Prompt Post 1

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At least one of the characters in your prompt must have been in Captain America: The First Avenger or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

As of May 3, 2014, the spoiler policy is no longer in effect.

Update, April 22, 2014:
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Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 45

[lauralot]

"And that," Steve concludes, grinning ear to ear, "is why Phillips banned the entire SSR from ever trying espresso again."

"Even you?" the Soldier asks. He cannot imagine the serum in Steve's body could allow for such a pronounced reaction to caffeine. But then, when Barnes tried espresso, he had already been a prisoner in Austria and likely had the earliest versions of HYDRA's attempt at the serum circulating in his veins.

"Even me."

They are in Steve's room. The stories about the war had begun at the table, but it had also been daylight outside when Steve had started. It is night now and they have relocated. The room has a record player and the Soldier stared when he saw it, only half-hearing Steve's story about James Morita attempting to drive on the wrong side of a British road. He knew how to use the device, though the records he glanced over did not bring any memories of music or dancing to mind. Steve said that the Soldier had liked Glenn Miller, but the "American Patrol" single failed to trigger any emotional reaction or recollection, so they returned to the stories.

Steve has many books. The Soldier garners from the titles that most of them are about events of the twentieth century. Some of the names are vaguely familiar: Kennedy, Bay of Pigs, Tet Offensive. Others—Watergate, Stonewall, Little Rock Nine—are unknown. If he had a hand in any of these things—how much of the century has he shaped?—then his handlers must not have deemed the knowledge worthy of retention.

Steve's shield, recovered from the Potomac, rests at the foot of the bed. There is a desk and the Soldier's file sits atop it. There is a sketchbook and pencils are scattered around.

Steve has many, many stories. Some make the Soldier smile and some make Steve laugh as he tells them. For recounting events from a war, all of the stories are relatively bloodless. That is perhaps for the Soldier's benefit, and he wonders how many stories he is not hearing. How had James Buchanan Barnes carried himself on the battlefield? What had he thought about while waiting to fire his rifle? The Soldier never thought when he was sniping, beyond recalculating a shot against the winds or distinguishing a target from other bystanders.

Had James Buchanan Barnes been able to fall asleep after Steve rescued him?

"You went into Austria to save B—" The Soldier pauses. He has no memory of the POW camp but in some way that person was him. If the Soldier can remember Peggy Carter speaking about dancing, if that was him standing beside Steve as she entered in the red dress, then it follows that the person he cannot remember from Austria is him as well. And Steve always looks mildly wounded when the Soldier says "Barnes" in place of "me." "You went into Austria to save me."

"Yeah." Steve isn't smiling as much now. He looks cautious, but not as if he thinks the Soldier will become violent. It is hesitancy directed toward the Soldier rather than worry for himself, as if the Soldier may break. He must know how resilient the Soldier is, but he still has such reserve. It is maybe irritating and maybe comforting. "Of course I did. Couldn't leave you there."

"When you came to find me…" He pauses, straining for any memory of that moment. There are not even fragments. "Did I know you?"

Steve's hand slides over his. He's touching the metal. He touches that hand often and the Soldier doesn't understand why. It has inflicted so much damage and it is the part of him that is most visibly HYDRA. "You did. It took a minute—you were drugged and hurt and delirious with a fever—but you did. It was the first time you saw me after the serum. actually. Kind of a miracle you weren't too confused to follow me, the state you were in."

Perhaps Barnes had seen Steve at his side while he was in the camp, the way that the Soldier had imagined him during the programming. Maybe that is why he recognized Steve so quickly. "Did I know me?" The words sound stilted. A shake of the head and he tries again. "Know who I was?"

Steve nods.

Johann Schmidt must not have been an effective leader, the Soldier decides. HYDRA was much more successful in forging their asset the second time that they had him captive. Or does the success of that attempt rest solely on the extended time?

The Soldier would prefer that Zola was the better leader rather than let the fault fall on Barnes for not being able to wait out the experience.

"You were different then," Steve says.

Different than he is now? Obviously. The Soldier tilts his head.

"I mean, different than you were before the war." He isn't looking at the Soldier. Following his eye line, he appears to be staring at the wall, but his expression says that he doesn't see the painted plaster. He is looking beyond it, perceiving something the Soldier cannot observe. "Quieter, sometimes. You spent more time by yourself than you ever did back home. You'd wake up in the night and just lie there instead of trying to sleep again. Sometimes I don't think you ever even went to bed."

