paddedprongs (paddedprongs) wrote in uaic, @ 2019-10-07 16:12:00 |
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The sunrise was pleasant to watch while sipping a cup of (black) coffee, acrid and bitterness being a perfect start to the day - a nice accompaniment to the sudden bloom on the horizon, golden rays stretching outward into a rich, rich blue. Bucky had seen a lot of beautiful sunrises and sunsets, in all his travels - this was actually the first day he’d gotten a chance to appreciate it here, at the Academy, because it was literally like living in a zoo and all he could think was that he was really damn grateful that they had a second overflow building ready to go, for the most part. But first - stop. Smell the roses. Drink the coffee. Meander into the courtyard. Notice the fucking armchair, and an occupant within, just sitting there. That pleasant sunrise also happened to lead to a pleasant autumn day, where any warmth that had been in the wind as the last vestiges of summer hung on now either evaporated straight into the sky or were leached into the earth. He had on a hoodie as he sipped that hot coffee, wandering straight to the chair. “Was this here before?” he asked curiously. “Because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.” Jamie had started off just wanting to have some fresh air while he worked. Autumn was a lovely time of year - one of his favorites, actually. He’d dragged one of the kitchen chairs out to the courtyard and transfigured it into a plush, comfortable armchair. The sort of chair that you sank into a little when you sat in it. Then he had settled in with a notepad, pen, and a thermos of hot tea. His legs were draped over one arm and he’d ended up half curled into the chair. He had been sitting there for a decent chunk of time just working, drinking tea, thinking, avoiding sleep. So it was no surprise that he had actually fallen asleep just when he had been finishing up his list of pros and cons towards the various protective wards that he knew of. His head had fallen back and his arm was dangling, pen dangerously close to falling out of his grip. It wasn’t the ideal situation. Anyone could have walked up right then... And they did, the smell of coffee invading his unhappy dreams. He started awake, pen finally falling from his fingertips. Thankfully, his tea didn’t spill. He would have been greatly disappointed. “Was what--?” Jamie started to ask and then realized, “Oh, no. I took one of the kitchen chairs and made it into something more comfortable.” His words were punctuated by a yawn and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “It gets hard to think in there sometimes. Just so much going on all the time.” “Aw, Sleeping Beauty,” Bucky drawled, attempting to wedge his body onto the same chair Jamie currently had his ass parked on - he wasn’t sure if two people could sit on this thing without snapping it into splinters (especially two grown men, one of whom had a metal arm) but he’d give it the ol’ college try. It was a tight squeeze, if nothing else - and he precariously balanced his coffee mug so he wouldn’t spill the contents. Mostly he just ended up part of the way on Jamie’s lap. “What are you even working on anyway? Stuff for here or the new building?” What a postcard image this made, honestly. He gave James a strange look, eyebrows furrowed together when he asked, “What’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’?” He’d read a few Muggle stories, of course, but he generally avoided ones that had magic involved just because it irritated him how wrong they were. So he’d never read or seen Sleeping Beauty in any form. His look of confusion only grew as James tried to force his way onto the chair. Jamie tried to move to make more room, sputtering a bit in protest. And then there was a grown-ass man edging into his lap, making him turn a little pink with Britishness. “You know,” he finally managed, “I can make the chair bigger or turn it into a sofa.” This was honestly ridiculous but he was definitely awake now. “Protection wards for here but... Nothing is going to work. At least, not the ones I know if. Someone else might have better ideas. We can’t make the building vanish because it’s so well known in the city that it’d be noticed - unlike the second building. The various alarm charms might scare the children and are easy to set of,” he waved his hand dismissively, “So on. So forth.” If he weren’t still red in the face because of James, he might have sounded more frustrated than he did. What was Sleeping Beauty? Really? Jamie’s world had things like magical sticks and pumpkin juice but didn’t have classic fairytales - it was an interesting little tidbit, and Bucky wondered why. What kinds of stories did parents tell their kids to get them to sleep at night, if everything was so wondrous and magical in their everyday life? “It’s a kid’s story,” he said, trying to think of how to describe it. “With a princess that is cursed by an evil witch and she pricks her finger on a spinning wheel and