#two war machines get along! im not too surprised hehe

[calamitousarts]

Interesting! Zero calmed himself, grinning idly now. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake by letting his guard down.. Despite his expression changing quickly, Zero noticed Whatever's discomfort.

"So true. Doesn't really matter. I spose it does matter if they're also hunting you about it. I wouldn't judge, but.. just need to know how on guard I gotta be." He tried to say that as gently as he could, and honestly he'd feel relieved if his question even came across. Regardless, he knew he'd have to be ready to fight at a moment's notice. He gave a nod in response to that explanation, glancing at the scrap heaps nearby.

"Mmm.. I think so, especially if you can help me glue myself back together. I'm not the best at repairing, but I know enough to not die." His undamaged arm waved in front of his own face, his expression changing to a nervous grin. "Ah- I'm all 'puter on the inside. I try not to dig in it too often, but I'll give it a shot." He turned to one of the carcasses, using his good arm to feel around for an opening or maintenance panel. It didn't take him long to not find one, so he decided to instead rip a panel off with his claws. Shockingly, he was able to pierce one of its weak seams just by crushing it at a seemingly strategic spot.

...Oh. Okay, yeah he. didn't know what he was doing. He assumed that most reploids operate the same.. Admittedly, he hadn't even inspected his wound, nor would he be able to diagnose exactly what he had to fix aside from 'stop bleeding' and 'close it back up'. Hard questions like 'where the hell did my hydraulics go' are best left to the professionals..

"So... good news. We might not have to do anything!" He sat down to get a good look at his arm, hopefully he can figure out what's wrong with it.

“He- heyyy, I didn’t say terrible- just- mabbe a lil’ flashy. But stylish. No doubt.” It was hard to miss the way Whatever’s gaze honed in interestedly on the teardrop, crimson eyebrows shooting up—but he didn’t say anything about that, grin faltering slightly as he registered his companion’s next question.

Wonderingly, he stared at Zero, then looked away, a troubled glaze coating his eyes as he digested the friendly comment about himself.

But it wasn’t long before he set his shoulders back and plastered the too-wide smile back on…although it lacked a bit of its usual elasticity.

“Mmm. Ahaha. Sample size is small. But who gives a fack what other people think anyways, right?”

“Now, uh- reeeeeeploids,” he hurried on, tripping over what was indeed evidently an unfamiliar word, “are not somethin’ I know about. But, uh, if you’re talkin’ robotics- well, ya don’t look quite human, but you’re way past any of tha’ scrap heaps they shit outta the lab here, so I don’t think anybody’d clock ya.”

Blinking, he shook his head abruptly—as if clearing his brain of moths—and squinted up at Zero’s slight wincing. “I don’t guess you’d be able to patch up a little with any a’ this junk, would ya?” He spread his arms and did a little spin, gesturing to the waste heaps around them. “I dunno shit about electrics but I got a little bit of patch-up know-how, if you’re as biological-lookin’ on the inside as you are on the outside. If it’s cauterizing- or soldering- you need, I can bring the heat.”

[buckyskorpion]

tess brain go hnnnnnnngh

hello this is only thing ive written in like a week and its for a new fic im SORRY but i thought i would post it anyway bc i have nothing else to offer hehe. it’s the beginning of my fic for laur’s writing challenge and boy oh boy has this morphed into it’s own beast. under the cut for those who dont care

“You know she’s not going to be happy about this,” Sam says.

“She’s never happy about anything,” Bucky replies. He flicks at a photograph pinned to your corkboard, your arm around some guy kissing your temple while you grin at the camera. There’s a bunch of photos just like it with the same dude; receding hairline, squinty blue eyes, tall but skinny in a vaguely malnourished way. One photo from what looks like a Halloween party catches his interest. You have a cardboard sign hanging over your shoulders to look like a square from the periodic table, and it reads ‘AH! The element of surprise’. Nerds, Bucky thinks with a scowl, and turns away from the corkboard.

Your office is nothing like he thought it would be, and that aggravates him. It’s hardly surprising - most things about you aggravate him. You have statues of Star Wars characters on your desk, a dying pot plant in the corner, books on quantum mechanics and Deutsch propositions left open and scribbled in on the coffee table. There’s too much personality left carelessly lying around, and none of it is yours. Bucky can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

Sharon walks in first, closing the door softly behind her and shoots them both a grimace. “She’s coming, but, uh- she’s not happy about this.”

“See?” Sam says, gesturing to Sharon as if she’s proving his point when Bucky agreed with him. He turns to face Sam lounging in the armchair on the other end of the room and flicks him the finger.

“Let’s try and contain this situation, shall we?” Sharon says. She’s nervous, Bucky notes, moving to stand in the middle of the room and smoothing down non-existent creases in her slacks. She refuses to look at Bucky, and that gives him a bad feeling. “Just listen to her yell for a bit. Bucky - let us do the talking, ok?”

Sharon is still not looking at him. Bucky nods instead of replying, baiting her to glance over, which she does. She trains her eyes on his nose and gives him a frankly insulting smile of recognition, immediately turning back to the door as her face drops. Bucky’s bad feeling intensifies.

