1964-04-05 - The Apple of My Kai
Summary: Kai and Bucky bond, in their way, over stories and a stolen Asgardian artifact.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
kai bucky 


Another night in Kai's apartment. The poor elf is sacked out after a long day of freeloading and poetry slams. He hasn't even made it to the bed. He's face down on the couch, still dressed, and he glows. That silvery moonglow shimmers over his skin and illuminates the room. It also surrounds the crystal apple that has fallen from his draping hand. It thrums with the same silvery light as the elf.

*

It's amazing how a guy partially made of metal can move so silently, let alone come in through the window without a sound. But there he is. Bucky stoops to pick up the apple, holding it gently in his metal hand, lifting it up to eye level. Alas, poor Granny Smith…He doesn't tuck it in his pocket, though. Instead, he sets it on the end table with care, and stands a moment, looking at Kai.

*

It's a weighted thing, though Bucky's felt it on his chest, so he knows. When he picks it up, its thrumming grows curiously quicker, like a heartbeat when someone gets excited. It resumes that slow pulse once it's put down again. Kai, used to keeping half an ear open when he sleeps stirs, despite the silence. Call it a honed paranoid sixth sense. "It's i the den," he mumbles. "Right next to the carrots." Then he peers up at the metal-armed freeloader bathed in moonlight. "Jack?"

*

Kai's moonglow is kinder to Jack's features than electric light. He looks oddly younger, as he nods at Kai, murely. His hair's tied back, in the kindof short queue you see in portraits of the Founding Fathers. No apologies, no demands. God only knows what he's here for. He might not, himself.

*

Kai smiles softly. He was there in those days; he knows the style well. He tilts his head, his own disheveled curls sticking out in this direction and that. "You know, you're a handsome fellow in the moonlight, daddy-o. It washes away all the care from your face. He sits up and stretches. "What's up, buttercup? What's the haps? How are you doing?"

*

The compliment washes past him without leaving a mark. No response to it. "I'm okay," he allows, quietly. "It's cold and the Y is full. I was going to ask if I could crash on your couch."

*

Kai blinks a few times, waking up fully, and he says, "Oh! Of course. Geez, all you gotta do is ask, alley cat." He gets up and stretches again. A long day of freeloading and poetry slams. And glowing. He picks up the apple and asks, "How's the pain?" It pulses with his heartbeat.

*

His gaze darts to the apple, its light catching in his eyes, nearly as pale as the crystal. He nods at that. "I make your friend Serrure uneasy," he adds, in that tone that's oddly noncommital. There's so rarely any inflection to give clues as to how he intends a g iven statement to be taken.

*

Kai's brows lift. "You met Serurre?" He sets the apple down and goes to a little hallway cabinet and takes from it a pillow and blanket. Then he comes to make the couch into a bed. "Why do you make him uneasy? You made me uneasy at first, but that was all about the gun, man. No one's easy with a gun in their face. Bygones though, dig? I don't hold a grudge."

*

"I was in your kitchen, eating a sandwich. HE was bringing by some….dry cleaning, I think," Bucky explains, flatly. "He's more than he looks to be," he adds.

*

"The clothes he borrowed," Kai says. "He was swinging in that get up. Like, wow." He sighs quietly. Happily. Once the couch is made up, he plops down into one of the beatup old easy chairs. "How do you mean?" he asks, looking up at Bucky without guile.

*

He settles carefully on the couch, but with a kind of heaviness to his movement that betrays just how weary he is. "He figured out I'm not just a vagrant you've taken in," he says, in that gravelly monotone. "That's quick. What does he do?"

*

"He's a bookseller," Kai says. "Antique books, mostly." He studies Bucky, though not unkindly. "I think you're more than just a vagrant, but I don't ask. Figure your biz is your biz, man." Never mind Bucky grilled him on who and what he is. Tabs aren't being kept. "He's smart, though," he says, "Serurre is. Smart as a whip, makes me feel dull, and I'm no slouch."