falls into a deep sleep, then the prince kisses her awake and I don’t know, there’s some bullshit with a dragon too.” That was the succinct version. He could summarize fairytales but wasn’t so great with the protection charms. Huh, that was a conundrum. “Can your magic mix with other kinds?” he wanted to know. “Maybe it’ll take a little bit from different flavors for one finished product. And - “ A deliberate smirk touched his mouth, “I really want to see you turn this into a sofa.” “Ah right, one of those,” Jamie rolled his eyes. Of course, there was an evil witch. When wasn’t there an evil witch? He wondered if the deep sleep had anything to do with a wayward draught of the living death but he didn’t really bother asking. Instead, he mentioned, “I have an uncle that works with dragons. I think if he could, he’d marry a dragon.” Poor Uncle Charlie. Always the butt of the joke when it came to that sort of thing. “Honestly, I have no idea. There’s a number of different types of magic here but I’m a bit worried about causing something to explode unnecessarily,” he noted with a vague sort of amusement. Different magics, different worlds, all manifesting in one world as if the rules didn’t exist. It was almost fascinating but he wasn’t the type to go all theoretical. It would work or it didn’t. Just best not to try it inside. He’d get around to it, probably with Misty before anyone else. She seemed keen anyway. Jamie scrunched up his nose and twisted in the arm chair to try and use his feet to shove Barnes to the ground. He had no idea if he’d actually be successful or not but he needed the room to vacate the chair himself. Once he could actually get up, one way or another, he produced his wand from his sleeve. It was a simple variation in the original transfiguration, leaving it looking exactly the same but just being longer and with a couple of extra cushions. “Ta-da.” “Well, sometimes you have to take a big risk if you want big payoff - “ And then, shit be upon him, this comfy old man armchair actually did turn into a sofa. James blinked, surprised because he wasn’t even that thrown off-kilter by the transformation. He didn’t know how or why Jamie could beat himself up over his magical skills - he truly could do some incredible things, but it also seemed like (where he came from, anyway) he had big shoes to fill too and that was never easy. “Or maybe you should just take a break?” Bucky suggested with a chuckle that was low, rolling like the tide after a storm. “The answer will come to you.” His good hand, flesh and bone, rested on Jamie’s knee. And took a stroll upward. Jamie settled back onto the sofa without a beat once it was stretched and grabbed his thermos of tea to sip from it. The warmth settled in deep and he exhaled softly with a sort of relief. “I have another idea but that would require facing the dead family members who decided to show up and trying not to tell them that they’re dead.” It was complicated and he didn’t really want to get into it. And if he noticed James’ reaction to the sofa, he didn’t acknowledge it. But that moment of relief was gone and turned into a sort of... well, a mixture. He appreciated James for his forwardness but at the same time, what was even the point? Jamie reached down to settle his hand over the other man’s, stopping it in its tracks. “Don’t do that,” he could have explained, maybe he should have but his face was just... Sad. Maybe disappointed. Although he would never actually admit to it, Jamie was a bit of a romantic which was a problem for him because he was also a workaholic and the two rarely mixed. But he was always more interested in the grand gestures and the little secret moments than anything else. And James’ flirting just didn’t feel... right? Real? “Why do you do that anyway?” His hand didn’t continue on its trajectory but Bucky didn’t pull away either - he just curled his fingers around Jamie’s, hand stolen and seized by the Winter Soldier. “What, you want a dissertation?” he snorted. “You’re weird as hell but you’re interesting, that’s why.” What other reason was there? He liked Jamie. Nothing to be sad about, Potter - he looked like he carried Atlas’ weight on his shoulders, and tried to get by with barbells on his chest (figurative ones). “But, okay, I won’t - if you don’t want me to,” he promised, and he still had Jamie’s hand in his good one but the metal index finger traced the veins on the belly of his wrist, pressing to the pulse point. Bucky would just bet it sped up a little, regardless of any efforts to prevent that. Jamie closed his eyes, frowning to himself as his hand was captured but he didn’t pull away. He was fairly certain that he could if he wanted. He doubted James would force him to stay. “And you’re intriguing and quite handsome but that’s not enough,” he countered with the smallest shrug of his shoulders. And Barnes knew perfectly well what he was doing. Even if Jamie’s heard sped up a little, he ignored it. Instead, he offered the explanation, “I’d much prefer a love song, not a romance