silentspringlogs | Part Three: The Drive

Helly was already at work, at least, so Arthur's just here house-husbanding it up.

And he tries not to make a fact at the insinuation. "With all respect, Bucky, half the technology here doesn't exist in my time. Even if I could see, I wouldn't know where to begin."

But- still, he can put the kettle on and pretend they're just here for a casual visit. "Look, you said something at dinner before that- I've done some following up on. And it seems like whatever answers we want, they won't be in the Sweetwater general hospital."

"I'll check." Later though, since they have more important things to discuss, and Arthur might not be comfortable while Bucky scours every nook and cranny of the house.

He's not entirely sure what Lester is referring to but it becomes clearer the more he talks. Especially when he mentions the hospital. Bucky holds a phonebook up in mid-air and pauses, turning to face Arthur.

"Didn't I say to leave it?" It's hard to sound irritated and curious at the same time. "What did you find?"

"Well, namely that there's no way of entering the morgue in the hospital," he comments dryly, "since it's under constant surveillance. If- if what you saw, if you did see that within the confines of Sweetwater, I'd hoped that perhaps there might be a-a copy of things to be able to follow up on, here. But if that's not an option, then logic dictates we go straight to the source."

Bucky linefaces even though Arthur can't see his expression. Just as well he doesn't display such a wide range of them.

"I'm not killing anyone here just to get you into the morgue." Because clearly that's the only thing Arthur could have possibly implied.

"Unless we're kidnapping the doctor and stuffing him into a body bag." He is oddly a lot more okay with making the doctor uncomfortable.

Arthur linefaces at the first comment, and he wears it pretty impressively, all things considered.

"Despite what impression I may have given you all before, I'm not fucking bloodthirsty," he returns flatly. But then his tone is more dry when he adds, "I'm not opposed to the kidnapping, though. But- n-no, er."

He clears his throat a little as he turns the kettle off, finding mugs for them next. "Our next option, if we can't follow up on one source, is to go back and pursue a second. We're doing it rather backwards in this case, but since I'm hardly in a position to drive myself to, uh- Sweetwater MD, it said, right?"

"Do you want me to pour." He does not feel like he should stand around nosying at everything when Arthur is about to pour boiling hot water.

"I can drive." There's no 'I'll drive us there' because he's not thinking of an 'us' at the moment. "Tell you what I find."

Be a bit weird with his... work commitment though. He'll have to come up with an excuse. He hasn't fallen sick in 80 years so it doesn't occur to him that most people might call in sick every once in a while.

"Thank you." He can at least get the teabags out, then.

"But, um. With all respect - you realise that I'm coming with you, right?"

There's a fresh dry edge to his voice as he looks towards the sound of Bucky's movement.

"I provide a certain convenience in the excuse for entry, in wanting a second opinion for my blindness, I-I have experience entering such places under subterfuge, and- and I can hardly ask you to do it on my behalf, when I'm prompting you to do it to begin with," he finishes, and there's a genuine compassionate concern in his voice when he says it.

"What." It's not an outright no at least, but. Bucky might sound a little irritated, whether or not that's intentional. Maybe Arthur can read into that tone a little bit, that he might be perceived as a liability. Not so easy to tell though when Bucky is normally brusque and grumpy.

"What's your plan." Is what he ends up saying after a stretch of silence. It's not outright dismissal, and it's only a fair question he might have asked anyone else expressing interest in tagging along.

"For all we know, it doesn't mean anything." It might get them in trouble if the doctor was to find out, too.

The tone is immediately recognised, and Arthur visibly bristles, and gives him (or, the general direction of his mouth, a few inches to the right) a severe look.

"And we need to confirm that. If it's nothing, we at the very least exhausted an avenue to follow." He straightens then, tilting his chin up in challenge; but it also serves to make him seem more composed, more sure of himself despite his blindness. "Tell me, do you have any idea what you'll be asking them? Any ideas or cover for why you're inquiring after a man who died under mysterious circumstances? Or were you going to just storm the fucking place until someone called security on your for demanding confidential answers. I'm a private investigator, Bucky. I can make people talk - no violence required."

