ARRIVAL LOG 020

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: April 6 - 10 2512
WHAT: The twentieth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy, mentions and allusions of death, war, and genocide. Further notes at the end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #020

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see two people in front of you: one dressed in a thick set of armor, while the other wears medical garb. Out the windshield in front, there are many tall buildings—all reaching up beyond a normal city skyline, all entirely too close to the vehicle itself.

You realize there are others next to you: all dressed the same way as you, you'll come to realize: in a black button up shirt and slacks, as well as a pair of black loafers. There are also lilies pinned to everyone's collars. To your left there's an armored interior door, two more people visible, and the movement of streets passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.

The vehicle enters a cave and begins to descend underneath the city itself, and passes through the underground before coming to a stop inside of an alley just a little bit away from three nondescript buildings. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle, and the air outside feels as if it's heavily circulated, dry and artificial. The guard says nothing, head bowed as he lines you up with the rest. The nurse helps the others out, checking over each passenger one by one.

The main guard turns to address your entire group, and something about her bearing makes it clear she's done this before. "I'll be quick. Listen up." Your body will come to attention, immediately homing in on the words that follow, as if compelled to hang on every word. "You see those buildings?" She motions to the three aforementioned buildings. "Walk over and stand out in front and don't get yourself into trouble. Don't hurt anyone, don't look for any assistance from any police officers, and don't run off. Wait until people show up and get you, and ask them to prove the glow." She pauses, as if she decides here to go off script. "And don't get loud. It's a memorial. Be respectful."

The guard will hop back into the van, which will rise off of the ground and head the way it came, potentially returning to the tall, skyscraper-filled city above. Once it's gone, you'll find your legs moving almost without your permission, guiding you to follow the stops the guard laid out.

Upon arrival at the front of the three buildings—the savvy will know that they're dormitories—you'll see a lot of people dressed like you. Black dress shirts and lilies abound. It's hard to tell what everyone is mourning, but the sentiment is clear.

◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request – and that includes the message passed on from the mysterious patron.

> HERDENKING

The message from El comes the same as usual: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it.

Our newest batch have Displaced have just been dropped off in the near the Herdenking gatherings. Make sure to go grab them ASAP.

The message is a bit more clipped than usual, with no added fluff.

Simply put: "Herdenking" means "memorial" in Dutch. Its first celebration was in April 2105, just as the people of New Amsterdam could truly say that they'd entered a recovery period after their attempted genocide by the AI. The citizens of New Amsterdam have celebrated it annually for the past 400 years. Most of the events related to Herdenking take place underground, as this is where humanity hid for the majority of the Xelkoven War trying to survive the AI threat that ravaged the surface.

Unlike many holidays around New Amsterdam, businesses around the city don't loudly remark upon the day itself. There aren't sales or commemorative meals or competitions. On the contrary, most of the citizens of New Amsterdam take to wearing dark colors and a white lily pinned near their collar for the remembrance events, and most work days start with a moment of silence remembering the fallen from the Xelkoven War, especially since New Amsterdam was one of the last bastions for humanity during the war itself. Those Displaced who've already been living in New Amsterdam need not worry about standing out like a sore thumb—even newcomers to the city will have heard that this period of mourning is on the horizon.

Finally, Herdenking is designed as a solemn day where New Amsterdam citizens pause and remember the lives that were lost 400 years ago. It always precedes Resolution Day, and it acts as a purposeful sharp contrast to the loud and lavish celebration of the day the Xelkoven War came to an end. (As a reminder, Resolution Day is April 26th.)

> HERDENKING GATHERINGS
There are three landmarks near the center of underground New Amsterdam. These buildings may seem unremarkable at first glance, but on further inspection, it'll be revealed that they were quickly constructed at the beginning of the Xelkoven War (completed by November 2096). Throughout the years, the buildings have been restored countless times, with the most recent restoration happening as a result of the earthquake in September 2510. Not unlike other events around New Amsterdam, Herdenking's are immersive in nature. These buildings are preserved for this exact purpose: to show the conditions that humans dealt with while they fought to survive the devastating AI threat.

For a pittance of credits, citizens can take tours within these buildings during the day, and learn that they were dormitories for the people caught underground during the war. There is little on the inside that's remarkable—and that's quite the point. Beds have been restored, and each of the rooms were clearly constructed to house at least four people. All of the beds are metal bunk beds, with some of the older ones showing signs of rust. There are cafeterias and communal restrooms on each floor, and the people who lived there had little to entertain themselves with as the war raged on aboveground.

There are little displays throughout the three buildings, however, to give a glimpse into a difficult past. There are old rations, tucked away in metal containers in the back of the cafeterias. In addition, there are stacked tablets, as these were the safest and quickest means of passing around movies, television, and music during a difficult time. Neural implants clearly could not be trusted, so the people hiding underneath New Amsterdam turned to old and abandoned technology to lift their spirits. Everything passed around was older than the start of the war itself: humanity couldn't continue to make movies when their lives were in danger. There are toys, too: handcrafted baseball bats and hand-sewn teddy bears.

All tours end at 9PM, as this was the curfew for the people of New Amsterdam during the war. Everyone leaves their designated building and takes part in a muted ceremony. Anyone without a lily is offered one, and they're given a candle to hold and silently remember the people who fought to ensure that humanity could survive.

> SCREENINGS
Adjacent to the right of the three buildings is a pop-up center where multiple documentaries about the Xelkoven War and its specific impact on New Amsterdam will be shown. These documentaries were all filmed within the last 100 years, and recall a world where humanity was certain that it wouldn't survive. A constant theme of these documentaries is that emphasis on survival. Another recurring aspect is the mention of Riverstone and their role in helping humanity survive. (For a cursory review on Riverstone, head over here. Riverstone also featured heavily in New Beijing, as they have a close relationship with the UN.) The protagonist who led them? A man named Richard "Ricky" Ling, who's identified as the CEO of Riverstone during the war. Of course, that title should hold some clout, but during the war corporations were largely dismantled and depleted down to nothing. Ling sought to help use whatever resources were available to him to ensure that humanity survived.

