#STRETCHING THOSE GOOD GOOD MARYA BONES

[thalassous]

Can you do Mary Bolkonskaya in cheers for C7 or C9 please? thank you sm!! (I’m on anon bc I am scared of not being cool enough if you check my blog 😔)

hello anon!!!! a ms bolkonskaya for you!!!!!

[nickborisov]

NIKOLAI BORISOV | THE ICARUS 

“IT WAS A PLEASURE TO BURN.” -RAY BRADBURY 

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: nikolai borisov

MEANING:

nikolai ( slavic ) - victory of the people

borsiov ( russian ) - of boris

NICKNAME(S): nik, kolya, firebug, nikashka, pup (only by his father)

PREFERRED NAME(S): nikolai, nik

BIRTH DATE: august 9th, 1990

AGE: 30

ZODIAC: leo

GENDER: male

PRONOUNS: he / his

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual

NATIONALITY: russian

ETHNICITY: russian

CURRENT LOCATION: verona, italy

LIVING CONDITIONS: nikolai is used to moving around, so he doesn’t put much stock in where exactly he lives. his apartment is out of the way of most of the city’s main thoroughfare, near several abandoned warehouses so that he can work and create without drawing a lot of attention. it’s nicer than he would normally find for himself, because he’s been in verona longer than he’s ever been anywhere else--it has a balcony, a spare room for a makeshift workshop, and a nice kitchen.

TITLE(S): the icarus, nick bottom, fireman, that russian arsonist, that crazy bastard

BACKGROUND

BIRTHPLACE / HOMETOWN: murmansk, russia

SOCIAL CLASS: nik grew up with a single father, so he was always lower middle class. when he initially started traveling he often found himself living meal to meal, but then he discovered that people were willing to pay a lot of money for his specific set of skills. he has more money than he really knows what to do with, he just chooses not to use it most of the time--he doesn’t care about advancing his social standing or buying himself nice things.

EDUCATION LEVEL: dropped out of high school.

FATHER: andrei borisov

MOTHER: marya morozov

SIBLING(S): none as far as he knows. he doesn’t have a relationship with his mother--she could have more children he doesn’t know about.

CHILDREN: none

PET(S): none--but he makes an effort to feed any stray that he might come across, give them a pet and a smile.

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: nik never really met the rest of his family--they all moved away from murmansk at some point, and nik and his father could rarely afford to travel that far. occasionally he might get a call from an aunt or an uncle on a holiday, but those were pretty few and far between. his mother wanted nothing to do with him, so he knows nothing about her side of the family.

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS:

edward little : a university student with an interest in studying the arctic. they were together for a little over a year when ed got a grant to study in norway, and nik just decided to move on.

zaid khadem : a poet that nik met in cairo. they were together for a couple of months before nik moved on again.

anna fallon : a singer / songwriter from new york city. they lived together for nearly three years before her career and nik’s restless nature drew them in separate directions.

ARRESTS?: too many to count--especially when he was just starting out.

PRISON TIME?: at this point in his life, nik is pretty good at avoiding real jail time.

OCCUPATION + HOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: arson and designing explosive devices for the montagues and the capulets, or anyone who can afford to hire him.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: n/a

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: absolutely, it’s the only thing he’s really ever been good at, and its the only thing he’s ever really understood with any clarity. fire makes sense to him, fire brings him comfort--if he wasn’t lighting fires he thinks that the ice he was born into would wear away at his bones, and his life would lack any purpose.

PAST JOB(S): nik has only ever lit fires and orchestrated explosions professionally--before that he relied on stealing to stay alive.

SPENDING HABITS: there was no extra money when he was growing up, and now that he’s making an absurd amount of money he doesn’t really like spending it, or know what to spend it on. he gets what he needs to survive, maybe an occasional gift for the people that he cares about, and that’s really it. he refuses to become like the upper class he’s seen in verona--and he doesn’t think they would accept him, even if he did decide to start spending his money and clean up his image.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: his first lighter, which he lifted from his father. he doesn’t use it anymore, but it reminds him of where he came from, all of the reasons that he won’t go back.

SKILLS + ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 5/10? pretty average--he’s tall and thin but his frame has some muscle to it. arson doesn’t require a whole lot of physical strength, but he enjoys boxing as a way to burn off excess energy, and he lived on the streets for a long time which taught him that he needed to be able to protect himself at a moment’s notice.

OFFENSE: 6/10. fighting was pretty much the only thing to do to waste time when he was growing up, and he likes to box in his spare time.

DEFENSE: 8/10. traveling and living on the streets of various countries taught him to defend what he has, by any means necessary.

SPEED: 7/10. running is the action he engages in most often--running from explosions or infernos, from the police--he has to be fast in order to keep himself alive and out of jail.

INTELLIGENCE: impossible to really define? he’s not book smart by any stretch of the imagination, he knows a lot about survival and he’s got a natural ability with languages. he also has the ability to construct complicated explosive devices and can determine the best way to light up any kind of building. he just isn’t quite like everyone else and his mind doesn’t work like everyone else’s mind works--but that doesn’t mean that he lacks intelligence.

ACCURACY: 4/10. he’s only shot a gun a couple of times, and he doesn’t really possess the patience to make himself a better marksman.

AGILITY: 8/10. also nessecary for getting out of the way of his creations and those who would oppose them.

STAMINA: 7/10. he’s not out of shape, but he does repeatedly inhale smoke which means his lungs work at diminished capacity.

