Real Estate.

[onlyforthedream]

Being free to walk the island is almost as gratifying as being free to scour it will be. I'm taking care with my shoulder and the mostly-healed incision long my right side. A tropical environment is rife with opportunities for infection, as careful as I may be and as skilled as the clinic staff demonstrably is. Still, I'm out of bed, feeling better than I have in weeks- in just about as long as I can remember, if I'm honest- out in just blue jeans and a white t-shirt, surveying the layout of the place. There are boardwalks that lead out to the beach, well trodden paths, a sizable junkyard, it looks like- and people's homes. Some look like traditional, stilted island huts, of a good size and solid build. Some look more like small, modern houses. It definitely feels like a settlement, though, a community. One that I am not at present a part of.

I follow a trail south, crossing a creek as I do, and come out on sand that slopes down to ocean that looks like it goes on for forever. It's a pretty stretch- you can see a sort of curling peninsula that comes off the main body of the island a little ways out, like a sandbar. The place where the island curves northward, maybe the next direction I'll head, is lush and a darker green where it curves around the base of the mountain.

It's nice, down here. After a moment I turn and start to walk in the direction of what I have been told is dinosaur territory, and as I go I see a figure that is instantly familiar. I lift a hand, my right one come to that, in greeting.

"Bucky."

Comments

[onlyapassenger]

It's been a trying couple of weeks, and there are days the only thing that keeps Bucky from flying off the handle is pushing his body's limits, running himself ragged until the itch to punch something more challenging than a bag doesn't nag at him quite so much. He's been out for hours already, his shirt soaked through with sweat, when he comes across Steve heading in the opposite direction, but that his old friend looks healthier than he has since he arrived barely registers over the fact that he's outside in the middle of the day instead of in the clinic; Bucky's not sure whether to be annoyed or pleased.

Slowing to a stop, he eyes Steve's raised hand, brows taking a hike towards his hairline, even as he pulls free the canteen from his belt.

"You sweet talking son of a gun," he pants, shaking his head. "Couldn't stand it anymore, huh?"