in the midnight hour I can feel your power

[notreadytocomply]

(Prompt: 02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.)

---

If Bucky were being honest with himself, the reason he's still awake would be the memories come to gather at the window of his mind in dark, foggy silhouettes against a backdrop of screams. Luckily he's lying to himself and blaming his rumbling stomach -- which is true, but not the real reason for the season.

Sleeping never comes easily for him when not induced behind glass sparkling with cryogenic mist, and tonight is no exception.

So Bucky shuffles off to the kitchen at 2:14 a.m. in pursuit of a midnight snack. The shitty apartment is eerily quiet, no sirens in the distance for once. For a moment it feels too out of place, as if Bucky were looking at the scene from afar--

But then he comes back to himself just as his hip bumps the handle of a pan sitting on the edge of the sink -- of all places, why couldn't the culprit (Bucky) just put it two inches farther into the sink? -- and

CLANG!

Bucky sets his jaw, ready for the inevitable oncoming reaction waiting to burst through the door in a flurry of fifteen-year-old spunk.

Comments

[witchplz]

It isn't certain whether or not her dreams were of something pleasant, but rest assured there were muscles involved, and Rahzel had a six pack of them. Good or bad dreams dissipate all the same with the sound of an intruder, forcing her to jacknife up in bed, energy on her fingertips.

Instead of waiting a few seconds to see if its just another stray cat that's come in through the open window (for someone so paranoid about pursuit, Bucky certainly doesn't worry about felines....), the teen vaults up and launches herself out of her door.

"YOU'VE GOT THREE SECONDS TO PUT DOWN THE GOODS BEFORE I TURN YOUR BUTTHOLE INSIDE OUT! If you don't comply, it'll make a hideous hat."

When noone speaks in a foreign tongue to surrender, to stay back, anything, Rahzel peers steadily into Bucky's grimacing face, sighs.

"That's not how you make brownies. I'm going to throw you out the window." Adrenaline spikes high in her chest as she sighs again and lowers her hands.

[notreadytocomply]

"Why don't you make 'em then, since you're the expert."

Bucky glowers at his young companion. (And anyway, so what if Bucky secretly likes it when the cats from outside come in and sleep on his chest? The great thing about cats is they don't care what a human has done in the past. They see him the same as they see everyone else -- a potential bed and personal heater.)

But Rahzel certainly has zero chill (says the pot about the kettle). He picks up the fallen comrade of a pan and sighs; now there's no telling when he'll get to sleep. Oh well, a distraction is a distraction is a distraction. At this point, he'll take anything.

He's had better nights.

"Can't we just get some chips next time?"

[witchplz]

"Aren't you the man of a thousand skills? You'd think you'd know how to cook sweets in all that time, something useful," she mutters just loud enough to be bitchy. Because, to her, murder isn't useful.

Rahzel strides right on over to take the pan from him, checks him with her hip as she passes him to....get a box of brownie mix from the meager cabinets. When did she purchase that. Did she predict this.

"No, no chips! They're too salty and you'll get pimples and when you finally, for the love of god shave that god awful thing on your face-- you'll be sorry."

[notreadytocomply]

Bucky sighs.

"Baking wasn't exactly a priority with me before, y'know."

Before and before. Even back when, he and Steve usually didn't have money to bake or cook much on their own. Food was simple especially during the Depression and the war, boiled veggies usually. Lots of potatoes. But that stuff is only a whisper of a memory right now, nothing more. He'd learned those facts from an encyclopedia at the library, and it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Anyway, quit trying to get me to shave 'cause it's not gonna happen. You never learn."

He watches her move around with a sort of curiosity. Doesn't look too tough so far. Maybe he could learn a recipe or two just to shut her up.

[witchplz]

The longer he watches, the bigger huff she's going to aim his way. Complete with a judging look, as though she's his mother in law.

"Don't just stand there-- didn't I say useful? And I don't mean just looking at your pretty face. Get the eggs out, stat!"

Rahzel can't stand the way he's just there, like a statue. Like a single breath could knock him over. Shatter him to pieces. She can't stand it, so--

"March! As in get to it, not the month of my birth. If I can't get you to shave now, I'll fill up your belly and lull you to sleep and then shave you when you're unconscious."

[notreadytocomply]

"You called me pretty." He smirks as he turns around to open the fridge. "That's an improvement."

But his eyes go blank as her words take a while to reach him. The thought -- the memory, as if he'd been watching from outside his own body -- of his captors grooming him made his throat go dry. He reached out to grab the carton of eggs with the slightest of tremors in his hand.

"Sorry. Not a heavy sleeper."

He used to be. His voice comes out tight, so he works to loosen it up. Nothing's wrong, nothing at all.

"And don't try to steal my March birthday limelight, kid."

[witchplz]

She should have known better, would have if he'd told her, if she'd asked-- that's the way of being nosy, her fear of sharing your secrets with someone in fear of being rejected....its because its a two way street she doesn't know this.