TEAMWORK: 3/10. there are few people who can interpret him, and he would rather not have to explain himself. he deals with a client in the most bare-bones way possible, and then does the work himself.

TALENTS: he’s a decent boxer, and he’s naturally adept at languages. he also, obviously, has a talent for setting fires in a variety of settings, and designing explosive devices. he knows something about forging metal as well from being in his father’s workshop, but he’s never actually used those skills.

SHORTCOMINGS: he has a tendency to run before he really gets invested in things, he prefers chaos to order and planning, and he doesn’t generally allow himself to be understood by other people.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: russian, english, italian, a little bit of arabic, a little bit of spanish, and a little bit of french.

DRIVE?: yes

JUMP-START A CAR?: yes

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes

RIDE A BICYCLE?: no

SWIM?: yes

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: no.

PLAY CHESS?: no.

BRAID HAIR?: no.

TIE A TIE?: no--he hates wearing them and will avoid it at all costs.

PICK A LOCK?: yes

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE + CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: boyd holbrook

EYE COLOR: blue / grey

HAIR COLOR: dirty blonde

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: on the longer side and unkempt--he could give a damn about taking care of it, and he’ll shove it under a beanie or some other kind of hat 9 times out of 10.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: none.

DOMINANT HAND: left

HEIGHT: 6′2

WEIGHT: 160

BUILD: tall and wiry--any muscle he has is very lean.

EXERCISE HABITS: boxing, running as part of his job.

SKIN TONE: the sun was a luxury where he grew up, so he tends to be pretty pale.

TATTOOS: a match and a lighter on his chest, his father’s initials in cyrillic on the inside of his wrist, an illustrated molotov on his calf from a drunken dare. he wants more--for the people he’s come to care about during his time in verona.

PIERCINGS: none.

MARKS/SCARS: he’s got burn scars of varying degrees all along his hands and arms.

NOTABLE FEATURES: cheekbones, his expressive mouth and eyes, the constant smell of kerosene and smoke.

USUAL EXPRESSION: grinning wolfishly.

CLOTHING STYLE: clothes that should have been thrown out years ago, leather jackets, flannel shirts, jeans with holes in the knees and stains that are practically archaic, doc martens, converse with holes in them, sweaters burned at the sleeves. he doesn’t really care about how he looks--he’s all about what keeps him warm and what is practical. it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to him to spend money on expensive clothes when there’s a chance they’ll just go up in smoke.

JEWELRY: a pocketknife.

MAKEUP: none.

ALLERGIES: boredom, staying in one place too long.

DIET: too much alcohol, not enough vegetables, whatever brielle will take pity on him and make for him.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none.

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ESTP

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type seven, the enthusiast--the busy, variety seeking type. spontaneous, versatile, acquisitive, scattered.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral

TEMPERAMENT: sanguine

ELEMENT: fire (lol)

PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: bodily-kinesthetic intelligence.

APPROXIMATE IQ: pretty average, but again--his type of intelligence is difficult to measure.

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: nothing diagnosed, but he struggles with anxiety and can border on manic.

SOCIABILITY: there are very few people that nik has ever allowed to try and understand him, and make a place in his life. he’s on the move constantly, so it’s easier for him to just make temporary relationships that can be easily discarded and forgotten about. having a busy single father meant he was on his own most of his life, and he has come to prefer that to prolonged contact with people.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: it takes a lot to get underneath his veneer of chaotic energy--but he does tend to feel things deeply, when he allows people and emotions to get past it. he generally believes that if he doesn’t think about complicated emotions, about pain and grief and things of that nature, if he keeps himself busy and laughing, then they won’t affect him.

OBSESSION(S): fire, explosions, having a good time, traveling.

COMPULSION(S): to run away before feelings get involved, to laugh loudly when there’s silence, to call attention to the darker and more uglier sides of society by burning down the beautiful things.

PHOBIA(S): he isn’t really afraid of anything--abandonment, maybe, if he allows himself to think about how he came into the world, and the fact that his mother very clearly didn’t want anything to do with him.

ADDICTION(S): he’s an adrenaline junkie, he’s addicted to anything that gives him a rush.

DRUG USE: he’s willing to test any of theo’s creations, but that’s about the extent of it.

ALCOHOL USE: one of his primary coping mechanisms. he’s a vodka man in terms of drink and in terms of accelerants. as long as it’s strong enough to strip paint, and it burns on the way down.

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: not if he can really help it--but he’s not exactly adverse to it either. he mostly has to see a good reason for it.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: fast, barely understood at times, a mixture of russian, Italian, and whatever else he feels expresses his feelings.

ACCENT: russian

QUIRKS: mixing his languages, sometimes he’ll forget words, or make the mistakes common to someone speaking a second or third language. he talks to himself a lot, under his breath. he flicks his lighter open and closed in his pocket when he’s anxious, and he always carries it with him. his whole life is pretty quirky.

HOBBIES: boxing, he’s learning to enjoy reading more, bothering theo in their lab or at their place, wandering the city. he generally doesn’t have a lot of time for hobbies, but since he’s been in verona longer than he has anywhere else, he’s working on developing more.

NERVOUS TICKS: dragging a hand through his hair, flicking his lighter open and closed, licking over the points of his canines.

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: to see every corner of the world, to watch it burn behind him. he generally is motivated by a desire to unsettle the dust, to spark something incredible. like an inventor or a scientist--he wants to create.

