Requested By @livingincolorsagain Insp

[π] person of interest quarantine rewatch ➥ 1x04 cura te ipsum

tag dump .

.     connection .     ›     natasha romanoff .

.     connection .     ›     clint barton .

.     connection .     ›     bruce banner .

.     connection .     ›     howard stark .

.     connection .     ›     thor odinson .

.     connection .     ›     the howling commandos .

.     connection .     ›     peggy carter .

.     connection .     ›     allies .

.     connection .     ›     enemies .

it was a jarring thing to be seen. she was looking at him the same way people looked at a wreckage after the smoke cleared. not horrified. not curious. just . . . seeing it for what it was. he'd spent years perfecting the art of being unreadable, it was strange to have her open him up to the right page so quickly. he didn't flinch, but his gaze flicked—just once—to the window beside her, tracking nothing. an old habit. ghosts didn't show up in glass, but that didn't mean they weren't watching.

❝ i had to relearn everything, ❞ he said, voice low and worn. he wasn't talking about muscle memory, knives, guns, languages that came back faster than his own name, those things were easy. but other things. how to sit without waiting for orders. how to want something without being punished for it. how to tell if he liked or disliked something and making decisions based on that instead of necessity. now drinking shitty coffee in an aging diner and remembering how to talk to people who weren't trying to kill him was a victory.

❝ simple life isn't so simple for people like us, ❞ bucky said, ❝ but it's a start. ❞

kara watched him,  really watched him,   &  for the first time since stepping into that diner,  she saw it — the same war-torn silence beneath his words that echoed inside her.  he wore his survival like old armor,  battered  &  ill-fitting,  but familiar.  the kind that didn’t protect you from everything,  just enough to keep moving forward.  she’d been so focused on her own fracture that she hadn’t remembered he had the same cracks mirrored in him.  different names,  different ghosts,  but the same kind of ruin.  the kind that teaches you to doubt your hunger,  your wants,  your worth. 

she looked down at her hands,  then back up at him,  quiet for a beat.  ❝you’ve had to relearn this too, ❞ she said softly,  not quite a question.  ❝all of it.❞  there was no accusation in her voice,  only recognition — a kind of dawning understanding that pulled the sharpness from her edges.  she hadn’t been alone in the dark after all.  he’d just learned how to live in it longer.   &  maybe that was what he was trying to teach her.  not how to escape it,  but how to carry light in the meantime.  a flicker.  a match struck against the inside of the ribcage. 

her fingers tightened around the mug.  ❝that’s why you brought me here. ❞ not to fix her.  not to promise something clean  &  untouched.  but to show her what survival looked like when it wasn’t being measured in missions or obedience.  to show her the messy,  ordinary way forward.  the healing that didn’t look like victory but like two people arguing about breakfast in a booth that smelled like grease  &  time. 

❝ now that, i don't believe, ❞ bucky said. he'd never really had the eye of a creative, he couldn't write or draw or mold things into something new and extraordinary, creation had never been his wheelhouse. ❝ you should try it out again. ❞

bucky studied the abandoned library as it towered over them. worn and shabby, neglected by the city and easily overlooked in the endless repetition of the day to day. there were many like it scattered all over, foreclosed, forgotten, lost. ❝ then you might like the velveteen rabbit, ❞ he said.

for a moment he lingered outside, eyes flicking up the ruined façade of the library before settling on her silhouette in the doorway. the way she touched the metal—like it meant something—made his jaw tighten. he'd spent too many years breaking into places like this, never invited, never looking for anything as simple as a book.

❝ we gonna take bets on who finds the best reading material? ❞ he asked as he followed her. inside, the air was thick—paper dust, mildew, and the ghost of old knowledge left to decay. it smelt of wet wood and something faintly metallic.

kara let out a breath that was almost a laugh,  quiet  &  fleeting,  as if it had slipped past her defenses before she could stop it.  ❝i tried,❞ she admitted,  tilting her head slightly as they walked.  ❝nothing worth remembering. ❞ a lie,  maybe.  or maybe just a truth she hadn’t quite decided how to hold.  words had once come easily,  before they were twisted,  before she learned that even language could be taken,  repurposed,  rewritten until she could no longer trust the sound of her own voice.  but she liked the thought of it — him,  a soldier at war with the world,  holding onto stories like they might ground him.   

