Summary:Steve arrives home from Genosha and while he shares a tale of a King-Shark, Bucky has concerns about files recovered out of the blue. At least SHIELD has them! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious text-ping of old
From Captains making their way back home from Genosha's mortal coil:
REMIND ME TO AVOID SUSHI FOR A WHILE. STOP. SET-REP NORMAL, IN ROUTE. STOP. ETA 0200 HOURS. STOP.
Right around 2am or so, the apartment door's nine locks are turned and then one Steve Rogers steps into the place. Immediately, he lets out a relieved sigh from the very depths of his lungs. The duffel bag is slid off his shoulder to land on the entryway floor with a quiet thump and he toes off each boot after unlacing it; they get tucked next to the other pair already there.
"Buck…?" comes the quiet call as he picks up his duffel bag again and steps further in.
Buck doesn't need to be stealthy in his own goddamned home. He sure doesn't need to sneak around in the dark. Big meatball husband is not an assassin, *he's* the assassin.
None of which keeps him from appearing out of the darkness like a wraith, wrapping his arms around Steve and dragging him close for a kiss….even as he kicks past Steve to shut the door. It's long, enthusiastic kiss, meant to demonstrate his pleasure that the blond is home. Only then does he says, "Hi, sweetheart."
There's Bucky like a goddamned wraith and there's a soft sound of surprise swiftly muffled by the kiss from the Captain. He's turned on his feet by the momentum of his other half; the front door is now shut, this he's realized somewhere in his brain and who knows for the moment where his duffel bag is — there is a point where Steve comes up for air and breathlessly replies,
"Hey Buck. 'm home." Indeed, he is, half-clinging to the brunet as he finds his sense of sanity momentarily scattered to the four winds by the affection. "Mari 'nd T'Challa send their regards," he adds after clearing his throat. Granted, his arms haven't left their wrapping about the Soldier's chest and fingers remain interlocked at the small of the man's back. "'m sure they'll tell you about things I did, but don't believe 'em. I was safe the entire time."
Even in the dark, Bucky can probably see him smile as if even he can't believe his own bullshit.
Buck manages to slap his hand on a lightswitch as they pass. Only the fluorescent bar over the sink, but it buzzes into life. He flicks a few of the locks into place; it's a complicated marital tango they're dancing through the kitchen. That statement about not believing them makes him scoff. "C'mon, Steve, pull the other one, it has bells on," he grouses, affectionately. "You hungry? There's pasta and meatballs in the fridge. Want somethin' to drink? And tell me about this sushi thing?" Because apparently what Steve needs is a cyborg Jewish mother.
"Oh, I love the one with bells." Smirking to himself, the Captain leans in for one final pushy kiss before stepping back. He shrugs out of his button-down to the white t-shirt beneath and tosses it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs before he turns to the fridge.
"Pasta 'nd meatballs sounds amazing, 'm starving." He's always starving. Rummaging it up, he eyes the coffee-maker before looking back at Bucky again. "Too late for coffee, you think…? Or maybe decaf. Just want the taste of it." Clunk — the Tupperware is set down on the counter and he peels up the lid to sniff at it. Mmm, garlic. "About the sushi though…"
Bucky will have to tolerate a pause as the man turns and sticks the whole Tupperware container into the microwave and sets it to reheat. Then turning about, Steve leans back on the counter and lightly folds his arms. "So…" he starts and then laughs at himself, chin tucked. "Ever heard of Kepanila?" This is asked with a glance through his lashes before his face fully lifts again.
Buck's happily bustling around the kitchen. First, starting up a pot of decaf, after giving Steve an amused glance and a resounding kiss. Starving they always are - Buck's gotten used to doubling or tripling recipes by default. It's the only way they ever have left overs.
There's the clink of plates and silverware - apparently he intends to eat with him. "Heard of it, but…don't know much about it. Where is it?" He flicks Steve a sharper glance, but doesn't needle him further.
The burble of the coffee-maker is a sound to make Steve glance over. One can see lingering lines of stress in his body relax all the more as he looks back over at Barnes, faintly smiling to himself.
"Not a place, a thing. A god, according to Mari: Kepanila, King-Shark of Hilo." He lifts his brows, lets that sink in for a second. "So…" There comes the tale of how he, Mari, T'Challa, and this winged woman named Shayera ended up swimming down into darkness to find an underwater stronghold of HYDRA. He explains how they entered in a hurry, spooked by something large in the waters he couldn't see. The room with the ritual items of Polynesian nature is shared, Steve's expression going cold and distant especially in light of the altar stained permanently with red blood — human blood, according to the supernaturally-sharp senses of one of his teammates.
"'nd after we'd laid 'em all out, the arriving scientific team 'nd HYDRA cronies, this… Buck, you know about the movie JAWS. This shark was…bigger'n that thing. Slams into the nearest glass wall. Never seen a shark look at me like it knew what I was." Shaking his head, he runs a hand down his mouth. "So no more sushi for a while."
"I saw that movie. I don't like that movie." Buck gets that tight-lipped look he wears when something has tweaked certain instincts. An almost childish directness to the comment. "Jesus," he says. "The whole thing sounds like a nightmare. We should go to Hawaii for fun, sometimes," he notes. "Man, there's nowhere HYDRA doesn't try to mess with something, is there?" Why he should be particularly disappointed that Hawaii's yet another place they've gone to try their tricks isn't readily clear, it's not somewhere he's always talked about going, not like Florida….and yet, disappointed he is.
