farsickness | February: For Love & Monsters

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February: For Love & Monsters

[A CATCHALL]

Who: Merlan and YOU
What: Feb. Catchall
Where: Gazin, Merlan's Clearing
When: All of Feb.
Warnings: Language, maybe.

❅ CHOP WOOD, BUILD STUFF

The trees are thick in her clearing, some need to be removed, yielding wood for cooking or for warmth and that means lots of chopping for her to do with an axe and a thick stump Merlin had felled himself for just such a purpose. It had been a large tree once that had become part of her main house and a tool shed. She could have used magic but the labour felt good.

Swing, crack, toss.
Swing, crack, toss.
Swing, crack, toss.

Eventually, she had enough to leave piles at the front doors of her residents to make sure they were warm and cared for. If they were home, she also had a basket with a knitted blanket, a scarf, mittens, a nice mug, and a hot beverage. No sense in people being cold.

"Good morning, wood and warmth calling," Merlan sang out.

❅ ON THE HUNT

Just because it was winter didn't mean the monsters stopped calling. Trapping them wasn't always an option, which she always thought was unfortunate. This time, though, something was eating a three-eyed crow who'd done nothing to deserve it and she'd been after the stupid bog wight for ages. Chasing it down had become an irritant to sat the least. She was sodden with snow, her horse was covered in mud, and she was miserable.

She nocked an arrow.

"Put down the crow," she grumbled, "or I'll put you down."

It roared at her and she sighed, releasing the arrow aimed for an eye.

❅ WILDCARD - Find her in Gazin, at home wherever, whenever.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"How does it feel to you?" Bucky asks, touching her palm with the fingertips of his left hand. "Does it still feel like metal or does it actually feel like the other one to you? I'm a little in my head about it."

It's a hard thing to admit but since she's messed around with his prosthetic for a while, it's easier to talk about it with Merlan than with other people. He threads their fingers together and squeezes her hand.

"Hope so. Otherwise, I can wear a glove? Probably bother you less."

Merlan closes her eyes for a long while, thinking on the question and letting her senses go wide, the better to really interpret the data the non-native arm puts off now as it's tuned correctly.

"It's something in between, I think, but definitely not unpleasant. Sometimes it still goes a little cool but that's alright. We all have variances in our temperature," she says quietly, shaking her head lightly.

"The illusion holds quite nicely, I think. If I hadn't known it was metal before, I wouldn't have guessed it. I do believe that having it connected correctly will probably help that along. The more a part of you it becomes, the better the illusion will work -- on you, too, I suppose. It's all in how your synapses connect with your arm and hand, which has a distinct mental component to it."

Merlan smiles, then, and drops a kiss across one of his knuckles because she can.

"You don't need a glove, Bucky." Her other hand curled against his prosthetic wrist. "I'm truly not bothered by the prosthesis. How can I be when it belongs to you?"

She squeezes back, the pressure gentle and steady. Her thumb brushes over his knuckles to reinforce her words because she means them. Everything in front of her, she accepts without question. His arm, his memory losses, the way, sometimes, he's not quite there and just a little touch or look sort of brings him back home again, so to speak.

"It feels like you," she adds after a moment, opening her eyes again. "The hand, the arm. I'm probably rather biased but I happen to like the whole package."

"You've got real strange taste in men. I guess older guys are your thing," Bucky says, laughing tightly. He doesn't know how to do this. He used to know how to do it and do it very well but 1943 Bucky is not a man he can summon anymore. 2019 Bucky is someone else entirely, someone who is still putting his brains together piece by piece.

Shuri had told him it was like a jigsaw puzzle - the pieces were there, it was just a matter of assembling them correctly. Sometimes you think you've got the right piece and you jam it in only to realize no, that's not the one. Bucky has a lot of those moments these days.

"I'm not...you shouldn't, you know. Like the whole thing. The whole thing is a fucking mess. Most people are afraid of me."

