apocalypsehowcomm | Log: February Catch-All

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Log: February Catch-All

Who: Steve Rogers & OTA!
When: Throughout February, depending on your event of choice
Where: Around ADI, the apartments, and Gloucester
Summary: February catch-all, including the fact that Steve's lost certain memories in Dogtown, been negatively affected by using Mjolnir again, and is available for some more specific shenanigans (Love Potion No. 9, Bumble Gum, Grave Matters fire). Or tag in with whatever you like, even if I don't mention it!
Warnings: Possible negative health effects from Mjolnir, investigating arson, emotional manipulation via chocolate, the bug candies at Bumble Gum (will note anything else in specific threads)

Frustration: Around ADI and the apartments
Tony is gone. He's vanished without a trace, without a word, and Steve wants to hold out hope that he's on some kind of personal (or even not-so-personal) mission. That he's following a lead, that he's gone underground. That he'll pop up and say something flippant over anyone's having worried, and that will be that.

That he's not gone, forever, all over again. That Steve hasn't lost him a second time.

But the days pass with no word, with no signal from his tracker. No Tony.

It doesn't stop Steve from doggedly looking for him. What else has he got to do in his spare time, right? He spends most free evenings combing the town, stopping into any shop that looks like it might interest Tony Stark in the least: mostly electronics, but some of the higher-end clothing shops and out-of-the-way bookshops as well. The longer Tony's been missing, the more frustrated he gets.

And it's not the only thing bothering him right now.

You might find him on his lunch break in ADI staring at an old compass with a black-and-white photo pasted inside. It's on the table in front of him while he eats a sandwich, frowning at it. He keeps fiddling with it in his pocket while he walks the halls, taking it out and then putting it away again. It comes out again at home sometimes, too; he'll leave it on a table and walk away, only to come back and pick it up and shove it frustratedly back into his pocket a few minutes later.

He doesn't know who she is. She's inside his compass, and he doesn't know why.

After he helps Winter with the pyramid, he has an off couple of days. That's all he can call it: off. It's this weird sense of deja vu, like, he's in his old body again, with achy joints and shitty blood pressure and stupid back pain. He's not sick, he's just… sore. Tired. Grouchy if you catch him at the wrong time or call him out on the way he rubs at his knuckles, his wrists, or teeters just a little when he stands up too fast.

Curiosity: Around ADI and Gloucester
There's plenty else going on to keep him occupied when he's not worrying about Tony or mysterious pictures that may or may not have been planted inside his personal things. His room isn't affected by the strange malaise that seems to be going around, but he does make several trips to Bumble Gum, first out of curiosity, then later to get samples with Cortana. He probably visits a time or two after that, browsing the strange confections, picking up a few more in case extra samples — or evidence — is needed later.

He's not a huge sweets guy, but he does like chocolate — enough to peer curiously at the boxes that appear in the break room before Valentine's Day, like he's trying to discern which is safest to try. If anyone else walks into the room, he glances up, almost like a deer in the headlights, and grins a little lopsidedly. "There're a lot of choices."

And when Grave Matters' workshop burns down, he wonders if it has anything to do with the way certain bars had a tendency to catch on fire a few months ago. If you happen to be wondering about the fire's origin, too, you might find him skulking around the premises.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well that... fits, he thinks. It fits the irritation, the mix of anger and sadness, the feeling in the stomach and the pull in two directions. The desire to punch someone but also avoid the hell out of them.

But if it comes from wanting--

"So he wanted you." Because he's absolutely sure he didn't want this Peggy person.

"What?" is Steve's very intelligent reply.

That - what?

"Are you sure - it might not -" Steve is admittedly feeling several things at once, which is why they all sort of get jumbled up trying to come out of his mouth at the same time. He stops, takes a breath, looks at Winter. Pictures Bucky in his mind. Lets himself picture Bucky, during the war. Remember him. Remember what he can remember, at least, which is... honestly kind of strange and out of context, too, given that there's apparently a giant Peggy-shaped hole in all of it.

