[Throughout the day, Bucky moves from place to place until his mind finally starts to quiet. His memories of where he is come in bits, puzzle pieces dumped into his head. The first thing he does is buy a journal. Back in Bucharest, he’d kept notes on his memories as they came in; he couldn’t stand to lose them, not again. It’s much the same here on Concordia. His notes are meticulous and include as much detail as he can recall, but he returns to them to augment them throughout the day.
He’s not in Russia, he’s not hunting a target, he’s not waiting on evac. His name is Bucky and he’s come to Concordia on a recon mission. Steve’s here. Steve’s small again. Steve knows. Steve told him to imagine walls to keep people out and they were supposed to practice today. Except today is almost over and it’s taken him too long to get his head set on his shoulders again.
In the back of his mind, a beacon glows, like a radar, and moves closer, reaching out for something or someone. It’s reminiscent of the man from earlier in the day, but much more pure and bright; this isn’t a touch that frightens him, instead it harkens him to follow.
The Nest, he figures, someone sent to bring him in. They can’t have their operatives running off in the middle of the night in the middle of a mission, after all. It makes sense, but Bucky’s not about to go hurrying back into a room full of minds he can’t shut out.
Sucking in a breath, he tucks his new journal into his pack and shoulders it. His left sleeve has more or less been cut off underneath the jacket for ease of maneuverability. As he exits his temporary hovel, the beacon in his head doubles in strength, no longer a beckoning but a command. He follows it to a group of three men speaking in hushed tones before they pick up on the scent of easy prey. They step out from under the concrete lintel to tail their target. ]
no subject
He’s not in Russia, he’s not hunting a target, he’s not waiting on evac. His name is Bucky and he’s come to Concordia on a recon mission. Steve’s here. Steve’s small again. Steve knows. Steve told him to imagine walls to keep people out and they were supposed to practice today. Except today is almost over and it’s taken him too long to get his head set on his shoulders again.
In the back of his mind, a beacon glows, like a radar, and moves closer, reaching out for something or someone. It’s reminiscent of the man from earlier in the day, but much more pure and bright; this isn’t a touch that frightens him, instead it harkens him to follow.
The Nest, he figures, someone sent to bring him in. They can’t have their operatives running off in the middle of the night in the middle of a mission, after all. It makes sense, but Bucky’s not about to go hurrying back into a room full of minds he can’t shut out.
Sucking in a breath, he tucks his new journal into his pack and shoulders it. His left sleeve has more or less been cut off underneath the jacket for ease of maneuverability. As he exits his temporary hovel, the beacon in his head doubles in strength, no longer a beckoning but a command. He follows it to a group of three men speaking in hushed tones before they pick up on the scent of easy prey. They step out from under the concrete lintel to tail their target. ]