bakerstreet | I'll Look Out for Them

I'll Look Out for Them

✖ I'll Look Out for Them ✖
a "secondhand" shipping meme

They were your best friend, your comrade, or even someone you simply owed a debt to. Or maybe, unfortunately, you were the one that put them in danger that lead to their demise. No matter what they were to you in life, in their death, you feel as if you have one duty to them. They left behind someone, someone they loved more than anything. This was their significant other, yet you promised your dying companion (or you discerned yourself) that you would look after them. Take care of them, maybe, but at least look after them; it's the least you can do.

It will not be easy, especially not at first. The one left behind will be grieving, of course, and, so, perhaps, will you. There may be some contention, depending on the situation, and, if you did not know each other well before, some awkwardness. Still, in this time where there is nothing and no one to cling to, when the world has been thrown off its axis for them, both of you may find a sort of comfort and solace in this new routine.

That will not last, either.

Soon, feelings begin to change towards each other. Edges soften, people are seen in a new light. A small warmth blossoms between the two of you in this cold world. It takes root and grows, and grows, and grows...

Until you're left with questions and possibly even guilt at this arrangement. How much of this is real and how much is the grieving process? Are you just a replacement for the one they lost?

Is this what their lost love would have wanted?

✖ Comment with your character, canon, and preferences, including preferred role.
✖ Reply to others and use the RNG.
✖ Feel free to be as liberal with the interpretations of pretty much anything in this meme. Make it AU. Make up somebody they both know. Have them be total strangers. There's options for everything.

Promise ✖ You told them you would take care of their lover, no matter what. You intend to follow through with that.
Close ✖ What are friends for if not taking care of unfinished business?
Debt Owed ✖ Kindness or favor has to be repaid, even if it's an investment in someone else.
Atonement ✖ Whether or not you particularly cared for the person who's gone is irrelevant. You just need to make up for past sins.
No Good ✖ You're taking care of the one left behind, but not out of good intentions. There may be ulterior motives here - no, there are definitely ulterior motives here. Or maybe this is the one good thing you've done in your life.
Guilt ✖ It's your fault that you're here and their significant other isn't. It's a paltry repayment.
Bearer of Bad News ✖ You can't blame them for wanting to shoot the messenger. You are telling them their lover is dead.
Related ✖ In days past, the living partner would be cared for by their dead partner's family. As a sibling or cousin of the deceased, you want to continue that tradition and take care of "family."
Wo/man Up ✖ Actually, their lover isn't dead, they're just dead to you, unable or unwilling to take care of business. You're stepping up.
Friends ✖ You were all friends before, so it's only natural for you to want to look out for them now.
Derisive ✖ ...this is the person they loved so much? This is who you're supposed to protect? Pathetic.
Resentful ✖ You can never forgive them. They're the reason your lover is dead, no matter how they treat you.
What They Saw in You ✖ You're beginning to see why someone would love them, how they'd want to give up their old ways and change. It's almost...nice.
Warming Up ✖ If you didn't get along at first, the claws are being put away now. It's better to at least be civil, isn't it?
Still in Danger ✖ Whatever killed one half of the pair is still out there, and the other half is in danger themselves.
Other Complications ✖ Not only did your mutual acquaintance leave behind a lover, but also children. You find yourself getting closer and closer to them, too, even if they aren't yours.
Compromised ✖ You can't look after them with a level head. You love them.
Can't Love Again ✖ You've lost before. You can't risk losing again, can you?
Out of the Dark ✖ One or both of you find yourselves in a hole. You can barely eat, hardly sleep, and depression has taken hold of you. Together, though, you may find the light and a way out of despair.
First Time ✖ Simply what it says. You two have taken your relationship to the next level.
Changed ✖ Before, you were bitter. Hard. Jaded. Now, helping someone - specifically, helping this person - has brought a new kind of joy into your life. You could get used to it. Easily and dangerously used to it, to be brutally honest. You shouldn't allow it.
Living Together ✖ You can take care of them more throughly if you're in the same place as they are, obviously.
Hidden Jealousy ✖ When their lover was alive, you were jealous of everything they had - including the fact that they had the person you're looking after now. Admitting this may make you feel like the most awful person in the world.
Secrets Revealed ✖ Eventually, your involvement with the death of their beloved will come out, and they will never be able to look at you the same way.
Dependent ✖ Replacing one unhealthy habit with another, you've become utterly dependent on your relationship with your caretaker, your guardian, your lover.
Won't Be a Replacement ✖ You can't help but feel as if you're merely serving as a stand in for what they've lost. It's understandable, yet you still can't allow yourself to be that and only that.
Not Really Gone ✖ What is dead should stay dead, but what if who you thought was gone isn't really out of the picture? Will they be happy with finding someone else so cozy and in love with their special someone?
The Same Mistakes ✖ You're falling into the same patterns that lead to their death. Will you meet the same fate?
Who's Helping Who ✖ You think you're taking care of them and helping them through their loss. Is that the case? But who's never been this happy before in their life?
Move On ✖ It's time to put ghosts to rest and let old demons go. You can't let your life become a graveyard.
Tragedy ✖ The ending is unhappy or even deadly for both of you.
Happy Ending ✖ In contrast to the above, you're both able to live as together as happily as you possibly can, whatever can be allowed.
WILDCARD