"I haven't. Planned yet." Bucky steeps their tea for a bit, brows furrowed at the darkened mugs of hot water. He's not incapable of thinking something up, but he much prefers following someone else's plan.

"Do I seem like a violent guy to you?" he asks quietly instead, wondering if that's the kind of impression everyone gets. That he's a storm the place, demand answers, fight everybody and kill the doctor type. It doesn't really bother him. Or so he keeps telling himself.

"I..." He's a little alarmed by the sudden uncomfortable shift in Bucky's tone, and his own voice softens in kind. "No, I don't think that. But by your own admission you aren't much for planning, and the ideas I remember you offering at dinner weren't... ones that worked in our current situation. I'm sure they must in the future, but here and now we are much more limited. I was trying to say that I don't want it to come to violence. But making plans, asking questions- Bucky, that is quite literally my job. A-and I can't... I can't do anything on my own here," he admits, with a quiet growl of frustration. "Not blind."

"It always comes to violence." Bucky tosses the teabags out and gently nudges the mug over. He's a little awkward about touching, moving hands, but hopefully it doesn't show through too much. "Here. Your tea." He doesn't know of a life without violence, of a solution that doesn't involve violence, of a place that doesn't leverage violence. Which is not to say that he's discounting Arthur's experience, or think him to be naive. He's just wary of agreeing to things or making promises that he's pretty sure he won't be able to keep, as hard as he tries to resolve things peacefully.

"Can't help you deal with your blindness." He didn't think this was a recent thing, but. He doesn't really know Arthur's circumstances fully. And coming to terms with living blind is not the same as-- whatever it is Bucky is coming to terms with. Regardless, yes it's frustrating, but it is what it is. There are other things that are within Arthur's power and control to change. Just not the blindness.

"But I'll take you there."

His mouth presses slightly at Bucky's grim comment, but he doesn't deny it, or even look... uncomfortable, at the idea of inevitable violence.

Mostly he just looks resigned.

But then Bucky nudges his cup over and the expression disappears with the distraction. "Ah- thanks."

At least he has both hands again, that's a pleasant experience again. And he picks up his mug, but there's an obvious release of tension when Bucky says he will take him, and he smiles faintly.

"Thank you, Bucky." He can quite hide the relief in his voice, still. "A-and you can help, actually-- w-with my blindness, I mean, just- describing the room we're in is unbelievably helpful. But, er- that's neither here nor there, really."

He lifts his cup in a wry sort of cheers. "Just- let me know whenever you're able to make time for it. The sooner the better, of course, but- I'm hardly going anywhere, and the less we can disrupt our... our covers, I suppose, the better."

"We can go now. Later. Tomorrow." Whenever, basically. This is the first time Bucky's had to hold down a proper job with a regular schedule, and while he wouldn't say he's lacking in work ethic, he doesn't necessarily understand work culture either. Besides, he's not saving the world or anything. He's shoveled horseshit all his life. He's just, quite literally shoveling horseshit here. And he finds it therapeutic. And he likes being alone. It's not dealing with an alien invasion or a robot takeover. The world won't end if he comes back to it tomorrow or the day after.

"What's your cover, anyway?"

"Oh, um- now, then." He sounds surprised by the immediacy, admittedly, but he's immediately rallying, and bless him there's life in him as he perks up, blooming like a flower in sunlight. "Brilliant! There's a car in the garage, the keys are in the glove compartment."

He's putting his mug down as he talks, already caught up in the very idea of forward momentum. "Right, well- as I said, the easiest motive might simply be my sight - I've failed to find a satisfactory reason for my vision loss in Sweetwater general, and wanted a second opinion. Depending on the reception we might need to wait a little to push for the angle on Glassner, but if all else fails we could lean into the Investigative angle, perhaps as a journalist or writer, at a stretch perhaps even a doctor from a different clinic, though we'd need to sell a different story when we arrive."

He's not really seeing the connection between 'I'm blind and I'd like to speak to the manager' and 'so did you hear about this dead guy or what?' but, you know, Bucky's not going to question it. He takes a mouthful of his tea and grunts in an indecipherable, perhaps agreement perhaps acceptance of the idea. Usually he doesn't think too much about such things and just lets the one with the plan deal with all these details.

