armeyets | for viuva.

( some fun 21 and 22 from here for these two touch-starved losers but first — )

[ nearly two weeks since she broke into his apartment and after a week of radio silence on her end, she lets him know she's alive in the most yelena way possible: ]

hey
are you home
and do you have alcohol

[ he squints down at his phone. they tend to do this a lot, just barrel in without context, so he rolls with the punches as always— ]

what, yes, and always
why?

[ ugh. she was counting on him being busy and being in a whole other state. she would rather not see him like this but... ]

like at least two bottles?
and do you have painkillers

[ and no she's not dodging his question ]

more than you could shake a stick at.

[ aforementioned metabolism: super inconvenient. means him quadrupling up on pills for those occasions when he's a bucket of aches and pains and bruises. also, useful to have on hand in case bucky ever needs to fling some painkillers at sam and his stupid breakable human self. ]

y'know, when most people open a conversation like that, you kind of assume the worst

[ is he worried? cute. ]

what if i was just thinking ahead and making sure you have painkillers for my inevitable hangover tomorrow because i wanted to drink myself half to death

then i'd say you're very prepared.
also still kind of worrisome as a setup, although it depends on the reason for drinking yourself half to death. drowning your sorrows, or celebration?

ha
if it were the former i would not have swam back up for air
luckily we are celebrating me living yet another day!!

i require copious amounts of alcohol for the pain and for my wound...s

[ and bucky's place is, unfortunately for him(?), the best option right now. ]

[ he had a feeling. people like them can't easily check into a normal hospital, so it's good to have someone's place to go to; a safe place to land, rather than needing to try juggling it all yourself. (naturally, he has experience. trying to handle stitches on your own is the worst.) ]

i've got the first aid kit and the vodka out. you know where i live.

[ yes, he bought vodka in the weeks since, as promised.
and that comment about swimming back up for air, he's filed away in the back of his head. maybe he'll come back for it later. ]

[ yelena figured it best to give him a heads up this time; had it been under any other circumstances, she would have just barged in without any moment's notice.

while she is not Dying — at least that's what she thinks — she is under a lot more pain than expected. (she has been feeling it more now than she ever has under dreykov's command.) she avoids the main streets as much as she can, leaving the roofs for another time when she is not as focused on staying alive. she resorts to trudging along sketchy back and side alleys, sending a death glare in the direction of all the youths that dare look her way. at least they look concerned?

with the little amount of adrenaline she has left coursing through her veins, she hauls ass onto bucky's balcony (she refuses to go through the front door) and funnily enough, knocks. once.

then yelena swings the door open, there in all her roughed-up glory. as far as he'll be able to see; she isn't sporting any black eyes, thankfully, but there is a gnarly cut along her left cheekbone. her neck and forehead are sheen with sweat, and she looks exceptionally done with everything and everyone, with the way she has her right hand on her side — but she's actually applying pressure to a (kind of?) deep gash beneath her ribcage. ]

I should've taken an Uber.

You should've. Why don't you ever buzz the front door like a normal person?

[ bucky gets snippy when he's concerned, apparently, because he's needling her even as he crosses the room — and hovers in front of yelena for a moment, his right hand unthinkingly fluttering and reaching out towards that cut on her cheek. not gloved, since she caught him late at night and at home, so she can see his bare fingers as he freezes mid-gesture, stopping himself just short of touching her — assassins don't really appreciate being touched, and he doesn't want to wind up shivved. and dressed as he is, she can spot the gleam of black metal at his left in the long-sleeved henley, a clench of vibranium fingers by his side. instead, he turns back into the room. ]

Take the armchair.

[ and he nods toward the one comfortable chair in the living room (its cushion had been his pillow on the floor for... way longer than he'd like to admit), while he grabs the first aid kit and pulls up the hard wooden dining chair for himself. he's sounding so much more curt and brusque and to-the-point than usual, slipping out of their casual banter and sliding back towards practicality, logistics. he'd been a soldier once. patched up comrades in trenches in germany, amidst the mud and the rain. wound triage is like autopilot by now. ]

Can you summarise the injuries for me?

[ is he snapping at her? either way, his question makes her want to annoy him more. ]

I like to make an entrance. Plus, climbing is fun.

[ it is, without a doubt, more fun when she's not keeping herself from bleeding to death. yelena's guard is always up when she wants it to be, especially after such a high-strung mission in which things obviously did not go to plan. but she is tired, and it would serve her no purpose to swat away the careful hand of a man that needs to look at her wounds up-close. (maybe he wanted to see how bad it was, and the nearer he got the better he was able to see so —)

she doesn't put up a fight when he tells her to take the armchair, and plops down onto it with one hand on the armrest, the other one still occupied with applying pressure to the slash under her ribs. ]

Everything is pretty minor except for this beauty over here. I feel like it was karma for slashing at Oksana. [ and ultimately, killing her but saying it out loud now makes her want to throw up.

yelena lifts the palm of her hand to show how deep it is, which can't be that bad if she hasn't passed out yet. nothing some stitches can't fix. then she nudges her left leg against the side of the chair, ] Got grazed by a sniper bullet on my thigh here. Um — oh, my back hurts and I have this cut on my cheek. Duh. [ as beaten up and blooded as she is (but you should see the other guys, is what she would say), she still remains to be in high spirits so that's got to count for something. ]

But I'm still pretty with it, right?

Just beautiful, [ bucky says distantly, distractedly, as he plants himself in the other chair and tugs it closer, right in front of her, his knees now spread-eagled on either side of hers. it's an echo of the stupid position he and sam had been forced into during an impromptu therapy session, but this time it's at least for a far more practical purpose: it gets him close enough to take a closer look at yelena's injuries, keeps him steadier than if he were leaning awkwardly over her instead, and lets him balance the kit against both their knees as a table. the offhand compliment is meant to appease her, meant to sound nonchalant, but there's more than a grain of truth in it. she's still stunning even with a streak of blood across her cheek and that defiant grin on her face, a thin slick of sweat on her throat. especially stunning like this, even.

but he's not paying too much attention to it. instead, he's looking at where her hand is pressed against her side: the rip in her shirt and the dark wet blood soaking it, the slight glimpse of the cut in her skin through it. whenever he'd had to focus on injuries like this — back during the war, or his years as the winter soldier — it was disturbingly easy to focus on the small picture. seeing people as lacerated meat, broken bone, pieces to be put back together. human bodies were so distressingly fragile when they weren't his. ]

Alright. This one first, then. I've got water and some antiseptic to clean it.

[ he finally looks up from her side, pale blue eyes now meeting hers. and there's a skip in the record, a hesitation in that quick businesslike demeanour, some bashfulness suddenly creeping in instead: ]

You're— gonna have to lift your shirt. Is that okay?

[ if the intent behind the compliment was to shut her up, it worked. yelena thought about making a comment on his hair or his choice of sleepwear because she always has something to say, doesn't she? (don't guys sleep naked? or shirtless? except that would probably make her come off as a pervert when it's a genuine question!) but no. she does not even let out a peep as he lugs himself over to her.

part of it is due to her brain trying to process that what he said was a thing that happened at all, and the other part is yelena trying not to make a big deal out of them being so close. it conjures up a strange sensation in her chest; it's not something she feels often, but it's not so foreign to her either that she doesn't know what it is. she does.

he's looking— or rather, examining her and they're bumping knees — not in the way yelena would've wanted – clothes and all (hers a little more ripped than his) and he hasn't even touched her but somehow it is enough to make her feel all the warmth rush to her cheeks. ]

Okay—

[ she's Undressed before men before. beyond her tighty whities, even! she looks at him and has to pretend that the way he's looking at her has no effect on her whatsoever, but she's probably doing a shit job at it right now because all she can think of is how his eyes remind her of the sea, of the beach that melina and alexei took her and natasha to when they were children.

she hates that there's a stutter in her movements, when there normally wouldn't be any, as she frees that fresh wound from the sweet pressure of the palm of her hand. yelena straightens up some and pulls her shirt up until it's rolled up to just above her chest. which is, thankfully, covered by a black sports bra. aside from the cut, there are some bruises on her stomach, by her hipbone. ]

Sorry about your chair. [ that she's most likely bleeding onto, now. ] I'll get you a new one. Maybe a red one.

Probably a good idea. You're not the only one who comes back here bleeding.

[ bucky just means himself, but there's a chance it sounds like he's hinting at other visitors. in the meantime, though, there's his palms laid flat against her thighs as she rucks up her shirt — and he swallows once, hard, adam's apple bobbing as he tries not to linger too much on the sight. and while yelena hitches a breath, he reaches for the bottle of saline solution and washcloth, and starts carefully wiping at the wound to clear it of blood and grit and any sticky fabric threads it's picked up from her shirt. the armchair will be wet with water and blood by the end of this, but it was that or invite her into his shower with him or something— and look, there are limits to this kind of forced intimacy.

he gets absorbed in the task, though, and leans even closer to be sure the cut is clear before he switches to dabbing it with antiseptic. at a hiss of breath from her, he murmurs a small apologetic "sorry", and then presses the antiseptic harder. it stings, but he maintains that firm pressure against the gash, his fingers splayed against the curve of her side, brushing over the arch of her ribs. there's warm bare skin beneath his hands, and he's struck by the unexpected intimacy of not having gloves between him and another person, for once— it feels as exposed and naked as if he'd had to rip off a whole layer of clothing in front of her, too, some of his physical armour gone. she can feel his uncovered fingers thumbing against her skin, soft and human, in contrast to the cold chill of the vibranium.

he can't remember the last time he was this close to someone. piecing together another footsoldier in HYDRA who was injured, probably — except back then, the winter soldier had been harsh, silent, an automaton who only looked after his comrades because he was ordered to. here, in contrast, there's a contemplative hesitation to the way bucky handles her; surprisingly gentle, for all that he could snap bone with that metal hand. ]

So. What happened tonight?

[ his voice is low, his gaze now riveted to her side so he doesn't have to glance up and realise how close they are now, how he's way too near yelena's face. ]

[ it's rather difficult for yelena to imagine bucky in a state anywhere near the one she's in right now. probably doesn't help that the last time she was here, all she saw was the bullet hole in the sleeve of his jacket and nothing else. but other than that there was no clear indication that he got his ass handed to him. she figures he means sam wilson. natasha, even. any one of his friends — there aren't many, she knows that much — that are less sturdy than he is.

this pointless train of thought keeps her occupied for a bit, at least until he's disinfecting her open wound. yelena flinches and lets out the heaviest of exhales, though it's unclear to her if it's due to the sting of the antiseptic or the feeling of his fingers on her skin. they're calloused, but warm and they definitely don't match the tone of his voice, or the look on his face when she first walked in tonight.

which she appreciates, but she's not as fragile as one might think. ]

I don't want to talk about it.

[ her ego is, though. she goes a solid minute without saying another word before feeling awful about being snippy with him when he's doing her a favour and patching her up in the middle of the night. not to mention, her blood being all over his couch by the time he's done with her. ]

I was supposed to extract two stray Widows.

[ yelena hears rustling between them, and when she looks down she sees him going through the contents of his first aid kid — probably preparing to stitch her cut up, so she relaxes some. she tries to keep her breathing even, but it's a little harder when her heart decides to act up once the heat of his bare hand pressed against her skin settles in. ]

I'd been monitoring them all week, like a hawk. I know their routines — or at least I thought I did, and it was supposed to be easy. I was supposed to be in and out and nobody was supposed to get hurt. But that's always easier said than done, isn't it?

[ once he starts on her sutures, yelena's first instinct is to turn the other way where he can't see her face. her pain is audible, in the form of a grunt and without thinking about it; she reaches out to clutch onto the front of bucky's shirt, balling her fist into the fabric as she squeezes her eyes shut. ]

I won't bore you with the details, but there were two others. Anya and Sasha arrived just in time and if you think I'm in bad shape, you should see the other guys. [ she SAID IT, she really did. she's very amused with herself, even now. lets out a triumphant, ha! before wincing. ] Thankfully, the two Widows we were after are fine. A little scratched up but okay. I told them I wanted to get a celebratory drink before regrouping tomorrow and tracking down the rest.

[ and because she needs to get it out now: ] Thanks for responding to my very vague text earlier.

[ he's patient. even before conditioning had made him into an unmoving stoic statue, he'd also been a sniper; had been accustomed to long hours lying motionless in the undergrowth and just waiting for the flicker of movement, for an enemy to show themselves so he could take their head off before they ever reached captain america, the real target. so bucky's good at waiting. he focuses on the cleanup, head bent over his work, the tidiness of a needle pressing through her flesh — his hands are steady, the vibranium one even moreso — and he waits her out, until yelena's ready to start talking.

when her hand knots in the fabric of his shirt, he resists the urge to fold his hand over hers. just keeps working instead, and lets her brace herself against him. ]

At least you got the original two out — that means the mission counts as a success, in my book. Congrats. And hey, it's no problem. Anytime. Although if I'm ever not around, I heard there's a discreet nurse somewhere out in the city who patches up people like us. She's probably better company than me.

[ somehow word got passed along in this vigilante underground, although he'd never actually called claire temple himself. there's another slow movement, the thread pulling that ugly cut back together. but yelena's laughter is infectious, and it sparks a low chuckle in the back of bucky's throat, shaking his head in mock incredulity. dryly joking: ]

So you're telling me I'm patching you up just enough to be able to go to a celebratory girls' night out? And I'm not even invited? Man, the ingratitude.

[ despite the fact that he cleaned out the wound, it keeps welling up as he works, and so his hands are slick with her blood; but he doesn't seem to blanch at it at all, accustomed to the sight in general. this is a totally normal way to hang out with the girl you like, right?? ]

[ bucky is not someone that talks a lot. she's figured out a long time ago that he only really chimes in if he cares enough to say anything at all. so a pep talk from bucky barnes himself? definitely not full of shit, and it makes her feel a little less like she didn't fail at her job. maybe it's because he thought her worthy enough to grace her with the quips and little taunts that he keeps hidden and locked away behind that detached, indifferent mask of his.

yelena is just glad that he can let go around her and treat her like a normal person — except that goes both ways, doesn't it? since their reacquaintance, she has seen him as more than just the winter soldier. he is a man that's trying to to make up for sins that he was forced to commit, and there are still traces of brokenness in that man she's not sure anyone can fix. (maybe she's projecting; maybe she sees a little too much of herself in him, but.) still, she finds herself gravitating towards him even when she doesn't have the time or room in her heart to. ]

Oh? Do you know if she's pretty? [ she's joking. kind of. ] Ah. Don't sell yourself short. You're plenty of fun, James — О, черт — when you're not putting me back together. I cannot believe you are making me go through this sober, by the way.

[ if she's still cracking jokes, she's not in that bad of a state. it helps immensely that bucky is poking fun at her too, since it helps take the edge off of this whole ordeal of him seaming her gash shut. no longer stiff as she was moments ago (despite the blood that's soaking into the waistband of her pants, and she thinks, poor james, because his own hands must be dripping red), her grip around his shirt loosens. she doesn't let go just yet, though. ]

Didn't you know? You are my celebratory girls' night out. [ she's beaming at him now, even as another hiss escapes her. ] Getting patched up by James Barnes is definitely more exciting than bar-hopping. I mean, just look at this stitching job. It is impeccable. Could be a surgeon.

Heck, I always wanted to be one, how'd you know? I should rethink my entire career strategy.

[ still sassing her, although he'd been good in school; could've probably taken an honest stab at medical school if he'd been so inclined, but he hadn't. his interests hadn't lain in that direction. instead, the war had called, and james had answered.

and in said war, they'd had to bite through thread with their teeth when knives or shears weren't close to hand, but today he's able to snip through it neatly with a pair of small scissors. the man cleans off the now-stitched-up wound one last time with the washcloth for good measure, and then presses a gauze pad against it, his hand splayed across yelena's side and heavy against her hip. it rests there for a second, the weight pressing the adhesive around the edges down. it's the only reason. sure.

after a moment, he digs around in the first aid kit with his free hand, and lightly tosses her a bottle of pills. ]

You really shouldn't mix alcohol with painkillers, but I'll bust out the vodka for you anyway. No wonder I didn't actually become a doctor. Not responsible enough.

[ the work is done, but bucky's still sitting too close, and suddenly aware of it now that he doesn't have the sutures to focus on anymore: instead he's too-aware of his knee against hers, their thighs pressed close together, the heat of her proximity. he clears his throat. fusses with the kit and starts setting all the supplies back, each item in its tidy place in the box. it's a distraction; a way to keep his hands busy. ]

And I'm not sure about exciting. All I've got here is like... late-night soap operas and Nick at Nite.

[ it's fun to pretend that they're people with typical traumas, and normal jobs. like he didn't just pretty much single-handedly take care of a nasty gash in the middle of his apartment. this is just a normal tuesday night for people in their line of work. ]

Wasn't the strange doctor man a surgeon? Surely it's not too late to make a— a career change.

[ in a poor effort to reassure him, she mutters something under her breath and makes a face when he presses the gauze pad that's flat on his palm, against her sutures. her mind wanders without her permission, and she wonders for half a second what it would be like for his fingers to dig into the flesh of her hips when—

and then just like that, it's gone as soon as the pressure of his hand is relieved. he can't see, but there is a flash of disappointment that crosses her features, followed by relief once he gracefully throws her that promised bottle of painkillers. ]

Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were holding out on me because I didn't buzz in and come through the front door like a normal person.

[ in truth, she is also hyper-aware of their closeness but she... doesn't mind it, when she usually would. yelena is thankful that he's busy organizing his trusty medkit, because that means he's not paying attention to her face and how she's chewing on the inside of her cheek trying to decide how the fuck to proceed. ]

Actually. Maybe hold the vodka. I want to take a shower. [ she remembers she's making herself feel a little too much at home here so, she rephrases. ] Can I use your shower?