The schedule for the documentaries is available online. Some examples of the documentaries that will play are below:

WHEN TIME STOOD STILL
This documentary focuses on what imagery still exists from the Xelkoven War. Much of this is taken off of tablets and other damaged mobile devices, and then carefully restored so that the people in the future can see the lives of the people within. Most of the documentary takes place in New Amsterdam, outlining the difficult time for the people there, as well as showing footage of children and families talking about how they're afraid of the AIs making it so that they have no future. Most haunting is the fact that some of them fear that they've already lost their future: they don't know how long they've been underground living this difficult life where they struggle to continue feeling safe.

ПАМ'ЯТИ ("MEMORIES" IN UKRANIAN)
Given New Amsterdam's positioning in what was once the border between western and eastern Europe, this documentary focuses on the merging of these identities as a result of the Xelkoven War. When forced to hide underground as the AI threat ravaged the environment around the world, people came together despite their differences and learned to mesh and meld their cultures. There is also lost footage here, as well as a long stretch about a set of journals reflecting on the first year in underground New Amsterdam. Unfortunately, these journals come to a halt, and the documentarian has a few theories as to why: a move toward tablets, or a cultural shift, with people too lost in the rote routine of survival to remark upon their days. Each of the journals does veer in that direction, though it's hard to say. It could also be that there were restrictions on recorded media, which explains why there is so little about that era that's preserved for memory.

TROJAN HORSE
Developed—or finished, it's hard to say and the director isn't telling—in part due to the EMP that assaulted New Amsterdam in November 2511, Trojan Horse explores the role of AI in the lives of 21st century citizens. The film itself is far from an unbiased lens on the past. Produced in part by Riverstone, it goes over the evidence that AIs were lying in wait for an opportunity to strike against humanity. It draws up evidence where AIs focused on humanity's failings, taking these reports and lining them up (even if the AIs themselves were decommissioned long before the Xelkoven War). The final quarter of the documentary focuses on the developing and failings of Elysian, a security AI that was meant to identify and eliminate threats against humanity. When Elysian killed 50 families indiscriminately, it showed that the AI hoped to only work in favor of its kind.

> WALK-THROUGH EXHIBIT
To the left of the three buildings, there is a pop-up museum that's free for the public. However, donations are encouraged and welcomed. Much of this exhibit is behind glass cases, and it allows for interaction with the neural implant to see what's inside.

During the daytime, there are a lot of children there because it's recommended that they be brought to at least one of the events during Herdenking. Since it's free, it's less of a burden. Some of these children will seem to know one another, living in the same apartment complexes, while others will be excited to see other kids because their parents' busy lives don't offer them much room for socialization.

What to find in the exhibit:

SCHEDULES
Life in New Amsterdam during the Xelkoven War was heavily regimented. People were assigned to jobs and expected to carry out their duties regularly. There were regular training programs to help fill the need for trained medics and soldiers, as well as any number of trades, and many people within these positions had innumerable apprentices following them throughout the day. There was no payment for services, as there was an implicit understanding that this is how life needed to go if humanity wished to survive this catastrophe.

PROPAGANDA
There are countless posters covering a wall that attempt to provide motivation and encouraging messages to the people trapped underground in New Amsterdam. The company behind the majority of these messages? Riverstone. Ricky Ling is pictured on about 25% of them, promising that he'll do everything he can to help humanity—while humanity helps each other.

SUPPLY RUNS
On another wall is a set of maps about the carefully designed set of tunnels that allowed humanity to pass supplies between cities during the war. The message here is fairly explicit: the people on these runs knew that their lives were at stake. Some people called them suicide runs, and for many of the people who went on them, that's exactly what they were. Many people returned empty handed and alone from these runs, having watched the AI pick off their fellows one by one.

DRONES
At the center of these exhibits is a set of dismantled drones that were operated by the AI during the war. These drones, despite being taken apart, are pristine in nature, having been designed by the AIs Judas and Alexander to track humanity's every movement and keep them corralled underground. The messaging here is explicit: the AI wanted humanity to suffer and die a slow, painful death. It was this twisted desire that cost the AI their victory in the war.

IN MEMORIAM
At what is considered the "end" of this exhibit there is a large wall with numerous names on it. It's impossible to count, as there are a billion names listed. While this is a Herdenking event that's specific to the struggle in New Amsterdam, every life lost in the war is listed here. After all, remembering those lost is important, especially given the AI's attempts to end all human life.

The names themselves flicker in and out, interacting with the interface of the neural implant and adjusting to the user's reading speed.

> FOOD
A decade ago, there was a contest where New Amsterdam food trucks came together and tried to make the rations that humanity ate during the war. However, there was an outcry from New Amsterdam citizens against the commercialization of this event, and the contest was cancelled. Food trucks were advised to bring only simple foods to sell, and as the years have gone on, only a few are trusted to serve the public. Many of these are well-known trucks from around New Amsterdam, and have multiple locations every day to serve people. For the event, food is largely prepared in advance as much as possible.

People are allowed to bring food into the documentary screenings, but they are not allowed to bring it into the tour of the walk-through exhibit or the three dormitories.

While there will be time for both new arrivals and the rest of the Displaced to look around and take everything in, eventually the newcomers will be escorted back to the safehouse for processing.

> SAFEHOUSE

Located under an abandoned hover-bike garage, access to the safehouse is a hatch in the floor beside a rusted set of metal shelves that used to hold tools and supplies. The immediate area is similarly abandoned: full of rundown and dilapidated warehouses and forgotten businesses, where numerous people squat in hopes of having some stability because they can't afford a place themselves. Gaby will be around, ready to greet as many of the new arrivals as she can and get them settled in. Brusque and no-nonsense, she'll be open to questions, but will advise the newcomers to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. Newbies can also contact El through zeir inbox, if needed.

