[ this is becoming a bit of a habit, isn't it? at least he's actually out in the open, right now, rather than hiding in a vent somewhere overhead. mainly because the observation deck doesn't have overhead vents - all just space out there.
of the things andyr is good at, acting is so far from one of them it's painful. he's hanging out on the floor, gazing out at the stars, which isn't terribly unusual for him (he loves this place as much as anyone else), but the shifting eyes, straying towards bucky on the other end of the hall, is far from inconspicuous.
[ So Bucky has gotten himself a stalker who bears an uncanny resemblance to him, and he's already getting used to it. Andyr is a welcome presence, more or less, and as he nurses his bottle of vodka he decides to speak up. ]
Do you drink?
[ Because having the other man just watch him while he imbibes is getting a touch unsettling. Come over here, fishie. ]
[ he doesn't drink, he hasn't even had the opportunity to since the last time he had dinner with his dad, and he'd joked about giving him a beer. there was a sip taken, right before andyr told him it was nasty and refused to finish the bottle. but here's barnes and his weird space watching ritual inviting him over, and he doesn't want to start into all the reason why he hasn't had a drink more than that sip in his life. ]
Sure, why not.
[ andyr grumbles, like it's some hassle for him to walk his way over and plop down, as if he wasn't there watching him already. ]
[ At least he's giving Andyr the opportunity to look at him from up close, right? A part of him is wary of any possible attack, silently primed in case it happens, but it's nothing personal -- Bucky believes that of anyone.
But he offers the half-finished bottle to Andyr, looking out at the star-filled expanse of space outside. ]
[ they hadn't really had much time to just sit around and talk actually face to face like this, aside from watching Mana in the cryo chamber. but neither had really been chiefly concerned about the other at the time. there's the same sort of wariness in andyr as he makes his way over, though, sorry, it is a bit more personal. not that he thinks bucky is terrible, but he's still not entirely sure he trusts anything in this place.
after sitting down heavily, andyr peers at the bottle curiously, but gives an unimpressed snort at the warning. ] You know my biology's so stupid they have to give me drugs directly to the spine? I think I'll live.
[ no, sweetie honeypot. you are incorrect. because alcohol is different, and you're a fucking lightweight.
taking the bottle, andyr knocks back a couple gulps of it, probably enough to be two or three shots, and immediately wants to spit it out. his expression sours up, as he pulls the bottle away, but he forces himself to swallow it down with a grimace against the burn of it. ] That tastes like ass.
[ Bucky asks because he can sometimes be a little shit and now is one of those times. He tries to keep a straight face at Andyr's reaction, the look on his face obviously proving his previous rhetorical question wrong.
He takes the bottle back from him and takes a long swig. What do you call a borderline alcoholic who doesn't get drunk? He can't help that little smirk now, and he's sure there's a place in hell for people who are amused at other people who turn out to be epic lightweights. ]
[ said with a snorted laugh, and a hand shoving at his shoulder. you butthead. and yet, that may have been the first bit of actual humor he'd heard from the man. not that previous conversations had much opportunity for it. maybe he isn't quiet so weird as andyr'd pinned him for.
especially now that he's making that smug little smirk while drink vodka like it's iced tea, wow, fuck you and fuck your tolerance for terrible tasting things. scowling petulantly, andyr reaches a hand out to take the bottle back, determined not to be left behind in this (and very unaware that bucky can't get drunk), and takes another long swig. probably too long. doing a little better this time, he doesn't look ready to spit it out, but he does still grimace a bit, voice rough after he swallows. ] God, people actually do this for fun? Do alcoholics just hate themselves?
[ Most alcoholics probably really do hate themselves, but Bucky isn't all that keen to bring the mood down with that answer. His smile widens briefly when Andyr shoves him and takes a longer drag of the bottle, as if he can wash his mouth out with the taste of more ass.
He's regarding him curiously, however, eventually reaching over to take the bottle from him. Andyr is a strange one, but he knows when someone is having alcohol for the first time (more or less). ]
You know I can drink you under the table, right?
[ Hey, Bucky likes raising a little hell now and then. ]
[ wow, if you wanted to get him to slow down that was absolutely the wrong thing to say, bucky. andyr's starting to feel himself go a bit dizzy, feeling like his face is warmer than it should be, but the moment bucky mentions he can out-anything him, andyr's reaching out to snatch that bottle back. ]
Bullshit you can.