(it isn't pride but a deep, deep seated silence between the lines that holds her back from asking)

Rahzel sees the look, brows furrowed with worry.

"Pretty slick and annoying. And you'd better not break the eggs while you break them into that bowl on the counter or you'll be eating the shells!"

So gentle, this one's comforting methods. She doesn't crowd him, just crosses to the opposite side of the counter so he can see her.

That's when she perks up, entire mouth stretched wide in an eager grin.

"Your birthday is in March too?! Really, it really is? You aren't pulling my chain? That's so awesome! Uwaaaah, birthday buddies! We can have themed parties down based on your muscles."

[notreadytocomply]

Alright, so maybe Bucky could use a little practice with breaking eggs. The first one gets smashed into a gooey mess filled with eggshell shards, and the second ended up with pieces that must have sneaked in. C'mon, you can shoot a target from yards away, and can't crack a fucking egg? His frown sets in as he chides himself.

His look softens, though, when she pops over in front of him. Her enthusiasm is pretty cute, and at least it takes his mind off Things more often than not.

"Nope, not pulling anyone's chain. March the tenth."

It's something he lifted from the Washington D.C. display, something he hadn't known. Would he have been able to remember something as vital as that on his own...? It's nice, though, to find something more in common with Rahzel.

"As long as you bake the cakes, we can have whatever themed parties you want. Except surprise party. Don't think I'm ready for that yet."

No, Bucky is definitely not ready to be surprised; it would probably end in knives at this point.

[witchplz]

The egg breaking doesn't fail to catch her notice, plus she was only partly kidding about making him eat the shells. Working through it seems to be alright for him, so Rahzel will leave him to it....and really examine each brownie to make sure she has the good pieces.

One must break a few eggs to choke on your own concoctions, the saying goes.

Rahzel goes as far as to bounce to and fro, wags a spatula under his nose as she says:

"Now, now, don't be like that. We'll invite the neighborhood cats and have a contest to see who's the weakest yarn! We'll make them hats out of felt and everything." This seems like an idea she might go with, so be careful what you say, Barnes. Don't encourage her.

"Yours is the tenth? The tenth. Hmmmmm, the tenth! The ides of March! We'll have to make togas for everyone too....also, you're not getting out of a baking lesson that easy, buster."

[notreadytocomply]

A cocked eyebrow is the only response Bucky can come up with to this. Any of this. He grabs the spatula and twists it to end up bonking her on the head with it while correctly cracking an egg with the other hand.

Who says he's not a fast learner? James Buchanan Barnes is a man of many talents.

"Yeah, you just let me know how that cat in hats venture goes for ya."

He fixes the girl with a scowl.

"Not a fan of getting stabbed, ides or not. Had enough of that for a lifetime. Or two. Can't we go with something like, I dunno, St. Paddy's day?"

[witchplz]

A tiny shriek, hands fly to her head (dropping the bowl of dry ingredients onto the counter to rattle and reel and nearly tip) as she scowls right back at him.

Indignation rises within her tiny frame as she steps forward as if to grab another spoon-- so she can stomp on his foot with all of her four foot frame.

"If you aren't careful you might just get a spoon up your nose!" Speaking of, she wrinkles hers at him. "Are you trying to condone underaged drinking? I'm calling the PTO moms in the area. They'll be here in ten minutes."

[notreadytocomply]

He's on the verge of an actual laugh, really stepping close to the edge there -- but then she steps on his foot and it's all ogre now.

Well alright, so it barely hurt. It was the bite of a gnat compared to his usual injuries, not much of a casualty. But still, the rage of a fifteen-year-old girl should not be underestimated.

"Whatever. That's for saying my stubble's awful." ("Stubble" "10 o'clock shadow", what's the difference really?)

"You kidding? Who do you think does the most drinking? How else would they get through the meetings? You got a lot to learn about adults."

[witchplz]

She's going to shove this spoon up his nose, just wait for it. For now, though, she adds the wet ingredients he'd painstakingly put together to the rest of this concoction, then starts to mix, looking thoughtful.

"You look like a fortnightly washed hobo-- as in a fortnight ago," Rahzel decides. Then her expression goes a little more stern. "Underaged drinking messes with braincells and stunts growth-- it's also incredibly irresponsible. And beer tastes like white trash pee."

There will be no underage drinking in this house, thanks. As she mixes, she whips the spoon out and practically shoves it into Bucky's mouth.

"Here, try that. It'll bring some youth back to you. Hopefully"

[notreadytocomply]

Bucky's been around enough women to be able to take a hint. But laundry is on the lowest of his priorities list, though he has noticed a slight funky smell to them lately. Alright, so maybe she has a point.

Friends...something he hasn't had in over seventy years...it's a strange feeling. Why would she want to be his friend when they hardly know one another? He was once a popular guy, but now he wants to avoid any kind of limelight. He left that person -- those people -- behind long ago.