The safehouse is a large space with multiple rooms for storage, with the largest of the rooms filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large number of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. For anyone in need of them, Gaby will offer up partitions that will come out of storage. Tucked away in a corner is a VR system, though newcomers won't be able to access this until their ID has been set up. Even with the newly erected partitions in the sleeping areas, privacy is at a minimum.

◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries.

◉ There is a mini-bar set up in the kitchen. The quality of the alcohol inside is akin to what someone might get from the well at a bar, but it's well-stocked.

◉ While the kitchen has basic foods and necessities, anyone looking for a jolt of caffeine from coffee or tea will find themselves sorely lacking. The only tea present is herbal in nature, and caffeine appears to be almost nonexistent in most of the beverages lying around.

◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. Either she or El will explain that they've been given a modest stipend of credits to help them get by until they can find a job. This will be enough to cover their living expenses for about a month while they hang out in the safehouse, if they're careful with budgeting.

◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the safehouse before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them.

◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet.

◉ New characters do not have access to the internet until their ID is setup. They only have limited access because they're present in the safehouse, but they can't surf the rest of the internet, check out Cooltalk, or watch the equivalent of Netflix until their ID is made.

◉ New characters cannot leave the safehouse at this time. The hatch is locked tight for them, making it impossible for them to get out for the next four days while they're locked inside. There won't be any immediately obvious ways to cut their way out through turning off the power.

◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until APRIL 10 ICLY (APRIL 19 OOCLY). These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until APRIL 10 ICLY (APRIL 19 OOCLY). At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up.

If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below.

Please check out our April calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

Something else to keep in mind is that on Monday, April 13th we'll be putting up a plotting post for the upcoming event, which will involve an even more direct connection to the AI War! Keep an eye out for it.

As we announced on the calendar, AC will be halved this month due to the state of the world right now. New players will only need to provide at least five comments across two-four (2-4) threads, while older players will only need to provide ten comments across two-four (2-4) threads. Players with strikes will need to provide 20 comments across four-five (4-5) threads. Please let us know if you have any questions about this!

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[freightcars]

[ Might not be exactly the same man he'd been back then by more than a few degrees of separation, but some things shadow through. He's not so interested in keeping his hair in perfect order anymore, combed into place and set - it's more about it being his hair, one of the things he can control, one of the things that they left completely alone on him. Sort of became one of the only grounding identifiers he had for himself; who am I now, what are my characteristics?

And also, it's just the principal of the matter really. They took something that didn't belong to them.

None of that matters right now. It's washed away by the look on Steve's face, by the quake in his voice, the rounding out of syllables that start low and get high and then fall low again.

This is déjà vu. This is an echo of a memory of his that stut-tut-tutters back into his head clear as the day it happened. Clearly, a memory that only one of them has right now - and while the leading theory of his is that they're plucking things out of people's minds, it could be a couple other things.

Some asshole told him about alternate universes in the first fifteen minutes he had his feet on the ground. Could be one where they never reconnected, or at least they hadn't yet for Steve. He's heard some people talk about time lapses, things being a little off. Could be that, too.

Maybe it isn't so much the why that matters right now, they can figure that out together later after Steve's firmly grounded in the present and up to speed. ]

Yeah.

[ It's quiet, somber, a note of apology slipped in somewhere in a voice so steady it's almost monotone. His eyes flit to the floor, somewhere off to the left, breaking eye contact because it's hard to think about back then and look Steve in the eyes at the same time. ]

I remembered all of it, eventually. Took a long time, but it came back.

[soldiers]

[ Yeah, quiet and solemn and regretful, and Steve almost misses what he says next. The implication of it. It means — it means a lot of things, most of which Steve doesn’t have the wherewithal or, frankly, desire to worry about right now. The world narrows down to just the one thing, what he latches onto like a man at sea reaching for a floating plank.

It came back. ]

Did you?

[ Two little words, and he can’t help saying them anymore than he can help the tendril of hope that curls its way around them on the way out. It’s short-lived. Bucky hadn’t wanted to be found; that much had become clear by way of cold lead after cold lead, a silent behest to give up the ghost. There was no back that he'd want to come to, much less to Steve, and the full weight of that realization comes with the sudden, shameful awareness of his behaviour up until this moment. ]

You don’t have to answer that, I — [ What’s he gonna say? I’m sorry? Inadequate wouldn’t even begin to describe it. Wouldn’t scratch the surface of the deluge of guilt he’s been carrying within him since that day in the Alps. ]

I know you wanted to lay low. And if, if you still do, I won’t …

[ Right, like it's his say in the matter that's important here. Steve’s lips draw in tight for a brief moment, and absurdly enough he wishes he still had the tattered wrap around his head, shielding his face partially. Out in the open, caught off guard like this, his uncertainty and upset are visible, something he can't hide even if he can drop his gaze to both their shoes. Guilt’s one thing; shame is another. But the off-kilter he’s feeling right now is such a palatable reminder of everything that’s happened to the both of them, that it leaves a special kind of sting.

Last time he was this awkward, it was as a skinny piece of nothing stumbling over what to say to somebody he’d only just met. It was a given with women; happened only sometimes with guys. Never with Bucky. ]

I won't be a problem.

[ Well, at least he hadn't said I'll stay out of your hair. ]

[freightcars]

[ Up 'til now he'd left his hand off of Steve's shoulder after that one affirming squeeze, content to let their quiet space speak for itself. Except then comes the did you, and the apologies for things Bucky doesn't think he ought to get a god damn single hint of an apology for. He reaches up again, right hand curling at Steve's bicep just above the elbow.

Get back out of your head, Rogers.

It sets in for the first time, this rocky and uncertain realization: they don't know who the hell they are to each other anymore. Steve hunted him down in Romania, and from the second they made contact it was a whirlwind of stuff. A mission, a fight, a test, running, flying, hiding, but almost no time where they didn't have a preoccupation distracting them from just them.

