Bucky Barnes (au) / Captain America / Prostituteiced_soldierMay 30 2012, 03:54:57 UTC
[ooc: Anyone feel like rescuing a prostitute with a heart of gold who's being forced to dress in drag and sell his body? Or just sleeping with him? Yeah, the muse hates me so much right now. LOL
I'm more interested in doing a weird western type of scenario, but will do straight western if you'd prefer.]
His fist curled into itself when Steve caught his arm, but he did stop. Hearing his name-his preferred name from the sheriff disconcerted him, and he was momentarily rendered speechless. Of course, the rage, the numbness, the loss he felt didn’t help any.
“She was a person, dammit. A real person, and he talked about her like she wasn’t worth anything.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Bet he didn’t even try very hard to save her. Her blood’s on his hands as much as on Keaton’s.”
What he didn’t say was that he felt her blood was on his hands, as well. He felt he should have done something more, wished he could have gotten to her sooner. Maybe if he had, she could have been saved.
He let him rail against him because Steve knew it was what Bucky needed. Steve had seen it far too many times during the war, the anger and hate at the senselessness of death and the way you became world-weary and desensitized to it. The blond had never been that way, had sworn that he never would and instead, carried every death as a mark on his heart and he knew he'd be adding Kat O'Day's name to the list of people he prayed about each night before bed.
"I know she was and it's not right. It's wrong and it pisses me off just as much as it pisses you off but I swear to you, she'll get her last rites and get a proper burial." Steve didn't speculate about whether the doctor had done a half-assed job of trying to help the girl. Up until tonight, he'd never had thought to see that level of prejudice in the doctor whom he saw every Sunday at church
( ... )
/sneaks in one last tag before bediced_soldierJune 1 2012, 06:45:24 UTC
It wasn’t unusual for Bucky to stay up all or most of the night. It depended on how many customers he had and how much time he spent with each one. But it was rare that he had a night as exhausting as this.
Still holding the bags he’d packed for himself and Kat (and, oh, God, Kat was dead), he followed the other man in silence. He hadn’t expected to be sharing quarters with the sheriff, and while he certainly wasn’t complaining, it was a little hard for him to be excited. The best he could manage was gratitude, even if he didn’t say anything out loud.
As soon as he was inside Steve’s room, he sprawled across the first piece of furniture he saw. The bags slid from his hand as he closed his eyes. But he wasn’t going to sleep. It may have been almost daybreak, but he got the feeling the night was far from over.
Steve was sorely tempted to just collapse into the bed and sleep for a good twelve hours but there was far too much to do now. The room Bucky found himself in was on the small side with just enough room for the bed and a chest of drawers. On top of the bureau was a toilette set, a small shaving mirror and shaving set. There wasn't much in the way of personality about the room and no keepsakes at all. Steve had shown up with his horse and everything he owned in the world packed into a couple of saddlebags
( ... )
Under different circumstances, Bucky would be fascinated, perhaps even appreciative of watching Steve groom. His mind was elsewhere, however, and his eyes closed. The other man’s presence barely registered in his mind
( ... )
Steve had been just about ready to leave when his irate landlady came to him in a tizzy about his 'guest' trying to light the whole boardinghouse on fire. Once he reached the back door, he recognized the bag the brunette was burning to be the one containing the dead prostitute's clothing. Steve explained oh so vaguely that the shorter man had lost a dear friend and this was just him expressing his grief
( ... )
It was only after swallowing down the cold eggs and biscuit that, along with coffee, were breakfast, that Bucky realized he should have had some more foresight. Lord only knew when Steve would be back, and Bucky had nothing to do until then. If he’d been thinking, he would’ve brought some project along to work on. But he hadn’t been thinking. Dead tired, he had been focused on Kat and getting out of there
( ... )
Truth be told, Steve was so wiped out he didn’t even notice the drawer was askew at first. When Bucky hadn’t answered him, the sheriff surmised he’d fallen asleep and sank down into the single chair the room afforded him as a lookout through the single window. Exhaustion all but poured through him when he sat down in the chair with an audible creak of both the joints and his body
( ... )
Bucky slept like a rock until his uneasiness began to resurface. Guilt crept up on him once again-guilt for both having looked through Steve’s things and for not having been able to do more to help Kat. His legs got restless, and he needed to move.
