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for viuva.

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[ 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. ]

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i'm rusty gomen

ugh i reread this scene and it’s So Good