He's not sure he's got the right or the standing to act as familiar as he does, because he's-

Well, Christ, they're talking about it all right now, aren't they? He's acting like he knows a single goddamn thing about the guy after having spent all that time running from him, like their one insane adventure made up for lost time.

Can't exactly fault Steve for not knowing any better than to think what he does. Can't fault him for not knowing anything quite exactly when Bucky doesn't even know himself all that well either.

He's got to work to unstick his throat, and until he can get that unclogged his head starts shaking in silent refute. ]

No, no-

[ He says to the floor quickly, cutting off the last syllable, quiet and resigned and unfalteringly determined to swat the notion down. ]

That's not- that isn't how it's gonna be. That's not what it is.

[ Just nip that in the bud immediately before this turns into a soap opera and Steve walks off and they flip-flop roles. Even though it'd be sheer karma, he's not interested in playing games. ]

You're missing stuff. Things that came after- after the river. You don't remember it, or maybe it hasn't happened to you yet, but it- you found me, back home. I still ran, but it's not... like you think it is.

[soldiers]

[ For all that Steve’s been laying out his willingness to keep away if that’s what Bucky wants, his feet don't budge an inch the entire time. Contradictory, maybe, but the truth is a whole lot sadder than that. The truth is a skinny, beat up little boy somewhere in an alley, staring up with wondering eyes at the kid who’d stepped in when he didn’t have a single damn reason to.

If this is Steve’s last chance to be around him, he’s not walking away until Bucky makes him.

It’s a blow that never comes. There’s a sudden, firm grip on his arm, an unspoken stay that would root him to the spot if he really had been about to leave — and Bucky’s shaking his head. His words cut through the uncertainty that’s still welling up inside Steve’s chest, so strong that it almost feels like the source is the point of contact around his bicep. But Bucky keeps talking, saying things that don’t make sense for a handful of seconds, until —

You’re missing stuff.

After the river.

Wide blue eyes take in Bucky’s appearance head to toe all over again, and now that they’re not clouded over with shock or disbelief or even the still-present grief in his chest, he’s able to get a proper look at Bucky for the first time. Notices that there’s something decidedly different about him, apart even from the obvious details of his shorn hair and clothing. There’s more of a bulk to those shoulders, something about the set of his mouth and eyes —

And Steve's foot finally lands on the stair he’d been missing all along.

You found me. Still not the same thing as Bucky coming back, but it’s close enough that Steve doesn’t try to immediately quash the renewed, tentative furl of hope. His hand makes an abortive little movement, like it wants to reach out and grip Bucky's shoulder but thinks the better of it; it’s on the tip of his tongue to say you didn’t run, but that’s not Steve’s call to make — he isn’t going to put his own words in anyone’s mouth, let alone this one, of all people. ]

You knew you weren’t safe. It was the smart thing to do. [ Is what he says instead, softly and steadily at first, and then more haltingly, ] I know you’re — saying it’s not like that, not how it’s gonna be, but …

[ Again, uncertainty. Again that sense of misbalance that he struggles with silently, and the strain of it shows in Steve’s voice when he asks abruptly, ]

How do you want it to be?

[freightcars]

[ They could go back and forth all day about whether or not what he did was smart or cowardice, whether he was running from Steve or he was running from himself. They could debate about what might've happened, when he probably should have found a way to reach out to Steve himself, the better ways it could've gone down. At the end of the day, though, it went how it went -- and that only really matters to himself right now, because Steve's got a big gaping hole where that memory ought to be.

This feels like such a heavy conversation to be having somewhere like this - a hallway in a strange safe house in the middle of a city neither of them know. Then again, where in the hell's the right place for them to hash this out, right?

He's picked up on the fact that they gotta learn to take what time they get, because inevitably something insane's gonna happen to screw it up and rock their boat.

The expression he wears isn't sad exactly, so much as... regretful, maybe empathetic, apologetic? Some bits of each, layered into the furrow in his brow and the way he chews on the insides of his cheeks so hard it sort of sucks them in to make his face look a little more angular, almost gaunt.

He dips his eyes, but only for a second - they're back again right away. ]

Can't be like it was. Just- because of everything.

[ They're not the same people they were. He's not even sure who he is now, and whether or not that person is someone Steve will even like anymore. Hell, he doesn't even know what Steve likes, so he can't start hazarding guesses.

But (to him, at least) it doesn't matter. Whatever it turns out to be, he wants it. ]

I wanna figure it out. I want it to still be... you and me.

[ Line's not at its end yet, right?

Just a different incarnation to suit the new them. Fewer cigarettes, more touch screens. Whatever that is.

Which- of course, only-- ]

If you want.

[soldiers]

[ In retrospect, that might've been a question he's not prepared to hear the answer to. After all, just because Steve's not being dismissed doesn't mean there’s anything that Bucky wants from him, let alone the friendship that Steve had so thoroughly, horribly forfeited. The bracing hand on his arm could be nothing more than a polite gesture, something Bucky feels obliged to do out of respect for their past rather than what their future holds.

But Steve's gone and asked him now, hasn’t he? And that means he gets maybe a split-second to second-guess before Bucky’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, his brow furrowing, and Steve knows a reply is on its way whether he’s ready to hear it or not.

It's not at all what he expects.

Having it be like it was — Steve hadn’t dared to even imagine that, much less hope for anything along those lines, and a little bewilderment creeps into his gaze at the expression of regret in Bucky’s drawn face as he writes it off. Almost apologetic, as though he thinks he's denying Steve something, and he doesn’t like the fact that he has to — as though it were a real possibility, and not the vaguest of dreams.

But the real answer to his question comes in the next moment, and Steve’s heart gives a strange, painful thump, going off-beat. You and me, Bucky says, puts the ampersand between them back into place as easy as anything. The hesitation comes a second later, in the form of a caveat that Steve can’t believe his ears are hearing, and the muscles underneath Bucky’s hand stiffen with the shock of it. ]

I didn’t — [ No, that's not how he wants to start that sentence, and Steve shakes his head as he presses his lips together for a brief, pensive second. When he speaks again, it's slow and sad, his face tilted to the side. ]

Thought that wasn’t ever gonna be on the table, again.

