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.

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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