[ the politeness is almost unexpected, compared to the way this russian goldilocks snuck her way through the cracks and crevices of his apartment last time (and, really, she's been making herself comfortable in more places than that: somehow finding her way ducking right past the nooks and crannies of his armour). the corner of his mouth twitches, and bucky volleys back: ]

Sure. You're a mess, you could do with one. Although—

[ yelena's shirt is ruined, ripped through and now sodden with water and blood alike. he hesitates — maybe this is a step too far, an intimacy that he hasn't earned and shouldn't be foisting on her anyway — but he moves over to the one closet in the space, and rummages around. (there's yet another duffel in the back, packed with a couple extra changes of clothes and toiletries, except it's an overnight kit for impromptu missions or escapes rather than sleepovers or vacations.) finding what he's looking for, he tosses a balled-up shirt at her. it's oversized for her, and one of many: his closet's almost entirely comprised of jeans, nondescript dark plain shirts, and hoodies. it's like after becoming such a notorious figure, part of him still wants to try fading into the background, be as unremarkable and unnoticed as possible. ]

You probably saw last time, but the bathroom's by the front door, to the left. Clean towels are on the shelf in there.

[ if he keeps his voice as steady and level and unaffected as possible, then this will just sound like they're dealing with more logistics, more basic elements of patching her up, and not bucky wracking his memory to figure out— when was the last time a woman actually showered at his place?? jesus christ, he doesn't even want to calculate the years. it must've been back in that stretch after high school but before the war: a time period which had already faded in his memory by then, dull and colourless compared to everything that came afterwards, for better or worse. (mostly worse.) ]

Ha, [ and a very sarcastic ha at that, specifically at bucky calling her a mess. it's fine. she can appreciate a good humour when she sees one, especially when it matches hers down to the straight-faced, dry and deadpan delivery she's so very good at. she'll give bucky credit; maybe he was the blue-print. ~~like he was for other unspeakable things.~~ but what is trauma, if not something yelena can poke fun at as a coping mechanism? not that's something she could ever blame him for. he is human, after all.

once bucky scurries off to dig through his closet, yelena tells herself that it's silly to miss the body heat when it was barely even there to begin with. (but though it was; except that was just the closest thing to intimacy she has felt in months and it's rather embarrassing, even for her to admit that to herself.) he looks back at her and flings a balled-up piece of fabric her way, she lets it fall into her lap with a snort.

she hauls herself up and puts the shirt on, lets it hang above her shoulders because it would just get soiled by the grime and blood that's currently stuck to her. as he's gently giving her directions to the bathroom — that she also definitely saw — she has the gall to wave a dismissive hand at him. ]

Yes, I know. And there is a fake floorboard in the cabinet under your sink. I know that, too.

[ with that said, the door closes behind her with a soft click. it's followed by the rustling of clothes being removed, as well as a string of curse words being said in russian like bastard or motherfucker before she finally turns on the water.

yelena emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later, swimming in his shirt with a towel on her head but. no pants. no underwear either, because the one pair she had on was soaked in sweat and blood. who carries around spare underwear anyway?? ]

Hey, James? [ she calls out from the doorway, her clothes neatly folded in her arms. ] Do you have a pair of shorts I can borrow? Boxers will work fine, too.

[ what are boundaries ]

[ the whole time that she's showering, he's having a minor heart attack.

he paces the confines of the studio apartment and compulsively cleans it: bucky packs up the first aid kit and puts it away again, and grabs a bottle of water for her. scrubs at the armchair a little, but it's a lost cause. he anxiously remakes his bed, but the sheets are already tucked in tight against that brand-new bedframe. there's just so few objects in this apartment that there isn't even anything to straighten up, no way to make it look even more presentable, and no way to occupy himself while he's trying not to listen to that distant muted sound of running water.

and when yelena steps out from the bathroom, he has a major heart attack.

his gaze drifts downwards to the dangling hem of his shirt, accidentally riveted and caught by the sight of the long lines of her bare thighs, the turn of her knee and calf, her bare feet on the hardwood floor. she is not wearing pants. yelena is not wearing pants. bucky swallows, a ripple of surprise and self-consciousness crossing his face. ]

Uh, yeah— of course— sorry, forgot—

[ and back to the closet and he digs around. he doesn't actually have anything that works besides boxers, so when he walks over to her, he has to hand over a pair of plaid boxer shorts. his actual underwear. he's staring fixedly at her face now, chin up, preventing himself from sneaking another glance at her thighs. how did they wind up like this? —except because he's james barnes, he also can't resist harkening back to the last time she was here: ]

You do have super strong legs.

[ yelena has to bite back a smile. has to choke back a laugh as she watches bucky scramble for something to wear underneath his shirt that she's wearing, after he was so obviously ogling at her legs. like a teenage boy — well, it doesn't surprise her, considering how he's living. in the meantime, she removes the towel and throws it onto the towel rack in the bathroom behind her. her hair was tied when she was getting operated on by dr. bucky barnes, but now her hair is down and still much too wet, leaving damp spots on his t-shirt.

he fulfills her request and she takes the boxers from him. in turn, she gently shoves her folded pile of clothes against his chest, the bottle of pills sitting atop. at this point, it's a little too late for yelena to pretend like she has any shame or too shy when she takes a step back to slip into the the provided boxer shorts. in front of him. (she probably would've done the same if it were anybody else; except her heart wouldn't be hammering this hard against her chest, she's pretty sure.) ]

Oh! These are pretty comfy— What?

[ give her a second. she's racking her brain and he can probably tell by the way her features contort into slight confusion before she bursts into a fit of laughter. ]

Yes, that's what I said. But you said they were "very nice", if I remember correctly.

[ LOOK. SHE CAN BE SMUG ABOUT IT IF SHE WANTS TO BE ]

And they still are.

[ she is really, truly, trying to kill him. yelena starts getting dressed right then and there, and bucky catches the briefest glimpse of her ass before he swivels on his heel and hurriedly walks a few steps away, accidentally colliding with the living room endtable. he swears, low under his breath, hobbling on his bruised knee, and then finds the laundry basket squirreled away in that closet; her sullied clothes can join his on the next trip to the neighbourhood laundromat. maybe as revenge, he'll force her to keep him company while waiting down the street sometime.

but his heart is hammering in his throat as he stares at the blank wall, shoulders stiff, fixed on that point and not turning around until he is absolutely one hundred percent certain that it's safe. for all that he keeps mouthing off, he really is shy, too; his hands tied by those decades on decades of rust and unfamiliarity, this part of his life having long-since faded away. ]

It, uh. I left out a bottle of water for you. You should stay hydrated.

[ he is so stupid. ]

[ she is absolutely tickled at his admission, even more so at his reaction to her getting dressed in front of him as if he didn't just have his hands on her bare side half an hour ago. granted, he was tending to her wound and didn't have much of a choice but still —

she manages to snatch the pills before he skitters away god knows where, since there is zero room here for him to hide with the exception of the bathroom that she is half-occupying. yelena sees him crash into the table, and she figures MAYBE she should go easy on him. even though she isn't doing anything......

yelena stomps over to him when he mentions "water" and petulantly, she crosses her arms over her chest.

one word: ] Vodka.

Both, [ bucky counters immediately — apparently being irritatingly responsible tonight, because he's not having yelena dehydrate from bloodloss on his watch. nat would never let him live it down, if any harm came to her sister while he was supposed to be looking after her. but he does comply: wanders back into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of vodka (it's a good brand; he'd apparently picked up some knowledge over his years with the russians), pours a shot and hands it to her with one hand, the bottle of water in the other. and then stares at her, near-unblinking, while he waits to see if she'll drink both. and he goes ahead and says it: ]

Nat would literally murder me if you pass out from bloodloss at my place. So for my own survival: stay hydrated.

[ yelena does not contest against him insisting on both water and vodka. this, she can deal with and that is why she doesn't say another word. instead she waits there patiently until he returns with both his hands full. she twists the pill bottle open and pops two into her mouth, drinking them down with water — and then chases hydration with dehydration in the form of vodka, instead of the other way around. ]

There. [ she smiles, content with this outcome even though she was frowning at him just a second ago. ] Now we both live.

[ she's in a much better mood now — has been since she cleaned up, let's be real — and she goes as far as elbowing him in the side, waggling her eyebrows at him. ]

So, my legs, huh?

Oh my god, shut up.

[ bucky groans, mortified all over again, scrubbing at his face with his hands. and yet it's all, weirdly— refreshingly? normal? and kind of nice? because there's an undercurrent of humour beneath it all, and a playfulness that keeps him on his toes. he moves slightly away from her again, because the sight of yelena belova in his boxers and with his shirt hanging off her body, the loose neck and sleeve slipping down one shoulder, is life-ruining. this is life-ruining.

and he's realising there's something they never actually clarified. there was, maybe, the chance that she was just going to clean up in the shower and then pull her pants back on and head back out into the night, but now.... ]

Are you staying? [ a beat ] Because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to climb balconies while hopped up on painkillers and bleeding everywhere.

Edited 2021-07-31 05:54 (UTC)

[ bucky's mortification only brings yelena gratification, and she doesn't bother to hide it either. it takes some time for that annoying shit-eating grin of hers to fade, even as he asks the question of the night.

she gives him space, for now. she figured out early on that her presence flusters him to some degree, though she has an inkling it has everything to do with her wearing his clothes. which, she gets. she'd feel the same way if the roles were reversed. absolutely!

her fingers latch onto the hem of the oversized tee, to tug on it and show him how much room there is beneath the fabric. ]

I could probably make a cape out of this and fly back to my shitty motel room, no? [ she won't take the chance tonight, though. the painkillers will start to kick in sooner than they usually do, but that's her fault. she was the one that insisted on vodka, so — ] If you'll let me crash here, I will. But I will say that I always thought you were the type to wine and dine a girl before inviting her to spend the night.

You technically got wined. There's probably some stale chips in the cupboard if you want to snack.

[ they keep circling this. the jokes took on the tenor of flirtation a while ago even via text, of hinting at— something— but he's not sure what to do with any of it, the insinuations, the way they skirt the edges of addressing whatever-this-is (is he wining and dining her?? god, who can tell). so instead, bucky goes ahead and perches himself on the end of his bed, grabs the remote and turns on the tv, flipping through the channels until he finds some comfortingly banal middle-of-the-night programming. a sitcom with a live audience, predictable beats, laughter. it turns out to be Friends, 'the one with the tiny t-shirt'; he snorts at the irony when the episode title pops up on the channel finder. ]

You can crash here. I'd feel like shit kicking you back out onto the streets.

[ maybe he'll make a return to sleeping on the floor, just for tonight. it's fine. ]

Ah, yes. The way I strong-armed you into giving me vodka. I suppose that counts! I don't want your stale chips so you can dine me another time.

[ she says it so casually — even though it is practically a demand — that she doesn't even stop to think that, hey... maybe he doesn't want to?

it's not a thought that crosses her mind, ever. mostly because yelena is so used to taking. and he did lend her his shirt and boxers for her to wear so his actions have to mean something, don't they? oh well, it's too late for her to take anything back now because it's already been said and done. that, and she's already following him to his bed like this is a normal occurrence.

yelena shows zero signs of discomfort as she climbs into his bed, but instead of the edge she goes straight for his pillows, resting her back against the headboard with her legs folded underneath her. she also has no complaints with the channel he's settled on; she likes friends. used to watch it a lot as a kid. ]

Chandler was my favourite.

Mine too. [ bucky really should be making himself more comfortable on his own bed, but he's still seated on the edge. there's a moment of hesitation, but then it's like some thoughtful gears have turned and turned and finally interlocked in his mind, unfolding an anecdote that he suddenly remembered as a result of this tv show. ]

Fun fact about Captain America. When we were on the run from SHIELD and living off-grid, these reruns were pretty much always on, no matter where we were in the world, so we wound up watching them. Steve and I would get into debates over which one of us was Chandler and which one was Joey. I think we compromised and settled on him being Chandler, 'cause he was the awkwardly earnest only child, and I was Joey, since I had the army of sisters.

[ and once upon a time, bucky had been an extrovert and a ladykiller — quick to flash a smile and a compliment, lining up double dates, strolling through the stark expo with a woman on each arm. but god, those days were long ago. sometimes it felt unrecognisable. ]

I do really relate to Chandler, though.

[ completely unsurprisingly. ]

[ bucky has his back to her so he can't see how yelena's eyes go wide with surprise when he starts and doesn't stop. she doesn't dare interrupt him during his story time because this is literally a once in a blue moon occurrence.

his reminiscence, despite what she could only assume was a rough period of time for them, has the corners of her lips slowly curling into a fond smile.

he says he relates to chandler and, ] That makes a lot of sense actually. [ yelena almost says it's why she likes him, but she quickly bites her tongue. ]

it doesn't seem fair to me that you based your decisions off of those traits specifically. You're not peppy and adorably dumb enough to be Joey but you have Chandler's snark, his self-deprecating and sarcastic sense of humour— wait. You said you had sisters?

[ amused, bucky finally swivels sideways to look at her, sliding a little further back on the bed. ]

Wait, does that mean you're saying that Cap was peppy and adorably dumb?

[ was, past tense, considering the man's disappearance from the world and the fact that there's a new captain america on the scene now. it's bittersweet, but it seems like bucky's still able to find some warmth in it, some mingled nostalgia. (it's a little easier, probably, since he's one of only two people who know the truth about the man's disappearance. the fact that steve had something good to go to, and isn't actually dead, just... gone. but it's only a little easier. the effect is broadly the same.)

he shoves backward until his back's against the headboard too, side-by-side with yelena. the personal details are so halting and rare, but these days, he's trying to remind himself to crack open that box and let people have them. at least some of them. ]

Yeah. Three younger sisters. I was closest to Rebecca.

[ she won't say a thing about bucky inching closer to her on the bed simply out of fear that he will get scared and think she cares about personal space, or worse; that she doesn't like him enough to be in the same vicinity as him even though she is clearly wearing his clothes and let him stitch her up BUT ANYWAY. ]

No, no. I did not say that. You said that, just now.

[ the implication was clear, though. he was definitely pep...pier than bucky. was he adorably dumb? yelena cannot say for sure since she did not know captain america personally and no, alexei's anecdotes do not count.

for some reason, she feels more... relaxed? at peace? with him sitting next to her. she brings her legs up from underneath her, hugs them against her chest to rest her chin between her knees. she's still listening to friends play in the background, but now — she's fully focused on bucky himself. she's especially intrigued that he had siblings. actually, not just siblings but three sisters. ]

Was Rebecca closest to you in age or was she the youngest?

Closest to me in age. We kinda— helped look after the others and keep up the house whenever ma got too overwhelmed. Becca moved to Indiana and had a few kids, but I visited them all before I shipped out.

[ aha— that explains some things, about why he's good with kids. he'd already been uncle james for a little while, long before he ever met sarah wilson's children. ~~or fanny!!~~

bucky's family is long-gone and dead, but there's still a distant fondness when he talks about them. it's a better thing to reminisce about than the other long stretch of his history, after all. after a pause, he casts yelena a look; also far more interested in the person seated beside him, rather than the tv in the background. thinking of the wringer she'd put herself through tonight, the wounds she'd taken to rescue a pair of women: ]

Do you think of all the other widows as your sisters? Or just Nat?

You were the protective older brother type, weren't you?

[ yelena cracks a smile at him, tickled by the image of a younger bucky scaring off boys that dared to look in the direction of any barnes girl while he was around. ]

Your sisters must have grown up to be amazing women.

[ that explains A Lot, actually. she doesn't say it, because the winter soldier program is kind of a sore topic for everybody here but — she's relieved that the very specific and endearing trait of him being good with kids is one that stuck, even after all he's been through.

there is a faraway look on her face when she answers his question. she will always see nat as her real, older sister even though that part of her life was an entire sham, a lie. but it was the best one and the only memory she cherished, that she ever chased while under dreykov's control. ]

Yes. [ said in a heartbeat, as sure as she'll ever sound. ] The happiest I ever was under the guise of a deep, undercover mission as a fake American family and even though it wasn't real, it was real to me. So Natasha, in my heart, is my blood - even if she nags a lot about my hair getting into my food and blah blah blah.

The Widows are my sisters, too. Because they were all I knew for a long time and I looked after them, you know? [ maybe he doesn't, but she doesn't stop— ] I made sure they came back from assignments in one piece; the ones under my watch, at least. So I feel responsible for them and— I see myself in every one of them. It's hard not to think of them as sisters. They probably saw Melina as a mother figure as well. I wouldn't blame them.

How could you tell?

[ a twinkle of knowing mischief in his eye; as if it wasn't the most obvious thing ever. ]

But I do know, yeah. Maybe it's similar— Steve was my closest thing to a brother, and my only brother. I looked after him for so long back in Brooklyn, and then we looked after each other in Europe during the war. There's not a lot of things like the kind of bond you make in the field. When you're keeping each other alive and putting your life in each others' hands, day in and day out. Like how your girls trust you to keep them safe, too.

[ bucky's back is against the headboard, his shoulder just barely brushing hers. the way she curls up into herself is both comfortable and a little vulnerable, those walls dropping with some combination of exhaustion and the kind of bone-weariness you get after a hot shower, pyjamas, a bed. he nudges her with an elbow. ]

It's maybe not exactly the same as what you have with Nat, but it's still important. Think it makes sense, to see them as sisters.

I'm sorry. [ yelena's not good at this. please bear with her, bucky ] For your loss. But at least you have Sam now, yes? It's probably very different to what you had with Steve, but it's nice to have someone around that you can trust and talk to.

[ and this whole moment? the one that they're having right now, a nice and innocent heart-to-heart — all it does is reinforce the fact that yelena definitely has feelings for james barnes. which she was already aware of, and isn't really even hiding to begin with but all of this just makes it... all the more real.

she should be scared, but she isn't. quite the opposite, actually; yelena welcomes it all. from the bantering back-and-forth, the sneaky and brief physical contact here and there, the glances they spare at one another as if people are looking even when they're the only ones in the whole room.

it's not in her nature to run away from something she wants, anyway. so she doesn't care to move her arm from his side and lets it stay there instead. ]

Hey. Are you able to sleep easier these days?

A little. Not much. Why?

[ although it was, after all, the topic that had sparked this particular text conversation and tangent between them, and which had kicked them off winding down this road of spending more time together.

the best distractions were being exhausted after a fight, just falling into a dead bruised sleep afterwards — or, better and probably more healthy yet, crashing on the sofa at the wilsons' had been the best sleep he'd had in a while. maybe it just had something to do with being around people. sunshine, conversation, a friendly beer, the sound of a pair of siblings ribbing each other in the kitchen. normalcy.

which makes him wonder what tonight's rest will be like: better, because he has company around him for once? or maybe even more restless because he'll be self-conscious and too-aware of her presence here, the fact that yelena belova is wearing his clothes and sleeping in his bed. he can't let himself think about it too much. if he starts thinking about it too much, he's bound for disaster. ]

I was just curious. Wanted to know if you'd resorted to absinthe or ketamine.

