dappered | (no subject)

[ It's Tuesday in Avengers Tower.

A lot of the particulars of this arrangement had gone over his head, given that he'd been all but catatonic from shock and exhaustion through half of it (turns out using the Cube for a major temporal displacement actually took a lot of energy from the bearer, in this case him) but it seemed to include a lot of shouting and posturing while he'd suffered a fatal disconnect over which Steve he was supposed to back up, the tiny angry one or the big angry one. But the gist of it, explained by Howard Stark's son, is this: the Tesseract fucks with time, and sometimes deigns to answers wishes. Even those not spoken out loud. One flash of blue light later it had dumped all four of them here in the future in some kind of 'temporal bubble,' whatever the fuck that was, and it's keeping them here indefinitely.

Stark promises he's working on fixing it, but the future has things like inhalers and endless amounts of hot water, so there's that. Bucky's not in any big freaking hurry to head back to the war front in any case, even if being stuck here means staring at the frankly terrifying person who is supposedly future-him, or one possible version of future-him.

They're all under what's effectively house arrest in Stark's future robot building, given leave to go wherever they want in the Tower. They've all got their own bedrooms, their own kitchens, even their own floors if they want them, but Bucky had shown up at younger Steve's door at first opportunity and hadn't left him since.

(Part of him thought that maybe, maybe he should be throwing in with the other one, the older one with shadows under his eyes and a look on his face like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, the one Bucky remembered from Europe, but stress had brought on one of Stevie's attacks and Bucky couldn't leave him alone for that.)

He'd been kicked out eventually, though, told to go do his worrying and hovering somewhere else and take his stupid glowing alien box with him, which meant that Steve wanted some space to be upset in peace and that was fine, that was all fine, Brooklyn Steve didn't really know him since he'd been taken off to the camp and. Yeah. He's different. He's killed a lot of people since then, has watched his best friend waffle between science experiment, propaganda darling and one man army with maybe 10% of the training he needs to do the jobs they've got him doing. He's got a glowing alien box that always comes back to him, no matter how he tries to get rid of it. It bothers Steve that he's different. Not a one of them really know each other right now.

He drifts into the kitchen out of lack of anything better to do, still dressed in yesterday's clothes because he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep while Steve rasped in the bed next to him, mechanically opening cabinets and going through drawers, staring in something like hopeless frustration at the array of supposed edibles. The packages are all brightly colored and there are three kinds of everything, all declared to be low-fat or pure organic or a good source of vitamin whatever, like it wasn't possible for a guy to just get milk anymore without having to make some kind of choice about it. The labels are in every kind of language possible, of which he can only read three with his fragmentary French, Italian, and German. There's butter, more than he knows what to do with, and real meat, impossibly fresh, and the house robot has told him that if there's anything he wants that isn't there, he just has to ask for it and it'll be delivered.

All he wants is a goddamn loaf of bread and some cheese to make a sandwich, jesus. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ it's invitation enough. he takes a step into the room and watches what bruce is doing intently, always trying to gather more data and learn from the people around him. ]

If there's enough. Please.

[ the last word as an afterthought, because sam wilson had impressed upon him the importance of manners in asking for things and meeting someone's high five. he comes a little closer, curiosity piqued by the teapot. ]

Steve doesn't make it like this.

[Bruce raises an eyebrow at that, before pouring the boiling water from the kettle into the pot, over an infuser filled with loose leaf tea, and letting it steep.] How does Steve make it?

And there's more than enough. I have different kinds, too, if you're not a fan of Earl Grey.

Bags. They were cheaper.

[ back in the 40s, when every cent counted. or at least, that's what he's vaguely pieced together from the things that come back to him after sharing tea with steve. he glances up to bruce momentarily for permission before simply welcoming himself to taking a closer look at the teapot, head ducked to the counter as he tries to figure out the mechanics of the infuser. simple. genius. he speaks distractedly now, torn between two interesting things. ]

I've had chamomile. I don't know about anything else.

[Bruce's smile widens.] Understandable. The nice thing about this particular brand is that they're easy to wash out, so one will last you a long time. And they're not very expensive, now.

[He checks his watch, and pours the tea into mugs when a few minutes have passed.]

I'll have to introduce you to different kinds, then.

[ he sucks his teeth with a petulant little tch and straightens, arms folded across his chest. ]

I got a lot to learn. Didn't think the nuances of tea would wind up on the list.

[ but even as he's complaining, he's still cataloging all of this information as much as he can; the small childlike part of him that is excited to keep learning more about the world really wants to figure out the differences between earl grey and chamomile. ]

[Bruce just laughs at Bucky's attitude.] Well, trust me when I say that learning the nuances of tea will help you learn everything else. Tea and coffee blends. It's how I manage to work through most nights.