armeyets | for viuva.

[ 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. ]

for viuva.

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i'm rusty gomen

ugh i reread this scene and it’s So Good