TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Claire Keane
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
KIROKAZE
ellievsbear
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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@theartofmadeline
Keni
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@reventum
hiatus
my muse has pretty much dropped off the face of the earth and my mental health isn’t overly great so i’m gonna put bucky on official hiatus for a bit. i’ll be concentrating on my oc who’s miles easier and has a much lower stress dash. feel free to follow me over there, i’ve reblogged his promo recently so it should be easy to find.
i’ll be back here. eventually.
my kindness is NOT weakness. my patience is NOT permission to be cruel. my shoes ARE glow in the dark, but i only found out AFTER i got them.
(insp.)
so uh. please understand i’m not purposefully ignoring anyone here, but i’m under a lot of stress right now ( my dad’s gone from the care home to the hospital because he’s not eating and drinking. among various other things) and my activity is likely to decline even further than the practically nonexistent it is now.
i’m really sorry.
*dad voice* absolutely not
#good with his legs
just a heads up to say that i’m potentially on the road to a complete computer failure with no money to replace it. kirk (my computer) refused to recognise the hdd that has his os (win7) for four attempts today so it’s either the motherboard or the actual hdd that’s dying. on top of that, his power supply is unreliable and was due to be replaced (i actually have that part). i’ll still have my mobile, but if kirk shits the bed then i’m up shit creek with no paddle. until then, it’s business as usual and i’ll be answering my messages and replies after dinner ♥♥♥
A semi-stable 100-year-old man.
★| maximoff.
she feels intimidated by his presence, she can’t deny that. no matter how powerful she herself might be, she has seen bucky fight and it was ruthless. he is steve’s friend, but they all know he still has issues, even with the best intentions in mind, so she just awkwardly remains standing next to the window, staring at him across the dark room. despite her insecurity, there is also a sense of comfort in her. with pietro dead, bucky might be the only person who KNOWS what it is like to be a human experiment in the fangs of hydra. he understands what it feels like to be strapped to a medical table, to be tortured and abused over and over again. the demons that haunted her this very night might be familiar to him.
“i woke up”, she simply replies, raising a hand to rub at her bloodshot eyes. her neck throbs from the shock collar they forced on her aboard the ship, because she accidentally used her powers a few times and got electrocuted, leaving her with burns and blisters that sting. she rubs at it, absentmindedly, before carefully lowering herself into the chair. “yeah…i’m fine.” it’s a line she has repeated over and over again in the last months, just to get people off her case. after pietro’s death, she wasn’t fine. she felt like she was going insane with grief, constantly reaching out for someone who would never be there again. it was one thing losing a brother, but losing your other half and only family was another. he had kept her grounded and centered and without him, her powers had threatened to get the better of her. a lot of furniture at the compound had suffered. with time, that wore off and she learned how to function and even get better to some extend. but fine is different. the cell seems to have brought back the worst memories she tried so hard to forget. “i don’t like being in a cell. the room and the straight jacket and shock collar…it was like back with THEM...” she doesn’t know why she tells him, because he doesn’t know her and will not care about her demons, but she does it anyway, staring down at her hands. looking back up, she sees how he holds his body and cocks her head slightly. “you’re hurt.”
NO MATTER HOW good his low-light vision may be it’s not enough to pick out the details, but he can read body language easy enough even when she’s mostly shrouded in shadow. He recognises the awkward tension, he’s seen it before in people that are apprehensive about which way he’s going to jump. Scientists and junior Hydra agents that have heard stories of what he’s capable of, mainly, but he also read it off the blonde woman that Steve seemed close enough to snog back in Germany. He tries as best as he can to seem non-threatening because he’s seen what she’s capable of and he doesn’t want to give her a reason to fling him across the room like she had done T’Challa back at the airport. God knows he’s battered enough as it is.
Her absent motions betray her, as does the well rehearsed statement, and he doesn’t believe it for a second. He grew up with a kid that would say he was fine when his lungs were barely functional and he had a fever in the 100′s, Bucky knows the drill. He doesn’t push it, knowing it will likely just cause her to turtle up which is the opposite of helpful. Instead he merely nods and lets her settle, fingers absently picking at the pilling on his sweatpants.