FEARS: abandonment, other than that he prides himself on not being scared of anything.

POSITIVE TRAITS: creative, resourceful, fun-loving.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: cynical, stubborn, flighty

SENSE OF HUMOR: all over the place--dad jokes, puns, sarcasm, anything that will make himself laugh primarily.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: all the time, and in several different languages. his favorite is his mother tongue, the ones he learned first.

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: bothering theo and lighting fires.

ANIMAL: any kind of dog.

BEVERAGE: vodka.

BOOK: fahrenheit 451, treasure island, the count of monte cristo

COLOR: red

DESIGNER: he doesn’t have one.

FOOD: solyanka and whatever brielle makes for him.

FLOWER: dahlia

GEM: ruby

HOLIDAY: halloween, new year’s eve

MOVIE: all three Indiana jones movies, treasure planet, rebel without a cause

QUOTE/SAYING:

“oh i don't mean you’re handsome, not in the way people think of handsome. your face seems kind. but your eyes--they’re beautiful. they’re wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire.”

-charles bukowski

SCENT: kerosene and smoke

SPORT: boxing

TELEVISION SHOW: man vs. wild, drunk history, black sails

WEATHER: anything warm--he had enough cold growing up.

VACATION DESTINATION: the mountains of nepal.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: get out of verona, hopefully with the person he loves by his side. MOST AT EASE WHEN: he’s most at ease when he’s working, or when he’s with brielle or theo. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: he’s forced to interact with any of verona’s “upper class”, people who look at him as nothing better than a stray dog. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: theo getting bored of him and keeping him out of their life for good, having nowhere else to go but back to murmansk, having no choice but to join one of the mobs. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: leaving murmansk, learning to make a living doing what he loves. BIGGEST REGRET:  not having a better relationship with his father, allowing himself to get wrapped up in the war in verona. TOP PRIORITIES: keeping theo alive, staying neutral.

[lovemesomerafael]

Others Like Me                               Chapter 16:  Responsibility

               Chapters 1 - 15        Read It On AO3

For @nephilimbecomedeviant​ because who am I to deny the swamp monster?

Barnes isn’t happy.  He can see that Marya’s upset and preoccupied, and there’s no doubt in his mind what – or who – that’s about.  He purposely hasn’t asked Jarvis if she’s visited Bucky.  He’s sure she has, and even though it’s his job, he’d just rather not know at the moment.  I know you wouldn’t let her get away with that, Stevie, but that’s what you get for dyin’ on me.  Responsibility blows.    

He finishes breakfast early and pours another cup of coffee to take with him down to the firing range.  He’s in the mood to blast some shit.  He’d brought Bucky down to the range the week before, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had such stiff competition.  Clint can beat him, but only using arrows.  Clint rarely uses guns.  Barnes and Bucky have been down here three more times, and Barnes has really enjoyed having someone else to shoot against who – he has to admit, if only to himself – is as good as he is.

But he doesn’t invite Bucky today.  He isn’t ready to see him.  Barnes knows he’s all twisted up about Marya, and Bucky, and the rift that’s opening up among the Avengers over who Bucky is, and right now he really just needs to clear his mind.  Target practice is the best meditation he knows.  

So he’s not particularly glad to see Tony show up. Tony’s a fair shot, but it’s not what he does, he just thinks it’s fun.  So he’s no competition.  He also rarely comes down here, which means he’s here for A Reason.  Shit.  Barnes cannot get a break.  

Tony sets up and gets a few shots in before, inevitably, he starts talking.  “You seen Bucky today?”

“Nah.  Why?”

“Just wondered.  Thought I’d invite him up to my lab today, maybe.”

“Huh.”

There’s a long period punctuated by the sounds of firing before Barnes is empty and pushes the button to bring his paper target back to his firing booth to be replaced.  It needs to be, because the holes in the forehead and center mass are the size of quarters, too big now to be a challenging target.  Barnes isn’t satisfied with just hitting the right area, hasn’t been for years.  He needs to hit the same bullethole every time.  

Tony’s obviously been waiting for that, because he steps around the lane divider between their booths.  “We gotta figure this out, Barnes.”

“Most of us already have,” Barnes sighs.  “You and Natasha are the holdouts.  What are you planning to do to him in your lab, play lousy music until he cracks?”

Tony’s voice is low-pitched and more serious than Barnes has heard him in a long time.  “He could destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

“He hasn’t so far.”

“Yeah, the Mandarin hasn’t taken over the planet so far, either, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give him the keys to the tower. Fuckin’ take this seriously, would you?”

When Barnes looks up, Tony actually takes a step backward from the darkly fierce look in his eyes.  He holds up his hands in surrender.  

“Think about it,” Barnes says, low and growly.  “How long do you realistically think you could keep me locked up in here?  A day? A week?  Your security is the best there is, Stark, and I could bust outta here in an hour.  He’s been here three weeks.  You been watchin’ him as close as me, you know he knows what’s holdin’ him in here.  And he ain’t done a damn thing.”

“Maybe he’s not as good as you.”

“Maybe he is, and he’s not goin’ anywhere, because he’s got nowhere to go.”

“Barnes.  There’s no way to know for sure.  Ever. Are you really willing to risk all we’ve built – all Rogers built - for this guy?”

It takes everything Barnes has not to swing on Tony for trying to use Steve’s memory to pressure him.  Tony can obviously see that, because he takes two steps backward this time.

