kyouyasangels_inc | in the midnight hour I can feel your power

in the midnight hour I can feel your power

(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.)

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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.

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For a moment it appears as though she's seriously considering giving him a pinch. With nails. Baby blue eyes narrow as she thinks it over. But instead, she turns her face to the wind, lets it ruffle her hair.

"Of course not-- I don't want to fly into a plane and have to lift it up to safety." Like that makes the most sense.

Why the brownies. Why, why, why. Naturally, there's something underneath the underneath there, something he longs for.

"Because--" Rahzel says, her gaze shifting, "they're part of the goodness in this world. Everyone could use 'em."

A likely story. Well, if she can lift a plane to safety then they've got something in common (probably...he hasn't actually ever tested this idea, but it's not out of the question).

Goodness in the world is certainly something hard to come by these days, Bucky thinks, so maybe brownies are one of those a little goes a long way kind of things. It did bring a touch of home to him...but the problem is home isn't anywhere now.

"Yeah but," he stops to find the Big Dipper; at least that hasn't changed in all these years, "I'm surprised you didn't yell more."

Now Rahzel offers him a grin, bumps her shoulder with his. It's nice to see him enjoying this moment, finding something good out of it, even if it's just for a moment.

She doesn't know everything (bit by bit, she'd agreed to show her cards if he did too), can only make assumptions on the pieces....but the picture is telling.

"Do you want me to? Are you that kind of man, Bucky? Who knew you were a stickler for that~ The old ladies downstairs will be shocked."

"Don't tell the old ladies downstairs anything," he shoots her a glare. "They're already in my business enough. Did you put 'em up to trying to shave me?"

He runs careful fingers over his more-than-stubble. He wouldn't put it past her...

"We'll see how they taste, then I'll decide if you should stick with the brownies or the yelling. Long as you don't turn me into a frog with a metal leg, I can deal with either."

"Dealing with" Rahzel is certainly a tsun way of putting that, Bucky. She probably doesn't know how much her presence has, bit by bit, let a little sun into the room. It's still too dim to make out more than shapes, but it's there, a little brighter than before.

As if her grin could get any bigger...there it goes, practically splitting her face. Things are looking up. Arms raised high, she stretches for the stars.

Good, maybe he'll shave one of these days.

"If you don't want that to happen, you'd better take care of it. Or hell, let me do it. I'll even give you a discount, via Salon du Heat."

Saying it aloud, the remembrance of that phrase, turns her smile into something subdued. Softer.

"I wouldn't turn you into a frog. I'll turn you into a peanut." How giving.

Dooooon't count on it. Just because he's mentioned the possibility doesn't mean it's a probability yet. Her stretching makes him realize how long it's been for him too, so he does, muscles working and joints moving (one benefit of super serum - no cracking and creaking joints).

"How generous of you," he snorts. "A discount like relieving me of groceries duty this week? That'd be nice."

He can smell the baking brownies and his stomach rumbles in protest. He nudges her in the side.

"You can turn me into anything as long as I can eat first."

Mouth buttoned into a pleased line, she turns to him, one hand on her hip.

"So you can get out of arguing with Vani this week? I'd never keep you star crossed bros apart," her hand folds against her chest while a cheeky smile crosses her face. It's good for him, to have to haggle with the real world again.

Cheer lightened, she nudges him right back and turns back towards the door, hand held out for him.

"Duly noted. Even peanuts have to have full tummies."

Then the scowl is back on Bucky's face quicker than it left.

"I'm not paying forty leu for a loaf of bread, and Vani can shove it if he thinks otherwise."

I mean, forty leu? Ridiculous. Bucky can't remember paying more than eight cents for bread in the thirties, but along with everything else from that time, it seems like a story he read in one of the novels he's picked up from used books vendors around. It turns out being on the lam means lots of time on one's hands.

And lots of weirdly vague memories like the price of bread.

Even if some of that time is spent entertaining (or being entertained by/beat up by/verbally accosted by) a fifteen-year-old ball of spunk.

"We'll see how full I get. Depends on the brownie."

This is when Rahzel's eyes nearly pop out of her head. "Forty?! What the hell-- is he trying to give the government what they want? Slaves to the nation? I ought to shove that bread up his nose."

So much for that romance-- it appears the teenager no longer approves of this joining. She could make bread, hell! They'd better find another place or else she just might...

Sighing, Rahzel takes his hand and leads him inside.

"You're gonna looove these, trust me!" She beams over her shoulder.

He laughs as he thinks of what a sight that would be and he unconsciously squeezes her hand this time. Feels a little warm in his chest, a familiar and kind feeling.

"You got a way with words."

I did too, once.

"Middle piece only. And milk's gotta be ice-cold, no lukewarm."

The last part is more to himself as he pulls out a glass, but he stares down into it, fridge still closed. It feels almost too familial, makes him feel out of place even among someone who's taken him under wing.

Rahzel's grin widens, a full 100% watt smile that lights up her face. Something warm and joyful fills her chest, like a balloon that might burst at any second.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say, Mr. Buckwheat."

Whirling around, she opens the fridge back up to fetch the milk, drops it down at his elbow. After a moment of watching him, Rahzel pours him some. Another moment of watching him silently, expression open. Not expectant, just steady. Patient.

And then, as if remembering:

"Ah, the brownies!"

In another whirlwind, she scurries to the oven.

Maybe it'll help him forget the shadows that have begun to creep in on the very distant sides of his memory, either that or pick out something light, something to help.

It takes a while for her words to reach him, like a verbal telegraph. He doesn't notice the grip he's got on the glass is unusually white-knuckled.

"Buckwheat...? I don't know 'bout that. Well, the Mr. can stay. I am your elder, after all. One who aged really well."