When she does speak, his heart sinks. When Rogers had pulled her and the others out of the Raft, Bucky was too preoccupied trying to stop himself from passing out thanks to the mangled mess of seared metal that remained from where Stark’s unibeam had removed his left arm. He had barely paid attention to the condition of the former supermax inmates - only now he’s regretting he hadn’t got Steve to brief him once his own problems had stabilised. Her absent rubbing at her neck made sense now and his shoulders sag at the realisation that he did that. Indirectly, he was the cause of her being treated so inhumanely. If it wasn’t for those triggers in his head, if it wasn’t for Zemo getting a hold of that book, what had happened at the airport wouldn’t have been necessary.
“Oh kid,” he says on a sigh, voice low, “you should’ve never had to go through any of that.” Steve had briefed him on the way to the airport that she, too, had been in the grip of Hydra once, so when she likens the Raft to whatever horrors she saw with Hydra, all Bucky can do is frown. Weren’t they supposed to be better than that? Had they not fully routed the parasite yet? The Accords broke the Geneva convention in so many ways and yet everyone was fine with it because it was better on the wallets of Governments to have kids locked up and their dignity and human rights stripped away.
It’s only her statement about his own wellbeing that pulls him out of his thoughts and he un-clenches the fist he’d balled without realising, crescent moons marked into the flesh of his palm where nails had dug in. He waves of the concern with a huffed laugh and a shake of his head. “The end result of when Iron Man wants to kill you.” It’s said with humour, a smile tugging his lips lopsided. “I’ve had worse. Bumps and bruises that’ll heal in a few weeks - “ a gesture to the black-capped stump all but hidden by the sleeve of the plain black shirt, “ - barrin’ the obvious, of course.” There are still phantom itches caused by now inert wires connected directly to his nervous system, but it’s nothing he’s not adept at dealing with by now. “Can I get you a drink or anythin’? The water’s iced. Or I can try an’ remember how to make hot chocolate milk - though full disclosure, it’s been about 75 years since I last tried that so it might be awful.”
★| rogers.
the darkness that encompassed him gradually lightened. every once in awhile, his eyelids would flutter but the heaviness that lingered over them made it near impossible for him to open them completely despite his acute awareness of his conscious state. focus on breathing, steve. in and out. in and out. in and out comes a shaky sigh. his nerves escalated with each second, the uncertainty of where he was sending him into the beginning stages of panic. how could he have ended up at home? red skull, the plane, his promises to peggy. steve rogers had felt the coldness of the ice that the valkyrie was buried in before his eyes slowly slipped shut. this was home as far as he was concerned. during the spring and summer, the windows were left open in an attempt to circulate the fresh and warm air that he would dream about in the fall and winter. he could feel that same breeze glide over his skin.
it suddenly occurred to him that his thought process could not be right. after enlisting, he had allowed his lease to end under the pretense that he could find something else if he ever made it back. he recalls writing the letter to his landlord. it is not until he hears the static and exuberant voice of a man on the radio does he attempt to open his eyes once and for all.
the light is too harsh for his adjusting vision, causing him to blink for a few moments until the brightness within the room does not provide him with any strain. blue hues immediately zero in on the radio ( the ceiling was easy to get lost in but there were more pressing matters to attend to ). bemusement washes over him. there is something familiar about this particular broadcast that is unsettling. the realization hits steve like a pound of bricks. 1941. baseball. dodgers. one of the few games that him and bucky had scrounged up enough money for to go see in person.
a sinking feeling is evident in his chest, prompting him to push himself up from where he was laying on the bed. the most likely scenario was that this was a diversion attempt. the enemy hydra could they have found him while he was under? these thoughts have him distracted. when a woman walks through the door, steve startles at her voice. a recovery room in new york sounds too practiced for him to thoroughly believe but when guards join the woman who eerily resembled a person from his own past, he makes a hasty exit through what was basically a cardboard box ( so he was right about this being a diversion ).
once he barreled out on to the street, running alongside traffic was not difficult. after all, it was not the first time he ran with cars. it does not even strike him that they look different until he is surrounded by vehicles that are sleek black in color and constructed more futuristically. his chest rises and falls with the effort to even out his breathing. where was he? the sound of another voice has his eyes fixating on the man with determination. though none of the words were processing just yet, the surprises did not stop coming. another person is added to the mix except this time the voice it couldn’t be.