"Well, thing is, Hawaii might be safe. We were somewhere off Africa insofar as I could tell. HYDRA still managed to screw up the compasses 'nd tracking software, but we at least tracked 'em to there. To Genosha."
The microwave goes off and Steve hips off the counter to grab some oven-gloves. The Tupperware is steaming-hot and he brings it to the table before pulling the lid. Mist redolent of deliciousness immediately sets the man's stomach to gurgling. Loudly. He pinks at the ears lightly as he looks over at Barnes.
"Buck, your cooking is legendary. Dunno why folks aren't pounding down our door to eat it. Mean, don't get me wrong, I like it all to myself," the Captain amends with a dimple or two. "Usual in your coffee?" he then asks, walking back over to see about making up the mugs unless otherwise stopped and herded back to the table.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Usual it is. And I dunno. Maybe it's cause of my old job. I still got a hell of a rep," he notes. Who's foolish to come knocking on an assassin's door for a cup of sugar, after all.
Buck pushes him towards the table with an impatient nudge of a boot. Blue eyes quick, as he darts a look at Steven. "Genosha, huh?" That name is definitely known to him. "What'd you find there?"
"'m making it, 'm making it," chides the Captain gently as he's nudged. He's got the coffees made up and is sipping his even as he travels back to the table. Bucky's mug, doctored to his satisfaction, is set at his seat-space before Steve settles himself and scoots in to the table. Immediately, he's ladling pasta and meatballs onto his plate.
"Genosha was a mess, Buck." This, he says wearily enough. "HYDRA was working to manufacture weaponry that'd be given to dissidents there to help overthrow the local government. Made sure they weren't able to do it again. Rumlow was there." A significant look given to the Soldier; Crossbones is no friend to either of them. "Made sure he wasn't able to help further, but he has some Reverbium on 'im. Not an easy scuffle. Whatever HYDRA was up to beneath the water had something to do with trying to contact gods, like the King-Shark. Think we managed to throw enough wrenches into gears to bring it all to a halt, but…"
A fork pokes a meatball in a momentary cessation of hunger. He frowns down at his plate. God, it never ends.
Steve knows, all too well, the particular cold glint in the pale eyes. James takes a moment, looks down into his mug, which he's holding with particular care, as if it were eggshell porcelain. It's sturdy china, but he's broken plenty of mugs before.
He lets out a breath in a slow hiss, glances up again. "They'll keep trying," There's a despairing weariness in his voice. It really does never end. The war is never over….and it'd be nice to trade job security for peace.
"Maybe we can make a game out of it. Let 'em know we've seen that trick before, why don't they try something new for once? Oh, the old 'pull a super secret weapon out of your sleeve' trick, that's circa 1944, can't you find a different approach? Try throwing fireballs or something instead — wait, can't do that one, someone else's already done it."
Even how he finally forks up a meatball is sarcastic. Steve then blows a hard sigh and glances over at his husband. "Thing is…'m home. Work's work 'nd it's out there on the street. Left it there when I entered the building." Reaching out, he grips the man's human hand and squeezes. "'m home. What've you been up while I've been gone?"
Steve's suggestions have him laughing, softly, despite himself. "You know, they never learn. I mean, I guess we should give thanks, that they can never really rise above collective stupidity?" Hesitant at first, he's started eating deliberately. No inhaling, but no picking, either. "Few missions. Nothing so earthshaking." He squeezes Steve's hand in return. "And….they've found archives in Germany. They were digging a foundation for a new building in Berlin. Stuff from the war. It…nothing that…nothing revolutionary. But I was in them. Just another copy of Zola's notes, from the very first…."
Cold goosebumps break out over the Captain's arms and neck at the news. He keeps his gaze steadily on his husband's face as he asks, "'nd who's got 'em right now? SHIELD's got 'em? Or somebody else? I can get somebody on that right now, Buck, that's not for anybody's eyes."
His grip at Bucky's hand has tightened in turn; not hard enough to hurt anybody with the serum in their veins, but at least he's not holding his coffee mug. The fork's body might be a bit of a loss though, the meatball still clumped to its tines.
"SHIELD has 'em, yeah," Buck confirms, voice soft. "They're locked away. Like I said….nothing new. Zola was just real damned thorough." He looks down at his plate. "They gave me to him 'cause they thought I was dying. I thought I was dying. I was so worried for you. I was outta my mind with fever and still wondering where you were. I….I really thought you were dead, and I thought that if I died, at least I'd be where you were."
"Buck. «Chroi croga»," breathes the Captain in his cradle-tongue, brows quirked and eloquent of his concern. Another squeeze attempts to ground his other half in the now. "Files're locked away. Zola's dead. You're with me now, here, alive 'nd sitting at this table. I found you once, found you again, 'nd 'm not gonna lose you. Never. Nobody's taking you from me."
For all Steve speaks calmly, there's a deadly steel beneath his words. It no doubt stems from the courageous, foolhardy, plucky young blond once too small to merit anything more than a glance and the joke about needing a sandwich.
"Here, we'll finish this up 'nd take our coffee to the couch. I'll tell you about the ambassadors we met 'nd how watching Mari 'nd T'Challa run 'em circles was the funniest damn thing 've seen in a long time." No doubt that's where the two men end up and the tales of wrangling diplomats? They're painfully hilarious, bringing laughter to fill the apartment.