![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/1Q7tSmO:
but in the end you all win, because what got me through today was torturing bucky barnes some more, interspersed only with torturing Natasha some more, and i’m going to go back and keep doing that, and i swear to you the Hour of Our Death series is going to be a fucking goldmine of fucking torture. I can’t wait.
It’s about the only thing I’m good at. What can I say. I embrace my strengths. Here, have a chunk.
Nick stopped dead when he saw the shadowy figure in the hallway. “Kid,” he said, “you havin’ a mental breakdown or just tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”
“I don’t mean to be a pest,” Barnes said. Nick flicked the light on and made a face; Barnes looked fucking awful, too-skinny and run-down and eyes like starved hollows. “I just, you’re a hard man to meet up with.”
“I’m dead,” Nick said. He considered that. “Then again, so are you, so…”
Barnes nodded absently. He looked really, really awful. Like maybe he was genuinely ill. Like maybe…
“You heard anything from Natasha lately?” Nick asked. If there was trouble between those two, he didn’t want to think about what would happen.
Barnes looked slightly stricken, then blank. “That’s what I wanted to ask you,” he said. That sounded like defeat. “She went out on a mission and said she’d be off the grid and it’s been six weeks.”
Nick frowned. “What mission?”
Barnes spread his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t ask at the time because I figured I’d find out, but– there’s nothing. None of the usual ways I can find out. No one I know has heard anything.”
Nick thought about it, and went back into his bedroom to retrieve his phone. “Let’s see,” he said. “Natasha.” He had several communications with her, but nothing particularly recent. “She sent me a couple information requests… mm, most recent about three weeks ago.” He scrolled through a couple more things. “Sent me a stupid eyepatch joke four weeks ago. Nothing more recent.”
“That’s more recently than I’ve heard from her,” Barnes said, low and miserable, head down, no eye contact. “I didn’t–” He visibly composed himself. “She left of her own free will and I got no reason to suspect anything’s happened, I just– it’s longer than she usually goes without checking in.”
“For me too,” Nick said, frowning. “For me too. I had kinda been wondering but to be honest I figured she was doing something with you.”
Barnes didn’t look up. “No sir,” he said.
“Clint heard anything?” Nick asked.
Barnes shook his head. “Said he figured she was doin’ something for you. S’why I was lookin’ for you.”
“I don’t really… assign missions, anymore,” Nick said. “I have only unofficial insights into the activities the new SHIELD would be actively pursuing.”
“Tried them too,” Barnes said. “Bunch of ‘em are for sale, by the way. Your Coulson could really stand to do some housecleaning. I got a pretty comprehensive list of currently-active missions, staffing rosters, all of that. The only thing locked down was medical records and home of record addresses.”
“Huh,” Nick said. “Well, I mean, you are good.”
“It wasn’t hard,” Barnes said. He couldn’t even work up a good scowl, though. He just looked beat-down, faded. “I told Steve, those guys don’t got his back, but he doesn’t believe me.” He hunched his shoulders a little, and the metal arm whirred somewhere under layers of clothes. “He don’t know where Natasha is either, an’ he figured I was fuckin’ with him when I asked.”
“Huh,” Nick said again. “Well, guess I’ll have me a little chat with Phil.”
“Yeah,” Barnes said, “SHIELD’s not any cleaner than it was when I worked for it outta a cryo tank with an octopus on it.” He scuffed his toe against the floor. “Might be worse. Disrespecting your legacy, I figure.” He glanced up, then away again. “You want my source stuff, I’ll send it over. Coulson doesn’t gotta know it was me. So long’s he stays off the list that knows about me, yeah?”
“He’s not on the list,” Fury said. “I take care of everything to do with you personally. He doesn’t know who my double agent is. I let him think it’s a pretty girl.”
Barnes let a hint of a smile ghost across his face, at that. “I’d be pretty if I was a dame, for sure.”
“No doubt of that,” Nick said. “So, Natasha’s on a mission I didn’t send her on, you didn’t send her on, and SHIELD didn’t send her on, that Clint doesn’t know about, and she hasn’t set up any check-ins and hasn’t made any.”