Suddenly it seems only fair, somehow, given what Winter went through in HYDRA's hands.

"I thought he was just - maybe mad that I was getting so much attention," he finally says. "It was... it felt backwards." Given that Buck had always been the center of attention.

(He's not trying to correct Winter by any stretch of the imagination. Just explaining what he'd thought. Or thinks he'd thought, without Peggy in the picture.)

Winter shakes his head firmly. "No. You should have recognition. That was good. That it was in a war for being in danger was bad. I think. That was complicated too. But the attention was good. He never." He stops. This much he can claim as his own, he thinks. "I never. Really cared about attention. It was just her."

He hesitates again, chewing on what he's feeling. What he remembered. "He thought that you should have had that, too. That was bad that he felt that way. I don't know why he thought that. I don't think it was bad. If he wanted you he should have fucking said something."

Steve is really starting to feel a little like he's been cracked over the head with a vibranium two-by-four.

If he wanted you he should have fucking said something, Winter says, and -

And, well. Yeah. Maybe.

But.

"I never said anything," Steve says, voice so quiet he isn't even sure whether Winter can hear him (was meant to hear him) over the general clatter and chatter of the cafeteria.

But suddenly - suddenly he isn't sure they should be having this conversation here. Or, rather, he isn't sure he wants to keep having this conversation here.

He makes himself look up from the table, where his gaze has fallen, and over at Winter. Then he makes himself push up out of the chair and reach for Winter's arm, fingers closing around his wrist, tugging. "We should talk about this somewhere else. Quieter."

More private, he means.

Winter catches it anyway. He's watching Steve, how could he not? His brows come together, eyes going a little unfocused, trying to place that. Trying to guess where the Bucky person might have recognized want in Steve, but didn't.

He doesn't have enough. He doesn't have enough pieces to even guess. Hell, he doesn't know how to recognize want in himself, half the time, let alone a life he only has glimpses of.

When Steve takes his wrist, he refocuses again, frowning up at Steve, but after a beat of resisting, he gets up. "Okay."

Steve nods and tows Winter out of the break room and down the hall, into the first empty office he can find.

Of course, by the time they get there and he drops Winter's hand, he realizes that he has no idea what to even say next. What they should talk about. If they should even talk about it.

But he's already dragged Winter here. He can't say nothing.

"I - sorry," is what he says, first, running a hand over his face. He's not entirely sure what he's even apologizing for, it just - feels like maybe he should.

Well, maybe he has a little bit of an idea. "I don't want to tell you how you felt. I can only tell you what I thought it was about, but I know I - you know that kind of thing used to be illegal, right? Wanting, that way. If it was two men."

Maybe Winter doesn't remember that.

The touch isn't too bad, even. Winter lets him keep his wrist the whole way. Between his cautious experiments with the various women (and robots), their tumble in the Dogtown woods, and apparently the conversation, he's apparently decided Steve's hands on him are at least safe relatively. That's a good thing, he thinks.

"It isn't now," he says, putting aside whether or not he remembers it (he doesn't, though he... does remember a sense of disquiet and wariness around the Bucky person wanting). "There are many couples here that are only men or only women. Or woman and not-a-gendered person." He isn't sure what Rue actually is called, in that sense. "Is that why he didn't say anything." A pause, and he adds pointedly, "Why you didn't say anything."

"I don't know. About him," he says, because he doesn't want to tell Winter how he - how Bucky - might've felt. He doesn't know. They clearly never talked about it. "It wasn't on the table."

Well. "I wouldn't put it on the table. It would've ruined everything." And hadn't he already ruined enough? If he'd thought about it. If he'd let himself think about it. He might have wanted it. And Bucky - well. Aside from assuming he wouldn't want it... "I made your life hard enough already. If I decided I - I would've been me. About it."