"Fine. If you want to go get ready, I'll check your house over. Then we'll go." Unless he's planning on wearing that out. In which case... no comment.

"Sure." Because he's still not quite sure what Bucky's looking for, but he's not opposed. "I'll just be a minute myself, then we can get going."

He has to make himself presentable, obviously. So when Bucky is done doing-- whatever he finds necessary, Arthur's properly dressed again, sleeves crisp under the suit jacket he's tugged on over his vest, and to complete the picture of a Modern (Sixties) Gentleman he's even got a damn ~~fedora~~ trilby on when Bucky finds him outside pulling open the garage door.

It is absolutely necessary to do a basic sweep of the house, check every ornament and behind every photo frame and over and under every piece of furniture. It must be nice being a civilian and not having to even think about all the eyes and ears everywhere. Or whatever was the equivalent of surveillance equipment back in the day.

"Can't you at least wear mismatching socks?" Bucky gripes when he gives Arthur a cursory once over and chuffs like an irritable husky. "You don't look like a man who needs a second opinion about his eyesight."

He won't have nearly as many complaints or comments or unwarranted feedback when he climbs into the car and pops the glove box open to get the keys and start the engine. They can have a long and really awkwardly silent drive if it was up to him.

"I also don't want to look like a man who draws any more attention to himself in this hell-hole than what I actively inspire," he counters dryly.

But when the car is clear of the garage he closes it again quickly, and hops into the passenger seat. "Right- let's get going." And there's a grim determination on his face as he says it, because he's trying not to be visibly excited about getting to fucking do something.

"It's not that bad," Bucky remarks softly as they take off. Yes, the time spent with Doctor Norman is really bad, and he's still convinced HYDRA is behind all this, but. The quiet suburban life? No near-constant barrage of threats to their very existence, the lack of world-ending events and alien invasions and killer robots and no need to check in with the therapist and get poked and prodded at? It could be a lot worse...

And speaking of things being not that bad, the ride itself is fairly uneventful. There's no discernible difference driving with one arm or two and although Bucky doesn't normally drive before coming to Sweetwater, it hasn't been difficult picking it back up. He doesn't seem to bother with the radio though. Or want to talk much.

Arthur's not of a mind to say much either, if Bucky won't. His cane sits between his legs, left hand toying with its wrist strap as he leans on his right, staring out the window he can't fucking see.

But Christ, he misses John. Misses knowing what the world looked like as it passes by, with his quiet, sincere enthusiasm and appreciation for all the mundane sights he'd come to ignore. Not this endless, useless black. He can't help but wonder how far they might have gotten together already, if he didn't need to fucking ask for help with every single goddamn thing.

Trapped in his own thoughts, with no indication of where they are besides the gentle shifts in gravity when the car turns, hits lights, eventually gets closer to the edge of town, he has no idea what's happening outside.

So he has no idea, as they start to drive closer to the border, that the car begins to slow down like it's stuck in tar, like it's being prevented from going forward like there's a giant magnet pushing them away. The wheels certainly keep moving, the odometer stays steady, if Bucky doesn't let up the gas, but they simply stop going forward.

Until he frowns, when the change in momentum is too much to ignore. "Why are we slowing down?"

He's noticed it long before Arthur, but hasn't said anything. His jaw is tightly clenched, eyebrows furrowed deeper than usual. All the signs are there, but they're all visual. He might be able to hear a few taps on a pedal, but it'd be easy to assume that Bucky hit the brakes rather than the accelerator.

Eventually, rather than risking any harm to the vehicle or to his passenger, Bucky pulls over and yanks up the handbrake, kills the engine.

"Stay here," Bucky says rather unhelpfully as his seatbelt unclicks. And then, two seconds later, a weight is placed on Arthur's lap. The back of Bucky's cold hand nudges Arthur's wrist over until his fingertips brush against the grip of the knife.

"No one around, but. Just in case. If one of the doors open again and you don't hear 'purple mermaid' in the first three seconds - even if it sounds like my voice - start stabbing." A firm reassuring squeeze on Arthur's shoulder, and Bucky gets out of the car, door shutting behind him. He has no knowledge of magic, how it works, no real understanding of what happened in Westview with Wanda beyond what coverups and conspiracy theories trickled in through the news.

