fossilised | For Steve

[Well the guy who just walked in does have one of those little staff ID pull badges (though strictly speaking he's a volunteer) so he must be the teacher, right?

He doesn't look a whole lot like a teacher given his size and all, though he does move with a certain amount of awkwardness that comes from one who got a significant growth spurt very very late when they'd already thought all their growing was done. No, it wasn't steroids, he was very tired of answering that question when people saw his high school pictures.

He's got the sort of relaxed in his element look - hell, he's even got a bit of what's probably pencil graphite on the side of his face from an earlier class that he missed cleaning when he washed his hands. He's teaching people who are in the ballpark of the same age as him or older in some cases, everyone knows why they're here, he doesn't have to corral them or exercise the kind of control necessary if he was teaching a class of teenagers or below.

He stores his messenger bag next to the desk up front before standing in front of it. Nice, welcoming smile and nonthreatening body language. The door is left open.

You might not want anyone to know why you're there, Bucky, but damn right the teacher was told ahead of time. Same with everyone else in the room, which he addresses as a whole.]

Looks like this is everyone and I'm the latest arrival we've got. Welcome to Emotional Wellness and Therapy Through the Arts, I'm Steve Rogers but you can call me Steve. Since this is the first day I was thinking we'd go through introductions and just try to get settled. You don't have to share anything you're not comfortable sharing, but if you have any history with art I'd love to hear it.

[Holy shit, is that guy ever a walking wet dream.

Back before he had been shipped out, Bucky probably would have been down there in a flash, leaning on the desk and giving him the old charming lopsided smile to try and get him to go on a date. But the new Bucky didn't do that sort of thing, he had lost his charm somewhere along the way and social situations weren't he friend any more. That didn't mean he couldn't look, right?

But then big, tall, and blond started to talk, and Bucky felt his mood sour again. Urgh, even the name of the group was awful, so touchy feely, he was going to kill Wilson for making him sign up for this. He sat in churlish silence as most of the group got up one by one and introduced themselves, why they were there, and gushed a bit about how art helped them, or what artists they liked, or bullshit like that.

He stood up when it was his turn, awkward with seven pairs of eyes on him.]

Bu-- uh, James Barnes. I've not done any art, pretty sure I can't even draw a stick figure. I'm just here because I made a promise, that's all.

[The first time Steve had run this class was a bit more awkward, but he'd been doing it for almost a year now and had gotten his feet under him, able to smile and nod and prompt when appropriate as the other people introduced themselves. Most were new, but one he'd recognized from another class at the center.

And then it came to James Barnes. Steve had been watching the sour look out of the corner of his eye since he started talking. The previous flirtatious glance had unfortunately gone over Steve's head - he had very little luck for all his formative flirting years and was perpetually under the impression he was still a 90lb nothing who men and women alike would just as soon laugh at rather than be seen in public with. Acknowledging that even people he talked to regularly were attractive was more like acknowledging that David Bowie was attractive. Certainly - and you'd never get a chance. So that James was very much Steve's type as well was something he didn't dwell to hard on right away.

Steve still smiles. Every class has someone who's going to take more time and attention than the others, and Steve's bet was on James rather than the girl with the psychosis actually. By the end of it they're gonna be friends, he's determined.]

Well that's a lucky break for all of us to have you for this class, James. Don't worry about making art that's 'good' - just make something you like. Because of the nature of this class there aren't any grades, really. It's just about participation, and about what it can do to help you, individually, in your everyday life.

And hey, there's plenty of webcomic artists who can only draw stick figures who now have book deals for their comics. [That gets a laugh from a few of the other students.] Artistic talent is subjective.

Now, graphite, pencils, those are my mediums of choice and I'm the teacher - [Steve holds up the badge] so we start with those, but we'll be branching off to try as much as we can - let me know if you have any you're fond of or want to try and we can move around the order of things to get to it sooner.