[ her mouth seems to be in a half-permanent smile around bucky, and it's funny because he called a nurse "better company" but yelena would beg to differ.

she feels her eyelids getting a little heavier, and finds herself squeezing her eyes every now and then when she blinks. it's the painkillers finally kicking in, she thinks. but it also probably has to do with the fact that she feels safe enough in bucky's presence to let her guard down. enough to actually succumb to the exhaustion that's tugging at her conscience.

she's aching everywhere, but she is at ease all at the same time. her head lolls back against the headboard for a second, before ultimately settling on his shoulder. ]

I'm sleepy.

Nah, neither. Maybe you can shoot me with some tranq darts when I'm not looking, since you've already proven yourself such a great ninja.

[ when yelena settles against him, bucky goes still. not stiff enough to make it seem like he's uncomfortable, but more like a deer caught in the headlights, and he's trying not to move at all for risk of dislodging her. but instead, she just seems to squirm closer and so he makes himself relax, inch-by-inch, settling back into the pillows and letting her curl up against his side. he doesn't wrap an arm around her, but he doesn't shift away either. the tv is still on but the volume low; in a mid-episode commercial break now, so someone very cheery in a cheery garden is talking about... laundry detergent, maybe, or car insurance. he's never been able to guess what the product is before the end of the ads. ]

You should get some rest.

Edited 2021-08-03 23:46 (UTC)

Be careful what you wish for, James.

[ it would make for a good prank — albeit one he already knows is coming. the thought of filming it and sending it to nat just to give him more grief makes her giggle.

it's the last thing that comes out of her mouth for a bit, as she drifts into a state that is between not quite awake but not yet asleep while they slowly slide down against the headboard and onto his pillows. the commercial's upbeat music coming from his television box serves as a buffer, until her brain drowns it out and it turns into white noise as she finally caves in and falls into a slumber.

her arms are the first to go slack, her legs following suit. then she's suddenly turning on her side, facing him and knocking her knees against the side of his thigh. her head, funnily, returns to rest on his shoulder instead of the pillow, while one of her hands (again) reaches out to hold onto the hem of his henley shirt. ]

[ the painkillers and alcohol eventually sweep her away, with yelena slowly drifting off and going under, while bucky stays awake. restless, then, he concludes — but he thumbs the remote and turns the volume even lower, until it fades further into the background. the room is dark except for the faint glowing screen of the television, and the white noise of conversation and studio laughter is oddly hypnotic.

when yelena's hand clutches at his shirt, he eventually glances over and down at her, considering. after a moment, the man reaches over her and tugs carefully at the blankets, dragging them up to tuck her in.

thankfully, she's on his right-hand side; bucky was careful about which side of the bed he took, for this very reason, and this means she has a warm flesh-and-blood shoulder to lean into rather than cold vibranium. he exhales. and keeps watching tv, as the night whiles on and while she dozes beside him. a couple more episodes of friends go by. when the programming block changes, he's finally getting drowsy, and hesitates on choosing whether or not to turn it off completely. he likes having the tv on in the background while he sleeps — for the noise, the voices, this place is too quiet even with the traffic outside — but with someone here, maybe it'll be different.

while he's still mulling over that, and before he knows it, he's dozed off himself. so. not the restless insomnia version of the night: instead, bucky falls asleep with yelena grasping at his shirt. he starts off on his side of the bed, on his back, fingers interlaced over his stomach and staring contemplatively up at the ceiling.

this position does not last. miracle of miracles, he doesn't toss and turn as much as usual — maybe it's his body instinctively trying not to disrupt the other body in the bed with him — but he does shift here and there over the course of the night. it's warmer than bucky's used to, thanks to the body heat of someone else on the mattress, plus the fact that he's wearing a shirt and pj pants, when normally he's dressed in almost nothing for bed and he runs warm anyway. so he eventually kicks the blankets off his half of the bed in his sleep, but thankfully doesn't actually wake. he stays unconscious. doesn't wake up in a cold clammy sweat, chased by nightmares.

by morning, he's on his side and has unconsciously burrowed closer: vibranium arm propped under the pillow, right arm slung over yelena's midriff, his face buried between her shoulderblades and in her hair, warm and comfortable, and he doesn't even realise. ]

[ for the first time in a long time, she doesn't dream.

they often vary between night terrors, pleasantly faraway and hazy memories, or completely nonsensical shit depending on what kind of painkillers or alcohol she drinks the night before but — nothing tonight. and if not endlessly chasing after something (or someone) and waking up more exhausted than before she fell asleep isn't the best feeling in the world, she doesn't know what is.

or she might, now that she's finally being roused awake by the sun (that's beating down on her face by the way). yelena is used to sleeping alone, unless she's home with fanny then the foot of her bed is very much occupado by her trustworthy, furry companion but otherwise — she is used to having a bed to herself. or a chair, or the floor.

what she's not used to is the warmth of another human being pressed against her back. nor is she used to having an arm wrapped around her stomach (that is now bare, by the way, because the shirt kept riding up while she settled on a comfortable sleeping position) in a manner that isn't threatening to her life in any way, shape or form. it's just, there — and so is her hand, resting on top of his own hand to keep it where it is.

and then she is suddenly very aware of where his mouth is and it makes all the blood rush to her cheeks — she almost even smiles to herself. so, maybe this isn't so bad. it's... nice. normalcy is, surprisingly, something they're capable of falling into. although, it is just as easy for them to step out of it because she remembers the suture he performed on her no more than ten hours ago. yelena makes the most minute of movements and intertwines their fingers in a gentle effort to pull his arm off of her so she can at least go and use the bathroom but she also doesn't want to wake him?? ]

[ he comes to, slowly, and then all at once.

this is— not how bucky wakes up. normally it's like an unpleasant bucketful of cold water to his face, a sudden lurching out of the depths of unconsciousness like a drowning man. even on top of the nightmares, he doesn't usually like sleep, period; it already feels like he's spent enough of the past century unconscious, put under ice, and so there's always that lingering irrational paranoia that he'll go to sleep and won't wake up again, only to find that another twenty years have gone by before he's thawed. so, normally, it's terrible: just a long stretch of empty lonely grey hours, and time to kill.

but apparently his muscle memory remembers something else. with yelena's hair sprawled across his pillows, he suddenly remembers him and a woman coiled in lazy sheets in his pre-war bachelor flat in downtown brooklyn; he'd taken home one of the nude models from the art class steve had convinced them to take together. he remembers hands interlaced in another girl's bed in a ladies' boarding house where he technically wasn't allowed, and their muffled shared laughter over the fact that he'd have to sneak himself out before breakfast.

he thought those instincts had all been long-buried, laid to rest and bricked up and the dirt shoveled over the grave— but here they are, apparently, and all it took to wake it up was yelena's hair smelling like his shampoo; the warmth of her body beside his; the soft skin of her stomach beneath his hand.

shit.

he already knew, in the abstract, that he was screwed — it had something to do with the way his lungs twisted into a knot around her sometimes — but this underscores it, with near-violent emphasis. her fingers curled over his. the rise-and-fall of her chest in his shirt. he realises the moment when they both tip over into wakefulness, the subtle change to the sound of their breathing; he's too observant and hyper-aware of everything around him to miss it.

the chain of his dogtags dangles over his heartbeat, as it kicks up a notch in his throat. he wonders if she can hear or feel his pulse — if this proximity betrays him, and betrays his tell-tale heart. and does she know yet that he's actually awake, too? does he know if she knows that he knows she's awake?

ugh.

but so when yelena tries to gently extricate herself, it gives him an escape route and so he lets her lift his arm so she can wriggle free, and he doesn't say anything at first. (is it weirder to pretend to still be asleep, or weirder to say hello? hi, good morning, i didn't mean to spoon you, really sorry about that, but also please don't ever leave this bed?)

in the end, bucky opts for an in-between: he grudgingly shifts away and burrows his face into the pillow instead, and makes a nnnrrrgh noise into it, as if he's avoiding the sunlight. (which, also, true.) when he speaks, it's in a muffled mumble into the pillowcase, because if he looks at her and sees her face right beside him, he's gonna have a fucking heart attack. ]

Hey. Morning.

[ if these were under different circumstances or if she were literally in anybody else's bed; they would not been able to greet her a good morning. because she would've been out before the sun had begun to rise, and yet — here she still is, in bucky's bed. still wearing his clothes. she even let him be the big spoon — as if she had any say in it; as if she would've said otherwise — and he had his hand over the bare skin of her midriff and she still has not run out of the door.

she doesn't expect to hear anything out of him when he lets(?) her move his arm, so when he does, she's startled at first. she was pretty sure he was still asleep! ]

Shit. I didn't mean to wake you.

[ the groaning into the pillow makes her snort, though. she knows the feeling. she slept through the night without any issues so she can't say the same right now, but.

even with successfully peeling him off of her, she doesn't move to roll out of bed and rolls onto her back instead. her head lulls to the side to look at him, like them waking up in the same bed isn't the rarest of fucking occurrences; like this isn't the first time this is happening.

she doesn't take into account that he might be freaking out, so she acts perfectly normal or, well, as normal as one can be. it's not everyday she finds herself sleeping next to a person she has feelings for without having had sex with them, or having even kissed them.

holy shit, they have not even held hands. but he did stitch her up so maybe that checks off something on that list. ]

I'm sorry for taking up space in your bed. But it is a good bed. [ a beat: ] You wake up every morning with the sun pissing on your face like that?

[ yelena's matter-of-fact normalcy is comforting, almost. if he can seize it with both hands and not let go, maybe he can recapture some of that casual ease and not let on exactly how much he's losing it, or exactly how much eighty years (oh, shit, he did the math after all, it's been eighty fucking years) has left him adrift at sea. ]

I do, yeah. Sorry about the lack of curtains. I like waking up with the sun.

[ it meant bucky didn't even need a phone alarm, instead keeping a circadian rhythm mostly attuned to daytime, automatically drifting awake when the light came streaming into the apartment. that was probably old-fashioned too, he realised: old habits from an entire wartime in the field when the soldiers woke up with the light, and didn't often get to sleep in bedrooms with curtains and tidy civilised alarm clocks to rouse them. ]

And sorry about, uh. [ he'd cracked open an eye and oh, shit, she was looking at him. his mouth had gone dry. he shouldn't have broached this part. that whole act cool and be so totally normal thing was falling apart between his hands. ] Spooning you. It wasn't on purpose.

[ he might've politely asked beforehand, if it was on purpose. as things stand, his sleeping body had already betrayed him; had already automatically drifted closer to warmth, to another human body, to someone that he did, actually, very much, want to snuggle up to in the morning.

this was torture. ]

[ yelena didn't mean to come off as a complainer — even though she is one, through and through — but then, little by little, he lifts his head from his pillow to peek up at her. she's eating her words now, because she is finding it increasingly difficult to find any more flaws in bucky not having curtains over his head when the sun complements his baby blues the same way it does with the ocean.

she's staring, but she doesn't care. she's never had an issue with anybody calling her out on looking for a little too long before. besides, maintaining eye contact is important, isn't it?? ]

James. [ his name rolls off her tongue in a way that sounds like she's scolding him, which she kind of is. he has no reason to apologize. ] It's fine. It has been many moons since I shared a bed with somebody. [ ~~that she liked~~ ] And it was not even that bad, really. It was actually... Kind of nice.

[ she shrugs her shoulders with as much nonchalance as she can muster, giving him a small smile before finally sitting up. she's pulling off the blanket of her in a dramatically slow manner because she's trying to weigh her options here: lie back down and ignore her morning routine or go use the bathroom because her bladder is about to explode and get ready to leave?

but if she's being completely honest with herself, she doesn't really want to get out of his hair just yet.

yelena is seated on the edge of the mattress now, the palms of her hands planted flat on either side. she chews on her lower lip and looks over her shoulder, turning to gauge bucky. the expression on her face is probably unreadable, because it may just be the most unsure she has felt in forever. when she speaks, her voice is unusually small and soft. ]

I have to use the bathroom, but — can I come back here? [ she pats her— err, the side of his bed she occupied! ] Or do you have things you urgently need to attend to? I can handle being kicked to the curb, I promise.

[ bucky's own expression is notoriously hard to read — that blank stare, the way he just watchfully soaks up everything around him, suffering something like resting bitch face except his is resting neutral face — but he shakes his head immediately in answer to her question. ]

A meeting with Sam in the afternoon, but I'm free until then. You can kick around, don't worry.

[ her asking to stay alleviates some distant nervous tension twined tight in his chest. when yelena pulls back the covers and finally starts padding across the floorboards, he accidentally sneaks another look at the lines of her bare thighs, but then just as quickly snaps his gaze away and rolls over onto his back in that tangled nest of blankets. and while she disappears to the bathroom, bucky covers his face with his hands and lets out a long, frustrated groan. he could kick himself. sam's probably gonna kick him if he ever hears about this. or maybe nat will do it. maybe both of them in unison, taking turns to remind him what an absolute idiot he's being.

he could get dressed, too. could get up and start fussing with coffee and breakfast (oh man, they can have breakfast), but when he rests his right hand on the mattress beside him, he can feel that it's still warm from yelena's body. and she'd said she was coming back, right here, and so he's loath to move, too.

so he just lies there with one hand on the mattress and his other vibranium arm thrown over his face, blocking his eyes from that incessant sun, while the rest of him basks in the warmth of it, like a particularly finicky cat napping in a sunbeam while he waits for her to return. ]

[ her first thought, sober and awake, once her bare feet come into contact with his apartment's flooring is that it's fucking cold. it makes her shuffle to his bathroom all the more quickly.

if she were just your typical ole jane, she would use the bathroom to freshen up but when she arrived last night, she had literally nothing on her person but the clothes on her back and the ka-bar in her boot. the truth of the matter here is: nothing about her is normal and nothing about the situation they're in is normal either. which, strangely, she finds comfort in.

yelena belova lives in the now anyway and doesn't care enough to overthink things. so, like she often does in the presence of one bucky barnes, she makes herself at home and uses the bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet under his sink to freshen up. (she knows where it is, and where most things are. she is nosy and has too good of a memory, this one.)

there is the sound of running water streaming against the surface of white ivory, a flush that makes the pipes in the walls rattle and then a door being opened. it's followed by a graceful, yet rushed set of footsteps back to his bed where she finds his artificial arm covering his face, and the other one made out of flesh and blood is sprawled across her side of the bed.

she still finds a bit chilly and well, he's on top of the blankets so she doesn't hesitate even for a second to climb back into bed. she settles into a position where she is also on her back, and where her head is using his arm as a pillow. while his eyes are hidden, hers are glued to the ceiling. she's okay with the sun beating on her like this, makes her feel nice and warm. but maybe that's due to being so close to bucky, too. ]

This is not weird, right?

[ bucky's caught off-guard by yelena just scrabbling into place into the crook of his arm, rather than forcibly moving him or simply telling him to budge over — but then again, maybe he should've predicted that. he set it up and dug this grave for himself by waiting for her like that. and when she asks the question, he cranes his left arm away so he can stare up at the ceiling, too. ]

It's probably not not weird?

But I like having you here. And people like us— I'm not sure if we're really that good at 'normal'.

[ spoken as someone suffering the same. he's reminded of a disastrous trainwreck of a date with a very nice bartender who deserved more than a man who had to lie through his teeth with every single thing he told her about himself. at least with yelena, he can be honest. even about the ugliest parts of himself, because hers mirror it.

he exhales, and she can feel the rise-and-fall of his chest beside her, since she's nestled so close with her head against his arm. and after a moment, he screws his courage to the sticking place — how come it's easier to jump out of airplanes than to do this simple thing? — and shoots yelena another sidelong look. there's an order to these things. they've been doing everything entirely out-of-order. maybe that's inevitable, but in some gentle, hapless attempt at resuscitating some of that order, bucky works up his nerve and says: ]

Can I buy you dinner sometime?

Weren't you the one that told me to try and live normally? Hypocrite.

[ there is no bite. no bitterness to her words. instead, they pull at the corners of her lips.

bucky's words, though — "but i like having you here," — they tug at her heartstrings. make it so that it skips a beat, then sets on an irregular pace and a feeling in her stomach that she can't quite place. perhaps it's because no one's ever said those words to her before (it's different with nat; they show their affection in a roundabout way), but maybe it's actually because it's coming from someone that means something to her.

she doesn't mean to, but she focuses her breathing and mimics his in an effort to swallow the lump in her throat before it even begins to form.

it takes a second for her brain to process that he's asking her on a proper date, and when it finally registers, she has to bite back a smile. ]

Do people like us even do dinner anymore? [ she couldn't hold back a snarky remark, though, but she rolls onto her side, much like she did before she passed out the night before, and faces him. ] Don't answer that. Yes. I would like that.

[ she lets out some kind of relieved sigh, no longer containing her grin. ]

If you waited any longer, I probably would have asked you out myself. Just saying.

Really?

[ his impassive face breaks into a matching smile as he's looking over at her, a buoyant warmth welling up in his chest and between all the cracks in his ribs. maybe it's ridiculous to feel that kind of relief when it would've been apparent to anyone else that they liked each other, but it still felt like picking through a rusty vocabulary, re-learning a language that had fallen into disuse. some things about dating remain the same, while other things had changed so much in the intervening years, and it left him lost. and when the girl you like is also an international former assassin without a normal dating life behind her, what do you do?? ]

Back in my day, women weren't supposed to ask guys out. They could strongly hint and drop implications and basically steer the whole conversation that way, but it was frowned on for them to actually take the initiative to say the words. Which, honestly, is really stupid.

But man. If you had, you really would've spared me some nerves.

[ where his right arm is trapped under yelena and around her shoulders, his fingers curl against her bare skin, fingertips trailing down the line of her upper arm. ]

How's your stomach feeling?

[ she doesn't even spare a second thought before blurting out, ] Really.

