agoodyarn | So You'd Like A Clark?

[Available in hunter!AU/bar owner version for this one since canon isn't applicable here.]

[ First rule of lying: Don't fidget. Second rule: Keep chatting to distract them from any holes they might find in your story. Bucky is a flippin' expert at both. Every time the man's eyebrow begins to raise, he barges in with an anecdote or a tale about why he is definitely qualified to work the mail room of the bustling Daily Planet.

"Four years in the military," the interviewer comments, clearly waiting for him to pad this suspicious fact. ] That's right, sir. [ "How old are you?" There's that skeptical look again. One Bucky counters with an easy, dimpled grin. ] I look younger than I am! [ Which is technically true. ] But I've learned so much in the US Army and have matured. All I'm looking for is a little support while I transition back into civilian life. [ If he could get away with batting his eyes he would have—But he needs a job here, and annoying the man in charge of hiring would be a poor strategy.

After a long pause, the man tells Bucky to wait here for a bit while he leaves, likely to confer or check over some of this background information. Fine by him! Everything will be in order. ]

'Course, sir. I'll start gettin' acclimated to my surroundings so I'll fit right in. [ As if he's already got the job. He does, the man in front of him just doesn't know it yet. Run off with that cheeky smile of Buck's, he's left alone by himself. The sounds of the company around him blur together into white noise while he sits there patiently.

Then trouble comes along in the form of some cute redhead. As she's walking by she gives him a smile, and that's all the invitation he needs to go in for the kill. ]

Hey, doll. Where you headed? I was looking for something to drink while I waited—I'm the new hire in the mail room, you know.

[ It doesn't look like she quite believes him, but she shows him to a water cooler situated in the corridor of several cubicles. It's all smalltalk and bad pick-up lines that get plenty of laughs out of the woman. But then the moment's kind of ruined when someone down the hall shouts for a man named "Kent!" and right after: "Barnes!" ]

Aw man... Didn't think he'd yell.

[ "Welcome to the Daily Planet," the woman says before turning on her heels and leaving him to find his way back. ]

{ Kent, as it turns out, is a slightly overdressed, slightly frumpily dressed, gentleman in awkward spectacles that almost looks like he'd fit into the style of Bucky's time more than he does here. He gives Barnes a companionable, somewhat sympathetic smile as he trots his way to the office alongside the other man. For a big man, he certainly scampers well. }

Chief?

{ This particular tirade on why Kent shouldn't call him chief is brief if vehement but soon enough they're on the way out the door to get to the coffee shop where they've both been instructed to pick up enough coffee to keep the offices going for a fortnight. }

So, new in the mailroom then? { he gives him a warm if polite smile } I don't recall seeing you before.

Brand spankin'. Just got interviewed today! Must've loved me right out of the gate, huh? [ Which is obvious, certainly, from the way the man had screamed his name so vehemently. This would be a real test of Bucky's patience. He doesn't do well with authority—At least not this kind. Maybe if the guy has taken a bayonet in the lung then, well, they can definitely get back on the page of respect. Still, it's more than a job right now if he wants to get home. So he'll be... nice. ]

You're a lil' big to be a delivery boy, aren'tcha?

[ He's been giving Clark the eye ever since the "Chief" had yelled his name. This brick shit house would be a shoe-in for football with those big broad shoulders—And that mug! Sheesh, some guys get all the luck. ]

[ There's a warm, companionable sort of smile thrown his way, though there's still some sympathy there around the corners. ]

He remembered your name, so it could be worse.

[ All the same, they're almost to the elevator and he reaches out to press the button to head down before he turns to Bucky and answers. ]

And I'm pretty sure one of the reasons I have a job is that I always manage to get the coffee orders right.

[ They might be a little cooler than they ought to be and they occasionally take a little longer than they ought to to get there because that is what happens when a tsunami threatens a series of coastal villages at the same time as your coffee run, but people are pretty forgiving. ]

People generally do...

[ He's never met someone who hasn't. Bucky's one of those love 'im or hate 'im types, you can't forget him easily. ]

So you're smart and a stud. I get it. You got the world on a plate, pal. What in sam hill are you doin' in this place?

[ He's about to note something along the lines that, well, it's not so much smart as that he's gotten it enough times and gotten yelled at about it enough times when the second comment hits and he looks almost adorably like a man who's been hit with an especially rambunctious trout to the face. ]

I- [ was that gulp audible? it certainly looked it- ] I've done this a lot.

