bakerstreet | the i n s o m n i a meme

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the i n s o m n i a meme

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

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"Faulty wiring?" His head swings around as his eyes narrow with laserlike focus on that twitch of the fake hand. Generally? That's not supposed to happen. Something's either fucked in the hardware or the wetware-

Worst comes to worst he can email Banner, see what he thinks, or Cho and get their feedback on that half of the equation. The software and neural relay, that he can swing easy.

Maybe.

Possibly.

This might take more than one session but the design phase will be easy enough. "Don't worry about it-"

Tony wheels himself over with a push, settled in a rolling stool. Practice has him weaving around wires with a little drag of the foot here, a shove of his elbow there, pausing to pull something out of a drawer and crack it, shaking, until he's at his impromptu lab partner's side, reaching over to collect the mug of coffee and set it aside. In its place he slaps down a cooling pack, the chemical reaction chilling the scald easily enough. "I burn myself all the time, these work a treat. Now how often would you say a glitch like that happens?"

"No, I— I just have to get used to it." Or so the doctor says. Bucky has his exercises and his physical therapy and he does them the way he's supposed to but Dr. Zola say he's clearly not working hard enough if he's still having so much trouble. He must be lying about his dedication to his therapy routine because there's no fault in the mechanical parts at all; clearly, it must be Bucky.

And the doctor knows best, after all.

He presses the cold pack to his stinging palm, his fingertips, feels the nerves go a little numb in relief. He still has complicated feelings about the cold, about snow and ice especially, but the plastic package is nothing like laying on the snowy ground and that helps. Leaning back against the workbench he considers the man (boy, almost, unless he just looks really young) in front of him carefully. He doesn't look at all like he belongs in such a place.

But then again, neither does Bucky.

And, now that he's looking for it, he can see something of a resemblance to Howard Stark. Maybe this really, honestly is his son.

"Bucky," he says, looking over Tony's shoulder more than at his face, bracing himself for the laugh. Maybe the nickname is childish but he's not quite ready to let it go, and he's still got a whole week of Sergeant James Barnes, dress uniform and crisp salutes ahead of him. "Figured you should prob'ly know my name, if you're askin' me to take my clothes off."

"Bucky?" Thre' no laugh, just a soft huff and a 'huh' before Tony shakes his head, focusing on the casing that he can see. It's-

Something else. Something not entirely meant to be smooth or simple or ergonomic in the slightest, it can't possibly be comfortable. "I'll buy you breakfast."

They'll be here that long, easily enough. "Look. They wouldn't put you stateside with this if you weren't at a point in your recovery where it works like it should. If it was giving you trouble, fuckup is on them. And just looking at what I can see of this? It's- badly designed."

He wouldn't say it's deliberate but damn if it isn't an impressive shade off fuckery from the wrist and palm he's turning around in his calloused, ink and grease stained hands. "So lose the shirt and let me build you a new one. How often do those little blips happen, does this thing cause you pain, how long have you had it, data, Bucky, I need data. Can't build something from nothing."

"Yeah," he says, "sure. But not... not breakfast, I can't be here that late, I gotta get back to my hotel before my C.O. gets up, showered and shaved and passing muster." Or else he'll likely hear it and worse, get in trouble for it. He's already thinking he'll have to make it through the day without sleeping but he's done that before, it's just like being back on active duty. He'll be fine. "But I'm good for a few hours."

He doesn't want to leave just yet. And while he still doesn't quite believe that Tony can do all he claims to be able to do, he's also got nowhere else to be and this is a nice departure from his usual nightly routine. Plus, privately, he can't help but wonder that Tony's assessment of the design is right and that—

Well, that could change things.

"What are you even getting out of this," he tries, setting the ice pack down and figuring to use the distraction of conversation so that he doesn't hyper focus on his own semi-nakedness. Fingertips twist at tug at the hem of his tee before grasping it a little more firmly and all but yanking it off. Bad decision as the fabric catches on the shoulder joint and he's left a little tangled; a tiny pained groan escapes him. "...Help?"

"...if you can't get in and out of clothes easily, the design is shit. This whole thing offends me. What I get is fixing this-" He mutters, reaching up to gently untangle man and limb and worn shirt, focused more on the joint and the rippling plating before he snorts under his breath. "Yeah this was not designed for civilian use. or even military use. It's chrome, for fuck's sake-"

How is any military operative meant to use it without being noticed? And the plating-

Tony mutters under his breath, veering in and out of mathematical equations for precisely how fucked the entire mechanism is, especially when he gets a better look at Bucky's shoulder. "If you tell me this thing is bolted to your ribs, I might sue. This is insane. Who designed this fucking thing?"