[ these days, it's easier for yelena to forget that the man laying next to her was the winter soldier. she'd only seen him in passing, back then and natasha would tell her that he was the reason for the bruises and the dislocated shoulder, but he is no longer the boogeyman that haunted her dreams, once upon a time ago.

she hasn't seen him that way in a long while (at least, she doesn't think that any boogeyman would ask if she wore just an apron while baking, so) and she thinks of him as no one but james barnes, whose eyes are kind and thoughtful despite his resting neutral face. james barnes, whose smile makes her feel like she's going to burst at the fucking seams.

james barnes, whose fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his touch and he's not even doing anything. ]

Yeah, I could have. But I like to cause you grief. [ like now, she inches closer until her head is on his shoulder and her knee is nudging at his thigh, placing her hand very briefly on his chest— but only to play with the dog tag around his neck. ] The painkillers have definitely worn off, and it aches more than anything but I have a good pain tolerance.

[ and then, just because it's been weighing on her mind: ] I have never been on a date before. Somehow the idea of a date is more nerve-racking than doing... whatever this is. The cuddling. You know what I mean?

Completely.

[ he exhales while he says it, and it almost feels like yelena's punctured a balloonful of air, tumbling the truth loose between them now that she's named it for what it is. it feels like relief— a loosening of tension now that he suddenly and acutely understands that he gets what she means. bucky hadn't been able to put his finger on it or name the sensation, but now she's conveniently done it instead. ]

Like, not to make it even weirder or anything or hopefully not build it up too much, but— I haven't gone on a date in eighty years. So I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, or what's even expected or normal anymore.

[ he's warm and alight and suddenly talkative, explaining it, but she can also hear that tight-reined frustration beneath the words. a particular frustration and haplessness with modern life he hasn't really gotten to discuss with anyone — he could've talked to steve about it if he was still around, since he'd understand, but they'd had too many other problems and concerns to wrangle at the time. dating had been somewhere at the far, far bottom of the list; possibly buried somewhere six feet down. ]

But it sounds like we can muddle through together. [ a beat, then he adds hopefully: ] Maybe it's easier, that we can both be shitty at this.

[ there is an edge to his voice that she can easily detect now, despite having only met with him a couple of times now, but— he's much easier to read after realizing that they're alike in many, many ways. ]

Oh, right. You are a hundred years old. I forget. Ah, but if it helps, you don't look it. Not a single day over sixty!

[ funnily enough, tackling this common worry shared between them is consoling her in a way she's pretty sure he probably didn't mean to even do. it helps make her feel a little less neurotic even though she's acting completely calm laying so close to him. with his arm lodged under her, and fingers ghosting across her skin. ]

No one can tell us we're shitty at dates except for each other. [ yelena lets go of his dog tag and brings a hand up before him, folding all her fingers except her pinky for a pinky promise. ] You will probably not have to do much, anyway. Maybe except sweep me off my feet. [ she kid, she kid! ] But otherwise, I am a simple girl.

[ even those old WWII dog tags are a perpetual reminder of how out-of-time he is, although bucky's not self-conscious about them — they're a comfort, a reassurance, one of the few physical tethers to the fact that he existed at all. if she reads the letters stamped on the metal, she'd see his name, service number, blood type— and then "r. barnes" and an indiana address. the sister he'd mentioned.

there's a brief perplexed look when yelena holds out her pinky, but then, amused, bucky reaches out. his other arm is still trapped under her, so it's a cool, cold vibranium finger that hooks around hers.

now, that, he is self-conscious about. but somehow it's easier with this little ritual as a reason for the touch. ]

Is the pinky promise to sweep you off your feet, or to tell each other when we suck at this?

[ he might not know much about dating, but he's pretty sure this isn't how it's normally supposed to go. but then again, this already feels like the only way he could have gone about this, and with someone like her. a bouquet of flowers to a bartender with a normal civilian life and normal civilian concerns wasn't gonna cut it. ]

Both. I can't promise to sweep you off your feet but like I said before, I can give you a piggyback ride.

[ she is not a romantic by any means; she's fairly certain that neither of them are. it is, after all, kind of hard to be when you don't have time to go to the movies, or be spontaneous and just decide to go dinner tomorrow night when she doesn't know where she'll even be six hours from now. but maybe she'll dig more into his past then.

being on the run makes it so that she has to make the most of stolen moments like these — the only reason she's in his bed in the first place is because she happened to still be in the area. and because she was injured, and his place was conveniently there.

she keeps her pinky wrapped around his for several moments, fascinated by the contrast in temperature in comparison to hers. ]

I have a question. Sorry if it comes off as insensitive.

[ with their pinkies still hooked and without a second thought, she presses her knuckles against his to feel around his thumb with the pad of her own, unabashedly. it's all vibranium, it's cold and it's hard but — she still feels like she's touching him. ]

What does this feel like? Does it feel like the real thing?

[ normally he would be even more skittish, would recoil from that bold touch, from anything more than incidental glancing contact with the hand in particular. but bucky makes himself swallow that instinctive wariness (do not perceive me!!), and instead lets himself talk about it. most people never ask. ]

It doesn't. I mean, don't get me wrong, the Wakandan design is great— I can sleep with it on and it's still comfortable, and it's lighter than the old one—

[ a shrug, gesturing vaguely to the pair of them entangled together, the bed, the fact that she clearly hadn't seen him pop the arm out of its socket and put it away in a box or something in order to sleep. shuri had gone to great lengths to make it a permanent part of him rather than a clunky prosthetic; she'd made it comfortable. the old HYDRA arm wasn't. the old one had been heavier: forty pounds of brute titanium which had affected his gait to compensate, and which made the socket of his shoulder ache on cold days, the bite of chilly metal, carrying that weight. ]

It's better than what most companies can build outside of Wakanda. There's haptic feedback so I can tell when I'm touching something, and I can feel pressure, resistance, and how far I need to reach for something. I can feel your fingers. I kinda know when something's hot or cold, but they dialed back the temperature sensitivity and there's no pain receptors, since they figured — accurately — that I'd be in combat with it.

So. Yeah, I can pour a cup of coffee without looking. And I'd be a shit fighter if I wouldn't be able to tell how far away someone is to punch them, or whether or not the blow landed.

It's not as sensitive, though. It's like wearing gloves, I guess? You can still feel things, but it's muted.

Edited 2021-08-12 20:35 (UTC)

[ she did before, but in this particular instance — yelena didn't assume the possibility of bucky reacting negatively to her wanting to examine his hand of steel so up close and personal like this when she is practically already in his arms.

she wouldn't have been surprised if he had, but without speaking it aloud, she is thankful that he doesn't, in the end. they are, jumpy and guarded by nature — working in the shadows will do that to a person — bucky more so than she is, but it is still something they can relate to.

having a prosthetic arm is, unfortunately, not one of them, but yelena can empathize. she has always, always felt strongly; leaves her heart on her sleeve in an effort to relearn what it feels like to be in control of your actions, your feelings; to be a person again.

physical contact is a big part of that process, she thinks, and perhaps why she's so comfortable being here next to him. but even then, even if he still has the rest of him, she can't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over her. it's written all over her face too — the way the corners of her lips curve downwards into the smallest of frowns. ]

I see. [ she doesn't mean to sound or look so disappointed, so she cracks a joke: ] Well. You could probably braid hair one-handed then. Or maybe beat Alexei at an arm-wrestling match, yes?

[ her frown has dissipated and she just looks deep in thought now. she takes her pinky back and tries to pry his hand open, splaying his fingers up and apart if he'll let her— and if he does, yelena will trace her index across the palm of his hand, dragging her fingertips over where the creases would be, as if it were of flesh and blood. ]

I've noticed you make it a point not to touch me with this hand. I figure it is out of instinct. But you don't have to hold back. I don't mind.

[ he latches onto that joke like it's a lifeline, automatically rolling with it, batting the humour right back at her: ]

Y'know, he keeps challenging me and I keep telling him that it's not fair, it's not just matching Soviet super-serums, but that the arm gives me an advantage— I think he still wants to give it a shot to see how it goes, though.

[ but then yelena is uncurling his metal fingers, and running her own finger against what would've been lifelines. it's just a faint, distant pressure — nothing too sensitive, nothing that ought to knock him so far off-kilter, and yet he feels it like a shiver down his spine regardless, just with the objective knowledge that she's touching him; that her finger is running along his palm; that they are practically holding hands. brains are wired so weird. it's like not being able to look over the edge of a balcony and yet experiencing vertigo anyway, just from knowing how high up you are.

and there she fucking goes and names it again. bucky feels like he ought to be embarrassed at being called-out so easily, his ploys and behaviour so transparent; but in the end, his voice just sounds hesitant. doubtful. ]

Are you sure? It's not... I mean, I can't imagine it's comfortable.

[ he doesn't clarify if he means the cold metal, or the fact that it's a prosthetic at all, or something else entirely. it is a nice design: a sleek black silhouette and golden accents. not quite the iron weight it once had been, and yet no matter how good it looks — the ferrari of bionic arms — and how he's fine with it in combat, pouring a drink, chopping vegetables, bucky still feels subtly ill-at-ease with it for 'skin'-to-skin touch. for anything more intimate like holding a hand, like touching someone's jaw, or more. he's had decades and decades of his left hand being the bloody one: the one used for blocking bullets, for smashing faces and breaking bone and death, death, death.

humans are fragile, and so terribly breakable. ]

[ yelena is, as she often does in his presence, testing the waters. she doesn't want to push him, except his body language speaks volumes. it means something to her that he hasn't pulled away, not yet anyway, but she can gauge that he doesn't find the idea of her touching his left hand repulsive, to say the least.

her gaze flits over to his face, and she wishes she could run the pad of her thumb across his cheek, or pinch it just because that would be funny and it would probably reassure him all the same, but she settles with slotting her digits in the spaces between his own metal ones. ]

I really don't care, James. It is still part of you.

[ and what she really means is "i like all of you," and she could say it, but she thinks they're enough in tune that he'll be able to read between the lines.

what they have is a little puzzling (especially to an outsider, had an outsider been here in the room with them) and it's weirdly unconventional, but it still makes her insides twist and turn and flutter until it bubbles all the way up to her chest.

it's hilarious to her that they haven't even kissed but they have cuddled (unintentionally, but it still counts), she's in his bed and is still wearing his clothes. they've skipped many steps, and keep having to take one or two back but she doesn't mind. how could she, when he's almost holding her and he's so close she can feel the rise and fall of his chest. and when she finally lets her fingers clasp over his knuckles to actually hold his hand, she thinks it's pretty damn close to kissing. ]

Besides, how are we going to dance if you don't use both hands? [ she shoots him a toothy grin, and then, with her whole chest: ] Dumbass.

[ when was the last time he just held a girl's hand? he needs to stop asking himself that question, or every single milestone's going to freak him out with the broad crevasse of time stretching endlessly in front of it. (a certain number of freakouts are inevitable, but he can at least try to minimise them.)

so he carefully, carefully twines his metal fingers around hers, thumb jotting against her wrist, his knuckles entertwined with hers. he glances down while doing it; an old habit from when he'd first started physical therapy and was getting accustomed to the new arm, making sure he's doing it right, that he hadn't missed the target completely, that he hasn't broken the glass he was trying to pick up or, in this case, shattered the bones in yelena's hand.

but of course it's fine. it's fine. yelena belova is holding his hand, and the world has not ended. the corner of his mouth twitches when she insults him. (he's increasingly realising they have that in common. can teasing be a love language? maybe.) ]

I'm creative. I'm pretty sure I'd have figured something out.

How do you feel about swing dancing?

[ it seemed like it was starting to get en vogue again, with classes throughout the city for brooklyn hipsters, but he hadn't dared to attend alone. he could give them a run for their money, though. ]

[ yelena watches him look down at their linked hands; she can't quite place his expression, but it seems akin to fascination. or relief. like finding something you've been digging days for and you don't know what to do with it, but — ]

I don't know yet. I will let you know when you teach me how to.

[ her features soften when she feels the pad of his thumb brushing over her wrist; she forgets how small her hands are, but they especially tiny in his. ]

This — [ she gives his hand a gentle squeeze to show him what she's talking about. ] — is a good arm. You will use it. For dancing. Or slinging me across the room when we finally do the Lindy Hop. Or is that the Jive? Anyway, the one that involves throwing me. Just make sure I don't do Natasha's silly hero pose when I land back on my feet.

Hey, we all do the hero pose sooner or later. She's just showing off how flexible she is. I can't even do that full pose without throwing out my hip, probably. Haven't ever really been the yoga type.

[ thanks to the serum, he was fast, strong, durable— but inflexible. soviet engineering had never really prioritised grace for their winter soldiers, who were relentless battering rams compared to the elegant pliancy of the red room widows. ]

Add that to the pinky promise list: I'll take you to a swing class and sling you across the room. Maybe that can be our first date, before we grab dinner.

[ okay. despite the nerves in broaching that subject, this was nice. just... lying in this sun-soaked bed in the morning, talking to her with this kind of aimless and amiable back-and-forth chatter, it was surprisingly easy and pleasant in a way that almost ached. they were probably supposed to have done a dozen other things before winding up here — with her in his clothes, curled up against him, sleeping over in his bed — but he's actually fine having skipped those steps. this part is nice. ]

I'm flexible, too. [ she scoffs, her tone petulant. if her hands weren't occupied, she would've crossed her arms to make a point. ] You don't see me showing off my flexibility.

You just need to stretch so you're not tight everywhere, which you probably are.

[ he'd have to do more than stretch, and they both know that. she is only as lithe and graceful as she is due to years of rigorous and painful training. is it both a blessing and a curse to not have been injected with the serum because she felt everything; from the sprained ankles to the broken bones, from knife wounds to being tested on while conscious, but paralyzed.

but because of it, she can hold bucky's left hand and still feel enough for the both of them. ]

Oh, yes. I love showing up to restaurants all sweaty. [ she's not being serious, as shown by the smile dancing on her lips. ] And just a heads up: I am a quick-learner and have very good footwork. I might make you look bad and you are not allowed to resent me when I show you up at your swing class.

Better than going dancing after eating, and hurling your dinner all over me because you've been swung upside-down one too many times. But— fair point. You could borrow my shower again.

[ again, he says, just like all the little breadcrumbs she's been peppering throughout their various conversations: those hints and nudges and promising that they'll do a repeat. they'll see each other again. this isn't a one-off. for two people whose schedules are so sporadic and unpredictable and unconventional, it's actually a comfort to hear. an attempt at some kind of solid foundation and predictability. ]

And anyway, Belova, I fully expect you to show me up. Wouldn't be right otherwise. Aren't you technically a ballerina?

I don't think I have sat down and eaten a proper meal in a long time. [ since defecting from the black widow program, anyway. she doesn't eat during regular people hours and really only eats when she feels like it. while she doesn't have an actual eating schedule, she can be a serial snacker when she wants to be. (meaning, she'll probably snag his bag of stale chips in the cupboard on her way out.) ] I would have definitely vomited all over you. That would have been pretty funny.

[ ~~funny because neither of them are grossed out by anything so!~~ but then yelena's face lights up at the mention of his shower. ]

I will bring a chance of clothes. What is the dress code? Formal? Semi-casual? Costume party?

[ she pauses at his question. don't worry, it's not like she's coming up with some kind of outlandish scenario or anything— ]

I don't think I would be able to pursue a career in ballet now; I am too busy and I don't like being on stage like that. But if I had to infiltrate a... Oh, I don't know, some world-renowned ballet company to take down the evil forces working behind it I would be able to blend in seamlessly. So, technically, yes.

Hell, give me an hour and I could even be your swing instructor.

Semi-formal bordering on costume party, because I guess playing dressup for the roaring twenties or the forties is, like, a thing now.

[ his nose wrinkles— it's unusual, knowing that the time period he grew up in is a quaint piece of nostalgia now, something retro enough that it's coming back in vogue. although, shit, she'd look good in one of those dresses. ]

But if there's anyone I'd call to take down a world-renowned ballet company run by evil forces, it'd be you. Me, I wasn't really trained in subtlety. I could infiltrate, uh...

[ the fist of HYDRA had been such a blunt weapon compared to the widows and the way they could effortlessly integrate into any environment, unnoticed. so bucky casts around, trying to think if he has any skills whatsoever that have nothing to do with murder. his list of hobbies is about as depressingly empty as this apartment. but finally, he lands on something: ]

A fishing boat or factory. Shucking oysters and gutting fish. Sam taught me. That or being a boxing instructor, maybe.

I have always wanted to wear something with sequins. Now I have a reason.

[ noted, she tells herself and stores it away for when the day comes. she goes thrifting when she has time, so it won't be a problem for her to find a dress fit for a gatsby party. (though depending on her schedule, she might even have to pick it up the day of — which is fine, she's used to doing things on the fly.)

yelena is tickled that he acknowledges her ability to adapt to the very specific situation she came up with, but she's noticed that he doesn't have any qualms complimenting her. now, that is something she can spring up on him another time. they've done enough progress today, she thinks.

yelena is also tickled at the image of him as a fisherman. ]

Boxing instructor is too predictable, I feel like — also, kind of unfair considering your arm! But I like the idea of you on a boat, though. Shucking oysters and disemboweling fish with a fancy Ka-Bar. It suits you.

What else did Sam teach you?

Refurbishment. We fixed up his family boat, so I got to pick up some things about getting rid of rust, or sanding down wood, or replacing floorboards. I was pretty good with engines to begin with, though. The jeeps were always breaking down overseas and we always had to patch them together ourselves or wind up stuck in some ditch somewhere, with Krauts just over the next ridge.

[ there's a contemplative edge to his voice now, though, thinking about it. how satisfying it had been to take the paul & darlene and piece it back together. being able to build something, for once, rather than just taking things apart. huh. ]

Maybe in another life, I could've flipped houses.

You are such a guy.

[ she calls him a guy, but fondly. it reminds her of when alexei used to work on random things around their (fake) house in ohio when they were a family (also fake) for three years. but she can look back on the things that used to make her feel whole when she's in a good place mentally — and physically, she supposes it helps being in bucky's presence — without feeling an ounce of anger. ]

That, I think you can still do. Actually, hey. What about next time you're in Ohio— or whenever you find yourself in Ohio, you help me paint my apartment? I will pay you in pizza and alcohol. And you can meet Fanny, too.

