( so that first bloodied night getting patched up in karen page's apartment had been... an interesting way to meet someone.
they've stayed in touch in the couple months since. at first it was her wanting to interview him, the notorious winter soldier, and get his take on the legendary events that brought back half a world, and yet left the avengers disassembled and gutted and defunct. he'd shied away from it. he doesn't do interviews. but then he'd looked her up and found her work on the punisher, years ago. and some pieces had tumbled into place and he'd realised this knack that karen has, of prying beneath the outer walls of armour of a person; of seeing through to the man underneath; of painting a more sympathetic picture. one that isn't just a murderer.
he was still skittish about it, but in the end, he'd accepted, and talked — in halting sequence, omitting much, asking for other redactions — about steve rogers. about the avengers. he'd simply refused to discuss wakanda at all; the country valued its privacy too much. he'd opened up a lot about brooklyn in the 1940s, about the howling commandos, about captain america's earliest days. and then somewhere along the way, the recorder had been turned off and then it had simply become coffee between two people who knew each other, and liked talking to each other. coffee had turned into drinks, the conversation just drawing out longer and longer, until it had finally ended.
their dynamic isn't entirely professional — how can it be, when they met with her hands slick with his blood? — but it's straddling a strange and undefinable boundary, too. he's not sure if they're friends yet. bucky doesn't really have friends these days, but his therapist had teased him about another contact showing up on his phone, and he's eyed karen's name in his phonebook too many times — but he can't easily get drunk enough to work up some liquid courage to call her again. so he doesn't. thinks about it, but doesn't do it.
so it's a late night and he's absentmindedly browsing tinder (sam made a profile for him without him realising, and then bucky had simply admitted defeat and decided to roll with it). he always noses around, sees what's out there, then eventually panics and force-quits the app and has to go for a walk. he's not ready. he's not sure he'll ever be ready. even when he matches with someone, the conversation tends to peter out, the more he has to lie and lie and lie about who he is or what he does. walking circles around that giant elephant in the room.
but then, one night, he sees a familiar face. and he stops, surprised. and laughs, swipes right, and messages her: )
→ tinder.
they've stayed in touch in the couple months since. at first it was her wanting to interview him, the notorious winter soldier, and get his take on the legendary events that brought back half a world, and yet left the avengers disassembled and gutted and defunct. he'd shied away from it. he doesn't do interviews. but then he'd looked her up and found her work on the punisher, years ago. and some pieces had tumbled into place and he'd realised this knack that karen has, of prying beneath the outer walls of armour of a person; of seeing through to the man underneath; of painting a more sympathetic picture. one that isn't just a murderer.
he was still skittish about it, but in the end, he'd accepted, and talked — in halting sequence, omitting much, asking for other redactions — about steve rogers. about the avengers. he'd simply refused to discuss wakanda at all; the country valued its privacy too much. he'd opened up a lot about brooklyn in the 1940s, about the howling commandos, about captain america's earliest days. and then somewhere along the way, the recorder had been turned off and then it had simply become coffee between two people who knew each other, and liked talking to each other. coffee had turned into drinks, the conversation just drawing out longer and longer, until it had finally ended.
their dynamic isn't entirely professional — how can it be, when they met with her hands slick with his blood? — but it's straddling a strange and undefinable boundary, too. he's not sure if they're friends yet. bucky doesn't really have friends these days, but his therapist had teased him about another contact showing up on his phone, and he's eyed karen's name in his phonebook too many times — but he can't easily get drunk enough to work up some liquid courage to call her again. so he doesn't. thinks about it, but doesn't do it.
so it's a late night and he's absentmindedly browsing tinder (sam made a profile for him without him realising, and then bucky had simply admitted defeat and decided to roll with it). he always noses around, sees what's out there, then eventually panics and force-quits the app and has to go for a walk. he's not ready. he's not sure he'll ever be ready. even when he matches with someone, the conversation tends to peter out, the more he has to lie and lie and lie about who he is or what he does. walking circles around that giant elephant in the room.
but then, one night, he sees a familiar face. and he stops, surprised. and laughs, swipes right, and messages her: )
fancy seeing you here