novel.” That was about as close as he could get to the differences. James was a romance novel, the hot-blooded pursuer. He was not the crooning songs that Jamie flooded himself with when he needed help focusing on his work. But with that said, he tried to distract Barnes with work which just said so much about Jamie, didn’t it? “Have you heard anything else about the um, murders?” Yeah, that was one way to switch subjects. That was why Jamie had been trying to work on the wards in the first place, after all. But he smiled broadly and sarcastically, knowing exactly what he was doing. “What the hell does that even mean?” It seemed like a legitimate inquiry because Bucky had no idea, and he doubted Jamie knew what he was on about either. If you wanted to get technical, a song could be a novel and a novel could be a song - there was actually little difference between the two. Besides, what was wrong with a good romance novel? They were capable of evoking as much emotion as the glide of musical notes. If Jamie wanted to whiplash from romance to murder, fine. Bucky had experienced stranger switches in his day. “I haven’t heard anything else, besides that dark and evil things are afoot which seems to be the usual. You are really fucking strange, Potter, but I like it.” There, see, he could whiplash back too. “Do you want me to write you a love song?” he added, the question a curious rumble. And a twitch of a smile. What Jamie had neglected to add was ‘trashy’ because he hadn’t really wanted to be insulting. James was perfectly fine otherwise. Trashy would have just been an asshole move and he did try not to be an asshole. Really, he did. So he didn’t answer James right away, instead focusing on the conversation of their horrifyingly real murder mystery. “Well, I’ll start focusing on Death Eaters even if they wouldn’t normally mangle the bodies if they were out murdering Muggles. Never know though.” Oh, they were back to that, were they? Jamie exhaled sharply, “No, I don’t want you to write me a love song.” So he was going to have to be blunt. Okay. “I want something real, not extraordinarily persistent efforts to get into my pants. I know what the latter is like, not really the former.” He finally pulled his hand away then taking hold of his wand once more. But he pointed it at James’s coffee and murmured an incantation under his breath before tapping up the mug, instantly reheating the liquid. They’d been sitting there for a moment so the coffee had probably started to cool. He did the same to the thermos of tea though it hadn’t been nearly as exposed to the air. It didn’t even occur to him to ask, honestly... Those were some real damn bold assumptions to make, Potter. He must have balls made of brass. “To be fair, you don’t know what I want,” Bucky pointed out. “Because you never asked.” Being flirtatious with someone didn’t automatically mean he was going to fuck them and then vanish the next morning - he was perfectly capable of, and actually felt fulfilled by, carrying on a long-term relationship. He wasn’t emotionally constipated. The coffee mug had been set down in the grass, so Bucky picked it up again and sipped. “Here, let me give you some advice - the first step of ‘something real,’ as you put it, is generally expressing interest in the form of banter.” What the fuck did Jamie want him to do instead, propose? “You’re really about extremes, aren’t you,” he observed. “Like, to you, it’s one or the other - something real or using you as a cum dumpster. Nothing in between or building up.” Barnes didn’t seem to be particularly... Offended? It was all so matter-of-fact but Jamie still felt like an ass. “I apologize for my assumptions,” he offered first because he really did mean it. Jamie frowned at the grass, holding the warmed thermos between his hands. Unlike James, he wasn’t exactly dressed for the weather but he’d; been using various charms to keep warm throughout the morning. At least until he’d fallen asleep and he’d yet to take the time to renew them. “But none of this feels real to me because this is how it always starts and then, yes, I am being used - not to that particular degree but yes. Why can’t I just be boring old friends with someone first? Why does it have to be immediately into flirting and sexual commentary?” He felt stupid and it showed on his face but it mattered to him. All of it mattered, every single piece of the puzzle. He had to have the whole picture, bit by agonizing bit. And he also felt particularly old all of a sudden. Maybe he was. Maybe he had grown up to just be old. “You don’t know anything about me outside of I’m magic and say things that are unusual to you. And I know even less about you outside of sharing projects. That bothers me. I’m sorry. I know that’s stupid.” “We can be friends,” Bucky assured. “Of course we’d be friends.” That wasn’t even a question - admittedly, he tended to joke around in a dirty fashion with his friends too, just ask Steve. But that was how he communicated sometimes, when he felt comfortable enough - he