bracchium | c o n t a c t

[ There they go, that's more like it. There's a hint of something playfully conspiratory to his mind as he grins back, pleased. Enjoying the little moments, man, and right now that means trying a dozen or so drinks and sending the extras up to a couple of friends just to see their reaction.

He leans over Bucky's shoulder a little to skim the menu, brows furrowing as he reads the description of the drink before he taps one of the alien words. ]

( Well I know that one is basically just tonic water or some kind of flavored club soda, it's in a lot of drinks. I'm gonna guess the alcohol is something like gin. ) [ He shifts down a little, tapping another drink on the list. ] ( I think I might go for that one first, it looks like it's got bourbon and this weird fruit that tastes like an orangey apple. )

( Is it good? ) [As if it matters. He doesn't have any point of comparison on his own and starting from the top of the menu seems like the best idea to him. Following Sam's finger, he reads over the ingredients to that cocktail. Doesn't sound too bad.]

( How does an orange taste like an apple? )

( I liked it okay. Good a place to start as any. ) [ Bucky's got the right idea, really, might as well start at the top and work down.

He holds up a hand, and when one of the bartender's antennae-like eyes swivels towards him, waves him over so he can point out what they want. ]

( You got me, sunshine. But when I was a kid, and right after I left the military, I used to mix juices together when there wasn't enough left for a whole cup of one on its own. Tastes like when I'd mix apple and orange. )

[Bucky tries to recall any memories of his childhood, of life before childhood, but can only find blurry images of Steve and a slick-haired version of himself that smiles easily. Little things like what he ate and drank are mostly lost to the cold. With the exception of hot dogs, of course. It's one of the reasons why he indulges in them so much; they're one of the few links to who he used to be. Or he might have been. He's still never too sure.

When the bartender turns their way, he looks down at the menu and points in a silent one of these.]

( What was it like when you were a kid? ) [Since he doesn't have much of a frame of reference.]

[ Sam should probably stop giving him so much of a hard time about the hot dogs, especially because he's been craving them himself lately. He just - well, he can't resist, really.

He shoots the bartender a smile and points out what he wants as well, but starts answering Bucky's question even before the bartender moves away to make their drinks. One of the good things about communicating with the mental link, really, no need to worry about their conversation being overheard. ]

( The eighties, they... ) [ Already flashes of New York in the 80s, and the world in general, flip through his mind has he tries to figure out how to explain it - music, the neighborhoods of Harlem, TV shows, mostly - and he stops with a quirk of a smile. ] ( You want me to show you? Unless you mean what was it like for me, personally. )

[Bucky catches those glimpses of bright colors and loud music and tries to compare them to his own recollections of the eighties. Seven targets. Milia. 1981. Arkady and Yasha. 1983. Friedrich. 1983. Olga. 1985. Helene, James, Natya. 1987. Screaming. Friedrich had reached into his pocket and when he died, begging for his life, a crumpled photograph remained in his stiff fingers.

He'd welcome the distraction of Sam's memories over his own.]

( Either. Both. )

[ Without thinking about it, Sam reaches out to gently lace his fingers through Bucky's, palms pressed together.

He doesn't say anything, but he opens up his mind a little, remembering the shape of the world as he knew it when he was a child. More of the same music - though he can't help it when some of his favorites slip in, snippets of Marvin Gaye and Earth, Wind & Fire even though the eighties weren't quite their decade - fashion and hairstyles, the kind of toys that everyone wanted, the TV shows that were popular, cartoons that Sam liked. Walkmen and VCRS and space shuttles, even some of Ronald Reagan, the AIDs epidemic and the end of the Cold War, though those are tempered a little by Sam's adult mind, seeing as he didn't really understand them as a kid. The voice of a man who died ten years before Sam was born but who framed his childhood anyway, the echo of I have a dream. ]

( I got an older brother and an older sister. The neighborhood we grew up in - it wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst, either. We got some trouble, but a lot of good people, too. My Nana taught me how to cook, she made the best damn berry crumble there was. We used to throw the extra oats out on the window sill and watch the birds come to get them. )

[Bucky's stomach has barely begun to turn when he feels a warm hand threaded through his own, drawing him back to the present. He echoes the grip and focuses on the images and sensations pouring over the link. It's strange to see the source of the vibrant jewel tones that make up the foundation of Sam's mind, stranger still to see them in this sort-of firsthand way. He shuts his eyes to allow them to wash into his mind and quiet the simmering acid of guilt.

He doesn't remember any of that, but he's glad that Sam does.]

( That where you got your thing with birds? )

[ Honestly, Sam doesn't know if he'll ever get much of his memories back from before HYDRA, but maybe one day he can remember this. Maybe they can make enough new memories that five years from now when he looks back over his life, between them and what he does get back he'll be able to have some good.