the library loomed ahead,  dark  &  forgotten,  waiting like a relic of another time.  she glanced at him then,  watching the way the past played behind his eyes,  flickering like old film,  something just out of reach.  ❝ tree grows in brooklyn,❞ she mused,  her voice softer now.  ❝that one makes sense.❞ a story about survival,  about finding something worth holding onto in a world that never made it easy.  ❝i always liked the ones about lost things, ❞ she admitted,  as if that,  too,  explained something.   

she hesitated at the door,  fingers brushing against worn metal before she pushed it open,  the scent of old paper  &  dust greeting them like an old friend.  ❝come on,❞ she said,  her voice lighter now,  an invitation rather than an instruction.  ❝let’s see if we can find something worth reading. ❞ there was something in the quiet of the place,  in the ease of conversation that had found its own rhythm between them,  that almost felt like a reprieve.  maybe even something close to peace. 

the detective flipped through a notepad, a stalling tactic no doubt meant to make him nervous enough to slip up. james murphy, you said? they asked while staring down at the drivers license he'd provided. bucky neither confirmed or denied, only waited. he could've stood there all night while they poked and prodded, but he didn't have to.

[ ALIBI ]: the sender provides a false alibi to protect the receiver from legal issues.

steve fell into position at his side and the detective nearest him shifted instinctively. he was with me last night, steve lied. the detective studied steve for a beat before flicking a glance back to bucky to reassess. he'd been an unknown before, an enigmatic question mark but now, standing next to captain america, that question mark became something else entirely—something that didn't fit neatly into whatever theory they had been building about the gunfire fight down at the docks.

❝ we played cards, had a few drinks. ❞ bucky added smoothly. // @sh1elded , right place prompts .

his brow furrowed seriously, his mind working through scenario after scenario. with the information she'd provided him with, it was going to be a shitshow no matter what they did. they simply didn't have the manpower or the equipment to ensure that everyone got out of the kill zone before their enemy set the bomb off and any sign of trouble would guarantee the bomb be set off early. ❝ too loud. no guarantee our bombs wouldn't take out some random civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time, ❞ he said almost absentmindedly.

bucky glanced at her, watched the way she pressed her fingers into her collarbone and rubbed at what he could only assume was a phantom injury. something old that had healed over but still gave her some kind of grief. he had similar wounds. ❝ i can get you in without being seen. these guys aren't suicidal, they'll want to put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as they can. means you'll have time to diffuse the bomb. ❞

his brow was still furrowed. despite suggesting the idea, he was clearly still unhappy with the odds. ❝ while you do that, i'll take them out and clear out civilians as i go. we'll need something to disrupt their communications, keep them deaf and blind to what's happening around them. ❞

that's not going to work .. did she hear him correctly? A small frown formed on her features, well this was certainly a first. Yet Amelia knew that Bucky was far more experienced than she could ever be. The young Holmes gave a small nod of her head half in agreement and half in thought. "A diversion? We could always place some bombs on their trucks within the perimeter, that would distract them, take their eyes away from anything important" although that would take some planning and she was sure that she would need permission from her uncle to even get such weapons.

Amelia ran a hand through raven waves, a soft sigh passing rose coloured lips. Her hand instinctively rubbed the top of her left collarbone, where a scar was placed permanently upon her body. Her other hand began to tremor, she wasn't going to allow others to endure what she also had to endure by James Moriarty. She clenched her fingers into a fist, in a bid to stop the shaking. "We just need to be sure to slip in, and slip back out with those people safe." Hazel hues met his gaze, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Or if you have any suggestions, I am all ears" Amelia was tough, or at least that was what she wanted others to see, yet there were moments where vulnerability slipped through the cracks, and if one was to look close enough they would see the tired eyes of a soldier who woke up with nightmares, and a woman who distracted herself by throwing herself into adrenaline situations.

give this post a like for a starter friends.

SEBASTIAN STAN as THE WINTER SOLDIER CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

it was easier to be present when the city's heartbeat pounded all around them. the distant call of sirens, the buzzing of florescent lights, the rolling of engines and other strangers burning the midnight oil. the city always felt somehow more real at night. or at the very least, bucky felt comfortable occupying the spaces of the city at night. bucky tipped his head to one side, curious as she asked incredulously if he thought that their night-time book club was a one time deal.

he watched her out of the corner of his eye. beside him at first, slipping easily into place as if they had done this a hundred times before, then slightly ahead. there was an intensity to the way she spoke and the way she moved that gave away how determined she was to make this into a habit. it was . . . unexpected, but not unwelcome.