had a sense of humor buried beneath the rock and debris that had been blasted away when his memories returned to him. He drained the coffee cup, setting the mug down again and stretching out his fingers. Personally, he was tired of feeling guilty about Natalia - she wasn’t here, or at least, the version he had loved and lost wasn’t, and he had to assume that another version of him was back at home as well. Two places at once, or else the alternative was mind-numbing. But her memories of James had been taken from her in a bid for some misguided revenge, and it accomplished the goal. It wasn’t right for him to demand she lie on a table and have her brain scrambled, trying combination after combination, until the right one was found. So he had to let her go. “You wanna go somewhere sometime?” he asked. “And talk. So you can know more things about me and I can know more things about you.” No pressure, no expectations - Jamie could do that, with someone who was interested in learning more about him. Or he could sit here and let his hair turn grey with worry, all day, everyday. One of those two options seemed a little bit better than the other. To Jamie, flirting as friends was somehow different than doing it without actually knowing anything about the other. “Good,” he answered as he turned a bit to face James properly. He had, admittedly, been a bit of a fuck-up when he had arrived, overreacting and pushing Dave and Klaus to the point that he certainly wouldn’t consider them friends. And then maybe he had pushed the entire opposite direction with Ivy in a desperate bid to make anyone like him at all. He kept doing it too - show off the magic because that was the only part of him that mattered here. As long as he could contribute... He smiled as if James had said something almost amusing. “Why wait? I can take us anywhere we like - well, almost anywhere. Popping around North America isn’t quite the same as popping around the UK. Everything’s so--” big here, he had almost said and knew exactly what would happen if he did. Widespread didn’t exactly work either. “Or we can stay here. Start with... What kind of music do you like?” It was a mundane question but he had discovered that apparently there were many Muggle singers he had never heard of and the reverse was just as true. The Weird Sisters apparently weren’t a thing - not that he really listened to them, preferring old Celestina Warbeck records but that wasn’t the point. Magic was most assuredly not the only part of Jamie that mattered - maybe, eventually, Bucky could even convince him of that. “We can start here,” he agreed, a spark of humor in warm eyes; his codename wasn’t always befitting of his demeanor. He could be cold and calculating, bitter winds that turned blood to icy sludge - but not always. Before he’d been molded into what the Soviets wanted and needed in a perfect killer, he’d been pretty - spunky, actually. Jaded, cynical. He sneaked in and literally stabbed enemies in the back while Captain America waved to the audience, but when he liked you he liked you all the way. “I’m into - you know, the classics,” he said. “Big band and jazz and that sort of thing. I don’t understand modern music, never really have. Guess that’s what I get for being born in 1925.” Starting there was just fine with Jamie. He settled the thermos of tea between them in a silent offer to share and he settled his arm on the back of the magic-made sofa, leaning deep into the cushioned back that supported him. Start with an easy question. Work your way up to the hard ones. That had... been the plan anyway but he was learning things that were a little confusing already. How could James have been born in 1925 yet... Easy parts first. “Same as me, actually. It was 2027 back home but my record collection is all Billie Holiday and the old standards. So at least we won’t disagree on what to listen to. Unless it’s Dion. Skip him. How many bloody songs can you sing about wandering?” Of course, Dion had been more late 50’s-60’s. That really wasn’t the point. “So... Born in 1925 but used to everything modern except for the music. That’s a story. I’ll ask for the short version for now since I doubt you want to go into the long. Also, how old are you then?” Apparently they were going to go right into the nitty-gritty of it. But James had offered up the information so Jamie assumed it was alright to ask. “Billie Holiday - good taste,” Bucky winked, taking the thermos unscrewing the top portion. It was conveniently a cup so he poured tea into it - and he’d see how well this British guy actually made his tea, but he had a feeling it would be more than decent. “If we’re in 2019 I’m ninety-four, about there.” There was a story behind that - and he didn’t mind telling it. Of course it was a long story but he could weave the tale in such a way that it made sense without actually boring someone to death. “So I was born in 1925 and both my folks died when I was just a kid, so I sort of became a ward of the state and the Army’s official mascot,” he said. “They