useless issues

[crusaded]

Every now and again, I try my luck with the bookshelf. I know that the only way Lex Luthor has been able to look my way with such knowing is because he's sought out answers from that bookshelf, finding more of them than I personally feel comfortable with. My hope is that persistence will land. That I will have some way of knowing, or at least guessing, how the future plays out. What lies in store for Damian, for Jason, for Cassandra and Stephanie. But as I return to the Compound late at night, a quick sweep of Rapture having landed very little of worth, the bookshelf continue to deny me any news at all.

Feels typical.

It does, however, deign to give me a thick copy of the Sunday issue of the New York Times. Politics seems to be the main topic, all news about the Republican nomination, the few who still struggle to make the ballot. It's far from the news that I want, but at least it's interesting, and I'm invested enough in Obama's reelection that when I flip through the pages, it isn't all for show.

If nothing else, all of this is far more interesting to me than the Council elections were. I stab at a piece of pineapple, wincing at how tart the fruit proves to be.

Comments

[onlyapassenger]

I'm not a spy. I've done my share of espionage, but I will forever and always identify as a soldier first, and everything else second... But I'm still the step between Nick and Steve -- an assassin, a sniper. I'm used to working from a distance, keeping an eye on things, constantly remaining aware of my surroundings. So even if I haven't been stalking Wayne like his children would stalk me, I've still kept him on my periphery. He's not an active threat, but it won't take much for that to change, and I'd be a fool to not keep abreast of his movements when he turned my whole world upside down just a few short months ago.

And all that said, he's still not the person I expect to see in the Compound at this hour when I'm doing a bit of late-night laundry. I don't stop right away. I have business to do and there's not much harm done in him reading the news, but when he's still there even after I've put my clothes in the washer downstairs and come back looking for something to pass the time, it's the chair opposite him that I choose above any of the others.

Maybe I'm just asking for trouble, but a little trouble'll do wonders for another night of insomnia.

With a military history book to act as a transparent excuse, Bucky sits opposite Wayne so casually as to belie the tension inherent in the two of them being in the same room. There's no announcement, no hello-how-do-you-do. The burden of small talk falls on Wayne to start, but Bucky's quietly chomping at the bit to see what happens, if anything happens at all.

[crusaded]

The man manages enough finesse that I'd say anyone else passing by probably wouldn't notice. That said, the subtlety still hits me like a brick from this distance. And I'm not sure that has anything to do with who I am or the training I've had.

Since he doesn't interrupt my reading, and because a part of me truly wants him to make the first move, I simply turn a page. The sound of crinkling newspaper breaks the silence.

[onlyapassenger]

A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky's mouth from behind his book, and he just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Silent treatment. Of course. There's no reason to talk, but still he hoped to not have to start the conversation; despite this, he's too impatient to wait much longer. Certain habits are harder to break than others, and running at the mouth to provoke a reaction is something that Bucky'll have a hell of a time breaking.

Besides, he's used to making first moves.

"How's Obama making out?"

[crusaded]

"Too early to tell," I reply, laying down the paper and deftly turning it around in case the guy's really as curious as his question makes him out to be. "Early enough that both sides are wildly optimistic, as happens every election. Personally, I think the Republican side's short on good candidates, but who knows. Maybe Occupy White House is their next move."

I rest my chin in my palm, fingers lightly pressing against my lips. Ultimately, what I do won't be greatly affected by the outcome of this election, as far as I can tell. Gotham's always been its separate place.

"I'd call myself cautiously optimistic."

[onlyapassenger]

"Democrat?" Bucky guesses. He's never had much of a head for politics, but FDR had always been good to him to make him lean more towards the left than the right. Still, given that one of his earliest missions as Captain America had seen him defend both presidential candidates from being the Red Skull's latest victims, he's invested in making sure the next one runs more smoothly than the last.

Invested, but not distracted from the subtext of conversation. They've never spoken without the masks, but so far, Wayne's given him absolutely no indication to show he knows who, exactly, he's talking to.

Interesting. What's his motive? Secret identity seems obvious, but it could be deeper than than that.

[crusaded]

"Independent, but close enough," I reply with a flippant wave of my hand. My thoughts on politics are more or less the same both in and out of the cowl. "Sometimes it's just a matter of picking the lesser or two evils, but I guess I'm more left-leaning than right." Without much further interest from the guy, as far as I can tell, I sweep the paper back into my possession, turning until I've reached the comics.

