sixthiterationlogs | so goodbye yellow brick road

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so goodbye yellow brick road

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: Village environs
WHEN: Mid to Late October
OPEN TO: Tony Stark + Open
WARNINGS: TBD

Domestic Agendas

[ It's been a long time since Steve lived with just one person. Five years, seventy years, a few months and some change. He tries to make himself invisible as much as possible. Lets Bucky know that he's welcome to bring over Liv and Steve will find somewhere else to be if they need alone time. He reads the books he got from Father Mulcahy and gets accustomed, for the very first time, to sharing space with a cat for more than a couple of days. Steve had wanted a pet as a child, but money and multiple health concerns had nixed that plan before it ever came to fruition. The best he could do back then was sneak scraps to the alley cats that roamed the tenement buildings and belonged to nobody.

He's getting a little better at fishing now, too. Several times a week, he makes the trip down to the river and splits his haul between himself and Bucky and the Inn. His newest project is learning how to gut and cook the things, and anyone who stops by to visit is more than likely going to find themselves at the kitchen table, talked into eating Steve's latest cooking experiment. (At least he's getting fairly decent with stews. Hanging around the Inn pays off sometimes.) ]

Great Minds*

[ Steve has been trying to avoid Tony since the incidence with the breathing problems. He's glad the guy is doing okay, but has decided that trying to mend fences any further would be like slamming his head repeatedly against a brick wall. In other words, a futile exercise that may yield results in the far future but only give himself a headache in the here and now. But he does make a point of widening his jogging ritual so that he heads by the forge twice a day - once in the early morning, and once after dinner. Just in case.

And, if Tony is paying any attention when Steve happens by, he may notice a quiet, continuous stream of useless useless you're nothing emanating from the super soldier's subconscious. ]

Tricky Treats

[ On the 24th of October, at exactly high noon, Steve is frequenting the Inn to catch up on gossip and eat a meal prepared by someone with more culinary skills than he currently has. At first, everything seems normal, but his nose starts to twitch. About a minute after that starts, and he clearly isn't able to help it, a fuzzy little rabbit tail appears in the immediate vicinity of his rear end. How embarrassing.

But not the most embarrassing. Not by a long shot. Because there are also two rabbit ears sprouting from where human ears should be. And, in the midst of the usual 'What the hell' reactions, Steve is probably going to try and slip out the back door and head for his own house. Feel free to stop him on the way and strike up a conversation. He'll be bunny-ed for a whole hour. ]

((* - if you want in on mindreading shenanigans, hmu at

anthologies and we'll discuss options.))

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[ It's too much. Just. Too much, all this information coming at him in Tony's steady, razor-edged voice. This thing about Stane, and God help him, he knows just enough about human biology to picture it (thanks serum, for giving him photographic memory) and for a minute Steve isn't sure he's not going to throw up. The shield trick in Siberia was meant to stop Tony from murdering his best friend, and Steve also knows enough about how his damn shield works, and just enough deviousness left over from a childhood spent honing his street smarts, to --

He has to close his eyes for a moment, taking slow breathes, still listening to the sound of the other man's voice. It's tempting to let everything wash over him in a wave of sound, just filter out the most important bits and figure out the rest later, but isn't that what he's been doing for the last year or so. Definitely the last few months in an attempt to prevent the totality of the situation from becoming overwhelming.

Steve makes himself listen. Which ends up maybe making things worse, because what the hell is coming out of Stark's mouth? (He has a point, of course, but there are some assumptions there that manage to push through the nausea and piss Steve off. ]

You're not my goddamn meal ticket, Tony. You make things, right? Because that's what drives you. Like Howard always made weapons and gear and uniforms for our team. Because the Army wanted him too and he liked it. I assumed -- probably wrongly as it turns out -- that you make things for the Avengers because that's what you like to do. I didn't step on Howard's toes unless things got over the line dangerous and ...

[ And there was that whole murderous robot thing, wasn't there. Maybe he should have spoken up there. Made sure Tony was alright. Really made sure.

I'm so damn tired of being in the wrong. ]

I don't want you to fall in line, I don't care if we argue seventy-five percent of the goddamn time. I don't care if you never made another fucking toy for the Avengers ever again. Even if we were still together, but we're not. And it's my fucking fault, I KNOW. Goddammit, Tony. I just wanted you to like me. Not as ... whoever the hell your father built me up as. I'm NOT him. I'm not this comic book cutout that everyone in America expected when-

I just. I -- don't know. I wanted friends. I wanted to stop being so [ -- so lonely. Steve stops, takes a breath, and reaches up to the base of a palm across his eyes, clearly attempting to calm down. He feels off balance. That, combined with his temper, and talent for pole-vaulting to conclusions outside of battle situations, is almost guaranteed to make this even worse. And he'd like to not have that happen. It takes some effort, but he keeps his voice mostly level. ] I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say right now, but that. I'm sorry I hurt you.