*

A nod from Bucky, at that. "Does he have a shop?" he wonders, apparently idly. He's lying down on the couch, on his back. It's the only position that's comfortable, with that arm.

*

"Yeah, near Central Park," Kai says. "It's cool, too, all these old books, and you can find some stuff you wouldn't think even existed anymore." He rises to put the blanket over Bucky, tucking him in. Then he flops back down on his chair, the silvery moonlight shifting to follow where he goes, casting shadows on the painted walls. "Don't worry about him, Jack. If he's uneasy, he's just trying to look out for me, but I already decided you're a friend."

*

Of course he'll worry….and go looking. The gesture, being tucked in, that seems to bemuse him. There are those moods when the sheer newness of everything, the making of choices, the forming of opinions, is the most tiring thing there is. "Okay," he says, docilely enough.

*

Kai sits cross-legged in his chair, awake but sleepy-eyed. Maybe there was more to this long day than poetry slams and free food. People get hurt, and he's got the apple, and it takes its toll. "How's your memory," he asks quietly. "Is it getting any better?"

*

"Not really. Someone gave me one I think was a real one," Buck says, slowly. "That was actually one that was mine. I was a soldier in the war. And I had a friend. We were sitting somewhere….the Ardennes, I think? And talking about what we were going to do when the war was over." His brow furrows. "But nothing more. And the bad ones I have, they don't connect. I've found out some about who I used to be, but it's from info I was given. Not things I remember."

*

Kai's brow knits. "Ardennes? That would be the Battle of the Bulge. You've aged well, man. There's cats young enough to be your kids who wish they looked this young." He leans back, and he lights a cigarette. No fancy cigarette holder here at home. He offers one to Bucky as is only proper. "I wasn't in Ardennes; I was in Paris, but you know I look young for my age."

*

He sits up to take it, still tucked into the corner of the couch, blanket wrapped around him. He looks down at his hands. "Yeah," he says, and now there's that edge of confusion. "It's 1963. I'm forty six…" There is no conviction in his voice. HE doesn't look anywhere near his middle-forties. Buck looks up at Kai, and for a moment there's that wildness in his eyes, that confusion. Then he accepts the cigarette, holds out a hand for the lighter.

*

"And your mind wants to reject it," Kai says, "because it doesn't make sense. Living longer, staying younger, it just doesn't jive. So you kick it to the back of your mind." He offers a small smile before taking another drag. As he exhales, he says, "Just breathe, alley cat. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio." He waves his cigarette vaguely. "You're more than you think you are, but that's cool, dig?"

*

Bucky smokes like a man used to doing it outside, in more brutal elements, cupped off the back of the hand. "I don't feel forty six?" he offers, with that uncertain lilt to his tone. "And…it's probably a side effect of whatever gave me my prosthesis."

*

Kai nods and says, "That makes sense. Whatever they had to do to make it 'take' maybe. That constant wound, man, you wouldn't be able to hold up without more stamina than the average Clyde. So you were in the War, probably looking then the way you look now." He takes another puff, then adds, giving Bucky a mild look, "My first war was the American Revolution. If that makes you feel better."

*

Not his first cigarette, it's clear. But Bucky nearly chokes on it, at that. "Wait, what?" he says, blankly. "You're how old?" As if Kai's earlier revelations on his age hadn't sunk in.

*

Kai shrugs a shoulder and says, "Two hundred, twenty-something, I forget. Among my people, I'm just a baby." He gauges Bucky's response with a look. "When my parents were taken away, I practically raised myself. Ended up in America in the 1760s. I had my own beef with a tyrannical monarchy, so." He smiles, his voice light, "I fought in the battle of Yorktown under John Laurens."

*

"….how long do you guys live, on average?" Bucky's clearly utterly distracted from his own concerns. "If over two hundred's adolescent…." HE trails off, snags the ashtray, flicks ash into it.