Not like I can keep my mind on anything half as convoluted as American politics when he's around. Captain America.

I suppose I need a better name to attribute to him in times like these, so I hold my hand out for a shake.

"Bruce Wayne."

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky leans forward, easy as you please, and takes the offered hand in his own. He doesn't, strictly speaking, shake it, his grip too tight to be mistaken as anything approaching friendly, but there's no threat hidden in his expression, either. All that's there is a simple, if thinly veiled curiosity, like Wayne is some sort of puzzle to solve.

"James Barnes," he replies. "Not really a political guy myself. Don't have the patience for the games."

[crusaded]

As far as handshakes go, I've had worse. He doesn't seem to have any interest in breaking the hand, at least— not that he would necessarily be able to, even if he tried. Certainly not without consequence. He may notice a change in my behavior from the last time we met, not half as defeated, nor lacking in sleep. I've found a sort of confidence over the months, in part fueled by calm encounters with Jason, and otherwise driven by my need to help keep order and sense of purpose alike.

"Pretty sure a great deal of politicians would be unhappy to hear you suggest that games are in any way involved in politics," I remark evenly. Directed at me? Probably.

It's different.

[onlyapassenger]

"My best friend's on the Council," says Bucky, holding the hand for longer than's polite before, his unknown criteria seemingly satisfied, he lets go, and sits back.

"Even if we didn't have freedom of speech, I'd have a little leeway to rag on him."

[crusaded]

"Let me guess," I say, and even if I've got a fifty-fifty shot at picking the right guy, it's not chance that I'm resting on. The right answer seems practically glaring.

"Steve Rogers?"

[onlyapassenger]

"What gave it away?" Bucky asks, almost laughing, but not quite managing it given the company.

[crusaded]

I nearly make a smart remark. Someone with a personality as abrasive as this young man's probably gets along best with those who are agreeable for one reason or another. Jason's never made life too difficult to those he truly looked up to; the only reason why we're at odds now is because I've broken that image of an idol in his eyes, failed to take the decisive action that heroes like us were designed to take upon ourselves. With Bucky, I can imagine the boy being unconditionally accepting. Trailing after Barnes' every move.

Somehow, I can see Barnes being his own shade of confident over that fact, too.

"Just a hunch," I say. "It's like the both of you're practically waving Old Glory around twenty-four seven, in your own way."

[onlyapassenger]

Doesn't go for the easy insult. Interesting. Smart, too, but I wonder if he realizes that. The Soviets wanted me because they thought I exuded America with my every breath. I'm sure they'd be glad to know they were right... If I cared about what they thought. Don't really care what Wayne thinks either, truth be told... But it's in my best interest to know.

"Job hazard," says Bucky, like that's all it is. Steve might've originated the title, but they're both patriotic, if not blindingly so. Captain America represents what the country should be, if not necessarily what it is. The papers called Steve out of touch during the Civil War, but it seemed to an outsider that it was the other way around. Given how that all fell apart, he can only feel vindicated.

"What about you... Any friends from home?"

[crusaded]

Any friends? Well-worded. This man's given me information about all of one person that he knows, and the individual who's had the most spotlight on the island regardless, more than open and willing to share details of his life with the citizenry that he serves. On the other hand, my singling out a single person is impossible for a question like that.

I decide to change tactics.

"Pretty sure you've already met one, if rumor serves," I reply, because this individual may be the only one the two of us are highly invested in. Depends. (But if Barnes shows a great deal of concern for the others, it's far easier to argue that their lives are none of his business.)

"Jason Todd?"

[onlyapassenger]

"That's not a friend," Bucky points out, brows arching slightly for the remark. He meant what he said before, about not liking games.

"I know who you know, Mr. Wayne, but I sure as hell don't know who actually likes you."

[crusaded]

"You're right, that's not a friend. That's family," I reply evenly, crossing my arms over my chest. I owe him nothing. And he can judge me all that he wants, but until he knows the situation, even that has limited weight.

I don't need others' judgment to know where I've made missteps.

"So, Mr. Barnes. Why are we here? Do you want a list?"

[onlyapassenger]

"We're here because we have to coexist," says Bucky, forever a pragmatist when it comes down to it. Even when he was younger, brimming with optimism and untarnished ideals, he had this matter-of-fact approach to dealing with problems.