James Buchanan Barnes does not sound like a very good soldier. If he was in some way damaged as a result of his captivity, he ought to have reported it so he could be repaired rather than carry on and endanger the rest of his team with his potential for malfunction.

"I didn't keep as close of an eye on you as I should have," Steve says. "I—there was always another base to take out, or some job to be done, or Peggy—I told myself you'd be fine, that we'd win the war and things would be the way they always were."

Agent Peggy Carter. He can still only recall her in the red dress; any other encounters they may have had are lost in the vast, dark expanse that comprises most of his mind. That sensation again, when he thinks of her. An emotion he can't name. What is it?

"You changed," Steve continues. "I thought about that a lot after you fell. How it was my fault. How I should have seen, should have taken you out of combat." A sigh. His eyes still have that faraway look.

You changed too, the Soldier nearly says. He thinks of the photographs from the Smithsonian, pre- and post-serum. He imagines how preoccupied Steve must have been with winning a war, too busy to focus on soldiers who couldn't be trusted to report their own damages. He does not say it aloud because surely Steve is aware that he's changed. There is no use in wasting his time with redundant observations.

Instead, the Soldier picks up the shield from the floor. The last time he held it, it was coated in debris, paint scratched. Now it is flawless and smooth. "You found it in the—" He is unsure of the English word for river. "—water?"

"I didn't. It was in the hospital when I woke up. I'm not sure how they found that, come to think of it."

The Soldier can envision of a number of methods to locate it. Diving is unlikely due to the debris from the helicarriers, but the shield absorbs vibration somehow. Echolocation might have worked if they searched for a spot where the sound disappeared entirely. He says nothing, staring down at bright colors. His fingers trace along the grooves of the metal. Once, twice, three times around. It is almost hypnotic.

When he raises his head, Steve has retrieved the sketchbook and is pressing a pencil the paper. "You're drawing?"

"Yeah." Steve pauses, glancing up. "Hey, can you look back down for a second?"

The Soldier complies, focusing on the sketchbook in his peripheral vision. He cannot make out the image forming on the page from here. "What are you drawing?"

"You." He holds the sketchbook in the Soldier's view. There is a body, cross-legged, bent slightly over a shield. There are few details yet, but the lines of the metal arm are sketched in, the star shaded. The face is so far just a vague silhouette with hair. "See?"

"Why?"

"Because you'd never sit still long enough for me to draw you back in the day."

His fingers ghost over the page without actually touching. He will not risk smearing the lines.

"You used to do this too, you know." Steve moves the sketchbook back toward his own body, and there is a sound of the pencil on the page.

The Soldier raises his head before immediately lowering it again. "Draw?"

"We had an art class in college. It wasn't your major, but you still took it."

He cannot imagine himself drawing. HYDRA never needed creative endeavors from their asset. The knitting is a practical skill as much as it is a craft. If there is a functional use to art, it was never explained to him. The only time the Soldier ever touched paint was to smear it around his eyes. "Was I skilled?"

"You used to call yourself the next Picasso." A beat of silence falls between them and Steve adds, "Uh, it's probably for the best that it wasn't your field of study. You can move your head now."

He raises it, looks toward the page. The face is sketched in. He recognizes the eyes and brows as his own: no one ever gave the asset a mirror that he can recall, but he caught glimpses of his face above the mask in reflective surfaces. The mouth is smiling. The smile belongs to Barnes. Do they share a smile?

"Like it?" Steve moves his wrist. A few lines later, and he has perfectly recreated the gleam of the overhead lights on the shield. It is a stunning skill, even if it is technically useless.

His gaze returns to the smile. He wants to share that with Barnes, even if Barnes was a poor soldier and overflowing with emotions the Soldier cannot name. "I like it much."

"Here." Steve takes the corner of the paper and pulls the whole sheet from the book. "It's yours."

Re: Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 45

[(Anonymous)]

I really hate it when you trick me into thinking there's going to be fluff in the beginning, and then you smack me with the angst...except I also kind of like it.

Re: Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 45

[lauralot]

When I started writing this bit I intended for fluff. I appear to have lost my ability to differentiate between fluff and pain, if indeed I ever grasped that distinction to begin with.

Re: Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 45

[(Anonymous)]

Artist!steve, my soft spot! And seemingly the Winter Soldier's, too!

Re: Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 45

[lauralot]

Nobody can resist Artist!Steve.