[He's got starting classes down to an art as well, with how experienced he is by now. While Steve doesn't hover by any means, if James gets a little extra attention, well... it's probably just because of where he chose to sit? Sure, we can claim that's what it is.]

[Bucky doesn't think this Adonis has noticed him looking because, hell, everyone is looking. He must be used to it, a guy like that doesn't go through life without everyone and their mother staring. His arms look as big as Bucky's head; he's seen a lot of muscled men, his own aren't too shabby from the army, but this guy looks like he lives in a gym and only emerges to come to this class and maybe pound a protein shake or two.

He sets his jaw and starts to sketch out god only knows what on his piece of paper. At first he intends it to be a boat, but then half of it goes wonky and it ends up looking more like a deformed bird with graphite smudges all over it.]

Checking up on me, Teach?

[He pitches his voice at an attempt at a tease, not wanting to give away how awkward he felt with the tutor this close. Why was he watching? Had he noticed that his left arm wasn't real? God, he hoped not.]

I told you, I can't draw for shit.

[Now, Steve did notice something was off about James' arm. He drew people, a lot, which involved studying the figure, and there was something ... 'unnatural' wasn't the correct word there, but regardless, it was different. The first place Steve's mind went, however, considering that Barnes was here for PTSD was that it was perhaps a war injury that he brought home with him.

Steve is right, after a fashion, but full on prosthetic was much further than he was thinking. Still, it'd be crass to mention it, or ask if James had been in the Navy with his drawing of a boat (yes Steve could also tell it was a boat, with an at least 80% certainty) since he hadn't volunteered that information to the class.

Steve wanted to be in the army once. Tried to fight tooth and nail for it. Being an adult and dealing with the people left over from that, he wonders now if he was the type that could have survived it.]

Checking up on everyone, you just happen to be next. I can move on to Laura first if you'd like but she's a hard act to follow.

[It's a joke, see? Teasing for teasing, they're all friends here.]

Well that isn't a stick figure. Everyone starts somewhere. It's a boat, right? From memory or imagination?

[His eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise and he looks down at his drawing, which doesn't look anything good enough to be a boat, and then back up at the teacher - Steve Rogers - and his oh-so-sincere expression. Was it genuine, or was he one of those people who acted all smiley and encouraging to help the broken people? Too early to tell yet.]

How the hell can you tell it's a boat?

[He's under no illusions, he knows his art is terrible. God only knows why Wilson thought that taking a class for something he was terrible at would help him out.]

I mean, uh, yeah, of course it's a boat. I don't know why, just the first thing that came into my head, that's all. I don't even like boats, I get seasick.

[Oh good, and now he's babbling. Shut up, Barnes.]

We've probably got a book that has pictures of boats in it if you want a look. It helps a lot to have a reference when you're drawing, especially if you're just getting started. Or you could be like Annie and focus more on what the abstract feeling of a boat means to you.

[Steve thumbs in the redhead woman's direction. She calls back 'I can draw my cats as big as the Chrysler if I want to!' without any shame or embarrassment. He gives James another smile. Really, more than anything, Steve just wants him to be comfortable. And maybe keep getting smiles out of him too.

Nothing's wrong with looking, even if you can't have.]

It does look like a boat though. Uh, probably not a seaworthy one exactly, but...

[Okay, he actually has a hell of a lot more respect for Rogers when he doesn't bullshit him and tell him that his boat is amazing. His lips even quirk up for a second or two.]

You can't say shit like that, Teach. I'm emotionally fragile, remember, you're destroying all my hard-won confidence in my boat drawing skills. I'm never gonna be able to leave the house again.

[He raised an eyebrow in Rogers' direction, trying to gauge how well he'd take the joke. Usually people got offended on his own behalf, or awkward about the idea of joking about his broken brain, but it's what got him through. It was easier than dealing with his shit head on.]

[It might have gotten a reaction like that from Steve if he hadn't been raised bouncing from base to base - even if Steve couldn't be military, he came from a career military family. This certain kind of humor, it was familiar to him.