"And while antagonizing each other for the foreseeable future would make for a great way to pass the time, it's not in anyone's best interest and I get zero enjoyment out of abusing my authority."

[crusaded]

"Yes, and frankly, James, I don't feel that I've given you reason to abuse that authority," I posit, tilting my head and almost curious to hear his answer, although a part of me knows that it won't change anything. "I guess you could argue about my initial arrival if so inclined, but I've been here for some time already."

I offer a passive smile. "Maybe I'm not running for citizen of the year, but I hardly think that I'm getting in much of anyone's way."

[onlyapassenger]

"And you'll note that I've given you plenty of space since then, Bruce," Bucky replies, leaning back. "A courtesy your youngest hasn't bothered giving me, but..." He shrugs, apparently unconcerned with Damian Wayne's semi-regular tracking, much as it grates at times, makes him feel like more of a caged animal than he already is.

"Boys will be boys."

Waving off his digression, Bucky then leans forward, pressing the tips of his fingers together, book forgotten.

"You know how I met Jason?"

[crusaded]

I keep silent on the matter of Damian, though I file the knowledge away for later. I know that he's been trailing after various people on the island, those who have had some manner of interaction with the family, but if he's being noticed, that's something he should know. Either way, I'm not sure Barnes is the one to be trailing after.

"He was bleeding from a wound that I inflicted on his throat," I confirm, keeping my expressive impassive.

I'll be curious to see if he asks further questions about that.

[onlyapassenger]

He says it so casually that I have to wonder if he feels any remorse. The same anger that propelled me to chase after him flares up again, almost knocking me breathless... But then I remember where we are... Remember myself... And tamp it down.

Bucky looks down, the conflicting emotions running through his head manifesting only as a humorless smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He hums his acknowledgment, needing just a second more to make sure his words come out conversational instead of yelling his reply.

"You don't seem too upset about that."

[crusaded]

"And things are often far from what they seem," I reply in kind, even if the line grates. It's one that's been used against me any number of times, often to gloat, but that's not my intention here. What use would there be in pouring out my regrets to this man? What right do I have to alleviate my guilt in such a way?

The answer to both of these question is: none.

"All men have regrets," I add. "And a parent who doesn't feel that upon hurting their child doesn't deserve the title."

[onlyapassenger]

"So you don't consider yourself Jason's father," Bucky surmises, pushing a little, if only because he wants a straight answer. His skill for subtlety expands only to matters of stealth; when it comes to dealing with people, he prefers something a bit more straightforward than the kinds of verbal gymnastics Wayne seems to favor.

"Same circumstances: would you do it again?"

[crusaded]

"Don't speak for me, Barnes," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "You can ask the plain and simple question and get the answer; I get no benefit out of lying to you about this. He's my son. And that's not going to change regardless of what mistakes I've made in the past. The only question is whether my presence is wanted and beneficial at this point."

My fingers rest under my chin. "Going in with knowledge precludes the idea of this being at all the same if repeated. If that man was being held at gunpoint by Jason again, I would still try to stop him. But my aim would be better. I would have hit the gun and the gun alone."

[onlyapassenger]

"Better," Bucky echoes, picking up that word clear above the others. It's something he never considered, a possibility he hadn't so much as thought in all these months.

"You weren't aiming for the throat?"

[crusaded]

"No."

Is he surprised? The question reads that way, and I cross my arms over my chest as I lean back in my chair, surveying him from a distance. I wonder why he hasn't considered this before— I wonder why it isn't a possibility that Jason's ever shared. Does Jason really think that I've ever wanted to harm him in earnest?

It might be the easier belief to hold. We all respond fastest to threats.

"I was aiming for the gun."

[onlyapassenger]

"You don't strike me as a man who misses very often," Bucky replies, casually.

But then, he is just that, isn't he? A man, and a fallible one at that. Doubt can be as dangerous as it can be helpful, and in this instance, it's the latter, at least as far as Bucky is concerned. Suddenly, Bruce seems like less of an idea and more like a thing made of flesh and blood.

[crusaded]

I'm not a man that misses very often; Bucky gets that much right. But I know well, and I've known better since that night, which details tend to worm under my skin the most. I know that there is a single person in the world capable of turning everything on its side for me, a man who may arrive on the island any day.

"Then that means I've done my job," I say.