Actually he doesn't know how the Wakandans do it either, even though he's crossed that barrier several times before. Technology or magic, he doesn't approach the invisible barrier with too much trepidation. He's just hoping - although realistically he's not holding out too much hope - to find... something. If it's a device, he could maybe dismantle it. Who knows.

Bucky none of that is reassuring.

"Wh- h-hold on-!" But the car door is already shut behind Bucky, Arthur can hear his muffled footsteps moving away - and immediately there is a flash of anger in him, so hard and fast that he's fucking trembling.

No. Fuck this. He's not being left fucking behind because another person thinks he's a fucking liability just because he can't see.

He drops his cane so he can all but kick his door open, and strides out with just the knife in hand and an utterly furious scowl cut across his features - the cold, calculated demeanor of someone not to fuck with - and slams the car door so hard that the whole vehicle audibly rattles.

"Bucky, what the fuck is going on?!" The anger is perhaps outsized for the situation but this is three months and three kidnappings of being patient, of waiting for anyone to feel so inclined as to tell him what is going on and he is sick and tired of waiting.

Bucky, much as he tries to engage his rusty, broken, tampered, refurbished old brain from time to time, is oblivious to what he's done, how he's made Arthur feel. He's singularly focused on the task, and he's utilitarian in his thinking. Where Arthur can contribute, like getting them into the hospital even though Bucky could have gotten himself in if he made something up about wanting a consultation about a prosthetic or whatever, he would let Arthur take the lead. But where he perceives a blind man stumbling around potentially drawing unwanted attention to them, somebody he has to babysit rather than being able to provide value added services, Arthur has to sit in the car like a sulking teenage boy. And obviously Arthur understands this transactional way of viewing the world, the way everyone who has used and abused and activated and discarded their Siberian asset has always viewed the world, so it's definitely nothing personal, and there's no hard feelings.

And Arthur, unfortunately, is stuck with someone who has gotten beaten when he questions orders, has come to expect that orders will be followed when they are given. Someone who has operated on a need-to-know basis for 80 years and had his curiosity and most of the other quirks of his old personality systematically burnt out of his rusty, broken, tampered, refurbished old brain. And someone who has over the years figured out that if something is happening to him and whatever his warped sense of understanding of agency is, whether it's an intimate violence cut and carved into his body or being a pawn trapped in someone else's chessboard with restricted fields of movement, he doesn't actually want to know what's happening to him, or why. It's psychologically and emotionally safer this way.

To Bucky's credit, he'd make a great Uber driver. But he's a poor companion to an inquisitive blind man. He tilts his head to look over Arthur's shoulder in case he missed something, but the car looks intact and there's no one else around. The headtilt sort of stays locked in place and his eyes narrow a bit as he tries to figure out why his passenger is so pissed off.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car."

Nailed it. Complete with calm-but-lowkey-patronising dad voice and everything.

Arthur pauses, and his face goes slack for a moment, like he just got slapped.

And then the outrage comes back twice as hard, so intense that his cheeks immediately colour from it and his voice is an instant snarl as he approaches Bucky's voice.

"Fuck you! I am through with fucking waiting! I have tried being patient, I have tried being polite, and none of you people ever fucking do anything!"

He gesticulates violently as he talks, seemingly unaware of the white-knuckle grip he has on the knife. "Do you have any fucking comprehension of how goddamn small my world is when I am fucking blind?! Do you even understand how- h-how fucking isolating this is?! To have to- I have to beg people just to know what the fuck they're talking about in any situation because they don't care that I cannot see it!! I don't know what a single goddamn item in my house looks like, I don't know what any of you bastards look like, I-I don't even know what colour my fucking clothes are! The amount of trust I am forced to give you people, time and time again when nothing you have ever done grants me the same! You all treat me like a fucking invalid when I am one of the only ones of us who is even remotely familiar with this point time, who knows how to act in fucking public-- I am blind, I am not fucking helpless!!"

Edited 2024-03-18 20:56 (UTC)

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CW ableism (blindness)