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Can't remember to Forget You
Bucky/Natasha.
Back before, the initial decision that he cannot be a man or have a man's feelings, he lives in a world that is designed to foster military discipline and precision. James Barnes vanishes in a haze of Russian discipline and life and he surfaces only with a protege.
She has a history, she has a history similar to his (not that he'd know it. When he looks into the past it's a blank warm haze of cold frost and sunlight on pine boughs, dragging red just in his imagination). She is possibly the most talented person he has ever had the pleasure of training.
And it is a distinct pleasure.
To take a mind, mold it, shape it, make it hate and never mind those moments where he has hesitation (it's small things, the smell of a corn dog, the brief look at a baseball game on TV.) twitches.
However he is still a man, and she is a woman, and play acting can only be taken so far. They are molded in the same kiln, two pieces of pottery that fit together thanks to cunning craftsmen who are never safe even when sleeping in their beds at home.
The first time they are together (Cuba, 1970).
She dances, she dances well and it is a pleasure to take her in his arms and to move in time with hers. They are humans and they are animals that twist about the stage. Her leg slides between his and her mind to tropical sounds, the most base, the most obscene (and oh how they all watch).
It's the music (it's professional courtesy) but he's never slept with her until that night, the two of them tearing at each other, sliding out of his 400 dollar shirt while he slides her dark black dress down one smooth white shoulder in one world. In another he observes her shooting with an almost (almost) calm glance. They are tied together, latched together, wrapped together.
How much of the actions of those with power is rooted in jealousy and personal gain? Perhaps not personal gain (although it was a distraction, the powers that be all agreed). Perhaps it was jealousy, two people who should have never met finding each other across centuries. In America he returns and she watches him with a quiet eye before they build their relationship by fits and starts.
And in another America, one that has not seen host to half the horrors (theirs are considerably worse) she is training and he is watching before their bodies draw together and they dance.
It's Sam that spots it, and Sam that puts on the radio to a song that seems singularly appropriate. Dips turns and twists, it's not long before their poetry spreads across the mat and dance floor. He's graceful (no surprise), she's radiant (she always was and always is).
"check it out man."
Steve watches it with half a smile on his face. Clint from up above, sitting alone watches it with interest and the song picks up.
Oh oh oh -
oh oh oh -
I can't remember to forget you
oh oh oh-
I keep forgetting I should let you go
and when you look at me
the only memory
is us kissing in the moonlight
Cuba, Iran, Roses.
I'd rob and I'd kill to keep him with me
I'd give my last dime to hold him tonight
I'd do anything for that boy
Their song picks up faster, Bucky's expression losing it's intensity as they spin across time, space, the world, feat matched together one step and another. Soon half of SHIELD is watching and judging. How can you help but judge when you've never felt so close?
They finish with a twist and Barnes nearly drops her, eyes widening at the crowd. She glances back at them all, angry and hurt and scared before she follows. She can't remember to forget him indeed, And where he goes. I'll follow, follow.
---
The Shot heard round the world - SchoolHouse Rock
Steve Rogers devotes an hour or so every day to catching up on some pure pop culture thing that he missed over the 70 years he was asleep. There are days he doesn't like it, it's not nice to be reminded every day that the life you thought you'd make for yourself isn't anything like anything that you had intended. He never complains however. He's never had anyone to complain to.
Despite not liking some things he does sometimes waste said hour (in his mind, despite his personal feelings) doing things like repeating certain subjects. One of these is school house rock, today considered a joke but imprinted (apparently) on every school child.
His favorite has to be the American history sections.
Oh not the detailed ones, who invented what, but the ones that dealt with the founding of the country. That didn't change.
Reviewing them, he realized that he was being watched, and there were only two people that it could be.
"...You could come sit with me."
The figure in the back said nothing. Skulking about like a cat (Grumpy cat, Clint had named him.)
"...You always did like American History."
Silence filled the back and Steve kept talking.
"...You were Colonel Prescott in the school play. And when Mrs. Prescott kissed you you turned beet red but I've never seen a braver commander."
"...Bobby Sharp played George Washington. Do you remember how mad I was? But it was because Mrs. Troster knew he could afford the wig. Remember how mad I was Bucky?" The note of desperation at the end of his plea is always there. He wonders if it will ever go away."
More silence. He didn't look at him, didn't dare, afraid he'd gone to walk with his thoughts.
"...When Billy O'Gill had that accident? And you dragged him off stage? Always keep an eye on people. Even...then."
His face fell.
And the father
of our country
beat the british, there at yorktown
and brought freedom
to you and me
and the USA!
God Bless America
Let freedom ring.
The video ended, the youtube selection of "what video to watch next" popping up. He dried his eyes, proud at least that some good things had come out of the way the world was now. Steve let his head drop to his chest just as a voice spoke from the back of the room.
"Did it make you cry too? That film clip?"
Captain America wiped away a tear and nodded once. When he turned around to look, Barnes was gone.
Bucky/Natasha.
Back before, the initial decision that he cannot be a man or have a man's feelings, he lives in a world that is designed to foster military discipline and precision. James Barnes vanishes in a haze of Russian discipline and life and he surfaces only with a protege.
She has a history, she has a history similar to his (not that he'd know it. When he looks into the past it's a blank warm haze of cold frost and sunlight on pine boughs, dragging red just in his imagination). She is possibly the most talented person he has ever had the pleasure of training.
And it is a distinct pleasure.
To take a mind, mold it, shape it, make it hate and never mind those moments where he has hesitation (it's small things, the smell of a corn dog, the brief look at a baseball game on TV.) twitches.
However he is still a man, and she is a woman, and play acting can only be taken so far. They are molded in the same kiln, two pieces of pottery that fit together thanks to cunning craftsmen who are never safe even when sleeping in their beds at home.