[ fuck you and fuck your huge muscles and your taller self and your fancy fabio hair, robo-clone, you ain't shit. another long swig later, he's noticing that he's minding the taste less, probably because the too much alcohol in too close a time period on a too low tolerance body is starting to set in. and everything feels fuzzy and too hot. ]
Bucky recognises the warning signs of intoxication, and he reaches over to take the bottle from him easily, plucking it from his fingers with a season grace and setting it out of Andyr's reach.
No need to get angry just because you're jealous of his huge muscles and taller self and fabio hair, little one. He wraps an arm around his shoulder to keep him anchored, so that he doesn't pitch over. ]
All right, you've had enough. [ There's the faintest furrow in his brows: concern. ] This your first time?
[ andyr's mumbling as he tries to reach after the bottle, ending up half slumped against bucky's side as it goes out of his reach, and working his legs to get up and vault after it feels like entirely too much work right now. so, with the arm coming over his shoulders, and with the warmth of his side feeling comfy and limbs all loose and jello, andyr decides this is a fine place to stay.
first time? oh, right. about that. ]
Yeah. Didn't have any before Hapsburg because I was 17 when they got me. Can't have any while I'm there. [ so much of what goes into his system is regulated, like hell they'd give him alcohol. ] Messed with hormones or meds or I don't fucking know, they just hate letting me do shit.
[ Bucky says blandly. He's no doctor, but it's clear that Andyr's had more than his fair share, that competitive streak evidently leaving no room for self-preservation. He doesn't let go of him, aware that if he does, the younger man will probably pitch over and be entirely cranky in the morning.
And so he dutifully plays the part of babysitter for the time being, keeping Andyr settled beside him as he tries not to imagine just what Hapsburg is like -- because the truth is that he'd probably get a much better idea than just about most of the non-Hapsburg natives. ]
And you went and chugged it anyway.
[ One day Andyr will probably look back on this and laugh. Probably. ]
Good, doctor's are fucking assholes. They should all get their stupid fucking... scalpels and needles shoved through their faces.
[ He's definitely slurring at this point, and he really shouldn't have had so much so fast, especially without a heck of a lot of food in his stomach, but ah, hindsight's 20/20. For as much as Andyr recoils from any kind of contact from strangers normally, the amount he enjoys and craves simple touch when his guard's down is absurd, and he's settling into the curve where Bucky's shoulder meets his arm, breathing out slowly.
A snorted laugh comes from him, maybe somehow proud of himself for doing a stupid thing, who knows. He won't die from it, so who cares? ]
Yeah. 'Cause you were being a bitch about it. [ Reaching up a hand, he tugs at some of the long strands hanging around Bucky's face lightly, nothing painful, but curious. ] Why's your hair so long, isn't it annoying?
[ No, he won't die from it, but Bucky's concerned about more immediate things, like getting barfed on, for one. He doesn't like getting barfed on; bad for the scruffy handsome hobo image he's not bothering to un-cultivate.
Andyr's somehow nestled into his arm, and Bucky deliberately stays still as he feels the tug at his hair, the open child-like curiosity that is another facet of Andyr. Rarer than the rage and the spitting anger and open hostility, and it lends credence to something more human, something softer that you don't don't point out, else it disappears. ]
Not really. [ It's another survival strategy -- it helps him blend in; people generally don't give someone like him a second look. He's aware that he's actually handsome when he cleans up, but it draws unnecessary attention, and unnecessary attention gets in the way of his objectives. He thinks of that violent comment about doctors, and understands that, too. ] Personal preference. No one pays attention to the homeless guy. [ He pauses. ] Do you feel sick?
[ there's a vague 'oh' spoken, accepting that as making sense. or accepting that as the reason and determining to think back on it later to make sure it makes sense. either way, he still had a lock of bucky's hair in his hand, fingers feeling at the texture and frowning a bit. ] How's it that everything else on us's almost the same, but your hair's darker? Did you dye it?
[ that's a comical mental picture, and andyr has the urge to ask if his arm got rusty when he had to wash out the dye, or if he has to wear a bag over one side of him when he showers. the thoughts derail into the clones from home, though, and how he's seen himself blond, green eyed, tall, short, with all kinds of cybernetics attached. ]
You should see Mikal. He looks like he's made outta fucking porcelain. ...Miss him. [ The only one of his clones he really likes, or, more so, doesn't hate. he'd call Mikal a brother, easily, and it's definitely the alcohol that has him openly admitting to missing him, Andyr going a bit distant as he thinks back to home, and how they'd been in the middle of the raid when he was snatched up. Mikal just right behind him. People have said time isn't moving back home while you're here, but Andyr can't help the worry that he'll be screwed without Andyr there. That Hapsburg will take him back in, maybe torture him for Resistance information. Maybe put him back to work. Maybe just kill him. He's snapped out of it by the question, blinking up to Barnes for a moment, owlishly. ] Is that not supposed to happen?