That sounds perfect, even if you're just using me for my manpower.

[ the arrangement all sounds so banal, so normal, and yet bucky finds himself unexpectedly delighted with it. he hadn't realised that he could find such contentment and enjoyment out of something so simple as come over and paint yelena's apartment. at the mention of fanny, his expression turns thoughtful and he finally blurts out the question he'd been halfway-ruminating on, but hadn't had a chance to ask yet: ]

Is she okay without you, since you spent the night here? Like, do you have a babysitter, or...

Why have two people paint walls when you can just have James Barnes do it?

[ yelena has already lost count of how many promises they've made to each other within the last ten minutes — and though she's not entirely if he is; she is not usually in the business of making future plans. most of the time, something comes up and unless it's something that needs urgent attending, yelena will not follow up on it simply because she never knows what part of the world she'll be in a week.

but, she is willing to make an exception this time. (and for all the times that are yet to come.)

there is a twitch to her mouth when bucky asks if fanny is okay without her, a furrow to her brow because why would fanny not be? then she remembers that she never specified what kind of child she was. ]

Yes, of course! Oh my god, what kind of mother do you think I am? [ a beat, ] Well. Probably not the best kind because I left her in Alexei's care since he owes me a favour. But she is fine. She has a set eating schedule and always asks me to go on walks because she loves to play outside. She is well-behaved and plays well with others. She is such a good girl— I love her so much. You will, too.

Did you know she is blonde just like me? What are the odds.

[ in a way, all of it is making up for lost time. all of the things neither of them have gotten to do over the course of their lifetimes, all the date nights and movies and dinners and painting apartments and furnishing apartments and just existing. it might be a kind of play-acting at normalcy, but at least they can play-act together, and that's what matters.

his expression softens, listening to yelena's gushing about what he thinks is her daughter (and which, well, is her daughter of sorts, for all intents and purposes). she loves her a lot. ]

Adopted, right? When did you start taking care of her?

[ because the widows can't have children. a particularly gruesome detail that he's well-aware of. the way the red room had owned their bodies, carved their way into them without a choice; similar enough to the way he'd been on the slab for HYDRA, but at least his arm had already been ripped off by the time they found him. what the widows had been robbed of, he can't even imagine. ]

[ words cannot describe how relieved yelena is that bucky is sympathetic, and intelligent. considerate. that he is nowhere near as dense as her father, because while she would have loved to have made a similar joke about her baby situation — it still is a sore spot to know that the choice to give life was taken from her without her consent.

not like she ever wanted children; dogs are more her speed, but still, she would have liked the option. ]

A couple of years ago, so I am still new to it. Taking care of another being, but I think I've got the hang of it now.

[ she chews on her bottom lip, thinking before speaking for once because she keeps wanting to call fanny a pup and puppy. ]

She was abandoned. [ can't say, found in the wild — well, she could... ] She was a couple of months old when I adopted her. She cried a lot. Reminded me of when I was small. [ time to segue into another topic of conversation before she accidentally spills the beans. ] Do you remember what you were like as a kid?

Yeah. Not as well as some other things— [ the war swallowed everything, and as much as he wished his years of the winter soldier could perhaps have been dulled into a haze or an oblivion, like waking up out of a dream— he still remembered. ] But it's still there. I was a little shit, honestly. Always keeping busy. Good in class but couldn't resist cracking jokes and getting on teachers' nerves, and was always getting into trouble. Steve was the one who kept us honest.

[ is anybody surprised?

while bucky reminisces, settled into this cozy nest with yelena, he tries not to think too much about the warmth of her legs tangled with his, or how close she's wriggled in his bed. now that they've actually crossed the hurdle of agreeing to some kind of date, some of those strangling nerves have finally subsided, ebbing enough that he's not tripping over himself quite so badly around her. and like she said: somehow, this part is easy. just talking to each other. there's a bit of puckish warmth in his voice as he adds: ]

Unless you get the idea of me as a total delinquent, though, I was also very charming. Moms loved me.

[ that gets a smile out of her. ]

I can see it.

[ she is, in fact, not surprised. they would have never crossed paths as kids, him literally being eighty years older than her and the pair being from different time periods and all; hell, it's a wonder they got this far. she's made a home out of his arms, and she knows she's going to feel empty when she has to finally leave.

so she tries not to move too much, having found comfort in where she is now — where they are. ]

But you being charming? That — I don't. [ yelena snorts; she's poking fun at him. she can totally picture him as a heartbreaker. not so much now, with the way he closes himself off from the rest of the world. except, that smile? that'll do it. ] Melina probably would have not liked you then. You were most likely the type that she would have wanted me to stay away from.

Hey.

[ he untangles his right arm enough to playfully ruffle her hair, which is probably also very annoying. but when he settles in again, he still keeps his arm slung companionably around her — all this close contact is almost dizzying after so long, a feast for a long-starved man. his fingertips practically feel like they're buzzing with it, nerves prickling with the unexpected riches of this proximity. maybe soon enough it'll be too much. but for now, it's nice. and at yelena's point, even he has to admit: ]

Probably, yeah. I mean, most of my friends' and dates' mothers were easily won over, but I feel like she wouldn't have been. She's sharper.

[ courtesy all melina's years of training, she was less likely to be convinced by a winning smile; more able to see through to someone's true nature. which, back then, would have revealed one (1) whole idiot who probably wasn't worthy of consorting with her daughter. but that kid — jimmy, to his parents — was pretty much a completely different person to the one with her now. ]

What were you like?

[ 'when you were a kid' doesn't really seem to fit the bill. ]

I know you— didn't really have the chance to have a childhood. But the question stands.

[ in all honesty, yelena does find him charming — he's wooed her in many ways he's probably not even aware of.

bucky is all sorts of charming; just not in the normal, conventional way most people are. she likes that he's brutally honest, doesn't sugarcoat things for her (except for that time she challenged him to a fight and he rebuked with i'm tired), and that they can go back and forth at each other with such ease. she likes that he is unreadable and yet, still so transparent all at once.

she doesn't even mind that he messes up her hair — even more than it already is — but she pretends that it does, just to keep up the dynamic they've got going on. her nose scrunches up and her lips pull into a frown as she runs a hand through the nest on her head, fingers getting caught in a knot. she glares at him, though there is zero heat behind it.

then, her features soften some. ]

She would have kicked your ass to the curb. Alexei would have loved you, though.

[ yelena's childhood memories often come to her in dreams. she remembers them vividly, so much that she could smell the sun in her hair after hours of playing under it. she could hear the sound of cicadas chirping in the trees and feel the heat of summer on her skin beneath bucky's fingertips. ]

It was only three years, but it still counts. To me, at least. [ natasha did not have the same luxury, and it pains yelena every time she remembers. ]

I was innocent and naive, as any child should be. You know, I wasn't really a fan of vegetables then and I would only eat them if I was promised candy or sweets after. Unlike somebody, I stayed out of trouble because I didn't like to get scolded. I was a crybaby, like Fanny. But usually all it took for me to stop crying was a hug or a kiss. I sang American Pie by Don McLean a lot — like, I would not shut up. But I was a really good kid. I was a normal kid, actually.

Sometimes I think it would be nice to have that again, but I don't know if I would ever be able to at ease.

I'm really glad you had that time, though. Before everything changed. At least they gave you that space and period of time to just— be a real kid, to savour it. Maybe like they were protecting that naiveté, I guess.

[ his voice is soft and serious, watching her with all the gravity of a heart attack. and then, all it took for me to stop crying was a hug or a kiss, she says, and there feels like there's some other piece of flirtation that that older, younger version of himself could've gone for: jockeying for a joke, a hitch of an eyebrow, an insinuation. there would be some kind of opportunity here. almost. his glacier-blue eyes drift downward to the turn of yelena's cheek, the playful twist of her mouth. her lips. his gaze lingers there for a moment.

but james isn't that man anymore, and so instead he carefully disentangles himself from her and sits up in the bed, the tangled sheets pooling around his pj pants. he props his left arm against his knee and the hem of his shirt slides upwards when he leans forward, the small of his back exposed for a second. it doesn't seem like he's actually trying to get away from her, though, because he reaches out with the arm that had just been wrapped around her, and instead absentmindedly brushes some of yelena's hair out of her face, like an apology for mussing it.

(at least it's not tucking her hair behind her ear. he has certain incredibly rusty and stereotypical moves, but they're not coming out just yet, okay.) ]

You wanna have breakfast? I don't have a lot in the fridge, but we could cobble something together. Or grab some sandwiches at the bodega or something. I gotta do laundry at some point, but like I said, there's nothing else until Sam in the afternoon.

[ please have breakfast with him. ]

Me too— oh! I cannot wait show you pictures of me when I was a kid. I was pretty cute. This will be hard to believe, but I was much cuter than I already am now.

[ she was luckier than most widows. most of the ones that are plucked from the arms of their parents, or just from the streets, can be as young as two or three. usually, when an adopted child finds out the truth of their birth — their first instinct is to seek out answers about their birth parents. but yelena never spared them a single thought. if they wanted to find her, they would searched high and low for her, wouldn't they? her face would have been plastered all over the news, but that wasn't the case.

there is not enough time in the world for her to spend being angry at the past; at the decisions of the strangers that brought her into this world. because through all the bad she has endured, there is so much good that came out of it. a lot of them are the little moments; like right now, except yelena is too busy tracing the outline of his lips to even notice him looking at hers.

bucky makes the first move to get out of bed — it looks like, anyway — and he takes the warmth that she'd been craving for so long, with him. it's fine though, she doesn't mind. a little difficult to be bothered about it when her eyes catch sight of the bare skin beneath his shirt as he hunches over, if only for the slightest of moments. (what? he was ogling at her legs last night, it's only fair that she gets to do the same.) then he is looking back at her, and has the audacity to move the stray strands of hair that tickle the tip of her nose. his fingertips barely make any contact with her cheeks, but it is enough to send to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand in anticipation—

—of breakfast! well, her heart is still in her throat, but her face lights up like the sky for americans on the fourth of fucking july at the mention of food. ]

Yes! Breakfast sounds so good right now. I am not picky. I will even eat just cereal. But I would like to see you cook, for once.

[ bucky wavers for a moment, trapped between complimenting her or teasing her, because apparently he's just going to fight those warring impulses all the time. but in the end, he lands somewhere in the latter. he finds earnestness difficult— had only ever really managed it around steve, and could only occasionally pull it off around sam. ]

Is that fishing for a compliment, Belova? Because we can't have the novelty wear off too soon. I'm gonna need those photos to make a conclusive decision on how cute you were.

[ her warmth, though. he's already realising he can't get enough of it. yelena's cheery attitude and perpetual jokes always bely the darkness of what she'd been through; like somehow she came through it without all those experiences dimming her sense of humour, a sunflower growing improbably through concrete. so when bucky clambers out of bed, it's at a regretful saunter across that chilly hardwood floor. he could have lazed around with her all day, but now it was his turn to give up and head off to the bathroom, plus that perpetual metabolism was starting to gnaw at his stomach again. the thing they never told the others about living with a supersoldier: they could eat like a horse. ]

I've got eggs, so I can make hot house eggs. Uh, eggs with a hat? Bird in a nest. Toad in a hole. Whatever the hell you call the thing with the toast cut out and the egg inside. [ he's heard so many different names for this simple, ubiquitous dish over the years, the decades, his time passing through various european countries. ] And there's some shitty instant coffee. Just gimme a sec.

[ annnnd now it's off to the bathroom to relieve himself — and once he's in there, door safely closed, he reminds himself again to not be weird. this whole languorous morning feels so much like an actual morning-after, like any number of times he used to wake up with a woman tangled in his sheets. this isn't one of those. it could probably be, someday, maybe, but that's a terrifying prospect and so he's not going to look at it too closely.

instead, after he's done and washing his hands, he fills his palms with cold water and just douses his face over and over, letting the frigid bite wake him up more fully before he returns to her in the kitchen. up and at 'em, barnes. ]

I am always fishing for compliments, Barnes. [ her shoulders shrug with nonchalance, but she looks awfully smug, and beams at him. ] Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures on my phone to show you right now. They are all tucked away safely in an old photo album at home. So you will have to wait until I need you solely for your manpower.

[ as much as yelena enjoys being blunt (mostly just to get a reaction out of him; they are just so funny), she likes to be coy. to tease and to dance around the obvious because it's fun and it keeps both of them on their toes. the implications are very much there, without either of them having to be explicit about it and she's okay with that.

if she weren't, she would have left a long time ago. or maybe it's because it's him. scruffy-faced, blue-as-ice piercing eyes, james barnes who is gentler than he lets on; who has a lot to say when the walls come finally crashing down. he isn't the type to let people in so easily, and while she thinks it's unfortunate that not a lot of people know this side of him, it makes her feel special to know that she does. ]

Ha? Hot house eggs? [ she echoes him, curiously cocking her head to the side like a puppy being asked, want to go outside? even now, she appreciates that he keeps tossing at her all the different names of the dish he'd mentioned with the eggs as her confusion grows and grows. ] Oh.

Oh! You know what, I've never had that before. I don't think they have that option for eggs or bread at Denny's, do they? [ asking for a friend (who is definitely her) that likes to go to denny's after a late night mission— ] Okay. You get one second. In the meantime, I can make us some coffee.

[ yelena dismisses him with a wave even as he's already leaving the bed, as if he wasn't going to do it regardless, and then slings her legs over the edge of the mattress now that he's not occupying that space to get on her feet. before scuttering off into the kitchen, she makes his bed; carefully placing the pillows and tucking in the sheets the way she remembered it looking like when she broke in that first night.

by the time he returns to her side, she already has the electric kettle going and has her head in the fridge, reaching for the carton of eggs. ]

Let me guess. You have your coffee black.

[ amused: ] How'd you know? Shit, am I that predictable?

[ he's returned to the kitchen, standing behind her and waiting for the fridge door to close so he can squeeze past (say this for the studio apartment, it isn't large). but it means he pauses to watch the way yelena is leaning into the refrigerator, her head ducked at a low angle, long blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. the nape of her neck exposed, the throat of his shirt hanging loose on her. a hypothetical: from this angle, once she straightens back up to her not-too-considerable height, it would be the easiest thing to step into her, wrap his arms around her from behind, and press a kiss to that strip of bare skin at the curve of her neck.

(goddamnit, barnes—)

he's so unaccustomed to dealing with this side of himself, having been shut off and dormant and packed away for so long. james smothers it again, waits for safe passage, and then squeezes past to go rummaging through the cabinets. it's just a can of instant coffee powder, similar enough to what he'd drunk during the war. you'd think that might lead to a lifetime of avoiding it, but he just can't bring himself to spend so much money on artisanal beans or what-the-fuck-ever. luxurious breakfasts haven't been a thing here. the apartment is barebones in more ways than one. maybe she'll inspire him to live a little this way, too. ]

So how do you take yours? And what's your favourite breakfast? If, y'know, you could choose anything in the world and my cupboards weren't a barren wasteland.

No. Not at all. [ she really, genuinely means that. ] I just feel like it is such an old man preference that I had to get that right. And because you are a super soldier, too, you're going to need all the caffeine you can get, no?

[ and yes, she is fully aware that he is standing behind her, but she pays him no mind since she assumes he's just looking over her shoulder to peek into his fridge. shouldn't he already know what's in it? well, that's not really a fair assumption for her to make because she hardly remembers what's in hers by the time she gets back home.

yelena nudges the fridge shut with her knee, an almost empty carton of milk in one hand and eggs in the other. she sets them both down next to the stove and leans against the counter, watching him maneuver around the kitchen. the way he does it isn't like those awkward situations in the movies she's seen; the ones where they don't know how to come to terms with the fact that they just slept together, and yadda yadda. the difference is that she and bucky just seamlessly stepped into such a domestic setting that she almost loses herself in the idea of it. the idea of waking up next to him every morning, basking in the warmth of one another and then him making breakfast for her—

she snaps out of it when he asks her a barrage of questions. (well, two but she's rather dramatic. her imagination was getting a little out of hand there and that was scary.) ]

Some milk and a spoonful of sugar. I mostly drink coffee for the taste, and not for the effect... Hm. My favourite breakfast? Why? Are you gonna make it for me? [ cue that shit-eating grin of hers, along with the wiggle of her brows. ] I like eggs benedict. Alternatively, I also like waffles and fried chicken. What about you?

I have no idea how to poach eggs. [ which isn't exactly a no to making it for her... he is, of course, silently noting that piece of information, another tidbit in his ever-growing mental file marked yelena belova. ] Always looked fancy, though.

[ but at the question of what his favourite is, bucky hesitates. ponders the matter, even while he fetches the sugar (for her) and the loaf of bread (for both of them), and starts cutting out holes in the bread to fit the eggs. you'd think it would be an easy question, but he hasn't had to consider it in a while. sometimes that vast gulf between his old self and his current one seems an insurmountable wall; the memories were hard-won in coming back, slowly dredging them up out of the deep abyss where they'd been buried. sometimes he'd had to double-check himself against steve, back when he was still around, to figure out if bucky really was remembering something or if he'd accidentally pilfered details from a movie he'd seen, a book he'd read. did i like lagers? was my favourite colour green? what was the name of becca's oldest kid?

this one, though, he manages to recall: ]

I like a full English breakfast. A fry-up. Bacon, eggs, sausage, toast fried in butter, baked beans, grilled tomatoes. It's like, practically a huge farmer's breakfast. Super filling, and rare during the war because of the meat— but it was like a special feast whenever we could get a hold of it. Usually when we were on shore leave.

[ a beat, a hesitation. ]

I had some really good food in Wakanda, but not enough to replace old favourites. And considering the time I was on ice there and then, uh, snapped out of existence, I haven't been awake all that long enough to try a bunch of different things.

I guess maybe you can relate.

I don't either, but that's probably why I like them so much.