but it is. and for once in his life, steve rogers is rendered silent as he comes face to face with bucky barnes. the same bucky barnes that he watched fall. perhaps he was dreaming. yes, there was no other explanation. still, a glimmer of hope resides within his hoarse voice as he questions, ❛ bucky? ❜ his heart beat in his chest erratically though he was unsure as to whether it was due to his recent jog or the fact that he was standing in front of his best friend once again. ❛ what do you mean? the future? ❜ it is then he takes a look at his surroundings, an overwhelming confusion bubbling up once more, thus convincing his gaze to return to bucky. ❛ you’re ❜ he pauses, lips pressed together in frustration at not being able to comprehend this situation entirely. ❛ i don’t understand. ❜
THERE’S THE SOUND and flash of phone cameras all around them, bright enough even to stand out among the gaudy lights of the illuminations around them. Despite the S.H.I.E.L.D. officers and uniformed police keeping people back, it seemed as if they were becoming quite an attraction. Add to that there’s the sounding of angry car horns from their impromptu roadblock, the yelling of New Yorkers starting to become enraged because they can no longer get from point a to point b. Bucky has no sympathy for them in reality, they should know to expect unusual things in the middle of the city as a common occurrence - it’s New York, after all - but he’s the Director of a government organisation and to completely disregard citizens and tourists alike doesn’t send a great message. His priority is getting Rogers off the street, but before that he has to try and ease some of the confusion that’s coming off the man in waves.
“Alive? Yeah I know,” he says with a huffed laugh, handing a nearby agent his helmet and the keys to the bike he’d arrived on with the instructions to take it back to the garage. His attention casts about, scanning the crowd gathered as close as they dare to the men in suits with their serious black cars and even more serious facial expressions. Most people are pointing their phones at Steve but a few are pointed in his direction, something that Bucky doesn’t appreciate but is powerless to stop. “You think you’re dreamin’, or this is some kind of sophisticated trick, right?” He looks back at Steve, expression mildly apologetic “Well, I’m afraid that it’s neither. Welcome to the gaudy mess that is Times Square.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his tone, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips, but there’s sobriety there too.
Heaving a sigh, he steps forward, gloved fingers carding through his hair in an attempt to tame what had been messed by the helmet. “Like Fury said, the Valkyrie had been lost for nearly seventy years.” Nearly seventy years since they last saw each other that fateful day in the Alps, an unhappy memory for both of them; nearly seventy years since Rogers’ stubborn ass didn’t give coordinates of where he was putting the bird down - not that Bucky can blame him for that. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you sooner, the glacier you were found in drifted a long way from where we were lookin'. In hindsight I should’ve taken that into account. My bad.” He falls silent for a moment, bottom lip pulled under his top teeth as he gives himself a moment to compare the blond in front of him to the one in his mangled memories. “It’s good to see you, Steve,” he says, eventually, his voice lacking the bravado that he’d put forward before. “It’s been too quiet without you around.”
There’s sirens off in the background that snaps him back to the present and he’s distracted by Fury stating that the NYPD are requesting them to leave as controlling the crowds is becoming an issue. Clearing his throat and straightening his jacket, Bucky takes a step back and gestures to one of the cars. “I’m willin’ to answer any an’ all questions you might have, but we gotta get out of the street otherwise I’m pretty certain we’re gonna cause a riot.” An agent opens the door to the indicated SUV’s and Bucky offers a smile to Steve. “C’mon, there’s a pot of coffee an’ privacy waitin’ back at HQ.”
★| maximoff.
they had locked her up again. another cell, another straight jacket, a shock collar to keep her in place. for the guards this had been a precaution, a measure they took to keep the MONSTER they had caught under control. for wanda it was a hard reality check that brought her straight back to the times when hydra had used her as a petri dish to experiment on. she knew that the government wasn’t going to do the same to her, because they feared what she was already, but wanda couldn’t bear being locked up anymore. not after years, not knowing pietro wasn’t in the cell right next to her own. steve had saved them, feeling responsible for their fate, and brought them to a safe place in the middle of nowhere. they were all refugees now, criminals who had broken the law and needed to disappear from the public eye. but none of that concerned wanda for the time being. she had woken up on the floor of the bedroom they had given her, trembling and crying, the furniture around her gently floating in the air. nightmares had haunted her and her veins burned, as if toxins had been pumped into them again. she knew it had just been a dream of a time long past, but she still scratched feverishly on her arms, whilst the furniture dropped back to the ground with a thud. she listened, hoping she hadn’t woken the whole house, before she left the room to just go. no destination, just movement to shake off the ghosts on her back that haunted her. sneaking downstairs, she found it abandoned. everyone seemed to have gone to sleep. she was about to sit down by the window, to just stare outside, when she realized she wasn’t alone after all. steve’s ominous friend bucky was spread out on the couch, wide awake as her. “sorry”, she mumbled and halted mid lowering herself to straighten up again.
