[ Andyr damn sure puts him through his paces. The smaller man is an impressive powerhouse of brute force and energy, whip-quick and dangerous, a force of nature that would have mowed down the best of men. But Bucky's not just a man, not quite -- even so, he's hard pressed not to go all out, because anything else would surely have resulted in unpleasant consequences.
And Andyr doesn't need a punching bag, he needs someone to fight back, to draw it out instead of getting his ass handed to him. So Bucky does, going toe to toe with him, focusing on his moves -- they are deadly, dangerous, and it reminds Bucky of just whom he's dealing with, how Andyr is a lethal weapon in his own right.
Finally, the line is crossed, and Bucky pulls his punch at the last second, although not quite enough to avoid clocking him in the side of the head right there. He thinks of the savage look in Andyr's eyes minutes earlier, how it shatters the moment he goes down; he forces his expression into neutrality, and he holds a hand out to him, intending to help him up. He's never actually had a fight quite like this before, and he can feel his adrenaline racing, every muscle poised for another round, and another. But no, he's no longer in that kind of business anymore.
Anyone else, perhaps, would have busted out the apologies. Bucky, however, placidly asks: ]
[ Andyr's head is ringing, but he's glad Bucky doesn't start apologizing or treating him delicately. He's made to withstand this and worse, so it shouldn't be surprising when he hauls himself back up, shaking his head to clear it some (even though that motion really does nothing in actuality). ]
No. [ he answers simply, nothing in it angry, but determination in there. ] I fucked up.
[ he let his mind lapse, his attention go elsewhere, and pulled something that would've killed anyone less skilled than Bucky Barnes killed. Not acceptable - run it again. Either he does this, or he puts himself in a cell 90% of the time to keep the rest of the crew safe from him. Even then, what if they're attacked? What if someone trying to get away steps into the line of fire and andyr can't tell the difference? Back home, it didn't matter - they were either guards or compliant mice, and either made them guilty. Here, they're people, heroes like Steve, kids like Cassie, normal guys like Nick, who's just trying to live. He has to work himself out of the nightmare he'd been trying so hard to embody. ]
We keep doing it 'til I get it right. [ because that's how andyr trains when he's put his mind to it, and that's the kind of tenaciousness that's both kept him sane, and made him so valuable to Hapsburg. Keep going until your body can't move anymore. ]
[ They'll keep going. Bucky shakes off the faint tremor in his arm, recalibrating himself wordlessly, contemplating Andyr. The other man is an incredibly gifted fighter, evidently built to withstand worse, and he nods. He can go toe to toe with Andyr, to get him to work out everything that haunts him, the things that dig in deep and leaves numerous scars.
Bucky sees the determination, too, burning fierce and bright, and he steps back and rolls his shoulders, loosening up for the next round. ] Remember, it's not a fight to the death.
[ Because he knows those fights, and he deliberately tempers himself when he starts the fight off, measured strikes and blows, taking some and giving back in equal measure -- Andyr keeps him sharp and on his toes, honing the skills he already has, but he's keeping a close eye on that temperament, easing off when he knows it's pushing him too far, and closing in moments after. ]
[ remember - that the end goal isn't to kill. what bothers him, somewhere in the back of his head, is that it isn't even about survival. the only time he'd ever killed to stay alive was in those fight rings, drugged out of his mind into wild aggression that felt like euphoria at the time, when he'd been ripping into pliant bodies.
but this? this is about what he did in the hallways, in the labs. andyr'd known since three months in that they'd never kill him. hurt him, yes, torture and lock him away and visit horrors on him, but what acting out he did had invited more of that rather than kept him safe from it. had he complied, yes, his life would've been easier. but this isn't about protecting himself - it's about avenging himself. it's about anger and despair and hopelessness. it's about all of the world being so much more simple when he just turns the rest of his mind off, and lets himself become some force of nature, rather than a broken, bound, and beaten prisoner.
he has to stay present for this. don't think on just the moves and where he can strike next. has to keep the purpose of this, the goal, in mind, rather than just fight. Moving forward again, the next round starts up, and he's doing better - especially with how bucky pulls back here and there. the problem with andyr is that he wants things done now, has such an impatience with himself and his own limitations. when he feels himself starting to drift, he pulls back, steps to the edge of the mat and holds up a hand to pause for a moment, before getting right back into it. after about the third time of it, it's less stepping back, and more a sharp jerk to the side to disengage, before he throws a full throttle punch into a punching bag dangling to the side, ripping the chain out of the fixture that holds it to the ceiling, and splitting the fabric on the exterior, sand leaking out on the training room for.