“What are you suggesting?  You gonna kill him?  That why you’re inviting him to your lab?”

“I’m not gonna do that unless I have to.  I’m just saying, we’ve worked our asses off to put the Avengers Initiative together, to keep ourselves invisible.  Now is not the time to let down our guard.”

“My guard ain’t down,” Barnes says quietly, in a way that has Tony considering backing up another step.  “Nobody knows who we are.  Nobody knows we even exist.  How’s this guy come in here knowing everything about us – names, histories, abilities, events even – if he isn’t telling the truth?”

“I don’t know.  And that’s the bottom line, Barnes.  We don’t know.  And things are not getting better in the world, in case you haven’t noticed.  We’re stretched to the limit, especially now. I’m sorry to keep reminding you about Rogers; I feel for you, I really do.  But without him, I really don’t know how we’re gonna be able to keep taking on the Ten Rings.”

“Maybe we get a new team member.”

“Yeah, ‘cause people like us are so readily available.”  Tony’s voice gets harsher and more pressured.  He’s losing patience with this whole situation, and it’s making him very anxious, which he Does. Not. Need.  “Maybe I’ll check the classifieds:  Superhero needs a gig, flexible hours a plus. Has own cape.”    

Barnes slams a new magazine into his Beretta and turns back to pin up a new paper target.  Just as he’s about to push the button to run it back to the farthest distance, Tony startles him.

“Oh, holy fuck in a life raft.”

Tony’s tone causes Barnes to turn back to look at him.

“You mean him!  You want us to make Bucky part of the team!”  Tony’s not sure whether he’s more shocked or more disgusted.

“I didn’t say that,” Barnes shrugs.  “But we could do worse.”

“I am not fucking hearing this.”

“Just think about it.  Do whatever you gotta do, but think about it and don’t do anything permanent without talkin’ to the rest of us.”

“Unbefuckinglievable,” Tony mutters to himself as Barnes’s target reaches its destination.

*****

“I spent some time with this switch,” Tony says, not fooling Bucky for a second with his offhand tone.  Tony’s sitting on a high stool in front of a long, cluttered workbench covered with a spectacular assortment of electronic odds and ends, turning the switch around in his fingers.  Bucky stands nearby, nervously fiddling with what looks like dismantled small engines and robot parts.

“And?”

“And it’s been used.  The same way Marya’s was.  It has the same pattern of arcing.  Yours had some energy dampeners hers didn’t, that’s why your landing was a little softer than hers -”

“Wait…  My landing was softer than hers?“

“Hell, yeah.  Not only did she get crunched – her leg bones cracked like eggshells - she also got burned.  Not to mention that she crash landed within sight of Stonehenge and a whole busload of tourists saw it.  Just lucky no one got video, and all the blood kind of camouflaged that hair of hers. Anyway, I gotta hand it to myself, I really am brilliant.  This negative feedback loop with…”  Tony goes on for quite some time, praising himself and whatever he’s found in the switch. Bucky listens, but not very hard.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, when Tony stops to breathe and looks up at him.  “I told you, I just followed the directions to make it.  I understood maybe a tenth of our Stark’s notes, just enough to think it could work.”

“So you don’t agree with what I just said?”

“Stark, I don’t know what you just said.”

“Huh.  Good. Because it was all bullshit.  Now tell me about the trip.  You flip the switch, and what happens?  Be detailed, this is for science.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.  “Ever been in a blender?  Kinda like that.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing.”

“What does that mean?  It was all black?  You couldn’t understand what you were seeing?  What?”

“None of the above.  I don’t think it was all black, I think I wasn’t seeing at all, if that makes any sense.”

“Huh.  Hear anything?”

“Nope. I flipped the switch and then I was spinning so fast I was sure it was gonna rip me apart, and it damn near did.  Hurt like a mother.  And then I fell a long way and hit the ground in a different Singapore than the one in my universe.  That’s all I know.”

“How long did it take?  How long were you spinning?”

Bucky has to think about that.  “I feel like…  huh.  I feel like it was almost instant, except that I also feel like the spinning went on for…  I mean, it seems like I flipped the switch and then I was falling, with no time in between.  But I also remember thinking ‘how long can this spinning go on before my limbs rip off?’”

“Interesting.”

“Oh, and I forgot about the fire at the end.  I saw it, right when I could see again.  Felt it, too. So, basically, first I was spinning, and then I was falling.  First through fire, and then through way too fucking much air.”

Tony stares at Bucky for a long time, except he’s not really seeing him.  Bucky’s been trained to read people, but he has no idea what Tony’s thinking, only that he’s thinking fast, although Bucky’s not sure how he knows that.  

“OK.  If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know.”

“Did I pass?”

“Huh?”

Bucky tilts his head.  “C’mon.”

“All right, so I tried some technobullshit on you to see if you’d bite.  But I really don’t have any idea how it feels to travel to another universe, so there’s no right or wrong answer there.”

“And that’s more bullshit.”

Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t ask Marya all those same questions.  What’d she say?”

“I’m sure you asked her that.  You could just be parroting her answers.”

“Actually, I didn’t ask her.  Which I’m sure you know, or can find out from Jarvis quick enough.”

Tony waves a hand.  “Whatevs.  Get outta here.  I got work to do.”

“Uh-uh.  Now I have some questions for you.”