*

"Oh, thousands of years," Kai says, as glib as if he were saying a hundred. "Why do you think I live alone?" he asks. "Why you're my closest friend, even though I love people. Love watching them, love talking to them. I dig humans, man. I dig you guys like wow, but you're fleeting. Maybe that makes some indifferent, but it makes me want to get more involved. But." He waves a hand. "Too many attachments means questions, heartache. I know it's rough on you, and I don't dig that, but man, knowing you're not aging so fast? It's a relief to me."

*

There's that open wonder in his face. "I don't know why, though," he notes, more gently. "Might be different, if I can stay outta their hands. I think. But….I think you're right. What about your own people, though?"

*

Kai stabs out his cigarette and snorts. "My people," he says. "I've got a grandmother in Alfheim. After the Asgardians took my parents away, she tried to raise me. Traditions, rules, discipline." He wrinkles his nose. "They tried to unmake me, Jack. Tried to tear me down and rebuild me into a good little boy, and the whole time everyone's staring, whispering. When's he going to turn into his ma and pa, man? When's he going to go bad?" He shakes his head. "So I split. Midgard's my home. Always was."

*

By his hesitation, he knows he's heading into sensitive territory. "…..what did your parents do?" he asks, after a long drag on the cigarette.

*

"They stole this." He picks up the apple, tossing it from hand to hand. They're in prison, and the Asgardians never found it I'm in a fix, Jack. See, if I keep it, I can help people, and I've been hanging onto it so long, if I take it to them now, they're gonna lock me up for not handing it over sooner." He gives the apple a spin before catching it again. He handles it comfortably. It's like the two were made for each other. Especially in the moonglow, which only makes him look more otherworldly. "That's all. Just thieves, rebels who ran off with a trinket."

*

"Who'd they steal it from?" he wonders, after ashing into the little glass ashtray, again. "And how'd you end up with it?" Curiosity about someone else is a blessed relief from his own endless, circular worries.

*

Here, Kai hesitates. He turns the apple over in his hands, and he says, as casually as he can muster, "The royal family." He has nothing pithy to add to that. "But come on, man, think about it. This thing can either sit in some treasure room collecting dust, or it can be here helping people get better. What am I supposed to do?"

*

That makes Bucky smile, in a funny, lips pressed way. "What're you, like, Zorro?" he teases. "Or Robin Hood? Stealing from the rich royals to help the poor mortals?"

*

Kai laughs, shoulders shaking with the near-silent sound. It ripples in his voice as he says, "Sure, that's me. Hjuki the Hero, scourge of Odin's treasure room." He sighs, then admits, "It'll be a bad scene if they catch me. It's just a healing stone. It can't be used to hurt anyone." Because that argument will hold water with the royals.

*

"Do they know you're here? Or….surely they don't, 'cause if you can get here, they can, too, right?" He takes another drag, as if even that little dose of nicotine were enough to soothe.

*

Kai gestures at Bucky with the crystal apple and says, "They don't know who I am. I'm probably not on their radar. It's a harmless bauble, so I'm not a threat if I have it, and they've got to think I do. It was lost til just a little while ago." He laughs a little. "It feels good to be able to just say these things."

*

The smile's there again, albeit more in the lines around his eyes and mouth, a suggestion more than the thing itself. Buck flicks the cigarette to the corner of his mouth, and asks, "Honor among thieves, huh?" Now they're a conspiracy of two.

*

Far less lonely than two conspiracies of one. Kai winks as he says, "You know it, hip cat. We rebels and rabble-rousers gotta stick together." He gets up, sets the apple down, and heads into the kitchen. There, on a shelf, is a bottle of whiskey. God knows where he got it. He brings two glasses, one a souvenir from Las Vegas and the other etched with flowers. He sets it all down on the coffee table and pours two glasses. "Whoever did this, whoever's after you, to hell with them. You're your own man now, Jack. Whatever happened in the past, it doesn't have to be who you are now."

*

"I don't know how I got away," he says, simply. "I don't know that they won't take me again." HE takes a slug of the whiskey with brutal efficiency….and doesn't cough or choke. He's set down the cigarette. "I don't even know why I'm here. I'm afraid, Kai," There's no shame in that admission, no embarrassment. AS if nearly all his emotional reactions were at one remove, to be discarded if less than useful.

