Steve keeps looking to him for reassurance. And Bucky’s always waiting to look back. I’m not sure who’s orbiting who here but wow their senses of gravitational equilibrium must be wrecked now.
The things that drive gravitational force and orbital mechanics: the gravitational constant G, the masses of the two bodies M and m (you know the boys would argue over which of them was the capital and which wasn’t— you know they’d both be right), and the distance between them r.
And look at this—how Steve has grown (you used to be smaller) and Bucky has shriveled (he used to take up such space with his posturing, wide arms and wide grins). They figure out how to make it work, in the Commandos, or well enough— Bucky as the sniper, the shadow, the right hand man, while Steve steps forward to lead into the light, glancing over to check his lodestone, make sure he’s still there.
But then Bucky falls, then he’s gone (black holes, vacuums, dark matter swirling close)—and then he’s back. But the mass has changed all over again. The Winter Soldier is massive and dense, compact, heavy, steel. There is no equilibrium here, just a free fall into cold waters.
In TFA, as Doc keeps pointing out to me, Bucky is always the one to initiate contact. He’s always the one to cross the distance between them, to shrink r until it’s next to nothing. (You know what that does? r^2 is in the denominator of Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation. You divide by it. And when you divide by next to nothing, what you get is undefined, what you get is almost everything. Divide by almost zero and you approach infinity).
But here they are, in the future, and Bucky doesn’t even know his name, certainly doesn’t know what to call the tug on the pit of his stomach that pulls him toward this stranger whose face he recognizes.
(It’s called gravity, Buck, and even in this shiny new future we don’t quite understand how it works).
(Source: thorlokid, via doctorcakeray)