He gives an exaggerated wince, dropping his voice to a stage whisper as he leaned in just a bit as if sharing a secret.]

Not so loud, they'll revoke my teaching licence if they hear you. Or, well, my teaching learner's permit. My ID card laminated down at Kinkos that grants me unlimited access to the closet where the paperclips and post-its are stored, okay, they'll take that away.

[Damn. Sexy as hell and a good sense of humour, why wasn't he up on the dating game any more? Even worse, that meant he was at least sort of enjoying the class and that meant he wasn't allowed to beat Wilson to a pulp for making him do this.]

Too bad, maybe you should have thought about all those sweet paperclips before you said my boat wasn't seaworthy.

[He scrubs his hand over his face and leaves a big smudge of graphite on his nose.]

Don't you need to go and crush some of the other students?

[Good job, Wilson. You made the right choice forcing Bucky into this, clearly. You're a bro.

Steve grins again, laughing softly, and shakes his head.]

Encouraging and educating, but fine, fine. I'll leave you to your perfectly magnificent and absolutely seaworthy boat.

[He doesn't want to press his luck - he's got a feeling James is the kind of person he could accidentally spend all class focusing on, and that's not what he's ... well he's not actually getting paid for this since it's a volunteer position, but that's not what he was allowed unlimited access to post-its and paperclips for. Besides, Laura has been waiting ever so patiently.

So he moves on, even if he does keep glancing up at Bucky more often than not. And maybe before his next round would bring him back to Bucky he does end up (making sure Bucky sees him coming and isn't startled by it) setting a photography book next to him, with a few post-its marking pages where the photographers focused on various marine vessels.]

[Once Rogers moves on, it's harder again to enjoy the class. Not necessarily because of how attractive the man was to look at, but because he now has nothing to distract him from being trapped in a room with a bunch of strangers except his own shitty drawing of a boat.

Despite Rogers telegraphing his movements clearly, he still tenses up when the book is put next to him and scowls at it for a moment or two before he deigns to open it. The pictures don't help much, his drawing is still easily the worst in the class.

By the time forty minutes has passed, Bucky's leg is jiggling impatiently as he watches the clock much more than his paper.]

[The class is technically an hour long. Steve is trying real hard to not hover - he knows a few people that would just as soon punch him for too much concern, but he can't chalk it up to wishful thinking. Bucky did seriously seem more relaxed when Steve was talking to him than he did working on his own. So maybe next time it's time for rounds, James gets first dibs on Steve's time, so to speak.]

How's it going?

[Not good, he already knows that, but if James doesn't want to talk about or acknowledge it Steve doesn't want to make him feel like he's backed into a corner. His voice is also noticeably quieter with the question rather than the mock whisper of before. Genuine concern, genuine giving of privacy with it.]

Fine.

[He snaps it back, warning in every line of his body not to pursue it. He hates that he gets like this, he hates that this is his damn life since he came home, and the last thing he wants is sympathy from Mr. Ripped-and-sensitive.]

Look, I don't think this class is for me.

[He reaches out with his good hand and impulsively screws up the sheet of paper that has his boat on it, before pushing himself out of the chair. All his instincts are screaming at him to get away.]

I gotta go.

Wait -

[What's Steve going to do to stop him though - tackle him? That's not really an option, first and foremost being he can't see that going over well and ... well, of James needs to get out of there then Steve needs to let him go, even if his first instinct is, ridiculously, to just run after him.]

Just - come back next week? Please?

[Even if he has to plead that at Bucky's retreating back, he's got to try.]

[Bucky doesn't respond to the teacher calling after him, though he does register somewhere in the edges of his panic fuzz that the tone seemed oddly sincere. He doesn't stop moving until he's back in his shitty little apartment, breathing deeply and bitterly regretting making such a spectacle of himself.

He really is considering not going back next week, what's the point?