“No sir,” Barnes said.
“And her nominal team leader, Rogers, doesn’t know her whereabouts either,” Nick went on.
“No sir,” Barnes said.
He looked so beat-down, so dejected, that Fury added, “And her boyfriend doesn’t know where she is either.”
Barnes looked up, at that, and there was alarm in his expression. It kind of jabbed Nick right under the ribs: Barnes thought he was telling him that there was someone else. Barnes blinked once, twice, and looked back down, perfectly blank, no expression but Fury still had the distinct sensation he’d just yanked the guy’s heart out straight through his guts.
“I meant you,” Fury said gently.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Barnes said, hoarse nearly to the point of whispering. “You probably got to be human to know stuff about that kind of thing.”
“You’re human enough that it counts,” Nick said, a little sternly. Natasha had said something similar, not all that long before, and he’d chastised her, but he was never sure that kind of thing stuck.
Barnes shrugged. “About eighty percent,” he said, a little glumly. He glanced up. “Estimated. By volume, not weight.”
“You calculate that out?” Fury asked, skeptical.
“Nah,” Barnes said. “I’m good at math, but that’s not my style.” He scuffed his toe against the ground again. “There’s a whole big chunk of the Internet devoted to conspiracy theories about me and they did the math for me. If you go by weight I’m only like sixty-five percent human.”
“How’d they know all the relative weights?” Fury asked.
“I told ‘em,” Barnes said. He managed a shadow of a cheeky grin. “I hang out in that chunk of the Internet a lot. Makes me feel better about it. There was a six percent fudge factor for whether I was eating right or not. I weighed myself every day for two weeks. It was a fun science experiment.”
“Volume, though,” Fury said.
“That involved a bathtub and a lot more fudging of data than I’m comfortable admitting,” Barnes said. “I told myself I had to keep some mystery alive. Especially if someone might be able to reverse engineer something about the arm. I gotta keep the arm under wraps.”
“And you just… openly did this as yourself,” Fury said.
Barnes shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “I got a verified account, Natasha got it for me. The Internet knows who I am.”
but in the end you all win, because what got me through today was torturing bucky barnes some more, interspersed only with torturing Natasha some more, and i’m going to go back and keep doing that, and i swear to you the Hour of Our Death series is going to be a fucking goldmine of fucking torture. I can’t wait.
It’s about the only thing I’m good at. What can I say. I embrace my strengths. Here, have a chunk.
Nick stopped dead when he saw the shadowy figure in the hallway. “Kid,” he said, “you havin’ a mental breakdown or just tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”
“I don’t mean to be a pest,” Barnes said. Nick flicked the light on and made a face; Barnes looked fucking awful, too-skinny and run-down and eyes like starved hollows. “I just, you’re a hard man to meet up with.”
“I’m dead,” Nick said. He considered that. “Then again, so are you, so…”
Barnes nodded absently. He looked really, really awful. Like maybe he was genuinely ill. Like maybe…
“You heard anything from Natasha lately?” Nick asked. If there was trouble between those two, he didn’t want to think about what would happen.
Barnes looked slightly stricken, then blank. “That’s what I wanted to ask you,” he said. That sounded like defeat. “She went out on a mission and said she’d be off the grid and it’s been six weeks.”
Nick frowned. “What mission?”
Barnes spread his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t ask at the time because I figured I’d find out, but– there’s nothing. None of the usual ways I can find out. No one I know has heard anything.”
Nick thought about it, and went back into his bedroom to retrieve his phone. “Let’s see,” he said. “Natasha.” He had several communications with her, but nothing particularly recent. “She sent me a couple information requests… mm, most recent about three weeks ago.” He scrolled through a couple more things. “Sent me a stupid eyepatch joke four weeks ago. Nothing more recent.”
“That’s more recently than I’ve heard from her,” Barnes said, low and miserable, head down, no eye contact. “I didn’t–” He visibly composed himself. “She left of her own free will and I got no reason to suspect anything’s happened, I just– it’s longer than she usually goes without checking in.”
“For me too,” Nick said, frowning. “For me too. I had kinda been wondering but to be honest I figured she was doing something with you.”