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"Okay, that might be an excuse." He replied, already bordering on his usual banter, and even though it wasn't backed by the usual crooked smile, and was in fact still a little deadpan, it was probably a good sign all the same.

He nodded at the rest, however, "Sure, I can show you, or I can link you to the video I learned from, if you know how to make YouTube work." That really wasn't meant as a dig, he didn't know how much catching up Bucky had actually managed because even though they mostly got along, they weren't exactly friends.

"Thought it might pass," Bucky agreed, just on the edge of banter, but it was almost like he'd forgotten how which was entirely possible. When he was finished with his omelette--regardless of what Clint called it--he folded his silverware up neatly on his plate. Abruptly, he shoved back from where he was sitting and stood up, just because he could and maybe a little because he realized he was waiting for an order.

He shifted instead to eye anything Clint might have laying around. Privacy? Not with him. "I know how to work YouTube," he told him. "Hydra needed me to be up to date on computers from time to time. They couldn't always rely on me having a team."

Clint was just a little startled by the sudden movement, but he nodded at the reply, stuffing the last bite of his own eggs into his mouth before clearing the plates to the sink, he'd wash them later, "Makes sense."

There wasn't much by way of personal belongings in the main room, mostly because Clint's apartment at the tower was about four times the size of the box he'd had at HQ and he just didn't have that much stuff. Besides that, most of it was still at his apartment in the building he still owned despite not living there anymore.

There were a few battered paperbacks, sci-fi mostly, though a western was in with the bunch along with a how-to on basic home maintenance. His arsenal was on or near the work-table, and while the place wasn't exactly full it was definitely lived-in. There was also a collection of maybe a dozen figurines on the top shelf of the entertainment center, the kind of tchotchkes that people brought back from vacations, an 'I was here' sort of reminder.

The abruptness was something the other man was going to have to get used to at this point. Bucky was better than when Steve first brought him home but he was still struggling with a lot of things. Steve was the largely the only support he had in getting his feet under him again. Losing him... it set him back.

It was more than he had on the floor he used to share with Steve. Bucky didn't really own anything but weapons. He eyed the books though he was more interested in the maintenance ones than the fiction. He also peered at the figurines. He was learning about Clint a little this way at least.

Bucky eyed his arsenal too though he didn't touch anything. He also shifted toward the window to look out at the man's view. It wasn't terribly different from his. He didn't linger there long. Too much training as an assassin and a sniper. Too easy to pick someone off with windows like these.

"Nothing like Stark," he continued. "But I do alright."

He just leaned against the counter, watching Bucky move, maybe a little surprised to find that he didn't actually mind having Bucky more-or-less prowling through his apartment.

He nodded towards the shelf of nick-nacks, "Those were Phil's. Me and Nat always brought him something back when we were on assignment. Then when we thought he was dead," And that still hurt a little, even though he knew there was no real reason it should, "She rescued them. Made sure I got 'em."

His brow creased a little, "He hasn't asked for them back yet. Maybe he doesn't know they didn't get stored with the rest of his stuff."

Prowling meant that he was doing something that wasn't moping around. He eyed the nick-nacks again with a small frown. Bucky wasn't as attached to Coulson as Clint. It almost made him a little bitter. He avoided them in favor of crouching at the edge of the window, out of most line of sights and looking out over the city.

"Maybe he decided a few trinkets weren't important anymore."