He would've fought for it. And damn the consequences. He would've made them both miserable, he thinks, just for what he wanted, and Bucky would've borne the brunt of it. "I couldn't do that to him. You." He shrugs a little. "So I didn't even think about it." And he'd gotten pretty damn good at it, too, if he does say so himself.

Then he seems to realize something, and go a little pale. "I'm not - we don't. I'm not saying we have to do anything different."

Yeah, he'd like to about-face on this conversation right about now. He maybe tries to cover his big dumb face with one big dumb hand. "We don't have to talk about this." Ever. This was a mistake.

"Steve." There's the patented "you're being a moron, Steve" look that still crops up now and then. "You didn't have anything to do with my life being hard. Jesus."

He folds his arms with another frown, though. "What if I want to talk about it." He frowns more, maybe looking stubborn about it, and flat-out says, "I do love you. I know what that feels like, I worked it out just before you got here. It's not the same as loving Yelena or Kate. But it's there and I know that's what it is."

"Yeah, you must not remember that part yet, because I definitely did," Steve points out, because it's true.

But that's clearly not the crux of the conversation, here. The look certainly isn't nothing new, but the words are. Steve is admittedly having trouble processing them. Or maybe, by his own admission, just willfully trying not to process them as anything other than, "As a brother, then" he says, like he wasn't just the guy who said he can't tell Winter how he felt. How he feels. But Kate and Yelena are friends. He and Bucky were always more, even without anything else. So, "I always figured that's how - I mean. I love you, too, of course, I've always -"

Steve stops himself. Squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. "We've always been complicated. Close. Closer than we should've been, maybe." Steve had always needed Bucky in a way he's not proud of, but was too selfish to do anything about. "I don't want that to confuse you."

He feels like he's teetering on the edge of a cliff, and he honestly isn't sure whether Winter's going to push him over or pull him back. Or which one he wants him to do.

Winter stares at him with a difficult expression to read, everything subtle and complicated. Frustrated, maybe. A little lost. Whatever it is, it's not particularly happy. "I don't know what my feelings are. Not all of them. And I'm not him. Not anymore. I'm me and I made me and I'm still making me."

He's still not sure he's quite to person yet, but even he can tell he's getting there. And his feelings are all confused, but putting the words want and jealousy onto parts of them help a little.

"But some things," he continues, voice verging on stubborn again. "Some things are still there. I think that might be one of those things. You don't have to like it. But that doesn't stop it from being true." It's not like he can do anything about it, so Steve won't have to deal with that. He still doesn't like to be touched in most situations. But that doesn't make the feeling go away, either.

Steve isn't particularly happy, either. He knows he's not handling this very well. He hates dragging things out into the light and actually talking about them - he and Bucky never did. (Never had to? Never did.)

But he also brought Winter here to talk and frankly, it's very least he owes this man, to help him figure things out. Whatever it means.

But he still feels exposed in a way he doesn't like. And, deep down, at least a little scared.

But he lets Winter talk, lets him get it out there. Doesn't interrupt. Honestly, is quiet for a long moment after, trying to just. Figure out what to say.

Well. The truth, right? He's always honest. "I didn't say I didn't like it."

But, "I don't know what to do with it." He doesn't have the answer. He doesn't have a plan. He doesn't just know what the best course is, like he so often does. He's adrift. "I don't know what you want to do with it," he adds, quietly, a moment later. "If you want to do something with it."

It's almost a question, as horrible as he feels for putting this all on Winter. But Steve was good with just never letting himself think about it for the rest of his life. Winter seems to be thinking about it. And Steve can't just decide, like he normally would. He feels somehow like that would be the worst thing he could ever do to this man, because he's... done it before? He'd been planning to stay in the past, after returning the stones - and now he isn't sure about that plan at all. It doesn't seem important anymore.

Edited (lol went to a meeting and realized I ought to tweak that last bit a tad! ) 2023-03-22 18:38 (UTC)

Okay. Okay, he's not... not liking it. That's something. That stressor can go away. Unfortunately, that leaves half a dozen others.