Barnes didn’t look up. “No sir,” he said.
“Clint heard anything?” Nick asked.
Barnes shook his head. “Said he figured she was doin’ something for you. S’why I was lookin’ for you.”
“I don’t really… assign missions, anymore,” Nick said. “I have only unofficial insights into the activities the new SHIELD would be actively pursuing.”
“Tried them too,” Barnes said. “Bunch of ‘em are for sale, by the way. Your Coulson could really stand to do some housecleaning. I got a pretty comprehensive list of currently-active missions, staffing rosters, all of that. The only thing locked down was medical records and home of record addresses.”
“Huh,” Nick said. “Well, I mean, you are good.”
“It wasn’t hard,” Barnes said. He couldn’t even work up a good scowl, though. He just looked beat-down, faded. “I told Steve, those guys don’t got his back, but he doesn’t believe me.” He hunched his shoulders a little, and the metal arm whirred somewhere under layers of clothes. “He don’t know where Natasha is either, an’ he figured I was fuckin’ with him when I asked.”
“Huh,” Nick said again. “Well, guess I’ll have me a little chat with Phil.”
“Yeah,” Barnes said, “SHIELD’s not any cleaner than it was when I worked for it outta a cryo tank with an octopus on it.” He scuffed his toe against the floor. “Might be worse. Disrespecting your legacy, I figure.” He glanced up, then away again. “You want my source stuff, I’ll send it over. Coulson doesn’t gotta know it was me. So long’s he stays off the list that knows about me, yeah?”
“He’s not on the list,” Fury said. “I take care of everything to do with you personally. He doesn’t know who my double agent is. I let him think it’s a pretty girl.”
Barnes let a hint of a smile ghost across his face, at that. “I’d be pretty if I was a dame, for sure.”
“No doubt of that,” Nick said. “So, Natasha’s on a mission I didn’t send her on, you didn’t send her on, and SHIELD didn’t send her on, that Clint doesn’t know about, and she hasn’t set up any check-ins and hasn’t made any.”
“No sir,” Barnes said.
“And her nominal team leader, Rogers, doesn’t know her whereabouts either,” Nick went on.
“No sir,” Barnes said.
He looked so beat-down, so dejected, that Fury added, “And her boyfriend doesn’t know where she is either.”
Barnes looked up, at that, and there was alarm in his expression. It kind of jabbed Nick right under the ribs: Barnes thought he was telling him that there was someone else. Barnes blinked once, twice, and looked back down, perfectly blank, no expression but Fury still had the distinct sensation he’d just yanked the guy’s heart out straight through his guts.
“I meant you,” Fury said gently.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Barnes said, hoarse nearly to the point of whispering. “You probably got to be human to know stuff about that kind of thing.”
“You’re human enough that it counts,” Nick said, a little sternly. Natasha had said something similar, not all that long before, and he’d chastised her, but he was never sure that kind of thing stuck.
Barnes shrugged. “About eighty percent,” he said, a little glumly. He glanced up. “Estimated. By volume, not weight.”
“You calculate that out?” Fury asked, skeptical.
“Nah,” Barnes said. “I’m good at math, but that’s not my style.” He scuffed his toe against the ground again. “There’s a whole big chunk of the Internet devoted to conspiracy theories about me and they did the math for me. If you go by weight I’m only like sixty-five percent human.”
“How’d they know all the relative weights?” Fury asked.
“I told ‘em,” Barnes said. He managed a shadow of a cheeky grin. “I hang out in that chunk of the Internet a lot. Makes me feel better about it. There was a six percent fudge factor for whether I was eating right or not. I weighed myself every day for two weeks. It was a fun science experiment.”
“Volume, though,” Fury said.
“That involved a bathtub and a lot more fudging of data than I’m comfortable admitting,” Barnes said. “I told myself I had to keep some mystery alive. Especially if someone might be able to reverse engineer something about the arm. I gotta keep the arm under wraps.”
“And you just… openly did this as yourself,” Fury said.
Barnes shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “I got a verified account, Natasha got it for me. The Internet knows who I am.”