"I'm usually a lot smoother than this." Or more accurately, he tends for tanks with more generous armholes, and hoodies that zip up the front. He'd grabbed the tee because it looks good with his favorite jacket and because he'd been trying to look like a college student, not a former soldier.

He's pretty sure he looks more like a fool right now than anything. "And I'm not exactly active duty any more."

Useless, he knows. Too clumsy with the new arm to put back in the field; it's not like the army needs canon fodder.

"Where else would they bolt it?" He reaches for his coffee, tries to drown the secondhand embarrassment in the rich flavor. It's actually pretty good coffee, much better than what he usually drinks, and Bucky savors the flavor while he considers Tony. Of course the whole procedure had been recorded; he'd needed to sign consent forms for that, and there are likely detailed notes on the design and attachment, but he has no idea how to get his hands on any of it. Instead he takes Tony's hand, presses it to his side and stretches a little away from him, causing skin and muscle to pull tight. "Some of the attachments should be easy to feel."

"It shouldn't be so heavy it requires bolting in the first place? We have precedent and procedures for noninvasive prosthetics. As experimental as this is, and I am willing to bet it's very experimental- their math was all off. This is fucking with your spine-" He follows the path of the radiating attachments along Bucky's ribs, lips pressed thin, eyes darkening the more he takes in. "This isn't- there is no way they had a mock up ready for you, or had a plan before putting this together."

This is something people did because they could without any thought to the end product or the man still living with it.

He reaches across to snag his hand scanner, moving it over the arm and Bucky's shoulder in slow passes, eyes narrowed as he inspects every vent, every cable. "This is gonna take more than one night- I'm going to need to make some calls. But this? Yeah. No. I'm not letting you keep this."

Bucky shivers a little as fingers trail across his skin and tries to will the back of his neck not to heat; Tony will probably see it pretty clearly. Nobody's really seen him outside the medical staff and their touches are cold, clinical, and with little care to whether or not it hurts. By contrast Tony's hands are warm but even more than that he's careful; his displeasure seems contained to his expression, rather than expressed through his hands. What a novel concept, that.

"I don't— I don't know if I' allowed to not keep it," he admits quietly. "I know I agreed to stuff, signed my name on a lot of things. I'm not... sure what all of it was." Consent forms, he knows have to be a part of the collection of paperwork. But he really can't remember most of it, lost in a haze of pain and drugs and so many procedures. All he knows is that he has to keep to his regular checkup schedule and has to do everything Dr. Zola says, or he forfeits even more money. Bucky's already drowning in debt for his medical care; he doesn't want to think about adding more expenses on top of it.

"I mean I'm not saying no or anything." He reaches for the ice pack with his right hand, just to have something to fiddle out his nervous energy. "I just. I don't know what I'm saying, I guess."

"...you don't know- okay. Name, rank, serial number, phone number, write it down. I'm making calls in the morning." Because this? this sounds five kinds of fishy and Tony doesn't trust it, doesn't like it, and if Howard will deign to give him the time of day (and he will if he's poking about military anything), they'll get a clear answer, records, and something to help this guy.

"Because I get a feeling you got fucked six ways to Sunday and not in the fun way with whoever did this to you." Not built it for him, not helped him, did this TO him. Beause this? this is an affliction, not a cure.

Scan after scan and he wheels back to a screen laying flat on the table that he double taps and pulls upward- a holographic rendering of the arm and Bucky's torso lifting like it's pulled up by a string. "Rock, hard place, I kind of get it? Not as much as I should, born with silver spoon, yadda yadda, but I can get my head around it. And I'm going to fix it."

"Technically, it's already morning." Already after one, if his watch is accurate. But he prints his information carefully on a page of a notebook. "I'll give you my phone number you won't reach me there for the rest of the week; they put me up in a hotel for the visit. I put the name and my room number down but you'll have to look up the hotel phone in the yellow pages." He thinks the hotel is mostly at the insistence of the colonel but keeps that thought to himself. After all it's a nicer bed than what he has, a roomier shower. An actual tub, not just a stall.

"Just don't get too crazy on me. If I lose my benefits from this, I'm really fucked." And definitely not in the fun way.

Tony finally sets the scanner aside though and Bucky reaches for his tee, ready for the battle if getting dressed. Before he can really start though Tony somehow draws an image up out of his screen and Bucky's jaw drops. "What is that?" he asks, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. "I mean, how did you get from that little scanner to all of this?"