“Which I will not answer.  So how about we don’t bother.”  Tony’s already turned away from Bucky and toward his workbench.  He picks up something from the bench in front of him and starts to do something to it.

“Why are you keeping the Avengers secret?”

“It’s the Avengers Initiative, and if it was secret, you wouldn’t know about it.”

Bucky makes a face.  “Huh.  Avengers Initiative, huh?  Where I’m from, that was an old name.  Never stuck. They just called themselves the Avengers.  And they’re not secret.  Not at all. They get more press than you do.  Which, what’s with that, by the way?  I researched you, and you’re all over the press constantly. Except that guy and the one I see around here?  Two different guys.  It’s like you’re playing a part for the world.”

Tony turns around and Bucky endures another long period of scrutiny.  Once again, he can tell Tony’s thoughts are racing, but can’t get a handle on what they might be.  Whatever they are, Bucky’s surprised when they result in some answers.

“You’re just a guy, right, Bucky?  Normal dude, normal parents, nothing unusual until someone made you something unusual, right?  Shot you full of serum and gave you an uber-arm?”

Bucky shrugs.  “I guess.  I could fight before, shoot pretty good.”

“Me?  I was a weird-lookin’, skinny nerd with way too much wired energy.  Bruce?  Same. Sam, Nat, Clint?  Ordinary humans who were made extraordinary.  Do you really think the world needs a bunch of us running around?  That Mandarin freak is bad enough.  And we’re having enough trouble with run-of-the-mill terrorists.  You think we need the bad guys getting big ideas about making themselves into superhumans, too?  That’s why the Avengers Initiative is secret.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, but he’s listening intently.

“Worse yet, you want governments getting that idea?  Look at Rogers and Barnes.  The U.S. government decided it wanted supersoldiers.  Look what those two accomplished - what Barnes is still accomplishing - and there were only the two of them.  It’s actually a damn good thing Erskine was killed when that facility in Brooklyn blew up creating them.  God only knows what would’ve happened with a whole army of those guys.  Well, you guys.”

“So you’re saying you keep the Avengers Initiative secret so no one will know that superhumans are possible?  To keep the idea, and the means, out of the hands of the bad guys?”

“Among a litany of other reasons, yeah.  You disapprove?”

Bucky thinks about that.  “Be hard to argue, given the number of superhumans in my own universe.  Because you’re right.  They do cause trouble.  But then, we don’t have the kind of terrorism problem you have.”

“Yeah, because your Stark found Jesus and became a pacifist or some shit, right?”

“Something like that.  He’s not a pacifist, exactly.  Just doesn’t make weapons anymore after he was abducted.  By the Ten Rings, as a matter of fact.”

“Yeah, you said.  You’re not gonna suggest that to me, are you?”

“Would you listen?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not gonna suggest it.”

Tony smirks.  After that, an awkward silence falls.

“So, um…  I’ll go.  Thanks for answering my questions.  Let me know what else you need.  I really…” Bucky frowns as he searches for what he wants to say.  “In my universe, Project Rebirth, that was just Steve.  Me, I got my ass captured and experimented on.  I was a very bad person for a very long time.”

“The way Marya tells it, you did very bad things for a very long time, but you weren’t really a person at all.”

“Yeah, well, Marya, she’s…  She deals with all of that better than I do.  The point is, I had a chance to use all the shit they did to me, what they made me, on the right side for once.  And it felt good.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony responds warily, holding very still and suddenly watching Bucky like he’s an oncoming truck that may or may not be going to stop.  

“Look, I wouldn’t trust me, either.  Honestly, if I were you, I’d be voting to put me down. But I’m here, and I am what I am, so I’m hoping you’ll figure out a way to trust me, like you did Marya.  Because I wanna keep fighting for the good guys. I wanna help your team.”

“Shit, you don’t ask for much, do you?”

Bucky just looks at him, conviction and naked craving in his face.  For a long time, Tony doesn’t respond.  When he does, Bucky’s stunned by the change in his demeanor.  He’s never seen the Tony Stark from his universe look so… weighed down.  Tony is always overconfident, always on top of every situation, even when he’s not. But in this moment, the Tony Stark he’s looking at seems almost lost.

“Do you know why I trusted Marya?  It wasn’t because she sought me out.  It wasn’t because she had the switch.  It wasn’t me, at all.  It was Rogers.  He basically just announced that she was legit and we were bringing her on board. Just like that.  I mean, we tested her like we did you, and I studied that switch like my life depended on it because, I mean, let’s face it.  All of ours did.  But in the end, it was Cap’s decision.  And I could live with that.”

Tony sits, an elbow resting on the workbench, his mind a million miles away as he worries his chin with his fingers.  Bucky waits, fascinated.  He’s desperate for Tony to trust him, but he now understands that Tony’s never been simply cautious about Bucky.  Tony’s panic-stricken.

“I didn’t ask for this gig, you know,” Tony goes on.  His eyes have narrowed with concern, and they’re not focused on anything.  He sounds pensive, melancholy.  “I didn’t want it.  I thought I did, at first, when the idea for the Avengers Initiative first came up. But then Rogers came along and bulldozed right over me with that all-American earnestness and all his jumping out of planes without a ‘chute shit.  Man, I fuckin’ hated him!  For all those years, we fought like horny badgers.  I must’ve told him he was wrong and full of shit a million times.  I resented the living shit out of him taking over my team.  And now he’s gone, and you know what?  The shit hits the fan and everyone looks to me, and I still find myself looking behind me.  And there’s no one.  And it scares me more than any monsters or aliens or whatever the fuck else you got in your universe.  Because as much as I hated Steve Rogers sometimes, I’ll hate myself more if I fuck up the thing he gave his life for.”