Besides, he has all the excitement he could possibly need for now, apparently someone is finally moving into that apartment right below his. He can't help but wonder what idiot they've managed to con into 3C, or if the poor guy/girl/couple don't care about the damp and noisy people always fighting in 3B.

He doesn't know when mystery tenant is moving in, but he keeps an ear out for the sounds of anyone moving, all while ignoring his appointments. Wilson's going to be so pissed at him, he's missed therapy twice in a row now.]

[The thing is, this isn't the first time. It's a class focused on people with issues, one that has always worked closely with vet services. Something about this one hits harder, though. He gets the focus of the class again, and several of the remaining students have seen similar breakdowns in other related classes.

Really, Bucky didn't punch anyone out, the cops didn't have to be called. As far as panic attacks went, it was relatively mild from an outsider's perspective.

That doesn't stop Steve from spending the next few days dwelling on it in every free moment, going over every interaction and wondering how he could have done things differently, creating elaborate scenarios in his head where he says the Right Thing and he gets James to be comfortable, to stay.

It doesn't help matters any that he's got his move coming up. It's closer to where he works and volunteers and is more or less the same price he was already paying with the added bonus of less money spent on transportation. Come moving day, he wished he could put it off more but if he just gets it done it'll be over and done with and he can put his time to more productive use.

Fitting it'd be a gray, dreary day when it happened.

He's got very little by way of possessions and half of it is art supplies. Natasha doesn't own a truck but she does have access to a truck thanks to her boyfriend so she helps Steve with the two big pieces early in the morning. Which is mostly Steve doing the lifting and Natasha helping with the pivots.

"You sure you don't want me to stay? I can call in with the plague," Natasha offers as Steve unloads the smaller boxes from the truck.]

Nah, it'll be good. I can clear my mind, get to know the neighbors even.

["Bake them an apple pie and bring over fresh made lemonade," Natasha suggests, which is only 50% sarcastic "Nobody talks to their neighbors anymore Steve."

They banter back and forth for a few more minutes before he shoos her away to go to work while he handles moving the smaller boxes of mostly art supplies into the propped open door. He's trying not to make too much noise, though he supposes he doesn't know how thin the walls are here.]

[Bucky knows someone is moving in below him, because all of a sudden there are muffled noises coming through his floor that weren't there before. He can't help but wonder who it is that's moving into that apartment and what sort of person they'll be, the apartment block might be shitty but it's his safe space and he is very conscious of all the other people who live there.

He lives in apartment 4C, and he knows the people in 4B, 4D, and 5C pretty well because they're the ones who box him in directly, and so the ones that might pose the biggest threat to him. Well... he says he knows them, he means that he's spied on them and he knows of them. He does actually know the woman in 4B, she's nearly ninety and has a bad hip, so sometimes he goes around and helps out and she gives him cookies. She had a husband in the army and so she knows never to make loud noises or come up behind him unexpectedly, they get on well. There's a family in 4D, a loud and argumentative family who are always swearing at each other. 5C is a single man, businessman, who is literally only there to sleep and nothing else.

And now 3C, the person below him, the mystery new tenant.

If it had been any other apartment, Bucky probably wouldn't have bothered going down, but he needs to know who's underneath him. So he snags the mailbox key from his sideboard, he stole it after the last people in 3C moved out so that he'd have a reason to visit the new tenant, and slouches down the stairs to knock on the door.]

[Steve got his furniture moved already where it needs to be - a desk for drawing by the window for the best light, the bed he's had that he bought on sale at IKEA right after college that's still miraculously held up. Most of the stuff in their last apartment was Nat's and while she did also offer to let him take it he lived life without a microwave or a tv before he he was certain he could after.

He was old fashioned that way.

The pieces he was still working on went out first so he remembered it was priority to finish them. Steve was hoping to get them in a gallery next month that he'd had luck with in the past. He was dealing with the kitchen when he heard the knock from the door.]