[ if she did know how to poach eggs, then she probably wouldn't like them as much. she has a very specific skillset when it comes to the kitchen and it's baking. every time she watches a video on how to make eggs benedict, she loses interest by the time they mention having to pour some vinegar into the pot of boiling water because she never has the thing handy.

so she's also not surprised he doesn't know how to make them either, having gone through his cupboards before and not being able to find much. she's shocked he's even making them breakfast — then again, the food in her own kitchen is more for fanny than it is for her. she likes it that way, though, and she likes hearing james talk so fondly about food. it reminds her of when he was gushing over children, and his time on the run with steve from shield and well, the rest of the world. ]

I should've guessed that! Ah, but— judging by the contents of your fridge this morning, you don't get to have that breakfast often.

[ a thoughtful hum leaves her and she moves around him to fetch two mugs from the cupboard to his left. she's surprised he has more than two in there, considering she can count the amount of furniture he has in this whole apartment on all her fingers. ]

I have never been to Wakanda, but it seems like a wonderful place. Better than the rest of the world, I would assume. [ then, yelena purses her lip and tries to find the words as she pours some of the instant coffee power into both of the cups, before pouring hot water into them. ] You and me both.

Seriously. What shit timing on Thanos's part. If he had waited another two weeks, it would've marked my one month anniversary for defecting. Ha. But now, it's just weird being the same age as I was five years ago. Hey, [ yelena has no tact sometimes, sorry james ] how old are you now? Physically?

[ he shoots a half-surprised look back at her, as he fusses with the pan and as she moves her way around him in the kitchen, sorting out the coffee. ]

Y'know, I didn't actually know you vanished too.

[ yelena was far more free with information about herself than nat ever had been, and yet this had never come up. then again, the snap wasn't exactly something anyone was raring to talk about, whether they'd stayed behind or not. he saw it sometimes in the tired look in nat's eyes. those extra five years she and steve had weathered alone, the mess of the ragged earth left behind. he'd been reading up on those five years, trying to understand what the others had lived through, but he's pretty sure he won't ever get it. not properly.

but, then, her abrupt question makes him pause in the middle of reaching for the eggs. more weird math!! ]

How do you define physically? Like, how long I've actually been around? It's hard to tell because I spent a lot of it on ice and probably not physically aging, but technically— uh, I would be 106 this year. But subtract the five years from Thanos, then 101, I guess.

[ it's not something she shares with a lot of people, especially not so casually, but — she feels at ease, here. like she won't be judged for letting some vulnerability slip through the cracks, through a veil of playfulness.

then again, she's also wearing his clothes and because of that, not a concealed weapon in sight for her to pull out so it's no wonder she's letting herself go in his kitchen. ]

Yeah. It was strange, you know? I was in the middle of extracting a Widow from her home and poof! Then poof again! They had even redone their bathroom and everything. Even adopted a kid.

[ yelena wonders about the blip from time to time, wonders what it was like to have lost instead of being lost. she wonders what it would have been like to have grown a little older over the years with natasha, but time was a little less kind to those that remained. but it's nice to be able to relate to someone on this level, and many others.

she pushes the cup of coffee in his direction while taking a sip from her own. ]

Wow. So you're old, but not that old thanks to Thanos. But, no, I mean like, your bones. How old do they feel?

[ bucky accepts the cup of instant coffee with a grateful nod, and picks up the piping-hot mug, not minding the heat in his vibranium fingers. right. his old, old bones. the corner of his mouth quirks ruefully at the prospect of doing more math. he's never actually had to consider this angle of it, either, and never really wondered how old his body was after you stripped away all the caveats, the disclaimers, the slow-aging effects of the serum. he'd just taken it one day at a time. so he considers, and weighs over the question. ]

I was around my mid-twenties when I went into the river. And with the time that's passed since... mid-thirties, maybe? Could be higher end of thirties.

[ until now, there had never really been a reason to care about how his age lined up to anyone else. but he feels a strange vise clench in his chest as he asks, trying to sound light about it: ]

So. Too old for you?

[ yelena watches him mull over her question with the most puzzled look on her face. she's still adjusting to society as a whole and social cues so maybe it was not the move, to just ask him how old his bones feel. curse her ability to completely override the filter feature of her brain!!

but he answers it anyway, as ridiculous as her question is and she's pleasantly surprised. it's exactly as she thought. ]

Hmmmm.

[ she acts as if she's contemplating even if she knows what to say. but it would be cruel to even joke about that after he'd done her the favour of stitching her up the night before, and then letting her sleep in his bed. with him. ]

No. Not too old. You could be fifty and I would still like you. [ oops bomb dropped but she doesn't think too much of it, obviously because she keeps going— ] I don't care about age.

Edited 2022-01-02 22:01 (UTC)

[ and here's the strangest part of it all: despite being all of thirty-something, hundred-something, bucky's stomach still does a queasy little flip-flop at hearing yelena's words, like he's in goddamn high school all over again. i would still like you. it's stupid. it's like he's on the verge of scribbling on a piece of paper, do you like me, check yes if so ☑ and shoving the scrap across the kitchen counter to her.

he's killed dozens of people, fought in the war for earth, operated on almost every single continent (he still needs the antarctic—), and yet that one innocent, harmless little admission almost undoes him.

he hides that flicker of reaction behind burying his face in his coffee cup, taking a too-deep swig but then almost burning his tongue on it. he coughs. just barely averts choking on it entirely and spluttering. get it together, barnes!! ]

Well. Good. 'Cause I'm pretty fond of you, too.

[ get it together, barnes ]

[ there is a cheeky little grin that's plastered across her face, smugness rearing its pretty little head for a second before she's huffing a chuckle. there are many things that yelena belova knows, like feigning merriment but one of the few things she doesn't is how to mask genuine happiness. ]

Well! [ she is definitely echoing him ] I would certainly hope so, James.

[ one could say that she got her boisterous nature from one mr. shostakov, but she would sooner gut them than admit to such a thing.

she clinks her cup with his. is she celebrating the mutual kind of confession that just happened? hard to tell. ]

If you didn't, I am preeeetty sure you would have shanked me first thing this morning, no? Or maybe that is just a me thing.

Not just first thing this morning. If I didn’t like you, I would’ve shanked you last night, or any other time I caught you sneaking in on my balcony. [ it doesn’t sound like he’s chiding for it, though, just giving tit-for-that in their perpetual teasing byplay, as he waits for the oil to heat up and starts amiably frying up the bread-and-eggs for them. it’s just the truth. it’s not a good idea to sneak up on people like them. ]

But I try to minimise the shanking these days. Got enough of a body count behind me. [ a beat, then there’s a knowing and amused crinkle at the corner of his eyes, asking this particular question: ] How about you? How’s work? In general.

[ they both know yelena doesn’t exactly have a regular 9-to-5. any discussions of work between them is more like comparing notes on the best way to infiltrate a warehouse and comparing scars from jobs gone awry; the sorts of things which lead to the very injury which brought her to his doorstep last night. ]

[ for many, death is frightening. for others, death is imminent.

for the hands of yelena belova, they belong to death. she used to be nothing but a merciless weapon at the mercy of death itself, and her hands; they are stained red with the blood they have spilled in their wake. but she wants to wipe that slate clean now, wants to scrub at her skin until there is none left — to rid herself of the gore and of the sins they've committed, but how can she when she was made to destroy? when it is all she has ever known?

yelena thought she might have been different, she thought she might have been immune to the destruction that death leaves behind even if it surrounds her like the plague. call it denial, call it a coping mechanism, but she talks to the vest strapped to the passenger seat of her old, blue pick-up truck like it's natasha. as if she was actually there and as if yelena's not actually making the drive to the outskirts of cincinnati, as she speaks — to natasha's grave. but when she looks over, it's just fanny sticking her head out the window. which is, honestly, pretty close.

as soon she turns off the ignition and puts her car in park, fanny runs ahead of her and follows the path up the hillock. the walk to the graveyard always serves as a reminder to how she human she is, that no matter how much of a superhero natasha was; she is still dead. yelena can't hear her voice or hold her hand because her coffin is buried six feet underground — she says her coffin, because there is no fucking body in that coffin, and all she has left is this gravestone with her name engraved on it.

a part of her hopes that she's not gone in the sense that she is no longer living, but rather in the sense that she is off the grid and living her life the way she would have wanted to. (or the way yelena would have wanted her to; with a husband and a child, working as a teacher.) but a large part of her hopes that, one day, she will hear natasha whistle back when she hears the tune leave yelena's lips.

every time she comes to visit, there are less and less little trinkets and flowers than the last. it's so unfair, yelena thinks, that the world is not praising natasha to the heavens for all she has done in the shadows, behind the silhouette of the men she fought so hard alongside. natasha did not get a fancy statue with her doing her silly hero pose, no, all she gets is this tombstone. but it is still a fancy stone that makes yelena tear up.

yelena mourns differently than others; she is busy and angry half the time, the other half she is busy and numb.

but she's supposed to be on vacation, so imagine her annoyance when she hears the sound of leaves crunching behind her. she doesn't turn around to see who it is since fanny doesn't bark or make a fuss, because it must be valentina. valentina, whose three calls she screened yesterday before turning off her burner phone— ]

You're not supposed to be bothering me on my holiday time, you know.

[ the grave isn't ostentatious.

compared to the public memorials and art exhibits for tony stark and iron man, the smithsonian exhibit on captain america — they're public figures looming large in america's public consciousness. there's documentaries. there's interviews. longform articles from the verge about the future of stark industries, now that it's entirely in the hands of pepper potts. there's even a tasteful memorial at the wreckage of what was once the avengers compound, with informational plaques.

natasha romanoff, on the other hand, did so much of her work in the shadows. behind the scenes. the mark of a successful mission was no one ever hearing about it — and she was very good at what she did.

the grave is affectionately well-kept, though, and people evidently visit it. they drop off flowers. someone keeps it clean. the photos are of strangers; probably people who owe their lives to the avenger, and the sight always makes something twist in his chest, warm and bittersweet.

(would his own grave ever result in such tributes from grateful, adoring civilians? probably not. his ledger's drenched right through. that's fine, though.)

but on his visit today, bucky finally discovers the person who has, apparently, been keeping the grave clean: sweeping up fallen flower petals, swapping out the dead bouquets. there's a tight stillness in the blonde's shoulders which means she's evidently noticed him approaching— and assumed he was someone else, from the sounds of it. the man clears his throat. ]

Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb.

[ he's polite, his voice blandly american. when she looks at him, she'll see a darkhaired man in a hoodie, jeans, a leather jacket. he hasn't put any effort into trying to disguise himself or pull a baseball cap low over his head; he hadn't actually expected to run into anyone here. but civilians don't tend to recognise james barnes these days anyway: lately he doesn't look much like the dead-eyed, haggard monster which had been the winter soldier's face splashed over the news.

(an astute spy with an eye for faces, though, who's made a particular interest of studying her sister's life with the avengers and who's accustomed to disguises... well, that's no ordinary civilian.) ]

[ yelena is fully prepared to tell valentina to fuck right off, but the sympathetically gruff voice throws her off instead. she mutters something like shit in russian, because she must look like a complete asshole to this complete stranger whose first word to her was freaking "sorry."

she's just not used to running into people at all when visiting nat — but that's mostly because she has to fight to make time to even be here. she sucks in a breath, and turns very slowly to face the man who actually isn't her employer. ]

No, I'm sorry —

[ yelena starts, but pauses just as quickly, scanning his face and wracking her brain because she feels it in her bones that she knows him. she recognizes his voice the more she thinks about it, she recalls hearing it in during her days in the red room (so only passing), but in russian, specifically. strict, and monotonous; nothing at all like the very civil tone he used with her in response to hers that was more on the hostile end.

but what hammers the nail are his icy, blue eyes and then she goes pale, like she's just seen a ghost. she'd recognize those eyes anywhere, though they are not as cold or lifeless as they once were. there is more sadness and tiredness, but she will take that over being assassinated at her sister's grave by someone who was, once upon a time, a ruthless killer.

she can relate. kind of. ]

Зимний солдат?

[ it's like he sees it happen in slow motion: that light of recognition sparking in her eyes. that cold leaden weight sinking into the pit of his stomach, realising he's been recognised. for a moment he's certain the woman's just going to start screaming and running, a terrified civilian recognising him as the killer he is.

but the blonde doesn't run. her face goes pale and tight and stricken, but she doesn't move, and bucky feels that pain mirror across his own face; he hates the way people are afraid of him once they know who he is. it always feels like something has fallen away, some unavoidable loss, an ease he'll never get back. a bell you can't unring.

and a moment later, bucky winds up startled, too. he wasn't expecting russian. he was not expecting to hear that name, his name, in russian, on this stranger's tongue. he straightens even further, like there's an iron rod strapped to his spine and he's standing at attention. ]

Уже нет.

[ he hadn't even been intending it before he instinctively answered her in russian, echoing the choice of language. his expression is wiped clear and still and as empty as he can make it, the mask of the winter soldier inadvertently slipping into place even as he denies it.

but he takes a step back, his hands up, showing the empty palms. he didn't bring a gun. maybe it was a mistake to not bring a gun everywhere he goes. he's been getting complacent. ]

Hm.

[ yelena hums, contemplative, but it's not quite an answer she finds satisfactory enough. he may not be the winter soldier anymore, but he sure as hell looks a lot like him. she blinks back at the man and watches his face — surveying for the tiniest of cracks to peek through, get an idea of who he is without having to ask a single thing.

only because there are a million of things running through her brain, most of them being questions and wouldn't it be rude to bombard this nice stranger with all of them anyway? or maybe this warrants it. this is her sister's grave after all; she has a right to say whatever the fuck she wants.

except, she doesn't. instead, she treads carefully. well, at least until he moves back and it's instinct for her to mirror his movements, in the event of danger. she needs more room — for him to show her he comes in peace? and that he came here completely empty-handed? rookie move, she thinks.

but yelena did the same, having left her gun and tiny dagger in the glovebox of her pick-up, also like a chump.

she returns the favour, brings her hands up and shakes her sleeves to let him know she's no threat here either. she even opens her coat because she's wearing a lot of pockets, and she would definitely think she'd be hiding something in there if she were him.

natasha hardly divulged any details about her other life to yelena, her better life. the only reason why yelena isn't holding the nearest and sharpest branch to his throat is because she knew he and nat were on the same side — knowledge she'd learned no thanks to her sister, but to the news. ]

Вы, наверное, меня тогда не помните.

[ then in english: ]

Were you friends with her?

[ even more than the question, it's the first sentence which makes him stop and stare at her long (too long, he has a habit of staring even at the best of times), trying to make the pieces fit. all those years as the winter soldier hadn't been like an empty haze — ignorance is bliss — but instead like watching his own actions through smeared glass, watching as his body went through the motions without him able to stop himself. he remembers. he remembers. i remember all of them.

except. he assesses the stranger: fluent russian, accented english, easy grace in that turn of her heel as she mirrors his movements. ballerina-trained or red room trained or both. probably both.

had he ever seen her at the red room? had he ever trained her? ]

You were one of them, but I— don't recognise you. Sorry.

[ a weird kind of embarrassment. like meeting someone at a party and not remembering their name later, like they were that unmemorable, when that wasn't the case. it had simply been such a rotating series of anonymous girls, all stern-faced and cut from the same mould. and time slipped between each time he was woken up for training, decades passing and making them unrecognisable: blink one day and all those little girls suddenly grew up overnight to be living weapons. he tried to remember if natasha (natalia, back then) had ever hung around a blonde in particular. not that he could recall. the red room had burned out sentiment and personal attachments, too, and she'd been good at hiding her cards.

the next question is comparatively so much easier to answer: ]

We were. She and Steve were close. And after the Sokovian Accords, we were all on the run together for a while.

[ all honest, and maybe he should hesitate to give that away, but whatever. it's there in all the old news articles anyway, all their names listed alongside each other as ross hunted them like a bloodhound. ]

Edited 2021-09-16 19:16 (UTC)

[ it's a desperate war, and getting more desperate by the day.

practically every month is another injury, another casualty. sergeant james barnes of the PPDC loses his arm: the kaiju rips off the jaeger's arm first and he feels it like it's his own, because for all intents and purposes it is his own, and the nerve damage leaves him screaming and screaming and screaming. it's almost a relief, when they're slammed to the side and he winds up caught between two iron plates, the damage to his human body matching the machine. they wind up having to cut his limb off at the shoulder in order to get him out.

and the neural damage that steve took piloting the jaeger back singlehandedly— well. it left him bleeding from the ears, brain fried, on the verge of a stroke. one more ride in the jaeger and you'll have an aneurysm, the psych analyst says. retirement, the psych analyst says. an honourable discharge.

steve takes his retirement about as well as can be expected — answer: not well — but he eventually agrees to transfer to jumphawk pilot instead. at least that way he can still be involved; can still be with the deployments in the field; can usher the jaegers safely out, even if he can't sit in that driver's seat anymore.

and as for his partner—

normally, any other soldier would have been forcibly retired with his kind of injury. but the beauty of the jaegers is you only need one arm, anyway. you can be half a man and still pilot just fine, so long as you have the right partner. so stark and banner over in j-tech rig barnes up with a prosthetic, good enough to open hatches and climb ladders and liaise with the weaponry UI, and they tell him as long as he stands on the left side of the conn-pod, it'll be fine.

he's still undergoing the last of his physical therapy, trying to ready himself for the field again, when it's another day and another funeral for another ranger. this one catches him off-guard, like a punch to the jaw out of left field.

because somehow, he'd never expected it to be nat.

he had trained natasha romanoff, years ago, back when he was the kwoon fightmaster and before he was promoted to pilot. his sync scores with her had always been good, but not as good as his with rogers, or hers with her sister. which leaves a grand total of unfinished man and an incomplete woman, both walking wounded, both missing their other halves.

so the question is: will they be drift compatible?

the new partnership isn't officially announced in front of the whole squad, or anything, in case it doesn't work. instead, marshal fury summons barnes to his office and tries it discreetly: try belova, he says, his one eye impassive, and barnes thinks: okay, sure.

so later that week, he texts her an invitation: spar in the kwoon room after hours?

which, everybody at the shatterdome knows what that actually means. the matchmaking, the combat scores, probing at each others' compatibility like it's a goddamn first date. testing the waters. when yelena shows up at the kwoon room, he's standing there patiently leaning on the stick, dressed in loose trousers and a white undershirt, which reveals all the gleaming metal of his arm. he's alone. for this sort of assessment, he doesn't want an audience. ]

[ the kaiju take, and they take, and they take. it doesn't matter if it's boat of ten people, half a city or her own sister — there's worldwide news coverage for it and then it's onto the next thing because they don't stop. she doesn't think they ever will.

but yelena remembers. she remembers her heart being lodged in her throat when she saw teeth twice the size cut through the armour of their jaeger like it was nothing. she remembers that that was the first time she'd ever seen dread in her sister's eyes. she remembers that the last thing natasha ever said to her was: this was fun.

yelena was still in her head, when the kaiju just about swallowed her whole — a flash of indescribable pain and inescapable terror that filled her lungs as if she were actually in there with her — and then, nothing. nothing but hot, angry tears that blurred her vision as she screamed herself hoarse.