*

Kai takes a generous drink of his whiskey. This stuff isn't strong compared to where he's from. It's like pleasant water. Very pleasant. "You've been smart," he says. "Evaded them so far." He leans forward, and he lays a hand on Bucky's arm. The flesh and blood one, and he looks intently into his eyes. His own have those pale flecks that, in the moonglow, are pure silver, like stars amidst the dark blue background of his irises. He is definitely not of this world. "I know," he says in response to Bucky's fear. "I wish you didn't have to be. I'll do whatever I can to help you, Jack. A place to stay, healing, the drugs. I'll always find some way to get my kicks. He gives that arm a squeeze, then lets go. "You said you had help getting that memory back, the one from Belgium?"

*

He doesn't withdraw his hand. "I don't know if I'd call it help," he says, drily, knuckling out the butt of the cigarette. "I'm not sure what she was trying to do. Assuming it was her. But….I've never had one that I knew was mine, before….before all this." A gesture takes in himself, the prosthesis, the confusion.

*

"Might not be the worst idea to get on her good side," Kai says. He tops off their glasses from the bottle. It's cheap whiskey, but it's whiskey. "Even if she has her own agenda — and she will — think about what you'll get back: yourself. All this other shit.." He waves a hand, shaking his head. "It's not you. The more you that you get back, the less real the not-you will be, you dig?" He pauses then asks, "Who do you want to be, Jack?"

*

"I want to be a guy who doesn't murder people," he says, and there's utter nausea in his voice. "I can't put all the pieces together, but the ones I pick up are ugly. I don't know their names but I remember their faces…." And he trails off, lips thinned out.

*

Kai purses his lips, then he tentatively touches Bucky's flesh and blood arm again. He's read that human contact is essential to being human. "Then be that guy," he says. "You be that guy as hard as you can, when you start picking up signals that says you killed, you hold onto the guy you want to be, and you tell yourself 'that isn't me.' And… and I guess, man, with the dead, grieve them. But don't let their faces make you stray from this guy. This Jack who doesn't kill people."

*

Bucky gives Kai a look, across the table. And it's that beaten animal expression again. "I'm trying," he says, softly. "But it's not done. There's no firm ground for me to put my feet on. If I'm someone's weapon, why am I here? Just wandering around? They have to know where I am. It's a waiting game, and I don't know what for…."

*

"Some wretched case scenario," Kai says with a rueful twist of his lips. He raises his glass in a mirthless toast and drinks. "All the more reason to get this memory thing going with that woman. I mean either way, you're screwed, right? But if you approach her again and she turns out to be not-on-their-side, maybe you're a little less screwed. Just. Be this guy, Jack, however it unfolds. You've got to hold on to who you are no matter what they try to do to you, man."

*

He worries his lip for a long moment - it's already cracked and ragged. "I guess…I guess you're right." He downs the last of the whiskey. Buck's gone pale, drawn. He might have a means of getting those memories back….but what will he have to face to get back to them?

*

Kai says with a small smile, "It's been known to happen on rare occasions, man." He pats Bucky's arm, then withdraws so he can light two cigarettes at once, then offer one over. "In the mean time, my couch is your couch. If you hear anything in the bedroom, just ignore it." He sits up a little taller as he adds, "I'm a popular man, man."

*

That has Bucky blinking at him, expression bemused. "Thank you. Uh….what would I hear?"

*

Kai glances aside, his smile broad and maybe a little bashful. A little. Not very much. "Amorous happenings, man, a little squatchel. I've got needs." He waves a hand erratically and says, "Never mind, never mind, just don't come in if you hear anything."

*

"Oh," says Buck, somewhat blankly. "Well, okay." How can he argue with that?

*

Kai glances down, and his grin broadens. Then he coughs and says, "And whatever food I have, help yourself to. I know you will, so I'm just letting you know I've gained acceptance. You know where the drugs are. Don't… don't tell anyone you've seen the Apple. Everyone will decide they're the fairest, you know? Maybe not. It's a Greek story."

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