Tony turns his eyes on Bucky.  “So don’t push me, Barnes.  Push me and I’ll waste you just so I don’t have to take the chance.”

Bucky nods in acknowledgment.  Maybe he doesn’t know this Tony Stark, but he knows Tony Stark.  Which means he’s entirely aware that Stark had no intention of saying any of that, certainly not to Bucky.  What Bucky’s just heard is the human equivalent of the relief valve on one of those huge, old boilers that used to explode with sickening regularity back when every apartment building used steam heat.  Bucky says nothing, because there’s nothing he can say.  Besides which, he knows Tony well enough to know he’ll lash out if Bucky tries to offer any kind of support or understanding.  He’ll also deny having said any of it if Bucky ever tries to bring it up again.  

Hands in pockets, Bucky makes his way past shelves, workbenches, and robots toward the door.

“One more thing.”

Bucky turns around.  

“I promised Marya that if you turned out to be a fake, she’d get to be the one to kill you.  Don’t for one minute think I won’t give that order if I have to.  Trusting you is hard.  Not trusting you?  That’s easy.”      

Bucky nods again.

*****

Late that evening, Marya’s in the common room when Bucky wanders in.  He’s not there for any particular purpose other than that he’s bored in his apartment and is just looking to see who’s around.  She’s sitting in a deep chair, legs stretched out on an ottoman, a computer tablet in her lap.  She looks up as he comes into the room.

“Hello, Bucky.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

She glances quickly down at her tablet.  “I’m learning about Spain,” she says, a little wistfully.

“Huh.  Do you want me to show you where the compound is?  Or… where it would be?”

Marya thinks about that.  After a moment, she says, “I don’t know.”

Bucky tilts his head and knits his eyebrows as he sits down on the ottoman by her feet.  

“I thought about asking you to help me find the place on Google Earth, but I don’t know if that would make me feel lonely, when I look and it is just an empty piece of land.”

“I get that it would make you miss them.  But why lonely?  You’re not alone, you know.”

“Not exactly, but...  They have each other.  And here, I’m the only one-“

Bucky waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t.  

“The only one what?”

“I was going to say that I’m the only one who is like me.  Who was Hydra’s property, and did all of the evil things they trained me to do.”  She looks up at him with a quirk of her mouth. “But I can’t really say that to you, can I?”

“Not exactly, no.  Is it bothering you tonight?”

She hesitates, then looks up.  “Sometimes I remember things.  Today I saw a woman who reminded me of… something.”

Bucky puts his hand on her foot, trying to be supportive without crowding her.  He tries to be gentle as he asks softly, “Wanna tell me?”

“Do you really want to hear what I did to that woman?  Because they wanted proof that she was dead.  So I…  I brought them proof.”  

Bucky just nods sympathetically and squeezes Marya’s foot.  They stay like that for a minute without talking.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” she finally says quietly. “For last night.”

“You don’t owe me an apology.  I owe you one.”  

“I’m the one who-“

“Look, let’s just not worry about it, OK?  It’s not like there’s etiquette for this kind of thing.”

“I know, but I’m embarrassed.”

“Hey.”

She looks up into his eyes.  

“This whole thing is so jacked up…  I pushed too hard and you said no.  We’re OK.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky stands.  “I’m gonna go back to my rooms.  Let you go back to Spain.”  He grins and taps the screen of her tablet.

“Good night,” She says, looking at him a bit oddly.

“’Night.”

 Bucky’s opening his door when he senses her behind him. He hadn’t realized she’d followed him from the common room.  If he’s as silent as she is – and he realizes he almost certainly is - he now understands why people so often startle to find him near them.  

“Hey.  You ok?”

She frowns, searching for words.  “I think there are women who pretend to feel what they do not, right?  I don’t know what they’re called.”

“Nothing nice,” he says, letting the door swing open. “But I know what you mean.”

“I am not those women, Serg-  Bucky.  I don’t want to do that to you.  But I come to see you, even when I’m not supposed to.  And then I tell you that I don’t believe you.  That I don’t think you could be my Sergeant.  I am very unfair to you.”

He sighs.  “Come in for a minute.  Let’s talk about this.”

He doesn’t say anything else until they’re seated on his couch, in the same spots as the night before.  Their legs are touching, but barely.  

“Tell me why you come to see me.  Do you know?”

“Yes,” she says softly, looking down.  “It’s…  Captain Barnes is not my Sergeant.  I know that he is not.  But you…  You say that you are, and maybe, somehow, you could be.  Even Mr. Stark can’t say that you are not.  And that possibility, that tiny chance, is the closest I’ve been to my Sergeant in all these years.”

“That’s what I thought.  And the thing is, Marya, I get that.  I understand that’s how you feel.  So, yeah, you’re right.  I probably would tell you to take a hike if you were just some girl giving me mixed signals.  But you got a right to be confused.  Besides, it’s you.  It’s hard sometimes, I won’t lie, but I still want to spend time with you, because at least we’re together.”