[ Bucky's hair so dark it's almost black, and he can't imagine dyeing it that way -- that's just ridiculous. Apparently, the ridiculousness of it isn't lost on Andyr either. He sits still, letting the younger man tug on his hair like a particularly patient uncle with an unruly child. Bucky's wondered briefly, of course, if this is just another elaborate trap to draw him in; had considered, in detail, the advantages and disadvantages of that -- and has concluded that it seemed too convoluted and pointless to be any sort of snare to drag him back into HYDRA.
Perhaps Andyr and his compatriots really are from another world with a chillingly similar behemoth of an organization that has nothing to do with HYDRA.
And so he listens when Andyr talks about Mikal -- whoever he is must be precious to him, what with the way he sounds. A brother? A lover, maybe? -- Bucky doesn't have the remotest idea who that is, but he collects that name anyway. Faking affection is difficult, and hot-headed Andyr doesn't seem like the kind of person who would give obfuscation the time of day; he's too honest for that. ]
Depending on the person. Tell me if you feel like vomiting. [ Then, ] Who's Mikal?
Uh huh. [ Andyr hums absently, acknowledging that, yes, he will inform him before he starts throwing up. though it's as if it's an afterthought, so Bucky may want to be ready to move. He's more so concerned with thoughts of Mikal, and home. ]
Mikal's one of my clones. Only one I don't hate, honestly. [ Which may tell you a little bit of why he was so angry with Bucky when he'd first met him, and so standoffish after. The only one he'd ever been fond of is Mikal, not even by his own machinations, and even if Bucky isn't one of his clones, it'd still felt like a betray. He isn't just a clone of him, Mikal evolved into so much more than that, and Andyr can hardly claim responsibility for any of it, outside of the most basic genetics. ] But he's so good. He's so freakin' smart, and I got no idea where that came from. I mean, I'm not an idiot, and I do okay, but he's got this mind for strategy and tactics like you've never seen.
You know, he actually tricked me into sympathizing with him just to use me like a battering ram for him to escape Hapsburg? [ And he hadn't even realized it until they were already out. At first, he'd been pissed, but after, he was just impressed. As violent, enraged and volatile as Andyr is, he knows he'll never be as dangerous as Mikal is. Not nearly. ] He was made to be a companion model, no extra augments for combat, and ended up Resistance leader.
If there's anyone who can bring the Houses down, it'll be him.
[ Manipulative, sharp, cunning -- a natural response, perhaps, to the overwhelming control the Hapsburg seems to have over its people. He's still learning about it from Andyr, solving little puzzles and discovering more of the other man in turn.
Turns out, beyond the rage and anger; Andyr's really not a bad person. He listens to the man talk about this other clone, supposes that this Mikal does have a mind for strategy. He knows tactics, able to utilise and improvise even the most complicated maneuver in a heartbeat because it's how he's been wired to think to make a kill, to complete the mission. But here's the question: ]
Corporate blueprints. I'm a Template. [ he answers immediately. something he'd mentioned to bucky before, when he was shouting at him in the pool, so fresh from his freak out. the way he'd said it then, he was being a vitriolic as possible, just angry and seething and wanting to hurt something. not the best means of explanation. so, now, andyr sits up a bit, blinks sluggishly, and tries to get his drunken brain to cooperate long enough to get this out.]
So, you've got KN1s and KN2s, right? KN1s are normal, originally rights-having humans, born out in the city or wherever, who just have this gene in them called the Kerns-Norman gene. And then it activates and everything sucks. Anyway, that's what I am, KN1. KN2 are clones from KN1 genes, like Mikal. [ something about it sounds more reasonable, when explained like this, and andyr frowns for a moment, unhappy with that. but, beside the point. continuing on with the lesson. ] When a House gets a KN1 that has stupid strong genes, that clones well and augments easy, they make them a Template. Drill these ports into your back, and you get locked up tight, like company secrets. Because the gene alters so fast, every time they wanna make a new series of clones, they have to take the Template out, get these nasty huge needles, and suck the genetic tissue straight out of your spine.
