Steve Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onlyforthedream) wrote2011-10-25 12:38 am
onlyforthedream) wrote2011-10-25 12:38 am
Entry tags:
[III]
There are, immediately, the smells of motor oil; mortar; gunsmoke and the sea. The North Atlantic. I would know where I am just from breathing in the air, though finding myself just here, on this bike, chasing this plane for the third time in what feels like moments removes any need for guesswork.
The words ever again are dying on my lips when I turn the bike, hard. I have a better sense this time of what I’m doing, of how far we have til the bike careens over the edge, of how fast we’re going. There’s a new smell, one of burning rubber, as the little German motorcycle scrapes along the battlement. I turn, grab Bucky across the chest, and throw us both to the ground as the bike loses its balances and goes skittering away, off into the ocean. We land, and skid a ways, on my back, where the shield is covered by my enlisted man’s shirt. When we’ve come to a stop I roll onto my side and start to rip off what’s left of the shredded khaki uniform.
“Buck,” I say, “you okay?”
The words ever again are dying on my lips when I turn the bike, hard. I have a better sense this time of what I’m doing, of how far we have til the bike careens over the edge, of how fast we’re going. There’s a new smell, one of burning rubber, as the little German motorcycle scrapes along the battlement. I turn, grab Bucky across the chest, and throw us both to the ground as the bike loses its balances and goes skittering away, off into the ocean. We land, and skid a ways, on my back, where the shield is covered by my enlisted man’s shirt. When we’ve come to a stop I roll onto my side and start to rip off what’s left of the shredded khaki uniform.
“Buck,” I say, “you okay?”
no subject
The beginnings of a bruise color shade his jaw a dull purple from where Steve struck him earlier, but the cold fury burning behind Bucky’s eyes has nothing to do with a bit of friendly fire. His heart’s sitting in his throat as he spares the briefest of glances down at Zemo, then looks back up to Steve.
“Because I had to,” he says, and isn’t that the same old refrain?
’It had to be done... So I did it. Simple as that.’
“Because that’s what I was trained to do. What Captain America-- What you couldn’t... Or shouldn’t do.”
no subject
“There has to be another way.”