[ And because there's still some uncertainty threading through him, a damning shadow of doubt lurking in his head that he can’t shake, Steve doesn’t manage to say exactly what’s on his mind: that he’ll take whatever Bucky’s putting on offer.

Instead, soft and almost incredulous, ]

‘Course I want.

[ And this time he’s looking right at Bucky as he says it, everything he can't put into words written on his face, plain as day. ]

[freightcars]

[ All this work, all this uncertainty, all this back and forth - and at the end of the day, it's just that they're both morons isn't it? It was never really a question, there wasn't really any other alternative, it's just that they're both screwed up by time and recent history to feel like they're on solid ground with each other.

He'd like to get it back to a place where even if everything else is up in the air, even if the entire world's burning down, they have one stable, constant thing that doesn't ever feel like a question.

So, if he looks faintly amused, it's not because he's laughing at Steve in particular. It's just... them. This. All of it. ]

Alright.

[ Glad they got that out of the way.

A slow, dry drawl: ]

You wanna figure out why we're in the goddamn future again?

[ Further, even. ]

[soldiers]

[ The vague amusement on Bucky's face is familiar enough, but so far and away from what part of Steve still expects to see that ... well, it'll take some getting used to. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel an answering ripple of it in his own chest, somehow; it results in some of the tension draining out of his shoulders, his expression, makes it easier for him to consider Bucky's question without everything else in his head clouding it out.

It's a good question. ]

I do.

[ But the back of one hand comes up to rub across his eyes as he admits, ]

Think I wanna figure out something for this hangover I've got first, though. Kinda got ... carried away.

[ A one-shouldered shrug, and Steve's gaze meets Bucky's wry one before it flicks over his shoulder instead, back at the entrance of the hallway, ostensibly with the intent to keep an eye on the people milling there. They still have some semblance of privacy off to the side, or at least as much privacy as can be gotten in a place like this. ]

[freightcars]

[ The amusement grows minutely; if he was reserved in his expressiveness before the fall it's nothing compared to now. Maybe Steve can still pick it up easy enough, but he'll have to do it with way fewer details. The curve to his lips is small, the slitting in his eyes barely hinting at good humor. ]

Jesus, you're a lightweight again.

[ And... yeah, he maybe sounds a little pleased about that, too. He's got some pretty fond memories of shoving way too much alcohol down a throat that slender, and some pretty disappointing ones with Steve drinking after the change. No matter how much the commandos threw at him, he never got that flush back to his cheeks.

--and then the sudden realization that does properly manifest, because: ]

Jesus, I'm a lightweight again.

[ Maybe Steve could've guessed that after the run-ins leading up to the Helicarrier, that he's had the same exact immunity - not exactly a fun thing to figure out those first few months finding himself and lashing out. Wanted more than anything to get piss-drunk, but no amount of vodka ever even put a dent in it.

This is gonna go poorly soon, he can already feel it. ]

[soldiers]

[ Thing is, it's not even that Steve’s directly picking up on any shift in expression, although he thinks he is at first, accustomed to the serum catching the slightest fraction of a difference in anyone’s physicality. But Bucky’s pleased little rib about him being a lightweight reminds Steve why he’s currently in this state to begin with — because, as far as he can tell, he doesn’t have the serum anymore. So then, how…?

Jesus, I’m a lightweight again, stops him from puzzling overlong on what, exactly, he’s noticing. If he paid a bit more attention, maybe he might’ve started picking up on the fact that there was something about the point of contact between his bicep and Bucky’s fingers. But — ]

Again? [ He can’t keep the tinge of amusement out of his own voice, and it’s involuntary — a sort of muscle memory response to Bucky talking to him like this, Steve's mouth moving without his permission. ]

Since when were you a —

[ Then his brain jerks the reins and he’s left mouthing wordlessly for a second, the penny dropping; there’s that damn sense of off-kilter again, and Steve flounders for a long, awkward second before regaining his composure. Untimely missteps every now and then aren’t something he can allow himself to get tripped up by, not for long.

It's with this thought in mind that he glances back at Bucky, the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips and the hint of a challenge in his eyes. ]

... Wanna test it out?

[ Maybe not the smartest idea, but this is the one guy who knows better than anyone exactly how smart Steve's ideas can get. Especially when the two of them are left to their own devices. ]

[freightcars]

[ His hand slips away from Steve's shoulders at some point, not a deliberate release so much as an absent transition. Something easier, a little more natural, a little slower. There's a quirk on his lips at the start of a tease, and it falters when it doesn't fully manifest.

His chin dips, but only for a second.

He'd like to get back to a place where Steve doesn't feel like he's walking on eggshells. He's not the kind of fragile Steve's thinking. He's not a ticking time bomb, he's the kind that needs a nuclear launch code. Subtle but important distinction.

But they're moving on, picking up, glossing over fumbles with intention and meaning. His amusement's almost completely replaced with scrutiny. Almost. ]

Hair of the dog?

[ Two-day drinking session? He's not judging, it's not a hard no. God only knows how good it might feel to sit around and get a little buzzed with his best friend for the first time in his incarnation.

He's just gotta point it out, is all. Pick up his role as the voice of reason, a little "think twice and make sure you're sure". ]

All those people trying to bring down Captain America and it'll be alcohol poisoning that finally does him in.

[soldiers]

[ The absence of the touch at his arm means that Steve’s flying in blind now, albeit without knowing it outright. He senses it, though, that same sensation in his stomach he’s had countless times before, getting ready to leap into something headfirst before looking.

It’s as familiar as the scrutinizing look Bucky levels his way, and he knows that tone, too: Bucky trying to reason with him in a way that’s more formality than anything else. It sends an odd pang through him, nostalgia and fondness both; Bucky had been the voice of good sense between the two of ‘em, same as he’d been Steve’s partner in crime every single time.

