inbox.

[stevegrogers]

text, image, action/prose, prompt & overflow ————

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[armeyets]

When the door opened and they faced each other over that apartment threshold, there was that faint hovering moment of indecision — looking at each other and feeling like part of him was staring at a stranger — while another, larger part was like he was gazing on a missing piece of himself. A familiar anchor. Bedrock. And so, thankfully, ancient muscle memory kicked in and Bucky closed the distance between them, pulling the other man into a bone-creaking hug, before they moved apart and Steve started ushering him into the apartment.

"Completely stupid," Bucky acknowledged, cheerful despite the circumstances, as he accepted the glass and took a thoughtful sip from it; his blue eyes roaming across the apartment, taking it in, automatically noting entrances and exits and windows and sightlines. Some old habits died hard, and he hadn't fully let go of that paranoia yet.

And for Steve's question... Anyone else would've gotten a curt I'm fine. But lying to this man felt wrong, and so Bucky chewed over his thoughts for a moment. Trying to figure out the best way to summarise it. How to answer How are you, when he still didn't fully know himself?

"Shuri made some progress. Something about making a digital copy of my brain, and trying to extract the programming without erasing my memories. To be honest, all of it was pretty much over my head. She wasn't done, but I didn't want to be on ice for years while you were out here — and the most important thing is the trigger words don't work anymore. At least, they shouldn't." The slope of his shoulder tipped in a shrug. "And I figured... if it fails, then I'm with the only other person who can subdue me."

And there it was. The other reason for him being here.