He shrugged, "Could be. Could be he's just waiting to start a new collection." It only took him a moment to realize just how Bucky was positioning himself and he arched a brow, leaning against the breakfast bar, resting on his elbows, "You know that's a children's hospital, right? The one Stark pretends he isn't funding. If any of them are going to take a shot at you we've got other problems than just a sniper."

He shrugged, "Just saying." Mostly he was just a little amused, because he'd done the same thing for the first few days, gave the windows on the building side a wide berth when he had the curtains open. It was something that he fell back on reflexively, usually on the bad days, as an ingrained instinct.

His gaze shifted from the window, to Clint, back to the window at information. Bucky was carefully re-judging the threat level and angles from other buildings. Honestly, that was the only one that was problematic. The roof didn't offer an appropriate angle. There were plenty of times he shot through walls and floors but he knew from talking to Tony that it wasn't possible based on the materials the man used to build the place.

"No," he replied honestly. He didn't know. "It's habit. Plenty of Hydra left to want me dead."

He just nodded at that, "Yeah, I get that." He gave a one-shouldered shrug, "I still don't go up on the roof except from the south door." The one that was on an empty-of-other-buildings side and had AC and electrical units blocking visibility from below or from the buildings on the other sides.

Clint didn't have the same kind of enemies Bucky did, and probably not the same number of people who wanted him dead in general, but it was definitely a facet of paranoia that he understood.

The information about the south door was quietly filed away in his head. He could tell from the way the man talked and recognized his position that he understood. If he would only use the south door, that'd be what Bucky used to if he ever needed to go up there.

He honestly didn't know what else to say. Bucky really wasn't a person that used many words anyway. Another bad habit learned from all his torture and one that Steve worked on incessantly. Always making him decide things and asking him open ended questions that couldn't be answered with a single word. He was a little better but nothing like he used to be.

"Did I make enough for you?" Abrupt change in subject was a go. He didn't move from where he was crouched either. He would work on it though.

He nodded, "Yeah, I'll have a sandwich or some soup or something later." If he remembered, and if he didn't have to go back to the main kitchen to get it.

He sighed then, dragging a hand through his hair, "Look, we both suck at this feelings thing. You want to go over to the range instead?" Because using up a whole box of ammo seemed to be the way that Clint coped with things best as of late.

"I can bring something up if you want," Bucky offered at the mention of food because Clint needed to eat and if that was the best way to make it happen so be it. He ate regardless of what happened because of his training. Three meals at exactly the same time.

His gaze shifted away from the window and back to Clint. He didn't deny what the man said and he gave him a nod, "The range will be good. I'll need to get my rifle."

He'd been about to answer that Bucky didn't have to play room service, that Clint was perfectly capable of feeding himself, but he decided against it, at least for the time being, just nodding at the reply.

"Go ahead, I'll be here." Mostly because he still had to load the handguns, if he even decided to use them and not his own rifle, and at the moment it was a tossup, one that wold probably be decided with 'both' as it often was as of late.

Good, because at this point he was probably bringing it down no matter what and if they kept it up long enough Clint was going to notice it was always at precisely the same time. He slept on exactly the same schedule too. Up at the same time, sleep at the same time, even if it was difficult to actually get to sleep anymore.

"I'll be right back," Bucky told him and he headed back upstairs, trying to ignore the fact that Steve's boots weren't inside the entrance to the apartment. They were hidden, like most of Steve's things, in what used to be the man's closet. Bucky didn't go in there. He moved into the living room to pull out his rifle and case, along with his handguns and a set of throwing knives.

He didn't knock when he returned to Clint's apartment with his gear, only waited inside the door and looked for him, "Ready?"

That sort of schedule was definitely the kind of thing Clint was likely to notice, though it would probably take a few days, he saw better at a distance after all.

He was waiting, handguns holstered against his ribcage and rifle slung over one shoulder, "Yep." It was a short walk to the other end of the hall where the entrance to Clint's range was, he waved Bucky through to the small control room, "You prefer holograms or dummies?" Clint could go either way, holograms for the bad days, when he wanted actual faces to shoot, and dummies for the rest of the time.

Most people didn't realize but there weren't many that actually paid attention to him that closely. He expected that Fury probably did even if Coulson was supposedly in charge now.

He followed Clint, his own weapons in place besides the rifle he still needed to put together and he shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter, surprise me."