When he headed back downstairs, the sun had gone down, and all the patrons had gone to bed. How long had he been asleep? It hadn’t even been noon when he’d gone to bed. Rubbing his eyes, he headed for the commons area with the intent to brew some coffee. His being up at this hour wasn’t unusual in and of itself; he usually slept during the days and worked at nights. What made this situation unusual was the fact that he was not working. Oh, hell, being out of the whorehouse was going to mess with his sleep schedule, wasn’t it
( ... )
Steve had spent a large portion of his adult life with an ear cocked for danger, even when asleep so the fact that he didn’t so much as stir when Bucky slipped out of the room was an indication of just how exhausted the man was. That and the fact that he was sleeping in an insanely uncomfortable chair that even Methuselah would having trouble sleeping in didn’t help either
( ... )
Well. That just plain stumped the prostitute. She was there to see Steve? What was Steve doing associating with Russians-especially gorgeous, redheaded female ones? Steve didn’t strike Bucky as the kind of man who would have a clandestine lover, but then, Bucky hardly knew the man at all. Perhaps his conceptions of Steve as a good and virtuous man were all wrong.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll keep her company for a minute.” His question as to what the hell was going on remained unasked as he headed back downstairs. His remark that Steve looked good with a little stubble also went unvoiced.
When he went downstairs, Natasha sat there expectantly, as if everything in the damn world should’ve made sense now that he’d spoken to Steve. He flashed the woman an apologetic smile, sitting back down in his own seat. Bucky was relieved to find that his coffee was still warm, and took a grateful sip.
Conversation was uneasy at first, but they did manage to make small talk between sips of coffee.
A few minutes later, a freshly shaven Steve would climb down the rickety staircase and followed the smell of fresh brewed coffee into the kitchen where he found Bucky and Natasha engaged in polite conversation
( ... )
Bucky nodded solemnly. He had been expecting Lukin to find out sooner rather than later, hence his initial wariness at having met the Russian woman. Steve’s interactions with her were curious. Perhaps they were lovers after all. But Bucky felt it wasn’t his place to ask questions, to pry into the sheriff’s private life. Which was ironic, considering he’d been rifling through the man’s stuff earlier.
“So, Natasha is your source. She keeps you up to date on the Russians.”
"One of them, yes. I noticed one of his other informants at Kat's funeral today and got the feeling they were looking for you." He agreed quietly and took a sip from his coffee mug. The caffeine helped wipe away what cobwebs the cool night air hadn't managed to clear away as he'd walked Natasha back to her home.
"I've been trying to make something stick on Lukin since I came to town. I can't prove it but I think he had a hand in my predecessor's untimely demise.
He bit at his lip as he tried to decide whether to ask the question. "Did you know 'im? Your predecessor?" Ultimately, if this man was going to be letting him stay with him, was going to be helping him, he couldn't be afraid of getting to know him.
I'm more interested in doing a weird western type of scenario, but will do straight western if you'd prefer.]
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“She was a person, dammit. A real person, and he talked about her like she wasn’t worth anything.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Bet he didn’t even try very hard to save her. Her blood’s on his hands as much as on Keaton’s.”
What he didn’t say was that he felt her blood was on his hands, as well. He felt he should have done something more, wished he could have gotten to her sooner. Maybe if he had, she could have been saved.
Reply
"I know she was and it's not right. It's wrong and it pisses me off just as much as it pisses you off but I swear to you, she'll get her last rites and get a proper burial." Steve didn't speculate about whether the doctor had done a half-assed job of trying to help the girl. Up until tonight, he'd never had thought to see that level of prejudice in the doctor whom he saw every Sunday at church ( ... )
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Still holding the bags he’d packed for himself and Kat (and, oh, God, Kat was dead), he followed the other man in silence. He hadn’t expected to be sharing quarters with the sheriff, and while he certainly wasn’t complaining, it was a little hard for him to be excited. The best he could manage was gratitude, even if he didn’t say anything out loud.
As soon as he was inside Steve’s room, he sprawled across the first piece of furniture he saw. The bags slid from his hand as he closed his eyes. But he wasn’t going to sleep. It may have been almost daybreak, but he got the feeling the night was far from over.
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When he headed back downstairs, the sun had gone down, and all the patrons had gone to bed. How long had he been asleep? It hadn’t even been noon when he’d gone to bed. Rubbing his eyes, he headed for the commons area with the intent to brew some coffee. His being up at this hour wasn’t unusual in and of itself; he usually slept during the days and worked at nights. What made this situation unusual was the fact that he was not working. Oh, hell, being out of the whorehouse was going to mess with his sleep schedule, wasn’t it ( ... )
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“Uh, yeah. I’ll keep her company for a minute.” His question as to what the hell was going on remained unasked as he headed back downstairs. His remark that Steve looked good with a little stubble also went unvoiced.
When he went downstairs, Natasha sat there expectantly, as if everything in the damn world should’ve made sense now that he’d spoken to Steve. He flashed the woman an apologetic smile, sitting back down in his own seat. Bucky was relieved to find that his coffee was still warm, and took a grateful sip.
Conversation was uneasy at first, but they did manage to make small talk between sips of coffee.
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“So, Natasha is your source. She keeps you up to date on the Russians.”
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"I've been trying to make something stick on Lukin since I came to town. I can't prove it but I think he had a hand in my predecessor's untimely demise.
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