Scars cover you in fine lines

[amery]

Sometimes a day off wasn't a blessing, sometimes he didn't care about sleeping in and having nothing that he was obligated to do that day. It gave him too much time to think, and even though it had happened five years ago, he still had nightmares about the crash. Today he'd woken up screaming and thrashing in bed, and after showering away the cold sweat, well, he'd ended up here.

He wasn't a very club oriented person-he disliked them, really. There was too many people there and they always tried to talk to him, like he'd really gone out there to meet someone. If he had though, then he wouldn't always be going home to an empty apartment. That wasn't the point though, and it was not why he had dared to leave his place for something other than work or food. It was a high class place at least, clean and decent, a little on the expensive side, but nothing that he couldn't afford. He was only here for the alcohol anyway, drinks that he didn't even care to know the name of, just hoping that it was enough to banish the memories, the sickening, dizzying feeling of falling, the pain.

Abruptly, Amery put his glass down, rising to his feet. He wasn't sure if he had had too much to drink or if the memories were too much, but he suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. He did his best to try and make his way towards the door, but he stumbled hard and veered right into someone. At least he didn't puke on them, though he did cover his mouth with one hand, reaching out blindly to try and steady himself with the other. "I'm terribly sorry," he muttered, not even realizing that he'd spoken in Volstovic and not English.

Comments

[sidecut]

[ The words aren't familiar, not to his knowledge or his programming, but the face is. In that distant way he knows it is both his and not his; the similarities frightening, but the differences is maintenance astounding. Bucky knows Amery; they have been on missions before, met before, knows the strangeness others may find in the way they look the same and yet different. Bucky knows his face in the way it does not look like his own, his mental image of his face skewed over time; in the way he can identify Amery as within the realms of what would be construed to be the social construct of attractiveness, while he does not hold himself in that same resolve. Too much has changed, too artificial, too apparently melded in uncomfortable ways.

He does not know how much of that counts for fondness, but it must be something more than nothing when his fingers curl at Amery's upper arm and hold. It isn't cruel or bruising, not like it could be, but there is still that firm surety there of someone who has settled with his choices. ] Amery. [ His voice is low, firm, spoken to his shoulder and ear when James leans in. ] Are you alright? [ His tone is bland but the question in itself is not insincere; if he did not care, he would not ask. With Bucky it was that simple. ]

You don't look well.