SLEEP BEING A stranger is nothing unusual to Bucky, days where his head was unquiet and the memories turned into horror movies to the point where he couldn’t work out what was real and what was a mere terror. In the isolation of his run-down apartment, it didn’t matter how much he paced or just sat staring blankly at the ceiling. But in the accommodation so graciously given by their more than generous hosts, he felt so out of place that even in the quiet seclusion of his bedroom, he was more than a little restless. Beyond that, as someone used to a sleeping bag on a broken old mattress on the floor, everything seemed too soft - the bed especially.
He’d wandered aimlessly for a while, drifting around the building in the small hours of the morning like a ghost haunting the halls. He hadn’t been bothered, everyone was asleep; not even the soft padding of bare feet on glossy wood floors could disrupt the silence. He’d found himself downstairs after idly poking around in a couple of the vacant rooms, insomnia-driven curiosity driving him to distract himself from the cacophony of restless thoughts echoing in his head. He’d found a small library the day before and he’d headed there first, pulling a couple of hardbacks from the shelves before heading towards the common area. He doesn’t bother putting the lights on, he can see to navigate well enough in the dark. The moon, somewhere high overhead, casts long shadows that slip through the vast windows along one wall, pale light turning the whole room various shades of grey and blue.
The books deposited on a glass-topped coffee table, they’re soon met with a tumbler filled with water as Bucky eases himself onto the too-soft couch with a groan that eaten by the silence. Ribs, broken by Stark’s onslaught, protest the motion - as do all the bruises, but he just ignores them and sprawls out along the cushions. The books and water, too, go ignored as he stares blankly at the dark expanse of the high ceiling for what feels like hours.
It’s not sleep that finds him, but he’s zoned out to a state where his overactive brain can’t bother him. Instead he idles, like a computer on standby mode, until a noise from the stairs rouses him and he blinks back into focus. He doesn’t look directly at whoever it is, merely listens to the soft footfalls as they move towards the windows. Light footsteps suggests it’s a women and when she moves into his line of sight - evidently oblivious to his presence - he gets confirmation.
Her apology confuses him momentarily, a frown deepening the crease between his eyebrows as he shifts into a sitting position; a grimace taking over from the deep seated ache in his ribcage. “I’m guessin’ that you’re havin’ trouble sleepin’ too?” She certainly doesn’t look well rested, at the very least. “You okay?”
I DO NOT DO JUSTICE i do damage I DO NOT DO EMPATHY i do damage I DO NOT DO FORGIVENESS i do damage I DO NOT DO MERCY i do damage
★| @inecede
It had started long before the phone call from the arctic circle.
It had started with map upon map upon map. Satellite imaging, Lidar scans, decades old data from when Howard Stark had found the Tesseract but then was forced to give up the search. It was a project that happened between everything else. Between the drama of Barnes and Fury arguing with the World Security Council to keep the funding they’d been reluctantly given in the first place; between Tony Stark’s kidnapping and the subsequent invention of the Iron Man suit, between Bruce and his not-so-jolly green giant alter ego getting loose in Harlem, between an actual god showing up in New Mexico. The latter had happened all the span of a week and, if he didn’t have any grey hairs before he certainly did afterwards. Even with Fury and Coulson, the events were excessive to the point where all that could be done afterwards was begrudgingly accept that the funding for anything other than Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S would be cut, for the sake of keeping his - and Fury’s - jobs.
Of course, that wasn’t going to stop them, not when they were so close. It was likely going to be a fruitless task, but if there was a chance - and if Fury’s pet project was going to succeed - then they’d need a leader. And there really was only one person that Bucky could think of being up to the task. He just hoped - prayed, even - that he wouldn’t find only bones.