[ Small silver lining: at least he's not using the professional Cap persona. This numbskull is all Steve. ]

Which is why I said you're not that kind of manipulative. Romanoff would be, but aside from yanking me around during Palladium poisoning, she hadn't really bothered. But that's where I'm coming from here. [ Open, transparent communication. Bruce better be fucking ecstatic, wherever he is, that Tony is biting back every bitter thought (because not fucking helpful) and trying to listen. Trying to actively pay attention since he's misread the situation so badly it's no fucking wonder they ended up like this. ] Before...nine times out of ten. If someone cozied up to me, befriended me, dropped me like a rock and bounced? It's because they got what they wanted out of me and I was no longer useful. My entire life it's been like that.

Putting you and the rest of your crew in that category made it easier to sleep at night. Pattern established and maintained, the outlier that was having what I thought to be a group of friends, of people I could trust- which I don't hand out easily but I fucking did for every last one of you despite decades of experience screaming at me that it was a shit idea- finally proven to fall in line with the rest of the equation. You say you wanted friends, you say you wanted me to like you-

[ His shoulders drop, a twisted, sharp crackle of laughter wrenching free of him as he holds his arms wide, head cocked to the side. ] I thought we were.

I thought we were. I thought we had a solid foundation under us, I thought you trusted me, I knew I trusted you. Not because of the shield, not because of the uniform but because of you. The same reason that the kids left with you in the divorce, because they trusted you more than, clearly, they trusted me. And that's fine- honestly? It's probably for the best since you're in a very familiar hole and digging yourself out by yourself is in-fucking-possible. But, Steve? I genuinely thought we were friends.

Why do you think I was so pissed you didn't tell me anything? This- this mess here- [ He gestures between them. ] Has fuck and all to do with the accords, fuck and all to do with Bucky directly. I thought we were good. I thought we were solid, maybe not as close as me and Rhodey but- you and Bruce? Same level. And then you yank the carpet out from under me over and over-

[ That look about Klaue, Wanda, the hypocrisy of the log cutting incident, not trusting him to handle Ross not bothering to try and talk him down, not working with him at all on the accords- ]

and I kept shrugging it off because, well. Different personalities, different values, but I respected that maybe you were having a rough time of it because you were hunting for Bucky. Maybe you were having a rough time of it because Peggy was deteriorating. And then the fight at the airport, and then Siberia, and then that bullshit letter- Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention to realize you didn't think we were close. I don't know.

Edited 2018-11-11 01:12 (UTC)

It wasn't a bullshit letter. That was me trying to apologize.

[ That was Steve looking at his own motivations and recognizing it wasn't about sparing anyone's feelings but his own. Because, like it or not, he's always going to want to protect Bucky and protect himself on the subject of Bucky. Call it hubris or a sin or a flaw. Maybe it's all three. The point is that he can't be completely subjective about his oldest friend.

Steve doesn't try to explain that. Instead he listens. Keeps his mouth shut and listens, attention wholly on Tony. There's a lot to unpack here, a much of it he's going to have to turn over and examine later, in a space that's not so confrontational. Not so heavy with missed opportunities and misconceptions. And that, he thinks, is at the heart of ... this mess between them. ]

... That's close to how I felt. That you keep me around, or did, because I was useful. Because I was Captain America, the guy from all the history books. I thought -- or maybe I hoped -- that someday you'd stop making fun of me and maybe we could build something more solid. More equal. Less feeling like I was the butt of jokes that only you knew the punchline to.

[ He straightens, holding up a hand, palming facing toward Tony. ]

I said in that letter that I've never fit in. Never felt like I did. As a kid, definitely not in the orphanage, not even as an artist. I'm not great at reading social situations. That's one of the things you're better at. I just ...

I'm assuming things and you're assuming things but we haven't really talked. Have we? Not like this. And you're right, we should have. [ Steve reaches up with that same hand, scrubs it through his hair, clearly trying to find the right words. ] We can't change what's already happened. And arguing over it all the time isn't going to help. It might make me feel a little better, might do the same for you. But it won't help.

(It won't do anything but make things worse. I want to do better, even if this fails.)

So how about this. We start clean here. We talk, honestly. Even if it hurts. If I don't understand something, I'll ask. And you can ask me to clarify things too..

Is that okay?

From someone that's given and received many a sincere, insincere, and non-apology? That was a non-apology. A for effort, C minus for the execution.