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And Andyr doesn't need a punching bag, he needs someone to fight back, to draw it out instead of getting his ass handed to him. So Bucky does, going toe to toe with him, focusing on his moves -- they are deadly, dangerous, and it reminds Bucky of just whom he's dealing with, how Andyr is a lethal weapon in his own right.
Finally, the line is crossed, and Bucky pulls his punch at the last second, although not quite enough to avoid clocking him in the side of the head right there. He thinks of the savage look in Andyr's eyes minutes earlier, how it shatters the moment he goes down; he forces his expression into neutrality, and he holds a hand out to him, intending to help him up. He's never actually had a fight quite like this before, and he can feel his adrenaline racing, every muscle poised for another round, and another. But no, he's no longer in that kind of business anymore.
Anyone else, perhaps, would have busted out the apologies. Bucky, however, placidly asks: ]
You done?
no subject
No. [ he answers simply, nothing in it angry, but determination in there. ] I fucked up.
[ he let his mind lapse, his attention go elsewhere, and pulled something that would've killed anyone less skilled than Bucky Barnes killed. Not acceptable - run it again. Either he does this, or he puts himself in a cell 90% of the time to keep the rest of the crew safe from him. Even then, what if they're attacked? What if someone trying to get away steps into the line of fire and andyr can't tell the difference? Back home, it didn't matter - they were either guards or compliant mice, and either made them guilty. Here, they're people, heroes like Steve, kids like Cassie, normal guys like Nick, who's just trying to live. He has to work himself out of the nightmare he'd been trying so hard to embody. ]
We keep doing it 'til I get it right. [ because that's how andyr trains when he's put his mind to it, and that's the kind of tenaciousness that's both kept him sane, and made him so valuable to Hapsburg. Keep going until your body can't move anymore. ]
no subject
[ They'll keep going. Bucky shakes off the faint tremor in his arm, recalibrating himself wordlessly, contemplating Andyr. The other man is an incredibly gifted fighter, evidently built to withstand worse, and he nods. He can go toe to toe with Andyr, to get him to work out everything that haunts him, the things that dig in deep and leaves numerous scars.
Bucky sees the determination, too, burning fierce and bright, and he steps back and rolls his shoulders, loosening up for the next round. ] Remember, it's not a fight to the death.
[ Because he knows those fights, and he deliberately tempers himself when he starts the fight off, measured strikes and blows, taking some and giving back in equal measure -- Andyr keeps him sharp and on his toes, honing the skills he already has, but he's keeping a close eye on that temperament, easing off when he knows it's pushing him too far, and closing in moments after. ]
no subject
[ remember - that the end goal isn't to kill. what bothers him, somewhere in the back of his head, is that it isn't even about survival. the only time he'd ever killed to stay alive was in those fight rings, drugged out of his mind into wild aggression that felt like euphoria at the time, when he'd been ripping into pliant bodies.
but this? this is about what he did in the hallways, in the labs. andyr'd known since three months in that they'd never kill him. hurt him, yes, torture and lock him away and visit horrors on him, but what acting out he did had invited more of that rather than kept him safe from it. had he complied, yes, his life would've been easier. but this isn't about protecting himself - it's about avenging himself. it's about anger and despair and hopelessness. it's about all of the world being so much more simple when he just turns the rest of his mind off, and lets himself become some force of nature, rather than a broken, bound, and beaten prisoner.
he has to stay present for this. don't think on just the moves and where he can strike next. has to keep the purpose of this, the goal, in mind, rather than just fight. Moving forward again, the next round starts up, and he's doing better - especially with how bucky pulls back here and there. the problem with andyr is that he wants things done now, has such an impatience with himself and his own limitations. when he feels himself starting to drift, he pulls back, steps to the edge of the mat and holds up a hand to pause for a moment, before getting right back into it. after about the third time of it, it's less stepping back, and more a sharp jerk to the side to disengage, before he throws a full throttle punch into a punching bag dangling to the side, ripping the chain out of the fixture that holds it to the ceiling, and splitting the fabric on the exterior, sand leaking out on the training room for.
Maybe it's time to stop. ]