And maybe he flashes a ghost of a half-cocked grin he proudly worn in 1939. More progress, even if he's lame as hell.

Edited 2016-05-30 05:20 (UTC)

They're piping hot, maybe a little crispy around the edges, but still pretty damn perfect. The smell is delicious, the steam that rises from the pan she deposits on the counter is heavenly, as well. Rahzel takes another glass from their meager provisions and sets it down, pouring herself a glass.

"Buckwheat the Third, then."

That smile...its almost hard to watch it cross his face. Almost painful, like something from worlds away. But he's trying, that flash in his eyes cements it. True life.

"I'll age one hundred times better than you when I'm a cute little old grandma."

Bucky drops into one of the shabby chairs at the kitchen table covered in newspapers.

"Buckwheat the Third. Better spy name than Зимний Солдат, I guess."

This is kind of his third reincarnation, every time a different Bucky.

"Hit me. Let's see whatcha got." He holds out a napkin expectantly.

Her nose wrinkles in confusion at the phrase, the jumble of vowels she isn't familiar with. She says it under her breath, curious, but doesn't push it.

"What's that one? Boy band hair?"

Nevermind about not pushing it. Rahzel releases a put upon sigh and rolls those baby blues.

"While it's still piping hot? I refuse to listen to you complain if you burn your pretty mouth. Vani will cry."

"What."

His blank stare should be enough but something about boy band hair makes him run a hand through his. Is his considered boy band hair? What the hell even is boy band hair?

"Why would I complain? It'll heal before you'd even know. Not really patient when it comes to brownies."

He doesn't explain how. It's weird enough living it still, after all this time.

Edited 2016-05-30 08:50 (UTC)

Now that annoys her. True irritation in her eyes, she slams a spatula down on the counter...dangerously close to his hand.

"Listen here-- it doesn't matter if you can heal super fast. You shouldn't have to take that pain. No human being should." Not the good ones, anyway. She's distressed that he thinks so little of himself.

"Don't think so little of yourself."

Bucky is genuinely taken aback by Rahzel. Being the Winter Soldier, he was never to question his own opinion of himself. He was always the simplest thing, the thing he was training to be: cold, murderous, a trainer to others like him, someone to be ordered. He wasn't someone, he was something, and it's a hard way of thinking to break.

Taking and making pain has been part of his life for far too long now.

"I'm used to it. And..."

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair again.

"Maybe I deserve it."

Rahzel can't take it anymore. First, she scoots the brownies out of Bucky's reach, then, whirling on him in a flurry of rage and hurt, she whaps him upside the head with the spatula.

"How dare you say something so stupid in my presence! Go wash your mouth out and repent!"

Her shoulders shake and her eyes are stormy as she glowers at him.

"Never, ever talk about yourself like that ever again. You're here, right now, you aren't hurting anyone. This is your life. And in this life, you aren't meant to punish yourself."

Had Bucky anticipated any kind of reaction like that from her, he would've had ample time to catch it, but as it were the spatula makes contact.

For a split second he hears her words of fury in his mother's voice, a voice he wouldn't have been able to pick out from a recording if he'd tried before now, and it shakes him to his core.

And then that...that last bit, it sounds like something Steve would say. But so different coming from her. What about him makes her believe in him so much?

He curls his metal hand into a fist.

"I'm not hurting anyone yet. I don't know when that'll change, don't you get that?"

Edited 2016-05-31 06:24 (UTC)

She's even madder if the spinning spatula is any indication. This aura isn't of hatred or fear or any of the like-- its hurt, plain and simple. She slaps him again, this time on his flesh hand.

"So what?! You think all of us don't think that same thing, every day? Those of us with powers, without? You think you're that special, huuuuh, you special snowflake?!"

Another swat, tears clinging to her eyelashes because it hurts, hurts, hurts to see him like this, to know with all her heart he believes this.

"You might as well go out there and step on the ant hill next door. Will that make you feel better? Will that give you your satisfaction?"

Alright, that's enough attempted abuse -- so Bucky grabs the spatula out of her hand, catches a wrist with the other.

"Ten words. That's all it takes for me. Do you even know what that's like? Watching it all happen from far away as you're doing it?"

He tuts.

"What the hell do you know? There's no satisfaction. How many times I gotta tell you?"

Edited 2016-05-31 06:59 (UTC)

Rahzel doesn't even struggle against his grip, she doesn't bow or break, not like the metal he can twist, nor the bodies he has befallen.

She's steel incarnate.

(does she know what it's like? to be unmade? to be pulled out to make room for something else to be stuffed inside?)

Her expression twists in her body's stead.

"Tell me again and again and again until you're blue in the face! Tell me that and only that, not these words! Fight, god damn you! You don't get to talk about yourself like that because that's giving up."

"I'm fighting every day!"

But he doesn't relent in his grip, doesn't want to hurt her -- God no, that's the last thing he could take at this point -- but she's the only thing he's got anchoring him for now.

And it scares him shitless, more than anything he's ever been asked (or ordered) to do.

"You think I want to give up? You think after everything they did, I want them to win? I don't need someone worrying about me. You're just weighing me down."

The second the words leave his lips he wishes he could take them back. But she probably already knows, and it unnerves him that she can read him as easily as this.

"Why do you even give a damn?"

Edited 2016-05-31 22:10 (UTC)

"Because it hurts, you idiot!" Stubborn is as stubborn does. She steps on his foot, though not with the entire weight of her tiny four foot frame. "It hurts just seeing you like this! Thinking you don't deserve someone to care...How could I not give a damn?! So tough shit!"

If he keeps this shit up Rahzel's going to twist him into a pretzel.

"So how dare you ask me something so stupid. Ask me that again and I'll rip your nose off and make it into sushi."

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