[ Good golden 'you tried' star, there. It's more than he'd be willing to give but apparently sincerity isn't easy to put into the written word and- shit he knows that just as much as he knows Steve does best in person. Trying to navigate that shit with limited language or experience is a bitch and a half so-

He'll drop that. Water back under the bridge. ]

Uh. What? No. If I found you useful but didn't like you I'd never have invited you up to the clubhouse. I'd call you 'Rogers', I'd treat you with militaristic respect. Which I think is part of where the disconnect here is. Steve. Seriously- look me dead in the eye and tell me Bucky Barnes never gave you shit. Ever. I don't do sincere hand on shoulder 'to the end of the line' gestures and speeches. I don't plant my feet in front of the bulldozer of the court of opinion and tell them to fuck off. I don't treat shit that's important like it's important- I can't afford to. If people know where to aim they tend to pull the trigger more often. That habit follows me home. I give all my friends a hard time, it's what I do.

I saw all of that as poking fun. That's my humor. We can talk and try to keep the air clear but- if I meant any of it- I wouldn't talk to you. Seriously. I don't waste my time on people I don't like, I ignore them.

(Like I had been until whatever's in your head decided to scream a familiar song but, that's neither here nor there.)

Also- bullshit you didn't fit in. Chemical reaction that creates chaos or not- all our raggedy rough patches? The squiggly lines in puzzle bits? They fit together. Maybe not like the Howlies but- We worked. We fit. Or that's how I saw it. And here? Kind of easier to fit since there's less baggage all around. Or. More? Different baggage. Off brand instead of designer label.

[ He rubs the center of his chest, massaging out a phantom ache that won't ever really go away. ]

Do me a favor. You start getting in your head thinking 'useless useless useless' again? Text me. I can't make it stop but I can sing in harmony.

[ Something in that drags a laugh out of him. Head lolling down, eyes squeezed shut against a burst of pain somewhere near his head. ]

Buck has given me shit since they day we met. He's ... he has that right. I've -- look, I was a stupid little punk. Got into fights that should have killed me. And one day, this kid just waded in and took my side. And he never stopped. I don't know what I did to deserve him, but. Maybe he just likes stupid little punks.

[ It's more complicated than that, but Steve has never truly been able to put into words what Bucky means to him. Not flowery ones, anyway. It's what he told Sam and Nat during the DC incident. Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky. And clearly he's been a piss poor friend in return. But maybe that's his depression talking. The stuff he ignores and pretends doesn't exist. ]

I'm getting that now, that you poke and tease. At .. I thought it was because you didn't like me. [ And how can he describe 30's mores to someone with a modern outlook? He can't. Not really. ] I think I'm too ..uh, straightforward. For most people. I say what I think. Even when I shouldn't.

[ He finally glances back up, the smile fading. ] It's been there a long time, Tony. Doesn't leave, just gets quieter. But I'll keep your offer in mind. [ Cause God forbid Steve Rogers actually asks for help. Ever. ]

Edited 2018-11-25 05:37 (UTC)

You really shouldn't. The migraines you've given me. [ He huffs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. More than one headache had Steve's name attached, and this is...probably going to be a new one. There's still that thread, that awareness of how idiotic it would be to trust Steve again after everything.

Old habits, old baggage.

Clean slate.

He lets his hands fall away, staring at Steve for a long moment, trying to think back to any time they actually just...worked everything out. Communicated about anything that wasn't work related. ] You don't need a rope or a hand up out of this hole, Steve. You need someone that's made the climb. And I've been in and out enough to know all the shortcuts.

Yeah, I do that to a lot of people.

[ That has a ring of truth that Tony can't deny. Won't, probably, because he brought it up. Steve creates headaches and messes and makes people want to throttle him. Mostly people above his pay grade who don't want the stress of trying to corral Captain America once they realize he's not as docile as the legends would have you believe.

And he's not asking for trust. Just a truce. A clean slate. Get along enough to help the community stay in one piece. He wouldn't ask for more. ]

I'll keep it in mind.

[ Speaking of headaches. There's a certain tilt to Steve's chin now. Anyone who knew him back in the day would recognize it as his bull-in-a-china stubbornness rearing its head.

I can make it on my own.

But he unbends long enough to soften his tone. If not his resolve. ]

Thanks, Tony.

You don't have to.

[ God, is this what Rhodey puts up with around him all the time? When he gets back- when he's home? He owes him a basket or ten. Or a million apologies. As it stands he doesn't know for sure one way or the other about so many variables-

It's easier to focus on the wall of projects.

He might consider taking a few jobs from Steve.

Eventually. ]

Don't mention it.

[ Steve visible flinches, eyes narrowing and lips thinning. It's very clear he heard that. It's also clear the words mean something to him. His head is full of white static for a moment before he manages a nod.

Message signed, sealed and delivered. Doesn't mean he wont still be stubborn. ]

See you around.

[ And this time, he does make good on escape. ]

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so goodbye yellow brick road

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