took me in. I was real patriotic like my dad, you know? I liked to start fights too much though so they shipped me off for hand-to-hand training. I came back and was told I was going to be Captain America’s sidekick, but what they really had me doing was the dirty work his public image couldn’t handle.” He shrugged broad shoulders, tasting a bit of the tea - kind of a hilarious image, actually, this intimidating-looking guy with a metal arm sipping daintily from a thermos cup. “I didn’t mind though, I wasn’t cut out to be Captain America. Anyway, we were on a mission together during World War Two and my plane exploded over the sea. My left arm had been blown off. The Soviets found me and when I woke up I couldn’t remember who I was, only that I was great at fighting and spoke a few languages, so, they saw that opportunity to turn me into an assassin for their side. I was called the Winter Soldier. I killed - a lot of people for them.” If he spoke about it in matter-of-fact terms, well, it was what it was. He didn’t like it any more than anyone else - and he’d been forced to live it. “They would put me in a cryochamber in between missions,” he added. “So I didn’t really age like a normal person.” “She’s hard not to like,” there were others, of course, but Billie usually topped whatever he was listening to. Well, her and Nat King Cole which was a whole other thing. The tea was a strong breakfast tea with a hint of sugar and a splash of something that was decidedly alcoholic. Jamie would never admit that he didn’t function too well without a smidge of whisky in the morning. “Blimey,” his eyes were a little wide, staring at James for a moment, “Well, you’re certainly the best looking ninety-four year old I’ve ever met.” Jamie listened carefully as he took in the short version of ninety-four years of history. Of course, America’s army would take in a child as a mascot. He wrinkled his nose a little, disliking the whole idea - especially when it became clearer what they were actually doing with said child - though he hoped ‘of age’ by that time. When James mentioned his arm, Jamie’s gaze flicked to the metal replacement. It really was a wonder considering it was likely Muggle technology and not magic. Forced to be an assassin then... His expression was one of sympathy, never pity, for a life stolen. And while he had several questions, he decided to pick one and let the rest settle for now. “First thing, what in the world is a ‘cryochamber’? Second... You ask something now. Good Lord.” Jamie needed tea himself after that and he sipped directly from the thermos. Interesting out of all the questions to ask, Jamie picked that one. Bucky could honestly say he hadn’t had many people be curious about that part specifically. “They put me on ice, literally,” he explained. “You know how if you freeze food it lasts longer? Kind of like that. It was just a chamber where I slept and slept, until they needed me for a mission.” Then they would just go and turn their weapon loose, trusting that he’d get the job done. And he did. He let Jamie keep the thermos, still working on that tea in the makeshift cup, steam wafting up toward his nose and he breathed it in. “You said your parents were famous, right?” he asked, voice gravelly and curious. “For what?” However Jamie answered, Bucky was sure he’d be able to gauge the reaction in terms of how he felt about it. “We generally just... Bespell stuff to preserve it,” Jamie chuckled, shaking his head slightly, but he understood the concept if only because of the very few family members he had that had grown up in the Muggle world. “That’s... Disgusting really, to use someone like that. It’s awful.” He couldn’t imagine just being someone’s puppet to do their murderous bidding. One played the hand one was dealt but there was a point, wasn’t there? It took everything in him not to roll his eyes and he exhaled deeply, frowning at the thermos. Right. Of course. Them. “My father is... Essentially a ‘chosen one’ type. The Boy Who Lived. Famous all over for defeating the most powerful dark wizard when he was just a baby. Then he was head of the Aurors which are like wizard police. Now he’s the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Jamie sipped his tea, struggling to maintain a sense of neutrality while talking about his parents. He loved them, of course, and they were wonderful parents but he lived in their shadows always and forever. “Mum was a popular sports player,” he decided to gloss over quidditch. That’d take even more explaining, “Then a writer for the news on that sport. Now she just handles that entire section. And they’re both war heroes. Every single member of my family is a war hero gone on to bigger and better things. Hell, one of my aunts is the bloody Minister of Magic which is basically like the wizarding Prime Minister.” Jamie closed his eyes and pressed a finger to the space between his eyes, trying to fight off the headache that was attempting to form. Bucky felt a little twinge of guilt for asking, but at the same