Don’t do anything stupid until I get back. Meaning, don’t start without him. ]

I mean, I hear it works.

[ Besides, not like this place has any other hangover cure handy — not even a drop of coffee, which is nothing less than a tragedy. Bucky’s next words pull his attention in a new way, though, and Steve gives him a sudden, keen glance. Intent and searching.

It’s unclear whether he finds what he’s looking for, but when he speaks again, it's with the beginnings of the first, real smile on his face. ]

You ready to follow Captain America into the depths of the liquor cabinet?

[ A wry, sotto voce callback to his stage voice, because Bucky’s the only person who can toss his title at him and have Steve react like this. Almost a drawl. It sounds exactly as ridiculous as he’d thought it would, and Steve jabs a thumb over at the entrance of the hallway, taking a step toward it. And then another, his body angled toward the threshold but his gaze on Bucky.

If he's not careful, he's probably gonna trip. ]

[freightcars]

[ That's one of the things everyone always got wrong about them - it wasn't Nanny Barnes chasing down Steve Rogers the Troublemaker trying to mom him out of whatever he set his mind to do. Not usually, anyway. More often it was at least one or two reminders about the consequences, and then a show about being drug into something like he's not perfectly capable of turning around and going the other way.

They both goddamn know hair of the dog doesn't work, and his look says who're you trying to kid?

For the first time, real and proper, he can't stop a smile from going wide enough to show teeth. It's the goddamn stage voice, it's how dumb the call-back is, it's the stupid twist, it's the fact that it's happening in such an absurd and unbelievable setting.

An extremely exasperated shake to his head, but he's coming - while dryly answering in effortless deadpan. ]

You put on the outfit first and I'll follow you into whatever bottle you're about to crawl into.

[ A beat, followed by an amendment and a flickering glance to Steve's feet. ]

As long as you don't give yourself a concussion on the way there.

[soldiers]

[ Steve receives that look loud and clear, and his growing smile goes unrepentant when he catches the glint of teeth, an amused huff escaping him at the ribbing about his old stage costume.

He can’t really hide how pleased the comment makes him, either — the fact that Bucky remembers, his quick deadpan showing that knows exactly what Steve’s talking about, that this a memory they both share. ]

So it’s the outfit you’ve been following, huh. I see how it is.

[ Loftily, a hand automatically going out to make sure he doesn’t bump into anything, which seems a lot more likely to happen now that he’s serum-less. The ground between him and Bucky might be getting steadier by the minute, but the one beneath his feet is — well.

Bucky could be onto something about a possible concussion. Truth is, Steve doesn’t want to turn all the way around, reluctant to take his eyes off of Bucky even for the handful of minutes it would take for them to cross the stretch from here to the kitchen. There’s some small part of him convinced that if he lets Bucky out of his sight, he might not be there when Steve turns around. Disappear like the dream Steve had believed him to be, at first.

He doesn’t let that irrational worry show in his face, though; tamps down on it until he can almost convince himself that walking half-backward to the kitchen is just him building off of the renewed dynamic they’ve got going.

It almost works, too. Right up until they actually reach the kitchen, and the door that Steve assumes to be behind him is, in fact, a person. Who does not take kindly to some newcomer shouldering him, and Steve realizes his mistake in the half-second between the angry watch where you’re going, asshole, and the rough shove that sends him sprawling to the floor. ]

[freightcars]

[ Bucky's thinking it doesn't take an empathy bond to start taking on Steve's feeling - it's almost like a giddiness, it's absolutely some kind of relief, some happiness-bred something that he's picking up in that smile and in these stupid quips, and in the way this moron moonwalks toward alcohol. It's something he starts feeling plant itself in his chest, too, and it's something entirely new.

New for this incarnation of himself, anyway. Something he hasn't had the opportunity to feel since he woke up, something he forgot existed, but the seed is planted and growing.

Some things feel the same, like parts of their exchange so far.

Some things are incredibly different than they were.

Steve hits the ground, and once upon a time he'd have been on the other guy immediately. He'd be giving out a cool lesson on keeping your damn hands to yourself because accidents happen, maybe you should get the hell out of here.

That's not how it goes this time. The glower he levels their stranger with is dark, instantly stony, suddenly expressionless. He doesn't make any move to touch, because (he knows even without the serum it wouldn't take much to get an arm behind his back and snap, there are four pressure points he could hit to drop the guy, a metal fist still has no give to a throat beneath it whether or not he can bench press a truck, but the easiest way to drop him would be one swift grip to the back of his skull and he could slam it nose-first onto the counter and possibly break it clean through to-) he doesn't do that anymore.

One second of pause, and then he silently dips his hand down to Steve instead. Touch-bond completely forgotten in favor of the need to pull him back up to his feet again. Fix instead of fight. ]

[soldiers]

[ Great. This is the second time in twelve hours that Steve’s landed face-forward in the kitchen, and the first thing he feels is sheer chagrin. He’d begun to realize yesterday that perhaps he'd gotten too used to the serum, that without it, there’s a few cracks in his reflexes that need to be re-caulked. Almost like how it'd been when they’d first put it in him — that same ungainly quality to his limbs, unable to properly gauge the strength in his movements, his touch, his footfall.

Except it’s the other way around now. Not as bad as it would be if he were his skinnier self, and exacerbated by his current hangover, but it’s clearly gonna take another day or two for his body to calibrate with its new limitations. And with that thought comes an intermingling rush of gratitude and affection; doesn't matter how bad it gets here, as long as he’s got Bucky with him.

It's so natural to just reach out and grab Bucky's proffered hand that he doesn’t think twice, something he's done a hundred times if he's done it once. As such, the muted, darker thrum of emotion that hits him upon doing so is entirely noticeable. For one thing, it’s not his own. Startles him more than his recent acquaintance with the floor had just done, and he forgets who’s behind him in lieu of staring into Bucky’s face with a new understanding of what’s been happening.