Right now, at least Sam can help to keep him grounded, and can give him something to distract him. He gives a low chuckle at that question. ]

( Yeah. I learned all the different kinds that came real quick, and when I got old enough I started volunteering at a wildlife rehabilitation place. Lot of other kids I knew did stupid shit and got themselves into trouble, but I went there. ) [ There's a pause, then, ] ( All right, I did some pretty stupid shit, too, but not like that. )

[There's a quiet part of Bucky that still doubts that he deserves good memories to sit beside the amber glass in his mind, but for now he won't argue. It's nice to hear about Sam, about his life outside of the military. As he listens, the bartender returns with their drinks and sets them on the table with two clinks, but Bucky doesn't look up or move his hand.]

( Like what? )

[ For now, Sam won't argue, either, won't insist on it. It... feels good, sitting here with Bucky like this, sharing some of the things about himself that he hasn't really talked about in a while. He doesn't reach for their drinks - he could, since he's got a free hand, but he doesn't want to let go of Bucky's hand right now and he doesn't want to just drink in front of him, either.

There's something that could almost be sheepish about his smile, if it weren't for the more playful gleam in his eyes. ]

( When I was seven I jumped off the roof of the house because I wanted to see if I could fly. Damn near broke my arm, but it only made me want to do it for real. ) [ Then he makes a little face at himself. ] ( Took a few more risks than I should've to try to impress girls, got into more than a few fights with people who didn't know how to shut the hell up, but I didn't like the way people looked at me after those. )

[Bucky furrows his eyebrows at the mention of jumping off a roof. As Sam continues, though, he can definitely see how Sam and Steve became friends. Same stubborn willpower and same inability to back out of a fight.

I had him on the ropes briefly dances through his mind, blurred and faded and shadowed by the whistle of wind through his ears, but still there.

His grip on Sam's hand tightens for a moment before releasing. Yeah, they're here. They're sitting, not falling. Just talking.]

( Sounds familiar. )

[ Sam's grip tightens back, and he lets his thumb stroke over Bucky's knuckles before he lets go. Then he reaches for his drink, laughing softly. ]

( Sounds to me like you got a type. I never did learn how to give up. )

[Bucky bites his lip, but this time to try and hide a grin. Yeah, maybe he does have a type. First Steve, now Sam. People who are passionate and stand up for themselves and others, who help him even when he can't give that much help back.

With his hand now free, though he's not sure that's what he wanted, he curls his fingers around his glass and takes a ginger sip of his drink.]

( Tastes like pine trees. ) [He smacks his lips a couple times, trying to figure out the aftertaste.] ( Don't they do something with pine trees in the winter? )

[ Warmth curls around them with a brush of feathers as Sam shoots Bucky a pleased look. Yeah, he can tell what Bucky's trying to hide, and it's always good to see him smile. Or almost smile. ]

( That's the gin. ) [ He pushes his own drink towards Bucky in a silent offer to him to try a sip, if he wants. And then Sam's expression lights up a little, for all that he makes an attempt at hiding it. There's no mistaking the quiet delight that makes its way across their link. ]

( Christmas trees. Yeah, they decorate 'em with ornaments n' lights n' garland. Put presents underneath them. )

[Bucky has clearly failed in his task of concealing his smile so he stops bothering to do so as he reaches to try Sam's drink. Very bright and sweet, like his broodmate. As he does so, he digs into his memories for a sign of line trees and Christmas. A foggy simhouette of a familiar blonde opening brown paper packages rises to the surface, but Bucky can't seem to recall anything specific, or decorating a tree. However, he does hope that Steve had the chance to enjoy such a thing back home, regardless of Bucky's fractured memory. Seems the kind of thing the kid would enjoy.

He also hopes that Steve was able to do so with Sam after the fall of HYDRA, so he could have someone during the holiday. ]

( You guys do that back home? ) [Bucky goes back to his own drink, trying it for a second time.]

[ There they go. Sam shoots him a smile back, content, as he waits for Bucky's reaction to the drink.

He's about to ask which one Bucky likes better - but he's sidetracked entirely by that question. ]

( Hell yeah. ) [ There's a flash of when Sam was a kid, small hands carefully threading popcorn and cranberries on a string and wrapping it around a brightly lit tree, snow falling outside of their window; when he was older, hanging stars cut from MRE packages and empty tin cans on a pine tree growing from rocky soil; at the Avengers' compound, putting up expensive, high quality twinkle lights, Steve and Wanda's voices murmuring in the background. ] ( I'd have gotten us to do it here, if I knew when it was back on the Station. )

[Bucky wouldn't need to hesitate in stating his preference for his broodmate over some sugary drink he's not sure he enjoys. But, he's busy absorbing the flashes of memories from the link with a smile. Despite the obvious difference in their memories, Bucky can still feel the wash of the glow of the lights.]