time, he wanted to know. Wanted to understand. “Hey,” he attempted to get Jamie’s attention, cool metal brushing across his forehead when Bucky swiped his thumb over the line that was likely a permanent fixture of worry. “That sounds great and all, but trust me - you don’t have to be a war hero to be able to do good things. And you’re doing a lot of good things here.” Maybe when he was young and naive, he’d wanted to bleed patriotism from his pores, jump in and be the big damn hero - but life didn’t always go that way. It wasn’t about doing the right thing all the time, because no one ever could. He gave Jamie back his thermos lid. “Besides, I doubt your parents are perfect people. They may be war heroes but they have blood on their hands like any war hero would. I know I do.” Likely they did what they did so the next generation, Jamie’s generation, wouldn’t have to go through those same things. Jamie opened his eyes at the touch, turning his head so he could look at James again. “Ah yes, I’m a fantastic construction worker,” his town was disparaging - not for construction workers in general but for himself. He didn’t really feel like he was doing anything good. Just what was easiest for everyone else and honestly, now that Remus and Sirius were bandying about, he wasn’t even the only one who could do it. “Yeah, well, I went into emergency medicine so I’ve got a different sort of blood on my hands,” he had almost made a joke out of it but the look in his eyes said that, for a moment, he was somewhere else entirely. His hands cradled the thermos lid rather than doing anything with it. “I have stood in the shadows of giants for so long, I have no idea where I’m meant to be. Even my name is a curse - James Sirius Potter... Named for my grandfather and god-grandfather, both of whom died protecting my dad and both with their own reputations.” Tricksters, smart as a whip, occasionally bullies. Jamie had lived up to the last one at the very least. But he could at least make a joke of the names. “Better than my brother though - imagine being named for one of the greatest wizards to ever live. Maybe a step below Merlin.” Albus had it even worse in the name department, especially when the ‘Severus’ was tacked on. “You’ll find your way, Jamie,” Bucky promised. “And a name is just a name - it’s not all of who you are.” Come on, his middle name was Buchanan - did that mean he had to go out and become President, and an unforgettable one at that? No. He’d done something entirely different with his life. Granted, not all of it had been his decision at first - but he was here now, and on one hell of a ride that he intended to keep going with. His fingers swiped above Jamie’s brow again, like he could just erase the throb in his head that no doubt was always there. “I better get back inside but don’t stay out here giving yourself wrinkles for too long, okay? And - “ He got up from the sofa that was once a chair. “Next time I’m taking you away from the house for one of these chats.” Jamie could probably stand a change of scenery anyway. He snorted vaguely, arching an eyebrow as he looked at James, “Yeah? Tell that to everyone else.” Witches and wizards could be quite egotistical when it came to names and now he was James the second. That was going to die with him. Not that he was planning that far ahead in the future but the name was definitely going to stop right then and there with him. Hell, that was practically the whole reason he went by Jamie instead. “Oh, I’m sure I could mix up a cream or a potion that could get rid of wrinkles, if it’s really that much of a bother, old man,” he could pretend he was fine, flip the joke back onto James, smile big like everything was totally fine. Besides, there was still work to do and James was distracting him... “You know, my birthday is on the seventeenth. No one knows that now but you.” He had been planning on ignoring time turning and bring him up to twenty-five but the offer to be away from the house was out there now. “Magic isn’t meant to solve every problem - even an idiot like me knows that,” Bucky stated, though Jamie didn’t need to worry. He’d leave the guy be so he could work some more on shielding the whole house and the apartment building from whatever the source of all the nasty was out there. Or just shield it from people who went door-to-door carting Bibles, that was good enough. The information about a certain birthday had him pausing, with a glance over his shoulder. “Okay, then don’t make any plans for the seventeenth. We’re going out.” There, decision solidified, and he continued on his trek toward the door leading inside. Now just to think of someplace fun he could take Jamie, but he was already getting a few ideas. Bucky was pretty creative, when he wanted to be. Jamie could only pause to stare for a moment. Alright, he hadn't been expecting a date out of that but apparently it was decided. Shaking his head slightly, he unstretched the chair so no one else would settle in and picked up his notepad and pen to get back to work. |