( he knows the way back to karen's place, remembers the address even if she'd never actually sent it to him. even now, bucky wouldn't invite her back to his; he doesn't like anyone knowing where he lives, and there's that shameful self-consciousness of how unlivable it is anyway, the way it looks like he just moved in a day ago, despite the fact that he's been sleeping there for months.
he's not used to this. socialising. going to someone's place — let alone a pretty woman's — for anything more than sheer necessity, having her clean up his wounds, keep him alive. the expectations and parameters are different. these last few decades, it's always been so much easier when it was just a mission: when he knows what he has to do and when and to whom. clearly-delineated expectations from his handlers.
this, though, is off the map. uncharted territory.
bucky brings a bottle of i.w. harper bourbon; it's not the most popular these days, but he recognises it from shelves in the 1940s (along with a wince at how much it costs now; it had, once upon a time, been the blue-collar workhorse whiskey amongst his friends and soldiers). he makes it up to the front door of her building, rings her apartment, and after she buzzes him in, he heads for her floor. leans against the doorjamb and raps his gloved knuckles against her door, bottle dangling from his other hand. nerves starting to climb up his throat. it's been a long time since he did anything like this. far too long. )
→ action.
( he knows the way back to karen's place, remembers the address even if she'd never actually sent it to him. even now, bucky wouldn't invite her back to his; he doesn't like anyone knowing where he lives, and there's that shameful self-consciousness of how unlivable it is anyway, the way it looks like he just moved in a day ago, despite the fact that he's been sleeping there for months.
he's not used to this. socialising. going to someone's place — let alone a pretty woman's — for anything more than sheer necessity, having her clean up his wounds, keep him alive. the expectations and parameters are different. these last few decades, it's always been so much easier when it was just a mission: when he knows what he has to do and when and to whom. clearly-delineated expectations from his handlers.
this, though, is off the map. uncharted territory.
bucky brings a bottle of i.w. harper bourbon; it's not the most popular these days, but he recognises it from shelves in the 1940s (along with a wince at how much it costs now; it had, once upon a time, been the blue-collar workhorse whiskey amongst his friends and soldiers). he makes it up to the front door of her building, rings her apartment, and after she buzzes him in, he heads for her floor. leans against the doorjamb and raps his gloved knuckles against her door, bottle dangling from his other hand. nerves starting to climb up his throat. it's been a long time since he did anything like this. far too long. )