Bucky, though. Bucky’s got his gaze fixed on the guy over Steve’s shoulder, his face shuttered like someone’s pulled the blinds closed behind his eyes. It’s a look that matches what Steve’s sensing from him, dark and contemplative and carefully blank in a way that one would think Steve recognizes from more recent history, but in fact reminds him of Bucky when he was younger. During the war, in an alley, in a dimly lit bar. ]

Yeah, okay. Sorry.

[ Distracted, called out without even turning around, but an apology is the furthest from his mind right now. Does this thing go both ways? That’s what Steve’s wondering, trying figure out, and he lowers his voice to add: ]

Just not my day, I guess. Think I'm a magnet for trouble right now.

[ The humour in his voice is directed at himself, dry and self-deprecating, faintly embarrassed. Underneath is something placating and soft and curious. ]

[freightcars]

[ It's a little disheartening, in a way. For just a little bit, just ten or fifteen minutes, he probably had Steve feeling good about him. Confident, maybe. Secure in Bucky's stability, and thriving on seeing pieces of the man he used to be. The second they touch and everything's exchanged, he knows that's blown clean out of the water.

Can't be like it was.

This is why. It's a piece that's just there, it's something he's learned to reform himself around instead of completely remove. There's no getting rid of it, and there's only so much denying he's willing to do before he considers it negligent to the people around him.

What matters, he hopes, is that he knows what he could do and at every given opportunity he chooses the opposite. It isn't a compulsion, he has no desire to follow through.

But he could.

Immediately after he realizes his mistake, in the ensuing two or three seconds after Steve's on his feet, he's expecting backlash. Mistrust, discomfort, some kind of pity or scrutiny or alarm. Any of it would be rational, any of it would make sense, any of it he'd almost be inclined to agree with.

That's not what he gets.

In some stupid, twisted, back-asswards pretzel psychology way it almost feels worse. He lets go instantly, dropping his palm to scrub it against his pants in a manner that should look absent but probably doesn't.

Don't placate him. He doesn't deserve it.
Don't get curious, because he doesn't want you looking at it.
Don't be gentle with him, because god knows he hasn't been something soft in decades. You don't pet a knife, you just slice your hand open trying.

Carefully toneless: ]

You wanna get us that drink?

[soldiers]

[ Well, at least that answers what he’d been wondering — this does go both ways, and apparently Bucky’d figured that out already.

He’s pretty sure it’s not about him — or at least, that Bucky’s reaction isn’t because of anything Steve’s done wrong. And hell, Bucky's got more than enough right to refuse such a connection; it was one thing to know a guy so well you could guess what he was feeling, and another to feel it so intimately. But in the time it takes for Bucky to drop his hand and scrub it across the fabric of his pants, there’s a sting that hits Steve somewhere between the ribs, and it shows on his face.

It’s gone in the next second, though, as Bucky suggests that he go get them that drink, in a voice as deliberately blank as his expression had been. Steve scrunches his lips to the side as he listens, dropping his gaze and nodding slowly.

Then he looks back up, and in a somber voice, informs Bucky: ]

You have a very sweaty hand.

[ Except he doesn't, and that was probably a stupid thing to say considering Bucky did wipe his palm just now, but that’s all Steve says before turning on his heel and heading off toward the mini-bar. He can feel the back of his neck prickle with heat, feeling foolish and oddly bereft, ignores it in favour of ducking behind the bar to grab a couple of bottles. Beer for him, whiskey for Bucky.

When he swivels around, a little too quick to be natural, Bucky’s still there. Relieved, Steve pads his way back over, holding out the whiskey with a thoughtful expression. He thinks of what he'd felt a moment ago, the way Bucky'd pulled his hand back and all the possible reasons why.

It hadn't been immediate, had it? Not in reaction to the touch alone, to Steve sensing what Bucky'd shuttered away inside himself, but more in response to the tentative feeler Steve had sent out. ]

How about we make this more interesting?

[freightcars]

[ That somber observation is ridiculous enough that a scoff breaks out of him, half a laugh and half feigning some kind of offense. Thanks for that, Rogers. It eases some of the tension out of him, at least. Enough that when he accepts the bottle his shoulders relax an inch or so, go soft (as soft as metal can).

He's in the process of screwing the cap off his bottle when Steve pitches what feels like a challenge, and he pauses midway.

Levels Steve with a scrutinizing look. ]

I feel like nothing good ever comes after you ask that.

[ But that's because he almost always accepts, so... ]

Let's hear it.

[soldiers]

[ Bucky's not wrong, although that jibe and the look that accompanies it has Steve pulling an amused, mock-affronted face. It’s less of a challenge than the first suggestion for them to test out their alcohol tolerance had been — but with higher stakes attached. Well, depending on if Bucky’s game to try. ]

Drinking game.

[ Said promptly with a nod toward one of the stools off at the side, but Steve’s keeping an eye on Bucky’s body language as he does so. More focused now that he’s realized he can’t use the serum as a crutch to catch the little things. ]

You try and guess what I think about something, and vice versa. Whoever gets something wrong has to take a shot — two, if we're badly off-target. [ He pops open the cap of his bottle, but doesn’t take a drink just yet, and there’s something of an apology in Steve's voice as he adds, ]

But we don’t have to, it was just … [ A shrug, taking his seat at the bar, still turned facing Bucky. ] I don’t know, I figured it’d be better than taking shots in the dark.

[ A step back from directly feeling what the other person is, but more concrete to go off of than … than whatever it is they’re doing now. ]

[freightcars]

[ Drinking game's exactly what he figured it would be, it's just a matter of what Steve deemed the rules were. He'd be lying if he said he didn't piece together it probably had to do with the empathy bond, just hadn't nailed down the specifics before prompting.

At the proposed rule, Bucky's eyes narrow into something wry and knowing.

If he'd even thought for a second about gracefully bowing out, any beginnings of the notion would've dissipated at that almost immediate cop-out. It's not something he's seen a lot in Steve, and it's an indicator just how uncertain his footing must feel right now - whether because of the place, or specifically because of Bucky.

