling that way, and it goes around and around in circles. But that's his problem to deal with.
no subject
no subject
He doesn't know what to do, but he doesn't want to do nothing. Those are the people he hates. He cannot be like that.
Which is maybe why it's so frustrating, when he doesn't know how not to be, when he also can't be the guy he was before.
He pauses then, says, a little calmer: "Don't let me do nothing." Please.
no subject
Not just back, but back, willing to be active even if he doesn't know how yet.
no subject
"I've never been good at balance," he says, but it's not an argument. It's - admitting a weakness. Trying to ask for help without actually asking. But Lark's already said he won't let Steve do nothing. Lark's already agreed. He'll help.
"I'm not gonna make an announcement," he adds. He - can't do that, either. He's still not proud, but more than that, the part of him that hadn't wanted to share things with the Barge as a whole, that has been burned too many times, that part is still here. Still loud. "I don't think anyone'll miss me for a few days or even a few weeks, if that's how long I end up back home - back there."
Because calling it home feels like something bitter in his mouth.
no subject
"You'll be coming back and staying until B is ready to go?" Just to be sure. He isn't, after all, ready for Steve to be gone.
no subject
He nods, though, because, "Yeah. I'm - I'm gonna stay with him. After this." For as long as the Admiral - the universe - will let him.
There's a pause. "B's Steve. In his universe. He - left him. And I even understand why he did it." He is, after all, going to leave his own Bucky. And isn't that complicated and complex, and dredges up so many feelings, from guilt to bone-deep sorrow to relief. "But I can't. I won't. I - don't want to."
He takes a breath, and glances up at Lark. This might be the only person on the Barge that will really, truly understand what he's going to say next. He might have said it to Annie first. But Lark... Lark was his best man. "My husband is gone. If it was even the same man that I'm going back to... he won't remember. He can't remember. This isn't like what HYDRA did. It never happened for him. I - can't. I can't go back to him. I can't stay there."
Please, please understand. It feels like tearing his chest open in a way that even talking to B and Annie doesn't.
no subject
no subject
But that man doesn't exist. Will never exist again. He's just in Steve's mind. In those marriage papers, and... he's also thought about taking them with him, when he leaves. He might. He knows why he'd had Iris file them. He thinks that reason isn't valid anymore.
"We were both supposed to remember," he says, and suddenly his voice is choked, tight. He can barely get the words out. "Or neither of us. Not - But of course it's like this." Of course it's just him. He's fucking graduated, and he's still being punished.
That, at least, is familiar. Almost comforting.
"I'm not trying to replace him with B," he adds, voice a little stronger now. He needs Lark to know that. He needs B to know that, but there's still so much B doesn't know. "But B knows me. He still wants me around. I - fuck," he buries a hand in his hair. "I really want that."
B knows Steve. This Steve. The man he is now. Bucky doesn't anymore. No one back where he's from does. That's why it can't be home anymore. Ever again.
no subject
no subject
It's -
It's kind of horrible, is what it is, because, "I don't - know if I'm allowed, Lark. Every time - every time. I lose them."
Peggy. Bucky. He can't put it out there again, because fate will catch a whiff and be on him like a bloodhound. He'll lose B. Or Annie. Or both.
He cannot do it again. He is not that strong.
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)