But still the man on the bridge, the piercing blue eyes...they nag at him daily.

"If we're friends, does that mean curling each other's hair?"

[witchplz]

She has a laundry basket under one arm and a magazine in the other, so Rahzel is on a mission...as per usual. The smell was totally getting to her, alright, its that man smell! Do they think it's flattering and hot? Do they really believe the axe body spray crap? They need a wake up call.

The question yanks her out of her thoughts and she beams.

"Hell yeah! You want me to? Because I'd totally trust you with my beautimous locks just...not just yet. Do you want a french braid or something more chic?"

she is the reason for his shorter hair in CW whoa fuckin debunked

[notreadytocomply]

"I don't -- that's not what I --"

Hygiene isn't totally lost on Bucky, he's had to make do through some pretty rough times in war but it's hard to remember what it was like to have someone care about it.

And there's no way she's serious about the hair. But then he thinks for a second--

She's totally serious about the hair.

"Whatever. I doubt there's enough for a french braid. You already made me cut some." He grumbles.

YES!! I ACCEPT THIS WHOLEHEARTEDLY

[witchplz]

The fact that he's that he's given in means he's defeated. And that means Rahzel has won, as usual. Beaming, she drops both basket and magazine and points:

"Go sit on the couch! Don't move an inch, I'll know."

Then speeds off to the bathroom for everything she'll need. It won't take her long to return, so Bucky had better move it.

=u=

[notreadytocomply]

Bucky sighs a sigh from his very soul.

"Only if I get another brownie," he shuffles off as he grabs his third treat.

He makes a face at her retreating figure, but a soft kind of smile slides into place over it. He wonders if she would be so chipper if she knew how many and just the kind of people were after him, the amount of bounty on his head.

[witchplz]

She comes back beaming just as wide as before, now a bag of carefully collected hair products and clips and things clutched in a see-through bag. Also a flat iron. Nice.

"Ready, ready?" Could she get any more excited? Without waiting for an answer, Rahzel finds an outlet for the iron (had she planned this...??) and pops it in. In the meantime, she plops beside him on the couch and gently cards her fingers through his hair.

[notreadytocomply]

His stomach twists as he takes in all the hair products in the bag. Things have quadrupled that much since the forties? Why and how?

"No, no I'm not. And I don't even trust you with that."

He gestures toward the flat iron.

"What is it? Are you going to burn my hair off?"

But then he sighs when she begins combing through his hair with her hands. It's a surefire way to make someone sleepy, and he can't say it isn't working a little. The storm inside his head is still too heavy and thick, but he feels better, even if vulnerable.

All at the hands of a fifteen-year-old! What has he turned into?

[witchplz]

"Then why are you sitting here, lead butt?"

Rahzel rolls her eyes skyward but is already separating the soft locks into sections, comb in hand.

"This isn't for burning, it's for straightening." This barbarian. They didn't even have that back in the day? She bets they didn't even have bath jellies...the travesty!

...Then again a little burning will probably happen. Comes with the territory.

[notreadytocomply]

"Excuse you, I've never gotten shot in my ass. No lead there."

He tents up his knees, elbows resting on them, and leans back.

"No, we didn't have that. Gals used irons, like for clothes."

He doesn't fully trust her not to burn him, but she seems careful and knowing of what she's doing. So maybe this won't be so hard after all. Again, he finds a genuine smile crawling its way across his face.

[witchplz]

"Maybe your buttcheeks are just heavy."

It's possible. You have to believe Hydra would try anything once. Inflated lead buttcheeks-- the rest of us know those cheeks are natural, however.

Gals. That's kind of adorable, when a little of his olderspeak slips through, those habits. Sure, if he called her doll in a condescending way she'd probably throw him through a wall but...

Now to start separating the hair by clips! He's going to have a whole head of the things in a minute.

[notreadytocomply]

He rolls his eyes. Natural indeed.

"Why is a minor talking about my ass? Weren't you all preachy about being underage earlier?"

As she works, his mind drifts back, back to the house of his childhood. Something that feels like a faded photo from the time period, stained by time and electroshock brainwashing.

"My sisters did pin curls. I never could understand how they were able to sleep on them. I'm not gonna have to deal with that, right?"

Since, Bucky had gotten quite the lesson in finding ways to sleep that were less than ideal and less than pain-free. He picks up the magazine and starts flipping through aimlessly. She makes it seem so effortless, acting as though it isn't totally weird for them to be up at whatever-the-hell o'clock.

[witchplz]

"Once again, as a man, you completely miss the point. And also, old fashioned stereotype much? As if boys are the ones who should be allowed to talk about backsides!"

Huffing, she gently whaps him on the crown of his head with the brush. Then, deeming the iron hot enough, she takes it to his hair and slowly, slowly lets the heat work its magic.

"Pin curls...can't say I've down those in awhile. And no, we won't do anything like that yet."

Cue an evil cackle here.