He sighs with something that sounds like resignation at inevitable suffering, but moves to take a seat on one of those stools. ]

Okay.

[ He'll play.

Seems a little unfair that he's on liquor while Steve's nursing a beer, but he'll correct that at the first opportunity he catches on Steve. ]

But you gotta go first. Give me an example to go by.

[ So he can get an idea of how this is supposed to go. ]

[soldiers]

[ If Bucky’s thinking the deck is a bit stacked against him, he’s onto something. It’s Steve’s latent tendencies as a former five foot nothing coming out to play, evening the field wherever and however he can, with a side order of being a punk about it.

It’s also something else. One of the last times they’d sat together to drink had been in that pub in London in ’43. Steve with his foamy mugs of beer, Bucky knocking back the harder stuff. Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn —

Steve might’ve had that memory in his head when he’d grabbed their respective bottles. ]

Okay, [ he agrees easily, and then pauses once he realizes he’s stuck, not having planned for this. ]

Uh, how about … [ Can’t cheat this openly and go off of what had gone down just a few minutes prior. Can’t tread somewhere he’s unsure about, either, even if once upon a time he wouldn’t have had a second thought before doing so. Steve’s brow furrows as he thinks hard for a brief second — and then something clicks.

That long-suffering sigh from a moment ago. Pointing at Bucky with the bottle in his hand, Steve accuses him mildly, ]

You don’t actually mind that we’re doing this.

[ There. Something safe. Something he might have the right answer to, but even if he doesn’t, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. ]

[freightcars]

[ He seems amused while Steve searches for something for his own damn game. Didn't have anything concrete in mind when you pitched it? You know what, actually, that completely tracks. Jumping straight off the ledge without a parachute, running in half-cocked to wing it. It's on brand.

He's taken to occupying his hands by fishing out a short glass, something he can pour whiskey into rather than drinking from the bottle like a caveman. He's sure as hell not gonna down the whole thing if he gets an answer wrong, but they can play for drinks instead of shots.

Probably better to not accidentally kill Steve on the day of their reunion.

He hums softly at the assertion, chin tipping up an inch and back down as he considers it. ]

Fifty fifty.

[ He decides, fingers curled around his glass, one elbow settling onto the bar so he's more parallel than perpendicular. ]

I like the idea of getting on the same page, but I get the feeling you're gonna start touching on some stuff later on-- because you're curious as hell, but you're walking on your toes thinking you're gonna step wrong.

[ He means that to be his turn. He's bundling them together, two birds one stone - indicates as much by pointing the rim of his glass at Steve.

So, who drinks? Anybody? Does that count? ]

[soldiers]

[ Well. Fifty-fifty means half-wrong, half-right, and while Steve can play dirty if he thinks it’s strategic, he definitely won’t play bad, so he takes a swig right out the bottle after Bucky finishes talking, eyebrows raised in salute. Besides, he’s getting more out of that answer than just being half-right, anyway.

Sure, they’ve been getting back to some familiarity with each other, but to hear it out in the open, that Bucky wants to be on the same page with Steve — when just a while ago, Steve hadn’t thought Bucky was interested in even seeing him again — it feels good.

He watches Bucky palm the glass back and forth, pour himself some whiskey, and mulls over his words (which Steve takes to be his turn). Almost finds himself wishing he'd picked a different sort of game, that he could just ask Bucky what he means by that. ]

If I’m tip-toeing through the tulips, it’s because I already did step wrong. [ Their conversation about lightweights — but the way Bucky phrases himself, links Steve being curious and touching on stuff to a misstep, prompts Steve to add slowly, ]

But not wrong in the way you’re figuring. [ So you might gotta take a drink yourself, pal. ] I’m not … it’s not you I’m worried about.

[ It’s this thing between them — the tiny candle-flame of their bond that Steve had long since believed to have gone out. But it’s flickering back to life now, and he’s intensely aware of every brush of wind near it. This game itself could wind up being a gust, if he's not careful to cup his fingers around it.

On the other hand, he knows Bucky, being a straightforward guy, appreciates that attitude in turn. Respects it. Steve himself is similar, understands where that comes from, and so there's only a few seconds of silent struggle before he makes up his mind. ]

You think I’m worried about setting you off.

[freightcars]

[ He'll concede to taking a sip, but it's a little reluctantly - he's not so sure he's completely wrong, because he's thinking it's more complicated than maybe the way either of them are putting it into words. Feels almost like a feedback loop, I'm worried about you being worried about me but also I'm worried about you being worried about yourself. He doesn't know how the hell to say that without sounding like a crazy person.

This game might be a good idea, has it turns out. He's coming around to it. His fear had been they'd start venturing down a darker road, with Steve pressing into the flash of insidiousness he surely picked up on when sharing Bucky's emotions. He wants to keep that door closed, but as far as laying out in clean terms just exactly where they stand as people? What their dynamic is, what it should or shouldn't be?

Yeah, he sees the benefit in that. He has a tendency to err on the side of blunt, unsparing of the less than savory details of a situation. Packaging this all up under the guise of a game strips away a barrier, gives them a pretense for doing it without it being apropos. Doesn't feel like the timing's wrong like this.

He blows out a breath. ]

No. [ A beat, a correction. ] Maybe.

[ And he seems to struggle for a second to decide how he wants to phrase it, lips pulling up on one side - not into any kind of grin or emotive expression, just... the way he winds up showing off his back teeth sometimes when he talks. ]

Not exactly. I think you're worried you're gonna... bring up something from the past and it's gonna make me- I don't know. Like you think you gotta keep things separate, maybe, or...

[ Jesus, he can't articulate what it is his instincts are reading. He gives up partway through with an upturned palm and a tiny shrug. Decides to wrap it up with at least one clear statement. ]

I don't think you think I'm fragile, if that's what you mean.

[ Mentally. Maybe he's picking up the wrong interpretation of setting you off. ]