"Mm, he says to the woman who routinely takes on messes and gives them a semblance of order." Her eyes sweep across his face for a long while as she takes him in.

"I see chaos and struggle but not anything I'd have to fear. You've been through some serious shit and so have I. This isn't even really my body. That died as I was being remade into an angel." She gestures with a soft hitch of her breath, her thumb against his wrist.

"I'm brand new. Everything is new, battle-ready, I can do things with this body that I couldn't do before and it's frightening. It's made to kill things, really unpleasant things. So most people should be afraid of me, too. Some of the locals are. Some of the things in the forest have stopped dropping by, too. I'm made for war but I'm living in peace here, for the most part. It's--" She laughs softly.

"I'm a fucking mess, too, but I'm still standing. Every day, I still go at it and that's all I can do, really. I can't go back to being Old Merlan, so I gotta try and figure out who I am now, who I want to be, and then do my best."

Bucky identifies with that more than she could possibly know or understand. He feels the same way a lot of the time - made to kill things but trying to live in peace. He associates angels with peace, though, so he's not sure how it works in her world but it's clearly gotta be different than his own.

The touch of her thumb against his wrist feels good and he closes his eyes and exhales slowly. He really shouldn't be doing this, not with his brains scrambled and a list of war crimes under his belt but it feels good. When's the last time he had something that felt good?

"So, maybe I'm being vain or insecure or something so the whole thing is working for you? I haven't had a woman look at me like that in a long time. Don't know if I'm carrying the years well or something like that."

"Women ought to be looking," she says with the softest of laughs that lights up her face as she leans forward a little. "You look fantastic and you ought to have someone tell you that once a day until it sticks."

Her eyes are bright things from gently teasing to definitely interested because she can't hide or help what she feels. Maybe that's an angel thing or maybe it's a her thing, she doesn't really know anymore.

"Guess I'm that somebody, mmn?" She actually winks at him, too, and then laughs at herself for doing it.

"So, let me get this straight - you're going to compliment me once a day until I believe it? I gotta do anything in return for that? Firewood, hauling around bricks..."

It is flirting and it's coming easier than it came before but Bucky doesn't know if he'll ever be as good at the serious parts as he is at the back and forth. He rakes a hand through his hair and seriously looks at Merlan, assessing her more than he has before. She's gorgeous. How had he not noticed that? Or had he and he'd just tamped it down out of self preservation?

"Guess you'll think of something. You wanna dance with me? We've got the music going."

"I definitely want to dance with you," she says, smiling brightly. "As for something you need to do for compliments, well, I can think of a few things, I'm sure. Dancing is a good start."

They're holding one another's hands so Bucky tips his head a little to indicate they ought to get up and work on that dancing thing. He hasn't done it since about '43, so he's rusty, but he thinks it's something you don't forget. It's muscle memory as much as fighting or shooting, after all.

"C'mon then. Let me show you a good time."

"Mm," she murmurs softly, every line of her in agreement with dancing. She makes them a little dance floor by moving the table some with a decent hip-check and a nudge of telekinesis. It's lazy but she doesn't care.

Everyone's rusty, here and for many reasons, but hey, she's never been so brutally honest with a guy before. It's not real pretty but it works and they'll get the hang of flirting eventually. He's right about muscle memory; shooting, fighting, and dancing all have trained movement in them and she moves with him easily. That's the fighting part, she thinks, readjusting her body to the sounds of another big band hit. It's a little later in the decade, a little slower, not as saucy, but it's definitely sensual.

Languid bass beat, the slow thunder of the brass, that sweet melody that carries in on a trumpet played so well it's breathtaking -- this is what makes the music at once nostalgic and unforgettably beautiful. She lets her eyes close for a while, giving in to the way they move together.

"Much better," she breathes and finds a few knots loosening in her back.