Suddenly, Bucky is rewarded for all his patience.  All the time he’s been in Marya’s universe, he’s been aching to experience some things with her again, and what she does next is number two – maybe three, but definitely top five – on the list.  She looks at him, brow furrowed, head just a bit tilted and a slight pout to her lips.  “Why should another girl…  I don’t understand.  Why would you tell her to go hiking?”

Bucky bursts into laughter.  There is no way to stop it, nor can he keep himself from throwing his arms around her.  She hugs him back, and laughs a little, too, but it’s the nervous laughter of someone who doesn’t get the joke.  

This.  This, to Bucky, is the essence of who Marya is.  She’s an assassin, plain and simple.  She has every bit as much training and experience, just as much blood on her hands, as he has. She’s also entirely wanton and shameless in bed.  At the very same time, she is this adorably naïve, this sweet, this tender. She’s a woman who has done things monstrous enough that she feels alone even among people with the kind of histories the Avengers have, and yet she’s embarrassed because of their almost-kiss.  

“Oh, Marya, I’ve missed you!”  He whispers fiercely, crushing her to him, forgetting to be concerned about the fact that she probably can’t breathe with her face smashed against him like that.  “I love you so much…”

Marya stops laughing and goes rigid.  She doesn’t move, or speak, and he doesn’t even think she breathes.  Shit. He’s done it again.

Bucky lets her go immediately and moves away, so they’re no longer touching.  “What is it? Was that not… I’m sorry-“

“No, it’s not the hug.  It’s…”  She looks almost frightened, but not quite.  Her whole body is tense, and there’s a wildness in her eyes that he can see she’s fighting. “Captain Barnes. He doesn’t smell right.”

It takes Bucky a second to put that together with whatever’s happening at the moment.  When he does, he lifts his chin a little and tilts his head, giving just the slightest nod of invitation.

Marya hesitates for a long time, her emotions showing clearly on her face, like they always have. She’s hopeful.  And she’s afraid of that hope.  But she’s also Marya, which means she leans in anyway, close enough that her hair tickles the side of his face as he hears her inhale softly.

Bucky is surprised by the near-sob that escapes her.  She falls against him, pressing her face into his neck and grasping for him with her hand, clutching at his shirt as she fills her lungs with the smell of him.  He’s a little relieved, actually.  It’s been years.  A lot has happened.  But, apparently, he still smells like she remembers, because she’s got her whole face pressed into his neck now, inhaling him so hungrily that he’s just waiting for her to take an actual bite.  Which he’d be fine with, really, because between the way she feels against him and her desperate whimpering, he’s suddenly ready to do some biting, himself.

It’s a long time before she sits back up and he can see her face.  He lifts his hand and uses the backs of his fingers to wipe the tears on her cheeks.

“I told you,” he murmurs, leaving his curled fingers under her chin and smiling softly into her eyes.  The pain that crosses her face hurts him, too.

“It doesn’t mean you’re him,” she whispers, but she’s not moving away.  In fact, she’s reaching up to touch his face, teasing the tips of her fingers through his beard.  

“Doesn’t mean I’m not,” he murmurs with the slightest teasing grin.

He waits.  She’s leaning against him, with his metal arm around her, hand spread across her lower back, and her left hand bracing herself on his thigh, using her right hand to touch his face while she’s breathing him in.  She dips her head again, scooting her body closer to him while she presses her face back into his neck just under his jaw.  

Only this time, after rubbing her face against his neck for a while, she starts kissing him there, tiny pecks so light he can barely be sure he feels them, while her hand moves up his chest and into his hair.  She gets bolder as she kisses up to his jaw, sliding her lips along his jawline, taking her time, until he feels a gentle tug at his hair to turn his face toward hers. He follows, and their lips meet.  

Bucky feels almost paralyzed, even as every skyrocket he ever saw on Independence Day goes off inside him.  He’s letting her kiss him, for now, softly and timidly, except that it’s not long before her breath’s coming harder and she’s using that hand in his hair to press his lips harder against hers.  

He starts to kiss her back, his lips working with hers to see how many ways they can fit together, and that little moan she makes goes straight to his cock, which is why it’s not his fault he tightens his arm around her back and slides the other hand to her waist.  Their kisses are deeper now, lips parted and it’s all Bucky can do not to lick into her mouth, but he needs to go slow, needs to be sure…  He feels her pressing against him, lifting up just a bit for a little more leverage so he’ll get the idea and lie back, pulling her on top of him.  

But he doesn’t.  

Instead, he takes his arms from around her and puts a hand on each of her upper arms, pressing gently to separate them.  When he can see her face, she’s flushed and almost panting, her pupils so dilated her eyes look almost black.  She’s trying to move back in, encouraging him to continue kissing her.

“Marya, wait.”

She has to take a couple breaths before she can say, “No.  Kiss me.”

“I need you to tell me that you know it’s me.”

“I don’t care right now.  I want you.”

“Listen to me,” he says, and waits with his hands on her arms until she stops trying to kiss him and opens her eyes fully.

“I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure.  I want you.”

He chuckles a bit at that.  “I mean, I need you to be sure who you’re kissing.”

Her eyes narrow in a flash of hormone-fueled frustration.  “I am kissing you.”

“Marya.  You know what I mean.”

“But I…  Don’t you want me?”

Really?  Bucky takes Marya’s hand from his hair and places it on his crotch, just long enough to ensure she can feel just how much he wants her, then lifts it to his lips. “Yes, sweetheart, I want you.  But this is too important.  I know how you feel about your Sergeant.  And until you know it’s me, or I’m him, or…  I’m me, then I think we gotta wait.”