[ a pause before- ] Worked my way up.

[ a small, almost shy smile ] And I'm here because... I can't imagine a better place to be.

[ his cell isn't disconnected yet and sometimes, lois sends texts, pretending that she's just away for an article and when she comes home, he'll be there, letting herself believe for just a moment that her world is still whole. ]

I miss you. This source is a bust.

[ There's nothing, as she probably expects. Until after about five minutes- ]

Miss you too.

[ lois smiles, for a moment — and then she remembers that no, this is not ordinary. it's the opposite. she ends up dropping her phone, having to pick it up, having to breathe deeply so as not to throw it against a wall because how dare someone pull this kind of prank? ]

Who is this?

Clark.

Don't hang up.

I mean, don't block this. Please.

Clark Kent is dead.

[ and lois can't let herself hope. she can't, because if she does and it isn't him, she thinks it'll crush her. ]

I was.

I assume I was.

Maybe Clark Kent IS dead. I don't know.

But I'm alive. And I remember being him.

That's

[ not possible, she almost types, but — isn't it? superman could have come back from the dead. clark could have come back. if anyone could, it's him. ]

What did you get me for our first Valentine's together?

[ and perhaps more importantly, even if she's not sure yet that she dares to hope: ]

Where are you?

Flowers. And I cooked dinner for you.

The au gratin potatoes burned when I had to run out.

Fly out.

How is this possible?

Where are you? Never mind. Where are you. Can I see you?

[ can you come here, she means. ]

Edited 2017-02-13 12:24 (UTC)

I don't know.

It's cold? Dark. Moving hurts.

We buried you.

[ it can't be that he's still down there, can it? alive but buried? ]

There was dirt under my nails.

I'd wondered.

I'm going to drive to the farm. Keep texting me?

Okay.

I'm

Not going anywhere.

Are you strong enough to get up? Get out?

[ she can't bring herself to type "grave" or "coffin". ]

I can barely move. I don't know where I am. But it's cold.

Okay. Just, hold on.

Drive safe.

Being able to fly would be convenient right now.

[ it's a sad attempt at a joke. ]

You're not wrong. :-)

[ that smiley goes a long way to convincing lois that it's really him. ]

I'm half an hour out.

I can't wait to see you.

You have no idea how much the reverse is true, too.

Battery power's almost out.

It didn't have much, I don't think.

I'm surprised it had any. It's been

[ god. ] weeks.

[ weeks since he died, weeks since they buried him and lois had to try and say goodbye. ]

I only turned it on a few hours ago. Guess it held.

Good.

Twenty minutes now.

I'm going to turn it off now. So I've got enough to text you

Just in case.

All right. I'll see you soon.

[ she hopes she will, at least. she hopes this isn't some crazy dream or some villainous scheme. she hopes, but it's a fragile kind of thing and she doesn't tell anyone about the texts yet, doesn't ask for help in unearthing him. defiling his grave, if she's wrong.

what if she's wrong?

it's that thought that has her hesitating once she's dug down to the coffin, sweating and trembling from something other than exertion. no way out but through, isn't that how it goes? so she forces the coffin open. ]

[ As she might have expected, it's open. And there's a massive cracked hole in the bottom of the coffin, leading to disturbed earth that at one point might have been crawled through but has since collapsed back into the ground. ]

[ lois doesn't try to crawl through the earth to follow him, if it really is him. who else could it be, though? he's alive and this is almost proof, or it is, but she's still hesitant to let herself believe. she hasn't seen him yet. ]

Clark?

Bruce staggered into the coffee shop for the third time that night, his refill cup outstretched until he noticed Clark at the register.

"Wait. You've been here all day. All night now. Do you ever go home?"

Clark had been there since opening, which was when his usual shift took place. Normally, he'd be home by now, but when Dinah's kid had had an incident at school, he'd offered to work till closing to cover for her. The cafe wasn't very busy after a certain hour, after all, since they mostly enjoyed the popularity for being on the right spot near a train line, and he'd had the day off before.

Dinah's business was no one's but her own, though.

"I go home. Just not today." He took the refill cup. "I could ask you the same thing, though."

He shook his head.

"No reason to go home."

He'd only drive himself crazy in his tiny apartment, and possibly accidentally kick out a wall again.