Bucky pulls her close to him as they dance, his left hand low on her back and the right up on her shoulder. It's something he hasn't done in a while, yeah, but it's easy to fall back into the romance of a good song and a swell of memories.

"This feel good? Or should I lighten up a little?"

The last thing he wants is to push it further than it's comfortable at this time and he asks mostly for her but also a little bit for himself, testing to see what that line is.

"Comfortable," she says and her voice is lazy and soft, letting go of whatever mights and what-ifs or maybes there are lurking around the corner. It's easy, settling in against him, so she does it with that easy grace that says at least this much isn't new. Her palm rests easily against his chest as she takes a moment to open her eyes and tilt her in up to give him a long look.

"And very good."

She's very aware how tiny and delicate she is and Bucky's pretty far up there in comparison but she doesn't mind it. There's something just plain good about it, protective, maybe. Her body might be that of an angel but she's been human far longer and part of her needs, and will always need, that kind of security. More so is the intimacy of it, the way she can let him almost cradle her in close and not worry about the steps or which way they're going because on a base level, she's just following his lead. It's a good lead and the slow number helps her unwind in the way being two cups into coffee buzz can't.

Dancing like this is relaxing in a way she can't quite manage on her own. She wonders if it's why she can't sleep, that maybe she's so wound up tight she can't remember how to turn herself off and let go or maybe she's just frightened of what dreams might come to her. Whatever it is, that jagged, hard edge is starting to soften a little.

"I don't think I've been this relaxed since before I left and came back."

"Yeah? Well, don't go to sleep on me," Bucky teases, laughing softly. "That'll get me a real bad review."

He turns her a little and then curls her back in against his chest, enjoying the feeling of protecting her from everything even though everything consisted of a kitchen table and a few chairs. He feels like his bulk is good now, something to be wanted, and not something unwanted from the serum.

"He's so boring I fell asleep - that's a great way to get me started in the world."

"Never boring," she says with a laugh but means it. "Mind you, it might be an improvement if I fell asleep. I haven't slept since I arrived this time. Nothing seems to work or maybe angels don't sleep but whatever I am, this is much better than what I've been doing, which is a little bit of everything and then some. I keep thinking something will wear me out or calm me down but it doesn't."

Fighting monsters, building things, working the forge, making magic tokens-- it's not this. It wasn't peaceful and it didn't fill up that part of her that needed the respite. She's good, curled up against him like this, maybe better than good.

"This," she murmurs and the words come out with a soft longing, "this I didn't really know I needed in my life." Her palm flattens against his chest in silent emphasis. A dance. Him. Whatever they've started, that's what she needs.

"You haven't slept?" Bucky asks, incredulous at that. While he can go without sleep for long periods of time and usually does so he doesn't have to dream, the concept of someone not sleeping for weeks on end is worrisome. Can't a person die from that? Of course, she's not really a person anymore but the point remains. The mind has to rest.

"No, no, no, no. No more dancing for you. You're going to sleep," Bucky says insistently. "I don't care if you don't need it regularly or anything, it's good for your brain. Take it from someone who knows about this stuff. C'mon, back to bed with you."

"Not a damn wink," she says. "I've tried closing my eyes, counting sheep, I've tried wearing myself down with sit up, running, but I can't get there and laying there with your eyes closed is just weird."

She drops her forehead against his chest with a quiet sound. Not sleeping is torture and he's right, she needs the rest. It's not even about dreams at this point.

"I'd love to go back to bed and have it stick," she says almost absently. "Be a Hell of a thing."

"Pajamas for you," Bucky says, pulling away just a little bit. "We're getting you to sleep. And by we, I mean me, because you don't seem to be having any luck by yourself."

He thinks she might need a stubborn push and he's nothing if not stubborn.

"I know a couple things. Comes with being old."

"I'm not going to argue with trying," she said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "I never thought I'd be frightened out of my mind that I couldn't sleep but I suppose that's some of it. That and it's just me, dumped back here all weirdly new."