(she only survived because she was fuelled by rage, by grief. she bought herself enough time to get pulled out of combat — herself first, their jaeger hours later — by using what little kinetic energy her arm had left to launch the kaiju away from her. two other rangers were deployed, and saved the coast of busan.)

natasha still gets a funeral; it's closed casket, because the body that was recovered from the kaiju's got was hardly even a body by the time they'd fished it out. captain shostakov is a drunken mess at her short-lived memorial. dr. vostokoff is straight-faced, stoic, but her puffy eyes suggest otherwise. yelena is quieter than usual, but that's just because her head is elsewhere.

they give her time, at least, after natasha's passing. and with the time they give her, yelena doesn't come out of her (and nat's) quarters for three days.

and they waste no time throwing her to the wolves, trying to partner her up with somebody else not even a week after losing her older sister, except yelena is too unpredictable. (read: impulsive, volatile, a little unhinged.) she didn't think that somewhere on that list would be sergeant barnes - and well, she's not completely against going up against him because he happens to be on her short list of people she respects.

it's why she responds to his text with a very simple: see you there

yelena sets foot into the kwoon room, all of her hair done up in a number of complex braids. their outfits are identical, from her white tank top to her pants — issued to all rangers and rangers-in-training alike at the shatterdome.

she makes her presence known by using her foot to step on the end of the other stick and propelling it upwards, catching it with her left hand. she salutes him with her right— ] Sergeant.

Did I keep you waiting long?

Nah. You're alright.

[ since steve's transfer and while bucky's been grounded, he's been spending more time with the PPDC troops lately: dinner at a rollicking table of soldiers in the mess hall, sam promising to teach steve the ropes of flying one of those beastly jumphawk planes, steve shaking his head in bemusement. bucky being teased by the group (hey, we're being graced with the presence of a ranger, fellas), even as he followed his best friend and drifted a little further away from the other rangers. just for a time.

so it occurs to him now, too late, that he hasn't seen yelena since the funeral. he'd slipped; even before nat's death, he hadn't seen much of either of them. the rangers' sleeping schedules usually wound up completely inverted from each other, night shift and day shift staggered and trying to give enough coverage to the shatterdome and the coast, making sure there was always one jaeger crew on deck at any given moment.

when she approaches, bucky straightens. hesitates. unsure if he should say something or acknowledge it at all, probing at the edges of that still-raw, messy wound.

but nat was his friend, too, and so in the end: ]

Sorry it's so soon. Normally I would've given you more time, but—

[ a sheepish tilt of one shoulder, a gesture of his metal hand. he doesn't even have to say it. they both know. pilots should have more time to grieve the loss of their other halves, but the war doesn't wait for anyone. the breach would open again, and the kaiju would come again and again with no respect for their recuperation, and so if marshal fury said to pair up and get back in the saddle, they'd damn well try to pair up. the pool of sync-capable pilots was dwindling year by year, and so broken crews were being re-cobbled back together, and mechs were being scrapped and salvaged in order to repair the remaining units.

they had no choice. ]

[ she steals a glance (or several, let's be real) at bucky's person, giving him a once over. the last time she'd seen him was in passing, at nat's funeral. yelena couldn't really see his arm then, hidden by the suit, but she can't take her eyes off it now. so. cool, she thinks.

then he says that he's sorry and that he would've given her time— perhaps all it takes for yelena's walls to come down is a little bit of sympathy. her pokerface is gone; her brows come up for a second — she's taken aback. but the surprise settles in, and her features soften. she gives him a smile— a sad one, but a smile nevertheless. ]

But there is no room to be grieving in the middle of a war, I know.

[ everyone knows it. but it's different coming from bucky. maybe it's because she knows him on a more personal level and because he was actually natasha's friend. she is at ease here, even with the silence that hangs between them. it's comfortable, and she welcomes it.

and even if he's ten, twelve feet away from her — he still feels closer than the other candidates she wrestled into the mats and on their backs over the last couple of days. ]

You should've texted me sooner. I would have come running, you know. [ it's yelena's turn to be sheepish and she does it in the form of a grin. she rolls her neck and lifts her stick to tuck it under her arm, pointing it at his metal one. ] Will you be able to get a score on me with that thing? It looks pretty heavy.

It is.

[ a frank, easy admission; he's still getting accustomed to the weight of this thing shackled to his shoulder, the way it throws off his center of gravity and balance and gait, skewing everything ever so slightly to the left. he's been doing dexterity exercises, stacking coins, assembling a jigsaw puzzle borrowed from someone else's quarters. he's taken to carrying around a small therapy ball, absentmindedly flexing his metal fingers around it, rolling it across his palm, tossing it from hand to hand. notsomuch rebuilding the muscles, but trying to get accustomed to controlling them, the delicate fine-motor movement so he can actually aim a missile in the conn-pod, or pour a cup of coffee, without accidentally glitching everywhere and shattering the mug in one overly-strong metal fist.

it's a work in progress. ]

'That thing' is one of the best components Stark and Banner could build, though. They're, like, mad scientists over in J-Tech. If they can build plasma cannons and neural bridges, they can get me a working arm.

[ bucky says it lightly, as teasingly as he can, although there's still— something. some strain at the corner of his eyes, the smile just a little too forced. this, too, is a raw wound. ]

I'll keep up. Heard you've been wrecking the cadets this week, though.

[ his admittance is surprising when it shouldn't be, because what is james barnes if not brutally honest?

yelena mulls over it for a couple of moments, thinking to herself: he is showing his cards to trick me, as he praises to the heavens the gods (read: the comedic duo that runs the lab, stark and banner) that graced him with the metal arm he's had to lug. but, she's gotta give it to him — he makes it look effortless. just like with everything he does. she's seen him and steve go at it in the kwoon room, late in the evening coincidentally enough, while she and nat were waiting for their turn to use it. yelena didn't mean to study their exchanges then, but she's glad now that she did. ]

Is that what they're saying now? [ she snorts, and keeps her lips from curling into a smile although it's incredibly clear that she's horribly smug about it. ] The Marshal kept tossing them my way, saying that they need practice. And it is true.

[ yelena steps forward some, until the tip of her stick resting against his metal shoulder. ]

Let's hope you don't need as much, Barnes.

[ he feels the weight of the stick pressing against his shoulder, but only by extension: she rests it against the metal which weighs against his muscles and tendons in turn, and it all feels distant, muted. but it's an opening — an invitation — and so bucky's expression splinters open into a knowing grin. he can't resist mouthing off just one last time, dropping in these last few words before he breaks into movement: ]

We'll see, Belova.

[ and then it's like the starter pistol's gone off, and they both spring into battle. he cuts into fluid motion, his stick snapping upward and knocking hers away from him, no longer pressing against metal or flesh alike (either one would count as a point scored after they begin, a mark in her favour). there's the sharp crack of wood against wood as she meets each of his strikes with one of her own, always fending him off even as he presses forward across the mat; a step with each jab of the stick, each pivot trying to get in past yelena's guard.

he notices immediately: it's not the same as fighting with steve. she's so much shorter than the other man, her center of gravity different. less brute strength, more lithe ballerina grace. bucky has to adjust, account for it. in fact, it's so much like fighting nat (there's a distant twinge, a dull ache under his breastbone upon remembering it). the two women were trained so similarly, they're practically mirrors of each other.

and yet. different.

each time she meets him in the middle and then pushes back, bucky starts to feel that flicker of hope — maybe this will work. it's the question which rangers ask every day in the kwoon room with their bodies, trying to find the answer in that delicate balance and choreography across the mats: will they be compatible? can they speak each others' language?

a few steps in, the more that he doesn't score a point on her and she doesn't manage to hit one on him, he's already starting to think: hell, maybe they could. ]

james this is an emergency

[ it is not. ]

[ naturally, he snaps immediately into Crisis Mode™ and assumes the worst. ]

are you injured? coordinates? how many hostiles?

[ needless to say — yelena is amused at how he took her EmErGeNcY text seriously, and so quickly at that. ]

not injured this time
no hostiles, just fanny. i am safe and sound at home
sorry

[ that she's not sorry :\ ]

how do people decide on just one halloween costume

jesus christ you had me worried

[ bucky's completely paranoid even at the best of times; it's easy enough for him to instantly assume that texts have something to do with missions. danger. combat. in some ways, he's still getting accustomed to these aimless texts, to the harmless chatter, to using his phone for harmlessly shooting the shit with yelena. ]

some people plan their night in phases, i guess. costume changes over the course of the evening.

[...]

that mean you're going with nat to stark's thing?

[ to be fair, she has texted bucky a number of times while beaten and bloodied, so it's a completely just assumption for him to think there was an actual emergency. ]

i guess the rich have enough time on their hands to come up with very fun and very elaborate costumes
but to answer your question, yes i am

[ ... ]

are you?

not sure yet.

[ sam was making noises about it; and would probably succeed eventually, twisting bucky's arm into being social and coming along to join the rest of the avengers. the other man kept insisting that stark was capable of letting bygones be bygones, and didn't hold a grudge. buck wasn't so sure. somehow the prospect of tackling a big avengers gettogether felt even more daunting without steve there, a shield in more ways than one, a gaping absence now felt keenly.

but. if the russians were going— ]

which costumes are you considering?

why not
it might be fun

[ she's pretty sure she knows why, so she tries not to prod too much. but she is trying to push him in the right direction — ]

not a disney princess although i do think i would make a great elsa
have you seen frozen?
but i'm thinking maybe juliet from romeo + juliet or indiana jones
or ghostface 👻

what, this guy?

[ har, har ]

those all look like really good options though. i haven't actually seen frozen - still slowly making my way through the movie list, but it hasn't made it on. mostly i just heard lang talking about how he knew all the lyrics and was forced to watch it like 50 times because his kid was a really big fan. should i watch it?

and if elsa's the blonde, you could totally pull that off.

[ a pause; he's considering, those gears in his head starting to turn. ]

i could be luke skywalker. he's got a metal hand.

[ luckily for you, bucky, yelena finds the clip quite funny, thank you! ]

haha yes that guy!!
i am much shorter than him but i think i could make it work

you should watch frozen when you're not feeling so hot. i think it is a good feel-good movie even though it is for kids. plus, i think the sequel's soundtrack is very catchy. has a lot of songs that remind me of the late 80s/early 90s

this is elsa but i would not mind being olaf either
olaf is a talking snowman. he is hilarious

[ oh? he's talking about his own costume now. unprompted! they're making progress. ]

luke skywalker would be such a kickass costume
i have always wanted to be boba fett

there's that new trailer for boba fett too, so it'd be timely. (see, i stay up-to-date on things)

if you're elsa or the snowman, can i be the reindeer?

[ he's joking, but at least he's? talking about matching costumes?? ]

oh wow look at you! keeping up with your pop culture
i am very proud and very impressed

i like the idea of you being sven
maybe i should be kristoff instead

[ and then there's yelena indulging him.... ]

[ another quick google to make sure he's got the names right, thank god for the internet— ]

he's blond, too, so that'd technically work......

you could also be anna
she is a brunette so it would technically work if we got you extensions

[ welp. yelena is invested now ]

[ oh no what has he done ]

anyone in that movie have anything that works well with a metal arm?

you know, you shouldn't limit your halloween costumes to fictional characters with metal arms
you can still be anyone you want to be

even sven the reindeer if you really want to be him

yeah but i've never really done the whole costume thing- halloween was different back in my day. so kinda seems like a waste to have this prop and not get to do anything with it, right?

[...]

did you ever do halloween after you left the states?

this might be a silly question but is just your hand removable
we can replace it with a hook so you can be captain hook and i can be tinkerbell

[ she was not expecting that question — but, it doesn't make her as sad as it should've. ]

no
this will be my first halloween since
what about you? have you done halloween since defecting

[ He snorts; half-laughs. ]

nope it's the entire arm, unfortunately. comes off at the shoulder.

and i haven't, no. i was on the run by myself for a while, which wasn't really the best for answering the door for little kids when my face was in all the newspapers? and then it was me and steve and nat and co, but we were wanted fugitives then, too. so it just never like... seemed like the right time for this sort of thing

until now

the wakandans should have made it so your arm comes off at your wrist and then your elbow and finally at your shoulder specifically for when halloween comes around

but that is fair
so it will be both our firsts! how exciting

[ yelena hears more about nat's time on the run from bucky than from her own sister, but she digresses — ]

i really do wish trick or treating as adults was a more common thing
because i would really love to flaunt my costume and get rewarded with free candy from strangers

have you decided on a costume out of all the ones we mentioned

who says we can't try?

and not really. i'm indecisive. instead of helping you with all your options i've gotten stuck on my own

maybe elsa and the reindeer except then i've got to watch the movie

[ he's thinking low-key costumes, mostly. wearing a set of soft antlers would be easy enough, plus there's that rudolph cartoon (which he has seen; that one came from barton's list of must-watches). ]

happy new year james
did you like the champagne i left on your balcony or is it still out there

the what on my what

[ bucky lurches off the sofa (okay so he has a sofa now, it's progress), and heads over to the outside door. shoves it open to a bitter gust of new york winter air; props his shoulder against the doorway and glances down, bemused, at the champagne sitting chilling (literally chilling) on the balcony. it's been kept cool by the snow. ]

huh. thanks.

although it's not midnight yet, belova. am i supposed to slug this entire thing by myself straight from the bottle?

no problem

surely you are more than capable of finishing it all on your own
i left it on your balcony in case you had somebody there
like sam wilson or something. i didn't want to intrude

[ a beat, then: ]

you're spending new years on your own?

more than capable -- that metabolism -- but if i want to, that's another question.
sam's down in louisiana with his family. i joined them for christmas but then came back here afterwards. december doesn't feel right without at least some real winter.

[ that and bucky had gotten restless, and hadn't wanted to impose longer. it felt good to be welcomed into the family, to be scooped up and brought into the fold, but there's also a limit to how long he can crash on the other man's couch. the point where he'd had enough of loud raucous family holidays and then he'd needed to withdraw, pull back into some solitude. in so very many ways, he's like a prickly cat. ]

was thinking i could put on some glitter, my best shitty novelty glasses, and then go to times square for the ball drop, y'know

(that's a joke, i'm not going anywhere near times square, it's a fucking nightmare)

nice
did you have to wear an ugly christmas sweater
i always thought that was a fun american holiday tradition

[ she's relieved! she knew bucky and sam were close, and she hoped that he didn't have to spend christmas alone — had a feeling he wouldn't, considering the kind of person sam wilson is, but it's nice to have confirmation. ]

ah ah you said you were joking but you only mentioned times square
what about the glitter and the shitty novelty glasses
i bet a sequin tuxedo would tie those in very nicely

he said they had a family tradition with ugly christmas sweaters so i had to join in..... but i'm not 100% sure he wasn't just fucking with me and got everybody to dress up this one time for it

glitter and shitty novelty glasses could be survived if i had the right company to survive it with

i don't own a sequin tux, though.

ha!
that is very sam wilson
do you have any pictures
😄

is that an invitation?
i will go thrifting for a sequin tux for you if it is

[ """thrifting""" ]

no and thank god for it, i've destroyed the photographic evidence on my end
sam might still have some pictures but you're gonna have to break into his phone for that, not mine

but that is an invitation, yeah. unless you've already got some fancy party to go to 😎🥂

[ bucky and yelena’s— friendship? relationship? almost-relationship? whatever the hell this is, it exists on the fringes and between the lines, often painted in those skeleton hours between midnight and four am. champagne delivered to a balcony like a dead drop. breaking into his apartment. late-night texts across incompatible timezones. the occasional shared mission, the occasional coffee at a 24-hour diner. he mostly only sees her one-on-one; some people might be surprised to learn that they even know each other. spies, it seems, still liked their secrets.

tonight, though, they’re both at an honest-to-god avengers christmas party. through the combined efforts of yelena and nat and sam, bucky had been convinced to make a public appearance, and he’s cleaned himself up for the occasion: a nice sweater over a nice button-down shirt. there’s tables of drinks, tinsel, a couple sprigs of mistletoe innocently decorating the stark venue, a balcony overlooking the snowy city if he needs to escape (he has, of course, already scoped out the exits).

the party’s a little too loud for his liking, to be honest: thor and carol holding boisterous court in some kind of drinking competition. stark can’t shut up. there’s a dark-eared american akita gambolling around people’s legs, basking in people’s attention. bucky’s been keeping a vague eye on yelena across the room when sam rejoins him, nursing a beer.

“so what’s up with you and the littler spider, anyway?”

“shut up,” bucky says, abashed, and takes another swig of his whiskey.

“i’m just asking, man. it seems like she’s over at your place more often than i am. any day now, i keep expecting to hear about you dogsitting fanny.”

and somewhere between those last two words, bucky’s brain screeches to a halt. his metal hand tightens; accidentally sends cracks spiderwebbing through his glass as his attention swings sharply to his best friend. “wait, what?”

thirty seconds later, he’s materialised by yelena’s side like some looming specter. instead of a warm flirtatious greeting, though, he offers a horrified yelp: ]

Fanny is the dog???