He collapses against the back of the couch, half-crazy with desire and feeling like there’s some heretofore unsuspected dry, cruel, puritanical part of himself calling the shots right now.  Lifting his hands up, he mutters to the ceiling, “I so better get a few years off my time in hell for this!”

“Bucky, I…”  She shakes her head a little, trying to clear it, and yeah.  He feels the same way.  

“You’re not sure yet,” he says, smoothing a hand over that hair that he loves so much.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.  “I think I know that you are him, and my body tells me that you are him, but…”

She pushes off the couch to begin pacing in front of it.  As she speaks, with each sentence she talks more loudly and quickly, and the frustration she’s venting isn’t just sexual.  It’s the whole situation.  “None of this makes any sense!  It’s all so complicated and it gets all twisted around and I can’t be objective about any of it!  They were right to make me stay out of it.  They were right to keep me away from you.  Because you look like him, and you sound like him.  Now I know you smell like him and you even fucking kiss like him, and I want you to be him so much I could tear this place apart with my bare hands and defy all of them to keep you with me.  But I can’t know, and if I’m wrong, and you hurt people because I give in to what I want to be true…”

“OK,” Bucky says, standing, too, and moving slowly toward her.  “OK. I know.  And you’re right.”

When he’s standing in front of her, he says quietly, “So let’s just be patient a little longer.”

Her eyes narrow, and suddenly she finds an acceptable target for her annoyance.  “Let me tell you something.  If you are my Sergeant, I am going to be very, very angry with Captain Rogers.”

Bucky huffs a humorless laugh.  “You’ll be welcome in that club,” he mutters.  “Still. He did what he had to do.  He needed to go home.  And where we came from, we couldn’t have been together.”

“Bullshit! Then it wasn’t an option!  And ‘home’ was Bucky!  It was always Bucky!  That’s what he said!” Marya hisses, suddenly gloriously angry on his behalf.  “Don’t defend his actions.  Don’t you dare!  No matter who you are, don’t try to tell me that there is any universe where it is acceptable for Steve Rogers to leave Bucky Barnes like that.  So he was homesick?  Exhausted?  Who isn’t?  The Captain Rogers I knew loved his Bucky, and he was well aware of how much his Bucky loved him.  He swore to me that he would never leave him.  He said he couldn’t.  So if your Captain Rogers was my Captain Rogers, then he is…”

She shakes her fists and shuffles her feet, too pissed off now to think of words bad enough.  When she does, they’re really vile.  They’re also in Norwegian, which has always been her go-to when she needs to curse especially vehemently.  Bucky feels another surge of love for her and can’t help the small smile that turns his lips up at the corners.  

“He did apologize.”

When she vents her rage at that, the dent Marya makes in the wall has actual marks of the individual knuckles in her fist.  It also breaks at least two of her fingers.  There’s a lot of blood.

They’re both a little shocked at what she’s done but, in a way he couldn’t possibly explain, Bucky feels her uncontrolled rage like a narcotic.  Suddenly, his pain over what Steve did is bearable, if only just, and he feels a glow he hasn’t felt since before Steve told him he wouldn’t be coming back, all because Marya is this angry at what Steve did to him.  She loves him, still.  And she still pours her love over him like an inexhaustible tide, warm and sure and inevitable.

Bucky no longer has any doubt that he was right to come here.  Already, Marya is soothing the wounds he’s suffered at Steve’s hands just the way she healed those Hydra inflicted.  She doesn’t have to try, or even believe that he is who he says he is.  All she has to do is be Marya.  

She lets him lead her to the sink in the little kitchen area and put her hand under running water.  He goes to the freezer and pulls out a cold pack he’d noticed there, returning to her side to dry her hand carefully with a clean towel.  Once that’s done, he rests her hand on one of his, and holds the cold pack to her rapidly-swelling fingers with the other while he leads her to sit back down next to him on the couch.

There are tears in her eyes when she looks up at him.  That doesn’t surprise him; she’s furious and she’s just broken some of her fingers.  But there’s also a trust in her eyes he hasn’t seen since their last night together in their own universe.  

“Let me stay with you tonight,” she whispers.

“Not until-“

“No, I know.  I’m not asking to have sex.  Let me sleep here, with you.  You know it’s different for me; sleeping together is… warmth, and caring, and safety.  I haven’t given you any of that since you’ve been here.”

“That’s not true.  But I would love for you to sleep with me.”  They smile at one another while she wipes her tears.  “On one condition.”

“I know what you are going to say.”

“It’s not negotiable.  If you try anything, I’ll make you sleep in your own bed.  Will you behave?”

“Yes,” Marya answers, her mouth halfway between a pout and a smirk.  “But I will not want to.”

It’s hard for Bucky to just enjoy her presence and her warmth, keeping his desire for Marya clamped down tight.  Especially when they’re lying in each other’s arms, with her head tucked under his chin and her breath soft against his neck where she can surround herself with his scent.  He almost tells her she has to leave if she can’t stop it with those small, happy, sighs that keep bringing tears to his eyes, but he can’t make himself do it.  He knows that, if she left his bed now, he’d last about three minutes before he’d be knocking on her door, begging her to let him into her bed.

They actually fall asleep, even if it takes a long time for both of them.  But it’s only a few hours before they’re awakened by the shriek of the Assemble Alarm.