keepcruising | (no subject)

Steve had never seen himself going to prison. For some reason he'd thought that doing the right thing had been some kind of shield he could throw around to protect himself. It's not even that he'd wanted to avoid consequence so much as that he'd never thought through exactly how far the right thing and the law might stray from each other.

None of that really matters, anyway, because the trial is over and Steve is looking at a minimum of two years in minimum security prison. This is his life for the next two years. It puts college on hold and it may stick with him for the rest of his life and he still doesn't think he did a damn thing wrong, but that doesn't make the prospect of being in prison any less daunting. His sentence would have been worse if the judge hadn't had a soft spot for veterans, too. Steve had hated letting his lawyer play that card, but he hadn't had much of a choice.

He's got muscles, at least. As he's going through the intake process, he notices most of the men are smaller than him and a few of them eye him warily. He says nothing to anyone unless he's supposed to, leaving the chatter to a skinny man with a face tattoo and whoever he can manage to pull answers from.

There's a pile of clothes and sheets and toiletries in his arms and as they're led in, the group is split up among the blocks. Steve is in C block, he's told, and his cell mate will be a man named Barnes. It all means nothing to Steve, but he remembers the details, anyway. Everything looks the same in here and he wonders what kind of criminal he'll be sharing a cell with. Enough of the men in here come from unwinnable situations. It's not something Steve would look down his nose at. His neighborhood wasn't exactly a safe suburban haven, either, and he could have easily fallen in with a bad crowd or made the wrong decision and wound up in their shoes. He doesn't let himself forget that. Most of them are minor drug offenders or small time thieves, maybe a few bigger offenders moved here for years of good behavior.

When he finally gets to his cell, the top bunk is made and there are a few personal items strewn about. Steve puts his pile on the bottom bunk and starts to unfold his bedding. He resists the urge to dig through Barnes' things to learn more about him.

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It takes him such a long time to answer, at first Bucky's afraid he's pulled on strings too sore to be pulled. He's not exactly streaming rainbows from the rafters, but he's been comfortable with himself long enough that dropping the hard G word doesn't phase him so much. He's had a few fistfights for it, but more or less it leaves him so comfortable in his own skin he forgets to be sensitive about the skin of others.

So he doesn't break eye contact, tries his best to school is features into something that suggests he'll take an answer either way and not give Steve hell for it, and isn't disappointed by when he gets it.

With it comes a subtle rush of relief and, right behind it, guilt. Why the hell was it any of his god damn business anyway, and why the hell would he let it come rushing out of his mouth like that? Top that off with a dash of "just because he's interested in men doesn't mean he's interested in you," and it's got him pressing his lips together tight.

Slowly, inscrutably, carefully, he nods.

...and goes back to scrubbing, because it's about ten times easier than this conversation or looking Steve Rogers in the eyes.

Christ Almighty, can it be lights out already? Can he go back in time and un-have this conversation? If he were the type to imagine an ideal scenario for how this talk came about, he doesn't think a single bit of it has happened so far here.

He watches Bucky for another moment before he sighs and goes back to his own scrubbing. They do need to get this done, whether they want to talk or not and he's not sure that Bucky really wants to talk.

His hands feel cold and waterlogged as he grabs his sponge again, searching for the right words, because as much as he wants to say something, he's still not sure what Bucky is trying to tell him. Or not tell him.

As far as he can tell, Bucky seems to be having some kind of gay crisis and Steve's seen it before, but he doesn't know what you say to a man who's thinking he might be less straight or that his experiences should make him less straight or whatever it is that Bucky's worried about. How do you console a man because he thinks he might be a little like you?

Or maybe he's totally off base. Maybe Bucky's just noticed the way Steve looks at him.

"Buck, whatever this is, it doesn't have to change anything."

Oh, boy, is he not good at whatever this is.

He's been accused of being moody by more than one partner and friend in the past. It goes a little something like this:

He gets caught up in his own head. Starts thinking about things too much. Starts coming at it from too many angles, trying to strategically tackle it. The more angles he goes at it, the bigger it gets in his head until it's almost too much to face. He doesn't run from his problems until he does, and when he does he runs hard.

He knows he does it, it's just hard to catch himself in the act sometimes until afterwards. A few seconds of silent scrubbing after Steve's statement, and then he stops. Does his best to plaster on a tight smile, with an arguable degree of success. A little too flat, a little too tight in the corners, but it's a start.

"You're right," He agrees, sounding a touch tired. A beat passes, he shrugs a shoulder, and tacks on a soft, "Sorry."

He'll get over it. Doesn't have to be the end of the world. Doesn't have to be bigger than what it is. They'll finish this, he'll slip back into the fold like he was never missing, and he'll deal with shit as it comes. It'll just... take a while for the awkwardness to fade out and to get a handle on internalizing what he can reason out to be just a big, fat crush.

And to prove his point (because the expression and the words on their own are weak, he gets that) he points his brush to some nebulous space in Steve's area and comments, "You missed a spot."

Which will have to be good enough, because it's all he's got in him at the moment.

Steve focuses on his scrubbing, not sure how much he's really helped this situation, but it's not like he could make it much worse. It's silly to pin so much on another person, anyway, but for a few days, he'd thought maybe he'd found a friend and not just some passable company while he's stuck on the inside. A friend.

For all his honesty, though, Steve's never been very good at wearing his heart on his sleeve. Honesty about facts are one thing and talking about feelings are a whole other and maybe those are still best left unsaid, even between friends.

Bucky's words get his attention back in the present, but there's no spot and he glances back at Bucky in confusion for about two seconds before he catches on.

"Jerk." He laughs and splashes some soapy water at Bucky. Their knees are already wet, anyway, and the shower will wash away whatever mess that might make. "Don't try to make this job more tedious than it already is."