When that call had come in, however, Bucky had frozen. A Hydra insignia under the ice, only come to light thanks to the glacial shift, miles off the course they had initially thought. No wonder they hadn’t found him sooner. But despite telling Fury to dispatch Coulson for the retrieval effort, he found himself completely paralysed. So he did the only thing he could think to do - he stepped back. This was all for Fury’s pet project after all, and with the Council breathing down their necks they needed to get this done with as little suspicion as possible. The only request was if they were able to wake Rogers up, then it would be Barnes that was the one that broke the truth.
But, as he should’ve expected with someone like Steve Rogers, nothing ever went as planned.
He’d expressed concerns over Fury’s methods before, had briefed him on how smart the Captain was and not to try and trick him, but Barnes had promised to let Fury do it his way. It was only upon seeing the feed from the cameras hidden in the room where Rogers was due to wake up did it dawn on him how badly it could go. By then it was too late and there was no point in ‘I told you so’ when the Captain had bolted out of the building like his life depended on it. He’d cursed the whole thing to hell and back on the way to his bike, the fleet of black SUV’s already screaming after their runaway - Fury with them - as he pulled on his helmet. He only hoped that Steve wouldn’t try fighting his way out.
Fury is with Captain Rogers said the voice in his ear over the roar of the engine and screech of sirens, no shots fired. ‘Yeah,’ he thinks, ‘just as well.’ Heads would’ve rolled otherwise. He weaves through the security cordon, still cursing the whole thing and glaring daggers at the back of Fury’s head behind the tinted visor.
“I told you, Nick.” He begins, voice muffled by the helmet as he dismounts. “I told you not to try an’ trick him. Break it to him gently my ass.” By now he was level with Fury, pulling off his helmet regardless of the absolute mess it had made of formerly well maintained hair. It was only then that he actually looked at Steve, really looked at him, and remembered why he’d stepped back in the first place. So many years without those memories, half as many trying to get them back, and the man in front of him looked just like he had nearly seventy years ago. There was so much to say that Bucky didn’t know where to start - and somehow ‘Hi Steve, long time no see’ didn’t feel like it cut it. “When I told you we were goin’ to the future all those years ago, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
‘are you decent?’ not morally, but im wearing pants, if thats what youre asking
★| rogers.
She could have done this all day. Lazily wrapped in his arms and enveloped in fuzzy-minded affections that still lit tiny sparks across her skin. The relishing of normality, something that most couples might experience to the point of the actions mundane. Not them, no – they had been deprived of so much for so long. Self-imposed injuries equally a cause to this suffering, but at least they were trying to make up for lost time. Evident enough in the way she happily brushed her fingers through his hair as he kissed her in his own gentle embrace. Its intoxicating in an entirely different way than the day before had been. This, as innocent and gentle as it was, drew goosebumps to her flesh far faster than the heated possessiveness they’d shared. It was sweet. Nurturing a void in her belly that had laid dormant for far too long, and god, she thinks, he could touch her all day without a single complaint. His lazy kisses from her mouth to her ear earn a soft mewl that’s too latent with heaviness not to border on a moan. Steph had been halfway to pulling him closer when the outbursts from the other room stall her along with his own disruption.
He supplies her details with an unimpressed tone, taking a chance to, unfortunately, remind her that as appealing as it was to innocently pull him back atop her – what lay outside their temporary doors was still waiting. Steph pushes herself up by her elbow before leaning to kiss his jawline in response. She knows he’s right to mention it. A sparing glance across him towards the nightstand shows the blinking red light of the generic clock. 0700. Meaning they had spent over twelve hours give or take a handful of minutes. It hadn’t taken more than an hour or so for them to settle in. After talking and… well repeating the actions that had started this entire change and, of course, she hadn’t even recalled eating the food they’d bought. With her bear still sitting on the nightstand where she’d chucked it mid-coitus, they hadn’t really gotten much of anything done during their brief respite. They still needed to plan out which safehouse to go to, how they would get there, and she had to figure out how to get in contact with Natasha or Sam. How she’d bring that up to Bucky, Steph did not even know where to begin. Biting her lip as she drifts momentarily in thought, the familiar annoying ring of a phone splits the relative quiet of their room. Steph sighs, kissing him briefly on the cheek once again before reaching over him to yank her bag off the floor.
