#can i just post dozens of unfinished scenes and somehow call it a finished fic

[shipstorms]

more time loop

(tw: talk of suicide within the loop)

Bucky takes him out to sit in one of the freshly repaired forts. Tells him most things -- how long it'd taken him to figure it out, and longer to believe it. How he spent most nights blackout drunk at first before diving headlong into the sameness.

"It's been years. Decades. I have no clue anymore, to tell you the truth," he says. "Every time I go to sleep, I'm here again."

Gale stares out the window. A few mechanics are still out there, including Kenny, recognizable even at this distance by the tilt of his head. 

"Killed myself a bunch of times," Bucky continues. He rubs his back against the seat like an itchy animal. "I mean, I really went for it. Went up and crash landed in Essex somewhere. Then I went up and bailed out without a chute. I've thought about blowing my brains out but got scared I'd do it wrong and end up in a coma for the rest of my life." 

He sniffs. "Guess that'd be the real death around here, actually."

Gale fiddles with one of the boost pump switches, flicking it on and off. 

"You weren't at Dye's landing," he finally says. Doesn't know why he's so fixated on that. 

Bucky scoffs. "I've watched that asshole buzz the tower about a million times. Sometimes I get sick of it. Figure it won't matter if I'm there or not anyway."

The sun is coming up, stretching a long shadow attached to Kenny's feet as he wheels a cart back into the hangar. Evidence that the world is turning on its axis and yet they're suspended in the very center of it, unmoving.

"But you came the day before."

"Yeah, well," Bucky says quietly. "You always get this," he pinches at nothing next to his own chin, "this hopeful look. Haven't seen you look like that since you got here."

Gale hears the rattle of a flask opening. He reaches over to take it and Bucky lets him. The whiskey burns going down, but it's a good burn, one that might bleach out the turmoil in his chest into a more digestible neutral.

"Are there good days?" he asks.

"I don't know. Sure. Depends on the mood, I guess." Bucky shrugs. When Gale hands him the flask, he smoothly takes down two swallows. "I've gotten to know everyone pretty damn well. I've got my drinks and my smokes. And I can fly whenever I want. Practice things, you know." 

He takes another swig. "And sometimes you say yes to London."