"Fair point, hey J?" The barest beginnings of a learning program, but he knows enough to get this message typed up and sent to the right people. Tony scans the page with a flick of the wrist as a clipped, formal English voice crackles to life from a speaker on the table.

"Sir?"

"We need a deep dive on this file, Military, medical discharge, send Howard the scan I took and tell him something's fishy going on in medical military contracting. I was pretty sure he had that all wrapped up in a neat little bow but this mess isn't his work." Much as he and Howard disagreed on...everything? The man took pride in his products and wouldn't leave a soldier walking around with steel bolted to his ribs. "Also send a primer to Banner and Cho. Poke Pep to poke the Lawyers, too, while we're at it."

"Stirring up trouble again, sir?"

"Probably." Tony sets the page aside and squints at the arm's design, pulling up a blank mockup without next to it. "Right, first thing- the core is too heavy for your bones. There are standards weights and materials for a reason, your spine is one of them-"

Like an artist he pulls out and slides into place hollow bones of polycarbon, something strong and light that will do the job without twisting everything around. "Huh, this? Holographic drafting table, high fidelity handheld 3d scanner, it's pretty basic stuff-"

For his lab, at least.

Bucky actually jumps when he hears the new voice, looking around for anyone else in the lab. He'd thought that they were alone and now he's worried about what might have been overheard. But then he realizes that the voice is coming from a speaker; that Tony is, actually, talking to one of his computers. It's like something out of Star Trek and Bucky can't keep the amazement off his face. He's starting to wonder if he really did fall down some kind of rabbit hole, if this is his Wonderland even more than he could have possibly dreamed.

"It's amazing," he breathes; this is far, far above any of the technology that Bucky's ever actually had in his own hands. He's kind of forgotten about the shirt, lost in the way Tony so easily manipulates the diagram, how he pulls and twists and manipulates, easy as breathing. "You're amazing. You're some kind of miracle, aren't you?"

Tony's also someone that, if he can do even a fraction of what he thinks he can, Bucky knows he'll never be able to pay back. Part of this all still feels like a dream and he's holding onto those good feelings, not wanting to let go of the illusion too soon.

"You know, no one else has said so? But I'm glad finally someone recognizes my worth-" Tony spins a spanner in one hand, drawing and drafting and designing with an eye for the problems he's seen so far and a few that he can anticipate. "Since this isn't a pop off, replace, pop on job- it's not going to be ready tonight. But I can tune up your arm a little."

Keep the spasms to a minimum. It looks rushed and- a better peek at the interior would tell him everything the scans couldn't. "Right. Sit, hold your arm on the table and, I don't know, talk baseball at me or something."

Not that he gives a flying fuck about baseball but it'll keep him calm while he starts picking the vents apart and peering at the inside of his arm. "Trust me, buddy, getting you an arm that's not gonna suck will take a miracle, this is a hack job. I'm offended on your behalf, here."

"You should hear it more often, then. You can... call me, or something. If you need to hear it." The back of his neck heats again and Bucky ends up mumbling the last part of it while looking at his own feet. He's a little shaken by Tony's confidence, not only in his proposed redesign but the way he seems to feel that he'll be able to handle all the logistics around, well, everything. He's even offering a tune up and Bucky sits on a stool, a little apprehensive as he lifts his arm up onto the workbench, palm up and shoulder turned out a little bit for Tony to see as much of it as possible.

"Can you just, I don't know, talk robotics to me instead?" Sure, Bucky could make conversation but for some reason — and he can't put his finger on it — that seems wrong. He's supposed to be quiet, he thinks, supposed to let the doctors work. Any talking they have to do, they do amongst themselves, not to him. "You know, I had a dream once, ages ago. Wanted to go to MIT myself, be an engineer. I think a part of me always knew it wouldn't happen, so even just seeing this lab is blowing my mind right now."

He can't help the twitches and flinches here and there as Tony starts manipulating vents and peering inside access ports. "I know I'm lucky to have something this advanced at all. I mean, I'm a one-armed vet, but at least I'm still alive."

"Robotics? Sure, that's my specialty, thesis, and the bulk of my work right now. That and the AI development to run them- not programmed personalities, I mean real learning systems. But they need a solid chassis. Right now I'm working on an engineering assistant so they have to be able to carry things that are heavy and be relatively explosion-proof while also having sensitive grips and a delicate touch. So finding just the right balance is taking a bit. Second stage is making it affordable-" Tony is happy to ramble about Robotics, the strives he's made forward, the few problems that pop up around torque and axels for maneuverability that won't wreck feet or wires. Treds were the first thought but, well, cables are a thing.