Pajamas were another story. She'd gotten a chemise at some point when she was trying to make herself fall asleep in the early weeks. It was soft, fluttery, impossibly soft cotton with a tie at the neck, and fell to her ankles. It wasn't white but a sort of watery blue with blue ribbons and it was so completely girly that she buried it somewhere in the closet she'd made but it made her look amazing.

She got it out now, padding out of sight into the bedroom and changing, her feet bare against the well-sanded wood floor, her hair unbound, drifting around her shoulders as she wandered back toward him.

"Best I've got for pajamas," she murmurs, her voice small and soft.

Bucky shakes his head at her, trying not to think about how goddamn pretty she looks. That's not a good thing, that's not what he's here for, and that's just going to get everyone in trouble. Nope. Not thinking about it.

"They didn't look like that back in the Forties, you know."

He bends down to take off his boots but that's the only concession he makes. He's here to help her sleep, not sleep with her.

"C'mon, sit on the bed in front of me. I've got something in mind."

"Mm," she says, colouring a little. "When you go in for nightclothes and everything looks like this, there's no sense in arguing."

Merlan settles where she's directed and goes still, though her breath come a little shallow and quick until she refocuses. Being touched is as new as going without sleep. Her mind comes up with a thousand scenarios that are completely unhelpful and wind up with the nightgown on the floor in most cases. Utterly unhelpful, more so because as she sits, goosebumps rise across her skin.

This is about sleep.

Not sex.

Her brain raises a thousand reasons for both and she lets out a soft huff of wry amusement. Here's to try number one, then.

"All right. Close your eyes. Think of something really relaxing. Beaches, mountains, whatever does that for you."

Bucky usually thinks of just being still but his own mind is a minefield that no one wants to discuss, least of all him. He reaches his hands out to work into her hair, massaging her scalp. The glamour is damn good, too, because it feels like two hands and not the vibranium one on the left.

"Tell me what feels good and what doesn't. It's about relaxing."

That short circuits whatever smartass remark she was going to make and there are no images save the way her brain wants to flip over in a sigh of pleasure. It feels good and a little mindboggling because she hasn't had her hair touched since she was about five and even then it wasn't like this.

"Oh," she says and it comes out almost sharp, her fingers hovering for a half second in the air before they lower. "No. I mean yes that feels lovely. I've just not had that done, ever." It's almost electric the way the feeling of his hands in her hair trail in long waves down her spine. She finds herself relaxing bit by bit against him. Merlan's usually good about visualization but for the life of her she can't pull anything up.

It's just his hands and his presence behind her.

"That's new. What am I saying? It's all new."

"New as in good new or bad new?"

Bucky pushes her hair out of the way so he can massage her neck with light fingers. These hands have done more killing than anything else but it's about time they did something good, he thinks, and he thinks he can manage this without messing it up.

"Girl did this to me, I'd be out like a light. Is it working at all?"

It takes her forever to come up with words, her head tilted slightly forward as she finds spaces to put breaths between the electricity of his hands in her hair and on her neck. Her thoughts run together but it's not anything sleepy.

Merlan likes his hands where they are and she lets out a soft sound.

"Good new," she says eventually and feels a little dizzy for it all. "I'm a little lightheaded, I-I think but it's definitely isn't sleepy." Her fingers find his for a brief spark of a touch.

"But it feels very, very good."

She pauses.

"Someone should do this to you, too," she whispers.

"We're not talking about me," Bucky says smoothly. "We're talking about you and your sleeping habits. Lightheaded, though? That's not...exactly what I was going for."

He frowns a little and tries to work that out. Lightheaded? Really? He's going for relaxed here. He shifts so he's settled back against the pillows and guides her so she can sit with her back to his chest.

"Try it this way. You've got a big, murderous pillow to use now. Just drift on to sleep, I've got you," Bucky says, stroking his hand down her right arm and to her palm and back up again.

February: For Love & Monsters

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