apocalypsehowcomm | 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, okay then. Steve gives it a try. He reaches the rest of the way out to run his fingers over Winter's head a little; and then, since his hair's longer than Steve's, he carefully cards his fingers through the dark strands a few times. His eyes are glued to Winter's face, watching for any sign of discomfort or dislike, ready to disengage at the first hint that it's not right or too much or no longer wanted.

But he has to admit, even on this end of things? It's pretty nice, if the soft smile on his face has anything to do with it.

Nobody at HYDRA ever carefully finger-combed his hair, so as long as nobody grabs and tugs, he has no bad associations with it. He's even been building good ones, with Cortana. And this is Steve. Steve is-- is his person, maybe. Who loves him even though he isn't really the Bucky person.

It's actually nicer when it's your person, Winter discovers. Cortana is good, but Cortana also isn't Steve. He lists his head into the fingers whenever they graze his scalp, and his expression looses its smugness to slide into something less fixed, more vague. Not in a bad way, but if he's not thinking about what his face is doing, sometimes it just does nothing.

Steve doesn't mind the blank expression; he can infer enough to figure it's not a bad thing, and he can't deny his face probably did something similar just a minute ago.

"It's nice," he says, out loud, meaning for both of them, really, as Winter's head tilts into his touch. Really nice, he thinks, feeling something in his stomach flip-flop in this weird way, like he's getting something he shouldn't have, and he knows it. Like when he's not sorry at all for what he's doing, even if it might get him in deep shit down the road.

This... is going to complicate things, but right now, he doesn't care.

"So, now you've got a human hairbrush whenever you want," he says, grinning a little at Winter. "All you've got to do is call."

As in, whenever you want to be touched, pal, Steve will be here and happy to do it.

The grin does get a tentative smile back out of Winter, then a couple blinks as he refocuses. "You're more than a hairbrush," he says. "But yes. Yeah. I'll do that."

He shakes himself a little, then pats at his own hair as if making sure it hasn't bee mussed too much by Steve's hand. "Would you still want this if you remembered Carter?" he asks after a moment.

Steve smiles a little at that, even if it drops away like his hand when Winter shakes his head and has to go and, well. Hit the thing squirming in Steve's gut right in the center.

Not like he hasn't always been good at that.

There is a moment of silence, not because Steve doesn't want to answer, but because he's trying to really get ahold of the answer.

Which, in the end, is a quiet, "I don't know." Which isn't satisfying for anyone, he knows, but it's the truth. "There was - things were complicated. Back home." That's one way to put it, Rogers. "I think she was part of that."

"But I do know that whatever I felt for her. It didn't change how I felt about you. It doesn't. It won't, even if I remember her tomorrow."

He is not replacing her with Winter. He knows that much, bone-deep. Just like he knows, "If I do remember her. I'll still want this." He doesn't want Winter to feel like this is contingent on Steve not remembering, or like he's gonna get dropped like a hot potato once Steve does.

Things are still going to be complicated down the line, but that's then. He'll figure it out then.

The truth is better than a lie, no matter how pretty the lie might be, or how uncomfortable the truth might be. Winter considers it, weighing the "I don't know" against the "I'll still want this", and finds the latter is worth more. He'll take the assurances that even if this loss is temporary, he'll still be loved.

He wants to be loved, he thinks. It's a nice thing, to have people love you. That Steve is one of them is even better. It makes something-- relax between the Winter of now and the few memories he has of the Bucky person, like something that had been hurting him has stopped now. He's not letting go of that.

So he nods. "Good. Because if Peggy Carter shows up tomorrow I'll fight her for you," he warns. Then, out of the nagging feeling of guilty respect, he adds, " ... nicely. But I will."

Being loved is the most precious and most elusive thing in the world, Steve thinks, and all he can remember wanting is to be somewhere where that was true.

He maybe laughs a little - he probably shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he can't help it. Maybe it's as much an expression of relief as amusement and surprise. There is an undeniable part of him that wants this man to fight for him, that way, and it is a part of himself that he's not proud of, that he generally tries to bury, but a part that is strangely, satisfyingly smug, right now, nonetheless.

"That means a lot," he says, and it's true. "But so do you." He tries for a - brief - shoulder bump, and says, "You know I'm always good for a fight. Especially when it comes to you."

Maybe he doesn't - maybe he doesn't remember. But that's true, too. Whoever he has to fight to protect Winter, he will.

There's still a lot Winter doesn't remember, it's true. But he's seen it here. Even their last fight in the helicarrier gave him some idea. Right up until he dropped his shield.

The shoulder-bump is good. It's weirdly familiar, a thing his body knows without knowing how he knows it, but not in a way that feels like it came from pain. It makes him smile again, just a little, but it's as much as he usually smiles these days.

So he bumps back. "Come on. You should finish your lunch. I'll sit with you."

Something in Steve settles even more, somehow, when Winter's shoulder bumps his back. This is okay, this is right, and they're still in the midst of everything that's always going on here, but they have each other. And no matter what or who he remembers, he knows that's all he's ever wanted.

"All right," he agrees, letting out a breath that's as much of a relieved sigh as agreement. "That sounds good." He tilts his head back in the direction of the cafeteria. "Come on."

Log: February Catch-All

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