[ yelena is hard to miss with her turtleneck christmas sweater: bright red with tiny bells and embroidery of christmas lights all over it with some actual bulbs on there just to be extra flashy. (it's her first ever christmas party in two decades, cut her some slack. she is, at the very least, wearing a very nice, white silk midi skirt.)

she is seated at the bar with nat, a shot of vodka in one hand and an extra spicy bloody caesar in the other, when the crowd breaks into a loud cheer for danvers who outdrank the god of thunder in record time.

she celebrates their winning bets by clinking her shot glass with natasha's own, downing the vodka like it's water before demanding for another round of shots.

well. yelena was going to ask for more before a familiar silhouette appears in the corner of her eye and a familiar voice is shrieking right in her ear. nat sees this as her cue to exit, and she does so. promptly. with a chortle, no less, as she vanishes into the herd of swaying bodies on the dancefloor.

yelena swivels her chair around to face the man she practically had to strong-arm into attending this function with an overly-dramatic gasp. it's a little difficult for her to be serious when the bells on her sweater are jingling with every little movement. ]

Fanny is not just a dog, James. She is pretty much my daughter. [ she tries to sound offended, but there is a crack in her voice when she says his name. she is so full of shit and she knows it, so she tries her last hand at feigning innocence by sipping on her bloody caesar, sorry bucky. ] Who was the narc?

[ yelena's eyes shamelessly scan bucky from head to toe, as if she didn't do it already earlier, when she caught sight of him the first time twenty minutes ago from across the hall. she gives him her seal of approval in the form of one (1) firm nod and toasting his cracked glass. wait— ]

You clean up nice. Did your glass shatter just now when you hit that note?

[ bucky sends natasha’s departing back a betrayed hangdog look which can only be summarised as et tu, nat?? but then, startled, he glances down at the glass when yelena calls it out. ignoring her teasing question: ]

Sam let it slip. And “pretty much your daughter” ain’t the same as “is”. Man, I thought it was a weird name, but I’ve heard of people giving their pets human names like Josh or whatever.

[ he’s tall enough where yelena sitting on the stool evens out their heights and he can look her right in the eye, over that absurd sweater, her knee bumping into his thigh as he sidles up next to her. there’s a huffy air to him, all indignant ruffled feathers (and an undercurrent of lurking affronted amusement, too-aware of how ridiculous this entire situation is). bucky drains the last of his drink in its cracked glass, then sets it down on the bar beside them. ]

It was insane, I thought you were a single mother, like, raising a young girl while doing secret spy assassin shit —

[ yelena snorts as he expertly dodges her mocking him and rests her half-full glass next to bucky's empty one, if only to fish something out of her red sequin clutch (tacky, she knows) sitting on her lap. one might expect her phone, or an equally tacky dagger, but instead it is a tiny bottle of tabasco sauce. she's emptying the vial into her drink as they speak, cracking into the cheekiest, most self-satisfied grin. ]

Is Fanny that weird for a name? Maybe it's short for Francesca. [ it isn't. besides, who the hell names their dog josh? ] James—

[ she throws her head back in boisterous laughter, but it is nothing compared to the volume of the music or the people jeering behind them. the stool beneath her even twists on its own from just how hard she's laughing, her knees brushes against his thigh again in the process. ]

I am really flattered you thought I was capable of jugging a little girl while being in my line of work, but no. Fanny is my dog. My best girl! I'll introduce you after the Parker kid tires her out some more.

[ she plucks a straw out of the fancy straw dispenser, initially to stir her drink, but she's pointing it in bucky's direction. ]

Are you disappointed? I only ask because a massive birdy told me you're rather good with children.

[ jokingly batting the straw away from him, bucky finds himself examining that question from all angles, trying to untangle it. is he disappointed? he’s not quite sure what that mingled cocktail of feelings is, tight in his chest. he doesn’t especially trust himself around kids — too accustomed to being a weapon — but sam’s nephews and their friends have been doting on him, flocking to him in fascination, and he has fun joshing around with them. hmmmmmm. ]

Maybe a tiny bit disappointed ’cause I’m good with kids, yeah. [ then, his impish expression twinkling, ] Maybe a tiny bit relieved ’cause it’s complicated to ask out a single mom. Although I have faith we could make it work.

[ pivot, pivot, hey how about that abomination of a drink with tabasco sauce, he looks down at it rather than yelena’s face, ]

What the hell is that thing. Can I have one? Whatever you’re making.

belova. you know anything about this—

[ he has to go consult the thick creamy envelope, the CIA-stamped confidential paperwork, the invitation signed with an ostentatious flourish, to double-check the name: ]

"Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine"? i’m being invited to a quote unquote business proposition. she said she’d reached out to some russians too

hello to you too grandpa

[ he's leveled up from full government name to a kind of? endearing nickname? so that's... you know. something. ]

ohhh yes i am doing fantastic thank you for asking
arent you older than baby boomers
i thought men your age would have better manners

Edited 2025-04-18 02:27 (UTC)

i think i’m technically “the greatest generation” if we’re getting specific about it but i’m wayyyy too humble to ever call myself that, obviously.

hi, yelena. how are you doing, yelena? i’ve missed you, yelena.

you? humble
??
please. dont make me laugh

and you know its not nice to lie james

[ oh, what do you know? already on first-name basis. wow, these kids sure do move fast! ]

i'm pretty sure i've never lied to you. my therapist, on the other hand......

[ this is the sort of thing we can joke about, right? there’s the brief fleeting stab of fear that he’s crossing a line, letting on how fucked-up he is, someday he’s going to step too far and yelena’ll realise she shouldn’t be associating with him at all —

but then he rips off the cord and sends it anyway. fuckit. she’s got a dark sense of humour. ]

[ luckily they're the same kind of fucked up, because she does find that incredibly funny. ]

sounds like you are reciting wedding vows with a joke sprinkled in
are you proposing to me james buchanan barnes

[ what did he ask her about again? ]

[ ah, yes. her sorta sometimes boss. ]

thats the director of the cia inviting you to a black tie event
with other mercenary assassin types. if i am guessing correctly anyway
alexei told me he received a package from her but i didnt know she got a hold of you

she is the kind of thing you also lie to your therapist about

[ bucky's on the verge of record-scratching and reeling at that first question, trying to figure out how to spin a jokey response there, before that second message dings through and thankfully spares him. his expression goes more solemn, frowning down at his phone. he can feel his more tactical side starting to tick into place, examining this situation from all angles, starting to wonder. ]

huh.

are you gonna be there?

i do love a good party with free booze and free food
but i hate galas they are so pretentious and so is she

i will go if you go

and i'll go if you go.

[ why are they like this ]

[ because they are kids :\ in the bodies of a boomer and a millennial.... match made in heaven idk i don't make the rules! ]

ugh well i have to go anyway because valentina keeps me employed

but you just want to be my arm candy huh

your arm candy, and you can be my social buffer. i'm not great with people and this woman freaks me out a little

you working for the CIA now?

what do you mean
you are totally a people person :)

haha dont be silly. me? on cia payroll?
no i do stuff off the books and i dont ask questions as long as she pays in cash
what did she send you

an invite to that black tie event, plus some branded swag. a tote bag, a pen. think they've got some PR consultants working on this, something something rehabbing my image, something something the world needs heroes

"the thunderbolts initiative". sounds like something president thunderbolt ross rubberstamped before, well, y'know.

almost pancaked sam wilson

sounds to me like she is trying to court grandpa bucky
wants you to be the poster boy for this
thunderbolts initiative? the name is a bit tacky no

a bit yeah. would've sounded a tiny bit better before thunderbolt tried to, as you say, pancake sam wilson. now the associations really fuckin suck

it's not like i've got anything else going on career-wise so

yes they do. it is a joke
valentina is a bit freakish and is probably watching your every move
a little snaky with her own agenda but otherwise harmless and very very rich

nothing else at all
?

i've been checking out all the restaurants from the 40s which are still around today. working my way through the list. could maybe become a restaurant critic

ohhhhh you could be the oldest food critic alive
!!
do you have any favorite restaurants

[ she is only a little bit jealous. she wishes she had the drive to do things like this in her free time, lately. ]

nathan's down at coney island. kind of a tourist trap now, like most of the places, but the memories of grabbing a dog with steve and strolling down the boardwalk-- all of that still feels the same

you ever been?

ive seen a lot of nyc but not coney island
do you only get a hotdog at nathans
also whats your take on milkshakes

nah i'll have a hot dog anywhere. even those park street carts, my supersoldier stomach can probably put up with whatever undercooked bacteria they're serving up

i'm extremely positive on milkshakes. why?

that is both fascinating and gross
i am hungry now thanks a lot

[ colour her charmed... ]

do you have any places that serve up a good chocolate milkshake on your old timey list

i got a diner in mind. you wanna meet up for a bite? we can catch up, strategize about this meeting, make sure our planned outfits match

[ har har ]

lucky for you my day just freed up
tell me when and where

tom's restaurant in morningside heights. in a couple hours?

[ it was a weird hour, between mealtimes, but it was either wait until morning and the breakfast rush, or just go ahead and see her now. and he was an insomniac and yelena's sleep schedule was usually fucked too, based on the hours she replied to his texts, so he'd rather just get started and get walking instead of put it off and stare at his ceiling all night.

and he knows she's got a thing about kitschy americana pop culture, so he makes sure to mention — ]

it's the diner from seinfeld. but like obviously it wasn't that in 1940

[ she has some ✨opinions✨ about seinfeld, but she figures she can share them in person. instead, she fires off a very bold: ]

its a date

[ just some harmless flirting, nbd!

fast forward to two and a half-ish hours later, she is standing in front of the diner doing the most touristy thing ever and is taking a picture of the sign from the edge of the sidewalk. she may also be wearing denim on denim, but that's just because she wants to pay tribute to elaine. ]

[ Normally Bucky’s pretty punctual, since he doesn’t have much else going on, but he gets caught up in some subway delays and so he shows up last this time, coming at a brisk pace from the station. He sees the young woman’s silhouette down the street, her head tipped back, blue denim and long blonde hair. His heart instinctively catches and rises when he sees her, in a way he hasn’t felt in so very long for anyone; another time, another life, another version of him.

Maybe someday he’ll have the balls to do something about it.

In the meantime: Bucky paces up, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket, and bumps his shoulder companionably against Yelena’s by way of hello. ]

Hey. Nice denim. [ A beat, and, ] Is this a good time to say I’ve only ever seen a couple episodes of Seinfeld?

[ yelena is till taking a few aesthetic shots of the diner when she feels a familiar shoulder bump, tucking her phone into one of her many pockets. she has crossed paths with him enough to know that this is just the bucky way to say hi. that, or suddenly turning up at her side and greeting her with a quip.

(she can't really fault him for it; she's the same way.) ]

Hello, James. You like my jacket? I thrifted it.

[ she turns to face him with the scrunch of her nose, quickly giving him a once-over. his hair looks nice, but he looks tired. she wonders if she looks just as tired. ]

And you know, you're really not missing much. Elaine is the only funny thing about Seinfeld— Come on. [ yelena waves a nonchalant hand for him to follow her and and she's holding the door open for him because she is such a gentlewoman. ] I am starving.

And you’re not even a super-soldier, how d’you think me or your dad feel —

[ Bucky’s half-joking but he is, genuinely, hungry pretty much all the time even as he doesn’t tire. So he follows her through the door, ducking into the busy diner. It’s thrumming with activity, but they’ve managed to land at an inconvenient in-between hour where there’s still a booth available for them; the walls are covered in kitschy souvenirs and Seinfeld artifacts and signed cast pictures, but it’s a real diner with genuinely good food, not just loaded up for tourism. It’s been around for decades. ]

How’s Alexei doing?

[ he asks as they slide into the booth. They’re all technically teammates now. When Bucky looks in the mirror, New Avenger doesn’t really sit right; the title weighs awkwardly like an ill-fitting suit. In the wake of that chaotic, disastrous press conference, they’ve been reeling and trying to find their footing. It was probably about time they met up to discuss the situation; but in the immediate, Yelena’s the first Thunderbolt* he wants to talk to.

^*goddammit ]

You know, [ she sucks her teeth in the most non-patronizing way possible ] I am pretty sure they say that the way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

[ or is that the way to a man's heart? either way, she doesn't care because her phone is coming right back out of the pocket she snuck it into. she loves nostalgic shit more than the average person — yes, she knows it's because her brain is clinging to A Very Specific Time in her childhood — so she is rather ecstatic to be sliding into one of the most iconic booths of all time. she is, without an ounce of shame or embarrassment, snapping pictures of the interior before putting her phone away. again.

(she remembers sitting on the floor of their living room, hunched over a colouring book on the coffee table while melina folded clothes into a hamper. alexei was maybe helping natasha with her homework.)

anyway, bucky brings her back by bringing up her dad. also again. is he just as obsessed with alexei as alexei is with him?? god. she blows a raspberry. ]

Are you kidding me? Alexei is having the time of his life. Almost more insufferable than usual, but— this is the happiest I have seen him since I was a kid.

[ she casually flips through the menu, her attention darting between him and some of the the sweet and savoury items. ]

How are you doing?

[ The last time she’d asked, a quick check-in in front of the rest of the team, Bucky had given a pithy deflection. They’d been around strangers, around Walker, and so it was nothing but a joke and sidestepping the issue. You know me, I’m great,

I’m fine,
it’s fine,
everything’s fine,

but in the end, it feels like he owes Yelena some honesty. No amount of therapy would have made that swallowing darkness easy to handle, and his nightmares have gotten worse again since their little jaunt into another plane. He hasn’t been sleeping well; hence the texts to her to begin with. He gestures for coffee. ]

Been better. The Void shook us all up. And I was technically unemployed before this but gotta say, this isn’t the next job I expected. I was originally thinking maybe manning Sam’s family fishing boat.

[ And now: his phone’s been blowing up the last few days with a meticulous future itinerary curated by Val and Mel, a press gauntlet featuring magazine covers and interviews and sound bites and Good Morning America, and he doesn’t feel ready for any of it. Is it even possible to stop this train and get off it anymore? Hard to say. ]

So I guess we should talk about whether or not we’re coworkers now.

A retirement plan already? But you're so young, James. [ a beat, ] It felt a little too real for my taste. The Void.

[ even ava and john had been easier to get through to in the short amount she's gotten to know them. bucky barnes, on the other hand, had always been a tough cookie to crack or so she's heard. she's not really the type to press, and even if she was, she would never truly press former winter soldier-types. so one can only imagine the look of pleasant surprise on her face when he doesn't sugarcoat the truth with that exceptional dry humour of his.

a waitress pours them two cups of coffee and shuffles back to the kitchen, knowing better than to stick around. ]

Worse. [ she waggles her eyebrows in an effort to lighten the mood some, taking a sip from her mug. ] I think we're actually teammates now.

[ yelena belova did not do teamwork, ever. in the red room, it was every child, girl and woman for herself; she learned that at a young age. too young. it should come as no surprise as to why she is so deeply fucked up. the last time she'd been part of a team was... well, her little peewee soccer team. funny how things come full circle. ]

I'm not going to lie, I did ask Val to give me a more... public-facing job. But I didn't mean as an Avenger. Which brings me to my next questions: did they ask you to move in yet?

[ He grunts a frustrated little noise at the word teammates, drawing the coffee cup closer, holding the still-too-hot mug with his metal hand. A version of him, once upon a time, had operated smoothly as a single cog in a well-oiled, functioning team with the Howling Commandos; and he’d been getting back there with Sam, slowly, with so much bitching and kvetching along the way, but he’s mostly forgotten what that sort of collaboration felt like. Widows and Soldiers led solitary lives.

And now Val’s gone and torpedoed his goddamn working dynamic with Sam, anyway. The PR’s fraught if they were to show up at the same fight together. ]

Yep, [ Bucky confirms, mildly despairing. And bluntly: ] I feel weird about it. Like, what, do I take Steve’s old room and you take your sister’s? What the fuck.

Shit.

[ it comes out quicker than she would have liked it to. it's clear that yelena did not let that response stew; that his point hit a little too close to home.

it's hard to forget that she's gone. she wishes she could block that bit of information out, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind it, but she can't do that to natasha's memory. she misses her sister so much her chest aches to the point that she can't breathe. and now she has to fill her big ass shoes? jesus. ]

They did renovate the whole building, you know. It might just be the skeletons of their rooms.

[ hopefully. ]

You're not still flying back and forth between here and D.C., right? That's a loooot of fossil fuel being burnt, James. It's [ vague gesturing with her hands ] very bad for the environment. You might dethrone Taylor Swift in the top polluters department.

Taylor Swift pollutes? [ Bucky’s lost in Yelena’s usual barrage, and he almost reflexively reaches for the notebook in his jacket. Note to self: look up Taylor Swift + fossil fuels. He’s only heard a couple of her songs; they had been impossible to avoid. But he shakes his head. ]

Nah. I’ve still got a place downtown. Barely furnished, [ and that was probably a common point of contention with his therapist, the way he was still avoiding putting down roots, ] so it wouldn’t be hard to move. But.

[ But those skeletons of rooms: the awareness that they would be walking around inside the shell of something that had once meant something, not a slapdash group cobbled together under false pretenses, filling impossibly big shoes. Captain America’s plucky boy sidekick and a budget Widow. They didn’t even have the real current Cap; the real Cap was pissed off and rightfully so, considering the disgraced imposter Bucky would have to be rubbing elbows with in the tower —

He tries bravely for a pop culture reference, a vague stab in the dark, a joke he’d heard Mel say once: ]

Not sure if I wanna be on a team with Temu Captain America.

She does. [ she nods sagely, like it was the universe that told her this and not twitter. ] So much.

[ she could either a) psychoanalyze him right here right now where jerry and george and elaine sat, or b) make a passing snarky comment on his barely furnished apartment. except she's not one to talk, because she can relate a little too hard to that and that's opening another can of worms. she's just stays at fancy hotels (on valentina's dime, of course) to avoid staying at their new headquarters— that she spends a lot of time at anyway.

it's not so bad, really. except when she remembers that natasha spent a lot of her time in this very building while yelena was out carrying out hits under chemical subjugation.

she's not spiraling at this very moment because of his company, and... you know what? his joke gets an earnest laugh out of her. she even snorts. ]

Did Mel show you what Temu is? [ in between laughs, some coffee. ] Don't order from there. IKEA is better.

[ she shakes her head because she can't believe she's about to say what she's about to say: ] Walker isn't so bad when he isn't the one in charge, you know.

for viuva.

wash you of the sins that plague you ⧗

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SO I GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY .....

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hover over russian text for fun translations!!!!

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matching frowny icons bc why not

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pls enjoy my apropos icon

and mine, for u <3

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