Bucky was terrible at decision making too. Something else that Clint would learn quickly or maybe already noticed. Regardless, that was what happened when you weren't allowed to think for yourself over the course of seventy years.

"Holograms." He concluded, "How do you feel about a zombie uprising?" He figured actual people wouldn't be good for either of them at the moment, but a shambling horde could be alright.

"Once the door opens you've got thirty seconds to find a roost before the program starts. Headshots will kill them, anything else probably won't even slow them down. Ready?"

Zombie uprising? Bucky wasn't entirely sure he followed. There were a few, brief mentions of the creatures in things around his time but it wasn't something he paid attention to. Books were more Steve's style and he wasn't old enough to see the films that came out at the time. It was missing and he didn't like it, but he wasn't going to ask. He would see soon enough and look it up later.

"Thirty seconds," he confirmed, not unlike he might a mission. "Headshots only." He gave a nod of the head, "I'm ready."

"Okay, let's go." He pushed the door open, he knew that the verbal countdown wouldn't start until the timer got down to fifteen, and it was more as a courtesy than anything, since he was usually perched by that time. But he also wasn't usually sporting as much of an arsenal as he had at the moment, that would slow him down a little.

The structures in the range had a holographic overlay of half-ruined buildings, some of them burned out, some of them just in time-worn disrepair. Whatever had happened had apparently happened some time ago. Of course, it was only on the surface, once inside they were the same open-frame climbing structures that every practice range in the building had.

Clint made a quick sweep of the room, because while the buildings themselves were always in the same place, the windows and crumbled areas changed, which was something he appreciated, "You take the north side." He said, "I'll take the south. We'll see how many show up in the first wave and go from there."

His rifle was sling over his shoulder and he pulled a handgun, running it like he might anything else. It felt like a mission and the familiarity was good. He felt lost most of the time but right now he was centered.

Bucky was impressed by the inside of the room. He couldn't imagine what an asset a variable training room would be. He assumed the platforms didn't move but the scenery looked like it did and that was enough sometimes.

"Acknowledged," he nodded, keeping his handgun out as he worked in that direction. He was quick and efficient, climbing to his perch as the ten second countdown started.

Climbing was something Clint was good at, and good at doing even when kitted out like he was. Once he reached his perch he scanned to find Bucky's chosen vantage point.

Once the countdown had ticked down to zero, he expected the street below to simply be full of zombies, as that was how it had usually happened before, but for the immediate moment there wasn't anything, no movement, and that puzzled him, so he turned, scanning horizons that he could pretend were actually there and not just projected on the walls.

It was when he spotted the incoming horde that he swore, and colorfully as he shifted his stance, because with that many coming in that fast, he was going to have to start with the rifle and work his way down, "Incoming, west side." He called over to Bucky, too startled by the swarm to realize that the same thing was happening at the other end of the street as well.

As he reached the top, he laid out and leveled his rifle toward the street below. Flat made it harder for someone to hit you and the roof worked in his favor. He eyed down the scope, frowning when the simulation didn't simply provide targets and instead, his gaze tracked to movement to the end of the street, then to the west side.

"Incoming North," he relayed in return, leveling his rifle as he counted them. "Twenty-seven targets." More than he expected and it would have been challenging enough without the others incoming as well.

"About the same over here. Work from the outside in, channel them, bottleneck to where we can pick them off."

Not that they wouldn't climb over each other, it would just take them time to do so, which made their job easier in the long run, after immediately making it more difficult. He also suspected Jarvis, or whatever program ran the simulations, probably had more in store for them than just the initial wave.

"Acknowledged,," he responded distractedly in russian, not thinking about what he was using or he was speaking to and instead focusing on lining up his first shot. He expected them to go crazy once one went down but he really didn't know for sure. He added, "Mark."

Then fired. Three perfect shots in a row and attempted to follow Clint's orders to drive them inward.

It took Clint a moment to realize that the reply hadn't been in English, and he both thanked and cursed Natasha a little for teaching him the little Russian he knew, because he could only imagine that wasn't a good sign.

Not a bad enough one to call the simulation to an early halt, but definitely something he'd be keeping an eye on.

The herd did shift at the gunshots, turning toward the sound and starting to move towards it as best they could. Clint was doing exactly as he'd instructed Bucky to do, taking down the ones at the edges of the crowd, funneling them where he wanted them to go.

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