❝ you'd be right about that, ❞ bucky said carefully, ❝ feels wrong not to finish something you've started, no matter what it is. ❞ he smiled when she flashed him a daring smile, all sharpened edges and intense eyes. ❝ you talk a big game, palamas, but i've got stamina. you're the one who's gonna need a nap between chapters. ❞

kara stepped out first,  the hush of the abandoned library fading as the pulse of the city greeted them — distant sirens,  the occasional murmur of voices carried on the wind.  she cradled pride  &  prejudice against her ribs like a secret worth keeping,  letting the weight of it settle as she glanced toward him,  eyes sharp,  knowing.  ❝oh,  you think this is just a one-time thing?❞ she mused,  the corner of her mouth curving as she slipped into step beside him,  easy as breathing.  the night stretched before them,  quiet  &  endless,   &  she had already decided — this wasn’t just a single evening’s indulgence,  a fleeting moment swallowed by the city’s restless hunger.   

she moved ahead,  just enough to make him follow,  her voice drifting back to him like the echo of something inevitable.  ❝two books,  barnes,❞ she reminded him,  tapping pride  &  prejudice against the spine of a tree grows in brooklyn where it still hid in his pocket.  ❝that’s at least a couple of nights.   &  i don’t think either of us are the type to leave a story unfinished. ❞ the words carried a weight beneath the teasing,  something unspoken yet understood.  they had both left too much behind,  too many pages torn out,  too many endings they never got to choose.  maybe this,  small as it was,  could be different.   

she shot him a look over her shoulder,  dark eyes glinting with challenge,  with invitation.  ❝better pace yourself, ❞ she warned,  all playful arrogance now,  half-daring,  half-taunting.  ❝wouldn’t want you losing steam before we even get to the good parts. ❞ then she turned back ahead,  leading him toward the rooftop,  the city’s glow stretching out before them like a world of stories waiting to be told. 

he sat still, shoulders squared, jaw locked, still as death. he'd learned to outlast the worst kind of interrogations, the ones that broke men from the inside out. this wasn't that. not yet. but it smelled like the start of something close. he watched her, his expression neutral and unreadable even was she spoke, words a double edged sword and smile that was all slow edges and dangerous knowing. the silver at her wrist caught the light, a rhythm of movement that should have been casual but wasn't. a distraction maybe. a tell. or both.

he exhaled through his nose, slow. controlled. he didn't answer, something akin to blunt defiance lacing itself into his gaze. if she was fluent in silence then she'd know he had very little intention of bowing under the weight of time.

❝ no one is keeping me, ❞ the man said, voice rough as spent gunpowder, ❝ i'm right where i want to be. ❞ hydra thought they were chasing him. thought he'd slipped, let himself be hauled into the station compliant and docile, an easy target. but while they'd been chasing him, he'd been hunting them. the real fight hadn't started yet, but it would.

❝ what about you? ❞ he asked conversationally, ❝ were you made to be kept? ❞

056: a police station in the middle of the night. -`♡´- › @wintrb0rn

the fluorescent lights overhead hummed with a hollow,  mechanical rhythm,  casting the police station in a sickly,  artificial glow.  clea sat across from him,  legs crossed,  fingers lazily tracing the silver charms at her wrist — just another rhythm,  another pattern.  her hazel eyes gleamed,  not with kindness,  but calculation,  drinking in every micro-shift in his posture,  the way his metal fingers curled,  the tension in his shoulders that never truly left.  ❝you don’t have to talk, ❞ she murmured,  her voice velvet-soft,  but edged with something serrated.  ❝but silence is a language,  too.   &  i’m fluent.❞ the two-way mirror behind her reflected their tableau in distorted light,  an audience lurking unseen.  she didn’t bother looking.  let them listen.  this conversation wasn’t for them.   

it wasn’t the police holding him here.  not really.  the moment bucky barnes set foot in this station,  the real players had taken notice.  ghosts in government files,  voices that operated just beneath the skin of the world — people who didn’t believe in loose ends.  he fit the profile too well: a relic of war,  a weapon out of time,  a mind too dangerous to be left unchecked.  if he didn’t walk out of here soon,  he wasn’t walking out at all.  clea tilted her head,  a slow smile ghosting across her lips.

 ❝they’re waiting you out,  hoping time will wear you down.  but you  &  i both know — time’s never been their weapon.  it’s always been ours. ❞ her voice dipped,  quiet,  sharp.  ❝you don’t have to trust me.  but if you let them keep you,  you’ll be theirs.   &  you weren’t made to be kept,  were you,  soldier?❞