( Why not? )

[ He rests a hand on Bucky's leg absently, fingers curling into fabric of his pants as he considers that question. As he watches the light of Bucky's smile reflecting those from his own memories. ]

( You know what, why not? Belated Christmas is better than no Christmas, no reason we can't have one in April or whatever month it is now. ) [ Or whatever month it'll be when they get back. ]

[Bucky jumps at first from the contact, but the brood link hums and he calms a moment later. In fact, it becomes comforting as he sips on his drink. Combined with the memories still clinging to the corners of his mind, it tastes almost like Christmas, he thinks. His grin widens at Sam.]

( Really? ) [He can hardly believe it.]

[ Sam is slowly realizing there's a lot he'd do to get Bucky to smile like this. Or, more actually - a lot he'd do to give Bucky more reasons to smile like this. Even if Sam wasn't a little bit of a nerd over Christmas, he'd do it.

But he is, and his own expression is bright as he grins back, already planning. ]

( Yeah, man, let's do it. We can pick up some stuff here and when the mission's over - there's gotta be a tree in that big garden, we can decorate all over. )

[ He hadn't missed Bucky's first reaction to his touch, though, or the way it'd called Sam's own attention to it. They've been in contact... kind of a lot, lately, mostly when trying to ground each other. But there's no purpose for this, not really, and he doesn't want to ask Bucky is this okay or do you want me to not, because, well. Wants are difficult, and so is actually saying no to something like that.

But it only takes a moment to figure out a phrasing that even if Bucky can't answer - Sam hopes he can, but even if he can't, Sam'll at least be able to pick up on the feelings there. ]

( Are you uncomfortable? I can stop. )

[Even if Bucky wanted to close off his mind to Sam, it's hard to ignore the flashes of plans, bright lights and green trees that Bucky's not sure he's ever seen in his life. Except he has, in the pieces from his shattered mind there are hints of pine alongside the familiar silhouette of Steve. The question distracts him, though, brings him into the present and how he still isn't quite comfortable with physical touch, despite how close he and Sam have been since the programming's attempt to burn him out.

It's not that he's outright uncomfortable, but more that he still doesn't know what to expect. Part of him continues to wait for Sam to hit him or stick him with a needle; however, the symbiote hums with approval at the fingers curled into the fabric of his pants and Bucky himself likes having Sam this close, likes that Sam doesn't dance around him or pull back.

He wishes he could ignore the former and focus on the latter.]

( 's fine. )

[ Sam can't help but listen in to Bucky's feelings as he considers the question. It wouldn't have felt right, back when they first got here, but now... now it feels damn near natural, being close enough to feel what Bucky's feeling.

That's all the symbiote, sure, but this? Sitting here having a couple of drinks, wanting to lean in so their shoulders are brushing or keep his hand on Bucky's knee? He's pretty sure that's mostly them. Especially when he picks up on why Bucky is hesitant about it. No, Sam never has been one to dance around him, or do anything other than stubbornly continue to treat him as person.

It just makes Sam want to do it more, until one day all Bucky expects from it is affection. He hums a quiet agreement, shooting Bucky a smile before he downs a significant portion of his drink and shifts to bump his shoulder against Bucky's. ]

( Now I just gotta figure out what I'm gonna get you. )

[As Sam listens to Bucky, Bucky listens back to what Sam wants. He knows it isn't Sam imposing his wants on Bucky, not like Pierce, but he can't help but wish they were already to that point. Still, the programming doesn't allow him to move quickly on something like this, doesn't let him get too comfortable. At the end of the day, no matter how much Sam works with him, he's still a weapon waiting to be re-activated.

He takes a sip of his own drink and quirks his lips when Sam brushes against his shoulders.]

( Get me? ) [He didn't realize there were gifts associated with Christmas; there's nothing in his memory that says gift-giving and he's not sure he was ever given anything before Concordia and Sam's coin. Now he has two: Steve's sketchbook and Sam's coin.]

[ At the end of this day, maybe, but Sam's holding out hope for another day where Bucky sees himself as more than a weapon. When he chooses what he wants to do with his life, his skills, when he lets himself feel. A hope that might be unrealized, there is a part of Sam that acknowledges he has to be prepared for that, but everything in him is determined to see this through. No matter what. ]

( Part of Christmas, yeah. Maybe we'll make dinner, exchange presents after. )

[ There's a pause as he almost lets the rest of that go, turning his attention towards the menu to pick out their second round - but he can't. ]

( We'll get there, sunshine. I know it's slow going and I know it's frustrating as hell, but we can do it together. )

[ Sam's not going anywhere, and though he doesn't say it, he feels it. As long as Sam's breathing, Bucky will always have him. ]

желание I know you are the answer, but I forgot the question.	печь There will always be a lie in believe.
один Whatever is static is dead.	рассвет The world is too quiet.

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