Winter looks away, not from discomfort, but in his habitual manner of not looking directly at people, and frowns. "I don't know. I'm not. I don't touch people that much. Belova, some. Kate and Cortana, a little. But not a lot. So I'm not going to. The idea of. It just." He doesn't even really know how to say it, so it just comes in starts and stops. He's only halfway certain what he's talking about. The things he's seen couples do, those aren't-- for him.

He finally says, looking both more frustrated and more lost all at once, "I don't know if I can."

Well, now Steve's frowning too, because, "I don't see what that has to do with anything," he says, quite simply. "Loving someone doesn't just - go away because you don't touch. Or even if you don't want to."

Like - yeah. Of course he misses being close to his best friend. They used to touch all the time, even if it was just dumb slaps on the back or jamming elbows into ribs or shoulder bumps or arms slung over necks. Yes. He misses it.

It doesn't change anything about what he feels. Whatever the fuck it is he feels, which is twisted and convoluted and something he's not sure whether to truly drag into the light and untangle or keep stuffed in a dark corner.

But he does know, "If it's just about touching - that's never what I, uh. Thought it should be like." Whoever Winter loves, he shouldn't be afraid that they won't feel the same way if he doesn't want to be physically close. If they don't - then they're not for him.

Winter unfolds his arms to swat at the notion. "I know. I love Belova and Kate and maybe Cortana, too. That doesn't go away. It won't with you, either. You're still here." If touching were necessary, Steve would be gone by now, and yet here he is, having this supremely weird conversation.

Except. "What about wanting. That kind. Does that go away if I can't hug or kiss or--" He stalls out a moment. Then rallies with, "Or the stuff that used to be illegal?"

"No," Steve says, and his voice is quiet, but there's no hesitation. No lack of surety. "No, it's the same. It doesn't go away because it's not just about that."

After all, "If it is, that's - a thing. But that's just lust. That's just physical attraction. Love can include that, but it doesn't go away if you don't do it."

In fact, he is very, very sure of that.

Winter chews on that for a moment, as well as the inside of his cheek, trying to find anything untrue or anything to challenge. There really isn't. It makes sense. But it also doesn't tell him what to do.

"Okay," he says finally. "Then it's not going away." He hesitates once more, then adds, "I don't know what else to do with it if we don't do that." What would change? Anything? Nothing? Does it even matter? Will it give him the right to growl at anyone else who looks at Steve like that? Or is that still inappropriate? Is that only for people who kiss?

... Maybe he could practice that, the way he's been practicing holding someone's hand or petting their hair. Then maybe he'd have the right to growl at people over Steve.

"I don't - know, either," Steve admits, with a helpless, hapless, sort of laugh, running a hand through his hair just for something to do with at least one of them. This whole conversation is crazy. But then again, his whole life is crazy. Right? It's crazy and this place is crazy and he came from doing something crazy -

And he thinks he has the shape of what he was doing, now. There's still a blank void, but the very absence of the reason he wanted to stay in the past is telling enough. He's not stupid. He's just -

Finding it very hard to want to stick to that decision. He knows it's because something's happened to him, and he doesn't like that part of it. But he also knows that... hey. No harm, no foul. Right? He hasn't done anything yet. Not back there. And he's here, now.

"We..." he finally decides, glancing carefully at Winter. "We could just. Let it be out there. If that's what you want."

And if that isn't the worst way to say it, Rogers, geez. "I mean. Now I know. And you know." And one thing he knows for sure, even if it feels like his throat is trying to close up a little, as he gets the words out: "I don't have to touch you to love you."

As much as that's a relief to hear, as much as it unwinds something deep in his chest, it also doesn't feel like enough. Winter can identify a want, now. It's confused and vague and not attached exactly the same way as in the memory, but it's still there.