Having completely shifted into sitting as she searched through her bag, the nip of the room made her fairly aware of her state of dress. Once the phone was finally found, the voicemail had already picked up the call. Blinking a few times to clear her vision, the typical ‘do not disturb’ feature of her phone had clearly switched over from the night. The influx of texts and calls from Sam, Clint and one from Natasha didn’t alarm her as much as the fifteen from ‘Anthony Stark’. “Fucksakes,” She groans, running her hand through her mop of hair before letting the device drop between her legs. Tony was likely still furious. Did he know they were still in New York? Had he followed their progress here? The creeping fear that he’d once again barge into their safe haven sent chills up her spine. “We have to get out of the state, today. I have to trash the phone. We need to find a way to get ahold of Nat, she’s the only person I know that could help.” Steph grumbles before glancing over at him again. God, she didn’t want to leave this bed. She didn’t want him to let her either. But, they had to get away. Just so this couldn’t keep happening. Just so they could be together and have some measure of peace. “When this escape is over, I expect a real love affair experience, like keeping me hostage in bed all day and eating an entire pizza naked.” Her lips quirked slightly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face. She’d accept one or the other, at minimum.
BUCKY WAS MORE than happy to get lost to the haze of gentle caresses and soft kisses for another couple of hours, god knows this past day had reminded of just how much he’d both missed out on and had stolen from him. But despite all temptations, the illusion of peace had been shattered as there’s the slamming of doors that makes the walls shake. Whatever haze might have lingered on the edges was banished like a cold breeze as soon as the distinctive high-pitched default ring of a phone caused him to freeze. He’d thought she’d left her phone back at the Tower, or at least turned it off completely. Instead she’d brought it with them, an act that made them ditching the cab early completely pointless. Stark would’ve been able to pinpoint them down to the building, if not the apartment. He forces himself to relax as she kisses his cheek, trying to convince himself of that fact that Stark wasn’t currently blasting his way through the thin wooden door that offers little protection - perhaps the man isn’t completely unreasonable, they had done what he’d asked after all, but Bucky doubted the courtesy would extend for long.
The chill of not having her curled into his side hits him as a wave of gooseflesh along his right arm and he lets himself wonder at how he’d become so used to it when he was so vehemently against any amount of prolonged touch by anyone else, to the point where he misses it even after a few hours. That wondering didn’t last very long as the soft curse pulls his attention to what little he can see of Steph’s face behind that curtain of messy golden locks. His jaw works as she grumbles, eyes drifting down to where the phone had dropped even though he can’t see it, the cogs turning in his head as he contemplates their next move. She only half manages to distract him with mentions of keeping her hostage and the abstract notion of eating pizza naked. That last one makes his meet her eyes, an amused frown playing across his features. “Pizza naked sounds awfully messy,” he says, shifting to sit up next to her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips - a distraction as one arm snakes around her waist while the other snatches the phone from her lap.
He doesn’t do anything with it, however, he merely presses it back into her hand. “Read your messages, listen to your voicemail, write all your important numbers on a piece of paper if you need to then turn it off an’ take the sim card out.” His instructions are gentle, metal fingers smoothing over the freckled skin of her bare shoulder, ignoring the near-permanent lamentation that he can’t feel the movement beyond the ghost of pressure under his fingertips. Then it’s his own turn to lean over the edge of the bed, though he has to go further than Steph did as his duffel is tucked further under the bed out of sight. There’s the distinctive sound of canvas being slid over cheap carpet as he pulls it into the dim light, followed by a zipper. He rummages past the stack of full notebooks and small armoury worth of guns and knifes, hand slipping under the tightly rolled leather jacket where he knows he’s hidden a barely used burner phone and it’s charger. He pulls it free with a grunt, sitting the plug down in front of the stuffed bear sat askew on the nightstand before he settles into something loosely cross-legged on the bed next to her, flipping the top of the cheap clam shell phone open and holding down the power button until it chimes. “There’s not much battery life left,” he begins, looking at the little red sliver on the screen. “But there should be enough money on it for you to call Nat once it’s had an hour on charge.”