On and on he goes, stopping for a breath before quirking a brow at Bucky. "Come over whenever you want. This is my private space and Rhodey likes it when I've got someone in here to remind me not to blow myself up."

And to sleep on occasion, but that's not happening right now.

"Look, you have a mind for it? There are grants, even military ones, pretty sure there's something for vets? I'll as Rhodey, he'll know better than I would and- can you feel this?" He pokes a wire, squinting at the cables inside the arm.

With Tony talking a mile a minute it's not so bad, the poking and prodding in his arm. It's a far cry from what he's used to but in a good way, and every time he flinches or hisses in pain Tony backs off. The whole situation makes Bucky consider his life in a new light, thoughts that feel almost dangerous.

"I'll keep that in mind, maybe catch a bus here once in a while, keep you company for a night." He can't help but quirk a brow. "Do you blow yourself up often?"

He's looked into his benefits, a little, bit it's just not in the cards for him right now. The schedule of doctor's visits and therapy appointments is too erratic to attempt classes, and sometimes the medications leave him fuzzy headed for days. "Maybe someday. I don't think it's in the cards for me right now."

He tenses all the way through the shoulder when Tony tweaks that connection, gritting his teeth. "It's like a sharp pinch. You don't have to stop."

Edited 2020-10-05 04:49 (UTC)

"Not on purpose." Tony's touch goes light, he's not about to keep poking around when he's hit something hooked up to Bucky's nervous system. "I am definitely going to have to call Bruce and Helen about this. They know more about the network half of the equation. Helen especially would be able to help if her 3d medical printing bacta chamber or whatever is just about done."

He thinks it's done? It's mostly done. Clinical trials have gone well, he remembers sending a fruit basket.

or.

Something.

"Okay we're done playing with that-" He gently edges the wire away from some of the internal gears, which is what caused the pinch, and closes that vent. "This thing is....five designs slapped together and none of them were good to start. Who built this?"

"No, I can't imagine that you'd do it on purpose." It comes out sounding almost playful and Bucky blinks at his own audacity. Maybe it's the late hour, or maybe it's just Tony's absolute belief that he can do this. "Accidental blowing up is an entirely different category."

He tries on a smile for size when Tony backs off the pinch, an expression that grows more genuine when the pinch-pain really does ease. "Fuck, you are amazing, I'm gonna say it every day." He rolls the shoulder a little, flexes the fingers and marvels at the lack of stutter. "I could kiss you for this."

A moment later his brain catches up to his mouth and he blushes bright red.

"It was... oh please don't get me in trouble for this." He's speaking a little too quickly he knows, trying to distract from his faux pas. "Doctor Zola. He sees me up here at Mass General but I don't know where he's based." And why none of Bucky's treatments have been through military institutions.

Deep in an engineering snit, it doesn't register for a moment.

Maybe two.

Long enough for it to almost pass by without commentary before Tony's head swings up, dark eyes wide, tips of his ears red because-

um.

Muscles? And eyes. And. Now that he's looking at it, mouth. All nice little details in an attractive person folded and bolted into an engineering puzzle with a curious mind to boot and now the flirtatious overtures register.

Because he's smart? That.

That's new.

"Uh-" Words, Stark, come on. Where's the charm? "I- you. You could? No complaints here."

Nailed it. Thank god there's a relevant work question involved.

"Zola? I- that name's familiar, why is it familiar- that seems- this whole mess reads like human experimentation. The unsanctioned kind. If there was tech like this available for recovering Vets my family would know about it, and I don't know shit about this."

For a minute Bucky congratulates himself on making it out of dangerous waters unscathed. It seems like Tony hadn't registered that little slip so he shouldn't have to kill himself to preserve his dignity. But then his head snaps up, all bright eyes and messy hair and gaze that says he'd heard Bucky's slip clearly.

Now would be a great time for a hole to open up and swallow him. The hole clearly doesn't agree.

"Shouldn't I, uh, buy you breakfast first?" He squeezes the back of his neck, huffs out a small laugh. Best to try to make light of the awkwardness, right? "Though I guess you already got my clothes off."

He's quiet for a long moment, trying to wrangle his memories of the days after the injury. "I don't know. And I know how stupid that sounds. But when I got hurt, most of those memories are just pain. It's all indistinct, mush in my brain and a lot of pain." He remembers struggling too, and thinks that maybe he hurt someone. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I signed consent."