[ Metropolis is a city in recovery, much like New York is, or Washington DC. All have weathered attacks from aliens in the last few years, two have accepted aliens as protectors. Barnes was halfway across the world, instigating chaos at Pierce's behest when New York was attacked. He was much closer to home when Zod tried to destroy the world, locked up in a cryotank below a bank, so neither event touched him personally. But after the events in DC, events he had a literal hand in, he fled the country for several months, looking for the deepest, darkest hole he could find and crawl into. Hoping that would keep him safe from his enemies and innocent people safe from him.

Unfortunately, a lot of HYDRA rats ended up in Europe. So he heads to South America only to find the same sort of rat there, rats with holes of their own, filled to the brim with fanatical followers, with weapons, with plans. Knowing he'd stand out in Asia, not many white guys just bumming around with a backpack, he makes a decision. Very reluctantly makes a choice and picks his way through Mexico towards the US. It's not that hard to sneak back in, actually. Not alone and with decent supplies, just slip across the border and lose himself in the Southwest. He drifts for a few weeks; hits a couple of old HYDRA safehouses, taking what little supplies are left behind. Eventually, Barnes makes it to the East coast, and that's where Metropolis comes in.

It's uncomfortably close to DC. There's a superpowered alien protecting the area. Neither of those facts lend themselves well to peace and quiet or being able to keep his head down for very long. On the other hand, this close to the capital and the presence of the alien could mean a distinct lack of HYDRA presence. And maybe SHIELD wouldn't think to look here for him, either. Sure, they're both longshots. But all he kinda has left right now is hope. And enough stolen bad-guy funds to find a bolthole and wait things out. Maybe that's enough.

Which is how Barnes (aka James Buchanan Barnes, aka the Asset, aka the Winter Soldier) finds himself an under-the-table job at a cafe not terribly far from one of the city's newspapers. All he has to do is bus tables, clean up after closing, run occasional delivery errands, and hope his forged ID will past muster long enough to give him some breathing space. And it's also how he winds up bringing coffee and sandwiches up to the Daily Planet's bullpen one spring afternoon, carefully handing out orders and giving the impression of being slower in pace and mind than he really is. ]

[ The first thing that gets him is the smell.

There's the tang of a strange metal, the necessary oils used to keep it running smoothly, the faint heated coppery tinge that would come from equipment used in a situation that leaves it running slightly too hot. It has him looking up, pin pointing the source in the most unorthodox of places: the sandwich delivery guy, the one bringing everyone's lunches in.

It's one of the reasons he's going to relish being on Perry's shit list at the moment: he's supposed to be the one checking in the sandwiches and ensuring everyone's order is correct, so he's actually the person who really should be going to meet the guy. Because he absolutely wants to meet the guy.]

Hey, those are for us. Here, let me- I'm coming. I'll sign for it.

[ And as he trots over, he's going to take a good look at the guy that strange mechanical... arm? Arm. Is attached to.]

[ Hopefully it's only the smell of strange metal because he has a job and he takes care of grooming, thanks. You know, other than the scruff obscuring most of his jawline, and hopefully his identity. This particular floor is even louder than the other ones he's been to, although not in the same building. So many voices, so many keyboards being utilized, and when the printers and strategically placed television monitors are added in, it's enough to give him a slight headache. Super-soldier senses are not on par with Kryptonian ones, but they are still enhanced to peak humanity. ]

Yes, sir. [ He drawls after a deliberately awkward moment of looking around for the voice, heart rate spiking briefly for no discernible reason. Both of his hands are gloved, which he will claim is for avoiding germ transfer if pressed, but Clark's vision will easily cut through the disguise. The arm seems to be made of one solid piece of undefined metal, with much of the interior hollowed out for wires and other electronic gadgets, and there are additional metal bits anchored inside the left half of his torso. It's all very advanced technology, although (again) not on par with Kryptonian standards. ]

If you'll just look over the printed order, and match it with the sandwiches. They're labeled.

[ His voice is quiet, softer than one might expected from the outwardly gruff appearance. ]

So You'd Like A Clark?

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NOW HIRING!

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sorry, LIFE

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SORRY FOR ALL THESE EDITS

NO APOLOGIES NECESSARY

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College Age Coffeeshop AU featuring BaristaClark and Caffine JunkieBruce

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