[ ah. he's bordering on gross again. calm your tits, andyr, he didn't ask for all the details. reel it in. ]
So, that's what I was. Lab rat that made other lab rats that made lots of money. Also why they haven't just killed my annoying ass yet. [ or, rather, forced him to live, even when he'd tried not to. ]
[ Andyr explains it and lays it all out for him -- it doesn't take long for Bucky to get the whole picture of it, sans a few pieces here and there but still. He'd caught pieces of it when the other man had been yelling it at him, viciously trying to cram all that information down his throat and Bucky had wanted none of that.
He's listening now, gaining a measure of this man, understanding him and how he clicked, and knowing they're not so different after all. He frowns, quietly sympathetic. Andyr is flippant, but Bucky knows better, aware that it's his defense mechanism, and he's still irrevocably damaged deep down inside.
That's the thing about being a lab rat, good only for things that would directly benefit others -- seen as a commodity and not as an individual: the scars don't go away all that quickly. ]
[ His eyes go a bit distant, and Andyr wants to say he hopes so too, but knows that won't be the case. Even if he's given the choice, if it's take the Ingress or stay in this universe, he'll go, right back into Hapsburg's loving arms. ]
I have to. [ with the first once of real fear in his voice, spoken quietly, and resigned. even with the torture he knows is there, the misery, the inescapable hell. but he can't leave the Houses until he knows Posie, Alva, and Alva's kids are all out and safe. That Mikal's not stuck inside the walls again. He can't stay in this world, in peace, and know he's left them behind. After all, he promised Posie he'd take her to the ocean some day.
The train of thought is abruptly derailed with the unease that jolts up in his stomach, nausea flooding him, and oh. this is what he was supposed to warm about. before it happened. a hand slaps over his mouth, and he announces, albeit muffled: ]
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a c t i o n
of the things andyr is good at, acting is so far from one of them it's painful. he's hanging out on the floor, gazing out at the stars, which isn't terribly unusual for him (he loves this place as much as anyone else), but the shifting eyes, straying towards bucky on the other end of the hall, is far from inconspicuous.
what a loser, that andyr prince. ]
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Do you drink?
[ Because having the other man just watch him while he imbibes is getting a touch unsettling. Come over here, fishie. ]
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Sure, why not.
[ andyr grumbles, like it's some hassle for him to walk his way over and plop down, as if he wasn't there watching him already. ]
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But he offers the half-finished bottle to Andyr, looking out at the star-filled expanse of space outside. ]
Don't down it all at once. It's powerful stuff.
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after sitting down heavily, andyr peers at the bottle curiously, but gives an unimpressed snort at the warning. ] You know my biology's so stupid they have to give me drugs directly to the spine? I think I'll live.
[ no, sweetie honeypot. you are incorrect. because alcohol is different, and you're a fucking lightweight.
taking the bottle, andyr knocks back a couple gulps of it, probably enough to be two or three shots, and immediately wants to spit it out. his expression sours up, as he pulls the bottle away, but he forces himself to swallow it down with a grimace against the burn of it. ] That tastes like ass.
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[ Bucky asks because he can sometimes be a little shit and now is one of those times. He tries to keep a straight face at Andyr's reaction, the look on his face obviously proving his previous rhetorical question wrong.
He takes the bottle back from him and takes a long swig. What do you call a borderline alcoholic who doesn't get drunk? He can't help that little smirk now, and he's sure there's a place in hell for people who are amused at other people who turn out to be epic lightweights. ]
This is vodka.
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[ said with a snorted laugh, and a hand shoving at his shoulder. you butthead. and yet, that may have been the first bit of actual humor he'd heard from the man. not that previous conversations had much opportunity for it. maybe he isn't quiet so weird as andyr'd pinned him for.
especially now that he's making that smug little smirk while drink vodka like it's iced tea, wow, fuck you and fuck your tolerance for terrible tasting things. scowling petulantly, andyr reaches a hand out to take the bottle back, determined not to be left behind in this (and very unaware that bucky can't get drunk), and takes another long swig. probably too long. doing a little better this time, he doesn't look ready to spit it out, but he does still grimace a bit, voice rough after he swallows. ] God, people actually do this for fun? Do alcoholics just hate themselves?
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He's regarding him curiously, however, eventually reaching over to take the bottle from him. Andyr is a strange one, but he knows when someone is having alcohol for the first time (more or less). ]
You know I can drink you under the table, right?
[ Hey, Bucky likes raising a little hell now and then. ]
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Bullshit you can.