"Nobody talks to their neighbors anymore, Steve,"

[He scoffs and smiles, glad to have Natasha's statement proven wrong.

Of course, when opened the door, he was really not expecting to see a familiar face on the other end.]

... James??

[Bucky can't help but stare and wonder if God really does hate him, or something. Here was that Adonis back into his life again, and he hasn't even had a shower in three days. He's suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he has greasy hair hanging around his face that he hasn't even bothered to tie back, and that his hoodie is frayed at the cuffs and collar. At least his jeans are pretty clean, but he didn't even put shoes on so his toes are curling barefoot on the corridor floor.

Damn. Damn.]

You're-- moving into my building?

[Smooth.

He wishes he could take the words back as soon as they come out, trying to recover by pulling his lips up into a slightly teasing smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.]

Geez, you really don't go half measures to hunt down pupils and make them keep coming to class, huh?

[Steve takes in Bucky's disheveled state without trying to hide that he's doing it. Tiptoeing around the subject won't help any, he's sure, and there's a softness to his expression once the shock wears away. Not pity, but... understanding. Empathy. It's on the tip of his tongue to stammer, to apologize, to explain that he really did have no idea Bucky lived here.

Instead, Steve takes in a breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it go and smiles.]

What can I say? I'm dedicated to my work. Don't jump out a window, I'll probably follow you and those landings are hell on your knees.

[The banter seemed to help James in class, and even out of that setting on equal ground Steve wants to put him at ease.]

Would you like to come in? I can make coffee, or tea... I normally have juice and milk too but I haven't gotten to go grocery shopping yet.

[He can't help the slight quirk up to his lips when Steve banters back. It's good, it's what made him almost enjoy the class before it got too much for him and he bailed like a coward. Something about Steve puts him at ease, maybe it's the genuine boy scout vibe he seems to give off, but even as muscled as he is, he doesn't register as a threat even to Bucky's sometimes overly paranoid thoughts.]

Uh.

[He kind of wants to say yes, but he's barefoot and grungy and Steve is probably only asking him in to be polite, he seems like that kind of guy.]

I don't want to keep you from unpacking. But, hey, if you need sugar or anything then knock me up.

[Why? Why did he say that? Was there anything more cliche and lame than offering a neighbour a cup of sugar? Please let the ground swallow him now.]

[Some of Steve's best friends have a habit of showing up barefoot and grungy, he's not about to judge. Like, he's a little worried what with the state Bucky was in the last time Steve saw him, but hey, he left his apartment apparently willingly and unprompted so Steve reminds himself again not to mother or worry too much. Which is also a bad habit of his.]

Oh, yeah, all this unpacking. Don't know how I'll get it done.

[He steps aside to give Bucky a clear view of his very small pile of boxes. You couldn't even make a decent fort out of those.]

I won't push though. Uh, have you lived in this building long? I'm totally new to the neighborhood, so...

[That's not a lot of belongings. Not that Bucky can judge, he literally sleeps on an blow-up air bed with a pillow and sheet, and the rest of his possessions fit into a large backpack. It's just a survival technique, always be able to run at a moment's notice.]

About six months, I know where the local stores are and the nearest subway station.

[He hesitates, not wanting it to seem like he's okay to just be this near-stranger's guide.]

But sure, I guess a coffee would be good, if you're insisting.

[Steve does have an actual bed, even if it's a narrow metal framed one from IKEA! It's off the floor and everything! And made to military precision, even if he never was able to enlist.

And at James' relenting and agreeing to coffee, Steve positively beams like Bucky truly did just make his day. It's just such a damn sincere expression.]

I've been told I make pretty good coffee. Don't exactly have a lot of seating, but make yourself comfortable, I'll put it on.

[He has a chair at his desk and his bed, point in fact. Other than that it's floor space or counter leaning. Still, Steve jogs over to the stove to turn it on and put the kettle on, fetching the cone filters from the box on the counter and grabbing two mismatched mugs.]

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