"Sure. Uh- there's a 24 hour diner around the corner, I think. We wrap up here, you can buy me coffee. that counts." For him at least. Food is- eh. He remembers to eat sometimes but coffee? That he never, ever forgets. It's kind of-

they're both a little off their game, aren't they? If they had game.

He's pretty sure he's got game stuffed under a tarp in here somewhere.

"...yeah no this is- none of this was done above-board. I'm going to make sure J connects you to legal, to counseling and- honestly J? Call Pepper. She'll know who to talk to to get this sorted without, you know. Bucky getting the short end of the stick." Because there's no doubt in his mind that there'd be a very short end of a very rough stick. He sits back, squinting at the seam of skin and metal, where the skin's still irritated. Not healing properly. "Pretty sure isn't absolutely sure and you should've been awake and aware before they made these kinds of moves."

"Coffee at-" he checks his watch "-almost three AM? You sure you wanna do that to yourself?" Then again late night shenanigans and little sleep are supposed to be part of the college experience, aren't they? Then again, coffee and three AM pancakes actually sound pretty good. Crazy, but in the best way.

Bucky starts to pull his shirt on as Tony talks; it's a little easier now that the stutter has lessened and he doesn't get stuck in it this time. "I don't know how much of it was decided when. I do know that I almost died from my injuries, I think the line of consent blurs somewhere when it becomes a life and death matter. They could have used it as justification, maybe." He's really not sure but Tony's logic makes far too much sense. And he seems well connected, judging from the number of names he'd tossed out. "Kind of a little blown away by you here, you know? The fact that you care. I'm not really used to that."

"Sleep is for the weak." He makes a vauge little fist pump, slumping back against the counter as his mind buzzes from one detail to the next, rattling around like bolts in a tin with little ping-ping-pings of sparking neurons promising a solution once he pins down which problem to tackle first. The arm? Tuned up, that's done.

The experimentation?

That'll take more than just him willing a thing done or making calls, J will handle that. Delegation means growth, right? Right. Rhodey will be so proud.

Tony's foot bounces while he determinedly keeps his eyes on the ceiling for Bucky's redressing- in the context of work? Shirtlessness is not a problem. But the puzzle and problem have been folded away for another time and now it's all.

Skin.

Muscle.

The inefficient architecture of the human form sculpted in aesthetically appealing ways that he finds it easy to appreciate intuitively without much context for the why.

A built nerd with glasses and a metal arm.

Bucky's candy to him.

Maybe Rhodey will ease up on his 'ho don't do it' if he knows Bucky's a vet?

"So. Coffee." He rolls himself back upright with a smile that's brighter and more like he's got some kind of game than the earlier flustered smirks. "Care? Of course I care. I'm not leaving someone walking around with a mess on them because the engineer that built it is an idiot- also? Not entirely altrusitic. You keep me from getting in trouble with being here alone and! You're hot. Icing on the cake."

"I'm not afraid to admit that sometimes, I'm weak," he laughs. But not tonight; sure he'll hate the loss tomorrow but Tony's honestly just fascinating. And kinder than a lot of the contact he's had lately, what with his best friend so far away. But maybe Tony can be a new friend.

Or maybe something more, his brain whispers. He tries not to think too hard about that though; he doesn't want to take advantage. As it is he doesn't miss the way Tony looks away while he's dressing. It means something, but he's off his game enough that he doesn't want to draw too many conclusions about what.

"Coffee," he agrees, reaching for his jacket. "Maybe share a slice of pie or something." He returns that smile, shrugging his metal arm into the sleeve first before settling the rest of the garment. Red stains his cheeks a little when Tony calls him hot but he's determined not to be too awkward. Or so he keeps telling himself, anyway.

"If you really need someone here, I could, you know, visit regularly. Not just because you want to help me I mean. I'm sure you have other projects. Your assistant robot and stuff." He knows he's babbling but stopping is another matter entirely. "But it's just a bus ride and a walk, that's not out of the question. You know, if you want."

"Now that you mention it-" Tony finishes the initial designs, codes up what he'll need for the next step in the design phase, chugs the last of his coffee, and jerks his thumb back over to the door. Right. Diner date.

It's.

Surprisingly wholesome an idea and he's very into it. Toy bounces his way back around the table to Bucky's ide, ready and waiting and willing. "I am kind of starving. So. Coffee, pie, story of your life, etc-"

and oh, the offer to have him around more often? "I do, Rhodey's busy with his own projects and shit lately, I have a lot I need to get done and I can't wait for him to be free. IF you want to come by, hell, come over whenever. I'm here almost all the time anyway."

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