[ fuck you and fuck your huge muscles and your taller self and your fancy fabio hair, robo-clone, you ain't shit. another long swig later, he's noticing that he's minding the taste less, probably because the too much alcohol in too close a time period on a too low tolerance body is starting to set in. and everything feels fuzzy and too hot. ]
I feel warm.
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Bucky recognises the warning signs of intoxication, and he reaches over to take the bottle from him easily, plucking it from his fingers with a season grace and setting it out of Andyr's reach.
No need to get angry just because you're jealous of his huge muscles and taller self and fabio hair, little one. He wraps an arm around his shoulder to keep him anchored, so that he doesn't pitch over. ]
All right, you've had enough. [ There's the faintest furrow in his brows: concern. ] This your first time?
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[ andyr's mumbling as he tries to reach after the bottle, ending up half slumped against bucky's side as it goes out of his reach, and working his legs to get up and vault after it feels like entirely too much work right now. so, with the arm coming over his shoulders, and with the warmth of his side feeling comfy and limbs all loose and jello, andyr decides this is a fine place to stay.
first time? oh, right. about that. ]
Yeah. Didn't have any before Hapsburg because I was 17 when they got me. Can't have any while I'm there. [ so much of what goes into his system is regulated, like hell they'd give him alcohol. ] Messed with hormones or meds or I don't fucking know, they just hate letting me do shit.
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[ Bucky says blandly. He's no doctor, but it's clear that Andyr's had more than his fair share, that competitive streak evidently leaving no room for self-preservation. He doesn't let go of him, aware that if he does, the younger man will probably pitch over and be entirely cranky in the morning.
And so he dutifully plays the part of babysitter for the time being, keeping Andyr settled beside him as he tries not to imagine just what Hapsburg is like -- because the truth is that he'd probably get a much better idea than just about most of the non-Hapsburg natives. ]
And you went and chugged it anyway.
[ One day Andyr will probably look back on this and laugh. Probably. ]
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[ He's definitely slurring at this point, and he really shouldn't have had so much so fast, especially without a heck of a lot of food in his stomach, but ah, hindsight's 20/20. For as much as Andyr recoils from any kind of contact from strangers normally, the amount he enjoys and craves simple touch when his guard's down is absurd, and he's settling into the curve where Bucky's shoulder meets his arm, breathing out slowly.
A snorted laugh comes from him, maybe somehow proud of himself for doing a stupid thing, who knows. He won't die from it, so who cares? ]
Yeah. 'Cause you were being a bitch about it. [ Reaching up a hand, he tugs at some of the long strands hanging around Bucky's face lightly, nothing painful, but curious. ] Why's your hair so long, isn't it annoying?
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Andyr's somehow nestled into his arm, and Bucky deliberately stays still as he feels the tug at his hair, the open child-like curiosity that is another facet of Andyr. Rarer than the rage and the spitting anger and open hostility, and it lends credence to something more human, something softer that you don't don't point out, else it disappears. ]
Not really. [ It's another survival strategy -- it helps him blend in; people generally don't give someone like him a second look. He's aware that he's actually handsome when he cleans up, but it draws unnecessary attention, and unnecessary attention gets in the way of his objectives. He thinks of that violent comment about doctors, and understands that, too. ] Personal preference. No one pays attention to the homeless guy. [ He pauses. ] Do you feel sick?
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[ that's a comical mental picture, and andyr has the urge to ask if his arm got rusty when he had to wash out the dye, or if he has to wear a bag over one side of him when he showers. the thoughts derail into the clones from home, though, and how he's seen himself blond, green eyed, tall, short, with all kinds of cybernetics attached. ]
You should see Mikal. He looks like he's made outta fucking porcelain. ...Miss him. [ The only one of his clones he really likes, or, more so, doesn't hate. he'd call Mikal a brother, easily, and it's definitely the alcohol that has him openly admitting to missing him, Andyr going a bit distant as he thinks back to home, and how they'd been in the middle of the raid when he was snatched up. Mikal just right behind him. People have said time isn't moving back home while you're here, but Andyr can't help the worry that he'll be screwed without Andyr there. That Hapsburg will take him back in, maybe torture him for Resistance information. Maybe put him back to work. Maybe just kill him. He's snapped out of it by the question, blinking up to Barnes for a moment, owlishly. ] Is that not supposed to happen?
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[ Bucky's hair so dark it's almost black, and he can't imagine dyeing it that way -- that's just ridiculous. Apparently, the ridiculousness of it isn't lost on Andyr either. He sits still, letting the younger man tug on his hair like a particularly patient uncle with an unruly child. Bucky's wondered briefly, of course, if this is just another elaborate trap to draw him in; had considered, in detail, the advantages and disadvantages of that -- and has concluded that it seemed too convoluted and pointless to be any sort of snare to drag him back into HYDRA.
