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for viuva.

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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.

for viuva.

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pls enjoy my apropos icon

and mine, for u <3

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