The first time they are together (Cuba, 1970).
She dances, she dances well and it is a pleasure to take her in his arms and to move in time with hers. They are humans and they are animals that twist about the stage. Her leg slides between his and her mind to tropical sounds, the most base, the most obscene (and oh how they all watch).
It's the music (it's professional courtesy) but he's never slept with her until that night, the two of them tearing at each other, sliding out of his 400 dollar shirt while he slides her dark black dress down one smooth white shoulder in one world. In another he observes her shooting with an almost (almost) calm glance. They are tied together, latched together, wrapped together.
How much of the actions of those with power is rooted in jealousy and personal gain? Perhaps not personal gain (although it was a distraction, the powers that be all agreed). Perhaps it was jealousy, two people who should have never met finding each other across centuries. In America he returns and she watches him with a quiet eye before they build their relationship by fits and starts.
And in another America, one that has not seen host to half the horrors (theirs are considerably worse) she is training and he is watching before their bodies draw together and they dance.
It's Sam that spots it, and Sam that puts on the radio to a song that seems singularly appropriate. Dips turns and twists, it's not long before their poetry spreads across the mat and dance floor. He's graceful (no surprise), she's radiant (she always was and always is).
"check it out man."
Steve watches it with half a smile on his face. Clint from up above, sitting alone watches it with interest and the song picks up.
Oh oh oh -
oh oh oh -
I can't remember to forget you
oh oh oh-
I keep forgetting I should let you go
and when you look at me
the only memory
is us kissing in the moonlight
Cuba, Iran, Roses.
I'd rob and I'd kill to keep him with me
I'd give my last dime to hold him tonight
I'd do anything for that boy
Their song picks up faster, Bucky's expression losing it's intensity as they spin across time, space, the world, feat matched together one step and another. Soon half of SHIELD is watching and judging. How can you help but judge when you've never felt so close?
They finish with a twist and Barnes nearly drops her, eyes widening at the crowd. She glances back at them all, angry and hurt and scared before she follows. She can't remember to forget him indeed, And where he goes. I'll follow, follow.
---
The Shot heard round the world - SchoolHouse Rock
Steve Rogers devotes an hour or so every day to catching up on some pure pop culture thing that he missed over the 70 years he was asleep. There are days he doesn't like it, it's not nice to be reminded every day that the life you thought you'd make for yourself isn't anything like anything that you had intended. He never complains however. He's never had anyone to complain to.
Despite not liking some things he does sometimes waste said hour (in his mind, despite his personal feelings) doing things like repeating certain subjects. One of these is school house rock, today considered a joke but imprinted (apparently) on every school child.
His favorite has to be the American history sections.
Oh not the detailed ones, who invented what, but the ones that dealt with the founding of the country. That didn't change.
Reviewing them, he realized that he was being watched, and there were only two people that it could be.
"...You could come sit with me."
The figure in the back said nothing. Skulking about like a cat (Grumpy cat, Clint had named him.)
"...You always did like American History."
Silence filled the back and Steve kept talking.
"...You were Colonel Prescott in the school play. And when Mrs. Prescott kissed you you turned beet red but I've never seen a braver commander."
"...Bobby Sharp played George Washington. Do you remember how mad I was? But it was because Mrs. Troster knew he could afford the wig. Remember how mad I was Bucky?" The note of desperation at the end of his plea is always there. He wonders if it will ever go away."
More silence. He didn't look at him, didn't dare, afraid he'd gone to walk with his thoughts.
"...When Billy O'Gill had that accident? And you dragged him off stage? Always keep an eye on people. Even...then."
His face fell.
And the father
of our country
beat the british, there at yorktown
and brought freedom
to you and me
and the USA!
God Bless America
Let freedom ring.
The video ended, the youtube selection of "what video to watch next" popping up. He dried his eyes, proud at least that some good things had come out of the way the world was now. Steve let his head drop to his chest just as a voice spoke from the back of the room.
"Did it make you cry too? That film clip?"
Captain America wiped away a tear and nodded once. When he turned around to look, Barnes was gone.
Here's to the different ones.
Here's to the ones that wake up each morning with the sky and dive into the world like a salmon in a stream.
Here's to the rocks they encounter, here's to the other fish.
Here's to the creatures swimming across the landscape, the other fish they muscle out of the way to get where they need to go.
Here's to leaping from the stream, water on scales, touching the sun and sometimes missing the mark. Sometimes landing on the grass. Here's to the gasping, the flailing, the angry, the flopping fish who missed the boat pure and simple.
Here's to method, to evolution, to rationalization that makes you know who goes where and in what capacity that comes from the fish that fall out of the stream, and still have the courage to flop back in.
Here's to the fish, common or non, who keep swimming no matter what.
Here's to the ones that wake up each morning with the sky and dive into the world like a salmon in a stream.
Here's to the rocks they encounter, here's to the other fish.
Here's to the creatures swimming across the landscape, the other fish they muscle out of the way to get where they need to go.
Here's to leaping from the stream, water on scales, touching the sun and sometimes missing the mark. Sometimes landing on the grass. Here's to the gasping, the flailing, the angry, the flopping fish who missed the boat pure and simple.
Here's to method, to evolution, to rationalization that makes you know who goes where and in what capacity that comes from the fish that fall out of the stream, and still have the courage to flop back in.
Here's to the fish, common or non, who keep swimming no matter what.
old as balls.
17/4/14 10:47This is mostly a "stupid RP headcanons blog relating to my muselist." blog, private thoughts and the occasional personal details if I remember to post them. Since no one seems to use blogs for journaling anymore it made sense to have a place like this where I could talk and put down some notations and things.
So like y'know. Whatever.
So like y'know. Whatever.