Perhaps Andyr and his compatriots really are from another world with a chillingly similar behemoth of an organization that has nothing to do with HYDRA.
And so he listens when Andyr talks about Mikal -- whoever he is must be precious to him, what with the way he sounds. A brother? A lover, maybe? -- Bucky doesn't have the remotest idea who that is, but he collects that name anyway. Faking affection is difficult, and hot-headed Andyr doesn't seem like the kind of person who would give obfuscation the time of day; he's too honest for that. ]
Depending on the person. Tell me if you feel like vomiting. [ Then, ] Who's Mikal?
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Mikal's one of my clones. Only one I don't hate, honestly. [ Which may tell you a little bit of why he was so angry with Bucky when he'd first met him, and so standoffish after. The only one he'd ever been fond of is Mikal, not even by his own machinations, and even if Bucky isn't one of his clones, it'd still felt like a betray. He isn't just a clone of him, Mikal evolved into so much more than that, and Andyr can hardly claim responsibility for any of it, outside of the most basic genetics. ] But he's so good. He's so freakin' smart, and I got no idea where that came from. I mean, I'm not an idiot, and I do okay, but he's got this mind for strategy and tactics like you've never seen.
You know, he actually tricked me into sympathizing with him just to use me like a battering ram for him to escape Hapsburg? [ And he hadn't even realized it until they were already out. At first, he'd been pissed, but after, he was just impressed. As violent, enraged and volatile as Andyr is, he knows he'll never be as dangerous as Mikal is. Not nearly. ] He was made to be a companion model, no extra augments for combat, and ended up Resistance leader.
If there's anyone who can bring the Houses down, it'll be him.
no subject
[ Manipulative, sharp, cunning -- a natural response, perhaps, to the overwhelming control the Hapsburg seems to have over its people. He's still learning about it from Andyr, solving little puzzles and discovering more of the other man in turn.
Turns out, beyond the rage and anger; Andyr's really not a bad person. He listens to the man talk about this other clone, supposes that this Mikal does have a mind for strategy. He knows tactics, able to utilise and improvise even the most complicated maneuver in a heartbeat because it's how he's been wired to think to make a kill, to complete the mission. But here's the question: ]
What were you meant for, in their plans?
no subject
So, you've got KN1s and KN2s, right? KN1s are normal, originally rights-having humans, born out in the city or wherever, who just have this gene in them called the Kerns-Norman gene. And then it activates and everything sucks. Anyway, that's what I am, KN1. KN2 are clones from KN1 genes, like Mikal. [ something about it sounds more reasonable, when explained like this, and andyr frowns for a moment, unhappy with that. but, beside the point. continuing on with the lesson. ] When a House gets a KN1 that has stupid strong genes, that clones well and augments easy, they make them a Template. Drill these ports into your back, and you get locked up tight, like company secrets. Because the gene alters so fast, every time they wanna make a new series of clones, they have to take the Template out, get these nasty huge needles, and suck the genetic tissue straight out of your spine.
[ ah. he's bordering on gross again. calm your tits, andyr, he didn't ask for all the details. reel it in. ]
So, that's what I was. Lab rat that made other lab rats that made lots of money. Also why they haven't just killed my annoying ass yet. [ or, rather, forced him to live, even when he'd tried not to. ]
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He's listening now, gaining a measure of this man, understanding him and how he clicked, and knowing they're not so different after all. He frowns, quietly sympathetic. Andyr is flippant, but Bucky knows better, aware that it's his defense mechanism, and he's still irrevocably damaged deep down inside.
That's the thing about being a lab rat, good only for things that would directly benefit others -- seen as a commodity and not as an individual: the scars don't go away all that quickly. ]
I hope you never have to go back there again.
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I have to. [ with the first once of real fear in his voice, spoken quietly, and resigned. even with the torture he knows is there, the misery, the inescapable hell. but he can't leave the Houses until he knows Posie, Alva, and Alva's kids are all out and safe. That Mikal's not stuck inside the walls again. He can't stay in this world, in peace, and know he's left them behind. After all, he promised Posie he'd take her to the ocean some day.
The train of thought is abruptly derailed with the unease that jolts up in his stomach, nausea flooding him, and oh. this is what he was supposed to warm about. before it happened. a hand slaps over his mouth, and he announces, albeit muffled: ]
I'm gonna puke.