Before he can try and figure out why one of the best Agents of SHIELD and former CIA operative can’t seem to pretend everything is fine, the door to the office slams open. It bounces back, smacks you in the shoulder as you storm into the room, and you push it back again with an aggravated shout. Sam rolls his lips together to smother his laugh but Bucky doesn’t bother. You turn a murderous glare onto him, and the shouting begins.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You march up to Sharon and jab a finger in her chest, forcing her back a step. “You gave me this job, why the hell are you coming in here fucking it all up?”

“We have some new developments,” Sharon says, keeping her voice even like she’s trying to placate a feral dog. It does not have the desired effect.

“Ever thought of picking up the phone?” you shout, throwing your hands wide. “Sending a text? A letter? A carrier pigeon? Anything but showing up to my six month long deep cover mission with two of the most recognisable faces on the fucking planet! Really, Sharon? Captain America?”

“She’s right, y’know,” Sam says, smiling through Sharon’s warning glare. “My face is pretty unforgettable.”

“It’s good to see you, Sam” you say, gritting your teeth like it physically pains you to derail your tirade for some niceties. “You should’ve left Barnes at home.”

“I offered to stay in the car,” Bucky says. He smiles, all teeth, and you poke your tongue out at him.

“Do you know how difficult it has been to be stuck here playing dumb with this bunch of incels for six fucking months?” You say, spinning away from Sharon now to open the small fridge in the corner. You pull out one of those mini bottles of whiskey and down half of it, baring your teeth at the sting. “Please don’t make it all for nothing or I will kill you all, and then myself.”

“The timeline has moved up,” Sharon says. She shakes her head when you offer her the rest of your whiskey and you shrug, chugging the remaining half. Sam makes an offended noise and you grab another one, chucking it towards him as he makes grabby hands. Bucky doesn’t even bother asking.

“That’s funny, because as far as I remember it’s me who sets the timeline,” you say. “And I say it’s staying exactly the fucking same.”

“Look, I know this has been a rough mission-“

“Rough? I am watching a bunch of psychopathic virgins reinvent time travel at a snails pace whilst entertaining their neo-nazi purist ideals and I haven’t been able to physically hurt any of them? Rough is an understatement.” you say.

“Sounds terrible,” Bucky says with an eye roll. Everyone in the room turns to glare at him.

“I’d like to see you spend one day with these scumbags,” you seethe, stepping forward with your teeth bared.

“Something tells me it can’t be any worse than having my brain fried by Nazi’s, sweetheart,” Bucky says. You hate when he condescends you like that, and Bucky knows it. You make to throw the empty mini-whiskey bottle at him but Sharon steps in-between you two, holding her hands up with a disappointed frown.

“Bucky, you were supposed to leave the talking to us,” Sharon says. She turns to you and adds, “And you would do well to remember that I’m your boss, agent. I give the orders.”

“Aw, let them fight,” Sam says from the armchair. “It’ll be fun.”

“Enough,” Sharon says. She claps her hands together to regain control of the room, but it’s tenuous. To you, she says, “We need you to speed up __________’s research. Find a way, I don’t care how, but in a month they need to figure out Stark’s theory of time travel.”

“Excuse me?” You glance between Sharon, Sam, and Bucky like someone can offer an explanation but no one does. Incredulously, you say, “I’ve been here slowing them down so they don’t figure it out, and now you want me to- speed them along? Give them the answer?”

“Yes,” Sharon says. Her eyes are saying something else to only you and Bucky aches to know what it is. “Sam and Bucky have come across some new intel that requires the _____ to finish their machine. We need you to help them get there in one month’s time.”

“Am I allowed to know this new, game-changing intel?” you ask. There’s a muscle ticking in your jaw that looks set to explode any second.

“Only that there is someone who is very interested in buying into what the ________ come up with,” Sharon says. “When you’ve completed your mission, you will be fully briefed.”

“Oh, great,” you say with an eyeroll. “I love ambiguity.”

“You’re a spy,” Sam says, staring at you. “That’s literally your entire life.”

“Can we focus?” Sharon asks, shooting Sam a warning glare to which he holds his hands up in a Gesture of innocence. To you, she asks, “Do you understand your mission?”

“No,” you say simply, turning away from Sam to have a silent conversation with Sharon that involves a lot of eyebrow movements. Softly, as if no one else in the room can hear you, you say, “You know why I can’t let them figure it out.”

Sam and Bucky share a look while the two spies in the room have some kind of telepathic argument. It doesn’t seem to last long. Once again, the bad feeling in Bucky’s gut returns when you look to the floor and don’t make eye-contact with any of them again. As per usual in Bucky’s life there are things left unsaid, omitted by silence, and he itches to know what has your shoulders rounding and the fight you always fling around like confetti, dying out as quickly as it flared up.

“The goal remains the same,” Sharon says, “but as I said, the timeline has changed. We will see you in a month or so, agent.”

“I guess you will,” you say. Sam claps you on the shoulder as he walks out and Sharon hands you a dossier with your new mission parameters. Bucky always feels awkward with goodbyes, especially with people he doesn’t particularly like and who don’t like him in return. You glare at your toes and say, “Don’t even think about touching me, Barnes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks past you and adds, “Don’t fuck it up.”

“You’ll know if I do,” you bite back, just as the door closes behind him. Your words follow him down the hall, past the laboratories blinking with dull red security lights and the fire exit door they left chocked open when they broke in. He doesn’t like the way that sits in his brain. It clunks around, tinkering with things he’d rather leave untouched.

Spies, Bucky thinks. They always find a way to get inside his head.