So he scowls, though not at Steve in particular, and marches right up to him to grab his wrist. If Steve doesn't pull back, he brings their hands up between them, to show him. "I can do this." He shakes Steve's hand a little, gently. "And hair. I can do hair, too. It's not much. But it's something. And you should have that. I want you to have that."

There's a pause, and a moment of eye contact, because he's been kind of working on that, too. Not as much as touching, but if it's important, or he's not thinking about it too hard, he can do it. And it's important to make sure of this last thing: "If you want that."

Steve's eyes maybe go to their hands, when Winter gives them that little shake. They conveniently swing back up just in time to catch the actual eye contact, which is - it feels a lot like a gift. More than the touching, even, which is... yeah, okay. That's really nice, too. Steve missed it. He wants it.

But he doesn't want to demand it. Or expect it.

"I - " he says, and then has to stop. Swallow. Makes himself say it. "I want that. From you," he clarifies, because somehow it seems important. Even more important, as he's been putting things together in the back of his mind for the past several minutes. As he thinks he finally has the shape of something that's still hard to grasp, with a giant missing piece, but still - he knows the rest of it. Knows himself.

Knows how he'd been feeling, before he'd gotten here.

He'd wanted something, and he'd been tired of not getting it. Of living without it. He can't remember that thing, specifically, but he very clearly remembers the one standing in front of him. That he's been tired of not getting for his entire life, in one way or another.

"But I don't want - things you aren't comfortable with," he finally gets his mouth working again to add. "So, uh. Hands. And... hair?" That's new. To him, at least. "What's... can you show me what's okay with hair?"

Because by god, if they're doing this, then Winter is getting what he wants, too.

Edited 2023-04-03 03:43 (UTC)

"Can't get comfortable with things without practice," Winter points out. That's the only way he's gotten as far as he has, really.

But he's also game to show Steve what's on the table now. He lets go of his wrist. "This is hair. It's like petting." And with that much warning, he reaches up to run his non-metal hand through Steve's short hair a couple times, not slow, but not abrupt either. Just a demonstration. "Cortana likes that one." He kind of likes it, too, but that's harder to admit.

Steve might be of a mind to argue that even with practice, everybody has limits. But then Winter reaches up to demonstrate, and "Oh," is all that comes out for a second.

It's really nice. And he hasn't been touched like that since he was probably nine years old and coughing up both lungs. It's a sense memory that hits him right in the face, but not in a bad way. Like if getting hit in the face were good.

It's probably a beat too long before he actually manages to say, "I can see why she likes it." And then. "D'you like it, too, then? Is it - okay for me to do it?"

He doesn't reach up like he's going to try, at least not before receiving solid, unequivocal confirmation.

And Winter will be sharp about enforcing those limits, for the most part, when they hit them. But he also does still want, and wants to see what he can do when given motivation. And the expression on Steve's face is pretty good motivation. It makes Winter want to wrap around him and snap at anyone who comes near them. Except not with quite so much touching as that suggests. Close, though. Maybe he just wants to do that some more, even if the angle is awkward and his arm would get tired.

"Yes, it's okay," he says, looking maybe a little pleased. Self-satisfied, even. "Better than hugs. And hugs aren't as bad as they used to be." So long as they're relatively brief, anyway.

Aren't as bad as they used to be isn't reassuring, but - hell. It's not like Steve hasn't seen the files of what they did to him. Like he hasn't seen Bucky, when he'd been triggered.

Jesus. Winter must still have the trigger words -

And this is not the time to have that conversation. At all. He gives himself a mental shake and forces himself to focus on the situation at hand, because it's a good situation, and he doesn't actually want to miss a single second of it. Especially not thinking about that.

"So I could try the hair thing? Right now?"

This time, at least, he does raise a hand, but still waits for confirmation.

Winter's expression shades a little tolerantly amused. Just a little. And he dips his head closer to that hand, like a doh inviting petting. Yes, try the hair thing, Steve.

Log: February Catch-All

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