Thanks. And yeah, that'd be great. ( he flashes her a smile. all of this is wandering into foreign territory, uncharted worlds on the map. not that he's used to fleeing, exactly, but he's not used to this part either: someone else's home, occupying space in it, making himself at home within it. but karen keeps inviting him to, so bucky rolls with it: pops back out into the living room, grabs his clothes and the towel, and then vanishes into the bathroom while she gets started on breakfast.
technically, maybe they could've shared the shower, maybe he could've joined her. but it had felt like it'd be asking for too much. so he just settles into it alone, letting it wash away the previous night. most of the hot water's already gone, the pipes whining as they try to keep up, but that's honestly fine with him; he'd had months shivering in the field during the war, and then even in his years as an assassin, it had been less luxury hotels, more shitty off-grid apartments in eastern europe. so he could do with a quick, bracing shower, and cold to tamp him down again, give him some chance of surviving the morning without just corralling karen again.
he's got eighty years to make up for, so sue him.
when bucky rejoins her in the living area, his hair and the neck of his shirt is still damp and his clothes rumpled from the evening before, but at least he feels refreshed. his hair smells like her women's shampoo, notes of coconut and vanilla, but he doesn't really seem to mind. he leans against the island to watch her work, elbows propped against its edge, and so it isn't entirely lost on him that they've accidentally drifted back into the positions that kicked off the whole evening. (the bottle's still on the counter. whoops.)
but, then, the first question from his lips is probably an unexpected one: )
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technically, maybe they could've shared the shower, maybe he could've joined her. but it had felt like it'd be asking for too much. so he just settles into it alone, letting it wash away the previous night. most of the hot water's already gone, the pipes whining as they try to keep up, but that's honestly fine with him; he'd had months shivering in the field during the war, and then even in his years as an assassin, it had been less luxury hotels, more shitty off-grid apartments in eastern europe. so he could do with a quick, bracing shower, and cold to tamp him down again, give him some chance of surviving the morning without just corralling karen again.
he's got eighty years to make up for, so sue him.
when bucky rejoins her in the living area, his hair and the neck of his shirt is still damp and his clothes rumpled from the evening before, but at least he feels refreshed. his hair smells like her women's shampoo, notes of coconut and vanilla, but he doesn't really seem to mind. he leans against the island to watch her work, elbows propped against its edge, and so it isn't entirely lost on him that they've accidentally drifted back into the positions that kicked off the whole evening. (the bottle's still on the counter. whoops.)
but, then, the first question from his lips is probably an unexpected one: )
Hey. What's your favourite movie?